Brother Rivera was born 17 December 1899 in Arequipa, Peru. He eventually settled in Cuzco, a city about 600 kilometers southeast of Lima located in the peaks of the Andes Mountains. It was there he met the missionaries. The story of his conversion and subsequent dedication to the Church shows the faith and good works that characterize this Peruvian pioneer of the Church.
“Like Joseph Smith and so many others, I was searching for the truth in all the religious sects,” says Brother Rivera, “but I never joined any of them.” His search came to an end when he was sixty-seven years old.
“I was in my store, busily working,” he says. “It was a Sunday. My son Héctor came in and told me, ‘Papá, I know you’ve investigated many churches, but there’s a new one in town.’
“I told him, ‘It doesn’t matter—they’re all the same.’
“‘Come on,’ Héctor said. ‘This may be the one you’re looking for.’
“Perhaps the Spirit of the Lord was with him to get me to go. So I put on my hat and went with Héctor to the meeting place. There I found two elders. I greeted them and they welcomed me. It was 9:30 or 10:00 in the morning when the meetings began, and I was there until noon. At first I didn’t understand much of what I heard, since I was more used to the religious customs I had grown up with. But by my second visit a week later, I realized that I had found the true church of Jesus Christ, especially when the elders spoke of the Word of Wisdom.”
Now, twenty-four years later, Brother Rivera still gives much of the credit for his good health and energy to living the Word of Wisdom.
“After my baptism, I felt something change inside,” he says. “It’s my secret for having lived so long.”
“As long as I can remember,” says his son Héctor, “I have never seen my father break the Word of Wisdom. Never. I am sure it is because of this he is strong and the Lord blesses him.”
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Never Too Old
Summary: At age 67, Brother Rivera was invited by his son Héctor to visit a new church in Cuzco. He attended Sunday meetings, and by his second visit realized he had found the true Church, especially through teachings on the Word of Wisdom. After baptism, he felt an inner change and strictly kept the Word of Wisdom, which he and his son credit for his strength and longevity.
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Baptism
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Health
Missionary Work
Testimony
Word of Wisdom
Temple Ancestor Day:
Summary: Bishop Larry Halsey challenged each member of his Las Vegas ward to submit one ancestor’s name for temple ordinances. Leaders organized training and preparation, and participation grew from a modest first trip to over 1,000 names submitted by the end of 1988. Howard and Terri Weisman helped members one-on-one, and the ward discovered how simple and rewarding family history work can be.
There was something different about the group from Las Vegas in the St. George (Utah) Temple. All of them were there to do the ordinance work for their own deceased family members and ancestors. They had participated in a program in which ward members submitted ten times as many names for temple work as they had the year before.
Larry Halsey, bishop of the Las Vegas ward, had been wondering how to help the members of his ward respond more to the spirit of Elijah. Suddenly he realized that, though individuals can accomplish a little by themselves, a ward working together can do a lot more. So in December 1986, he challenged the ward members to each submit the name of one deceased family member or one ancestor for temple ordinance work in 1987. Bishop Halsey then turned to his priesthood executive committee and correlation council for ideas on how to help the members. He says, “I wanted to get rid of the idea that family history research was hard. I thought that few could be intimidated by submitting just one name. And I knew the total results on a ward level could be quite exciting.”
The bishop assigned the high priests group leader to coordinate efforts. The ward leaders began to make brief presentations before the priesthood quorums, the Relief Society, and the youth. In July, Bishop Halsey reemphasized the challenge through a ward newsletter. Though slowly at first, ward members started to take notice.
Because the challenge included all ward members, ward leaders also emphasized preparing members to go to the temple. A temple preparation seminar was started. Home teachers, visiting teachers, and friends also helped less-active members to prepare. The Sunday School contributed by beginning a family history class. The Relief Society called a family history consultant who gave two- to three-minute presentations every week to encourage progress.
By April 1988, enough names had cleared for the ward ancestral temple trip. Eighteen ward members participated that first time—usually only five or six went on the two-hour trip to the St. George Temple.
As news of the experience spread, interest in the project increased. A program on the stake level was initiated. Meanwhile, ward members who had not made the April trip began asking for help to get their records ready. Later, Brother Howard Weisman participated in more than 182 ordinances for his own family.
Brother Weisman and his wife, Terri, were called to be family history consultants and they began visiting with ward members, sitting beside them as the families researched family records, guiding them in what to do. Terri Weisman says, “Many have gathered information and just need to know how to submit or fill in unknown information. We look at our work as missionary work. We teach one on one—part-member and less-active families, young singles, widows and their children, ward and stake leaders—and we challenge them to pray about what they’re doing.”
Bishop Halsey noted that “once the ward members became involved, they learned how simple family history work is and how wonderful the rewards are. The program became self-motivating.”
By the end of 1988, ward members had submitted 1,018 names for work in the St. George Temple. As Sister Weisman points out, “When people do the work for those who are dear to them, they catch the vision.”
Larry Halsey, bishop of the Las Vegas ward, had been wondering how to help the members of his ward respond more to the spirit of Elijah. Suddenly he realized that, though individuals can accomplish a little by themselves, a ward working together can do a lot more. So in December 1986, he challenged the ward members to each submit the name of one deceased family member or one ancestor for temple ordinance work in 1987. Bishop Halsey then turned to his priesthood executive committee and correlation council for ideas on how to help the members. He says, “I wanted to get rid of the idea that family history research was hard. I thought that few could be intimidated by submitting just one name. And I knew the total results on a ward level could be quite exciting.”
The bishop assigned the high priests group leader to coordinate efforts. The ward leaders began to make brief presentations before the priesthood quorums, the Relief Society, and the youth. In July, Bishop Halsey reemphasized the challenge through a ward newsletter. Though slowly at first, ward members started to take notice.
Because the challenge included all ward members, ward leaders also emphasized preparing members to go to the temple. A temple preparation seminar was started. Home teachers, visiting teachers, and friends also helped less-active members to prepare. The Sunday School contributed by beginning a family history class. The Relief Society called a family history consultant who gave two- to three-minute presentations every week to encourage progress.
By April 1988, enough names had cleared for the ward ancestral temple trip. Eighteen ward members participated that first time—usually only five or six went on the two-hour trip to the St. George Temple.
As news of the experience spread, interest in the project increased. A program on the stake level was initiated. Meanwhile, ward members who had not made the April trip began asking for help to get their records ready. Later, Brother Howard Weisman participated in more than 182 ordinances for his own family.
Brother Weisman and his wife, Terri, were called to be family history consultants and they began visiting with ward members, sitting beside them as the families researched family records, guiding them in what to do. Terri Weisman says, “Many have gathered information and just need to know how to submit or fill in unknown information. We look at our work as missionary work. We teach one on one—part-member and less-active families, young singles, widows and their children, ward and stake leaders—and we challenge them to pray about what they’re doing.”
Bishop Halsey noted that “once the ward members became involved, they learned how simple family history work is and how wonderful the rewards are. The program became self-motivating.”
By the end of 1988, ward members had submitted 1,018 names for work in the St. George Temple. As Sister Weisman points out, “When people do the work for those who are dear to them, they catch the vision.”
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Eternally Encircled in His Love
Summary: While visiting the Gulf Coast after Hurricane Katrina, the speaker felt prompted during a fireside that each sister needed literal strengthening. She and her counselors hugged every sister as they exited to express love. They left feeling renewed by the sisters’ love of God and mutual care.
As a presidency we visited the devastated Gulf Coast following Hurricane Katrina. One evening at a fireside I stood at the pulpit and felt prompted that every sister in attendance needed someone to literally reach out and strengthen her. After the meeting, Sister Hughes, Sister Pingree, and I each stood by a different door and hugged every sister as she exited. We simply wanted to express our love for them. To any of those sisters who are listening tonight, we left your chapel feeling renewed because of the love of God that you shared with us. Thank you for taking care of each other—and the three of us!
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Pennington Mountain
Summary: Before sunrise, Tre and his grandfather launch their boat on the Duck River, pausing in quiet reverence before checking trot lines. They work together to haul in fish, exchange light banter, and observe wildlife as they head home. Back at the house, they clean and cook the catch, recalling lean times when canned carp sustained the family.
It is well before 5 A.M. in the Tennessee hills when Tre (call him “Tray”) Pennington, 17, and his grandfather bump along an old dirt road in their pickup. There are no signs to point the way to the Duck River, no landmarks that would stand out to someone new. Mostly there are trees, thick, green, and heavy. It’s only where someone’s cleared out space for a farm or a home that you get any extended view.
Grandpa (call him ’Pa) slows the truck at a clearing and pulls in next to some trees. He doesn’t have to say a word. Tre knows it’s on foot from here. They scramble down a steep bank and pull their boat out of the underbrush, from the same place where they’ve tied it up every day for years. It’s a shallow boat, square on both ends.
They check to make sure there’s gas for the motor; they lift in the paddles and load a few plastic buckets on board. Then, for a few minutes, they wait.
It isn’t that there needs to be more light, although the sun is yet to crest over the hill. It isn’t a question of when the catfish will bite, because the trot lines ’Pa baited with grasshoppers yesterday have been in the water all night long. It isn’t even a question of sneaking a moment of rest before the work begins, because both the young man and his grandfather are eager to be on the river.
It is, quite simply, a moment of reverence, a pause to appreciate nature, to take in the beauty of a morning at its birth.
Finally it is ’Pa who whispers.
“Let’s go,” he says.
Tre responds with a nod. The boat glides into the mild current.
Soon they reach the lines. ’Pa holds the boat steady while Tre lifts each fish, flopping and slimy, out of the water. He brings them in one at a time, almost like taking laundry off a clothesline. Some fish, quite small, are set free. On the big ones, Tre guesses how many pounds.
“This one’ll go for five or six, won’t it Grandaddy?”
“More like four or five,” ’Pa responds.
Ask what kind of fish are in the river, and Grandpa will explain. “Lots of cats,” he says. “Blue. Yeller. Channel. Other fish, too. Perch, Bass, Carp. But you don’t take them often.”
This day when the four lines are cleared, the catch totals fifty catfish and one carp.
Tre does most of what little talking is done. He tells about the time ’Pa got knocked out of the boat by a tree limb and lost his hat. He teases Grandpa about the nickname Grandma gave him.
“She calls him a pelican,” he says, “because he could eat fish three times a day.”
Then there’s silence again, not the awkward silence of people who don’t know what to say, but the silence of men who know each other well.
