Gospel Story Finder

As I was interviewing the young people in our ward as their bishop, I asked each of them: “Are you dating anyone who is not a member of our church?”
“I’m not exactly dating him, but we know each other very well. We’re good friends.”
“Do you know him well enough to invite him to our student ward party?” I asked.
Susan brought Bill to our party, and our ward missionaries did the rest. Bill is now in the bishopric in Houston after having served a mission for the Church. And Bill and Susan’s experience has been duplicated all over the Church.

Four-year-old Tammy had never spent a night away from home. Her parents were going to a wedding and wouldn’t be home until very late, so she was going to spend the night at Grandma’s house. Tammy loved her grandma very much, but she liked being close to her mommy and daddy.
Mommy helped Tammy pack her pajamas and stuffed rhinoceros and clean clothes for the next day in the special suitcase Grandma had given her.
After they arrived at Grandma’s house, Tammy hugged Mommy and Daddy good-bye. Grandma showed Tammy where to put her suitcase.
Tammy saw that Grandma had the same picture of Jesus hanging in her bedroom that Tammy had in her own bedroom at home. It made her feel better.
Grandma fixed spaghetti for dinner. Tammy ate all of her spaghetti. They had vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce for dessert.
After dinner, Grandma pulled out a thick book. “This is my photo album,” she said. She opened it and pointed to a picture. “This is your mommy when she was a little girl.”
Tammy liked looking at pictures of her mommy when she was little. Together, she and Grandma looked at the pictures until Tammy started to feel sleepy.
Grandma helped Tammy brush her teeth and put on her pajamas. Then Grandma listened as Tammy said her prayers.
“I have a special sleeping bag for you to use when you’re here,” Grandma said. She unrolled a sleeping bag with pink flowers on it.
“Pink is my favorite color,” Tammy said.
Grandma smiled. “I know.”
Tammy gave Grandma a big kiss before sliding into the sleeping bag. Grandma put Tammy’s rhinoceros next to her and zipped up the sleeping bag. “Good night, Tammy. Sweet dreams.”
“Good night, Grandma.” Tammy felt very cozy in the pink sleeping bag.
The next morning, Grandma made French toast for breakfast. Tammy ate two pieces and drank all her milk. Then she helped Grandma do the dishes.
“I was a little scared when I came,” Tammy said to Grandma as she dried a plate. “Then I saw the picture of Jesus and I wasn’t scared anymore.”
Grandma hugged Tammy. “I keep a picture of Jesus in my bedroom to remind me that He loves me. I’m glad you aren’t scared anymore.”
Tammy hugged Grandma back. “I am too.” She could hardly wait until Mommy and Daddy came to pick her up. She had a lot to tell them.

Perhaps you are aware that my family were refugees from Mexico. During the years that followed our arrival in the United States, Father had a difficult time getting enough food to feed his family. I remember the time about two years after we came out of Mexico (that would be about 1914) when Father got a job in Oakley, Idaho, teaching in the Cassia Academy for $80 a month.
When Father and his brother left Mexico, they both had large families. Knowing that they would have a difficult time making a living (they brought nothing out of Mexico except what they could bring in one trunk), they joined together and pooled their earnings. After a short stay in El Paso, Texas, they went together to Los Angeles, California, where they worked as carpenters. Later they moved to Oakley, Idaho, where they could raise their families in a Latter-day Saint environment. When one of them was out of work, they divided the income of the other and thus eked out an existence for both families. My uncle was out of work one winter in Idaho. That left them the $80 my father received for teaching with which to support about seventeen people. They had to pay rent; they had to buy everything they ate; and they would have had to buy fuel, except I went out on the hillside and dug the sagebrush from under the snow for fuel. I kept warm digging, and Mother kept warm poking it into the stove.
The question came up in the family council—should father pay tithing on that $80? If he didn’t he would have $40 a month to care for the family; if he did, it would be cut down by $4, and he would have $36 a month. I remember that council, and I remember that they decided they would pay their tithing; and I remember they sent me with the tithing to the bishop. It was cold, and I didn’t have warm clothes; I really wondered what had gone wrong with Father. But I learned from that—the training of my parents—I learned there is truth in the Lord’s promises.

