Gospel Story Finder

“[Once] I stayed in the home of my niece and her family. That evening before the children went to bed, we had a short family home evening and a scripture story. Their father told about the family of Lehi and how he taught his children that they must hold fast to the iron rod, which is the word of God. Holding fast to the iron rod would keep them safe and lead them to joy and happiness. If they should let go of the iron rod, there was danger of drowning in the river of dirty water.
“To demonstrate this to the children, their mother became the ‘iron rod’ that they must cling to, and their father played the role of the devil, trying to pull the children away from safety and happiness. The children loved the story and learned how important it is to hold fast to the iron rod. After the scripture story it was time for family prayer. …
“Scriptures, family home evening, and family prayer will strengthen families. We need to take every opportunity to strengthen families and support one another to stay on the right path.”1

“Over here!” Miss Karen, the cheerleading camp director, waved Cricket over. “Girls eight and under are in this group.”
“Not again,” Cricket whispered to her best friend, Lauren. She turned to Miss Karen and said, “Actually, I’m 10. I’m just small.”
“Oh,” Miss Karen said. “Well, we need you to cheer with the younger girls for the performance. You’re so much shorter and you wouldn’t blend in with the older girls. Besides, their uniforms would be too big on you.”
“But—” Cricket started to say.
“Of course you can do all the other camp activities with your friends.” Miss Karen patted Cricket’s shoulder. “I know you won’t mind.”
Cricket didn’t say anything. But back in their room, Cricket told Lauren, “But I do mind. I’m always the smallest one at camp.”
“It will be OK,” Lauren said. “We’ll have fun doing everything else together.”
And they did have fun. They learned to do flips and back walkovers on the bar in their gymnastics class. Miss Karen even complimented Cricket on her landings.
They watched every day as the high school cheerleaders practiced their pyramids. Cricket was already good at pyramids, and she couldn’t wait until she was old enough to join a cheer team too.
But none of it quite made up for having to cheer with the little kids. Cricket felt out of place practicing with them. They were so much younger! She wished she were taller so she could cheer with her friends.
“Why don’t you pretend to be sick on Saturday?” Lauren said. “Then you won’t have to be in the show.”
Cricket thought for a moment. “No, I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be honest. And besides, Miss Karen and the kids are counting on me. I’ll just tough it out.”
The next day, Cricket had just performed with her group and left the stage when Miss Karen came running up to her.
“We need you,” Miss Karen whispered. “The girl for the top of the high school team’s pyramid is sick. You’re small enough for the girls to lift easily, and your landing is perfect. Are you willing to try it?”
Cricket nodded slowly. They needed her help because she was small. “I’ll do my best,” she said.
When the high school girls finished their routine and started their pyramids, Miss Karen gave Cricket the signal to join them. Cricket said a silent prayer asking Heavenly Father to help her do her best.
She walked on stage. The girls lifted her up and she grinned, holding her hands high in the air. Cricket flipped down into the girls’ arms and landed perfectly. The crowd cheered.
The rest of the cheerleaders came down from the pyramid smoothly. Cricket couldn’t stop smiling as she listened to the crowd cheering.
At the end of the show, all the cheerleaders came onto the stage for one last bow. Miss Karen walked to the microphone.
If you don’t think faith and attitude are more important than size … just ask Goliath about David!
“Every year we give an award to the most inspirational camper,” she said. “This year we’ve chosen a girl who cared more about the group than about herself. The most inspirational camper award goes to a little girl with a big heart. Cricket Newton, please come forward!”
Cricket hugged the trophy tight. She smiled as she stood on her tiptoes to say “thank you” into the microphone.

When I was about nine, I wanted to grow a mustache. I thought I could do this by shaving my face every day. For several days I used my father’s razor to shave. One day my father saw me shaving. He warned me not to do it because I could cut myself.
I am sorry to say I disobeyed my dad. The next day I shaved again. As I was shaving, the razor slipped from my soapy fingers. It made a deep gash above my lip. I was pretty scared as I bandaged my lip. But I was even more afraid of what my father would say.
When he came home that night and saw my cut, he was surprised and worried. He asked how it happened.
“Well,” I said, “I was running down the sidewalk, and I fell on my face.”
I had lied! First I had disobeyed, and now I had been dishonest! That night I couldn’t sleep. It was late, but I had to tell Dad the truth. I found him in the living room.
“Dad, I lied to you,” I said. “I didn’t fall down. I cut myself shaving with the razor. I’m sorry.”
My dad was quiet for a moment. Then he gently said, “You did disobey, Son. That is not a good thing. But I’m proud that you decided to tell the truth.”
That lesson—and the actual scar—has stayed with me every day since then. Whether it is with your Heavenly Father or with your friends and family, always be an example of honesty and truth.

