Gospel Story Finder

It seems like not so long ago I was but a boy, young and green with eyes unmellowed, but believing I was indeed extremely wise. I was no expert at baseball, but my bedroom was adorned with photographs of baseball heroes—especially those of Pete Dillard. Pete was a famous professional player whose parents lived in our town, and he came every summer for a week with his family to visit them. It was kind of fun to see him around town, shaking hands with everybody and sometimes joining in a neighborhood game and signing autographs afterward. But I never seemed to get close enough to him to even say hello. One day when I was approaching a crowd of fans around Pete, I overheard a boy say, “Hey, Pete, how did you ever get so good at baseball?”
Pete shrugged his shoulders modestly, smiled, and said, “Lots and lots of practice.” But then he paused for a while as if he remembered something and added, “Maybe it’s because I once had a Sunday School teacher who loved me. All of us called him Chief.”
And then Pete was gone.
Most of my experiences with baseball consisted of playing games with my dad and a sprinkling of friends on hot summer evenings. When Dad didn’t have meetings or if he didn’t have to work late at the office, he usually spent some time with me. After dinner we often played catch out in our front yard until way after the street lights blinked on. I still remember his calm, deep voice as he called out to me, “Good throw, Son” or “A little higher, boy” or “Nice curve, John.”
Then other boys would come straggling over one by one and stand and watch us, and Dad would stop the game and invite them to join us. If we eventually accumulated enough people, we’d begin a game of baseball. Everybody liked my dad—almost as much as I did.
There was a boy who lived directly across the street from us, Homer Johnson. He had a mop of red curls, pale thin skin that revealed his veins clear through, and thick, thick glasses. He hardly ever came out of his house. My mother said that he had had a lot of illness. But every so often I’d see his piercing eyes watching us from an upstairs window as we played ball. I’d try not to feel those eyes, but I could not ignore them.
One day just when we had chosen up sides for a game, my team was short one player. But that didn’t matter, because I had all good players. Then suddenly Dad turned his head and said in his calm, deep voice, “Oh, hello there, Homer. Want to join us?”
I reeled around, and there was Homer standing across the street in front of his house, his hands in his pockets. He fidgeted a lot, but slowly he dragged his feet and crossed the street. As he neared, I noticed that he was thinner and smaller than he looked to be from his window … and he didn’t look very strong.
I turned toward my father. “Dad …” I tried to whisper. But he had already walked over and put an arm around Homer. Now they were both walking toward us.
“John needs one more man on his team,” Dad was saying. “You can be an outfielder for now.”
I felt my ears burn. Dad caught my eye, and I think he knew how I felt—he always did. But there was something in Dad’s look that silenced me. I picked up my ball and mitt and stomped off to my position.
The other team scored two home runs. And then it happened. Someone smacked the ball out into the field toward Homer. I saw him position his hands to catch the flying ball, and then … splaatt! His glasses flew, and he was holding his nose, with blood dripping from beneath his hands. Dad had him lie down on the grass to stop the bleeding. Then he sent him home to wash up. Fortunately his glasses hadn’t broken.
After Homer left, I said, “Dad, he’s no good as a player. He shouldn’t be on anyone’s team ’cause he’ll make it lose.”
Then in a low voice so no one else could hear, Dad said, “He’s a child of God, John. Always remember that.”
I didn’t want to make a scene in front of everybody, so I just tromped off and continued playing ball, but my ears were burning. I didn’t say anything else for the rest of the evening. I resented being preached to.
Homer didn’t return the next day or the next. But the following week he was back again, standing in front of his home, fidgeting and staring at us. As we pitched and threw and shouted on my lawn, I could not help but feel two penetrating eyes on us. Then I heard Dad’s voice inviting him to join us, and again I felt my ears turn hot. As I glanced over at my father, I saw a pleading look on his face as he gazed back at me.
That night I lay in bed, wide-eyed. I had thrown off the covers, and still my bedclothes stuck to my back. I heard a rustle. Standing in the doorway was Dad. “You still awake, Son?”
I nodded, and hoped that he could see my response in the dark. His large angular figure came toward me, his gentle eyes sparkling in the dark. I thought of Homer and looked away.
He sat beside me, and I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Son …” he began softly. “Things are getting tight at the office, and I’ll have to stay late at work for a while.”
My heart fell.
“But I have one day reserved just for you,” he continued. “Pete Dillard is going to be in town in a couple of weeks, and they’ve asked him to speak at a fund-raising dinner for crippled children. I have two tickets for you and me.”
Suddenly I was smiling. “Dad!” I shouted. “You mean I get to see Pete Dillard for real! Boy, oh, boy! Wait until my friends hear about this!”
Even though I had this exciting event to look forward to from that day on, things were not the same when my friends and I got together to play ball on the front lawn. Without Dad, we often got into squabbles, and one of the fellows would go home mad. Sometimes Homer would stand at his front door, watching us. But nobody invited him to play ball. So he just stood there all the time with his piercing, piercing eyes.
At last the day of the dinner came. There was Pete in the front of the hall, shaking hands with people and looking really interested in what everyone had to say to him. I don’t remember what was served. My only thoughts were about the baseball that I set beside my plate for Pete to autograph after the dinner.
When it was time for Pete to talk, he arose confidently. He didn’t give the speech we all expected, but said only a few words. Again he mentioned Chief, the Sunday School teacher I had heard him talk about sometime ago.
“I was awkward and clumsy as a boy,” Pete said, “but it was the confidence that Chief had in me that gave me what I needed in my long struggle to become the person that I wanted to become.”
Then he sat down. People began crowding around for autographs. I picked up my ball and started up front. Suddenly I realized Dad was next to me, waiting to meet Pete too.
Finally our turn came. I held my ball up for Pete to autograph. But Pete was staring past me with a funny look on his face, arms outstretched.
“Chief!” he cried. “What are you doing here?” And he threw his arms around my dad.
“I’ve lived here for five years,” Dad replied. “I’ve tried to get hold of you every time you’ve been in town, but you’re an awfully busy man!”
On our way home in the car, many unanswered questions filled my mind. But somehow I couldn’t seem to find the right words to express them. All I could say was, “Dad, you’re great, you really are. Even Pete Dillard thinks so.”
The next evening seemed so empty without my father. I stood in front of my house, waiting for the neighborhood boys to start coming by to play ball again. Idly I tossed a ball into the air, marveling over the happenings of yesterday.
Suddenly I became aware of two piercing eyes upon me. I tried to ignore them, but they were there nonetheless. Then the scene of Pete Dillard embracing my Dad flashed through my mind, and the word Chief! seemed to ring out loud and clear. And I realized then that I yearned to be like my dad.
I found myself slowly crossing the street, walking up the steps of the house opposite mine, and knocking on the door.

