Gospel Story Finder

I didn’t know it at the time, but when I was 14 I was floundering. I had moved with my family to a new school in a big city, and after a year there I still wasn’t adjusting. I didn’t have any friends, and I felt like I wasn’t worth loving.
I hoped that girls’ camp that summer would offer a break from feeling down, but I only felt worse as I watched the other girls enjoying themselves without me. I knew that as I started high school that fall, my problems would worsen.
Then on the final night of camp, a young couple came to talk to us. As the husband bore his testimony of the Atonement, a powerful realization struck me: Jesus Christ died for me. I had always known that He died for the world, but until that moment I hadn’t realized that He also died for me personally.
With this realization came a great feeling of worth and love. It was as if the Savior, the greatest of all, saw me when He was upon the cross and said, “Yes, I will die for her.” If He was willing to do that for me, then surely I was worth something. As I thought about this I went off by myself, and for the first time ever, I opened my heart completely to my Father in Heaven. For two hours I talked with Him and felt the soothing warmth of His love.
Since that time I have not only grown to know my worth, but I have found joy in the world and discovered my place in it. I will forever be grateful to the Redeemer, who gave His life for me and allowed me to know that I am worth loving.

When you have talent, people sometimes tell you it will take you straight to the top. But in Joselén Cabrera’s case, her talent took her all the way to the bottom of the world—Antarctica. And along the way she learned that worthy dreams are worth pursuing, and with those dreams there will be people to help when they are needed.
When she was 14, Joselén won a drawing contest sponsored by the Asociación Civil Antarkos in her native country, Uruguay. The prize: a trip to Antarctica for her and her schoolteacher, with a group of other students and teachers. Her father and the woman who taught her art helped show Joselén how to finish the drawing she had envisioned.
Her trip was an exciting three-stage journey: first, a military transport flight from Montevideo, Uruguay, to Punta Arenas, Chile, then an overwater flight to the Chilean base in Antarctica, followed by an overland trip to the Uruguayan outpost, Artigas Antarctica Scientific Base, some 3,000 kilometers from Montevideo. Several nations have scientific bases clustered on King George Island off the coast of Antarctica.
Joselén’s drawing and her account of her trip were featured in a national magazine, Uruguay Natural.
Antarctica was not quite the way she had imagined it, Joselén says, smiling. Her drawing showed penguins and ice. It was summer when she visited—snow in patches on barren ground and few penguins. But that gave her the opportunity to see a few more of the sights. She enjoyed hiking along the coast, where she saw Collins Glacier, the Drake Passage, and Lake Uruguay, from which her country’s base draws fresh water. She was also able to visit other bases.
The trip was a dream come true for Joselén, who is now 19 and a member of the Colonia Suiza Branch, Colonia Uruguay District. Since the trip, she has made other dreams come true as well. One of those was to complete her Personal Progress experiences and receive her Young Womanhood Recognition. Joselén wears her medallion, she says, so that she will remember what she has achieved and what she can become as a daughter of God. Now that Joselén has finished her secondary schooling, she plans to study architecture at the university level.

My wife, Carmen, and I just had our first child when I was called to be the bishop of our ward. At the time, we struggled financially. It became stressful for me to provide for my family and at the same time watch over and care for the members of our ward.
One Sunday, I noticed a single mother with her four little children in sacrament meeting. She sat on the last bench in the chapel and tried her best to keep her children quiet. I knew she was struggling financially as well, but she never asked for help. Weeks passed, and every Sunday she came to church with her children.
One day, I received my paycheck. Blessed to receive a bonus, I decided to use the extra money to purchase supplies for much-needed repairs on my house. But while I was heading to the market, this sister and her children came to my mind. I felt I should use the extra money to buy food for them. I called Carmen and told her what I felt I needed to do. She agreed.
As I shopped, my eyes fell on some cookies. I thought that maybe the children would like some sweets. I filled two bags with food and made my way to this sister’s house.
I knocked on the worn wooden door several times. When I was about to leave, the door finally opened. “Bishop,” the sister said, “I am surprised to see you here.” Instantly, her children ran out from behind her.
“I brought you some food,” I said.
One of her daughters found the cookies and shouted, “Cookies!” Her brothers and sisters excitedly gathered around. A seven-year-old daughter hugged me. “Thank you, Bishop!” she said.
I looked inside their home and saw that this sister had been washing clothes in a pan on the floor. The family had no table and slept on a mattress on the floor. I realized how much they were in need. I made arrangements to make sure they would have a table and that each would have a bed.
This experience helped me to recognize that the Lord guides and blesses His servants. We do not need a special calling in order to help our brothers and sisters. We just need to be in tune with the Spirit, recognize who needs our help, and be willing to be instruments in the Lord’s hands.

When Jessica attended an Especially for Youth program at Ricks College, no one except her close friends knew who her grandfather was. In one class, the teacher asked if any of those attending had met any of the General Authorities or President Hinckley. Jessica did not raise her hand. It wasn’t because she was embarrassed. She just wanted to hear what other people had to say. “I was interested that people loved seeing him at temple dedications or conferences.”

“How lucky I am,” says Ann, “that I know him as a person and a grandfather and as a prophet. What an amazing thing that is.”

