Gospel Story Finder

It was just such an example that led Natalia Yereskovska to the gospel. As a 15-year-old exchange student, Natalia left Cherkassy, Ukraine (south of Kyiv), for Sleepy Hollow, Illinois (northwest of Chicago). She gave her Latter-day Saint hosts quite a shock when, on the way home from the airport, she said, “I know God sent me to you.”
She had been praying to be placed with a religious family, “so I could find my spiritual life.” When she read the profile sheet of the Bruce B. and Jean Bingham family, she saw that they didn’t smoke and that they attended church regularly. She also felt something—a prompting that she should listen to the Binghams and follow their example. Natalia spent the next year participating in family prayer, home evening, Young Women, sacrament meeting, and Sunday School.
Her sensitivity to the Spirit grew. She found answers she’d been seeking for years. She took the missionary discussions. She fasted and prayed and received an answer that she should join the Church. Fearful that her parents would never approve, she gathered her courage, made her request, and received permission. She was baptized on 7 January 1996. But soon she faced concern of another kind: She must return to Cherkassy, a town of 350,000, where she would be the only Latter-day Saint.
“I was scared,” she says. “I couldn’t imagine going where there is no church, where I wouldn’t be able to go to meetings or take the sacrament. But on the flight home I remembered what Brother Bingham told me: ‘No matter where you are, you can be a light.’ That gave me some comfort.”
After spending two Sundays studying scriptures, praying, and singing hymns by herself, Natalia heard of an LDS youth conference in Kyiv. She went, and there she met Wilfried M. Voge, president of the Ukraine Kyiv Mission. Together they mapped out the required steps for the Church to be recognized in Cherkassy. The process started with getting signatures on a petition inviting missionaries to come. But the invitation had to come from adults.
Natalia made friends with a university professor who had once stayed with an LDS family in the United States. He agreed to help and prepared an official letter of invitation, got a group of business students to agree to listen to the missionaries, and even arranged a meeting with the mayor of a small town nearby. After Natalia explained about Church standards, the head counselor of her school also signed the petition and requested that missionaries speak to the entire school!
In September 1996, the first missionaries arrived. In October, Church meetings were held. In January, the first convert was baptized. Then another in February. Then families. Additional missionaries were assigned. Young Women, Relief Society, Sunday School, and Primary were organized. Picnics and service projects were held. Men were ordained to the priesthood. A branch president was called. Natalia led one of her lifelong friends to the Church, and even the professor’s wife was baptized! In short, the branch kept growing and growing.
When Natalia first thought about establishing the Church in her hometown, she was nervous. But President Voge said, “Heavenly Father will support you.” That kind of faith has paved the way for others.

In a worldwide leadership training meeting, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland told this story: “For many years, I have loved the story that President Packer has told about William E. Berrett’s boyhood Sunday School teacher. An elderly Danish brother was called to teach a class of rowdy boys. … He didn’t speak the language very well; he still had a heavy Danish brogue; he was much older, with big farm hands. Yet he was to teach these young, rambunctious 15-year-olds. For all intents and purposes, it would not have seemed like a very good match. But Brother Berrett used to say—and this is the part President Packer quotes—that this man somehow taught them; that across all those barriers, across all those limitations, this man reached into the hearts of those rowdy 15-year-old kids and changed their lives. And Brother Berrett’s testimony was ‘We could have warmed our hands by the fire of his faith.’”

Illustration by Joel Castillo
I was introduced to the Church by my aunt and uncle, who live near my home. I was only seven years old at the time, and I loved going to church to be with the other children. My parents were not members, but they did not mind that I went to church every Sunday with my aunt and uncle. My parents said that it was much better for me to be involved with a church that taught of Jesus Christ than to be out in the streets getting into trouble.
The missionaries came often to our home to teach us. My parents loved the discussions, but they did not want to embrace the gospel. They said that they were not ready because entering the waters of baptism is a serious commitment. The missionaries continued to come to our home, but they always left disappointed with the answers my parents gave. I knew, however, that one day they would be baptized.
When I turned eight, I was ready to make the baptismal covenant. My mom asked me if that was what I really wanted. She told me that once I was baptized, I could not change my mind and that baptism would change my entire life. I said that being baptized was something I had dreamed about since I first started going to Primary.
After I was baptized and confirmed, I continued to go to church, but my parents rarely came to our Primary activities. It was painful for me to see all the other children with their parents. But I hoped that one day they would be baptized and we would be sealed in the temple, and my greatest dream would become a reality.
When I was a teenager, the missionaries continued to teach my parents, but they still did not want to be baptized. However, they would occasionally come to church, which gave me a little hope. I still dreamed that my parents would join the Church, but I began to think that it would never come to pass in this life.
Then one beautiful Sunday morning when I was 17, my mother again went to church with me. On our way home she told me something that I can still hear in my thoughts and in my heart. She said that she had decided to be baptized. I was shocked! After waiting for so long, I wondered if this was real. In May 2010, my mother entered the waters of baptism. It was such a happy day.
After the baptism I looked at my father and said, “You’re the only one left now.” He responded that it would not be soon because he didn’t feel the desire to be baptized. I was again sad—part of my dream had come true, but the rest seemed far away. Although it was hard, I was certain that things would change. To my great happiness, my prayers were again answered two months later when my father entered the waters of baptism. It was the greatest joy of my life. I felt as though the heavens were singing.
After my parents joined the Church, I realized that another part of my dream had come true but that we needed to be sealed for eternity in the house of the Lord. My parents told me they didn’t feel ready, that they didn’t have enough money for the long trip to the Recife Brazil Temple, and that they didn’t have anyone to watch our home while we were gone. I was sad, but I kept praying for that blessing, knowing that the Lord would answer my prayers.
In time my mother began to feel a strong desire to go to the temple, even though my father continued to put it off. After many conversations with the bishop, they both decided to go. I felt so much joy I could barely contain it!
In September 2011, my mother, my father, and I went to the temple for the first time in our lives. I was sealed to my parents the next day, and I can truly say that, after 11 years of waiting, it was the best day of my life.
I am very grateful to Heavenly Father for everything He has given to me, especially for answering my prayers and fulfilling my greatest dream: the dream of seeing my whole family in the house of the Lord.