“I wonder if we’ll see anything today,” Tre finally says as the boat turns for home. Often it’s deer, sometimes a beaver, once in a while a blue heron. Today they see a turtle.
Back home the catfish are cleaned and skinned, dipped in corn meal and fried. “What we don’t eat, we put in the freezer,” Tre explains. “We can trade it for beef.” The carp will be pressure cooked and bottled, then stored on the shelf like salmon. ’Pa can remember times during World War II when canned carp helped keep the family alive.
Grandpa (call him ’Pa) slows the truck at a clearing and pulls in next to some trees. He doesn’t have to say a word. Tre knows it’s on foot from here. They scramble down a steep bank and pull their boat out of the underbrush, from the same place where they’ve tied it up every day for years. It’s a shallow boat, square on both ends.
They check to make sure there’s gas for the motor; they lift in the paddles and load a few plastic buckets on board. Then, for a few minutes, they wait.
It isn’t that there needs to be more light, although the sun is yet to crest over the hill. It isn’t a question of when the catfish will bite, because the trot lines ’Pa baited with grasshoppers yesterday have been in the water all night long. It isn’t even a question of sneaking a moment of rest before the work begins, because both the young man and his grandfather are eager to be on the river.
It is, quite simply, a moment of reverence, a pause to appreciate nature, to take in the beauty of a morning at its birth.
Finally it is ’Pa who whispers.
“Let’s go,” he says.
Tre responds with a nod. The boat glides into the mild current.
Soon they reach the lines. ’Pa holds the boat steady while Tre lifts each fish, flopping and slimy, out of the water. He brings them in one at a time, almost like taking laundry off a clothesline. Some fish, quite small, are set free. On the big ones, Tre guesses how many pounds.
“This one’ll go for five or six, won’t it Grandaddy?”
“More like four or five,” ’Pa responds.
Ask what kind of fish are in the river, and Grandpa will explain. “Lots of cats,” he says. “Blue. Yeller. Channel. Other fish, too. Perch, Bass, Carp. But you don’t take them often.”
This day when the four lines are cleared, the catch totals fifty catfish and one carp.
Tre does most of what little talking is done. He tells about the time ’Pa got knocked out of the boat by a tree limb and lost his hat. He teases Grandpa about the nickname Grandma gave him.
“She calls him a pelican,” he says, “because he could eat fish three times a day.”
Then there’s silence again, not the awkward silence of people who don’t know what to say, but the silence of men who know each other well.
“I wonder if we’ll see anything today,” Tre finally says as the boat turns for home. Often it’s deer, sometimes a beaver, once in a while a blue heron. Today they see a turtle.
Back home the catfish are cleaned and skinned, dipped in corn meal and fried. “What we don’t eat, we put in the freezer,” Tre explains. “We can trade it for beef.” The carp will be pressure cooked and bottled, then stored on the shelf like salmon. ’Pa can remember times during World War II when canned carp helped keep the family alive.
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Self-Reliance
The Tooth Doctor
Summary: Will sneaks away from a wagon train at night to see a buffalo herd, and his sister Becky follows. They are surrounded by Native braves whose chief has a severe toothache. Will leads them back, and the timid veterinarian, Dr. Stieger, successfully pulls the tooth, after which the chief escorts the train across tribal lands, saving six days. The wagon master sternly warns the children never to leave the train again.
Will listened wide-eyed in the light of the campfire as a scout reported to their wagon master, Mr. Dillow, that he had seen a huge herd of buffalo. “It’s a reg’lar sea of the critters, spread out over that valley floor, yonder across them rocky bluffs!” the scout said excitedly, pointing westward.
I must see them! Will promised himself, as he listened to the men plan a dawn hunting party to provide fresh meat for the wagon train.
So far, the trip from Missouri had been dull and disappointing. All day long they plodded through choking clouds of dust or through cold rain and mud. Setting up the camp at night involved unloading iron kettles, chopping wood, and refilling water barrels when everyone was weary from the day’s trek. Repacking the wagons before dawn in the chill morning air and still being half asleep was worse. It was nothing like the exciting stories he had read about the West. He had seen no Indians and only very small herds of buffalo from a distance. This might be his only chance to see such a herd.
With a full moon lighting his way, the blond boy slipped away from the ring of covered wagons and cooking fires and searched out a sloping game trail up the bluffs. He felt certain he could see the heard and be back well before dawn and before he’d be missed.
Will was almost to the summit when he realized that he was being followed! How often Mr. Dillow had warned the children about staying close to the train. “Out here,” he warned, “there is safety in numbers. You have to know this country to realize the danger. Besides hostile Indians, there are pumas, rattlers, blinding sandstorms, and flash floods. You can die of thirst under a blazing sun, freeze to death in a mountain snowstorm, or find you’ve walked into quicksand. There will be no private adventuring on my wagon train!”
The boy hesitated. Remembering the warnings about pumas and rattlers seemed to make his heart leap into his throat. The wagon master was a rough, red-faced bellowing man of action. If he had seen Will leave, he would have grabbed him by the seat of his pants and overall straps and dragged him back to camp. So he was sure it wasn’t Mr. Dillow who was following him. Then he heard his younger sister Becky cry, “W—Will? Where are you? I—I’m afraid. Wait for me!”
Will pretended to be angry, but he was so relieved that he could have hugged her. “I can’t do anything without you tagging along after me like a puppy! You were supposed to be asleep under the wagon; what are you doing here?” he asked.
“I was only pretending to be asleep,” Becky explained. “I knew you’d slip away to see the buffalo, and I wanted to see them too!”
Will couldn’t send her back along and risk her getting lost. And he wouldn’t have time to take her back and return. There was nothing to do but let her go with him. “We have to see the herd and get back before first light so no one will miss us. If you can’t keep up with me, I’ll make you wait by the trail until I start back,” he warned.
“I can keep up. I’m as strong as you!” Becky retorted, boasting a little. Will knew she was wiry and fast-moving and the threat of being left alone to wait spurred her on. But when she began to lag, he relented and slowed down until she caught up with him.
“Look at that! There must be thousands and thousands of them!” Will whispered in awe when they reached the crest of the hill and saw the shaggy buffalo spread out over the valley floor. They made their way down the slippery trail for a closer look.
“They have found good water and grazing here,” he murmured. “Just look how much bigger they are than the few we’ve seen so far.”
Engrossed with watching the closest buffalo, he was annoyed when his sister suddenly gasped and clutched his arm in a tight grip. He impatiently tried to shake her loose, but Becky held on tightly.
Will whirled around and swallowed hard when he saw the tall Indian brave standing between them and the trail! His mouth went dry and his heart pounded like a drum as he watched several others move in on each side of them. The braves moved silently like ghosts. No wonder he had not heard them.
He looked for a way to escape, but they were trapped! Are the Indians going to harm us or will they be friendly? Will put his arm around his sister and pulled her close. He thought again of Mr. Dillow’s warnings. How he wished they had obeyed orders never to leave the wagon train. And he thought about their parents. Will they ever discover what happened to us? If we’re killed or taken away, they’ll only have Baby Ben left. He could see tears sparkling on Becky’s cheeks, but she was too frightened to cry out.
A horse and rider moved out from the trees. He was certainly their chief, by the look of the elaborate feathered headdress he wore. Will stared curiously at him. A white cloth was bound and knotted around his jaw. Has he been wounded? Will wondered.
The first man began to speak. He pointed at the chief, then away toward where the wagon train had stopped for the night. Will couldn’t understand, but still he began to feel better; for the Indians obviously wanted something, and had made no attempt to harm them.
Will pushed Becky behind him and watched the man’s hands. Again, the brave pointed from the chief to Will, then his hands made a swooping motion. Does he mean up and over the hill? Will wondered. The brave made a circle in the air. Is it the ring of covered wagons? The Indian showed his strong teeth, then held his jaw and made a groaning sound.
“A toothache! The chief has a toothache,” Becky whispered. “Don’t you remember how Grandma used to tie a cloth around her jaw when her tooth hurt?”
The brave put his fingers on one of his teeth and made a jerking motion. “You’re right, Becky. I guess they’ve tried to pull it and can’t without instruments. I think they are asking if there is a dentist with us,” Will said quietly. He stepped forward and nodded his head. He pointed at the chief, then toward their train. Will pulled Becky forward and showed them the gap where her two front teeth were missing. The men began to smile and nod their heads.
“What are you doing, Will?” Becky cried. “You know that I pulled those two loose teeth myself! We can’t take them to the wagon train. When they find out we don’t have a dentist along, they’ll probably scalp everybody and burn the wagons!”
“We have Dr. Stieger. He has all kinds of instruments. He could do it,” Will said.
“But he’s not a dentist or even a real doctor. He’s a veter … a vetnar … an animal doctor!” his sister wailed.
“I know that,” Will said gamely, “but he might be the only chance we have of getting out of this spot alive!”
The sky was turning pink when they approached the circle of covered wagons. One of the guards shouted an alarm and the Indian band stopped and waited. Mr. Dillow hastened out to meet them, pulling his suspenders up over his underwear. He stared in disbelief when he saw the children riding double on the horses of two Indian braves. Anger tightened the muscles of his face.
Will couldn’t meet Mr. Dillow’s accusing eyes. He stared down at the ground and explained to the stunned group of settlers, who silently gathered behind the wagon master, what had happened. “Their chief has a bad toothache. I didn’t know what else to do, so I told them Dr. Stieger is a dentist and can pull it for him,” the blond boy finished miserably.
Dr. Stieger was a timid, nervous little man. His face went white with fear and he began to shake his head. “I’m a veterinarian not a dentist. You expect me to yank a throbbing tooth from the jaw of that man who is already reeling with pain? He’d kill me! I won’t do it!”
“Oh, yes you will, Dr. Stieger,” the train master said through gritted teeth, trying to keep a reassuring smile on his face. “You have no choice—and neither do the rest of us. Anyone knows it’s going to hurt. The chief is prepared for that and braced for the pain. Now, get your medicine bag, and act like the best dentist in the world!”
Once he realized he had to do it, Dr. Stieger calmed down a bit. His face was still pale, but he had stopped shaking so hard. The chief sat in a chair, his face impassive, as the little man hesitantly selected a pair of pliers and approached him. Fortunately, the Indians’ efforts to pull the tooth had loosened it. No one was more relieved than Dr. Stieger when one strong jerk removed it.
The chief, who had not flinched, stood up and spat. He rubbed his lumpy jaw and smiled. Poor Dr. Stieger wobbled off, dazed, holding the large tooth, still clamped in the pliers, out in front of him like a candle.