Some time ago, I received a faith-filled letter from Laurence M. Hilton. May I share with you that letter’s account of surviving personal tragedy with faith, nothing wavering.
In 1892 Thomas and Sarah Hilton, Laurence’s grandparents, went to Samoa, where Thomas was set apart as mission president after their arrival. They brought with them a baby daughter; two sons were born to them while they served there. Tragically, all three died in Samoa, and in 1895 the Hiltons returned from their mission childless.
David O. McKay was a friend of the family and was deeply touched by their loss. In 1921, as part of a world tour of visits to the members of the Church in many nations, Elder McKay, then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, stopped in Samoa. Before leaving on his tour, he had promised the now-widowed Sister Hilton that he would personally visit the graves of her three children. I share with you the letter Elder McKay wrote to her from Samoa:
“Dear Sister Hilton:
“Just as the descending rays of the late afternoon sun touched the tops of the tall coconut trees, Wednesday, May 18th, 1921, a party of five stood with bowed heads in front of the little Fagali‘i Cemetery. … We were there, as you will remember, in response to a promise I made you before I left home.
“The graves and headstones are in a good state of preservation. … I reproduce here a copy I made as I stood … outside the stone wall surrounding the spot.
“Janette Hilton
Bn: Sept. 10, 1891
Died: June 4, 1892
‘Rest, darling Jennie’
“George Emmett Hilton
Bn: Oct. 12, 1894
Died: Oct. 19, 1894
‘Peaceful be thy slumber’
“Thomas Harold Hilton
Bn: Sept. 21, 1892
Died: March 17, 1894
‘Rest on the hillside, rest’
“As I looked at those three little graves, I tried to imagine the scenes through which you passed during your young motherhood here in old Samoa. As I did so, the little headstones became monuments not only to the little babes sleeping beneath them, but also to a mother’s faith and devotion to the eternal principles of truth and life. Your three little ones, Sister Hilton, in silence most eloquent and effective, have continued to carry on your noble missionary work begun nearly 30 years ago, and they will continue as long as there are gentle hands to care for their last earthly resting place.
“By loving hands their dying eyes were closed;
By loving hands their little limbs composed;
By foreign hands their humble graves adorned;
By strangers honored, and by strangers mourned.
“Tofa Soifua,
“David O. McKay”
This touching account conveys to the grieving heart “the peace … which passeth all understanding.”

We just recently had our third child, a baby girl named Faith. During the delivery, my wife was having some complications and we were scared for our baby. I gave Julia a blessing. Then she asked me to sing to her. The Spirit brought peace to both of us. Soon baby Faith came safely into the world. It was a miracle, and she definitely lived up to her name. Faith’s beautiful smile brightens my life. I can’t express in words how much she means to me.

In October 1980 I was riding my bicycle when I suddenly realized my foot brake was not working. I panicked, not knowing when or how I would be able to stop. When my wild ride ended and I finally coasted safely to a stop, I ended up next to Rodico Flores, a good friend and high school classmate. I explained what had happened, and then we chatted for a little while. During our conversation, he asked if I had time to come to his church. Since I knew he was a good person and I admired the other Latter-day Saints I knew, I decided to go the next Sunday.
On Sunday I noticed that the building his church met in was clean and beautiful. I felt something different there. I was met by a person who shook my hand and even put his arm around me, telling me he was happy to see me. I felt good, even though I was a bit shy and nervous. This brother took me to a class for investigators.
After the lesson two young women introduced themselves as full-time missionaries. They asked if they could visit me at my home. I quickly told them I was busy and started giving them excuses. But they still asked me to tell them when I was available, and I responded that I was available early Monday morning. I said they could come but only if they wanted to come at 4:00 A.M.
To my surprise, they looked at each other and said, “Brother Solomon, we will be there.” Then I insisted that it was hard to reach my family’s house, that it was located in the middle of a fishpond, that we had a lot of dogs. I told them they would have a hard time getting there. But they said again, “Brother Solomon, we will be there.” After I left, I forgot all about our appointment because I didn’t believe they would be coming.
Early Monday morning I was surprised to hear the dogs barking and a voice calling, “Brother Solomon! Brother Solomon!” I looked out the window, and I started to feel differently about the missionaries. I felt a confirmation that they were true servants of God. I invited them in and listened to their message. After a while I told them to come every day with a lesson, which they did. They taught me until I was prepared for baptism.
Just after my baptism on 31 October 1980, a friend invited me to a ward party. I said to myself, This Church is nice; they even throw a party for me. I later realized I wasn’t really the guest of honor. But at the party my friend introduced me to a young woman and told her to take good care of me. Annie Ortiz was indeed a good fellowshipper. At this time, she is still taking good care of me. We were married in 1985 and sealed in the Manila Philippines Temple.
Since my baptism, I have grown in the gospel as I have been given opportunities to serve. In 1983 I was called to serve full time in the Philippines Davao Mission, and four months after my marriage I was called as a bishop. I also served as a stake president and in a mission presidency. My wife and I are happily married and have two children, Ezra and Brigham, and we are looking forward to a lifetime of service.
I am grateful for the happiness I have found in the Church, for the dedicated missionaries who persevered, and for the broken bicycle brake that actually helped send me on my way.