Most Creative Response
The most interesting reply to an invitation for a date that we’ve heard about came from Nikki Mather of Preston, Idaho. She responded to a dance invite from Wade Meek by delivering a jar full of Reese’s Pieces and M&Ms. She told him if there were more M&Ms than Reese’s Pieces, the answer was yes, and vice versa. It’s difficult, however, to tell one kind of candy from the other, so Wade had to have the whole family and half the neighborhood over to cut the candies in half, see if there was chocolate or peanut butter inside, and count them. When they were all tallied the answer was yes, of course.

When I was 16, I didn’t get along with my twin brother at all. We fought about everything. One day he humiliated me at school with an intensely critical and personal attack in front of a group of friends. His actions and hurtful words left me devastated in a way my teenage self could not bear. Even when our parents confronted him about the incident, he never said he was sorry. For years I held onto the pain.
He was still on his mission when I received my own mission call. I was preparing to enter the temple and began to reflect on my life to find where I needed to change to feel prepared to go to the temple. I realized that even though I didn’t often think about what my brother did, I still needed to forgive him.
My brother had hurt me more than anyone else, and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to forgive him. So I prayed for help from Heavenly Father.
With His help, I decided to start writing my brother regularly on his mission. Before that, I’m sorry to admit, I hardly wrote him at all. Then I sent him a package. When I left on my mission, he came with my parents to the missionary training center and gave me a hug. He even wrote me a few times.
I know that even though it may take time, with Heavenly Father’s help, we can let the past remain in the past.

The wood had broiled in the sun for so many years that it was now the color of faded cardboard. Wind and rain had warped and cracked its weary surface.

Slap! A brush drenched the crevice where the old board joined the fence post. Slosh! A roller dipped in its tray, then spread a thick layer of rust-red latex over the tired timber, which drank its fill and noticed that its neighbors, too, were being refreshed by some benevolent teenagers. The old corral would never look the same!

Across the road, weeds and grass, fed by 80-degree spring water, had clogged irrigation channels. Now young men and women toiled side by side, knee and elbow-deep in moss and slime. As they freed paths for water to make its way to the pastures, they smiled and laughed and joked and cheered each other on. At the same time, their counterparts in another field were clearing away piles of dead palm fronds trimmed by previous work crews, piling trucks high with debris.

It was not a typical youth conference.

True enough, when the young people from three of Las Vegas’ ten stakes had gathered for the conference’s opening session the night before, they had enjoyed a musical fireside, including an impromptu chorus starring the presidents of the Las Vegas, Las Vegas South, and Las Vegas Nevada Redrock stakes.

And it was also true that following the fireside there was a dance where young men and young women mingled and made new friends. And there were still a testimony meeting, meetings with featured speakers, and a ranch-style barbecue dinner to come. There would even be a game session featuring horseshoes, earth ball competition, a greased pig chase, an obstacle course, and a tug-of-war.

But the most impressive event was the all-day Saturday cleanup at the Warm Springs welfare ranch and farm, 60 miles northeast of town.

Following an early-morning breakfast at one of the stake centers, a dozen work crews (each identified by a specific T-shirt color) boarded a dozen buses (each labeled with a sign of the same color) and were conveyed across the sage-speckled desert toward the welfare property.

In transit, crew members, directed by captains of 10 and captains of 40 (to match bus capacity), were required to interview each other and fill out forms listing favorite foods, date of birth, hobbies, Church callings, and other get-acquainted facts:

“We purposely mixed people from different stakes so they would be able to make friends with new people,” explained Gary Tonks, 17, captain of the light blue bus. “We wanted them to work together at the farm, but we thought that would be easier if they knew each other first.”