A short time ago I attended the funeral of a friend’s son. Earlier in the week, the young man was traveling home late at night with friends when the driver of another car fell asleep. The second car crossed the median and smashed head-on into the first. The accident occurred with such swiftness that few, if any, brake marks showed on the highway and both cars were demolished. The accident took three lives, including my friend’s 17-year-old son.
In reflecting on the accident, I have thought about the lessons taught by death—particularly the death of a loved one.
Another lesson taught by death concerns the importance of eternal families. Just as there are parents to greet a newborn on earth, the scriptures teach that caring family members greet the spirits in paradise and assist them in the adjustments to a new life (see Gen. 25:8; Gen. 35:29; Gen. 49:33). While I was standing before the casket, the thought came that separation was not only a shock for the parents but also for the young man as he suddenly found himself on the other side of the veil. I suspect that he would like to tell his parents once more how much he loves them. Brothers and sisters, heaven exists only if families are eternal.
Last week I received a letter from the boy’s parents telling me of the peace they have found through their faith in Christ. They know they will see their son again and be with him in the eternities. As Isaiah stated concerning the Savior, “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: … and with his stripes we are healed” (Isa. 53:4–5).

Roswell Georgia Stake
The youth leaders in the Roswell Georgia Stake run a tight ship. Youth activities for the stake are planned well in advance and put on the stake calendar. Once an activity appears on the calendar, it doesn’t move or change. In fact, it’s sort of a joke that the only things that might change the schedule of activities in the Roswell area are “death and tornado.”
A natural disaster of any kind, however, was the furthest thing from anybody’s mind when the youth council planned a fun “mini-youth-conference” for a weekend in the spring. There would be speakers on a variety of interesting subjects, some fun activities, and a dance.
Then, three weeks before the mini-conference, the unthinkable happened. A tornado touched down in the Roswell area. Andrew Opp, a priest and a leader on the stake youth council in Roswell, and his sister, Emily, helped in the massive cleanup effort. After several days of helping his dad and other men in his ward and stake move trees and other debris from driveways, yards, and roofs, Andrew had an idea.
“I looked around and realized that even after a day’s work, we were hardly putting a dent in things,” said Andrew. Why not postpone the youth conference and have a day-long cleanup project instead? After all, it was on the list of reasons to change the stake schedule. After getting the leaders’ approval, they formulated a plan and announced the change.
“The youth in our stake are really great,” said Andrew. “Everyone always pitches in and gets the job done right.”
And they did. Guys and girls worked hard all day in neighborhoods that looked like war zones, lifting and clearing debris.
The tornado hit hard at Dagmara Walczak’s house. Dagmara is a Laurel in the stake, and her home is in a neighborhood that felt the full force of the tornado.
“I thought it was great that in a time of need people from our church came and helped out. It really makes you feel loved,” she said.
And what of the originally planned activity? Were the youth that excited to give up a day of fun for a day of hard work, sweat, and tree sap? You bet.
“This is fun because you can chat with your friends while you work,” said 17-year-old Ben Jarvis. “And besides, these people are our friends and neighbors; it gave us all a good feeling to help them out.”