The next night after supper he went with Fitzie and some of his friends to play basketball in the school gym. They played for two hours.
Afterward they were all in the locker room. Kevin had already showered and was just putting on his shoes. The others were in various stages of getting dressed.
Suddenly the lights went out.
“Okay, who’s the clown?” Fitzie yelled. “Turn the lights back on!”
“I didn’t turn ’em off,” someone answered. “Where’s the light switch anyway? … Ow! My toe! … The switch doesn’t work.”
“There aren’t any lights anywhere in the building,” another voice added.
“Oh no,” Fitzie groaned, “another blackout. Do any of you guys have a lighter?”
“I do,” someone volunteered. “It’s in my shirt pocket if I can find it.” Kevin could make out a figure fumbling in a locker near him. “Here it is.”
A small glimmer of light shone in the otherwise dark room.
“Hurry up, you guys! I’m low on lighter fluid.” Kevin sat on the bench and watched unknown figures make use of the small light as they finished preparing to leave the room.
“Man, I never thought I’d be glad somebody had a cheap lighter,” a voice drawled.
“What do you mean, cheap lighter? It cost me two bucks.”
“Yeah, well it sure seems bright in here.”
Finally they were ready. “Kevin, what are you doing sitting there? Let’s get out of here.”
On Sunday Kevin went with Jenny to class, mainly to be with her. He had already discounted any possibility that their teacher could teach him anything, so he sat with his shoulders hunched over, his head down, wrestling with his problems.
It wasn’t until Sister Mattson called on him that he looked up. “Kevin,” she said, then read aloud from the manual, “this can best be seen by examining what the Savior said. Will you read Matthew, chapter 5, verses 14 through 16?” [Matt. 5:14–16]
Jenny loaned him her Bible and helped him find the reference. “‘Ye are the light of the world,’” Kevin began mechanically. “‘A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light …’” He stopped and stared at the words on the page.
“Yes, go on,” Sister Mattson urged.
“‘… and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.’”
“Kevin, there’s one more verse,” Jenny quietly prompted.
“‘Let your light so shine before men,’” he read slowly, “‘that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.’”
“Yes, and what can we learn from this scripture?” Sister Mattson asked.
He didn’t say anything. He pictured the small light in the darkened locker room and the dim figures of people moving around, each attracted by the light and using it as their reference point.
“Jenny, do you know what we can learn from this scripture?” Sister Mattson asked, thinking that Kevin did not have an answer.
“We can learn a lot,” Kevin said quietly, almost to himself. “The first thing is that in order to be a light, we have to live the commandments. You have to set your standards. You can’t re-decide what to do every time someone asks you to do something wrong. You’ve got to make a mental list: This is what I will do. This is what I won’t do. You have to decide what your life is going to mean, or it won’t mean a thing.”
“Thank you,” Sister Mattson said. “Now we should get on with the rest of the lesson.”
Kevin interrupted. “The problem is, I keep thinking that if I didn’t live here, it would be easier. It doesn’t really matter where you live. What matters is that you set your standards once and for all. If you do that, you can be a light.”
“Yes, thank you, and now we’d better get on to Ephesians,” Sister Mattson said.
“You’ve got to be a light to the people around you. Do you know how much light one small lighter can throw in a completely dark room?”
“No,” Jenny replied.
“Enough. That’s the point. Enough for everyone in the room to find his way out of the darkness. And the darker it is, the more the light is noticed. And people who enjoy the light will come nearer to it. That’s how I can find friends who will help me live my standards! We can gather friends around us who will help us, and the light will get even brighter.”
Sister Mattson by now was just looking at both of them.
“Do you know what I’m going to do?” Kevin burst out. “I’m going to memorize jokes from my brother’s Boy’s Life magazine. It has some of the corniest jokes in the world. Every time I hear someone starting a dirty joke, I’m going to bombard him with corny jokes. And I’m going to have a party of my own, at my house, with kids from school and the missionaries. In a nice friendly way, they’re going to know I’m a Mormon.”
“Thank you, Kevin,” Sister Mattson broke in. Turning to Jenny, she asked confidentially, “Jenny, what did he say?”
Jenny put her hand on his arm and answered proudly, “He said that he’s going to be okay.”
“How nice,” Sister Mattson said. “Well, we’d better get on with the rest of the lesson.” She looked at the page of the manual, paused, and then shut the book.
“No. I think Kevin’s story can teach us the same thing. What were you saying about the light in the dark room?”

Way back in 1969, I was in South America. I flew from Argentina to Santiago, Chile. The Andes mountains were dry. There was no snow. The grass was burned. Chile was in the midst of a devastating drought.
The people pleaded for help in bringing moisture.
We dedicated two new buildings on that visit. In each of those dedicatory services we pleaded with the Lord for rain upon the land. I have the testimony of many who were in those meetings that the heavens were opened and the rains fell with such abundance that the people asked the Lord to shut them off.

But it was Debbie Hanson, 16, of the Crystal Second Ward, who harvested one of the sweetest fruits of sharing:

“My parents knew some people from the Orient, and we kept spending time with their family,” Debbie says. “They had a girl my age named Ting Ming. We talked a lot about the Church, basically a testimony sharing thing. When the missionaries asked me if I would befriend her, I had to smile. We had already become good friends. Six months later, when Ting was baptized, she told me, ‘Thank you for giving me this beautiful truth.’”