“What’s he saying?” Mr. Dillow asked one of the scouts, as the chief spoke and motioned westward.
“He thanks the good tooth doctor for relieving his misery. And the children for bringing him here. He says he will permit the train to cross their land and escort us to the river,” the scout replied.
“That will save us six hard days of travel!” Mr. Dillow exclaimed incredulously. “According to treaty, we’ve always had to go around his tribe’s land. Tell him we appreciate and accept his generous offer.”
Will’s smile faded as the wagon master turned back to them. “We’ve been lucky this time, but if you two ever leave my train again, I’ll skin you alive!” he growled.
“Y—yes, sir!” Will stammered. “But you don’t have to worry about that. A herd of wild horses couldn’t drag us out of sight of the wagons again!”
I must see them! Will promised himself, as he listened to the men plan a dawn hunting party to provide fresh meat for the wagon train.
So far, the trip from Missouri had been dull and disappointing. All day long they plodded through choking clouds of dust or through cold rain and mud. Setting up the camp at night involved unloading iron kettles, chopping wood, and refilling water barrels when everyone was weary from the day’s trek. Repacking the wagons before dawn in the chill morning air and still being half asleep was worse. It was nothing like the exciting stories he had read about the West. He had seen no Indians and only very small herds of buffalo from a distance. This might be his only chance to see such a herd.
With a full moon lighting his way, the blond boy slipped away from the ring of covered wagons and cooking fires and searched out a sloping game trail up the bluffs. He felt certain he could see the heard and be back well before dawn and before he’d be missed.
Will was almost to the summit when he realized that he was being followed! How often Mr. Dillow had warned the children about staying close to the train. “Out here,” he warned, “there is safety in numbers. You have to know this country to realize the danger. Besides hostile Indians, there are pumas, rattlers, blinding sandstorms, and flash floods. You can die of thirst under a blazing sun, freeze to death in a mountain snowstorm, or find you’ve walked into quicksand. There will be no private adventuring on my wagon train!”
The boy hesitated. Remembering the warnings about pumas and rattlers seemed to make his heart leap into his throat. The wagon master was a rough, red-faced bellowing man of action. If he had seen Will leave, he would have grabbed him by the seat of his pants and overall straps and dragged him back to camp. So he was sure it wasn’t Mr. Dillow who was following him. Then he heard his younger sister Becky cry, “W—Will? Where are you? I—I’m afraid. Wait for me!”
Will pretended to be angry, but he was so relieved that he could have hugged her. “I can’t do anything without you tagging along after me like a puppy! You were supposed to be asleep under the wagon; what are you doing here?” he asked.
“I was only pretending to be asleep,” Becky explained. “I knew you’d slip away to see the buffalo, and I wanted to see them too!”
Will couldn’t send her back along and risk her getting lost. And he wouldn’t have time to take her back and return. There was nothing to do but let her go with him. “We have to see the herd and get back before first light so no one will miss us. If you can’t keep up with me, I’ll make you wait by the trail until I start back,” he warned.
“I can keep up. I’m as strong as you!” Becky retorted, boasting a little. Will knew she was wiry and fast-moving and the threat of being left alone to wait spurred her on. But when she began to lag, he relented and slowed down until she caught up with him.
“Look at that! There must be thousands and thousands of them!” Will whispered in awe when they reached the crest of the hill and saw the shaggy buffalo spread out over the valley floor. They made their way down the slippery trail for a closer look.
“They have found good water and grazing here,” he murmured. “Just look how much bigger they are than the few we’ve seen so far.”
Engrossed with watching the closest buffalo, he was annoyed when his sister suddenly gasped and clutched his arm in a tight grip. He impatiently tried to shake her loose, but Becky held on tightly.
Will whirled around and swallowed hard when he saw the tall Indian brave standing between them and the trail! His mouth went dry and his heart pounded like a drum as he watched several others move in on each side of them. The braves moved silently like ghosts. No wonder he had not heard them.
He looked for a way to escape, but they were trapped! Are the Indians going to harm us or will they be friendly? Will put his arm around his sister and pulled her close. He thought again of Mr. Dillow’s warnings. How he wished they had obeyed orders never to leave the wagon train. And he thought about their parents. Will they ever discover what happened to us? If we’re killed or taken away, they’ll only have Baby Ben left. He could see tears sparkling on Becky’s cheeks, but she was too frightened to cry out.
A horse and rider moved out from the trees. He was certainly their chief, by the look of the elaborate feathered headdress he wore. Will stared curiously at him. A white cloth was bound and knotted around his jaw. Has he been wounded? Will wondered.
The first man began to speak. He pointed at the chief, then away toward where the wagon train had stopped for the night. Will couldn’t understand, but still he began to feel better; for the Indians obviously wanted something, and had made no attempt to harm them.
Will pushed Becky behind him and watched the man’s hands. Again, the brave pointed from the chief to Will, then his hands made a swooping motion. Does he mean up and over the hill? Will wondered. The brave made a circle in the air. Is it the ring of covered wagons? The Indian showed his strong teeth, then held his jaw and made a groaning sound.
“A toothache! The chief has a toothache,” Becky whispered. “Don’t you remember how Grandma used to tie a cloth around her jaw when her tooth hurt?”
The brave put his fingers on one of his teeth and made a jerking motion. “You’re right, Becky. I guess they’ve tried to pull it and can’t without instruments. I think they are asking if there is a dentist with us,” Will said quietly. He stepped forward and nodded his head. He pointed at the chief, then toward their train. Will pulled Becky forward and showed them the gap where her two front teeth were missing. The men began to smile and nod their heads.
“What are you doing, Will?” Becky cried. “You know that I pulled those two loose teeth myself! We can’t take them to the wagon train. When they find out we don’t have a dentist along, they’ll probably scalp everybody and burn the wagons!”
“We have Dr. Stieger. He has all kinds of instruments. He could do it,” Will said.
“But he’s not a dentist or even a real doctor. He’s a veter … a vetnar … an animal doctor!” his sister wailed.
“I know that,” Will said gamely, “but he might be the only chance we have of getting out of this spot alive!”
The sky was turning pink when they approached the circle of covered wagons. One of the guards shouted an alarm and the Indian band stopped and waited. Mr. Dillow hastened out to meet them, pulling his suspenders up over his underwear. He stared in disbelief when he saw the children riding double on the horses of two Indian braves. Anger tightened the muscles of his face.
Will couldn’t meet Mr. Dillow’s accusing eyes. He stared down at the ground and explained to the stunned group of settlers, who silently gathered behind the wagon master, what had happened. “Their chief has a bad toothache. I didn’t know what else to do, so I told them Dr. Stieger is a dentist and can pull it for him,” the blond boy finished miserably.
Dr. Stieger was a timid, nervous little man. His face went white with fear and he began to shake his head. “I’m a veterinarian not a dentist. You expect me to yank a throbbing tooth from the jaw of that man who is already reeling with pain? He’d kill me! I won’t do it!”
“Oh, yes you will, Dr. Stieger,” the train master said through gritted teeth, trying to keep a reassuring smile on his face. “You have no choice—and neither do the rest of us. Anyone knows it’s going to hurt. The chief is prepared for that and braced for the pain. Now, get your medicine bag, and act like the best dentist in the world!”
Once he realized he had to do it, Dr. Stieger calmed down a bit. His face was still pale, but he had stopped shaking so hard. The chief sat in a chair, his face impassive, as the little man hesitantly selected a pair of pliers and approached him. Fortunately, the Indians’ efforts to pull the tooth had loosened it. No one was more relieved than Dr. Stieger when one strong jerk removed it.
The chief, who had not flinched, stood up and spat. He rubbed his lumpy jaw and smiled. Poor Dr. Stieger wobbled off, dazed, holding the large tooth, still clamped in the pliers, out in front of him like a candle.
“What’s he saying?” Mr. Dillow asked one of the scouts, as the chief spoke and motioned westward.
“He thanks the good tooth doctor for relieving his misery. And the children for bringing him here. He says he will permit the train to cross their land and escort us to the river,” the scout replied.
“That will save us six hard days of travel!” Mr. Dillow exclaimed incredulously. “According to treaty, we’ve always had to go around his tribe’s land. Tell him we appreciate and accept his generous offer.”
Will’s smile faded as the wagon master turned back to them. “We’ve been lucky this time, but if you two ever leave my train again, I’ll skin you alive!” he growled.
“Y—yes, sir!” Will stammered. “But you don’t have to worry about that. A herd of wild horses couldn’t drag us out of sight of the wagons again!”
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👤 Children
👤 Other
Adversity
Agency and Accountability
Children
Courage
Family
Kindness
Obedience
The Joy of Learning
Summary: Archimedes was tasked by his king to determine whether a crown was pure gold. After pondering, he discovered a solution and, overjoyed, ran through the city shouting 'Eureka!' This illustrates the joy of discovery.
On one occasion, an ancient mathematician named Archimedes was asked by his king to determine if the king’s new crown was solid gold or if the goldsmith had dishonestly substituted some silver for gold. Archimedes pondered the solution; finally an answer came. So overjoyed was he by this discovery that, according to legend, he ran about the city crying, “Eureka! Eureka!”—meaning, “I have found it! I have found it!”
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👤 Other
Education
Honesty
Religion and Science
Truth
Elder Meeks and Goliath
Summary: A child looks forward to spending a special evening with his inactive older brother, Sean, but is disappointed to learn the missionaries are also coming. During dinner, the missionaries share a message, and Sean initially jokes until Elder Meeks asks him sincerely if he believes in Jesus Christ. The Spirit softens the mood, leading Sean to answer seriously and accept an invitation to attend church. The family is moved to tears, and the child feels inspired by the missionaries' courage and the Spirit's influence.
I was excited when Mom told me that Sean was coming for dinner.
He’s my big brother, but he doesn’t live at home anymore. He moved out when he finished high school. My other brother, Mike, went on a mission when he finished high school, but Sean doesn’t even go to church. He’s a great brother, though, and I love him. I especially love it when he teases me. When I was smaller, he let me take horsey rides on his back. He ran all over the yard with me hanging onto his neck and him holding onto my legs. I hollered, “Giddy-up!” and pretended to whip him, and he snorted and bucked around like a real horse.
I’m too big for that now, so, instead, he shows me wrestling moves. He won the city wrestling championship in the eleventh grade. I was really proud of him that night. Sometimes we throw the football around, and sometimes we just sit and talk. I was really looking forward to his coming over tonight because I wanted him to help me make my pinewood derby racer. Sean is good with his hands, and I like to work with him in the garage.