The buses left the freeway and tooled along a lesser road, adrift in the barren mounds of an ochre, gray, and tan moonscape, dry enough to give a lizard thirst. Then, over one last rise, a patch of green! Green! Palm trees danced a wind-inspired hula, while streams, glinting like diamonds in the sun, encircled plants and fields in belts of silver.

Fortunately for the work crews, this was not some sand-weary traveler’s illusion, no mirage born of too much sun. Warm Springs, Nevada, is an oasis in every sense of the word. Thermal water gushes up here from an underground source, blessing the parched earth with life. A billboard beckons tourists to visit a privately owned recreational water slide; environmentalists on field trips inspect the warm-water canals for a fish species indigenous to the area; and the skyscraping palms converge in cavernous groves that offer seclusion and shade in summer and shelter from the harsh winter wind.

The property, purchased about four years ago, may eventually be developed to include pomegranate groves, grape vines, cottonwood trees (for firewood), range cattle, a dairy, a pig farm, a turkey farm, a catfish pond, a swimming pool, grain fields, and silos for storage. It is also used from time to time for camping and Scouting activities, and so many of the youth conference participants had been here before.

Each crew was assigned to a work area, again according to T-shirt color, and within minutes, the farm was engulfed by workers shoveling, carrying, hoeing, sawing, raking, hacking, and stacking. Invading mesquite bushes were whacked off at the roots, cut up, and carted away. Barbed wire was restrung and tightened. The farm manager’s yard was weeded and manicured until it looked professionally landscaped.

“We already had the bus leaders come out to the farm,” explained Jacie Summers, 17, of the 51st Ward, South Stake. “There were three or four sessions when they were allowed to come and practice doing all the jobs so that they’d be qualified to supervise. Now they’re in charge of groups, but they know what to have them do.” Her job? “Today we’re cleaning pig pens,” she said, grinning.

“Usually we go to a youth conference and sit in classrooms during workshops,” said David Brown, 18, of the 28th Ward, Las Vegas Stake. “We always have some people sitting alone, eating alone, not feeling involved. We felt like this was a way for them to feel part of the conference, for us to be able to work with others, and for everyone at the end of the day to feel satisfied with what we got done.”

“I like to work, and working with friends makes it fun,” said Andrea Hildreath, 17, of the South Stake’s 47th Ward. And Heather Rodriguez, 15, of the Third Ward, Las Vegas Stake, added that “it’s not the thing I’d normally anticipate doing for fun, but it’s what you make it. If you come in with a good attitude and make it fun, it will be. The best part was meeting lots of new people.”

“We explained at a fireside what we planned to do at the conference,” Jacie said. “We told them we were going to work and work hard, but we explained how they could help and how much good it would do for the farm.”

Evidently the appeal was convincing. “This is the biggest turnout we’ve ever had for a youth conference,” Jacie said. And Gary, who served on the steering committee with her, noted that more than 500 attended an activity originally planned for 300. “At first we were afraid people would be turned off by the idea of working, but it turned out to be one of the best ideas ever.”

A quick look around the farm would have been enough to convince anyone he was right. There were so many willing volunteers, one of the biggest problems was finding enough tools to go around. Another problem was distributing oranges to everyone for a morning break. There were plenty of oranges, but everyone was so involved working there was only a minimal distribution crew!

The strenuous labor made the juicy sweetness of the fresh fruit even more appealing, and the workers relaxed momentarily, leaning on the fence posts, hillsides, and even sides of automobiles. They talked, as they often do with those from out of town, about what it’s like to live in Las Vegas.

“Most people think you live in a casino,” said Bruce Tingey, 17, of the 51st Ward, South Stake. “They don’t realize that this is actually a home town for some, that people, especially Mormons, really live here. But there are lots of Church members in Vegas.”