Brother Consky was an old, bent man with deep wrinkles and feathery white hair. He lived down our street in a small, beat-up house that seemed kind of spooky to us kids. Big strips of red paint had peeled off the outside walls, and ugly weeds grew wild everywhere. Once in a while Brother Consky pulled his curtains back and peeked out at us as we played, which made him seem spooky too. We decided to keep clear of him.
We would have done just that if it hadn’t been for Mom. “Boys,” she called to my brother, Jeremy, and me one day. “I need you to run dinner over to Brother Consky.”
Jeremy and I stared at each other in wide-eyed disbelief.
In the kitchen, we pleaded our cause. “Mom, we just can’t go. We’re in the middle of a very important scientific discovery (watching a spider devour a fly). We’ll miss the whole thing!” Our argument sounded good to us, but I guess it wasn’t very convincing to Mom.
She gave us that “if you know what’s good for you” look and handed us a couple of plates.
“It will only take a minute. Brother Consky is ill and can’t get his own meals. Dad has just been assigned as his home teacher, so you’d better get used to going over to his house. Besides, he could use your smiles. He doesn’t have any family to care for him.”
“Well, I’ll take the food,” I grumbled. “But I won’t promise a smile.”
Mom gave me another look and marched us out the door.
We walked slowly down the street and hesitated at the broken-down gate in front of Brother Consky’s house. It squeaked as we opened it. We stopped for a minute, then forced our trembling legs to walk through the scratchy weeds to the front door.
Jeremy slowly raised his hand and knocked timidly.
“Come in,” a raspy voice called out.
I hadn’t counted on going inside! I turned the doorknob and shoved Jeremy ahead. When I was sure it was safe, I followed him. For a moment I couldn’t see anything in the darkness. Then my eyes began to focus, and I’ll never forget what I saw.
The room was empty except for an old gray couch where Brother Consky lay looking dull and sad. The floors were bare and cold, and the curtains torn and stained. There were no bright autumn leaves in vases like Mom put in our house. But worst of all were the walls. Green paint had faded and chipped, leaving great big spots of moldy gray plasterboard. It was a cold, dreary place, and I was glad when we were finally out in the sunshine again.
From then on, Jeremy and I took food over to Brother Consky every Wednesday and Sunday. Each visit was the same. We sat in the dark, moldy room, answered a few questions, and waited for our release into the bright world outside.
Fall passed slowly into the first week of December. Christmas trees and bright lights appeared in other homes but not in Brother Consky’s. One Wednesday he didn’t answer our knocks.
“Try the door,” I said. “He’s always up waiting for us.”
I knew that if we returned home with plates still full of food, Mom would send us right back.
The rusty knob turned, and the door clicked open.
“Brother Consky?” I called. “Are you here?”
The house was dark and still except for the eerie humming of the refrigerator.
“Brother Consky?” I called again as I walked down the hall and into the bedroom. Then, “Jeremy!” I yelled. Jeremy came running into the room. Brother Consky was hunched up on the floor. “Run and get Mom and Dad.”
My heart pounded faster as I sat there and waited and watched. As much as I had complained about going to Brother Consky’s every week, deep down inside, I liked him. I didn’t want him to die. Tears stung my eyes, and I quickly brushed them back as Mom and Dad hurried into the room.
“What happened?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know. I just found him like this.”
“Quick, Ken. Call the ambulance.”
Soon I heard the whining siren. In a matter of minutes Brother Consky was lifted onto a stretcher and taken away.
Two weeks passed. Each Wednesday and Sunday Jeremy and I walked to Brother Consky’s and stood outside the broken gate.
“I wish he was here for us to visit now,” said Jeremy glumly one Wednesday.
“Me too.” I also wished that I’d never complained about going to his house.
The next night Dad announced that Brother Consky was getting better and would be coming home the day before Christmas.
Jeremy and I jumped out of our seats and cheered.
Later that night Jeremy and I lay wide awake trying to think of something special to give Brother Consky for his homecoming.
“How about bringing in a Christmas tree and decorating it for him,” suggested Jeremy.
“Great idea, but it’s not enough. It has to be something really neat.”
“Good night, boys,” Mom called upstairs. Somehow she always knew when we were whispering.
Jeremy rolled over and went to sleep, but I was too excited. I thought of Brother Consky cooped up in his house. I remembered when I’d been sick how awful it was to stay inside all day, staring at the same four walls. I had felt like a prisoner caged in a cell, and I’d desperately wanted to escape the walls that held me in. The walls—that’s it! The perfect gift!
The next morning, before I could even gulp any breakfast down, I told my family about my plan.
“Dad, I need your help on a special project.”
“Sure, James. What is it?”
“Jeremy and I want to give Brother Consky a welcome-home gift, and I have the perfect idea—newly painted walls! You’ve seen his house. How would you like to lie in bed staring at those ugly walls?”
I ran on excitedly, “We have over a week before he comes home. If we all pitch in and paint, it will be done and we can bring him into a bright new room!”
“That’s a great idea, James. We’ll get the paint and start on it tomorrow.”
I saw him wink at Mom.
Later, as I was rounding up paintbrushes, I heard Dad on the phone: “No, Stan. We won’t need the elder’s quorum now. Two Christmas elves beat you to the idea. We’re going to start tomorrow.”
Early in the afternoon on the twenty-fourth, Dad wheeled Brother Consky into his newly painted home. The walls glowed with fresh paint. The new curtains Mom had made were parted to let the sunshine in. A Christmas tree glistened with lights and tinsel. Outside, last summer’s dead weeds had been cleared away and the fence fixed. To Jeremy and me, it looked like a castle.
Brother Consky sat there stunned. For a moment no one spoke as his eyes wandered from wall to wall. Then a smile cracked his lips. He looked at Jeremy and then at me. I saw tears in his eyes. He reached out a shaky hand and took my hand and squeezed it. I moved closer than I’d ever been to him and threw my arms around his neck.
Jeremy and I still visit Brother Consky. Only now we don’t go just on Wednesdays and Sundays. We stop off almost every day on our way home from school. He likes to hear about what we’re doing, and he even helps us with our math. Best of all, we just like being there with him, listening to his stories.