I helped Mom set the table to make the waiting go faster. As I put the knives and forks out, I noticed that something was wrong. “Hey, you have too many plates on the table,” I said.
“No, dear. Sean is coming tonight, remember, and so are the missionaries.”
“The missionaries!” I cried, slamming down the last fork. “Why do we have to have the missionaries when Sean is here? I wanted to have him to myself. I wanted it to be a special night.”
Mom looked at me in surprise. “It can still be a special night,” she replied gently. “The missionaries are nice young men. I’m sure you’ll like them.”
That’s all she knew about it. How could Sean play and work with me when the missionaries were there? I knew that he’d be polite and spend his time talking to them.
By the time Sean arrived, I had worked myself into a real lather. He could tell I wasn’t happy, but I knew better than to tell him why. Mom and Dad would be really disappointed if I ever complained about the missionaries to him. More than anything else in the world, they wanted him to come back to church. So did I, but I didn’t think talking all night to the missionaries would make it happen.
When the missionaries arrived, Mom had dinner all ready, so we sat right down to eat. Everyone had a good time. Mom was right—the missionaries were great guys. They cracked jokes with Sean, and both faked surprise when he told them he had wrestled in high school. Sean’s not my big brother just because he’s older, but also because he’s big. Not fat and flabby big, but muscle and bone big.
Dinner ended with everyone laughing and joking. Then it happened. Elder Blair asked if he could leave a message and a prayer before they went on to their next appointment. Well, this is the end of the night for me, I thought, my head sagging. Sean won’t be helping me with my racer tonight. He was going to escape before anyone could talk religion to him.
I waited for the scraping back of his chair, the excuse why he couldn’t stay. But nothing happened. Slowly I looked up, and he was still there, watching Elder Blair thumb through his Book of Mormon. When Elder Blair found what he wanted, he read a few verses. Then he started asking Sean questions. Mom and Dad just sat there looking worried and hopeful. Sean answered each question in a humorous kind of way. He had stayed because he enjoyed having fun with the missionaries, and now he was going to go on joking even though the elders were being serious.
Suddenly Elder Meeks, the skinny one, caught on to what Sean was doing. “Sean,” he said, looking him straight in the eye, “do you believe in Jesus Christ?”
The whole atmosphere in the room changed. Sean looked back at him, but instead of answering in an offhand way, he very softly said, “Yes.”
“Then why are you making fun of what we’re saying?”
I looked at Mom. She had tears in her eyes. Dad did, too. What’s the matter with them? I wondered. Were they upset with Sean or with the missionaries?
Sean and Elder Meeks continued talking, Elder Meeks asking questions and Sean giving him straight answers. Finally Elder Meeks said, “Sean, when was the last time you went to church?” Sean shrugged and looked at Mom and Dad for help, but they both shook their heads. They couldn’t remember, either.
I could remember—not the date, but how happy I had felt sitting beside him, feeling proud to be his brother, how glad I was to sing along with him, even though he couldn’t sing very well. I wanted to tell them all this, but suddenly there was a big lump in my throat, and I wasn’t sure I could speak.
“Sean,” Elder Meeks asked, “will you go to church with us on Sunday?”
Sean was looking at his hands. I couldn’t see his face, but we could all see his head slowly nod up and down. The lump in my throat grew bigger, and now I had tears in my eyes, too. Everyone in the room was crying, but we all had smiles on our faces.
As I looked from face to face, I paused at Sean and Elder Meeks. I didn’t see a scrawny elder and a wrestling champion. I saw David and Goliath. Once again David had saved the day because he had the Spirit of the Lord with him. That’s why we were all crying—we could feel that Spirit, and it felt good.
I love my brother Sean, but at that moment I wanted to be like Elder Meeks. I wanted to have the Lord on my side all the time, and I think Sean did, too. Mom was right. This had been a special evening. I had seen David, unafraid, go into battle with Goliath, and they had both won!
He’s my big brother, but he doesn’t live at home anymore. He moved out when he finished high school. My other brother, Mike, went on a mission when he finished high school, but Sean doesn’t even go to church. He’s a great brother, though, and I love him. I especially love it when he teases me. When I was smaller, he let me take horsey rides on his back. He ran all over the yard with me hanging onto his neck and him holding onto my legs. I hollered, “Giddy-up!” and pretended to whip him, and he snorted and bucked around like a real horse.
I’m too big for that now, so, instead, he shows me wrestling moves. He won the city wrestling championship in the eleventh grade. I was really proud of him that night. Sometimes we throw the football around, and sometimes we just sit and talk. I was really looking forward to his coming over tonight because I wanted him to help me make my pinewood derby racer. Sean is good with his hands, and I like to work with him in the garage.
I helped Mom set the table to make the waiting go faster. As I put the knives and forks out, I noticed that something was wrong. “Hey, you have too many plates on the table,” I said.
“No, dear. Sean is coming tonight, remember, and so are the missionaries.”
“The missionaries!” I cried, slamming down the last fork. “Why do we have to have the missionaries when Sean is here? I wanted to have him to myself. I wanted it to be a special night.”
Mom looked at me in surprise. “It can still be a special night,” she replied gently. “The missionaries are nice young men. I’m sure you’ll like them.”
That’s all she knew about it. How could Sean play and work with me when the missionaries were there? I knew that he’d be polite and spend his time talking to them.
By the time Sean arrived, I had worked myself into a real lather. He could tell I wasn’t happy, but I knew better than to tell him why. Mom and Dad would be really disappointed if I ever complained about the missionaries to him. More than anything else in the world, they wanted him to come back to church. So did I, but I didn’t think talking all night to the missionaries would make it happen.
When the missionaries arrived, Mom had dinner all ready, so we sat right down to eat. Everyone had a good time. Mom was right—the missionaries were great guys. They cracked jokes with Sean, and both faked surprise when he told them he had wrestled in high school. Sean’s not my big brother just because he’s older, but also because he’s big. Not fat and flabby big, but muscle and bone big.
Dinner ended with everyone laughing and joking. Then it happened. Elder Blair asked if he could leave a message and a prayer before they went on to their next appointment. Well, this is the end of the night for me, I thought, my head sagging. Sean won’t be helping me with my racer tonight. He was going to escape before anyone could talk religion to him.
I waited for the scraping back of his chair, the excuse why he couldn’t stay. But nothing happened. Slowly I looked up, and he was still there, watching Elder Blair thumb through his Book of Mormon. When Elder Blair found what he wanted, he read a few verses. Then he started asking Sean questions. Mom and Dad just sat there looking worried and hopeful. Sean answered each question in a humorous kind of way. He had stayed because he enjoyed having fun with the missionaries, and now he was going to go on joking even though the elders were being serious.
Suddenly Elder Meeks, the skinny one, caught on to what Sean was doing. “Sean,” he said, looking him straight in the eye, “do you believe in Jesus Christ?”
The whole atmosphere in the room changed. Sean looked back at him, but instead of answering in an offhand way, he very softly said, “Yes.”
“Then why are you making fun of what we’re saying?”
I looked at Mom. She had tears in her eyes. Dad did, too. What’s the matter with them? I wondered. Were they upset with Sean or with the missionaries?
Sean and Elder Meeks continued talking, Elder Meeks asking questions and Sean giving him straight answers. Finally Elder Meeks said, “Sean, when was the last time you went to church?” Sean shrugged and looked at Mom and Dad for help, but they both shook their heads. They couldn’t remember, either.
I could remember—not the date, but how happy I had felt sitting beside him, feeling proud to be his brother, how glad I was to sing along with him, even though he couldn’t sing very well. I wanted to tell them all this, but suddenly there was a big lump in my throat, and I wasn’t sure I could speak.
“Sean,” Elder Meeks asked, “will you go to church with us on Sunday?”
Sean was looking at his hands. I couldn’t see his face, but we could all see his head slowly nod up and down. The lump in my throat grew bigger, and now I had tears in my eyes, too. Everyone in the room was crying, but we all had smiles on our faces.
As I looked from face to face, I paused at Sean and Elder Meeks. I didn’t see a scrawny elder and a wrestling champion. I saw David and Goliath. Once again David had saved the day because he had the Spirit of the Lord with him. That’s why we were all crying—we could feel that Spirit, and it felt good.
I love my brother Sean, but at that moment I wanted to be like Elder Meeks. I wanted to have the Lord on my side all the time, and I think Sean did, too. Mom was right. This had been a special evening. I had seen David, unafraid, go into battle with Goliath, and they had both won!
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👤 Missionaries
👤 Parents
👤 Young Adults
👤 Children
Book of Mormon
Children
Conversion
Faith
Family
Holy Ghost
Missionary Work
Prayer
Testimony
Juan Carlos and the Conference Shirt
Summary: Juan Carlos works mornings making tortillas to save for a white shirt to wear to stake conference. When his Primary teacher, Sister Fuentes, breaks her ankle and needs costly travel to the hospital, he resolves to help her. At conference, she attends with her foot in a cast while Juan wears his flour-sack shirt but feels great joy and attention from a visiting General Authority. He learns that the Lord values what is in the heart, not outward appearance.
At the rooster’s first call, Juan Carlos opened his eyes and peeked through the cracks in the wooden wall just above his head. The darkness was fading. Today was his first day to help Sister Fuentes make tortillas. Time to get ready, he thought. He slipped from his hammock to the dirt floor below and went outside to wash himself in the cool water from the pump.
Stake conference would be in two months, and last week President Garcia, his branch president, had announced that a General Authority would be coming. That was fantastic, except for one thing—the city boys would all be wearing either fine Panama shirts or white shirts and ties. Even Juan’s father had a Sunday shirt. One of the North American missionaries who’d completed his mission and gone home had given it to him.
Juan Carlos had only one shirt. His mother had stitched it from a flour sack. He wore it every day of the week, even to church on Sundays. It embarrassed Juan to wear a flour-sack shirt to church, even though they met in a one-room home, and he’d told his father so. His father had just said, “Remember, son, the Lord looks on the inside of a person, not the outside.” But last conference, Juan had felt so uncomfortable about his shirt that afterward he hadn’t waited in line to shake anyone’s hand and he couldn’t even remember what the speakers had said. This conference would be different, however—thanks to the tortillas.
