Gospel Story Finder

“Look at that stubborn pig over there! Betsy won’t act like that when you unload her!”
Kevin looked down at his sister, Susan, and answered, “I hope not, but you can never tell for sure.”
“But you have Betsy trained so that she does just what you want.”
“Yes, she does at home, but when you bring pigs here to the fair where everything is strange, you can’t tell. Anyway, it isn’t how she acts that worries me—it’s her ears.”
The big stake truck finally pulled away from the unloading chute, and Kevin and Susan watched as Dad backed up their smaller truck. When it stopped, Kevin let down the tailgate. He was nervous as he picked up the training stick and touched Betsy on the side. Betsy gave a snort and walked sedately down the gate and into the chute.
“Take her back to stall thirty-eight,” said the fair superintendent. “Here’s a card to fill out and put on the outside of her pen.”
Kevin was proud of Betsy’s behavior. She’s a good hog, in spite of her ears, he told himself. He was remembering last winter when he had decided on swine for his 4-H project.
“I wanted to get you a purebred gilt (young female pig),” Dad had said, “but we just can’t do it right now.”
Kevin had understood. After the years of drought, he was used to making do with what he could get. Then, when he had talked to his 4-H leader about taking Betsy to the fair, Mr. Roland had asked, “What class will you enter her in?”
“What about this class?” Kevin had replied, looking at the entry listing. “‘All Other Breeds’—that just about describes her.”
Mr. Roland had chuckled. “Maybe so, but I’m afraid she’ll have to have some particular breed name. She looks more like a Poland China than anything else, except that her ears stick up, while a Poland China’s should flop.”
So now as Kevin filled in his card, he wrote “Poland China” as the breed and “Kevin Jackson” as owner. “I’d better take her over and wash her now,” he said when he finished.
“More washing?” Mom asked in mock horror. “You’ve done nothing for the last week but scrub that pig!”
“I know, but there won’t be much time in the morning, and I still have to work on her feet some more.”
The next morning the Jacksons were at the fairgrounds early. Kevin had already given Betsy another bath when Mom and Susan came over from the home economics building.
“She looks wonderful,” Mom said. “Now you run and put these on.” She held out a clean pair of jeans and a clean plaid shirt.
“Aw, do I have to?” Kevin protested. “These jeans I have on are OK. None of the other guys are getting fixed up.”
“You have your prize exhibit all polished up,” Mom said, “and I want my prize exhibit polished up too.”
Kevin laughed and took the clothes. “Watch Betsy for me. Don’t let her get to rooting around and get her snout dirty,” he warned as he left.
It was exactly nine o’clock when Kevin came back. Mom, Dad, and Susan went in and sat down while Kevin waited with the other exhibitors. He took a deep breath and tried not to be afraid. I think her ears are great, he told himself. Ears that perk up can hear better, and they make her look more intelligent.
Still, he knew that she had to be judged according to the rules. I guess what counts is to do the best that I can, he thought. He knew that he had really worked hard on this 4-H project.
As the class before Betsy’s was called, Kevin went back to Betsy’s pen to put on the coat dressing, carefully working in just the right amount of oil. She does look pretty! he thought proudly.
“All other breeds, senior gilts,” called the judge. There were only three in the class: a Chester White, a Spotted Poland China, and Betsy.
As Kevin brought Betsy out, he could hear Susan “whispering” to Mom, “Betsy’s being real good, isn’t she?”
Kevin was careful not to touch Betsy’s tail so that she would take the curl out of it. He guided her carefully over in front of the judge, squatted beside her, and stretched his arms out to hold her still.
Once she shied slightly, but Kevin soon had her quiet again.
Betsy might be excited but not as excited as he was. Not only would a blue ribbon for first prize mean a lot, but the prize money would help with his school clothes.
“First prize,” said the judge, “goes to the Chester White. She is true to type, stands well on her feet, and has a well-arched back. Second place goes to the Spotted Poland China, another good gilt but a little heavy in the front quarter. Third goes to the … well, the owner says she’s a Poland China. She has a good back and stands well, but she isn’t quite true to type.”
Kevin gulped a little as he took the white ribbon and started Betsy back toward her pen. Of course he knew animals had to be judged according to their breed, but still it seemed unfair to put Betsy down because her ears perked up like a Berkshire’s. The judge had noticed that she had a good back. He could have noticed that she had a good curl in her tail too. And there wasn’t a better behaved hog there.
Kevin came slowly back to the judging ring, trying not to let his disappointment show. He’d done the best that he could.
Finally the last class was finished, and the judge was speaking. “We’ve had some good swine, and they’ve been well groomed. However, I couldn’t help noticing that in some cases the hogs were better groomed than the boys who showed them.”
Kevin glanced at his mother, and the twinkle in his eye matched hers. He looked back as the judge continued. “Now I’m happy to announce the winners for showmanship. In each division the showmanship award goes to the boy or girl who shows an animal to the best advantage.”
Kevin held his breath when the judge called, “All Other Breeds, Senior Gilts,” but the prize went to the owner of the Chester White.
“And now,” the judge continued, “first place for fitting and showing of swine—Kevin Jackson!”
So the judge had noticed how well Betsy behaved! Kevin exulted.
There was a burst of applause as Kevin went up to accept the purple championship ribbon. Better than that was the knowledge that Mom and Dad and Susan were proud of him.
Perhaps Betsy was proud too! At least, her ears perked up proudly when he told her.

This last year, Allyx has had a lot going on. She has a brain tumor. Most of the time, her hand and voice shake because of the tumor. Sometimes she has to go to the hospital for chemotherapy treatments. They make her feel weak and tired. When she feels better, we play again.
When Allyx has to be in the hospital, my mom and dad take me to see her. We have fun visiting her there, but I like it better when she gets to come home.
My mom and dad have been teaching me that when I am baptized, it doesn’t just mean that I’m a member of Jesus Christ’s church. It also means that I make special promises with Heavenly Father and Jesus. Some of them are that I am willing to bear another’s burdens that they may be light, to mourn with those who mourn, and to comfort those who stand in need of comfort. To me that means that when Allyx isn’t feeling well, I can still go sit with her and watch a video with her and keep her company. When she has to have her chemotherapy, I can pray for her and ask Heavenly Father to watch over her.