It was Saturday night, and we were bored, so my brother and I decided to go pick up a movie. As I was browsing through an aisle in the electronics department, my brother pointed to a movie and told me his friend had really liked it. I read the description on both the back and front covers. It looked innocent enough, so I told him to go ahead and purchase it.
When we came home with the movie, I opened the case and went to turn the movie on. As I did, I picked up the case, turned it over, and was shocked to find—as I had failed to notice at the store—that the movie was rated R. My mother came in a few seconds later to call us together for family prayer.
During the prayer, my mind was racked with the decision of watching the movie or putting it away. My brother had just spent all this money on the movie, and I had already opened the case, thus eliminating the possibility of returning it! Why hadn’t I checked the rating? I couldn’t possibly tell him he had just wasted his money and I was not going to watch the movie. Maybe I could watch it once and never again.
Suddenly, I was reminded of an upcoming youth temple trip. I knew what I needed to do—keep the standards and be worthy to attend the temple. I could not willingly disobey the words of the prophets. I told my mom and brother of my dilemma and surprisingly, my brother said it was fine to get rid of the movie and would not ask me to pay him back for it. I am glad I made the right choice, and I am thankful that I upheld the Lord’s standards.

How, then, do we avoid and overcome the patterns of debt and addiction to temporal, worldly things? May I share with you two lessons in provident living that can help each of us. These lessons, along with many other important lessons of my life, were taught to me by my wife and eternal companion. These lessons were learned at two different times in our marriage—both on occasions when I wanted to buy her a special gift.
The first lesson was learned when we were newly married and had very little money. I was in the air force, and we had missed Christmas together. I was on assignment overseas. When I got home, I saw a beautiful dress in a store window and suggested to my wife that if she liked it, we would buy it. Mary went into the dressing room of the store. After a moment the salesclerk came out, brushed by me, and returned the dress to its place in the store window. As we left the store, I asked, “What happened?” She replied, “It was a beautiful dress, but we can’t afford it!” Those words went straight to my heart. I have learned that the three most loving words are “I love you,” and the four most caring words for those we love are “We can’t afford it.”
The second lesson was learned several years later when we were more financially secure. Our wedding anniversary was approaching, and I wanted to buy Mary a fancy coat to show my love and appreciation for our many happy years together. When I asked what she thought of the coat I had in mind, she replied with words that again penetrated my heart and mind. “Where would I wear it?” she asked. (At the time she was a ward Relief Society president helping to minister to needy families.)
Then she taught me an unforgettable lesson. She looked me in the eyes and sweetly asked, “Are you buying this for me or for you?” In other words, she was asking, “Is the purpose of this gift to show your love for me or to show me that you are a good provider or to prove something to the world?” I pondered her question and realized I was thinking less about her and our family and more about me.
After that, we had a serious, life-changing discussion about provident living, and both of us agreed that our money would be better spent in paying down our home mortgage and adding to our children’s education fund.
These two lessons are the essence of provident living. When faced with the choice to buy, consume, or engage in worldly things and activities, we all need to learn to say to one another, “We can’t afford it, even though we want it!” or “We can afford it, but we don’t need it—and we really don’t even want it!”
There is an equally important principle underlying these lessons: we can learn much from communicating with our husbands and wives. As we counsel and work together in family councils, we can help each other become provident providers and teach our children to live providently as well.

Years ago, Elder John H. Groberg related the story of a young family living in a small branch in Hawaii in the early 1900s. They had been members of the Church for about two years when one of their daughters fell ill with an undiagnosed disease and was hospitalized. At church the next Sunday, the father and his son prepared the sacrament as they did most weeks, but as the young father knelt to bless the bread, the branch president, suddenly realizing who was at the sacrament table, jumped up and cried, “Stop. You can’t touch the sacrament. Your daughter has an unknown disease. Leave immediately while someone else fixes new sacrament bread. We can’t have you here. Go.” The stunned father searchingly looked at the branch president and then the congregation and, sensing the depth of anxiety and embarrassment from all, motioned to his family, and they quietly filed out of the chapel.