“It’s easy to find good examples,” said Suzann Melaerts, 16, of the 31st Ward, Las Vegas Stake. “But it’s easy to find bad ones, too. You have to be strong. I’m glad for the opportunity to share with those who want to know about the gospel.”

“I’ve never lived anywhere else,” Andrea added. “But I’ve been other places. I love it here because the Church is so strong.” Bruce’s sister, Christine, agreed. “We have more opportunities to share the gospel here because a lot of people know about the Church already. It’s an ideal situation—plenty of chances to do missionary work, and yet there are enough members that you don’t feel like you’re all by yourself.”

Heather nodded her head. “About 50 percent of my friends are members of the Church. About 50 percent aren’t. I have an obligation to share the gospel. I want others to have the same happiness I do.”

Heather told of a friend who’s investigating the Church. “We talk a lot, almost every day,” Heather said. And others mentioned a young lady who was baptized shortly after last year’s youth conference. Looking around, they pointed out half a dozen nonmembers mixed in with the crowd around them.

“There were six or seven new members baptized last year in my high school,” Andrea said. “Three of them are on missions now.”

On another part of the ranch, Kristie Ferrell, a 16-year-old member of the Third Ward, Las Vegas Stake, sat chatting with a nonmember friend who accompanied her to the conference. They discussed the youth activities the Church sponsors, as well as Kristie’s active role in her ward. Kristie leads music for the Young Women and is second counselor in her Mia Maid class. She enjoys volleyball and basketball.

Soon others were describing fun activities, too. Suzann remembered girls’ camp hikes in the nearby mountains and seminary lessons that “gave me a good feeling and made me want to do right all day long.” Walter Wagner, 15, of the 19th Ward, Redrock Stake, mentioned the dances held each week at different chapels and the rappeling classes with the teachers quorum in Redrock Canyon. “lt was scary at first,” he said, “but we got used to it.”

Soon the break would be over, and while the laborers finished their chores, adult advisers and some of the ranch hands would be butter-basting potatoes in charcoal-heated dutch ovens and slicing roast pork for the feast to come. The testimony meeting and choral performance scheduled for early evening would eventually be postponed until Sunday because of rushing desert winds, though the testimonies borne would be fervent and tender after a day’s rest gentled the effects of fatigue. Even the games, though riotous at first, would be short-lived because nearly everyone was exhausted.

But for one small moment, no one worried about all that. For one small moment in the bright, clear winter sunshine, there was a near-unanimous contentment, a happiness at being united in service and companionship with fellow Saints. And there was a realization that here there was more than one kind of oasis—that through service, love, gospel-sharing, and reaching out, the Saints in Las Vegas are building a spiritual oasis that will invigorate the desert people for eternities to come.

When I was 13, my mother became very sick. She was diagnosed with a serious cancer in its last stage and was given six months to live. My father didn’t want us children to know, so I didn’t find out how sick she was until she had only a month left to live.
I wasn’t old enough to understand what was happening, and I hesitated to visit her in the hospital. My bishop encouraged me to bring her the sacrament, but I didn’t want to. I thought that she would come home soon. But my bishop persisted because he knew she didn’t have much time left.
When I finally went, my bishop blessed the sacrament, and I passed it to my mother. She was so sick that she didn’t talk much. But she told me, “Do not let go of the iron rod” (see 1 Nephi 8:19–20, 24, 30).
My mother soon passed away, but I remembered her parting words to me. Following her advice has blessed my life.

One of my good and bright friends left the Church for a time. He recently wrote to me of his return: “Initially, I wanted the Book of Mormon to be proven to me historically, geographically, linguistically, and culturally. But when I changed my focus to what it teaches about the gospel of Jesus Christ and His saving mission, I began to gain a testimony of its truthfulness. One day while reading the Book of Mormon in my room, I paused, knelt down, and gave a heartfelt prayer and felt resoundingly that Heavenly Father whispered to my spirit that the Church and the Book of Mormon were definitely true. My three-and-a-half-year period of reinvestigating the Church led me back wholeheartedly and convincingly to its truthfulness.”