The crisp, unmistakable clopping of horse hooves echoed in the still morning air, and I stopped weeding to listen. “Kirby!” I yelled toward the elm tree. “A horse is coming!” His face appeared amid the budding leaves for a second; then I heard the wild rustling of branches as he scrambled downward.
I sprang to my feet and ran to stand on the flat brown rock. Craning my neck to see around the long-stemmed hollyhocks, I watched the bend in the lane. Soon I saw sunlight shine on silken red hair and glisten on a polished leather bridle. My heart pounded against my chest as I skipped to the middle of the lane to get a closer look.
The horse’s mane was rusty brown, and his eyes shone like lustrous coals. His hooves hardly seemed to touch the ground as it pranced toward me. Then I felt Kirby’s hand on my arm as he jumped up and down excitedly. “Settle down,” I cautioned. “You’ll scare him.”
“Do you think Marilyn will stop and let us pet him, Cathy?”
“I doubt it,” I said as horse and rider drew closer, “but you never know.”
Kirby danced to the side of the lane and fidgeted on the flat brown rock. I kept my eyes on the approaching horse as I moved out of his path. As horse and rider passed, the horse bobbed his head and looked at us out of the corner of his eyes. Marilyn nodded and smiled but did not stop, even though we tagged along until they reached the next bend in the road.
As we walked back home, Kirby scuffed the dust with his worn shoes. “She could have stopped!”
“It certainly wouldn’t have killed her!” I agreed.
When Dad pulled into the driveway at noon, he slowed enough for me to jump onto the running board of the car and ride it to the side of the house. Climbing out of the car, he gave me a quick hug. “Have you been helping your mother this morning?” he asked as we walked hand in hand toward the house.
“I weeded the flowers and thinned the radishes.”
“And Grandma?”
“I’m going to help her stretch curtains this afternoon.”
“Good girl.” He held the screen door open for me, then entered the kitchen and gave Mom and Grandma each a hug and a kiss. Kirby raced in, and Dad picked him up and slung him over his shoulder, laughing.
During lunch, I cleared my throat. “Mom, Dad?” I hesitated, then blurted out, “Marilyn went by on her horse again today. Why can’t I … we have one?”
Mother smiled patiently. “Cathy, your father has explained that we can’t afford—”
“We could keep it in the garage,” I interrupted. “And it could eat grass. Kirby and I would comb it and keep the garage clean, honest!”
Dad wiped his mouth with his napkin and frowned. “Your mother is right, honey. It’s too big an expense and a responsibility. But beyond that, horses are sensitive animals. There’s a lot more to having one than just keeping it in the garage and feeding it.”
After lunch I helped Grandma. The sharp needles of the curtain stretcher pricked my finger, and I rammed it into my mouth and scowled.
“You’ll feel like a pincushion if you’re not careful, child,” Grandma cautioned.
I examined my finger, then attached another loop of curtain. “Did you ever want anything really bad, Grandma?”
“Oh, my, yes!”
“What’d you do when your parents said no?”
“I prayed about it,” Grandma told me, “and I always got an answer—one way or another.”
That night as I said my prayers, I added, “Heavenly Father, I am grateful for all Your blessings. Mom and Dad say we can’t afford a horse, but if there is any way, please make it possible for me to have one. Thank you. In Jesus Christ’s name, amen.”
The next several days were filled with chores, tree climbing, berry picking, and hiking in the woods with Kirby. Each night I repeated my plea for a horse as I tried to wait patiently for an answer.
Then one bright sunny afternoon I heard a welcome sound and looked up to see a horse galloping through the fields toward our place. His mane flowed wildly, and his tail waved proudly. I sprang to my feet and raced through the high weeds to meet it. My prayer was being answered!
“Cathy,” Kirby shouted from behind me, “I brought a rope!”
I grabbed the rope he offered and smiled. “Good thinking,” I said breathlessly. “We’ll lead him to the garage. Mom and Dad will have to let us keep him because they’ll see that Heavenly Father sent him to us.”
When the horse was really close, he suddenly stopped and pawed the ground. His head bobbed up and down, and he snorted loudly. Then, slowly, he moved toward us, stretched his neck toward my trembling hand, and let me stroke his velvet nose. A long strap hung from his bridle, and I clicked my tongue as I slowly grasped the strap and looped the rope through a metal ring. I was filled with joy as he watched trustingly.
“Yahoo! You got him!” Kirby shouted.
Instantly the huge horse shied and raced off, with me still holding the rope. I bumped along the crop-stubbled field for a few yards, then lost my grip and clutched desperately to regain the rope.
“Are you OK?” Kirby hurried over and sank beside me in the dust, his face furrowed with concern as he looked at my skinned knees and rope-burned hands. “I scared him, didn’t I? I’m awfully sorry.”
“It’s OK,” I told him. “For a little while we had a horse, didn’t we?”
Kirby’s face lit up instantly. “Yeah,” he agreed happily.
We watched two men catch the horse and lead him away. He could never have been ours, I thought.
I stopped praying for a horse—not because I no longer wanted one, but because I finally knew what Mom and Dad had known all along. A horse would be too big a responsibility for us—now, anyway. Heavenly Father had known it, too, and He let me find out for myself. I had my answer, and I was content.
Kirby and I still rush to the side of the lane each time we hear a horse coming. And sometimes Marilyn stops and lets us pet her horse or give him a carrot. For now, that’s enough.