Martín felt sad when his parents told him the family was moving to a different city in Colombia. He didn’t want to leave his friends, his home, and the place he grew up in. Instead of cool mountain air, Martín would now live close to the ocean with hot, humid air all year round. He would trade hot soups for cold drinks, and coats for shorts. Add to that a new school, a new ward, and a new Primary class. It all seemed pretty scary.
One day Mom and Dad asked Martín how he felt about the move.
“I don’t like it,” Martín said. “I don’t want everything to change.”
“I know moving can be hard,” Dad said. “Lots of things will change, but not everything. You’ll still have us!”
“That’s true,” Martín said.
“And you will still have your things,” Mom said.
Martín thought about that for a minute. He would still have his clothes, his shoes, and other things he was familiar with at his old house—especially his toys. Martín was glad he could take his favorite toys. He packed them away extra carefully when they moved.
After a while, Martín started to get used to his new home and new city. He was glad the move wasn’t as hard or scary as he thought it would be.
Then one Sunday, when his family went to church, Martín noticed a lot of people he had never seen before. Primary was full of new kids. He wondered where they came from. He heard people he knew talk about donating food, clothes, and shoes. After church, Martín asked Mom about all the new people.
“They had to leave their country,” Mom said. “Many of them left everything behind, so now they don’t have anything.”
“So that’s why everyone wants to help them?” Martín asked.
“That’s right. Jesus taught us that we should help people who are in need. We can follow His example and share what we have.”
Martín thought that would be a nice thing to do.
Then Mom said, “Many of the Primary kids only have what they could fit in a backpack. They had to leave their toys behind. Do you think you have some toys you could give?”
“No! Those are my toys!” Martín said. He turned and ran to his room.
Martín looked around his room with tears in his eyes. He didn’t want to give away his toys. He’d brought them all the way from his old house!
He went to his toy box and looked inside. He saw his toy truck, his yo-yo, his trompo (spinning top), his best bag of marbles, and lots of his other favorite toys. He liked them all. He couldn’t give any of them away!
Then Martín thought, “What if I had to leave my home and my favorite toys behind?”
A few minutes later, he came up to Mom with his arms full of toys—not just any old toys—but the ones he always played with.
Mom looked surprised. “You don’t have to give away your favorite toys.”
Martín set the toys on the floor. “The other kids had favorite toys too,” he said. “I want them to have mine so they can be a little happier.”
Mom gave Martín a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”
Martín had a warm feeling inside. He knew giving to others is what Jesus would do, and that made him happy.

It was ten-year-old Joshua’s turn to teach the family home evening lesson. It was on faith. When he finished, he told his family, “If you have faith, you can do anything.”
His mom replied, “Well, almost anything.”
“No sir, Mom,” Joshua said. “You can do anything.”
Little did the Dennis family know that within days their faith would be tested. On Friday, September 22, 1989, Joshua’s dad, the Varsity Scout coach in their ward, let him go with him and other leaders and members of a Boy Scout troop from Kearns, Utah, to explore the Hidden Treasure Mine. After looking around for some time, Joshua and some of the Scouts decided to turn back. On the way out of the tunnel, they met Joshua’s dad and some other Scouts heading out of the mine. Then Joshua decided to follow some older Scouts back into the mine tunnel, and he gave his flashlight to his dad, who was leaving the tunnel with a visually handicapped boy.
The older Scouts did not know that Joshua was behind them. They began to run. Joshua couldn’t keep up with them and was soon left behind in total darkness. He couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face.
He turned around and tried to feel his way back to the entrance, but he made a wrong turn and slid down a slope. He climbed back up but went too far and ended up in an ore stope—a cavity where ore has been mined out—six feet wide and twenty-five feet deep. The stope was almost impossible to see from the main tunnel below because of rocks.
“I tried to find my way out for a long time,” Joshua recalled. He yelled, but the stope muffled his cries, and no one heard him. By this time, he was tired and cold and his feet were wet. “I knew that I was lost, and I realized that I had better just sit down and wait,” he said.
Joshua slept a lot. Sometimes he would stand up and stretch or just sit and think—hamburgers and pizza were on his mind quite a bit. For five days Joshua had no food or water and only his coat to keep him warm in the 50° F (10° C) temperature.
But he wasn’t afraid. “I prayed a lot that Heavenly Father would help me,” he said, and his prayers were answered with a feeling of comfort and a knowledge that he would be found. “I felt that I was being watched over by Heavenly Father.”
While Joshua was praying, friends and family were also fasting and praying that he would be found in safety. His parents waited anxiously at a local motel for reports on the search for their son.
Many volunteers from his Kearns 30th Ward and the Kearns Utah Stake helped search the surrounding foothills, which are full of abandoned mines and air shafts. At least seven times some of them passed within 150 feet (46 m) of Joshua.
The longer the search continued, the more certain many people became that Joshua was not in the mine but had wandered away from it. Search dogs, helicopters, and people on horseback and on foot combed the cliff-lined hills of nearby Dry Canyon. There was no trace of the blond boy.
Inside the mine, Joshua waited calmly for someone to find him. To help pass the time, he sang “I Am a Child of God,” “Everybody Has to Have a Hero,” and a song about America that he had learned in school.
As each day passed, the chance of finding Joshua alive grew smaller, but members of the rescue team were determined to not give up. “You would have to drag some of those men off the mountain,” said Ray Guymon, one of eleven Church members on the fifteen-man Utah Power & Light Company rescue team.
“We all had a feeling that we were overlooking something. We just couldn’t give up hope,” said Gary Christensen, another Church member of the same rescue team.
When the search party came out of the mine after another unsuccessful rescue attempt on the afternoon of the fifth day, another Church member, John Skinner, persuaded the men in charge to let him go in with the other searchers for a final attempt. “I just had a feeling that he was still in the mine and that he was still alive,” he explained.
John Skinner had explored the Hidden Treasure Mine 120 times and was very familiar with the dozens of passages that wind through the eight levels. He could picture in his mind at least three places where Joshua might be. One of those places was the ore stope.
As the searchers made another sweep through the mine, he, Ray Guymon, and Gary Christensen—these three men were to become the heroes Joshua had been singing about—separated from the group, and John Skinner led them to the sections of the mine where he thought the boy might be. When they finally came to the ore cavity, they heard a faint cry for help but were not sure what it was. They remained still until they heard it again. The excitement grew as they and Joshua yelled back and forth, trying to find each other in the darkness.
“My heart just started pumping and pounding,” recalled Gary Christensen, the first to reach Joshua. “I wrapped my arms around him, and he wrapped his arms around me.”
“I felt like we were led there by the Lord,” Ray Guymon said.
All three men said that it was very difficult to describe the feelings that they had when they found Joshua, whom they had never seen before.
“I felt like he was my own,” Gary Christensen said. “I was just really happy inside.”
“It was an overwhelming feeling when we found him,” John Skinner said.
As Joshua was brought out of the mine, there were tears of joy and relief on the faces of many. Joshua, although excited, remained calm—he had not doubted that he would be found.
Because there was no light inside the mine, Joshua had lost track of time. He was surprised when he found out that he had been lost for so long. Dehydrated from going so long without water, and suffering mild frostbite on his feet, he was flown to Primary Children’s Medical Center, where he rested and doctors examined him.
At first the doctors thought that they would have to amputate his little toes. But all he lost was some skin from his feet. He had to be in a wheelchair for about a week. Physical therapy strengthened his leg and foot muscles, and before long he was walking, running, and even riding his skateboard again.
Joshua received more than a thousand letters, many from other school children who wanted to know more about him and his experience. While he was lost, the students at Fox Hills Elementary School, where he was a fifth-grader, tied yellow ribbons on the fences all around their school to show that they were thinking about him and hoping that he would be back soon. It really made Joshua feel good to know that so many people cared about him. He tells everyone, “Heavenly Father does answer your prayers. Have faith, and don’t give up.”