“Let’s enter,” Kristy urged her twin brother Derek. So after school they did.
As an incentive to keep the youth out of trouble and off the streets on traditionally mischief-filled Halloween night, community merchants had donated a good used car as a prize for the one teenager contacted and found home before midnight.
Not much was mentioned of the contest or the twins silent dreams until supper time October 31st, when Kristy expressed her distinct confidence and anticipation. A strong hunch that she would be the winner left her expectant all evening while at the door she met one “trick-or-treater” after another. Derek attended volleyball practice, returning home exhausted. By 10:30 he was fast asleep.
Soon treats were depleted, porch lights extinguished, and younger brothers and sisters retired with mild stomach aches from overindulgence. Even Kristy relented and went to bed. Only Mother was still reading when at 11:45 the shrill ring of the telephone sent her flying in response. “This is radio station KPCS wishing to speak with … Derek,” she was told. As if by prearrangement the entire household flared alive. Father switched on the radio to listen in on the conversation. Several youngsters squealed into Derek’s bedroom, dragging their groggy brother to the downstairs extension phone. Suddenly realizing the implication of this late disturbance, he became fully alert. Incredulous as it seemed, his brain registered the fact that he had won the coveted automobile. Hundreds of teenagers must have put in their names. Yet he would be the one to drive home the prize the very next afternoon. Nothing this exciting had ever happened to him before.
Understandably, the family had trouble settling down. Finally, having drifted off to dreamland, Derek visualized himself on gleaming hubcapped “wheels,” gliding noiselessly through throngs of cheering friends. Later he found himself whizzing breathlessly past open spaces in a fire-red machine, and before waking to reality, he was the one roaring down main street in a fabulous convertible, accompanied by several of the most gorgeous girls he had ever seen—the envy of all his peers.
Indeed, the next day Derek was the center of attraction when word of his good fortune spread at seminary and at school. “What kind of a car is it?” he was asked repeatedly. No one knew. Some speculated on a late model; others, less optimistic, suspected an old “clunker.” But when at last classes had finished Derek was to find out.
The vehicle his eyes beheld proved to be beyond his expectations, much nicer than those owned by anyone in his circle of friends. That purring beauty was his, all his. Was he ever going to have a ball!
Delighted and proud he was greeted by his equally pleased family, all assembled on the front lawn. Neighbors soon joined them. Each was given a ride. Definitely this was Derek’s finest hour. Soon the dealer’s license plate had to be returned. Well, tomorrow insurance matters could be worked out.
The subject did come up and was thoroughly considered and discussed with earnest efforts made to help Derek’s car get on the road. Yet it simply could not be done. The painful truth was that funds had been extremely limited with one brother in the mission field, another due to leave and depending on family assistance. Even Derek, a senior in high school, had been forced to drop out of basketball because he was unable to afford the tournament travel expenses. Scraping up nearly $400 for licensing and insurance was impossible under the circumstances.
So there stood the apple of Derek’s eye, evoking a pronounced pounding of his heart every time he glanced at it and extracting each spare minute of his time with polishing and sprucing it up to top performance. Particular care was lavished on achieving the finest reproduction from its stereo system. How he yearned to drive it!
Still, hope prevailed. Perhaps an after-school and Saturday job was the solution. Unfortunately, scores of jobless hopefuls saturated the market. Weeks of filling out applications, interviews, and callbacks produced no results.
One blustery December day Derek noticed a vaguely familiar figure stomping through the deep snow. Seconds later he recognized it as belonging to Sister Taylor. Her family had been experiencing incredible hardships. First, their business had gone bankrupt. Then they had lost their home, recently also their car.
Ever so subtly and ever so quietly a thought began creeping into Derek’s subconscious mind. On reaching awareness, he tried desperately to push it out. However, once conceived, it would not be suppressed. No matter how hard he fought the impulse, gradually a plan took shape, one which caused him to alternate between gladness and sadness. And so, at first reluctantly, but soon with stern determination, the young man made a difficult and noble decision.
Christmas Sunday at priesthood meeting someone mentioned, “Did I see Brother Taylor driving your car today, Derek?” “I sold it to him,” was the reply.
This prompted several priests into simultaneously responding, “But they have no money.”
“They had enough,” answered Derek with a wistful grin. Audible only to himself he added, “They had one dollar.”

I am grateful to President Grant and other prophets for teaching the principle of tithing to my parents and to them for teaching it to me. My attitude toward the law of tithing was set in place by the example and words of my mother, illustrated in a conversation I remember from my youth.

During World War II, my widowed mother supported her three young children on a schoolteacher’s salary that was meager. When I became conscious that we went without some desirable things because we didn’t have enough money, I asked my mother why she paid so much of her salary as tithing. I have never forgotten her explanation: “Dallin, there might be some people who can get along without paying tithing, but we can’t. The Lord has chosen to take your father and leave me to raise you children. I cannot do that without the blessings of the Lord, and I obtain those blessings by paying an honest tithing. When I pay my tithing, I have the Lord’s promise that he will bless us, and we must have those blessings if we are to get along.”

For my second example I turn to the release of a stake president in Star Valley, Wyoming, the late E. Francis Winters. He had served faithfully for the lengthy term of 23 years. Though modest by nature and circumstances, he had been a perpetual pillar of strength to everyone in the valley. On the day of the stake conference, the building was filled to overflowing. Each heart seemed to be saying a silent “thank you” to this noble leader who had given so unselfishly of his life for the benefit of others.
As I stood to speak following the reorganization of the stake presidency, I was prompted to respond in a manner totally new to me. I stated how long Francis Winters had presided in the stake; then I asked all whom he had blessed or confirmed as children to stand and remain standing. Next I asked all those persons whom President Winters had ordained, set apart, personally counseled, or blessed to please stand. The result was electrifying. Every person in the audience stood. Tears flowed freely, tears that communicated better than could words the gratitude of tender hearts. I turned to President and Sister Winters and said, “We are witnesses today of the prompting of the Spirit. This vast throng reflects not only individual feelings but also the gratitude of God for a life well lived.”

My mother died when I was a young mother. I still needed her counsel and advice. After her cancer was diagnosed, she lived only six weeks. Initially, my concern was for my father. I felt grateful that Mom had not suffered long and that her death had been a sweet experience for us. But a few weeks later Mother’s Day and her birthday were coming, and I began to miss her terribly. I wanted her arms around me, and I wanted to know that she was all right. I wanted to tell her that I loved her and missed her.
One night as I was praying and crying (which I did often then), I felt comfort fill my body—suddenly and powerfully. The feeling restored me; it gave me peace. It did not last long physically, yet it was immensely comforting. I knew what it was—the Lord’s love encircling me and granting me peace and strength. But just as important, that moment has remained in my memory as a sweet gift to unwrap and remember when life is difficult.