Rooma didn’t really want to study the scriptures. Vaitiare didn’t really want to go to seminary. And they didn’t have to. But when they chose to, their lives changed.
At the beginning of the school year, Vaitiare Pito wasn’t even a member of the Church. So how did a new member who had never been to seminary before help her team win the Faaa stake scripture mastery championship?
“I wasn’t worried about not having a lot of experience,” she says. “I learned many of those verses during the missionary lessons.”
Most of Vaitiare’s family joined the Church after her father died unexpectedly and the ward mission leader brought the missionaries to Vaitiare’s home. They talked about family unity and being together forever. “It really brought a change to our family,” she says.
However, it didn’t necessarily change the 17-year-old’s independent streak. “After I was baptized, everyone told me I should go to seminary,” she says. “I don’t like being told what to do, so it took me a while to go.”
Eventually she decided for herself to go and found she enjoyed it. She was assigned to be part of the same scripture mastery team as Rooma.
At first she didn’t make an effort to read the scripture assignments. But when she decided she would, she soon recognized a number of blessings.
“The scriptures have been a great help,” she says. “I have learned from the scriptures many things,” including the importance of prayer and that Heavenly Father will answer those prayers.
She also learned that when she decides to commit to something, like going to seminary or reading the scriptures, keeping the commitment is easier than if she does it because she has to or is “supposed” to.
Now that the school year is over, Vaitiare is grateful she chose to go to seminary and study the scriptures: “I know when we read the scriptures, we are blessed.”

In the Moses Lake Washington Stake, over 150 miles east of the volcano, 33 youth helped clean the stake center, working until 1:00 in the morning so they could return the hoses they’d borrowed from the fire department in time. Scouts in Moses Lake helped clean the homes of ward members. The four teenagers of the Allen Brown family helped a blind ward member clean off his house and yard. The teens in the Don Larson family surprised a ward member who was out of town when the eruption occurred by having his house cleaned up when he got back to town. He then helped clean the chapel grounds and homes of other people. Craig Duvall, a recently returned missionary, cleaned county roads and driveways for a week. Carolyn Whiteman, a 14-year-old Lamanite, went day after day to haul ashes out of the yard of an elderly couple down her street.

After a rough day at school, Lucy S. (13, from Utah, USA) finally arrived home. Her brother, David (12) noticed she was upset.
“What’s wrong?” David asked. “Are you OK?”
David’s concern made a big difference for Lucy. “I felt a lot better,” Lucy says. “David has autism, and he often just focuses on what he’s interested in, but when he sees someone who is sad or lonely, he’ll go up to them. He’s very aware of other people. That’s the kind of person he is—he’s good, genuine, and honest.”
Siblings like Lucy know that growing up with a brother or sister with a disability can be challenging, but they also know how wonderful it can be. And they know the many blessings that can come. They can teach us a lot. Read on for examples of what some of these siblings have learned that may also help you.
Anela (14), Chiyo (11), and Daniel (10) from the Philippines have a brother, Bien (12), who has cerebral palsy. They see him as a unique person with his own strengths. They wish others would get to know Bien the way they do.
“Where we live, there’s a steep hill that my siblings and I call a ‘mountain,’” Anela says. “We enjoy riding our bikes up the hill and racing back down. Bien has a hard time going up, so we help him. Sometimes people stare at him. It bothers me when that happens. But Bien doesn’t seem to mind. He smiles and waves at them as we pass by.
“I wish people would know when they see Bien that he’s friendly and enjoys being around other people. He’s shy at first, but he’s a lot of fun once he feels comfortable. He can’t do what able-bodied people can do, but he loves to learn. I’ve learned from Bien that we shouldn’t worry so much about what everyone else thinks about us, and we should treat everyone with kindness.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to be patient with David, especially when he won’t listen,” Lucy says. “Sometimes he can’t help it, so I don’t want to get too mad at him, but I also want to make sure he learns and understands. It’s important to find balance. It helps me know how to help my brother.”
Chiyo has found that patience helps Bien learn. “I help teach my brother the alphabet, colors, numbers, and animals,” Chiyo says. “Sometimes he has a hard time identifying animals. I keep working with him, and after a while, I noticed he’s improved. I’ll name an animal, he’ll point to a photo, and he gets some of them right! Bien’s example teaches me that it takes time to learn new things and it can be hard, but if you have patience and keep practicing, you will eventually get it right.”
“I love that my family thinks about my brother before we do an activity so he can have a good time too,” Anela says. “We also include Bien in helping around the house,” Chiyo says. “He can fold some of his clothes and sweep the floor.”
Lucy has also seen how teachers and friends at church make David feel welcome. “It’s nice to see people try and learn about David’s interests,” Lucy says. “Right now, he really loves Star Wars, so ward members will ask him about it. They know it’s something he’ll be willing to talk about. One of his teachers tries to incorporate what David likes into the lessons in some way. This helps him pay more attention in class.”
Someone may look different, act different, or have different abilities, but we all belong. There are many ways to help everyone feel included and important. The more we strive to do so, the more we will all learn and grow.
We all belong.
Christ and the Palsied Man, by J. Kirk Richards