It was a hot day. I was excited and a little nervous. Today was a big day for me and other members of the Royal Canadian Military Force. It was the day of the endurance test.
We’d heard a lot about this test. It was tough. Sixty-pound packs would be strapped on our backs; then we would have to run five miles without stopping! And that wasn’t all. Next, we would have to turn around and walk/run five more miles back to camp.
But I was in good shape. I had been a starter on the high school basketball team. I also enjoyed many other sports. I had grown up active and healthy. But the best thing that I had done to prepare for this big test was to obey the Word of Wisdom.
The officers conducting the test signaled the beginning of the run, and we were off. Several men dropped out before we had gone two miles. As I ran on, I saw many of my friends quit. Some even passed out. They all had to be taken back to camp in a truck. But I was determined to do my best. I was tired, but I ran on.
When I reached the five-mile mark, I was exhausted. Sweat dripped down my face and drenched my clothes. Then I had to turn around and head back to camp. Even though those of us remaining were allowed to walk occasionally, it was arduous!
I had always tried to do what was right. I tried to listen to and obey my parents and Primary teachers as I grew up. They taught me that smoking, drinking, and drugs would hurt my body, and I believed them. (See D&C 89.)
I know that the Lord blessed me with the health and strength to pass that test because I kept the Word of Wisdom. Obeying the Word of Wisdom—and all the Lord’s commandments—is important for everyone. If we are obedient, the Lord will bless us.

Some time ago, as I was driving, I had to stop at a red light. The vehicle in front of me caught my attention. A sticker read, “I do what I want.”
I wondered why someone would choose to place such a statement on his vehicle. What was the message he wanted to send? Perhaps the driver of this vehicle wanted to express publicly that he has achieved total freedom by just doing what he likes to do. As I thought about this, I realized that our world would be quite chaotic if everyone would just do what he or she wants to do.
It is obvious that there is some confusion in our society about this subject. In the media, advertisements, entertainment, and elsewhere, we find the idea widespread that when someone can do what he wants, he enjoys freedom and will be happy. It suggests that the only criteria for our decisions are what is pleasing to us, what is fun, or what matches our individual desires.
Our Heavenly Father has given us a better concept. It is His great plan of happiness, which gives us real freedom and happiness. We read in the Book of Mormon:
“And the Messiah cometh in the fulness of time, that he may redeem the children of men from the fall. And because that they are redeemed from the fall they have become free forever, knowing good from evil; to act for themselves and not to be acted upon, save it be by the punishment of the law at the great and last day, according to the commandments which God hath given.
“Wherefore, men are free according to the flesh; and all things are given them which are expedient unto man. And they are free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil; for he seeketh that all men might be miserable like unto himself.”
When we came into this world, we brought with us from our heavenly home this God-given gift and privilege which we call our agency. It gives us the right and power to make decisions and to choose. Agency is an eternal law. President Brigham Young, speaking of our agency, taught: “This is a law which has always existed from all eternity, and will continue to exist throughout all the eternities to come. Every intelligent being must have the power of choice.”
President Wilford Woodruff observed on the same subject: “This agency has always been the heritage of man under the rule and government of God. He possessed it in the heaven of heavens before the world was, and the Lord maintained and defended it there against the aggression of Lucifer and those that took sides with him. … By virtue of this agency you and I and all mankind are made responsible beings, responsible for the course we pursue, the lives we live, [and] the deeds we do.”
When the Lord taught Abraham about the eternal nature of spirits and that he was chosen before he was born, He explained to Abraham one of the important purposes for coming to this earth by saying, “And we will prove them herewith, to see if they will do all things whatsoever the Lord their God shall command them.”
Thus, our agency makes our life on this earth a test period. If we did not have this wonderful gift of agency, we would not be able to show our Father in Heaven whether we will do all that He commanded us.
In order for us to use our agency, we must have a knowledge of good and evil, we must have the freedom to make choices, and after we have exercised our agency, there must be consequences that follow our choices.
I have learned that as we obey our Heavenly Father’s commandments, our faith increases, we grow in wisdom and spiritual strength, and it becomes easier for us to make right choices.
Our great example, the Lord Jesus Christ, set the perfect example for all of us as to how to use our agency. In that Council in Heaven, when the plan of our Father was presented to us—that we would have the opportunity to come to this earth and receive a body—the Beloved Son, who was the Beloved and Chosen of the Father from the beginning, said to His Father, “Father, thy will be done, and the glory be thine forever.”
Likewise, we should make our choices using the same criteria. Instead of saying, “I do what I want,” our motto should be “I do what the Father wants me to do.”
If we do this, we can be certain that the blessings of the Lord will be upon us. It may well be that we have to make some of these choices when it is not convenient for us. I have learned, however, that although the time is sometimes not convenient for our schedule, nevertheless, if we make the right choice, the Lord will take care of us in His own way, which at that time is not yet known to us.
When we were transferred in 1989 from the Germany Hamburg Mission to East Germany to preside over the Dresden mission, the time was not convenient for our family. Our children had just adapted to their new school in Hamburg and now had to become acquainted with the socialistic school system in East Germany. One child could not even come with us because she needed to finish school in the West. However, we have learned from this experience that what seemed to be hard for us in the beginning eventually turned into a great blessing for all of us. The Lord had His own way to take care of our challenges.
My dear brothers and sisters, I am so grateful for the wonderful gift of agency, which our Father in Heaven has given us. I am grateful to know that we are His children. I know from many of my own experiences that He loves us and that He cares for us. I know that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, our Savior and Redeemer. I know that the Prophet Joseph Smith saw the Father and the Son and that he is the prophet of the Restoration. I know that President Gordon B. Hinckley is the prophet of God today.
Of this I testify, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Illustration by Chris Lyons
I was hesitant about joining the Church when my husband introduced it to me. He gave me a Book of Mormon, and after many lessons and nearly two years working with the missionaries, I was baptized in 2007. I struggled for a while after I became a member of the Church. I did not understand the importance of modern-day prophets. In my mind, a prophet had to be someone like Moses with his staff.
“Does the prophet speak to God?” I asked my husband.
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, the prophet speaks to God.”
“Then I am going to ask the Lord to tell the prophet to send me a letter saying this is Jesus Christ’s Church.”
“Oh no!” my husband said. “It doesn’t happen like that!”
I was determined.
“If the prophet speaks to the Lord, then the Lord will speak with the prophet, and he will send me a letter.”
At church one Sunday, a missionary handed me a DVD and asked me to watch it with my family. It contained the testimonies of the prophet and apostles. The first person to speak was President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008). I was impressed. He seemed sincere, and I felt he was telling the truth.
“See, this is your testimony of the prophet,” my husband said.
“No, I still want a letter from him,” I replied.
One night, the missionaries arrived at our home and handed me a magazine.
“We don’t know why, but we felt we should bring this to you,” they said. It was a copy of the October 2006 Liahona, still wrapped in plastic.
I opened it and found an article from President Hinckley addressed to new members of the Church. He said, “I leave this testimony, my blessing, and my love with each of you and my invitation to continue to be part of this great latter-day miracle that is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”1
I felt he was speaking directly to me. I was not even a member of the Church when this was published, but it had been saved for me. I know that the Lord hears our prayers and that He speaks to a living prophet today.