Katie danced into the kitchen, where her brother, Jack sat at the table. “What are you doing?” she asked as she twirled on her toes.
“I’m writing a thank-you note to Uncle Ed,” Jack told her. “He gave me his old stamp collection.”
“I want to write a thank-you note too.”
“That would be nice, but since tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, why don’t you make valentines, instead?” her brother suggested.
Katie twirled again while she thought about that. Then she started smiling. “I have another idea,” she told Jack. Then she hurried off to her bedroom.
Katie found her colored paper and markers. She got her scissors and glue. She took some white paper and cut out five wide heart-shaped ruffles. Then she glued each one on a piece of red paper. On the first one, she drew trees on one side of the ruffle and a letter carrier waving on the other side. In the middle, she printed “Thank You, from Katie.” Next, she made one with striped balls around the ruffle, and one with a piano on each side of the ruffle. The last one she made had checkerboard squares around the ruffle. All the heart centers said, “Thank You, from Katie.”
Katie put the valentine with the striped balls into her dad’s shoe. He always played catch with her.
She put the one with the pianos into her mom’s coat pocket. Mom played the piano with Katie, and they sang songs.
She slipped the checkerboard ruffle valentine inside Jack’s desk. He was teaching her how to play checkers.
She put the last ruffled heart into their mailbox. The letter carrier always waved to her as he walked by.
Early the next morning, Katie’s dad started to get ready for work. He felt sleepy and a little cranky. When he grabbed his shoes, Katie’s thank-you valentine tumbled out. Dad looked at the striped ball and smiled because he liked to play catch with Katie. He read the thank-you in the middle and smiled again. He started whistling.
In the afternoon, Mom had to go grocery shopping. She snatched her shopping list and hurried out the door. She was in such a rush that she didn’t even wave to their neighbor, Mrs. James. But when Mom put the shopping list into her pocket, she found Katie’s thank-you valentine. She looked at the pianos on the ruffle and smiled. She read the message and smiled again. Then she stopped to show Mrs. James the special thank-you valentine and asked if she needed anything from the store.
An icy wind nipped at the letter carrier’s cheeks as he walked down Katie’s street. When he put some letters into Katie’s mailbox, her thank-you valentine blew out. He caught it and looked at the pictures. He read the message and smiled. Then he waved to Katie and smiled all the way down the street.
After school, Jack sighed as he went to his room to work on his math homework. Numbers mixed him up, and he wanted to eat supper. Jack opened his desk to get a pencil, and Katie’s thank-you valentine popped out. Jack looked at the checkerboard ruffle and smiled. He read the thank-you in the center and smiled again as he began figuring out his math problems.
Later, Jack found Katie feeding her goldfish. “I like my thank-you valentine,” he told her.
“Really?”
“Of course! Everyone likes it when someone remembers to say thank you. Now, how about a game of checkers?”
“Sure!” Katie danced off to get the game.

Mary Lou Beilfuss, a Laurel from the Holladay 17th Ward, Salt Lake Olympus Stake, earned the money for her banner by working at a grocery store. The theme of her banner was eternal life.
“It helped me understand more about the recent death of my father, because I studied more about eternal life. The subject was on my mind a lot, and the banner gave me the opportunity to express it on material.
“My mother and sister helped me make it. We are very close already, but working together helped us share our love. I feel close to them because they’re always willing to help. We also shared tears together because the banner had a very special meaning. It made my sister and I think of our father and my mom of her husband.
“I learned from making this banner that I am a daughter of God and that he is there when I call. It has helped my self-image and helped me grow closer to my Heavenly Father. Also, it comforted me about my father’s death,” said Mary Lou.