Similar to the above accident, but with much more serious consequences, was the situation of a young man who came to see me. He confessed to a serious sin, but thought that he should be allowed to continue as if nothing had happened because “It was an accident. I really didn’t intend to do it,” he said.

No one really wants to commit sins, but at the same time, I don’t think that very many, if any, sins are really as much an accident as they are the direct result of “loss of control.”

When I interviewed in-depth this young man I found out that his life was very much out of control. He was seeing the same young lady much, much too often and was spending too many hours at a time with her, and they were going to the wrong places and doing the wrong things. They were “an accident waiting for a place to happen.” Satan provided the place, and the “accident” happened. They were living too fast. They had lost control of their speed. They were going in the wrong direction. They were not in holy places. They were not doing the right things. They were not home at the appropriate hour their parents had asked them to be. They had begun to lose their virtue piecemeal. No one was in control at all.

“Do I have to ride the bus today?” I knew what the answer would be, but I had to ask, just in case.
Riding the bus every morning was the worst. The older kids teased me. It was hard to find a seat. And I was always lonely.
“Yes, Jason,” Mom said. “Dad already left in the car.”
I dragged my feet to the bus stop. I’d do anything to not ride the bus. Then I had an idea. I jumped behind a big tree.
I heard the bus slow down and stop. Then I heard it pull away.
I did it! I didn’t have to ride the bus. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?
I walked back home and told Mom that the bus had left without me. I promised to be more careful next time. She called Dad, and he came home to drive me to school.
Later that day I saw Ryan, a boy who rode on my bus.
“What happened to you this morning?” he asked.
“I missed the bus,” I said.
“I know, but why were you hiding behind a tree?”
Oh no! “You saw me?”
“Yup. Everyone did.”
I groaned. Now they would tease me more than ever!
All day long I worried. How could I possibly ride the bus now?
The next day I trudged back to the bus stop. Why did I hide? This was going to be the worst ride to school ever!
I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed. Heavenly Father, Please help me be OK on the bus.
Just then the bus turned the corner and slowly rumbled to my stop. The doors opened, and I climbed up the stairs.
Ryan waved and patted the seat next to him. “You can sit here,” he said.
My eyes widened in surprise. Ryan was funny and had lots of friends. And he wanted to sit by me?
“You didn’t hide today,” he said.
I shook my head, hoping he wasn’t going to tease me.
“I don’t like riding the bus, either,” Ryan said. “But it’s a lot better when you sit by a friend.”
I was even more surprised. Did Ryan feel lonely sometimes too?
We talked the whole way to school. Some of the older kids still teased me, but it was easy to ignore them when I had a friend. It was the best ride to school ever!
But the next morning I was worried again. Would Ryan save me a seat? As I climbed up the stairs, I saw Ryan. He smiled and waved me over. It felt so good to have a friend to sit and laugh with. Ryan was my school-bus hero!
The next day Ryan wasn’t on the bus. But before I could panic, I remembered what Ryan had said: I don’t like riding the bus, either, but it’s a lot better when you sit by a friend.
Maybe there was someone else who needed a friend too. I spotted an empty seat next to a quiet boy I had seen at recess. I sat down next to him and asked what his name was.
“Blake,” he said.
Soon we were talking and laughing. I made another new friend!
It doesn’t take much to be somebody’s hero. Just look around for someone who needs a friend!
For the rest of the year I was never afraid to ride the bus again. I knew what it felt like to be alone, so whenever I saw a kid looking around for a place to sit, I patted the seat next to me. I could be a school-bus hero too.

On the first day of our vacation, we stopped at a park in a small town to eat lunch. As we put a tablecloth and paper plates on one of the picnic tables, Jimmy nudged me and pointed at an old man walking toward the tables. “He looks like the guys you see on TV—the ones who don’t have any place to live.”
“He really does,” I answered.
We watched as he came closer. “Do you suppose he’s going to ask us for something to eat?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
We were disappointed when he sat down at a table far from ours.
“Mom,” I said, “see that old man over there? Do you think he has a home anywhere?”
Mom stopped turning the hamburgers on the grill and looked where I was pointing. “No, Crissie,” she said, “he looks like he’s carrying everything he owns with him.”
“That’s what I thought too. Do you suppose he has anything to eat?”
“I don’t know,” Mom answered, “but he doesn’t look like he eats very often. He surely is thin.”
“Could we ask him to come and eat with us?”
“We have plenty of food,” Mom said. “Why don’t you check with Dad first. He’s over by the swings with Susan and Missy.”
When I asked Dad, he didn’t say yes right away. He said he wanted to get a little closer and see what this man looked like. He didn’t want to put any of us in danger.
As we began walking across the grass, the old man glanced curiously in our direction. It surprised me to think that he might be as curious about us as we were about him.
The closer we got, the harder it was for me not to stare. I had never seen anyone quite like this man before. His hair hung almost to his shoulders. It was the color of dirt and looked like it hadn’t been washed or combed for a long time. His face was tanned and wrinkled. His eyes were a milky blue-green color, and I wondered if he could see through that milky haze. But what really fascinated me was his mouth. There were wrinkles all around it, and when he opened it, I could see why. He had hardly any teeth. There was one on the top in the front, and maybe two or three on the bottom. I couldn’t see any more.
His clothes were old and dirty and just hung on his thin body. Next to him on the ground was an old army duffel bag.
As we drew near, he grew apprehensive. He reached down and pulled his duffel bag closer to him. Once again I was surprised to think that he might be afraid of us. “Hello there,” Dad said.
The man didn’t answer, but he didn’t take his eyes off us, either.
“My name is Mike Lambert,” Dad went on, just as if the man had greeted him warmly. “We’re fixing our lunch just over there, and we wondered if you’d like to join us.”
The old man looked up as if he hadn’t understood, so Dad said it again. “Would you like to join us for lunch? We’re just going to have hamburgers.”
Smiling his almost toothless smile, the old man said, “Nobody’s asked me to eat with them for a long time. That’s right nice of you.”
I ran ahead to tell Mom. She set another place at the table, and a few minutes later we all sat down. Our guest was getting ready to dig right in, when he noticed that we were all sitting with our arms folded. He quietly dropped his hands in his lap, and we all bowed our heads as Missy said a blessing on the food. She also thanked Heavenly Father for our guest and asked a blessing on him. When I looked up, I noticed tears in the old man’s eyes. I wondered if anyone had ever prayed for him before.
“No preacher could have said it any better,” he whispered.
Smiling through teary eyes of her own, Mom began to pass out the food. Jimmy and I were so fascinated at how our guest managed to chew his food with so few teeth that we forgot to eat our own. Mom nudged us and, without saying a word, let us know that we shouldn’t stare.
During the meal, we learned that our guest’s name was Joe. He was from Chicago but had traveled all over the United States. He didn’t know where his family was anymore. He’d lost track of them several years before. When Susan asked him if he had any children, he said, “Yes, I had two little girls. The last time I saw them, they were about the same size as you and your little sister. I guess they’re grown-ups now.”
Before we could ask any more questions, Mom asked if anyone would like another hamburger. Joe said that he would. He said he was going to save it for his supper. Mom promptly put several other things in some paper dishes and covered them and gave them to him too. “You might as well take some of this other food to go along with it,” she said.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.
As we packed our things in the car, Joe carefully packed his food in his duffel bag. We waved to him as we drove away. He waved back for as long as we could see him.
“What will happen to Joe when it gets cold outside?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “Maybe he’ll have gone to a warmer climate by then. Or maybe he’ll find a shelter to stay in.”
“I’m sure thankful we have a house,” I said.
“I am, too,” Mom replied, “and I’m also thankful for children who have caring hearts.”
We had a wonderful vacation that summer, but the thing I remember best was our lunch with Joe.