The big husky leaped at Jack Norbon, who tumbled backward in the snow, struggling with the dog. They wrestled in the soft drifts, play-growling at each other.
Finally Jack shouted, “Enough, Nanook!”
The dog stopped, panting. His amber eyes glowed with affection for the boy, who scratched Nanook lovingly behind his ears.
Jack glanced at four other huskies tethered nearby. “A guy never had better friends than you,” he told them.
The dogs yelped and leaped when he spoke, but all the while they eyed a large pan of food he had brought.
Jack visited each animal, dishing out gobs of cornmeal and dried fish cooked together.
“You might not have won any ribbons at the Alaska State Fair last week,” the boy said fondly, “but you aren’t built for speed, just good old-fashioned hard work.”
The dogs were huge Mackenzie River huskies—broad of shoulder with deep chests and wide feet. Strong muscles rippled under their think fur, and Nanook, the smallest, weighed ninety pounds. Jack had purchased them from a trapper when they were pups.
When he had finished ladling each animal its share, Jack gave them a final pat and returned to the house. He was hungry himself, for he had worked hard all day helping the family to get ready to leave for town so Jack could attend a regular school. Until now, he had taken lessons by correspondence. “Lessons by mail are fine,” his mother had said, “but a thirteen-year-old boy needs friends.”
Jack admitted it would be a nice change. He did get lonely sometimes, even with the dogs. Town was twenty miles from the small mine that his father owned, and Jack rarely saw anybody his own age.
As Jack entered the living room, his father looked up from a book he was reading. “I’m proud of the way you helped today,” he said. Then he cleared his throat, hemmed a minute, and added, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to sell your dogs, Jack.”
The boy stared at his father, scarcely understanding. “Sell them? But why, Dad? I don’t understand.”
“We can’t have dogs in town, son. Out here where they earn their keep it’s different. But we just can’t afford to have them lying around in town.”
“But, Dad, they’re my best friends. I can’t sell them!” exclaimed Jack.
Dad’s voice was firm. “If the mine had paid better this year, we could have kept them. As it is …” Then in a reasoning voice he added, “Jack, they eat like horses. You know that.”
The boy groaned. He knew his dad was right. “If only they had won some prize money at the races last week,” he agonized.
“It would have helped,” agreed his father. He put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I know what they mean to you, and I’m really sorry.”
“It’s all right, Dad.” Jack sighed. “If the dogs can’t pay their way, I shouldn’t expect anybody else to do it. But I wonder where I can sell them.”
“Ron Snite at the Weasel Mine has offered $500 for them.”
Jack drew back. “Old Snite! Dad, he beats his dogs. I’ve seen him do it.”
“We’ll make him agree not to.”
“I don’t think he’d live up to the agreement. He thinks all dogs are brutes and that’s the way he treats them.” Jack was growing desperate. “Can I try to find another buyer first?”
His father nodded. “Of course. You have a week before we’ll be moving.”
When Jack sat down to eat supper, he found that his appetite had vanished. The thought of Snite getting his beautiful team made him feel sick. There just has to be another buyer somewhere! he thought.
The next few days were hectic for Jack. Helping with the packing and trying to interest people in the Mackenzies forced him to keep long hours. He traveled all over the territory, trying to find a place for his team, but the answers were pretty much the same, “Sorry, Jack, just haven’t got any place to keep those giants.”
For the first time, the boy was sorry the dogs weren’t racers. “Then you’d be smaller, and not so much of a problem,” he said to Nanook. “People don’t want to fuss with big dogs.” Even when Jack pointed out that Nanook was one of the best leaders in the country, the answer was always, “No, thanks.”
One day Snite himself paid Jack a visit. His little beady eyes glittered evilly. “Your dad promised me those dogs,” he growled. “I hear you’ve been trying to sell them elsewhere.”
“They’re mine till they’re paid for,” replied Jack evenly. “Until then I can sell them to anybody I choose.”
Snite grinned, revealing yellow, snaggly teeth. “I’ll get them,” he vowed. “Nobody but me can feed those monsters.”
Yeah, thought Jack glumly, the reason you can feed them is that you won’t feed them enough. And his heart ached when he thought of what could happen to them.
The day after Snite’s visit, Dad went to town to look after their new house, leaving Jack and his mother alone.
His plan was to return the following day, but that night a terrible storm raged across the land. The snow whipped into great drifts and the wind lashed and howled until daylight. The storm left telephone lines strewn through the trees, and the town road had practically disappeared.
“Dad will be lucky if he gets back in a week,” said Jack at breakfast.
“I suppose that makes you happy,” his mother replied with a knowing smile.
“I just hate to sell the dogs to Snite, Mom.”
“I know, son, but you can save the money for college. Years from now, the dogs will be helping you like the good friends they are.”
Jack admitted that that was true, but somehow the thought didn’t cheer him much. The money wouldn’t make up for the damage to the team if they were sold to Snite.
That evening Jack went to feed the dogs. Because darkness comes early in the Alaskan winter, he stumbled through the drifts to visit each animal. He had just reached behind Nanook’s ears for a goodnight scratch when he heard a scream from the house. It was his mother’s voice.
Floundering across the yard, the boy crashed through the door. His mother was lying on the floor, pale and in much pain.
“It’s my leg,” she gasped. “I was cleaning the shelves above the sink and slipped off the chair.”
The leg was bruised and swollen, and there was a peculiar bump halfway up the shin. “I think it’s broken,” she said weakly.
Jack knew he shouldn’t try to move his mother if her leg were broken, so he put a pillow under her head and covered her with a blanket. Meanwhile, his mind was racing frantically. What shall I do? The telephone lines are down, so I can’t call town for a doctor. And the mine vehicles could never get through the drifts.
Whenever his mother moved, she moaned, and Jack knew he was going to have to do something quickly. “I’ll go to town and bring back a doctor!” he declared.
“It’s dark and twenty miles to town,” protested his mother. “I’m afraid you couldn’t make it.”
“Nanook can find his way blindfolded,” Jack assured her. “And something has to be done now, Mom.”
Jack swiftly hitched up the dogs, then checked back in the house to make sure the stoves were stocked with fuel. He covered his mother with more blankets and answered her anxious eyes with a grin. “Don’t worry, Mom. Those dogs and I can go anywhere in the world.” Then he kissed her and dashed to his waiting team. “Mush!” he cried, and the dogs leaped at their harnesses. Though it was pitch black, the team swung out unerringly onto the drifted highway.
“Haw!” yelled Jack, and Nanook, who was in lead position, turned left toward town.
Through the inky darkness they sped, the sled bursting through three-foot drifts in billowing sprays. Over hills and down long valleys the dogs and boy swept. Sometimes Jack rode on the rear runners, but most of the time he ran behind with his hands on the handlebars. It was so dark, he couldn’t see the shoulders of the road, but Nanook held a true course.
An hour passed, but the team’s strength didn’t flag. If anything, their speed increased as they warmed to the job. The night was cold, but Jack was soaked with perspiration as they pushed forward at a mile-eating pace.
Racing dogs might be faster, he thought, but they’d have lost this race. This is a trail that only dogs with stamina can handle.
At one place on top of a huge drift the sled tipped over. Jack tumbled in an avalanche of snow, and the sled landed on top of him. He felt a sharp stab of pain, but quick testing proved he’d only pulled a muscle.
On through the night they lunged, and the boy and his team reached town in just over two hours. Jack ran to the nearest store and called his father at their new home.
“I’ll get Doc Nelson,” his dad answered after Jack explained the problem. “He has a motorized snow car that will go anywhere. You come on to the house.”
But by the time Jack reached their new house, his father had already gone. The boy unhitched the dogs, scrounged some food and water for them, and then bedded them down. “You’re winners,” he said proudly. Then he put his arms around Nanook’s neck and added, “I’m sure going to miss you, my friend.” The husky lavished warm licks on him.
Late that night when Jack’s father returned, he looked tired, but happy. “Mom’s going to be all right,” he said. “Thanks to you, she’s in the hospital resting.”
“No, Dad,” Jack shook his head. “It’s thanks to the dogs.”
Dad considered a moment, then he went to his desk and wrote a note. He gave it to Jack to read—“Mr. Snite, sorry, but we plan to keep the dogs. Ten thousand dollars couldn’t buy them now. John Norbon.”
“You were right, Jack,” said the boy’s father. “You could never sell such good friends.”