Juan loved Sister Fuentes, the Primary teacher—their little branch had only four families and six children. She was also the village tortilla maker. It was hard work to soak and grind the corn, haul buckets of water, and search for firewood in the forest up the hill. Tortillas had to be made early, for before breakfast nearly every family in the village would send a child to her with a small coin to buy some of the steaming, thick, pale, perfectly even circles of dough that she had patted out. Before they left to work in the fields, the men wanted hot tortillas. And later, for lunch, they would eat them cold, folded over some beans.
Saturday Sister Fuentes had come to his home. “Juan Carlos,” she said, “I am looking for someone to help me. So many want tortillas in the mornings! I have tried, but I just can’t make enough for everyone by myself. I was wondering if you would help me. It is very hard work, but I will pay you two lempiras every week.”
Two lempiras! That was a lot of money—why, he could earn enough before conference came to buy a white shirt, if he saved carefully!
Sister Fuentes was already working when Juan Carlos arrived on Monday. The morning passed quickly. He built the fire, hauled water, and ground corn between two stones. He was amazed to see how fast her hands could fly as she worked with the masa (tortilla dough). After the tortillas were sold, there were pots to scrub and wood to gather for the next day.
Day after day he spent his mornings working. Sometimes it was hard to leave his hammock while others in his family still slept, but he just imagined wearing a new white shirt to conference and shaking a General Authority’s hand, and it became easy. Every Saturday he tied two more little silver coins into his handkerchief and hid them under a rock in the corner of his home.
Nearly every week President Garcia traveled by bus to the big city on business. On his last trip to town before conference, after his usual errands, he had a special purchase to make, for in his pocket was Juan’s money, still tied in the handkerchief.
The shirt was beautiful! It was sparkling white, with four pleats down the front and shiny buttons. Juan had never seen such a beautiful shirt. Carefully he folded it and put it back in its crinkly sack. In just a few more days, he, Juan Carlos, would wear it to conference. He certainly wouldn’t be embarrassed then.
The next morning, Juan, anxious to tell Sister Fuentes about the shirt, ran all the way to her home. He was surprised to find her still lying on her cot. That wasn’t like her at all. Then his eyes shifted to her ankle, and a cold chill ran down his spine. It was swollen to twice its usual size, and the purple and black colors told him the injury was serious.
“The clinic nurse thinks that it is broken,” Sister Fuentes said. “She has no way to treat broken bones, so I must go to the city to the hospital if I want it fixed. Otherwise, I must stay in bed for a very long time.”
Traveling to the city and then to the hospital by taxi would be very expensive. Juan knew that few people from the country could afford it. Several villagers limped from poorly healed bones, and Juan remembered how his grandmother’s hand had hurt her for many years after she broke it. As he began making the morning tortillas alone, he promised in his heart to help Sister Fuentes get to the hospital—no matter what! A plan had already formed in his mind when he hurried home that day. …
A soft breeze blew the scent of flowers through the louvered windows and over to the church bench where Juan Carlos sat. How very warm he felt inside. His sister, Lizeta, was on his lap as usual. Sister Fuentes was on one side, her ankle and foot covered with thick white plaster. His father and mother sat on his other side. He listened carefully to the speakers and was sure that this was the best stake conference ever. The closing prayer was said, and a few minutes later—it was a million times better than he had imagined—he was shaking hands with the General Authority.
“Juan Carlos,” the General Authority said, “I would like you to know that the Lord loves you and is proud of you.”
Juan Carlos’s heart was flooded with joy. His father was right—the Lord did look on the inside, not the outside. No one had even noticed his flour-sack shirt. Not even Juan Carlos.
Stake conference would be in two months, and last week President Garcia, his branch president, had announced that a General Authority would be coming. That was fantastic, except for one thing—the city boys would all be wearing either fine Panama shirts or white shirts and ties. Even Juan’s father had a Sunday shirt. One of the North American missionaries who’d completed his mission and gone home had given it to him.
Juan Carlos had only one shirt. His mother had stitched it from a flour sack. He wore it every day of the week, even to church on Sundays. It embarrassed Juan to wear a flour-sack shirt to church, even though they met in a one-room home, and he’d told his father so. His father had just said, “Remember, son, the Lord looks on the inside of a person, not the outside.” But last conference, Juan had felt so uncomfortable about his shirt that afterward he hadn’t waited in line to shake anyone’s hand and he couldn’t even remember what the speakers had said. This conference would be different, however—thanks to the tortillas.
Juan loved Sister Fuentes, the Primary teacher—their little branch had only four families and six children. She was also the village tortilla maker. It was hard work to soak and grind the corn, haul buckets of water, and search for firewood in the forest up the hill. Tortillas had to be made early, for before breakfast nearly every family in the village would send a child to her with a small coin to buy some of the steaming, thick, pale, perfectly even circles of dough that she had patted out. Before they left to work in the fields, the men wanted hot tortillas. And later, for lunch, they would eat them cold, folded over some beans.
Saturday Sister Fuentes had come to his home. “Juan Carlos,” she said, “I am looking for someone to help me. So many want tortillas in the mornings! I have tried, but I just can’t make enough for everyone by myself. I was wondering if you would help me. It is very hard work, but I will pay you two lempiras every week.”
Two lempiras! That was a lot of money—why, he could earn enough before conference came to buy a white shirt, if he saved carefully!
Sister Fuentes was already working when Juan Carlos arrived on Monday. The morning passed quickly. He built the fire, hauled water, and ground corn between two stones. He was amazed to see how fast her hands could fly as she worked with the masa (tortilla dough). After the tortillas were sold, there were pots to scrub and wood to gather for the next day.
Day after day he spent his mornings working. Sometimes it was hard to leave his hammock while others in his family still slept, but he just imagined wearing a new white shirt to conference and shaking a General Authority’s hand, and it became easy. Every Saturday he tied two more little silver coins into his handkerchief and hid them under a rock in the corner of his home.
Nearly every week President Garcia traveled by bus to the big city on business. On his last trip to town before conference, after his usual errands, he had a special purchase to make, for in his pocket was Juan’s money, still tied in the handkerchief.
The shirt was beautiful! It was sparkling white, with four pleats down the front and shiny buttons. Juan had never seen such a beautiful shirt. Carefully he folded it and put it back in its crinkly sack. In just a few more days, he, Juan Carlos, would wear it to conference. He certainly wouldn’t be embarrassed then.
The next morning, Juan, anxious to tell Sister Fuentes about the shirt, ran all the way to her home. He was surprised to find her still lying on her cot. That wasn’t like her at all. Then his eyes shifted to her ankle, and a cold chill ran down his spine. It was swollen to twice its usual size, and the purple and black colors told him the injury was serious.
“The clinic nurse thinks that it is broken,” Sister Fuentes said. “She has no way to treat broken bones, so I must go to the city to the hospital if I want it fixed. Otherwise, I must stay in bed for a very long time.”
Traveling to the city and then to the hospital by taxi would be very expensive. Juan knew that few people from the country could afford it. Several villagers limped from poorly healed bones, and Juan remembered how his grandmother’s hand had hurt her for many years after she broke it. As he began making the morning tortillas alone, he promised in his heart to help Sister Fuentes get to the hospital—no matter what! A plan had already formed in his mind when he hurried home that day. …
A soft breeze blew the scent of flowers through the louvered windows and over to the church bench where Juan Carlos sat. How very warm he felt inside. His sister, Lizeta, was on his lap as usual. Sister Fuentes was on one side, her ankle and foot covered with thick white plaster. His father and mother sat on his other side. He listened carefully to the speakers and was sure that this was the best stake conference ever. The closing prayer was said, and a few minutes later—it was a million times better than he had imagined—he was shaking hands with the General Authority.
“Juan Carlos,” the General Authority said, “I would like you to know that the Lord loves you and is proud of you.”
Juan Carlos’s heart was flooded with joy. His father was right—the Lord did look on the inside, not the outside. No one had even noticed his flour-sack shirt. Not even Juan Carlos.
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Parents
👤 Youth
👤 Church Members (General)
Charity
Children
Judging Others
Kindness
Sacrifice
Service
Who Am I?
Summary: Loyalist John Davies suffered losses during the American Revolutionary War, including damage to his church and theft of his cattle. After the war, a destitute man who had plundered him sought help, and Davies forgave him and generously relieved his needs.
Of course, there were political and social conflicts in the lives of some of our ancestors, but even these become instructional in the ways they dealt with their circumstances. John Davies was a loyalist during the American Revolutionary War. He had been instrumental in the establishment of the Church of England in America, which became known as the First Episcopal Society of Litchfield. These early immigrants had been taught that next to religion, loyalty was the cardinal virtue. They honestly considered that none but the infidel and traitor would venture to speak of revolution from the Mother Land. Some argued that any attempt to independence was rank ingratitude. They considered the king to be the head not only of their state but also of their religion.
John Davies recounts the challenge of building their first church in Litchfield, Connecticut, only to have it seriously damaged by soldiers of the Revolution. His cattle were run off by revolutionists and much of his property severely damaged because of significant persecution of those who had remained loyal to the king. Listen to this about John Davies:
“After the close of the war a man who had taken an active part in driving off a number of cattle from his farm, and had committed other acts of plunder, having become destitute, applied for relief in his extremity to Mr. Davies, who not only pardoned him for the wrongs he had done, but liberally relieved his wants” (in Henry Eugene Davies, Davies Memoirs, 1895, pp. 21–22).
John Davies recounts the challenge of building their first church in Litchfield, Connecticut, only to have it seriously damaged by soldiers of the Revolution. His cattle were run off by revolutionists and much of his property severely damaged because of significant persecution of those who had remained loyal to the king. Listen to this about John Davies:
“After the close of the war a man who had taken an active part in driving off a number of cattle from his farm, and had committed other acts of plunder, having become destitute, applied for relief in his extremity to Mr. Davies, who not only pardoned him for the wrongs he had done, but liberally relieved his wants” (in Henry Eugene Davies, Davies Memoirs, 1895, pp. 21–22).
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👤 Other
Adversity
Charity
Forgiveness
Mercy
War
The Savior’s Example in Doing the Father’s Will
Summary: As a student, the speaker heard President Spencer W. Kimball ask whether anything was too hard for the Lord as he urged preparation for the gospel to reach Communist countries. At the time, during the Cold War, the speaker doubted he would see that day. Years later, in a striking reversal, he welcomed home his daughter Emily from a mission to Russia.
I reflected on this experience some months ago when in Sunday School the class discussed the ministry of President Spencer W. Kimball. I can remember as a student your age hearing President Kimball ask, “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” in reference to being prepared for the gospel to be preached to the Communist bloc countries. This was at the height of the cold war. I marveled at his faith. I doubted I would see the day this would happen. Last year, in joyful irony, I welcomed back my daughter Emily from a mission to Russia.