Not a word was said as, dejectedly, the family walked along the trail to their small home. There they sat in a circle, and the father said, “Please be silent until I am ready to speak.” The young son wondered what they would do to get revenge for the shame they had suffered: would they kill the branch president’s pigs, or burn his house, or join another church? Five, ten, fifteen, twenty-five minutes passed in silence.

The father’s clenched fists began to relax, and tears formed. The mother began to cry, and soon each of the children was quietly weeping. The father turned to his wife and said, “I love you,” and then repeated those words to each of their children. “I love all of you and I want us to be together, forever, as a family. And the only way that can be is for all of us to be good members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and be sealed by the holy priesthood in the temple. This is not the branch president’s church. It is the Church of Jesus Christ. We will not allow any man or any hurt or embarrassment or pride to keep us from being together forever. Next Sunday we will go back to church. We will stay by ourselves until our daughter’s sickness is known, but we will go back.”

They did go back, their daughter recovered, and the family was sealed in the Laie Hawaii Temple when it was completed. Today, well over 100 souls call their father, grandfather, and great-grandfather blessed because he kept his eyes on eternity.

It was still dark when Gray Cougar awoke. The Indian boy faced the red fingers of light in the eastern sky and prayed as he did each morning. Last night he had not expected to see another dawn! Despite the pain in his right shoulder and ribs, he was filled with gratitude.
Now if I can only find the strength to get back to my village and the medicine man, he thought. Or would it be better, perhaps, if I didn’t go back? he began to wonder.
He had failed his mission. How his older brothers would laugh! They had said he was too young to scale the buttes and bring back an eagle feather. Not that he had intended to pluck one from a living eagle, however. Just the thought of their strong talons made him shiver with dread, to say nothing of the powerful wings and formidable beak!
Gray Cougar had hoped to be lucky enough to find a shed tail feather among the rocks. He was weary of the good-natured gibes of Red Fox and Standing Bear, his brothers, who were almost braves. Eagle feathers were highly prized among his people, and owning such a trophy would bring respect.
The Indian boy clenched his jaw to keep from groaning aloud as he moved down the steep boulder-strewn slope. He crept like an old man and held his injured arm tightly against his chest to ease the pain. Last night he hadn’t expected the fierce wind on the high irregular hilltops, but he had fought it and almost reached a huge nest of sticks when his moccasin slipped. Gray Cougar had dangled helplessly by his hands for what seemed like hours, feeling for a foothold. Then a mighty gust blasted him loose and he had fallen onto the slope below, where he rolled down against a large rock. He had slept a deathlike sleep for a long time, and the sun was setting when he opened his eyes. And with darkness upon him, he had not yet reached the canyon floor. Gray Cougar slumped down between boulders as drowsiness overcame him.
A white youth would have died of thirst in the blistering desert heat as the sun rose higher, but even in his delirium Gray Cougar knew where to dig holes in the sand and how to be patient as the water seeped in. It was bitter, but safe to drink. There were cool springs and threads of waterfalls among the buttes, but he had no strength to climb them.
Because he was dazed and sick, Gray Cougar was not as cautious as he would normally have been. At a turn in the canyon, his eyes widened with fear when he saw oxen and a covered wagon! He could not run. The bronzed youth sagged against a boulder and stoically watched a white man snatch up a long gun and turn. Gray Cougar closed his eyes. Will I hear the lightning crack of the shot—or will the pain come first? he wondered matter-of-factly. He was too feverish and sick to worry about it. But it seemed ironic that he had struggled so hard to reach his death place!
The man could easily have slain him from beside the wagon. Consequently, Gray Cougar felt hope as he heard him approach. The boy opened his eyes and tried to understand the strange-sounding words, but all he could make out was a series of croaks. Then he noticed the man’s swollen tongue and cracked lips and the lowered heads and glazed eyes of the team of oxen. The stranger, who wore fancy clothing from the east, must be asking for water!
Gray Cougar looked around, trying to concentrate on where he was. His face lit up when he saw the towering needle rock far above them. There, he knew, was a cool spring with lush green grass growing all around it just south of the stone needle. But I cannot help him, he worried. I cannot climb to show the way, and we cannot speak to each other. Then Gray Cougar had an idea. I can draw a map in the sand!
The sick youth pointed to the high rock then moved his finger south. He pretended to scoop up water and drink. Then he knelt and made marks in the hot sand. “How far? How far?” the white man cried. But Gray Cougar only stared in puzzlement and pointed to his injured shoulder and side.
“I’m sorry. I am hurt. I cannot lead you there,” he said, thinking that was what the man asked.
The man took two canteens and a wooden bucket from the wagon. He copied the crude map on a paper then disappeared among the rocks. Gray Cougar crawled beneath the heavy wagon and dozed off in the shade.
Splashes of cold water from an overflowing barrel lashed to the back of the wagon shocked the boy awake. The man must have made many trips to fill it, Gray Cougar thought. He gritted his teeth to keep from crying out when he tried to squirm from under the covered wagon. With every heartbeat the pain throbbed agonizingly.
The white man stooped to help prop the young Indian against one of the wagon wheels. He probed gently, watching the boy’s face. Then tearing a blanket into long pieces, he wrapped some strips tightly around the bruised ribs. Gray Cougar took a deep breath and smiled. There was no more knife-like pain. Next the man folded a square cloth into a triangle and made a sling that he knotted and slipped around Gray Cougar’s neck. The throbbing shoulder eased when his arm was supported. They smiled at each other. Each had helped the other. Words were not needed.
After they had eaten, they sat by the fire. The desert chilled quickly once the sun was gone. Gray Cougar wished he could talk to the man. Why is he here alone? Where is he going? What do the large black markings painted on the canvas mean? He stood and traced the letters with his finger then looked wonderingly at his companion, unaware that the letters spelled TAXIDERMIST.
The man chuckled, then began to pull boxes from the wagon. Gray Cougar stared in amazement when the man lifted out a stuffed red squirrel that was standing upright with a nut in its paws. It looked so alive he expected it to scurry away! There were birds, other small mammals, and even a coiled and deadly looking rattlesnake.
“They are for a new museum in San Francisco,” the man said proudly, as though Gray Cougar could understand. “I’m going to settle there and open a shop. Here, take a look at this one. A man found it dead beside the river and gave it to me.”
“Aiii!” Gray Cougar gasped, as a very large box yielded up an adult golden eagle, frozen in timeless splendor.
Eyes glowing with excitement, the youth pointed to the tail feathers, the bluffs, and then to his injured side. The man’s face cleared, and he made a motion as though sticking a feather in his long black hair. He knew eagle feathers were prized by the Indians. The boy was probably injured while searching for one, he decided. The taxidermist had collected many extra feathers to fill out the plumage of his specimens. Now he began to sort through a long, flat box. There were many bright feathers, but there were none from an eagle. He was sorry he could not give one to Gray Cougar.
The Indian youth examined the feathers, ignoring familiar ones. He gasped again as he lifted out an iridescent peacock feather. The end of it seemed to have an eye surrounded by rainbow colors! What manner of bird can be so richly dressed! he wondered. Gray Cougar could not even imagine what such a bird would look like. He was awed and delighted when the white man put the jewel-like plume in the boy’s hair and closed the box. His brothers and the other villagers would be astounded and impressed when the boy returned home wearing the exotic feather.
The man tried to describe a peacock. He strutted back and forth and swept his hands in a huge circle. Then he measured where the bird’s head would reach.
It was difficult to believe the man, yet he had no reason to lie. His feather came from a great bird that walked proudly but could not fly! And its tail feathers formed a huge warbonnet like a chief’s!
Gray Cougar grinned mischievously as he considered the flood of questions Red Fox and Standing Bear would ask. They would never believe such a bird existed. He decided he would just smile mysteriously and not answer. They would probably not tease him again. Instead, they and the other envious youths would rush off to the buttes to try to find feathers like his.
As though he could read Gray Cougar’s thoughts, the white man’s laughter boomed out at the thought of such scrambling.