My third counsel relates to some of the goals you should consider. At approximately the same time that Elder Perry was in Japan with the marines, President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, served in Japan with the air force at the end of World War II.
In 2004, I accompanied President Packer and others to Japan. He had an opportunity to retrace some of his steps and reflect on some of the experiences and decisions he made at that time. With his permission, I share some of his thoughts and feelings.
President Packer described experiences that occurred on an island off the coast of Okinawa. He considers this as his mount in the wilderness. His personal preparation and meeting with other members had deepened his belief in gospel teachings. What he yet lacked was confirmation—sure knowledge of that which he had already come to feel was true.
President Packer’s biographer captures what happened: “Counter to the peace of confirmation he sought, he came face to face with the hell of war against the innocent. Seeking solitude and time to think, he climbed, one day, to a rise above the ocean. There he found the gutted remains of a peasant cottage, its neglected sweet potato field nearby. And lying amid the dying plants he saw the corpses of a slaughtered mother and her two children. The sight filled him with a deep sadness mingled with the feelings of love for his own family and for all families.”6
He subsequently went inside a makeshift bunker, where he contemplated, pondered, and prayed. President Packer, in looking back on this event, described what I would call a confirming spiritual experience. He felt inspired as to what he should do with his life. He, of course, had no idea that he would be called to the high and holy calling he now holds. His vision was that he wanted to be a teacher, emphasizing the teachings of the Savior. He made up his mind that he would live a righteous life.
It came to him in a rather profound way that he would have to find a righteous wife and that together they would raise a large family. This young soldier recognized that his career choice would provide modest compensation and that his sweet companion would need to share the same priorities and be willing to live without some material things. Sister Donna Packer was, and is, for President Packer, the perfect companion. They never had enough excess money, but they did not feel deprived in any way. They raised 10 children, and they sacrificed. They now have 60 grandchildren and more than 80 great-grandchildren.