At age 30, Eric James of New Mexico, USA, was diagnosed with a kidney disease. As a young father, he was devastated and wondered if he would be able to provide for his family.

He read in the Book of Mormon that Nephi wondered the same thing when he broke his bow made of fine steel. But after making a bow out of wood, Nephi was again able to feed his family. (See 1 Nephi 16:18–23, 30–32.)

“Nephi’s story filled my soul like a brilliant light,” Eric said. “The health I had enjoyed up until that point was like Nephi’s steel bow. When my health failed, it was like my bow had broken. But I realized that the Lord had blessed me with a wooden bow in the form of a kidney transplant. The transplant would give me the strength to care for my family. This gave me hope. Almost 10 years later, I continue to provide for my family and serve the Lord the best I can.”

A friend of mine, one of the elect, was deceived. My friend served a mission and was an outstanding missionary. When she came home from her mission, she intended to do all the little things that had brought the Spirit into her life and had strengthened her on her mission. And for a time, she did.
However, she saw friends, many of whom were returned missionaries, come to church each Sunday but outside of church live as the world lives. They seemed happy. They were doing “fun” things. And their lifestyle didn’t seem to require as much work as hers did.
Slowly she stopped doing the little things that had brought her spiritual strength on her mission. She still had a testimony, but she told me that she had concluded, “If I was just attending my Church meetings, I was OK—I was on track.” Nevertheless, she said, “Spiritually, I was inactive.”2 As she lived as the world lives, one bad choice led to another, and soon she became pregnant.
Her unrighteous choices eventually caught up with her. She wasn’t happy, and she knew it. Fortunately, my friend recognized that she had been deceived, and she repented.
Her story highlights that even the best of us can be deceived. Furthermore, her story points out that we must constantly guard against deception. We accomplish this by doing the little things that bring the Spirit into our lives.
I am happy to report that today my friend is happy, is striving to keep the commandments, and is physically and spiritually active in the gospel.

Not long ago I interviewed a young man who desired to fill a mission, but he had been guilty of some very serious transgressions during his teen years. He was a member of an active Latter-day Saint family, and he himself had been an actively participating member of the Church, even during the time of his transgressions. Ultimately he had gone to his bishop and confessed his wrongdoings. Now, for more than a year, his life had been free of the earlier difficulties, and he was anxious to serve a mission.

As we talked about his situation and the decisions he had made earlier in his life that led to his questionable standing in the Church, he said, “Oh, I knew that what I was doing was wrong, and I was sure that one day I would put things back in order and go on a mission.”

While I was pleased with this young man’s desire to reorder his life and serve the Lord as a missionary, I was troubled by the apparent premeditated, calculated way in which he had allowed himself to move off the proper course to engage in some destructive, immoral behavior, and then, almost as if he were following a timetable set by himself, he had begun to reconstruct his resolve to be obedient.

If my experience with this young man had been an isolated one, it would not be worthy of note here; unfortunately, however, it is not unique. There appears to be an increasing tendency and temptation for young people to sample the forbidden things of the world, not with the intent to embrace them permanently, but with the knowing decision to indulge in them momentarily as though they held a value of some kind too important or exciting to pass by. It is one of the great tests of our time.

It’s Saturday morning, Shannon McNally is wide awake, and she’s still snoring. Listening to her and egging her on is Shannon’s younger sister, Landis. It looks strange, really. But it’s not. It’s what Landis likes. So Shannon indulges her mentally retarded sister.

“She likes for me to snore for her,” Shannon says with a shrug. Shannon doesn’t know why Landis likes that, or why she likes her big sis to play “The Wedding March” on the piano. “That’s just one of Landis’s things too.”

Shannon, 15, and Landis, 12, share a bedroom in their Union Bridge, Maryland, home. And despite Landis’s disability, the two sisters are just that. “We’re like regular sisters who have special things between them,” Shannon continues. That would explain the snoring and “The Wedding March.”