“Nothing in this world, not even a T-bone steak, could taste as good as it will feel to wear a missionary name badge. Nothing tastes that good.”
That thought gave Neil Bridenstine constant motivation to stick to a demanding weight-loss program. He had one goal in mind: serving a mission.
Just before his 19th birthday, Neil, then weighing about 400 pounds, learned he’d have to lose more than 120 pounds to drop to the recommended maximum weight for a missionary his height. The weight requirement from the Missionary Department helps ensure that young men and women will be able to live the physically challenging lifestyle of a missionary.
At first Neil felt the weight requirement would be impossible for him to meet. After all, his previous attempts to lose weight had been unsuccessful.
“I was a little discouraged when they said I needed to lose 120 pounds. I was feeling pretty down, and I thought, ‘Well, I’m not going on a mission then.’”
After a month of feeling discouraged, Neil came to an important realization. His current weight was unhealthy, and he did need to make a drastic change.
“Being 400 pounds, I was at the end of the rope. I needed to lose the weight anyway.”
To lose weight, Neil enrolled for six months at a full-time weight-loss center in St. George, Utah. Once he got there, he began to realize that his goal of a mission might not be impossible after all. “I went there with the wrong frame of mind, that I was going just to lose some weight, but then I turned around and said: ‘I’m going to do this so I can go on a mission.’”
Because Neil needed to lose so much weight in a short period of time, he needed to be monitored and advised by professionals during the entire process. Neil, along with his parents and doctor, decided that a health center was the safest option. There he was supervised and learned the basics of healthy living so that he could maintain his weight when he returned home and while on his mission.
The center’s weight loss regimen put Neil on a 1,200-calorie-per-day diet. His meals were carefully balanced to make sure he got all the nutrients he needed. “My diet was straight out of the Word of Wisdom—whole foods, whole grains, fresh vegetables, fruit, and meat, but very sparingly.”
On weekdays, Neil’s day began at 6:30 a.m. with a three-hour hike. “We would hike between four and six miles, depending on our hiking ability. My first hike I went about two miles in three hours. That was as far as I could go.”
But during his stay Neil built up his physical endurance. He spent part of each day in the gym doing strength training, aerobics, stretching, and cardiovascular exercises. In the evening, he attended lectures on how to maintain a healthy diet and lifestyle. Over the course of six months, Neil hiked a total of 600 miles and lost an average of five pounds a week.
As Neil’s body slowly began to change, he underwent a rapid change of heart. “Being there tested my faith because if I didn’t go to church on Sunday, my parents weren’t there to baby me, and my roommates didn’t care. I very quickly felt tested to see if I was there for the right reasons. It really made me understand that I did want to go on a mission and that I would deeply regret it if I didn’t.”
Several counselors at the health center who are members of the Church befriended Neil. He attended a young single adult ward with them, and through their example, his testimony grew. He also used the free time between workouts and lectures to study the gospel. He read Preach My Gospel, other Church books, and the Book of Mormon, with the goal of sharing his testimony with others.
“That’s what I was really trying to do—to really know the Book of Mormon, more than just reading the words to say I read it.”
Neil’s gospel study, coupled with his intense weight-loss program, paid off. “I was losing weight physically, but I was gaining so much spiritually—spiritual knowledge through the Book of Mormon and Preach My Gospel.”
The spiritual strength he was gaining carried him through difficult periods in his training. “Some nights there were times when I would cry myself to sleep because I dreaded waking up and going on a six-mile hike, or I dreaded having to eat another piece of tofu. But I said my prayers every night. Some mornings I would go on a hike, and it would feel like someone was pushing me. I was amazed that I was able to do what I did.”
Not only was Neil preparing physically and spiritually for his mission; he was also getting a lot of practice in missionary work. Most of the guests at the health center were not members of the Church, so Neil found opportunities to introduce them to the gospel and share his testimony.
“I gave out 12 copies of the Book of Mormon, told the Joseph Smith story a handful of times, and bore my testimony literally hundreds of times. When I was hiking I would try to pick a guest for that week and bear my testimony about the Church. It was the best missionary preparation ever because I got to do real missionary work.”
Now Neil has the opportunity to put all that practice to the test as a missionary in the Armenia Yerevan Mission. Almost six months to the day after Neil began his weight-loss program, he weighed in on the doctor’s scales at 280 pounds.
“It was a lot of work, and it was difficult, but it paid off. To get the doctor to sign off, to get the missionary papers in, and to get my mission call—the whole thing, every minute of misery I thought I was in, was well worth it.”
Neil says he is grateful for the weight requirement because of everything the experience taught him. But he gives the credit to Heavenly Father for helping him accomplish his goal.
“I can honestly say that I’ve been very blessed, spiritually and physically, to be able to do what I’ve done. The physical results are out of this world. Those came from heavenly help, and I can take very little credit for that. I know that there’s a reason I was supposed to go on a mission.”
Elder Bridenstine is now discovering what that reason is. And his weight loss not only got him there, it also taught him an important lesson he now uses as a missionary.
“Anything is possible with the Lord on your side. If you’re doing what you’re asked and living righteously, the Lord will bless you.”
Whether those blessings come in pounds lost or in souls found.