Soon after her family moved to Florida, someone invited them to attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Kavira’s sister had been learning some sign language, so she interpreted for her. Kavira says learning about Jesus Christ and His gospel “saved my life.” Before that, she felt like her life had a lot of problems. “I was kind of depressed, and I was cruel and mean to other people.”
But after learning more about God, “I wanted to be a good person,” she says. “I cared about my family. I didn’t want to be mean to people. I wanted to change my life. It wasn’t an easy choice to make, but as I learned more about God, I felt different. I want to be like Him.”

“I was baptized at five o’clock in the morning in a river. The water was very cold, but I felt warm. It was a good feeling.”
Recalling his conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ some twenty-two years ago, Kriangkrai Pitakpong, president of the Khon Kaen District echoes experiences similar to those enjoyed by the almost 4,000 converts to the Church in the beautiful country of Thailand.
Because proselyting is not permitted in Thailand, most investigators come from member referrals. Other investigators, like Kriangkrai Pitakpong, become curious when they see the missionaries. “I used to see the missionaries riding their bicycles, and I wondered who they were and what they did. When I finally made contact with them, I accepted their invitation to attend the English language classes they were conducting. Then I began studying the gospel and reading the Book of Mormon. I was baptized in October 1970, when I was nineteen years old.”

Let me refer to and sort of paraphrase “The Parable of the Defective Battery,” written by Elder James E. Talmage. (See Albert L. Zobell, Jr., The Parable of James E. Talmage, Deseret Book Company, 1973, pp. 7–12.) He said that in order to carry out a certain laboratory experiment he needed a powerful primary electric current. He asked his assistant to prepare a battery consisting of a dozen cells of simple type. His assistant followed the usual procedure. He prepared twelve jars containing acid solution, in which were immersed a pair of plates, one of carbon and one of zinc. The cells were then connected “in series.” This should have resulted in the series giving out strength equal to the total force. It was discovered, however, that he had not given sufficient attention to details—those seeming trifles that make or mar perfection.

Elder Talmage said he was disappointed when he tried to use the battery because it was not functioning as it should. As he inspected it he found that the cells were not all working alike; some of them were intensely active, and the liquid seemed to be like boiling water because of the escaping gases. Its current was very weak. The energy from it was practically used up in overcoming its own internal resistance, and it had no power.

He took the battery apart and made an individual examination of each cell. The first eight cells proved to be in good condition. The ninth, however, was seriously at fault. This cell was set aside and the others tested and found to be good. It was plain to see that number nine cell was the cause of the trouble. It was the one, too, that had been fuming and fussing more than the others. Leaving it out, he hooked up the other eleven and found them to form a good, strong current, ample to operate an electric receiver or to fire a blast on the opposite side of the globe.

Later he began to inspect the rejected unit and found that it had short-circuited itself through its foaming and fuming. The acid had destroyed the insulation in some parts, and the current was wholly used up in destructive corrosion within the jar. It had violated the law of right action. It had corrupted itself in its defective state. It was not only worthless as a working unit, but an unproductive member in a community of cells. It was worse than worthless in that it caused an effective resistance in the operation of the other clean and serviceable units.

He did not destroy the unit, however. He thought there was a possibility of restoring it to some usefulness. He searched its innermost parts and with knife and file removed the corroded crustment. He baptized it in a cleansing bath and set it up again and tried it out. Gradually it developed energy until it came to work almost as well as the other cells. However, he continued to watch the cell with special care, not trusting it as fully as he had before it had defiled itself.

Elder Talmage said this was an actual experience, but he called it a parable and said how much we are like the voltaic cell. There are men who are loud and demonstrative, even offensive in their abnormal activity. Yet what do they accomplish in effective labor? Their energy is wholly consumed in overcoming the internal resistance of their defective selves.

There are others who do but sleep and dream. They are slothful, dormant, and, as judged by the standard of utility, dead. There are men who labor so quietly as scarcely to reveal the fact that they are hard at work. Through their earnest devotion they greatly influence the lives of those with whom they associate. The unclean cell, however, was much like the sinner. Unfitness was the direct effect of internal disorder, self-corruption. Such a defection in men we call sin, which is essentially the breaking of the law. They, in association with others who are clean, able, and willing, are an obstruction to the current, and the efficiency of the whole is lessened, if not entirely neutralized, by a single defective unit.