This story happened in the USA.
Raina read the words on the flyer at her school again. Essay Contest: Win a free trip to New York City!
It was a contest for students in many schools in the area. Raina thought of herself in New York City, with towering skyscrapers around her and the Statue of Liberty nearby. She wanted to go!
“You should enter,” Sydney said. “You’re the best writer in our grade!”
Sydney’s words made Raina feel good. She didn’t know a lot about writing essays. But she wanted to try.
After school, Raina sat at her desk. Tap, tap, tap. She tapped her pencil on the paper as she thought about her ideas. Finally, she started writing.
It took a whole week for Raina to finish. But with some help from Mom, she finally felt ready to turn in her essay.
A few weeks passed. Raina was excited to see who won. Maybe soon she’d be heading to New York!
“Over one hundred students entered,” Mr. Wright said from the front of the classroom. “Thanks to all of you who wrote an essay.”
Raina’s heart thumped in excitement.
“Although none of our students won the contest, Raina was in the top five of all entries. Congratulations, Raina,” Mr. Wright said.
Raina smiled while her classmates clapped. But inside she was frowning. Being in the top five wasn’t as good as winning. Her dream of seeing New York was gone.
When Raina got home, she slumped into a chair in the kitchen by her parents. “I lost the contest,” she said. “That’s the last time I’ll ever try anything new again. I’ll only do what I know I’m good at.” She covered her head with her hands.
“I’m sorry you didn’t win. Mom and I are both so proud of you for trying,” Dad said. He sat down next to Raina. “Do you remember when I was out of work a couple of years ago?”
Raina nodded.
“I applied for lots of jobs and wasn’t hired for any of them,” Dad said. “I was feeling pretty discouraged.”
Raina lifted her head. “Really?”
Dad nodded. “But I didn’t give up. After a long time, I found a job that was perfect. But it wouldn’t have happened if I had stopped trying.”
Mom put a comforting hand on Raina’s back. “Do you know how many stories I send to different magazines?” she asked. “And how many are rejected? But I can’t give up if I want to see my work published. Writing is important to me, so I keep trying.”
Raina had always thought her parents were good at everything they did. She never knew that they had been turned down too.
She was still sad, but it did seem silly to never try anything new again. That wasn’t what Heavenly Father wanted for her. Raina decided she wouldn’t give up. She could try more things, even things she didn’t do well right away.
“I think I’ll enter the contest again next year,” Raina said. Losing the contest didn’t have to be the end of her dreams.
Raina went to her desk and picked up her pencil. Writing had been pretty fun. Tap, tap, tap. So what new thing could she write next?