“It was in the fall of the year 1857, as I remember, and a small group of Mormon pioneers were late starting across the plains. They got caught in an early snowstorm, and it slowed their travel. Many of them had become ill with colds, fevers, and pneumonia. They traveled as fast as they could, but because of the cold and sickness, they were just plain worn-out from pulling handcarts and carrying the smaller children.
“One day they came to a river that they had to cross. Everyone was so tired that the river seemed an impossible challenge. It seemed too wide, too deep, and too cold to the exhausted pioneers. One weary lady stood on the bank of the river, holding her baby as the tears silently streamed down her face. She didn’t have the strength to face one more trial that day. For a minute it looked like the journey might end right there for the small band of weary pioneers.
“Then, without saying a word, a young man waded into the cold river and made his way to the other side to see how deep it was. The icy water came up to his waist. He was certain that the handcarts were too small and too heavily loaded to carry children and those who were sick across safely. He knew what needed to be done, and he didn’t have to be asked. He knelt down with the rest of the pioneers and led a prayer, asking for strength to get everyone across safely. He was seventeen years old, and he was tall and strong, but he knew that he would need the help of the Lord to deal with the numbing cold of the river.
“The boy jumped up from the prayer and carried his sick mother across first, then his younger sister, and finally his three-year-old brother. When they were safe, he started carrying other children across. Another boy, a little younger but just as strong and nearly as tall, joined him in the cold river. The two youths carried across all the children and others who were too weak to make it through the icy water on their own. When everyone else was safely on the other side and the handcarts were across, the boys came out of the river to get dry and to warm themselves by the fire.
“Their legs and feet were blue from the cold. They got into dry clothes and wrapped up in blankets. Everyone thanked them for their help, but the boys said that they had just done what needed to be done. That night they sent everyone else to bed while they stayed by the fire to get warm. They talked about how things were going to be when they got to their new homes, but their conversation was often interrupted by muscle cramps and violent shivers. The cold water had chilled them more than they thought possible. The next morning they were still sitting there, wrapped in their blankets. When the leader of the group walked over to talk to them, he was saddened by what he found. During the night the boys had both died as they sat by the fire.
“The youths were buried right there on the edge of the river. They had lost their lives while helping others. The older boy, the one who had prayed for strength to get the others across safely, was one of your relatives. His name was Floyd. His three-year-old brother was your great-great-grandfather. When I was a little boy and Grandfather was in his nineties, he told me this story. That was when I learned that Floyd meant courage, relying on the Lord, and helping others.”

One Sunday while I was serving as mission president in Vladivostok, Russia, a rather amazing thing happened. I had gone to my office to gather some materials when a 13-year-old young man, Vladimir, whose friends call him Vova, knocked on the door. Vova is a deacon in the Vladivostok First Branch. He asked to visit with me in my office. He was accompanied by Sister Olga Vyachyeslavna Dryagunova. This sister speaks wonderful English, and the boy had asked her if she would act as his interpreter. Vova speaks no English, and I speak only a little Russian.
Vova had been an orphan, abandoned at birth because he was born with a cleft palate. The birth defect has since been partially repaired, leaving a scar. He was adopted by a wonderful woman who has treated him as her son. The boy is always happy. He has a smile on his face and a wonderful countenance when he passes the sacrament. He wears the mantle of a deacon as well as any boy I have ever known. He regularly bears a sweet and brief testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. He is everything that a deacon ought to be.
At our meeting Vova spoke Russian and Sister Olga interpreted. She told me that Vova had come to fill out his application to serve as a full-time missionary. I asked, without a hint of a smile, “How old is he?”
She asked and he answered, “Nearly 14.”
Retaining my composure, I said, “Does he understand that he needs to be 19 before he can serve a mission?”
She responded, “He does, but he does not want to be tardy in getting his application in.”
I assured them that there was still time before we needed to send his missionary application to Moscow and then on to Salt Lake City. Neither the branch president nor I would forget when it was time for him to fill out his forms. I walked to the wall displaying pictures of the 44 missionaries then serving in the Russia Vladivostok Mission. I told Vova I was worried that the missionary papers might be returned if it appeared that I was recommending a 13-year-old boy for a mission.
Then I explained that since he was in my office where I conducted interviews with the missionaries, I thought it appropriate to ask him the questions that will be asked of him when he is 19, just to make sure that he was currently worthy to serve a mission. I then went through all the worthiness questions as though Vova were one of my full-time missionaries but tactfully passed over the boy-girl questions, thinking them premature. Besides, I didn’t want to embarrass Sister Olga.
Vova answered all my questions with the appropriate responses and with the wisdom of a boy twice his age. Upon further reflection, I guessed that he may have even asked one of the elders what interview questions he might anticipate from the mission president. I then told Vova that he could come back every six months, and we would repeat the interview process.
He then asked with some concern what he should say to let me know he was ready for another interview six months from now. I said to him, through Sister Olga, that it was now time for him to have his first English lesson. I then said slowly, “This is what you should say to me, ‘President, I am ready for my missionary interview.’”
He repeated the important words he needed to know three times.
As I was ready to end the interview, Vova asked Sister Olga to ask me one last question. “President,” he said, “what advice do you have for me to prepare for my mission?”
I was a bit taken aback. Few of my mature elders would have the wisdom to ask such a timely question. I pondered for a moment and then told him to do three things: First, I told him to read the scriptures each day. Second, I suggested that he pray to his Heavenly Father each morning and evening. Third, I told him to practice his English.
I confess that the last suggestion was a little selfish on my part, as I was thinking how I would enjoy speaking with him in English and asking him questions about the things of his heart. I suggested he attend the free English classes taught by the missionaries, but he said his mother would not allow him to be out after dark. We agreed that he would work harder each day in his English class at school.
Later, when I saw the deacons in the hall after church, I asked Vova if he would like to repeat the phrase he needed to use to ask for his next interview. This he did in a fine manner. Then to my great surprise, I learned that each of the other deacons in the branch had also learned the magic words. Each one repeated while looking right at me, “President, I am ready for my missionary interview!”
Oh, the power of example! The joy of one willing to open his mouth and share the things he had learned with another was something I was trying to get all of my missionaries to experience! These Russian deacons were on the road to perfection.
As I sat at my desk, I wondered what could be done in advancing the missionary work in this vast land of Russia if, in five years’ time when Vova is 19 years old and ready to serve his mission, there were another 2,000 young Russian deacons preparing just like Vova. The answer, of course, is found in Alma 57. There a prophet named Helaman had 2,000 young men, and he was able to perform miracles with boys of great faith and devotion who had been taught by their mothers (see Alma 57:21).
Think how blessed the mission president will be who gets Vova as one of his stripling missionaries.