One day Julia met two young men. Julia was surprised because White people rarely came to her neighborhood. They said they were missionaries. She invited them to share a message in her home.
When Julia’s son heard they were coming, he was shocked. “Why did you invite them?” he said. “They are White. It’s not safe.”
But Julia trusted the missionaries. “These men are different,” Julia said. “They are preaching peace.”
When the missionaries came, Julia welcomed them in. One of them noticed a photo on the mantle. It was from Julia’s wedding.
“Who is that?” the missionary asked, pointing to the photo.
“My husband, John.” Julia looked down. “He died in a car crash.”
The missionary nodded. “We believe families can be together forever, even after they die.”
A feeling of peace washed over Julia. She felt happy to learn about God’s plan and kept meeting with the missionaries. Love for the gospel grew in Julia’s heart, just like the plants in her garden. Soon she decided to be baptized.
At church, Julia met lots of new people. Some were Black. Some were White. But they all served and learned together.
Julia showed the children at church how to help in her garden. “We must be soft in our hearts, like this soil,” she said. “We must make a place for the gospel within us. We must make a place for love.”

In the spring of 1945, I was on Okinawa as a frightened, barely adequate infantry replacement, concerned with victory to be sure, but very much concerned with selfish survival. Japanese artillery pieces had tried for several days without success to hit the little plateau our mortar squad was on. Then one evening they dropped three shells on us; they had finally found the range and we knew it, and they surely knew it. Since one of those shells fell just several feet from my foxhole, I was stimulated to intense prayer, full of promises. Strangely, no more shells fell near us that evening—at the very time when more shells should have been fired for effect. The Lord that night blessed me and others. But suppose He also told me to be of good cheer, for not only would I live, but one day (just a few ridges away) I would preach the gospel to an LDS chapel full of members! Could I have managed that perspective? Probably not. Yet that is what happened in 1973, 28 years later, as I was privileged to go back to that—for me—sacred spot. Sugar cane has since covered the little plateau but not my poignant memories of Okinawa, that bloodiest battle in the Pacific.

Cassie experienced this after dating Brian for a year. Unfortunately, Brian was abusive. Cassie didn’t realize how much it affected her until after she left the relationship. Since then, Cassie has felt depressed, unable to trust her own thoughts and unable to trust others to support her. She often uses defense mechanisms to avoid getting hurt again and to manage feeling like others are angry with her or will leave her. Sometimes she unknowingly pushes others away or becomes demanding in relationships. These defenses make it difficult for her to get or feel close to others. After talking with loved ones and a counselor, Cassie recognized her trauma and her need to heal—and also that healing is possible over time.

I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1992 in the Netherlands. However, my husband didn’t join and wouldn’t allow our children, Alex and Petra, to be baptized (names have been changed). Even still, the three of us attended church and had regular family home evenings.
All went well for several years until Alex, then 13, announced that he was no longer willing to go to church or attend family home evening. As he got older, things continually got worse. It was difficult for me to stay close to Alex because he not only began drinking and smoking, but he also lied about his behavior. It broke my heart, and I shed many tears and offered many prayers as I pleaded with Heavenly Father to help my son.
Then one night while sitting quietly in the temple, I saw a picture in my mind. It was of a young man passing the sacrament. It seemed that the Lord was reminding me of the reality and power of His Atonement, encouraging me to love my son and to stay by his side.
However, as time progressed, life actually got rougher. After Alex’s father and I divorced, Alex got really depressed. I knew he needed help, but he didn’t want my help and wouldn’t listen if I tried to talk to him.
One night our branch president asked if he could come talk to Alex. Alex was irritated but did agree to have a conversation. After the meeting, Alex was angry with the branch president for encouraging him to serve a mission, saying, “If the branch president really was a man of God, he would know better. He would know that I’m not worthy to go—so why bother me?” That night I knew the Lord had a plan.
The plan began to take shape in an unexpected way when I received a phone call from the local police station. Alex had been arrested. My new husband and I put on our coats and in the middle of the night picked Alex up from the police station. We didn’t make a scene; actually Alex’s stepfather and I said very little.
When we got home, Alex told us what had happened when he and his friend had stolen a scooter. He was so sorry for what he had done. I saw for the first time a broken young man.
The arrest was a turning point for Alex as he began to realize the consequences of his actions and where he was headed. From that day on, so many blessings started to come our way.
The next day Alex told us that he had asked the officer to call us because he knew that we loved him. He also realized how much he had hurt us, and he appreciated that we had stayed calm.
Alex had several member friends who reached out to help him. One invited him to Church activities. Another gave him a Book of Mormon and challenged him to read it. And despite his suffering from dyslexia, I would find Alex reading it now and again.
The next blessing—if I could actually count them—was when Alex asked if we would buy him a suit since he had decided he wanted to go to church. I thought he meant just for Christmas. But to my great surprise, he continued attending even after the holidays.
The next blessing seemed almost too much for me to comprehend. Alex announced that he was going to be baptized. He didn’t need any help from me and arranged everything himself with assistance from his friends and the missionaries who were teaching him. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when the day came, and I was able to see my son in white, making sacred covenants.
Later as he related the story of his conversion, I realized that Alex’s pain and sorrow had been difficult, but they also helped him become humble enough to bend his knees and ask for help. Alex explained: “One night when my burdens were too heavy to carry, I remembered the words of a good friend who had reminded me that I could always pray for help. That night I decided to give it a try. There was not another door open to me, and since my mom had taught me how to pray, I kneeled down and closed my eyes. As I started to plead for help, the most wonderful feeling came over me. I’ll never forget that feeling; I felt the pure love of Christ. I felt that my problems were taken away from me. My desperate feelings haven’t come back since, and I have been blessed with a testimony of Jesus Christ. My heart was changed, and I desired to follow Jesus Christ.”
After his baptism, confirmation, and ordination to the priesthood, Alex was asked to pass the sacrament—the sacred emblems of the Savior’s sacrifice. Then what I had seen in the temple so many years ago became a living reality right in front of me. I silently thanked Heavenly Father for what I was experiencing. It was a holy moment for me.
The story could end there, but fortunately it hasn’t. I have since watched as the Atonement has continued to work in the life of my son. Remember our inspired branch president? My son’s testimony has continued to grow, and the invitation of our branch president became a reality. Alex recently finished serving as a full-time missionary. He spent two years reaching out and helping others—as the Lord reached out to him.
I am grateful to be Alex’s mother, but I am even more grateful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ that works in the lives of all of us.