When I selected the painting of the Savior, a couple of my brothers and sisters snickered. Items that they thought were more valuable still remained among the things that had belonged to Mom and Dad.
We were gathered at our childhood home, where Mom had been living when she died a few weeks earlier. Dad had passed away five years before, in 2001. Now it was time to divide up their belongings. We drew numbers and selected items, the person with the lowest number making the first pick.
The bedroom set went first, followed by the refrigerator, dining room table and chairs, and late-model car. I selected the piano, even though I don’t play. We had enjoyed music in our home when I was growing up. Dad often served as ward music director, and both my parents sang well. My father, who was a big man with a powerful voice, never turned down an opportunity to sing. The piano meant a lot to me, as did the painting of the Savior.
When I chose the painting, which was framed alongside a copy of “The Living Christ: The Testimony of the Apostles,”1 it was hanging on the wall of the family room, where we were sitting.
At such a time I couldn’t help but think about the Savior, the plan of salvation, and how much my parents meant to me. And I couldn’t help but feel gratitude for the way they had raised us, the gospel they had taught us, and the example they had set for us, including their willingness to serve.
These thoughts crowded upon my mind as we finished dividing up my parents’ belongings. After returning home, I looked for the right place to hang the painting of the Savior. As I flipped it over, to my surprise I saw that it had been dedicated to my father: “We will always remember Bishop Taylor as a big man with a heart to match.” It was signed by our stake presidency: “President Cory, President Carter, President Stubbs.”
Suddenly the painting became even more valuable to me. Today it hangs on a wall in my home above my parents’ piano. There are still some things at our old home that I selected but haven’t picked up. It doesn’t matter. I have the things of greatest worth.

The day just didn’t start out right. The weather was supposed to be warm and sunny, but this particular Saturday morning in Mexico was cold, windy, and overcast. The dust was everywhere in Tijuana and our car, chameleon-like, had changed color to match the weather and the city.
Trying to find the LDS chapel was no easy feat. Everyone in the car had his own opinion of where it was, as had every Mexican we asked. As we tried to decipher the street signs, we read one that said, “Un Sentido.” By the time we found out what it meant, it was too late. Our whole caravan was on a one-way street—going the wrong way.
We had made the trip from Los Angeles that morning in a couple of station wagons, two huge vacation trailers, and a two-ton truck crammed with over 100 used suits, 150 dresses, 600 shirts, blouses, trousers, and sweaters in all different sizes and shapes. We had nearly 100 pairs of shoes and loads of underwear, ties, and odd pieces of clothing. Add to that over 300 gift-wrapped toys and gifts, several bicycles, a rocking horse, 10 pairs of roller skates, and 30 to 40 boxes of canned goods and food. All of it had been collected in Los Angeles for the benefit of an orphanage and some of the needy Saints in Mexico.
In less than a month an idea for a Chatsworth Second Ward (Los Angeles California Chatsworth Stake) Aaronic Priesthood MIA service project had grown into a major undertaking.
After a few “No comprende” answers to the grinning Mexicans, we found the attractive little Mormon chapel on a hilltop overlooking the city.
There to meet us were all the children just coming out from Saturday morning Primary. But before long children from neighboring streets were on hand, too, to help carry half of the clothing and supplies into one of the classrooms for later distribution to the needy. After handing out some of the gifts for the children, we were off again, this time in a downpour, to an orphanage across the city.
It was quite an experience.
It didn’t matter that it rained miserably on the way home. Our hearts were full of sunshine.

God uses another form of chastening or correction to guide us to a future we do not or cannot now envision but which He knows is the better way for us. President Hugh B. Brown, formerly a member of the Twelve and a counselor in the First Presidency, provided a personal experience. He told of purchasing a rundown farm in Canada many years ago. As he went about cleaning up and repairing his property, he came across a currant bush that had grown over six feet (1.8 m) high and was yielding no berries, so he pruned it back drastically, leaving only small stumps. Then he saw a drop like a tear on the top of each of these little stumps, as if the currant bush were crying, and thought he heard it say:

“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. … And now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me. … How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.”

President Brown replied, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and some day, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down.’”

Years later, President Brown was a field officer in the Canadian Army serving in England. When a superior officer became a battle casualty, President Brown was in line to be promoted to general, and he was summoned to London. But even though he was fully qualified for the promotion, it was denied him because he was a Mormon. The commanding general said in essence, “You deserve the appointment, but I cannot give it to you.” What President Brown had spent 10 years hoping, praying, and preparing for slipped through his fingers in that moment because of blatant discrimination. Continuing his story, President Brown remembered:

“I got on the train and started back … with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. … When I got to my tent, … I threw my cap … on the cot. I clinched my fists and I shook them at heaven. I said, ‘How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?’ I was as bitter as gall.

“And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, ‘I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.’ The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness. …

“… And now, almost fifty years later, I look up to [God] and say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.’”

God knew what Hugh B. Brown was to become and what was needed for that to happen, and He redirected his course to prepare him for the holy apostleship.

1. Grace was nervous. She was going to sing with her little brother, Ethan, in sacrament meeting.
2. When it was time for Grace and Ethan to sing, Grace looked at Mom. “You can do it, Grace,” Mom whispered.
3. Grace and Ethan walked to the front of the chapel and stood behind the podium so that everyone could see them. Grace saw Dad smiling at her.
4. When the music started, Grace and Ethan sang “Jesus Has Risen.” Grace remembered all of the words and all of the notes.
5. When the song ended, Grace gave Ethan a big hug. Grace felt happy inside.
6. Grace and Ethan walked back to their seats and sat next to Mom and Dad. They were happy too. “That was beautiful,” Dad whispered.
7. Grace smiled. She was glad she and her brother could sing about Jesus.