Three years ago, Edward Pentreath was attending a large youth activity in England, where he lives, when he remembers feeling the Spirit in an overwhelming way.
“After the evening fireside, I went back to my room. I was praying, and suddenly I realized that this gospel is all true. I was so happy. All I could say was, ‘It’s true. I know it’s true.’ I remember calling a good friend of mine. When he picked up the phone, all he could hear was me saying, ‘It’s true! It’s so fantastic!’”
Now when Edward, a member of Ipswich England Stake, describes the feeling he had that night when the Holy Ghost testified of the truthfulness of the gospel, he describes it as a “warm shiver and a tingle which went through my body.” He has learned to recognize that feeling. He says he feels the Spirit often now that his friends are going on missions and as they have opportunities to bear their testimonies at camp, at youth conferences, or in church.
Edward was just one of the teens the New Era interviewed in the Ipswich England Stake. When we began talking about what it is like to feel the Spirit, a change came over each group. As they talked about this special subject, the teens sat up a little straighter, they were focused on what their friends were saying, and their eyes sparkled. When they told of their own experiences, just like Edward, they could remember in vivid detail what it was like to feel the Spirit.
The teens from the different wards in the Ipswich stake enjoy being around each other. They really like going to youth conferences—or conventions as they are sometimes called—where something as simple as singing together can bring the Spirit. Rebecca Fagg remembers attending her first youth convention as a 14-year-old. “I was struggling a bit and finding attending church to be quite a lot of effort. Then I went to the youth convention. The power of all the youth together made me realize how great it is to be able to go to meetings like that. When we sang, I was overwhelmed by the Spirit. I just burst into tears.”
Music was mentioned several times as a way to feel the Spirit. Seth Spencer, remembering how he felt at youth conference, said, “When you come together and hear about 1,000 people behind you singing, it’s so powerful.”
Simply attending church and doing the things they are asked to do helps these teens in their search for truth. James Mateer said, “I’m deacons quorum president now, and I look out for a few people. I like feeling of the Spirit guiding me. It’s peaceful. I feel happy.”
“I didn’t know what feeling the Spirit felt like until the start of this year,” said Tiago Pereira. “I was speaking to my dad, and he really helped me understand. We were just driving along, and my dad asked me if I had a testimony. At first I said, ‘Well, I’m not really sure.’ Then he asked me to describe the feelings I had when I felt the Spirit. As we were talking, I felt the Spirit again during our conversation. Both of us were crying by the end. It was good. From then on, it’s been easier to understand when I feel the Spirit.”
Seth Spencer summed up the way many of these youth feel about their parents. “My parents are my great teachers and have taught me since I was young to always listen to the Spirit. Whenever you have that warm feeling, that sort of little whisper in your ear, just follow it.”
Since the teens in Ipswich are often the only members in their school classes, they are sometimes put into the situation of teaching their friends, not just about the Church but about truths in life.
In Lucy Fagg’s case, she had to stand up for the gospel in class. The teacher was discussing some things about the Church that were wrong. Lucy tried to avoid confronting her, but her friends kept looking at her and asking, “Is this true?”
Lucy raised her hand. “The Spirit really helped me to know what to say, to tell her and my whole class that I was a member. I also felt comfort, and I was helped to answer the questions that everyone was asking me.”
Mary Mateer had an experience similar to Lucy’s. “One time a girl in my class asked a question, and I couldn’t sit and not say anything. It felt like the Spirit was pushing me. My heart was pounding the whole time. I just remember hearing the Spirit say to me, ‘Speak about Noah. Speak about Moses.’ It was the most amazing experience I’ve ever had. The words concerning Noah were in my mind, clear as day. I remember looking around the room at the people who were listening. You could see they were really listening. I could tell they felt the Spirit and that what I was saying was true.”
Such experiences give the teens here confidence. They know that they are not alone. They can rely on the Lord for help.
For some teens, feeling the Spirit is a daily occurrence. “One of my favorite times is every night when I start reading the scriptures. The Spirit is so strong,” says Joshua Donker. “Every day I look forward to reading my scriptures and writing in my journal.”
When Diogo Serra has a little time left after he has finished taking a school exam, he prays. At first he said very short prayers, but he started thinking that he would pray longer. He says that now “I have a conversation with my Heavenly Father. I tell the Lord about my week, what I’ve done, and ask for help or advice. That really makes me feel closer to Him.”
Some of the teens in Ipswich have felt the comforting Spirit of the Lord when they were in frightening situations. Tirion Guy told a story about being on a boat on the River Thames during a windy, stormy day. “The river was choppy, and it seemed to be getting worse. I remember some of the plates in the kitchen smashed, and the chairs were going everywhere. We had to walk up the sides of the boat so we wouldn’t fall over. While I was on the boat, I felt comforted that everything would be OK. But when we got off, when we were safe and it was calm, then I cried. When I was going through it, I can’t really describe it, but I was comforted.”
Diana Nunes described one thing about the Spirit that everyone seemed to feel but hadn’t put into words. Diana remembered when she had been sent ahead to live with relatives and start school before the rest of her family moved to England. Her father had given her a blessing, promising her that she would have confidence while they were apart. Diana said, “When he finished the blessing, I knew that when I was feeling alone and no one, not even my parents, could help me, the Spirit would be there to comfort me.”
These teens in Ipswich know that there is a place to turn for comfort, for answers to their questions, and to find peace, because they know that the gift of the Holy Ghost has been given to them.