Lala loved to watch ants. “Pelusa,” she would say to her cat, “see those two ants trying to carry a crumb of bread to their hill. One ant is going one way and the other is going a different way. They’ll never get anywhere if they keep that up!”
Pelusa sat in the shade licking himself. Though he never said anything, Lala knew that he always listened.
Lala and her family lived in a small adobe hut in the dry highlands of northern Mexico. It was perfect country for ants. Among the cacti and thorny bushes around Lala’s house there were hundreds of anthills. However, no one ever visited them except Lala and Pelusa.
In her pockets Lala always carried pieces of bread. Finding an anthill, she would crumble the bread several feet away, then sit and wait for the ants to discover their meal. Before long the ants would join into a long, straight line between the crumbled-up bread and their nest. Each ant would carry home a crumb.
Watching the ants work, Lala daydreamed about the ants’ world beneath the ground … Someplace in a big chamber the ant queen must be laying eggs. Somewhere else nurse ants must be taking care of baby ants. And worker ants must be digging new tunnels, while soldier ants guard the colony’s entrance.
“How I would love to go inside the ant’s tunnels,” Lala often said to her cat. But Pelusa would only stretch and yawn.
Late one hot afternoon, something small and white fluttered past the adobe hut’s open door. Pelusa streaked from the door, chasing it, and Lala called, “It’s just a turkey feather, Pelusa, being blown by a whirlwind. Come back!”
However, Pelusa was already far away, so Lala ran after him. Eventually, her pet’s tracks led Lala into Mulehead Valley. Never had Lala been so far from home alone. She was about to turn back when she heard a familiar meow. It was coming from an abandoned mine shaft beneath a big rock balanced at the base of Mulehead Hill.
“Pelusa, come out!” Lala called into the deep hole. But the cat did not come out. Then, even though Lala knew better, she entered the mine. Pelusa was only a little way inside. He was intently staring at a pile of rubble into which he had chased a mouse. “Silly cat.” Lala laughed, and gave him a hug.
And then it happened! Turning around, Lala’s shoulder knocked something loose, and the big rock over the mine’s entrance fell with a thud. Suddenly everything inside the mine shaft was dark and quiet. “Pelusa,” Lala whispered huskily, “I think we’re in trouble!”
When the dust settled and Lala’s eyes became used to the dark, she saw a tiny crack between the rock and the mine’s entrance. She put her eye next to the crack and looked across Mulehead Valley. “They’ll never find us here,” she said to Pelusa. “And if this is what it’s like being in an ant’s tunnel, I don’t like it!”
The next morning, Lala and Pelusa were very hungry. “Pelusa!” Lala cried. “I just remembered! I have some bread in my pocket.”
Lala ate enough to make her stomach feel better. However, Pelusa didn’t like bread.
“Well, I’ll just push a little bread through the crack,” Lala declared. “Maybe the ants will eat breakfast with me then.”
The long morning hours passed. Lala was about to give up hope when she heard an anxious voice calling, “Lala, are you in there?”
“Papa, is that you?” Lala cried. Pelusa meowed for the first time since the rock fell.
Before long the big rock was moved out of the way, and Lala was in her father’s arms outside in the fresh air and sunlight. “Oh, Papa!” Lala whooped. “How did you ever find us?”
“Well, I was walking across Mulehead Valley, looking for you,” he explained, “when I came across a long line of ants. Every ant carried a piece of bread. Now who but you feeds bread to ants? I followed the line right up to the mine entrance. I’m so grateful that you remembered to feed the ants this morning!”
“Papa!” Lala exclaimed. “Tonight we must make a sweet, sweet cake with plenty of icing on it, and it must be so big that we can leave a piece on every anthill for miles around!”
And that is exactly what they did.

Carrie hurried around the corner of the grocery store aisle, trying to keep the cart out of the reach of her six-year-old brother, Andy.
“No fair!” he cried. “You’ve pushed it the whole time we’ve been here.” He tried to grab the cart, but nine-year-old Carrie twisted it away quickly, accidentally hitting a row of ketchup bottles lined up neatly on a shelf. Two of the bottles crashed to the floor, shattering and spraying the bright red contents everywhere. The two children stared in horror at the broken glass and scarlet ketchup.
Mom came around the corner just then, saying, “I want you two to stay with me. …” Her words trailed off as she saw the mess on the floor and the misery on Carrie and Andy’s faces.
“It looks like there’s been an accident,” she said. “It’s all right. Sometimes things break and have to be cleaned up. There’s no use crying over spilt ketchup.”
Mom found a clerk, who cleaned up the mess without getting mad at Carrie or Andy. Carrie still felt terrible. She knew it wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been swinging the cart to keep it away from Andy. Before they left the store, she quietly told Mom how the bottles had been broken. Mom listened solemnly while Andy stood with a scared expression on his face.
“Are we in trouble?” Andy asked, struggling to keep from crying.
Mom hugged Andy. “No, I think you feel badly enough about what happened that you’ll be more careful in the grocery store from now on. But, Carrie, what do you think you need to do to make up for the store losing those two bottles of ketchup?”
“I think I need to pay for them. I didn’t mean to break them, but it was still my fault.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Mom said. “I can lend you the money for now, and you can pay me back at home.”
At the cash register, Mom explained that Carrie had been playing around with the cart when the bottles broke, and so she wanted to pay for them. The clerk thanked Carrie for being so honest, and Carrie felt much better.
At home, Carrie didn’t feel quite as good when she gave Mom part of the money she’d been saving for a tape player, but she was still glad she didn’t have that sick feeling in her stomach that she had felt when the bottles exploded on the floor. She remembered how red everything looked. She had been afraid she would see that stain on the floor forever, reminding her of her mistake, but it had come clean with a wet mop.

With those two extremes in mind, I would now like to give some examples which might help us inch our way into the center of the spectrum or toward that elusive balance. A few years ago I learned a great lesson while laboring as the new managing director of the Welfare Services Department of the Church. We were at a critical stage in the history of welfare. It was time to go through an agonizing reappraisal of the program in light of current world conditions. I was beside myself with worry and concern.

After praying for a solution, I decided to ask for meetings with some of the Brethren. I poured out my concerns and added my feeling that we were at a stage where further revelation on the subject was necessary. Then I sat back with my yellow note pad and Cross pen and waited for pearls of wisdom.