Agnes wrote of one incident that took place shortly before they got to the Salt Lake Valley: “Just before we crossed the mountains, relief wagons reached us, and it certainly was a relief. The infirm and aged were allowed to ride, all able-bodied continuing to walk. When the wagons started out, a number of us children decided to see how long we could keep up with the wagons, in hopes of being asked to ride. At least that is what my great hope was. One by one they all fell out, until I was the last one remaining, so determined was I that I should get a ride.
“After what seemed the longest run I ever made before or since, the driver, who was William Henry ‘Heber’ Kimball, called to me, ‘Say, sissy, would you like a ride?’ I answered in my very best manner, ‘Yes sir.’ At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived or that I had ever heard of, and other things that would not be a credit nor would it look well coming from one so young. Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon.”

However, all was not going to go as planned because precisely one week before preparing to fly to Hong Kong, Sister Berry began to experience lower back pain. She tried to shrug it off, expecting it to heal on its own. Then, a couple of days later, after a volleyball game, she noticed the pain grew to the point where it was difficult to walk.
She was immediately seen by the MTC doctor and was horrified to be told that she would not be able to fly out for her mission but would need to return home to England to have surgery.
She was utterly devastated but determined to find a way to stay on track. She was able to see a surgeon in the USA who specialised in the surgery she needed. So, Sister Berry remained in the MTC for an extra three weeks, waving goodbye to her MTC group as she waited.
Within that time, the cysts on her spine had receded and drained enough to help the surgery process for which she was waiting.
Following her surgery, the recovery programme would take longer than six weeks, and so it was decided she would return home to England, but she went back with the mindset that she would not stay for long, and that her suitcase would remain packed!
To keep herself in the missionary frame of mind, she kept her daily missionary routine, reading her scriptures and studying the mission language. She also met with her MTC teacher online to practise the language.
She said, “I did not give myself the option even to consider staying home. My mind was firmly set that this was just temporary”.
On March 4, 2019, now stronger, she flew from England to Hong Kong, ready to meet with her mission president and his wife, President and Sister Phillips, from the USA (now living in Salt Lake City).

Early in 1846, when Henry was 17, the Saints had to leave Nauvoo. For the wagon trek across Iowa, Jonathan C. Wright hired Henry to be a chore boy and drive an ox team. Henry liked this job, except for Brother Wright’s restriction that Henry walk his horses but never run or race them.
While Henry was camped with the Wrights at Council Bluffs, Iowa, a United States army recruiter arrived. “I had told my comrades that he would not get a man,” Henry said. But President Brigham Young called a meeting in a brush-covered bowery and asked that 500 men enlist for the Mexican War. Henry felt impressed to answer the call, so he joined the army. Mr. Wright, upset at losing his hired hand, “was wrathy and said that I could not go.” But Henry went. He was not yet 18 as required by the government, “but as I had nearly got my growth in height I passed without difficulty.” Besides, nobody asked him his age.

Then, the summer right before I turned 12, I went to girls’ camp with my ward’s Young Women.
We had time each night for scripture study in our tents, and I decided I was going to read the scriptures every night I was there. I began with the first words of the first verse that almost everyone has memorized: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents …” (1 Ne. 1:1).
It was so incredible. I don’t know how, but the scriptures started making more sense. I felt how hard it would be if Heavenly Father commanded my family to leave our home and go somewhere so far away. I had always known the story of how the Lord commanded Nephi to go get the brass plates, but those three nights at camp I could actually see a young man going to an evil man’s home, needing the plates.
I have read the scriptures every night since girls’ camp. I haven’t forgotten, and if I accidentally turn off the light before I read my scriptures, I am not able to sleep. After I finish reading the Book of Mormon, I plan on reading the Bible.