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👤 Parents
👤 Missionaries
👤 Prophets/Apostles (Scriptural)
👤 General Authorities (Modern)
Fast Offerings:
Summary: A student at Oxford needed to pay fast offerings, buy a trunk, and get to the airport but had money for only two. He chose to pay his offerings, leaving him short, and later encountered a man discarding a trunk who gave it to him. He saw this as a direct blessing for paying his offerings.
Of course, paying fast offerings is not always easy. Like other financial contributions to the Church, it can be a test of our faithfulness. One brother related the following experience:
“I was a student at Oxford University in England and was preparing to fly home to the United States. I only had a little money and needed to do three things: pay my fast offering and budget, buy a trunk for my things, and pay for transportation to the airport. I only had enough money for two of these. I had decided to wait and pay fast offerings and budget later, but while I was in church I felt inspired to go ahead and pay them—which I did. Afterwards I was left with enough money for either the trunk or transportation to the airport, but not both. Later, as I was walking down the street, I noticed a man carrying a trunk. I asked him about it, and he told me he was about to throw it away. After we talked for a minute he gave me the trunk—my problem was solved. To me, that was a direct blessing for paying my fast offerings and budget.”
“I was a student at Oxford University in England and was preparing to fly home to the United States. I only had a little money and needed to do three things: pay my fast offering and budget, buy a trunk for my things, and pay for transportation to the airport. I only had enough money for two of these. I had decided to wait and pay fast offerings and budget later, but while I was in church I felt inspired to go ahead and pay them—which I did. Afterwards I was left with enough money for either the trunk or transportation to the airport, but not both. Later, as I was walking down the street, I noticed a man carrying a trunk. I asked him about it, and he told me he was about to throw it away. After we talked for a minute he gave me the trunk—my problem was solved. To me, that was a direct blessing for paying my fast offerings and budget.”
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👤 Young Adults
👤 Church Members (General)
Faith
Fasting and Fast Offerings
Holy Ghost
Miracles
Revelation
Sacrifice
Minerva Teichert:
Summary: Minerva Teichert experienced two defining moments while studying art in New York: one led her to return home and marry Herman, and the other convinced her that she had a divine mission to paint the story of her faith. Her teacher Robert Henri urged her to depict the “great Mormon story,” and she felt commissioned to do so. These experiences set the course for the rest of her life, in which she balanced family life with creating art inspired by her beliefs.
At this critical point in her life, Minerva had two experiences that took her out of the art world. The first experience crystallized her desire for life with a family—specifically, for life with Herman. In a testimony meeting she was listening to a sister speak on the joys of marriage and motherhood. “I thought of all the men I had met in my search for ‘the right one,’” wrote Minerva later. At that moment, she realized that “back on the Idaho desert, herding his cattle and branding his calves was a man more nearly meant for me than anyone else in the world” (unpublished autobiographical sketch, 1937, transcription from handwritten manuscript). Never one to doubt her own judgment, Minerva returned home to Idaho and married Herman.
The other experience helped her to strengthen her feeling that she had a mission as an artist and that she should place her art in the service of her faith. Minerva later recorded how Robert Henri, one of her renowned teachers, asked her, shortly before she left New York, whether any artist had ever told the “great Mormon story.”
“Not to my liking,’ I answered. ‘Good Heavens, girl, what an opportunity. You do it. You’re the one. That’s your birthright. You’ll do it well.’
“I felt that I had been commissioned” (unpublished manuscript, 1947).
The other experience helped her to strengthen her feeling that she had a mission as an artist and that she should place her art in the service of her faith. Minerva later recorded how Robert Henri, one of her renowned teachers, asked her, shortly before she left New York, whether any artist had ever told the “great Mormon story.”
“Not to my liking,’ I answered. ‘Good Heavens, girl, what an opportunity. You do it. You’re the one. That’s your birthright. You’ll do it well.’
“I felt that I had been commissioned” (unpublished manuscript, 1947).
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👤 Other
Faith
Foreordination
Service
Women in the Church
President James E. Faust, Beloved Shepherd
Summary: In the 1980s, President Faust worked with President Howard W. Hunter and Elder Jeffrey R. Holland to establish BYU’s Jerusalem Center amid intense negotiations and opposition. An eyewitness described Elder Faust as a man of peace who calmed agitated opponents and members alike.
In the 1980s President Faust worked closely with President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95), then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, then president of Brigham Young University, to turn their vision of BYU’s Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies into reality. President Faust and President Hunter waded through intense negotiations and prolonged opposition in leasing land and overseeing construction of the center.
One eyewitness to the process said, “Elder Faust was truly a man of peace, always looking for ways to calm our often agitated Jewish friends who sought an end to our presence in Jerusalem, or to calm the troubled waters among the Latter-day Saints in Jerusalem who were sometimes offended by the opposition.”
One eyewitness to the process said, “Elder Faust was truly a man of peace, always looking for ways to calm our often agitated Jewish friends who sought an end to our presence in Jerusalem, or to calm the troubled waters among the Latter-day Saints in Jerusalem who were sometimes offended by the opposition.”
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Other
Adversity
Apostle
Diversity and Unity in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Education
Peace
Religious Freedom
Unity
Perfecting the Saints
Summary: During a stake conference, a five-year-old boy twice walked to the pulpit to criticize the visiting General Authority's speaking. After the meeting, the boy's mother apologized, explaining that her son had only repeated what others were saying. The account ends with a gentle reminder that no one is perfect.
Here is a story that I would like to share with you. The closing speaker at a stake conference was a General Authority. He had talked for about ten minutes when all of a sudden, from way back in the chapel, came a five-year-old boy strolling down the aisle. The boy was all dressed up by his mother for the occasion in gray slacks, a white shirt, and a red bow tie, and his hair was sticking up in the air with a lot of “greasy kid stuff.” This dapper young man came down the aisle and stopped right in front of the pulpit. He looked up at the speaker and said, “You talk too loud.” Then he turned around and went back to his mother.
Now the speaker hoped there would be no further interruptions. But, lo and behold, after fifteen minutes there came the boy walking down the aisle again, and he stopped for the second time in front of the speaker. This time, he looked up and said, “And you talk too long.”
The speaker, however, did not react and continued to finish his talk. After all, we have been trained to keep our cool under all circumstances. Then there was a beautiful congregational closing hymn and the benediction to finish the meeting, followed by the usual socializing and shaking of hands. The mother of the five-year-old boy also came to the stand and said, “Elder, I hope you did not pay too much attention to my five-year-old boy because he was only repeating what other people were saying.”
We love the Saints and especially the mothers of five-year-old boys, because, after all, none of us is perfect.
Now the speaker hoped there would be no further interruptions. But, lo and behold, after fifteen minutes there came the boy walking down the aisle again, and he stopped for the second time in front of the speaker. This time, he looked up and said, “And you talk too long.”
The speaker, however, did not react and continued to finish his talk. After all, we have been trained to keep our cool under all circumstances. Then there was a beautiful congregational closing hymn and the benediction to finish the meeting, followed by the usual socializing and shaking of hands. The mother of the five-year-old boy also came to the stand and said, “Elder, I hope you did not pay too much attention to my five-year-old boy because he was only repeating what other people were saying.”
We love the Saints and especially the mothers of five-year-old boys, because, after all, none of us is perfect.
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Children
👤 Parents
👤 Church Members (General)
Teaching and Learning in the Church
Summary: Orin Howell joined the Church in Bosnia in June 1996 while serving in the military. He was baptized in a converted chapel using an upside-down tank cover as a font, and Elder Holland confirmed him a member under wartime conditions. Orin later served faithfully in the Church in Utah.
Now, it’s a good teaching practice to have the class get to know each other and become a little better acquainted, so we’re going to do that for a minute with Orin Howell.
Orin, when did you join the Church?
Brother Howell: I joined the Church in June 1996.
Elder Holland: Where did you join the Church, Brother Howell?
Brother Howell: In Bosnia.
Elder Holland: What were you doing in Bosnia, Brother Howell?
Brother Howell: I was in the military at the time.
Elder Holland: Where and in what in Bosnia were you baptized?
Brother Howell: I was baptized in Tuzla, in a Russian bar that had been converted to a chapel. We got a used cover of a tank, turned it upside down, brought it into the chapel, and used that as a font.
Elder Holland: This is a wonderful young man in the military, who is touched by the lives of other Latter-day Saints in the military, and he receives a testimony of the gospel and wants to be baptized. So in the converted chapel in wartime conditions, the engine cover of a tank was tipped upside down to form a basin-like structure and filled with water, and Orin filled the basin. He was baptized. Orin, who confirmed you a member of the Church in that setting?
Brother Howell: You did, Elder Holland.
Elder Holland: I had the wonderful privilege in the summer of 1996 to confirm Orin Howell a member of the Church in Tuzla, Bosnia, under wartime conditions, where we were scrambling for our lives. This wonderful young man is now a high priest serving the Church faithfully here in the Salt Lake Valley. He’s a very distinguished member of our class today. Thank you, Orin, for that little bio. It lets the class get to know each other a little better.
Orin, when did you join the Church?
Brother Howell: I joined the Church in June 1996.
Elder Holland: Where did you join the Church, Brother Howell?
Brother Howell: In Bosnia.
Elder Holland: What were you doing in Bosnia, Brother Howell?
Brother Howell: I was in the military at the time.
Elder Holland: Where and in what in Bosnia were you baptized?
Brother Howell: I was baptized in Tuzla, in a Russian bar that had been converted to a chapel. We got a used cover of a tank, turned it upside down, brought it into the chapel, and used that as a font.
Elder Holland: This is a wonderful young man in the military, who is touched by the lives of other Latter-day Saints in the military, and he receives a testimony of the gospel and wants to be baptized. So in the converted chapel in wartime conditions, the engine cover of a tank was tipped upside down to form a basin-like structure and filled with water, and Orin filled the basin. He was baptized. Orin, who confirmed you a member of the Church in that setting?
Brother Howell: You did, Elder Holland.
Elder Holland: I had the wonderful privilege in the summer of 1996 to confirm Orin Howell a member of the Church in Tuzla, Bosnia, under wartime conditions, where we were scrambling for our lives. This wonderful young man is now a high priest serving the Church faithfully here in the Salt Lake Valley. He’s a very distinguished member of our class today. Thank you, Orin, for that little bio. It lets the class get to know each other a little better.