I will share with you an experience I had before I was a General Authority which affected me profoundly. I sat in an airplane next to a man who so strongly expressed his disbelief in God that I bore my testimony to him. “You are wrong, I said, “there is a God. I know He lives!”
He protested, “You don’t know. Nobody knows that! You can’t know it!” When I would not agree with him, the man, who was an attorney, asked perhaps the ultimate question on the subject of testimony. “All right,” he said in a sneering, condescending way, “you say you know. Tell me how you know.”
I felt perhaps, that I had borne my testimony to him unwisely and was at a loss as to what to do. Then something came into my mind. I said to the man, “Let me ask if you know what salt tastes like.”
“Of course I do,” was his reply.
“When did you taste salt last?”
“When I just had dinner here on the airplane.”
“You just think you know what salt tastes like,” I said.
He insisted, “I know what salt tastes like as well as I know anything.”
“If I gave you a cup of salt and a cup of sugar and let you taste them both, could you tell the salt from the sugar?”
“Now you are getting silly,” was his reply. “Of course I could tell the difference. I know what salt tastes like. It is an everyday experience.”
“Then,” I said, “assuming that I have never tasted salt, explain to me just what it tastes like.”
After some thought, he said, “Well, I suppose you could say that it is not sweet and it is not sour.”
“You’ve told me what it isn’t, not what it is.” After several attempts, of course, he could not do it. He could not explain, in words alone, so ordinary an experience as tasting salt. I bore testimony to him once again and said, “I know there is a God. You ridiculed that testimony and said that if I did know, I would be able to tell you exactly how I know. My friend, spiritually speaking, I have tasted salt. I am no more able to tell you in words how this knowledge has come to me than you are able to tell me what salt tastes like. But I say to you again, there is a God! He does live! And just because you don’t know, don’t try to tell me that I don’t know, for I do!”
Since that day, I have never been embarrassed or ashamed that I could not explain in words alone everything I know spiritually. The Apostle Paul said it this way:
“We speak, not in the words which man’s wisdom teacheth, but which the Holy Ghost teacheth; comparing spiritual things with spiritual.
“But the natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned.” (1 Cor. 2:13–14.)

In my training as a new General Authority, I found myself in Costa Rica with Elder F. Arthur Kay and others. In prayer and fasting, we visited families who were less active. The stake president and bishops had fasted and prayed that the Lord would indicate to them the choice families to be visited, and the families were then notified of the planned visits.

We first entered the home of a young, successful businessman with a lovely wife and children. A former leader, he had transgressed the laws of the Church. As the Spirit of the Lord spoke through his servants, tears came to all our eyes as the couple committed to prepare to go to the Lord’s house, the beautiful new temple in Guatemala, to be sealed for eternity.

Cape Town South Africa Stake
The youth from the Cape Town South Africa Stake read from Ephesians 5:9 [Eph. 5:9]: “For the fruit of the Spirit is in all goodness and righteousness and truth.” That was the theme of their youth conference. Then they began a two-day work project where they repaired and remodeled a wooden building that would be converted to a day-care center for five small settlements at Du Noon outside of Cape Town.
The youth straightened and reinforced a dilapidated wall and removed rotting boards so new ones could be installed. They landscaped the outside property, replaced and cleaned windows, and sanded and varnished the wood.
“I didn’t think work could be such fun,” said Siyabulela Mavula of the Guguletu Branch. “What made it more enjoyable than other work was the fact that we were all friends and we were helping these people who couldn’t help themselves.”

“I remember a special boyhood experience when my father once took my brother and me to an athletics competition, and I saw a man throwing the javelin for the first time. It made a great impression on me as a ten-year-old boy. Several years later when I was in school, after a lot of practice, I won the javelin event and became Victor Ludorum (Latin for: Winner of the Games) with successes not only in the javelin and discus, but also in the high jump, long jump, and middle-distance running events. Later still I represented the University of Nottingham and became a qualified javelin and discus coach.”