“Read the scriptures again? I’ve already done that for two years and made it through each of the standard works four times!”
Thus wrote a returned missionary after I challenged my institute class to read and ponder the scriptures twenty minutes each day for a month.
I suppose I made that assignment partly out of curiosity. I wanted to see if these modern young people could discover for themselves in a month’s time some of the power that ancient prophets found in the scriptures available to them.
Nephi wrote, “For my soul delighteth in the scriptures, and my heart pondereth them, and writeth them for the learning and profit of my children.” (2 Ne. 4:15.) He also said that the words that he had written would be made strong unto his people, “for it persuadeth them to do good … and it speaketh of Jesus, and persuadeth them to believe in him, and to endure to the end, which is life eternal.” (2 Ne. 33:4.) He further said his words are the words of truth, “and they teach all men that they should do good.” (2 Ne. 33:10.)
Following his encounter with Sheram, Jacob described the Nephites in these words: “And it came to pass that peace and the love of God was restored again among the people; and they searched the scriptures, and hearkened no more to the words of this wicked man.” (Jacob 7:23.)
Alma described the effect of his words upon some of the people of Ammonihah by saying, “many of them did believe on his words, and began to repent, and to search the scriptures.” (Alma 14:1.)
The four sons of Mosiah, in the midst of missionary work following their conversion, “waxed strong in the knowledge of the truth; for they were men of a sound understanding and they had searched the scriptures diligently, that they might know the word of God.” (Alma 17:2.)
The Psalmist wrote:
“O how love I thy law! It is my meditation all the day.
“Thou through thy commandments hast made me wiser than mine enemies: for they are ever with me.
“I have more understanding than all my teachers: for thy testimonies are my meditation.
“I understand more than the ancients, because I keep thy precepts.
“I have refrained my feet from every evil way, that I might keep thy word.
“I have not departed from thy judgements: for thou hast taught me.
“How sweet are thy words unto my taste! yea, sweeter than honey to my mouth!
“Through thy precepts I get understanding: therefore I hate every false way. (Ps. 119:97–104.)
I used these scriptures to help my students understand that it was not enough just to read. Prophets have used the words diligently, pondering, meditating, and feasting to explain how we should approach the scriptures. Clearly we should read with careful thought and much pondering. Even when we are not reading we should reflect constantly on God’s word. The prophets have promised that this will lead to new spiritual insights and to greater righteousness.
The scriptures show us that we can ponder in two ways: we can meditate on the scripture itself, or we can relate what we read to our personal lives.
Moroni taught the first kind of pondering when he exhorted Book of Mormon readers to ponder in their hearts what they read. (Moro. 10:3.) Nephi was caught away in the spirit while he sat pondering in his heart the things that his father had seen. (1 Ne. 11:1.)
The eyes of Sidney Rigdon and Joseph Smith were opened following a studious and prayerful consideration of John 5:29. Joseph Smith stated, “… while we meditated upon these things, the Lord touched the eyes of our understandings and they were opened. …” (D&C 76:19. See also D&C 76:11–18.)
The second kind of ponderings led to the Sacred Grove. The Prophet Joseph said of James 1:5:
“Never did any passage of scripture come with more power to the heart of man than this did at this time to mine. It seemed to enter with great force into every feeling of my heart. I reflected on it again and again, knowing that if any person needed wisdom from God, I did. …
At length I came to the conclusion that I must either remain in darkness and confusion, or else I must do as James directs. …” (JS—H 1:12–13.)
This kind of reflection can help all of us make commitments that will decrease darkness and increase light. We must ask questions as we read, questions such as, How does this apply in my life today? or What lesson can I learn from this?
I was confident that if my students would read the scriptures in this way, they would find in them the same inspiration that Nephi and Moroni did. I encouraged them to start with the Book of Mormon, feeling it would probably be the most powerful influence. Elder Marion G. Romney has said, “I am persuaded by my own experience and that of my loved ones, as well as by the statement of the Prophet Joseph Smith, that one can get and keep closer to the Lord by reading the Book of Mormon than by reading other books.”
In order to evaluate the experience, I assigned each student to write a reaction at the end of the month.
Those reactions justified my confidence in the scriptures. The returned missionary who had resented the assignment wrote, “I have rediscovered an exciting adventure. I have once again astonished myself with the wonder of learning and understanding the gospel as it has been presented to us by the prophets. The gospel has become even more relevant in these last few weeks than ever before. I understand more clearly that faith and the strength of one’s testimony are things that vary from day to day and must be kept current.”
The other students’ responses were equally enthusiastic. It was apparent that scripture study affected them just as it affected the ancient prophets. It vitalized their prayers, improved their sensitivity to spiritual things, increased their productivity, strengthened their self-mastery, and changed their attitude toward life.
One student spoke of a more sensitive conscience: “It seemed to have a residual effect on my conscience of not letting me rationalize so easily . … Especially since I had become engaged, I had noticed that I was trying to rationalize a few things, play it close to the line between black and white. I don’t say reading the scriptures was the only influence, but I am glad for their influence.”
Several students spoke of a new spirituality. A law student wrote: “One significant thing distinguishing the past year for me is the matter of scripture as a means of maintaining spiritual sensitivity. The results have been so undeniably stimulating to the spirit that I am now confident that daily scripture study shall be a life-long pursuit.”
A girl active in her sorority found that scripture reading helped her stay spiritual at school: “Well, I decided that if I promised to read the scriptures for thirty days, I would do it for thirty days—which wouldn’t do me too much good. So I promised to do it for the rest of my life. That was about six months ago. I’ve almost read the Book of Mormon three times since then and oh the difference! It has made possible the thing that I have always thought impossible, which is to be spiritual during the school year.”
Some students who had never enjoyed the scriptures discovered what a delight they could be. Wrote one girl, “I have tried to read the Book of Mormon many times, and each time felt that something was lacking. I had to force myself because I didn’t enjoy it and couldn’t figure out what was wrong. This year I’ve loved every minute of reading the scriptures. I now read the Book of Mormon every morning, and I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I thought it would be terribly hard to get in the habit of reading every morning, but it hasn’t been.”
Another wrote: “I am one who often used to ‘tune out’ when scriptures were read, not purposely, just automatically, and also one of those people who has never read the Book of Mormon. I started to read it two or three times but never got past 2 Nephi. … my whole attitude toward the scriptures and even the gospel itself has changed. Not that I didn’t feel a testimony before, but my testimony was built on faith and not scriptural knowledge. Now I feel that I have a much better understanding of the gospel and how it applies to me personally. Every time I read the scriptures at home or when we read them in class, I feel a closeness to God and Jesus Christ and more of a desire to do good. Even my prayers have changed, and I’ve only read through Enos.”
Students discovered that the scriptures brought them closer to God and made their whole lives happier. A boy living in the dorms wrote: “When I read scriptures out of the Book of Mormon, it seemed as though my whole day went more smoothly. I was happier with people. My life became cleaner. I would pray night and morning, which was hard to do before. I can control habits easier and ignore social pressures that are in the dorms. I really can’t explain the feelings I have, but all I know is that I feel closer to God.”
A freshman girl said: “It is amazing how quickly a life can change, especially when it is your own. Six months ago I would have said that any kind of a drastic change could not take place in a short period of time. But since I have been reading the scriptures every day my whole attitude toward life has changed. I once felt that the scriptures were irrelevant to today, that they applied to the days of the prophets of long ago. But as I have read and studied the Book of Mormon, I am amazed at the insight that can be gained by applying the principles within. I find a constant challenge to improve—not just the challenge, but the means by which I can work on that challenge.”
A returned missionary active in campus affairs found his life changed when he read and pondered the scriptures: “My reading in the scriptures was a fantastic experience—so much so that it will be only natural to continue. I can make a valid comparison of the changes it can bring about because I had a break during the quarter when I didn’t read every day (about two to three weeks). Before and since this period my daily reading was a longed-for thing—something that increased in interest each day. During those days my thoughts were clearer, my mind more at ease, my temperament with others more appealing and less offensive. But above all, my thoughts were cleaner and purer than ever before, and thus I was happier because my soul was in much better harmony with the Lord. During the period when I didn’t read daily, I did some regretful things, and my desires in prayer slipped. I believe meaningful prayer and scripture study go hand in hand.
“I thought I knew the Book of Mormon from my study while on my mission and especially after reading it several times in another language. But to ‘ponder in your heart’ is something special—something that can be done over and over. This is what I’m doing each morning now and am enjoying it immensely.”
The scriptures are for people of all ages. Young children can also learn to read, ponder, and appreciate them. A father recently assigned two of his children, ages eight and nine, to read four chapters from the New Testament each Sunday. At first they had to be prodded, but they gradually developed interest and even began to read on other days of the week. Soon they were reading before going to bed each night. When they finished the New Testament, they started the Book of Mormon. Within three months the older child finished the Book of Mormon and started it again.
The lesson to be learned from these experiences is clear. We owe it to ourselves to begin a program of daily scripture study. In that way we can experience the “well of living water” spoken of by the Lord (D&C 63:23) and the “Divine Anchor” described by President McKay. Shortly before his death, President McKay challenged the members of the Church to try harder than ever to be worthy of daily inspiration and influence from the Lord. Daily meditation based on the scriptures will help us feel closer to the Savior, his teachings, and his work. But remember, the more consistently we read, the more natural and delightful the experience becomes. A returned missionary writes, “A year after my return from the mission field I’m still spending at least a half hour daily reading the scriptures. It’s so much a part of me now that I can’t imagine my day going by without it. It seems as normal as eating.”
As the Prophet Joseph Smith stated, “The things of God are of deep import; and time, and experience, and careful and ponderous and solemn thoughts can only find them out.”