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Other
Apostle
Baptism
Conversion
Diversity and Unity in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Ordinances
War
Pen Pals and Referrals
Summary: A missionary unexpectedly receives a note from her cousin about a long-lost French pen pal, Céline, just after being transferred to a new city in southern France. Discovering Céline lives in their district, the missionaries visit and teach her family, who respond positively. When asked why she reached out after eight years, Céline explains she found the address while cleaning and felt prompted to write. The missionary reflects on God's timing and care in orchestrating the connection.
My companion handed me an envelope and said, “Sister Jones, I think this is for you.” I looked at the return address and was pleased to see my cousin’s name printed neatly in the corner. I had just been transferred to a new city from the other side of southern France and didn’t think anyone back home in the United States was aware of my new address. I opened the envelope and read a short note in which my cousin said that she had recently received an e-mail from her French pen pal after eight years of no contact.
My cousin explained that although she and Céline had received each other’s address in their high school French and English classes, respectively, they had never actually written to each other. My cousin was therefore very surprised to receive Céline’s e-mail. She didn’t know if Céline lived in southern France where I was serving, but she included her name and address, asking me to contact her if possible.
Because I was new to the area, I handed the note to my companion and asked her if my cousin’s pen pal lived in the mission. “Not only does she live within mission boundaries,” she responded, “she lives in our district!” Excitedly, we called Céline to introduce ourselves, and she agreed to meet with us. We took the short train ride to Montauban.
As we stepped off the train, we were greeted warmly by Céline and her parents. They invited us to their home and asked us to share our message. As we taught them about the Book of Mormon and the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Spirit bore witness of the truthfulness of the restored gospel. The family expressed their appreciation for the values taught by the Church, and after a lengthy discussion we left them with a copy of the Book of Mormon, a prayer, and a promise to return.
That was the first of several visits with Céline and her family. My mission ended while they were still in the process of learning about the Church, but before I said good-bye to Céline, I asked her why she had decided to contact my cousin after eight years. Her response surprised me: “When I was cleaning out a drawer, I came across her address on a small piece of paper I thought I’d lost. I felt strongly that I needed to write to her.”
On the way home to our apartment I gazed out the train window and marveled at how a loving Father allowed a lost address to be found and an old connection to be made at the very time I was unexpectedly transferred to a new city for the last six weeks of my mission. He is mindful of all and will make miracles happen, even with such a small and simple thing as a pen pal’s address.
My cousin explained that although she and Céline had received each other’s address in their high school French and English classes, respectively, they had never actually written to each other. My cousin was therefore very surprised to receive Céline’s e-mail. She didn’t know if Céline lived in southern France where I was serving, but she included her name and address, asking me to contact her if possible.
Because I was new to the area, I handed the note to my companion and asked her if my cousin’s pen pal lived in the mission. “Not only does she live within mission boundaries,” she responded, “she lives in our district!” Excitedly, we called Céline to introduce ourselves, and she agreed to meet with us. We took the short train ride to Montauban.
As we stepped off the train, we were greeted warmly by Céline and her parents. They invited us to their home and asked us to share our message. As we taught them about the Book of Mormon and the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Spirit bore witness of the truthfulness of the restored gospel. The family expressed their appreciation for the values taught by the Church, and after a lengthy discussion we left them with a copy of the Book of Mormon, a prayer, and a promise to return.
That was the first of several visits with Céline and her family. My mission ended while they were still in the process of learning about the Church, but before I said good-bye to Céline, I asked her why she had decided to contact my cousin after eight years. Her response surprised me: “When I was cleaning out a drawer, I came across her address on a small piece of paper I thought I’d lost. I felt strongly that I needed to write to her.”
On the way home to our apartment I gazed out the train window and marveled at how a loving Father allowed a lost address to be found and an old connection to be made at the very time I was unexpectedly transferred to a new city for the last six weeks of my mission. He is mindful of all and will make miracles happen, even with such a small and simple thing as a pen pal’s address.
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👤 Missionaries
👤 Parents
👤 Other
Book of Mormon
Conversion
Faith
Family
Friendship
Holy Ghost
Miracles
Missionary Work
Prayer
Revelation
Testimony
“How do you know if you have received the Holy Ghost?”
Summary: The passage first introduces Lorenzo Snow’s letter as one of many accounts of the baptism of the Spirit and explains that he felt uncertain after baptism until he prayed in a grove. In response, he described being enveloped by the Spirit and receiving a perfect knowledge that God lives and the gospel is true. The excerpt then adds that his sister Eliza had a similar spiritual experience after her baptism, feeling a tangible sensation and inexpressible happiness.
The letters, diaries, and autobiographies of past Church leaders contain many descriptions of this baptism of the Spirit. One of these was written by Lorenzo Snow, later an apostle, and still later a president of the Church. Elder Snow wrote that immediately following his immersion in the waters of baptism at the age of twenty-two, he expected to receive the Holy Ghost, and to have the promise fulfilled that he would “know of the doctrine, whether it be of God.” (John 7:17.) But Elder Snow did not receive this assurance immediately. He began to worry whether he had done wrong—whether God was displeased with him. Several weeks later, while studying the scriptures, he felt depressed and disconsolate. He left the house and walked outside, tormented by uncertainty and enveloped by “an indescribable cloud of darkness.” He had been in the habit of going to a small grove every evening to have secret prayer. On this particular day he was so dejected that he “felt no inclination” to pray. “The heavens seemed like brass over my head,” he wrote. Nevertheless, he forced himself to pray, and soon he heard a sound “like the restling of silken robes” above his head:
“… immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge … I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the Holy Priesthood, and of the fulness of the gospel. It was a complete baptism—a tangible immersion in the heavenly principle or element, the Holy Ghost; and even more real and physical in its effects upon every part of my system than the immersion of water.”
God had conferred upon him, he concluded, “that which is of greater value than all the wealth and honors worlds can bestow.”1
Lorenzo’s sister, Eliza, author of some of our favorite hymns and later the president of the Relief Society of the Church, had a similar experience:
“On the 5th of April, 1835, I was baptized by a ‘Mormon’ Elder, and in the evening of that day, I realized the baptism of the Spirit as sensibly as I did that of the water in the stream. I had retired to bed, and as I was reflecting on the wonderful events transpiring around me, I felt an indescribable, tangible sensation … commencing at my head and enveloping my person and passing off at my feet, producing inexpressible happiness.”2
“… immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge … I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the Holy Priesthood, and of the fulness of the gospel. It was a complete baptism—a tangible immersion in the heavenly principle or element, the Holy Ghost; and even more real and physical in its effects upon every part of my system than the immersion of water.”
God had conferred upon him, he concluded, “that which is of greater value than all the wealth and honors worlds can bestow.”1
Lorenzo’s sister, Eliza, author of some of our favorite hymns and later the president of the Relief Society of the Church, had a similar experience:
“On the 5th of April, 1835, I was baptized by a ‘Mormon’ Elder, and in the evening of that day, I realized the baptism of the Spirit as sensibly as I did that of the water in the stream. I had retired to bed, and as I was reflecting on the wonderful events transpiring around me, I felt an indescribable, tangible sensation … commencing at my head and enveloping my person and passing off at my feet, producing inexpressible happiness.”2
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👤 Early Saints
Baptism
Conversion
Happiness
Holy Ghost
Music
Relief Society
Testimony
Women in the Church
The Hunk
Summary: Dexter is frustrated that he is only average and longs for recognition and greatness. After serving in a humble way at the temple open house, he begins to remember that holiness and Christlike service often look ordinary. He changes his attitude, starts helping others quietly, and chooses simple acts of service with Julie and Brother Magnuson.
“Brother Hunk,” the stake leader said, “the youth conference you planned and supervised was the most impressive activity I’ve seen. As the youth representative you single-handedly organized and carried off a wholesome activity that will be recorded in this stake’s history. Every house has been painted, disaster plans and emergency supplies are present in every household, wickedness is banished, corruption and litter are gone. And the youth say they’ve never had so much fun. You are magnificent!”
The youth surrounding the stake leader cheered the Hunk.
“Dexter! Dexter!”
The voice of his priesthood adviser, brother Magnuson, broke through.
“Dexter, will you help set up tables for the youth conference next month?” asked brother Magnuson.
Dexter looked up, realized he was at a ward youth meeting, and replied, “I dunno.”
There’s no glory in that, thought Dexter. I want to be chairman or nothing. Fat chance of being chairman so I’ll be nothing. He sat silent for the rest of the meeting.
Afterwards Julie hurried to catch him as he started to climb into the family car.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You’ve been so distracted and distant lately, like you’re in a different world. You always used to help out with youth conferences. What’s bothering you?”
“It’s nothing,” said Dexter. “It’s just that I’m tired of being ordinary—just average, with no honor or recognition. Look at us Julie. We’re the average kids. No one notices us. We are never head of anything, never applauded, just the average ones who are always there. If the school paper did an article about us do you know what it would say?”
Dexter picked up a school book, cleared his throat, and in a deep voice intoned, “Dexter and Julie are two average students at Riverview High. They have never been president of any organization. They did not win a scholarship. They haven’t won a race or a trophy. They have not won honors for any talent. They are average.”
“Now,” said Dexter, putting down the book. “Do you see what I mean?”
“But we try.”
“Name one thing you do really well Julie.”
“I like to paint.”
“Have you won any awards?”
“Well, no.”
“Don’t you see what I mean. You’re an average painter. So why paint?”
“Maybe I’m not a Michelangelo or even a Grandma Moses. But painting makes me so aware of the world. How many colors do you see in that tree?”
“One—it’s green. Trees are all the same. All green.”
“But I see maybe ten shades and colors—some darker with touches of brown, other parts lighter with splashes of yellow.”
“They’re still trees in an average painting. For me it’s going to be the top or nothing. I want to be a winner. I want recognition!”
His voice had gotten louder and classmates turned to stare.
“You’re getting recognition,” giggled Julie.
He lowered his voice. “I want to be the best, the greatest.”
“Well,” replied Julie, “it wasn’t some famous person that touched our family when we were investigating the Church. It was my three-year-old niece singing ‘I Am a Child of God.’ Sometimes the common can achieve the uncommon.”
“Not for me. I want to be the greatest. I want recognition. I want honors.”
Dexter climbed into the car and drove off.
Member Missionary Hunk was assigned to coordinate the open house for the public at the newly completed temple. He planned on being stationed in the celestial room, where he would quietly nod acknowledgments to community dignitaries. Afterwards there would be cookies and punch with guest speakers at the stake center to honor him. Honors to the Hunk.