While in the hospital, Peter had a lot of time to think about what to do. He still had a long, painful road back to the point where he could be released. It was during this time that several good friends helped him learn about setting goals and controlling attitude. One man from his ward, Brother Lawrence Oborn, was particularly influential. He came to see Peter often and was always encouraging him to set a goal. At first, Peter didn’t want to try. Brother Oborn insisted by saying, “It is what’s on the inside that counts, not the outside.”
I remember how angry I got. I said very flippantly to Brother Oborn, “Okay, why don’t you get burned and you come here.” I could hear him crying, although it was muffled by the bandages around my head. As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn’t because he had done so much for me. He said, “Peter, if I could, I would.” This was when I realized that this man truly loved me, like his own son. That was when I committed to do everything he asked.
They decided on a goal. Peter would count the stitches he had during each surgery and enter it in the Guinness Book of Records. The doctors and nurses asked to be allowed to quit keeping track just short of 2,000 stitches.
Peter set another goal to count every needle that would enter his body. After seven weeks he got so bored he quit counting at 1,252. Together they set a third goal to be the most enthusiastic patient in the hospital. Even though he was often angry at the world, Peter tried to keep his goal. When he left the hospital, the staff presented him with a plaque naming him the most enthusiastic patient in their care.

All his life Matthew had known that his family expected him to go on a mission for the Church. He looked forward to being nineteen when he would be old enough for a mission call—which he felt sure would be to Hawaii. Yet when he was only seventeen, a call came for him to serve as a missionary in New Zealand.
It was a long way from home for such a young missionary. Matthew didn’t understand the language of the Maori people. He didn’t even know exactly how to teach the gospel.
Matthew had been in New Zealand only a short time when a native woman came to him and asked him to go home with her. “Come, please,” she begged. “My boy is hurt. You fix him up.”
One look at the boy lying on the floor told Matthew the boy was badly hurt. “You must get a doctor,” he told the mother.
“The doctor isn’t home. He’s not even in town. Anyhow we don’t need him. You pray and fix up my boy,” the woman insisted.
Her complete confidence amazed Matthew. He had never administered to anyone before, but he could not refuse.
The young missionary got down on his knees. Before offering a prayer for the injured boy, Matthew gave a silent but fervent prayer for himself, that he might be able to do and say whatever was expected of him. Then he administered to the woman’s son.
The boy recovered quickly. This almost miraculous healing through the power of faith and prayer was only the first of many experiences that Matthew Cowley had in the islands of the Pacific.

During the 150th anniversary of the pioneers’ arrival in the Salt Lake Valley, Brother Myron Richins was serving as a stake president in Henefer, Utah. The celebration included a reenactment of the pioneers’ passage through his town.
President Richins was heavily involved with the plans for the celebration, and he attended many meetings with General Authorities and others to discuss the events. He was fully engaged.
Just before the actual celebration, President Richins’s stake was reorganized, and he was released as president. On a subsequent Sunday, he was attending his ward priesthood meeting when the leaders asked for volunteers to help with the celebration. President Richins, along with others, raised his hand and was given instructions to dress in work clothes and to bring his truck and a shovel.
Finally, the morning of the big event came, and President Richins reported to volunteer duty.
Only a few weeks before, he had been an influential contributor to the planning and supervision of this major event. On that day, however, his job was to follow the horses in the parade and clean up after them.
President Richins did so gladly and joyfully.
He understood that one kind of service is not above another.
He knew and put into practice the words of the Savior: “He that is greatest among you shall be your servant.”9