A woman who was required to move frequently because of her husband’s employment was planting flower bulbs in her yard. Her neighbor stopping to watch asked her, “Why do you bother planting these bulbs when you know you won’t be here when they bloom next spring?”
“I may not be here,” the woman replied, “but someone else will. I always try to leave my homes, temporary as they may be, a little more beautiful because I was there.”

Neal A. Maxwell said, “God does not begin by asking us about our ability, but only about our availability, and if we then prove our dependability, he will increase our capability!”1
When we were called to help start service missions in the UK and Ireland, in the middle of what became a year of lockdowns and self-isolation, the obstacles seemed overwhelming. But we embraced the new reality of virtual meetings. This increased our capacity to meet leaders and members without having to travel the long distances that this calling would have required. We have seen many blessings due to making ourselves available, giving all that we can to this exciting new chapter of the Church in the UK and Ireland.
Across the 47 stakes, and 333 wards and branches, we have been welcomed by ward councils, delivered youth firesides, presented fifth-Sunday lessons to Relief Society and priesthood, spoken in sacrament meetings, participated in lessons, and joined coordinating councils. We have had the pleasure of meeting with individual missionaries and their families, as we shared the good news about service missions.
Bishop Dann from the Nottingham 4th Ward wrote to us after one such meeting and said, “Thank you very much for joining us for our ward council meeting last night. Speaking personally, I felt the Spirit very strongly reinforce to me that service missions are a fantastic opportunity for those that are unable to serve teaching missions. I hope that the number of service missionaries can grow in the coming years. I can see it is good for those that serve, good for those that are served, and good for the Church in general.”

Have you ever made a really big decision that would affect not only you but your whole family? Amelia S. of Ontario, Canada, has.
When Amelia was four, she began taking ballet at a professional dance school. She learned quickly and soon was at the top of her class.
“As I danced and leaped through the air, I felt as if I could fly,” Amelia says. “I could imagine I was alone on the stage—a real prima ballerina.”
When Amelia was eight, her teachers said she needed to spend more time at the dance school so she could prepare for a professional audition. Amelia was a hard worker, so she didn’t mind. But then the director of the school said that by the age of 12, Amelia would need to be at the dance studio whenever she wasn’t at school.
“What about her family?” Amelia’s mother asked.
“The studio will become her family,” the director said.
Amelia’s parents talked to her about her choices. She knew she wouldn’t have time to spend with her brother and sisters. She wouldn’t have time to play the piano.
Amelia thought and prayed about it. She wanted to do what was best for her whole family.
It wasn’t easy, but Amelia decided to stop taking ballet. It was hard at first, but as time went on she knew she had made a good choice. She learned she can handle changes. Her piano playing improved. Soon she was even playing the piano at a nursing home.
Amelia is a wonderful big sister. She helps her family in their garden. They all like to watch movies together as they fold laundry. Amelia loves to read. Sometimes she plays the piano in her ward. And she is glad she chose to spend time with her family and have a well-rounded life.