They each gave me the same pearl: “Brother Pace, I commend you for your concern and conscientiousness in finding solutions to these weighty matters. I, too, have some deep concerns and anxieties, and you are absolutely right—we do need revelation. Now, go get it!” Who, me? I was an employee of the Church, not a General Authority; but I had the responsibility to bring forth well-thought-out recommendations to the Brethren which could be confirmed, modified, or rejected in the appropriate forums. It was my obligation and right to receive inspiration, but it came with intense, agonizing study, research, and meditation.
What can we learn about balance from the recent fuss about historical documents? The lessons on straying off center are vivid. Would the discovery of any document, no matter how contradictory to what you believe to be true, destroy your testimony? It may raise some intellectual questions, but it need not destroy your testimony. There is an avenue to truth greater than intellect and more certain than the five senses. The most glorious of all avenues to truth is direct revelation from heaven. A saving testimony will never come from a spectacular historical or archaeological find, and a testimony need never be lost on the basis of such a find.
This does not mean we should have no interest in history. I love Church history, and my joy when visiting Church historical sites is intensified by knowing their background. But the more lasting impressions are from what is felt there, rather than what is remembered.
A few years ago my wife and I went to some of these sites. Two experiences come to mind which have relevance to this search for balance. In Jackson County we sat on the lawn within the boundaries of the future Jackson County temple. It was sunset. We were alone. We talked of history and prophecies of the future. But we remember most the sweet, peaceful, spiritual witness that Jesus Christ stands at the head of this church and that Joseph Smith is what he claimed to be, a prophet of God. No amount of historical research alone can bring to pass that spiritual witness. It comes only when we become attuned and learn to recognize spiritual things. However, the spiritual witness was strengthened by our knowledge of what has happened and what will happen there. That evening we found the elusive balance.
The next day we strayed off center. We went to Adam-ondi-Ahman, part of a sacred past and destined to be included in a sacred future. Knowing this history helped us understand the significance of the land. We had a history book which told of an altar of Adam and the Nephites. We didn’t know subsequent research has given rise to some questions on the exact location. We arrived an hour before sunset and, in search of the precise location of the altar, we drove to and fro becoming more frustrated by the minute. Fortunately, we came to our senses and drove to a knoll just in time to watch the sunset and enjoy the spirit of the place. Again, the Lord blessed us with a spiritual experience which can be recalled vividly upon reflection.
How often do we get so involved in the search for historical and archaeological details that we fail to take advantage of spiritual experiences right before our eyes. The same historical knowledge which can intensify spiritual experiences can destroy spirituality when we stray too far off center.
A complete testimony was never intended to be gained through history, except that kept by prophets and coming forth as scripture. The Lord didn’t mean for our testimonies to be based on physical, historical evidence.
Do you remember what the Lord told Joseph regarding Martin Harris’s desire to see the plates? “Behold, if they will not believe my words, they would not believe you, my servant Joseph, if it were possible that you should show them all these things which I have committed unto you” (D&C 5:7).
There is no other way to gain a testimony but through the witness of the Holy Ghost. You can rely on nothing else. Spiritual manifestations are generally reserved for the spiritually mature, not so much as a trial of faith as to assure they are not mocked. One must become adept at recognizing the Spirit before a spiritual manifestation can be a sanctifying experience. We have numerous scriptural examples of how pointless a physical manifestation can be without the accompanying receipt of the witness of the Holy Ghost. Conversion comes not by physical manifestations from heaven.
Laman and Lemuel observed many miraculous manifestations such as that recorded in 1 Nephi 3:30–31: “And after the angel had spoken unto us, he departed.
“And after the angel had departed, Laman and Lemuel again began to murmur, saying: How is it possible that the Lord will deliver Laban into our hands? Behold, he is a mighty man, and he can command fifty, yea, even he can slay fifty; then why not us?” [1 Ne. 3:30–31]
Nephi couldn’t believe it and said, “and ye also know that an angel hath spoken unto you; wherefore can ye doubt?” (1 Ne. 4:3). Here we have an example of knowledge being of no eternal value because the Spirit was absent.
Nephi put his finger on Laman’s and Lemuel’s problem in 1 Nephi 17:45. “Ye are swift to do iniquity but slow to remember the Lord your God. Ye have seen an angel, and he spake unto you; yea, ye have heard his voice from time to time; and he hath spoken unto you in a still small voice, but ye were past feeling.” [1 Ne. 17:45]
Even in heavenly manifestations we must acquire the ability to recognize the Spirit and feel the experience as well as see and hear it. Were it not so, Satan could thoroughly confuse us with his own demonstrations. Despite all the spectacular manifestations received by the Nephites and Lamanites at the birth of the Savior, within a short period of time doubts crept into the minds of those who were not converted.
“The people began to forget those signs and wonders which they had heard, and began to be less and less astonished at a sign or a wonder from heaven, insomuch that they began to be hard in their hearts, and blind in their minds, and began to disbelieve all which they had heard and seen—
“Imagining up some vain thing in their hearts, that it was wrought by men and by the power of the devil, to lead away and deceive the hearts of the people” (3 Ne. 2:1, 2).
If a witness of the Spirit is necessary to discern the validity of a visit by an angel, how very vital that witness is in more subtle situations.
How can we acquire the ability to recognize a witness of the Spirit? Even as I attempt to explain, I know it’s impossible to convey an understanding of this phenomenon. We must make the discovery privately and individually.
First, remove yourself from the guilt feelings you have experienced when you have fallen short in your attempts to recognize the Spirit. Have any of you ever been certain you have received a spiritual witness only to have subsequent events prove you were in error? Have any of you had a spiritual witness you dismissed as indigestion only to find out you blew it?
We have more patience with our failures in learning to ski than we do in learning how to recognize the Spirit. When we fall going down the slope, we get up, laugh at ourselves, and try again. When we have a failure in recognizing the Spirit we feel great guilt and are reluctant to go forward. It’s natural to have spiritual setbacks. It’s okay. It’s all right. Stay with it.
We all know it takes years of practice to become a professional athlete and a price must be paid. However, we expect to be overnight successes in spiritual things.
Joseph Smith said, “A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation; for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas, so that by noticing it, you may find it fulfilled the same day or soon; (i.e.) those things that were presented unto your minds by the Spirit of God, will come to pass; and thus by learning the Spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation until you become perfect in Christ Jesus” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p. 151).
Please note he said, “you may grow into the principle of revelation.” To become proficient in basketball one practices shooting countless shots. By repeating successful approaches and changing failures, the player gets the uncanny ability of knowing as soon as the ball leaves his hands whether the shot will be good or not.
In spiritual things we need to learn when we have had a witness of the Spirit and be able to recognize a counterfeit thrown at us by Satan or self-imposed by our own ambition and desire. Sometimes a young man will tell his girlfriend, “I have received a spiritual witness that you are to be my wife.” In some cases I would suggest the witness is more a desire than a manifestation. If, when the time comes, you receive that witness, put it to the test. Ask her to marry you. If she says yes, you were right; if she says no, you were wrong. But keep your witness to yourself. She is perfectly capable of receiving her own revelation.
What does a spiritual confirmation feel like? It’s the feeling you have when you read the Book of Mormon. It’s the feeling you have when you talk of heavenly things with your parents or a valued friend. Learn to recognize it. Learn to follow it.
If it were possible, I would lay down a formula for instant and certain success. One of the reasons it is so hard to enjoy consistent success is that the variables change each day. We are in tune more on one day than another. We are more emotionally vulnerable on one day than another. Satan works harder on us on one day than another. However, with all the variables there is one constant. The Spirit witnesses only the truth.
If your success ratio for recognizing the Spirit is low, ask yourself these questions:
How well am I living the commandments?
Am I studying the scriptures in order that I might be more attuned to spiritual things?
Am I praying with real intent?
Have I done my homework and gone to the Lord with a well-thought-out solution?
Have I learned to recognize a stupor of thought?
Can I honestly say “thy will be done” and am I willing to take no for an answer?
Don’t fail to invest adequate time learning things of the Spirit. I’m not speaking of religion classes, although I heartily endorse them. I’m speaking of learning how to recognize and obtain revelation. It’s a lifetime course, but you don’t have to wait until graduation to receive benefits. The rewards are immediate. Close in on that elusive balance between intellectual pursuits and that of learning to recognize the promptings of the Spirit. There is a balance and it is incumbent on each of us to find it.