Twenty-year-old Elaine Jack of Livingstone Ward, Scotland, found this to be so. “Not only was I the only LDS student at school where religious beliefs were mocked, but I was also the only active youth at church,” she says. “Now that I’m older, I don’t mind being different, but as a teenager I wanted so much to be accepted. Between ages 15 and 17 I stayed away from church. Until then I had relied on my parents’ testimony. This was not enough.

“It wasn’t until a caring Primary leader asked me to help with the children,” continues Elaine, “that I slowly began attending church again. I was still ready to find fault with everything. Then I studied the Book of Mormon in institute. That completely turned me around. By then I was ready to reach out and learn. The last three chapters of Second Nephi became especially significant to me.”

While getting ready to leave the house for a four-week summer vacation, my family and I set out to make the house completely spotless. That meant it was the time of year again for me to clean everything out from under my bed—the accumulation of a year’s worth of junk that I had put out of sight and subsequently forgotten. I dreaded the task, but it had to be done. So after cranking up my music and setting it on “shuffle,” I got to work.
I spent the next few hours on my stomach, reaching as far as I could underneath my bed and pulling out handfuls of old school papers, Halloween candy wrappers, my sister’s doll accessories, and countless other knickknacks. I dragged everything out onto my bedroom floor. When I was satisfied that not a crumb was left under my bed, I turned and found I had thoroughly trashed the rest of my room.
Exasperated, I began the seemingly impossible task of sorting the trash from the keepsakes. Near the bottom of the pile, I found three papers stapled together and folded into fourths. I unfolded the bundle to see if it was something I wanted to keep or something I wanted to toss into the recycling bin.
Immediately I recognized the letter I was holding. I sat on the edge of my bed to read it. The date at the top of the first page was my 12th birthday—the day I became old enough to enter the Young Women program, the day I became old enough to go to the temple and perform baptisms for the dead. My dad had written the three-page letter and given it to me along with my presents. At the time I received the letter, I didn’t even read the whole thing through, I admit. But now, reading it five years later, I knew that it was the best gift I had been given that year.
Lately I had started to feel a decline in my desire to read the scriptures and to go to Church activities. Sometimes at night I would collapse on my bed and go right to sleep rather than take just a minute to pray. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in the gospel; I did believe. But I wasn’t acting on my beliefs. I wasn’t going out of my way to serve others or to do the things I had been taught to do. I was struggling in my decisions, in limbo between following the world’s ways and following God’s ways.
Finding my dad’s letter again made the pathway clear. Two things about the letter really jumped out at me. First, after expressing his own love and testimony of the gospel—and adding that he knew I loved the gospel too and wanted to live righteously—my dad shared this advice:
“You become what you think about. If you spend your entire day thinking about the things the world thinks about, you will become like the world. It’s impossible to become anything that you don’t think about. If you want to become a righteous daughter of God who understands the Savior and His mission, you must study and think about those things.”
When I read that passage, it hit me that I hardly spent any of my time thinking about the eternal plan. I would think more often about what was going to happen in the next chapter of the novel I was reading than about the words of the scriptures. When I daydreamed, it wasn’t about the celestial kingdom or about serving others but about what I would do with my friends that weekend.
The next thing my dad wrote also hit me:
“The captain on the biggest ship in the ocean needs three things if he wants to get his cargo to the port: he needs to have a reliable map that shows him the way; he needs to believe that the map is reliable; and he needs to actually drive the ship in the direction indicated on the map. It’s the same for you. You have the map already. You need to have faith in Heavenly Father’s plan for achieving eternal life (belief in the map), and you need to work every day toward your destination (follow the map).”
At the moment that I finished reading those words, my music, still set on “shuffle,” switched to an Especially for Youth album. The lyrics to one song, “Stand in Holy Places,” brought tears to my eyes.
The song and the words of the letter, combined with the sudden sense of the Spirit, made me realize that, just as I needed to clean the junk out from under the bed, I needed to clean out the worldly things in my life and live in the uncluttered, spotless ways of the Lord. Like my chore that day, it would be difficult and would take time, but in the end it would be worth it.
Who knew that such a spiritual awakening could occur because of housework? The Lord works in mysterious ways. As I went back to cleaning my room, I made a silent covenant with the Lord that I would clean up my life, too, and strive to live how he would have me live.

Matthew has a strong sense of justice and often reminds his parents of family rules. Brother Thomson once wrote in his journal: “Tonight my son taught me a lesson. After I got really frazzled with the kids and yelled at them, Matthew came up to me and said, ‘Dad, why don’t you keep a rule that Mommy’s keeping? She’s made a rule not to raise her voice.’ I felt like I should just be quiet and listen.

“My wife and I are amazed at his ability to grasp doctrinal concepts,” Brother Thomson adds. “When we talk to him about gospel principles, he soaks it in like a sponge. He just loves listening and learning. He likes to discuss things and reason things through.”

Brother Thomson has told his children that a mission is like a university education in the school of life, and Matthew plans to enroll. His family helps him prepare for that experience as they helped him prepare for his baptism. For many weeks before he turned eight, the family home evenings were modified missionary discussions, preparing Matthew as any convert to the Church would prepare. When his baptism day came, he was thoroughly grounded in the covenants he was making and in the eternal meaning of this earthly ordinance.

Already looking ahead toward Rebecca’s, Deborah’s, and Hannah’s baptisms, the family has calculated that when Hannah is eight years old, Matthew will be a priest and able to baptize her. This has led to discussions about the priesthood.