I walked to school alone as usual, occupied by thoughts of my dad, who was sitting in prison and of my mom, who had no idea of what we would do now for income. You bet it would have been easy to point fingers and feel sorry for myself, but I didn’t want any more hurt. Like so many times before, however, the questions, “Why? Why me?” came to mind.
While sitting in seminary class later that day, my teacher read aloud one of the scriptures we were to learn that year. It was from the book of Joshua: “Choose you this day whom ye will serve … but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” (Josh. 24:15). It was as if someone had spoken directly to me, “It’s time to choose whom you will serve, Barbara.”
Wow! I’d never thought of that scripture quite like that. My life so far had been difficult, but I’d learned to forgive and forget. Sure, I went to church, when I wanted to. My Primary, Sunday School, and Young Women lessons were all right, but something had been missing. I finally found that missing something in a small seminary class on an ordinary day. It was my personal commitment to the Lord that had been absent. I wondered what might have happened if I had been sleeping, skipping class, or doing something else instead of listening to a very special teacher and the Spirit that day.
How good it felt to have the knowledge that someone cared. My Heavenly Father and Jesus wanted me to choose whom I would serve so that I could get going with my life and be happy. A warm feeling crept over me.
Since that day, I have tried through my thoughts and actions to serve the Lord. It’s not always easy, but I know for sure that a loving Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ will help, if I will only ask.

When I was a young boy, my father owned a hardware store in our small town. Later he formed a partnership with two other men, and together they expanded the business.
One day I decided I needed a pocketknife. I went to the store and found the case where the knives were kept. I picked out the knife I wanted and put it in my pocket. While I was still standing by the knife cabinet, my father came up to me and asked what I was doing.
I explained to him that I needed a knife and had selected one from the store case. He very kindly and patiently explained to me that the knife did not belong just to him. Two-thirds of the knife belonged to his partners. Therefore he told me that I must put it back, because it was not his to give nor mine to take.
This lesson in honesty made a real impression on me. I have always appreciated my father’s taking the time to teach me right from wrong. Because he respected the rights of others and was honest in his dealings, his life was a constant example to me.

Your teacher assigns you to write a paper, due in two weeks, on a book your class just read. What do you do?
Option 2
Day 1—Get the assignment, go home, and think, “I’ve got plenty of time.”
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6
Day 7
Day 8
Day 9
Day 10
Day 11
Day 12
Day 13—Late in the evening, remember your assignment. Quickly try to form a mental summary of the book (which you don’t really remember very well). Skim through a few pages of the book to see if something jumps out at you. Look up facts and quotes. Write a few half-remembered ideas from class discussions. Stare at your document, with no clue how to connect all the material. Write more. Constantly check to see if the document meets the required length. Momentarily consider changing the font size and line spacing. Repeatedly cast your bleary eyes toward the clock and put your face in your hands, feeling stressed. Type a hasty conclusion. Print out the paper. (150 minutes)
Go to bed late.
Day 14—Go to class and briefly consider asking for more time. Then nervously hand in your paper.
Later—Get your paper back and see that you got the grade you deserved. Even worse, you didn’t learn anything—except the consequences of procrastination.

In my last year of high school, I wanted to make the varsity (or advanced) tennis team. I had to beat the girl ranked immediately above me to make the team. But when I played her, I lost.
Even though I was disappointed, I played on the junior varsity team. In the final junior varsity tournament, I was ranked in first place. But what do you know? I lost the final match. I cried—again.
I was disappointed again later. After I received an award for earning good grades and playing sports, they decided to take the award away—because apparently, it was only for those who played varsity.
At the time, tennis was a big part of my life, and those disappointments felt huge. What I didn’t realize was that the Savior was always with me, helping me. Those huge disappointments didn’t last forever, even if it felt like they would.