“Dexter, you’ll be serving here. You’ll help put booties on the shoes of the visitors before they enter the temple for the tour,” the tour leader said.
Filled with disappointment, Dexter sat on the ground and assisted visitors with shoe coverings. No honor in this he thought. In fact it was uncomfortable and embarrassing. But there was something familiar about it. What was it?
He looked up at the temple spires and remembered the words carved on the side: “Holiness to the Lord.”
Holiness to the Lord. Again there was that nagging feeling of familiarity.
Suddenly, a scene came to his mind of a painting that hung at home. He who was greatest was washing the feet of the disciples.
Across the walkway of the temple two visitors were conversing.
“Say, who’s that kid with the glasses, the one who is putting on foot coverings. Is he someone special?”
“No, that’s just Dexter. He’s a nice, average kid.”
“But look at the way he’s treating visitors. It’s as though each person he helps is the most important person he’ll meet.”
On Saturday Dexter wrote a letter to his great-aunt requesting information on his grandfather’s birthplace. He gathered food, took it by an immigrant family’s home, and told them he’d be back the next day with two young men and a special book written in their own language. Later he wrapped up a clean Scout shirt and Scout handbook and quietly laid it on the doorstep of a widow’s home whose son hadn’t much money. He knocked and ran. The widow and son found the bag along with a note: From your friend.
Brother Magnuson was surprised that Saturday to get a call from Dexter. He volunteered to set up tables for the youth conference and offered to help with cleanup also.
Then Dexter called Julie and invited her to walk down to the park with him. She’d paint trees while he took photographs of the ducks.
The youth surrounding the stake leader cheered the Hunk.
“Dexter! Dexter!”
The voice of his priesthood adviser, brother Magnuson, broke through.
“Dexter, will you help set up tables for the youth conference next month?” asked brother Magnuson.
Dexter looked up, realized he was at a ward youth meeting, and replied, “I dunno.”
There’s no glory in that, thought Dexter. I want to be chairman or nothing. Fat chance of being chairman so I’ll be nothing. He sat silent for the rest of the meeting.
Afterwards Julie hurried to catch him as he started to climb into the family car.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You’ve been so distracted and distant lately, like you’re in a different world. You always used to help out with youth conferences. What’s bothering you?”
“It’s nothing,” said Dexter. “It’s just that I’m tired of being ordinary—just average, with no honor or recognition. Look at us Julie. We’re the average kids. No one notices us. We are never head of anything, never applauded, just the average ones who are always there. If the school paper did an article about us do you know what it would say?”
Dexter picked up a school book, cleared his throat, and in a deep voice intoned, “Dexter and Julie are two average students at Riverview High. They have never been president of any organization. They did not win a scholarship. They haven’t won a race or a trophy. They have not won honors for any talent. They are average.”
“Now,” said Dexter, putting down the book. “Do you see what I mean?”
“But we try.”
“Name one thing you do really well Julie.”
“I like to paint.”
“Have you won any awards?”
“Well, no.”
“Don’t you see what I mean. You’re an average painter. So why paint?”
“Maybe I’m not a Michelangelo or even a Grandma Moses. But painting makes me so aware of the world. How many colors do you see in that tree?”
“One—it’s green. Trees are all the same. All green.”
“But I see maybe ten shades and colors—some darker with touches of brown, other parts lighter with splashes of yellow.”
“They’re still trees in an average painting. For me it’s going to be the top or nothing. I want to be a winner. I want recognition!”
His voice had gotten louder and classmates turned to stare.
“You’re getting recognition,” giggled Julie.
He lowered his voice. “I want to be the best, the greatest.”
“Well,” replied Julie, “it wasn’t some famous person that touched our family when we were investigating the Church. It was my three-year-old niece singing ‘I Am a Child of God.’ Sometimes the common can achieve the uncommon.”
“Not for me. I want to be the greatest. I want recognition. I want honors.”
Dexter climbed into the car and drove off.
Member Missionary Hunk was assigned to coordinate the open house for the public at the newly completed temple. He planned on being stationed in the celestial room, where he would quietly nod acknowledgments to community dignitaries. Afterwards there would be cookies and punch with guest speakers at the stake center to honor him. Honors to the Hunk.
“Dexter, you’ll be serving here. You’ll help put booties on the shoes of the visitors before they enter the temple for the tour,” the tour leader said.
Filled with disappointment, Dexter sat on the ground and assisted visitors with shoe coverings. No honor in this he thought. In fact it was uncomfortable and embarrassing. But there was something familiar about it. What was it?
He looked up at the temple spires and remembered the words carved on the side: “Holiness to the Lord.”
Holiness to the Lord. Again there was that nagging feeling of familiarity.
Suddenly, a scene came to his mind of a painting that hung at home. He who was greatest was washing the feet of the disciples.
Across the walkway of the temple two visitors were conversing.
“Say, who’s that kid with the glasses, the one who is putting on foot coverings. Is he someone special?”
“No, that’s just Dexter. He’s a nice, average kid.”
“But look at the way he’s treating visitors. It’s as though each person he helps is the most important person he’ll meet.”
On Saturday Dexter wrote a letter to his great-aunt requesting information on his grandfather’s birthplace. He gathered food, took it by an immigrant family’s home, and told them he’d be back the next day with two young men and a special book written in their own language. Later he wrapped up a clean Scout shirt and Scout handbook and quietly laid it on the doorstep of a widow’s home whose son hadn’t much money. He knocked and ran. The widow and son found the bag along with a note: From your friend.
Brother Magnuson was surprised that Saturday to get a call from Dexter. He volunteered to set up tables for the youth conference and offered to help with cleanup also.
Then Dexter called Julie and invited her to walk down to the park with him. She’d paint trees while he took photographs of the ducks.
Read more →
👤 Youth
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Friends
Humility
Pride
Service
Young Men
A Better Choice
Summary: A woman spent significant time on social media despite setting a goal to read the Bible daily. One night, after scrolling for an hour and a half and offering a very brief prayer, she felt a clear prompting to give prayer as much time as she gave social media. She immediately deleted her apps and began a social media fast. A week later she received her endowment in the temple, made additional commitments to study the gospel, and felt blessed for her choice.
After my husband would leave for work, I used to finish my daily housework and then lie down and spend a few hours on Facebook, Messenger, and Instagram. I spent almost 15 hours a week on social media. I couldn’t seem to stop sharing funny videos and images, but I seldom shared messages about the Church. Often at bedtime, my husband had to help me get off social media so I could get to sleep.
At this time, I set a goal to read the Bible all the way through to help me better understand the gospel of Jesus Christ. Each day I dedicated myself to read approximately three chapters. On days that social media ate up some of my time, I would try to read a little extra.
One night I put my Bible beside me to read a few chapters. But before reading, I grabbed my phone and spent the next hour and a half on social media. When I realized what time it was, I put my phone aside and knelt to pray. My prayer didn’t last even 10 seconds. As soon as I stood up, a voice came to my mind, saying, “I would that you invest as much time to prayer as you do to social media.”
I was surprised to receive such a direct message from the Spirit. I knew what to do and didn’t hesitate for a second. Immediately, I deleted the social media apps from my phone and began a social media fast.
A week later, I was endowed in the holy temple. Along with the covenants I made with the Lord, I promised Him that in my free time I would read about the Church and about the Prophet Joseph Smith and continue reading the Bible.
Heavenly Father has greatly blessed me for deciding to make a better choice by getting away from social media and spending more time learning about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
At this time, I set a goal to read the Bible all the way through to help me better understand the gospel of Jesus Christ. Each day I dedicated myself to read approximately three chapters. On days that social media ate up some of my time, I would try to read a little extra.
One night I put my Bible beside me to read a few chapters. But before reading, I grabbed my phone and spent the next hour and a half on social media. When I realized what time it was, I put my phone aside and knelt to pray. My prayer didn’t last even 10 seconds. As soon as I stood up, a voice came to my mind, saying, “I would that you invest as much time to prayer as you do to social media.”
I was surprised to receive such a direct message from the Spirit. I knew what to do and didn’t hesitate for a second. Immediately, I deleted the social media apps from my phone and began a social media fast.
A week later, I was endowed in the holy temple. Along with the covenants I made with the Lord, I promised Him that in my free time I would read about the Church and about the Prophet Joseph Smith and continue reading the Bible.
Heavenly Father has greatly blessed me for deciding to make a better choice by getting away from social media and spending more time learning about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
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👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Other
Addiction
Bible
Covenant
Holy Ghost
Movies and Television
Obedience
Prayer
Revelation
Sacrifice
Scriptures
Temples
Arms of Safety
Summary: As a bishop, the speaker counseled a young single adult who had let his affections get out of control and limited him from the sacrament for a time. They met regularly during his repentance, and eventually the bishop authorized him to partake again. Observing him at the sacrament table, the bishop felt the Atonement's healing as the young man was encircled by mercy and safety.
While serving as a bishop, I witnessed the blessings of the Atonement in the lives of Church members who committed serious transgressions. As a judge in Israel, I listened to their confessions and, when needed, placed restrictions upon them, such as not partaking of the sacrament for a time.
A young single adult in our ward was dating a young woman. They allowed their affections to get out of control. He came to me for counsel and help. Based on what was confessed and the impressions of the Spirit to me, among other things, he was not permitted to partake of the sacrament for a time. We met regularly to ensure that repentance had happened, and after an appropriate time I authorized him to again partake of the sacrament.
As I sat on the stand in that sacrament meeting, my eyes were drawn to him as he now partook of the sacrament worthily. I witnessed arms of mercy, love, and safety encircling him as the healing of the Atonement warmed his soul and lifted his load, resulting in the promised forgiveness, peace, and happiness.
A young single adult in our ward was dating a young woman. They allowed their affections to get out of control. He came to me for counsel and help. Based on what was confessed and the impressions of the Spirit to me, among other things, he was not permitted to partake of the sacrament for a time. We met regularly to ensure that repentance had happened, and after an appropriate time I authorized him to again partake of the sacrament.
As I sat on the stand in that sacrament meeting, my eyes were drawn to him as he now partook of the sacrament worthily. I witnessed arms of mercy, love, and safety encircling him as the healing of the Atonement warmed his soul and lifted his load, resulting in the promised forgiveness, peace, and happiness.
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👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Young Adults
👤 Church Members (General)
Atonement of Jesus Christ
Bishop
Chastity
Dating and Courtship
Forgiveness
Holy Ghost
Love
Mercy
Peace
Repentance
Sacrament
Sin
Temptation