Q: What do you do to get in shape mentally before a game?
Freed: Everyone is different in that respect. Pressure is an intense thing and hard to actually define. Let me give you an example.
I remember reading about a recent tennis superstar who was going to play in the finals at Wimbledon. He woke up at three or four o’clock in the morning when someone came into his room. “Well,” he said, “I’ve got to go back to sleep for three or four more hours,” and he turned over and went back to sleep. With me, that would have been impossible.
When I was preparing for a match the next day, I’d be tired enough so that I could usually get to sleep; but once I’d get to sleep, if I ever woke up, then my mind would start operating and I’d start mentally playing the match, and I just had no hope of further rest. In fact, many nights I’ve lain in bed before a big match and never slept. I figured I got my rest by just lying down. I’ve seen kids who were the same way. As I got older, I got a little bit better, but I was still excitable. I remember playing in the senior finals at Forest Hills. The fellow I was playing was the defending champ, and he was pretty smart. He won the toss but chose to receive, so I had to serve. When I threw the ball up, my hand was actually shaking so hard I couldn’t let go of the ball. Finally, somehow, I got control of myself and managed to play a pretty fair game.
Many times players lose points by getting what we call the “elbow,” the “steel elbow.” It’s really funny, because I don’t know whether you’re afraid to win or afraid to lose; but you get so scared you’re going to make a mistake that your elbow just won’t let you go. It happens to the greatest players; everybody gets it, to a degree, one time or another.
Q: Experience has a lot to do with that also, doesn’t it?
Freed: Yes, that’s a good point. At one point in my career I said to myself, “Well, I’ve lost plenty of matches by underhitting the ball; from now on, when the big point comes up, I’m going to lose it by overhitting. I’m really going to sock the ball.” So I started losing them by socking the ball! But I really did better in the long run by hitting hard. I lost some good points when I did that, but it loosened me up, and later I won a lot more because I was a little more cool.
Q: What should you do if you get the “elbow”?
Freed: In talking to players and coaches, I’ve found they all agree that it’s a good thing to talk about it and expose it and say, “Maybe I’ll get the ‘elbow.’” It’s better to face it and then get it out of your mind; and, of course, that’s a good rule of psychology anyway.
Q: How important is physical training for a big game? I’ve heard coaches talk about trying to outrun your opponent in a game.
Freed: That’s what I used to do when I was young. I tried to beat people by outrunning them, and I did win many matches that way; but when I played a big hitter who could control a big serve and follow it to the net, he would always beat me. Then I got older and started doing the same thing myself, and I won more than I did when I was trying to outrun my opponents. Today the top college teams do roadwork in addition to their tennis playing. When I was with the Davis Cup team, I had our kids do some running whenever I could. Rope-jumping is another good exercise for tennis players.
Q: What makes the difference between a great champion and an ordinary player?
Freed: The physical equipment that you were born with has as much to do with it as anything. Then you combine that with the right mental attitude and the great determination that you need so much and always see in great champions.
Q: It’s so quiet when you’re watching a match. Can you feel the tension?
Freed: Well, I built up pressure within myself. I always did. So I guess it didn’t matter whether anyone was watching or not. If there were a million people watching, I don’t think the tension level would have gone up. This inner pressure was one of my biggest faults, and it was one of the things I was always fighting.
Q: Do left-handers have an advantage or a disadvantage?
Freed: I’ve always thought they had an advantage, and yet when you look at the records, there have been very few great stars who were left-handed, probably because most people are right-handed. But left-handers can sure make it miserable for right-handers if they know how to curve the ball in to them or slice it in to them.
Q: What should a player do when he comes up against a good left-hander?
Freed: A left-hander always seems to hit into your backhand or hit the ball so that it curves in to you. I got used to playing against left-handers, and I always did pretty well against them, just because I had the right kind of mental attitude. That’s very important. Tennis is quite an emotional game. What you think you can do, you often can. You need confidence and concentration and a good mental attitude.
Q: What about control on the tennis court? I’ve seen friends occasionally lose control and throw their racket on the ground.
Freed: A lot of potentially great tennis players don’t make it because they can’t control their emotions on the court. You know you are under close scrutiny when you are playing tennis. A lot can happen on a football field that the fans never see, but spectators can even tell what a tennis player is saying under his breath.
I think they should and will eventually have technical fouls in tennis, just as they do in basketball, for losing control. I’ve seen some kids start out to be great tennis players, but they never became champions because they couldn’t learn to lose—they couldn’t take the pressure. Thank goodness I was able to teach my children to lose. If they lost a match, okay. It was over; forget about it and go on to the next one.
I think that’s one of life’s great lessons that you can learn from sports. I say can learn because obviously everybody doesn’t learn it.
Q: What would you say to a Mormon who wanted to really get involved in the game?
Freed: Living your religion could only help you be a better tennis player. And, of course, if you ever became good enough and wanted to join the tennis circuit, you wouldn’t have the big problem of playing on Sunday as you do in other sports. One other thing—remember that the Word of Wisdom is a great asset. Living it will not only help a person be a better tennis player, but it is also essential if you are going to be a healthy person.

The fact that President Kasue and other Chyulu Church leaders have hungered to learn more has contributed to the strength of the Church here. When President Brown invited all priesthood leaders to attend leadership meetings in Nairobi, he did not expect those from Chyulu to attend because of the distance and cost of travel. However, 11 brethren from Chyulu arrived early on the morning of the meeting. They had walked 20 kilometers to catch a train at midnight and traveled all night. They attended the leadership meeting that day, with some of them requiring translators. That night they stayed with Church members, and the following day they traveled back to Chyulu, expressing deep gratitude for the privilege of being at the meetings.

In Elder Pedro X. Larreal’s fourth month as a full-time missionary, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) visited the Venezuela Caracas Mission.
Elder Larreal recalled, “He extended an amazing invitation to us about consecration: ‘If you are focused 100 percent, I promise your future family will receive blessings.’”
Afterward, Elder Larreal wrote a letter to break up with his girlfriend back home. “I needed to put everything on the altar because I needed to be more focused.”
Looking back, he recognizes many blessings—beneficial education, successful employment—sprouting from trust in that apostolic promise.
“When we follow the direction of a prophet, seer, and revelator, we will get blessings in our life,” he said. “I promise.”