Donna was excited. She and her cousin Judy were on their way to Aunt Pat’s house. Donna and Judy always had fun playing together.
It was dark outside, but there was enough moonlight to see by. Donna and Judy walked along the country road, laughing and joking with each other. Suddenly, they realized they were in front of Mr. Cook’s apple orchard.
The apples on Mr. Cook’s trees were big and red, and they looked delicious. Donna looked at Judy and realized they both had the same idea.
“Mr. Cook wouldn’t miss a couple of apples,” Donna said. But as she looked at the sharp pieces of the barbed-wire fence surrounding the orchard, it seemed they were prodding her already. A thought came to her: “He is your neighbor, Donna. Are you going to steal from him?”
Donna pushed the feeling aside. It would be fun. And besides, Mr. Cook had hundreds of apples.
She carefully climbed between the wires of the fence and helped Judy through. They crept into the orchard and picked a few of the shiny apples.
“OK, let’s go,” Judy said, motioning for Donna to follow her.
Suddenly, Mr. Cook’s dogs began barking. Someone turned on the porch light, and the girls heard quick footsteps.
“Run!” Donna hissed, clutching the apples in her arms.
When they reached the fence, Judy slipped through easily. But Donna was still holding the fruit and couldn’t get through the tight wires.
As she looked behind her and saw Mr. Cook’s dogs, Donna dropped the apples and squeezed through the fence. She heard a loud ripping noise and felt a sharp pain in her leg. Donna heard Judy gasp as she reached to pull her out of the wires. Donna had ripped her pants, and blood was running from a deep gash in her leg.
As Donna looked at the wound, she felt ashamed. She knew she shouldn’t have tried to steal Mr. Cook’s apples. She also knew she would have to tell Mom what had happened, as well as Mr. Cook.
When Donna got home she told Mom the whole story. Mom was silent as she washed Donna’s leg and put on a bandage.
“Donna, you know it is wrong to take something that isn’t yours,” Mom finally said. “It would have been wrong even if you hadn’t gotten caught stealing.”
Donna nodded as tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said. “I won’t do it again. I’m going to go apologize to Mr. Cook.”
Mom gave Donna a hug. Donna thought about the feelings she had before she and Judy went into the orchard. “That was the Holy Ghost,” she realized.
As Donna said her prayers that night, she thanked Heavenly Father that she had felt the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
“Next time,” she thought, “I’ll listen.”

President N. Eldon Tanner related the following experience: “A young man came to me and said, ‘I made an agreement with a man that requires me to make certain payments each year. I am in arrears, and I can’t make those payments, for if I do, it is going to cause me to lose my home. What shall I do?’
“I looked at him and said, ‘Keep your agreement.’
“‘Even if it costs me my home?’
“I said, ‘I am not talking about your home. I am talking about your agreement; and I think your wife would rather have a husband who would keep his word, meet his obligations, keep his pledges or his covenants, and have to rent a home than to have a home with a husband who will not keep his covenants and his pledges’” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1966, 99).

It’s difficult to work eight hours a day in the extreme conditions of a desert in the same two-by-two-foot hole of dirt with someone from a completely different cultural and religious background without coming to know and appreciate his uniqueness. The gospel suddenly became more significant to me as I realized the contrasting way of life it offers. As I sat with my equally tired and thirsty German, Israeli, Indian, or Dutch brother who had dumped those last hundred buckets I had filled, and he thanked me for the drink from my canteen, the words of the Savior filled my mind: “Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again: But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life.” (John 4:13–14.)

It bothered me so much that someone could be so cruel and not even apologize.
For a long time I struggled with forgiveness. Through my own negative experiences, I had often been given counsel that made me feel as though I was being villainized if I didn’t forgive. I often heard phrases like, “If you don’t forgive, then you’re a hypocrite.”
And as someone who has been hurt by others many times, it really hurt me spiritually to hear messages like that—that I would be just as terrible of a person if I was genuinely struggling to forgive. Sometimes I even felt that people excused or dismissed my perpetrators because they may have been facing challenges that caused them to act cruelly.
This mindset made me feel confused and alone. Was it OK for people to be unkind?
When I asked my dad why he didn’t seem so angry about the whole situation, he told me, “He already stole so much from me, so why would I let him steal my happiness too?”
After this conversation, it was as if a light had come on. I saw forgiveness differently.

Most high school track stars have large teams to run and hang out with, but Jenny West, 17, runs alone. Even though the cross-country team at St. Helena High School in Napa Valley, California, was terminated last year, Jenny is still chasing her dreams. This teen from the St. Helena Branch in the Napa Valley Stake trains and runs on her own every day for three to five miles. By herself she has developed an individual program that has led her to the regional and state cross-country meets this year. It’s hard not to have a team, she says, but she knows that many people are cheering for her. Jenny also knows that she really hasn’t done this by herself. Her Heavenly Father and family have helped along the way. “My mom and I pray before every single meet,” Jenny says. “I pray that He will help me to do my best.”