When the music gets going, it’s hard to hold the audiences down. Feet start tapping, heads bobbing, and children patting out rhythms on their chairs. Music warms the hall and pulls people into the imaginative worlds of lost loves, of Luke Skywalker, of Sleeping Beauty and Spanish flamenco dancers. The concert closes too soon; the audience yells, whistles, shouts “bravo” and “encore”—and the group does another number or two.
Whether bouncing through the energetic “Stars and Stripes Forever,” jiving to “Disco on the Danube” (a contemporary version of a Strauss waltz), floating a romantic medley of Barry Manilow’s hits, or peacefully performing “The Lord Is My Shepherd,” the Mormon Youth Symphony and Chorus works a special magic on its audiences. Part of the spell is the music itself—but even more, what is communicated through the music. This is no ordinary performing group, as audiences are quick to understand.
“I’ve heard the New York Philharmonic and the Chicago Symphony play this piece, but I’ve never listened before with tears in my eyes. Can you tell me why?” asked a member of the Music Educators Conference who had just heard Mormon Youth perform “The Pines of Rome.”
“The young people in the group are not only superb musicians, they radiate goodness,” said one nonmember at a recent California concert. “It makes me wonder, who are these young people?”
Well, they’re law students, medical students, high school and college students, bank tellers, electricians, gardeners, teachers, florists, printers, accountants, and many other people between 16 and 30 years old. Some are single, some married, and all 375 are excellent musicians. And most important, they want to share their testimonies through the music they perform.
“When you join, you know that you’re in the group for more than just musical reasons,” said Kevin Call, principal violist who’s soloed in the Tabernacle with the group several times. “My motivation for joining is to use my music as a missionary tool.”
Janice Call, who sings with the chorus, agrees. “When you’ve put on a good performance, you can feel the Spirit so strongly. You feel like you’ve developed your talents for a good reason, and that you’re in the group for a purpose—to help people get closer to the Lord.”
“It’s difficult to describe the exhilaration you feel when you’re performing,” said Kathy Broadbent, whose three sisters have also sung with Mormon Youth. “I guess the only way to describe it is, I just love my Heavenly Father and feel so warm inside to know that I can do something for him and am using a talent he’s given me. We’re touching people with the music, and that’s something I think he would have me do.”
It’s hard to measure the impact of the group. Letters pour into the Mormon Youth office monthly asking what makes the group so unusual and asking for more information about the Church. And the impression the group gives of the Mormon Church can only be measured by attitude changes—and converts.
One woman who was asked never to return home after she joined the Church convinced her mother to attend one of the concerts, and her mother’s attitude toward the Church completely changed. “I’ll be able to go back to my home now,” said the daughter. Another man who had been investigating the Church for three years decided to join after hearing the Mormon Youth perform in Sacramento, California. And another couple in Modesto, California, said they were so affected by the spirit at the two Mormon Youth concerts they attended that they decided to join the Church.
The influence of the group has an international appeal, too. A Mormon Youth Christmas special was the first LDS programming to be allowed in France, and after it aired, three more programs were requested. A segment that aired on Norwegian television opened countless doors that had previously been closed to the missionaries in Norway. The Bicentennial special that aired in the U.S. on July 4th came in third in the ratings nationally, and prompted a wealthy New Yorker to offer to send the entire group to Russia to tour. And the stories of how the group has touched people and helped with missionary work go on and on.
“With our weekly radio program alone we reach a potential listening audience of 144 million in the United States, Canada, and Europe,” said Robert Bowden, conductor of the group (and guest conductor of the Boston Pops when he lived in Massachusetts). “We also do 20 concerts a year and usually one or two television specials. In fact, we just won a regional Emmy for one of them.”
With such a busy performance schedule and only one rehearsal a week, the musicians need to be a dedicated lot, he added. That’s one reason being a member of Mormon Youth is a Church calling.
“Mormon Youth is not a social organization but a working organization,” said Brother Bowden. “I tell people auditioning that if they want to join for social reasons, they’re in the wrong place. We’re working for the Church and the missionary program.
“Often we’ll rehearse the music one Saturday morning and record it the next. It takes a top player or singer to do this, one who sight reads well, too. I marvel at what this group can do. They know they’re serving the Lord, so they want to be as professional as they can.”
When the group is touring, the challenges are varied. Usually they’ll have at least one performance a day, and between travel, standing in lines for food, and getting little sleep, it can be quite a wearing experience.
“You have to learn how to be discreet while yawning on stage,” said one musician.
“The hardest part of touring is that we get so tired,” said Linda Taylor, an alto. “There isn’t really time to relax. But when you perform, all the inconveniences disappear. Every time we sing ‘I Know That My Redeemer Lives’ I get chills all over.”
Meals are often served in ward cultural halls or provided by host families, or the musicians fend for themselves in the cities they visit. “You can’t just walk into a restaurant with seven busloads of people,” said Ray Furgeson, president of the group. “It takes a lot of planning long before we go on the road.”
Staying with host families is one highlight of a tour. “The sightseeing is fun, but to me one of the best parts of touring is staying with the LDS families,” said Jim Lamoreaux, a tenor. “They take you in like you’re one of their kids and roll out the red carpet for you. When you leave it’s like you’ve known them all your life.”
As always, the group weaves its particular magic while on tour, just as on the home front. At the end of the California tour last summer, the seven bus drivers (some LDS, some not) gathered together and addressed the group. “We’d like to thank you for the privilege of traveling with you,” said their spokesperson. “We have enough roses for each of the girls, just to tell you thanks for being such a great group.” And 14 dozen roses were presented to the young women.
“Music is a very powerful force,” said Brother Bowden. “How many times have you gone to Church, and because of a musical number or hymn, tears have come to your eyes? It can be a force for our Heavenly Father, though some music can be a force for the devil. You have to be careful about how you use music.
“These young people have decided how to use their talents, and have caught the spirit of what they’re doing. They can take a piece of music and do more than I could ever expect them to, because they have the spirit of what’s going on. You can feel it in the audience—a hush—and you realize the people are feeling the music and saying, ‘My goodness, listen to that!’ It’s exciting to be a part of that.”
And undoubtedly each member of the group would agree. That’s why some of them didn’t mind the year and a half waiting list to get in. Or why they all sacrifice Saturday mornings for rehearsals when the ski slopes whisper gentle little enticements.
“When I think of the happiness that playing with Mormon Youth has brought me and the people who listen and how blessed I am for the privilege of playing with the symphony, it fills my whole soul with so much joy. For me, walking that path is a step toward heaven,” said Steve Duncan, percussionist. “The sacrifice and long hours are really worth it.”

My three-year-old granddaughter illustrated the power of innocence and humility to connect us with God. She went with her family to the open house of the Brigham City Temple in Utah. In one of the rooms of that beautiful building, she looked around and asked, “Mommy, where is Jesus?” Her mother explained that she would not see Jesus in the temple, but she would be able to feel His influence in her heart. Eliza carefully considered her mother’s response and then seemed satisfied and said, “Oh, Jesus is gone helping someone,” she concluded.

No pavilion obscured Eliza’s understanding or obstructed her view of reality. God is close to her, and she feels close to Him. She knew that the temple is the house of the Lord but also understood that the resurrected and glorified Jesus Christ has a body and can only be in one place at a time. If He was not at His house, she recognized that He must be in another place. And from what she knows of the Savior, she knew that He would be somewhere doing good for His Father’s children. It was clear that she had hoped to see Jesus, not for a confirming miracle of His existence but simply because she loved Him.

The next morning, Joseph said nothing about Moroni, even though he knew his father also believed in visions and angels. Instead, they spent the morning harvesting a nearby field with Alvin.

The work was difficult. Joseph tried to keep pace with his brother as they swung their scythes back and forth through the tall grain. But Moroni’s visits had kept him awake all night, and his thoughts kept returning to the ancient record and the hill where they were buried.

Soon he stopped working, and Alvin noticed. “We must keep to work,” he called out to Joseph, “or we shall not get our task done.”14

Joseph tried to work harder and faster, but no matter what he did, he could not keep up with Alvin. After a while, Joseph Sr. noticed that Joseph looked pale and had stopped working again. “Go home,” he said, believing his son was sick.

Joseph obeyed his father and stumbled back toward the house. But as he tried to cross a fence, he collapsed to the ground, exhausted.

While he lay there, gathering strength, he saw Moroni standing above him once more, surrounded by light. “Why did you not tell your father what I told you?” he asked.

Joseph said he was afraid his father would not believe him.

“He will,” Moroni assured him, then repeated his message from the night before.15

Joseph Sr. wept when his son told him about the angel and his message. “It was a vision from God,” he said. “Attend to it.”16

One day at school, a friend and I were choosing a book to read together. The book my friend wanted to read was a ghost story. When we had read a few pages, I had an uneasy feeling because I remembered that my mom had told me not to read that book. My brother Ben had read it earlier, and it had bad things in it. After that we chose a different book. I was glad that the Holy Ghost had helped me remember.Laura Jossie, age 9Wichita, Kansas