Basketball is one of the most important things in the life of Roger Enrique Velasquez Paredes, who goes by Koki because it’s much easier to say when the clock is running down and the game is on the line.
Koki, a member of the Victoria Ward, Puno Peru Central Stake, is a starting forward on the Benson Jazz under-17 boys’ team, a community league team sponsored by Church members in Puno, Peru. Koki’s team went undefeated going into the championship game each of the last two seasons and took second both years.
His experience on the team has taught Koki not only a lot about basketball but also a lot about living the gospel and making seminary worthwhile.
“Seminary and basketball aren’t so different,” he says, then laughs. “I have to wake up early for both.”
Joking aside, Koki does see some important similarities between the game he loves and the gospel he lives: you have to listen to the coach, apply what he’s teaching, and not stop practicing what you’ve learned.
Koki says his coach is great, but it doesn’t matter how good your coach is if you don’t listen. Seminary is no different.
“In both basketball and seminary, I have a good coach,” Koki says. “But if I don’t listen, I don’t get any better.”
A coach tries to teach a player things that will make him or her better, like how to shoot. “The teacher is doing the same thing,” Koki says. Among other things, teachers try to help students succeed against their opponent in life. “They try to teach us how to leave the world and strengthen us against temptation.”
Koki has learned that just showing up, whether in basketball practice or at seminary and church, isn’t enough to make you better. You have to listen to the coach.
Koki tries to listen while the coach is explaining something new. But he has learned that if he really wants to understand what the coach is saying, he’ll have to put it into practice.
Putting something into practice, or applying it, is an important part of learning, Koki says. A coach can talk all day long about good shooting form and even demonstrate over and over, but until you practice doing what he says, you won’t have learned how to do it yourself.
“That’s how I learned about prayer,” Koki says. He had been taught that consistent personal prayer would invite the Lord’s help. “But it was only after I tried it that I found it was true.”
Putting gospel principles into practice gives the Holy Ghost an opportunity to testify to us that the principle is true.
“If we learn something new but don’t apply it, it’s like we never really learned it,” Koki says.
Koki listened when his coach taught about shooting, and he tried to apply what he learned. Now, in order to improve, Koki has to be diligent in practicing.
Diligence means dedication or persistence in applying what you’ve learned even in the face of opposition.
“I have to be dedicated,” Koki says. “If I stop training, my skills will get rusty.”
That’s an important lesson he learned after he couldn’t practice for a while because he broke his nose in a rough pickup game with some older players.
“If we don’t practice, we don’t just stop progressing—we lose ground,” Koki says. “It’s the same spiritually. If we pay attention and apply what we learn, we can learn more. If not, we lose what we have.”
Koki’s teammates have done their best to listen to the coach and apply what he’s taught them. They practice for hours to keep what they’ve learned.
They’ve also learned that after all of that, it is possible—and disappointing—to fall short of perfection. “We worked hard,” Koki says. “It was discouraging to lose the championship again.”
But while immediate perfection isn’t guaranteed, it would be impossible if they gave up trying. In the meantime, Koki has seen that there are many rewards, including improvement and progress, that come from trying.
Koki, who is serving as a ward missionary, has seen rewards for being diligent off the court as well. He helped organize movie nights, campouts, and sports activities in order to interest two young men in his ward who hadn’t attended church for some time. “At first we’d have to go get them, or they wouldn’t come,” he says. “Now they come on their own. It took a little time and a lot of visits, but they’re coming regularly now.”
Between playing basketball, going to seminary, and serving in the Church, Koki is learning what King Benjamin meant when he said we must be diligent to “win the prize” (Mosiah 4:27).
He’s also learning that both on the court and off, the rewards are worth the work.