It would also explain why Shannon is such a big help to her mother when it comes to dealing with Landis. “Right now, Landis throws a lot of tantrums, she pulls hair, she spits, and she scratches. She’s also speech-disabled,” says the girls’ mom, Anjela McNally. “Shannon probably understands [Landis] a tad better than I do. I’ll say, ‘Shannon, what’s Landis trying to say?’ Shannon knows her sister very well and can usually tell me.”

That doesn’t mean it’s always easy for Shannon, a Mia Maid in the Westminster Ward of the Frederick Maryland Stake. When Landis gets upset, she’ll begin, as Shannon describes it, “trashing the house.” Once Shannon was heating up some leftover pizza, when Landis decided she wanted pudding instead. When Shannon told her she’d have to eat the pizza, Landis began throwing her food around the kitchen and knocking things off the counter.

“I get frustrated a lot over the things she does. I don’t mean to get mad but sometimes I do. Then I feel bad because I know she doesn’t quite understand why I’m yelling at her,” says Shannon. It’s at moments like these that Shannon will give Landis a hug, or sit with her in a chair, look at a magazine, and just rock back and forth. “It helps my anger to go away.”

“What is so incredible about Shannon is she’s able to not let what Landis does get her down too much. She has a great sense of humor about it,” says Sister McNally, a single parent who also has two sons, K. C. and Lucas, still at home. “Shannon is always willing to help, and she’s very kind to Landis. And Landis turns to Shannon for help as much as me or maybe even sometimes a little bit more than me.

“Shannon is a good role model for Landis,” Sister McNally continues. “But I think she’s more of a hero for Landis. Shannon has always been really pleasant and easygoing. I call her ‘my cheerful giver.’”

Even with all the help she provides her mother, Shannon still finds time for seminary, and school activities, which include her participation in color guard, a precision performing group that twirls flags. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, days Sister McNally is at school, Shannon is there to help Landis get off the bus. She also helps Landis get dressed, and will occasionally help with her bath.

There are moments when Shannon stops and considers her sister’s plight. She’ll think about times when Landis cries and doesn’t stop, and how hard it is to see her sister sad and not be able to find out what’s wrong. There are other times when Shannon will think about the gospel, and specifically about the Resurrection. “Landis has been this way for as long as I can remember. It’s hard for me to imagine her being perfect, her being able to speak,” Shannon explains. “I can’t really imagine her that way, but I know she will be someday.”

Sister McNally says, “I try to teach Shannon that she won’t always be recognized here for the help she’s given Landis, or for the way she’s been kind to Landis and helped make Landis’s life easier. But I also teach her that someday Landis will be able to come up to her and talk, and that this is not a permanent condition. As a family, we have had to do a lot of soul searching and a lot of studying of the purpose of life.”

For now, Shannon will continue caring for Landis. Like the nights when Shannon wakes up and makes sure her sister has blankets on her, or when she takes Landis outside to ride her bike. Those are the times when Landis will smile and so will Shannon. And one thing will be readily apparent. They’re sisters, and they love each other very much.

President Hinckley described what happens to the heart of every missionary who commits his or her life and work to the Lord when he talked about his own missionary experiences. It was early in his mission, and he was discouraged. The work was hard, and the people were not receptive. However, there came a time when discouragement turned to commitment. For him, the beginning was a letter from his father in which he read: “Dear Gordon, I have your letter. … I have only one suggestion: Forget yourself and go to work.” In describing what happened next, he said: “I got on my knees in that little bedroom … and made a pledge that I would try to give myself unto the Lord.

“The whole world changed. The fog lifted. The sun began to shine in my life. I had a new interest. I saw the beauty of this land. I saw the greatness of the people. … Everything that has happened to me since that’s been good I can trace to that decision made in that little house” (in Mike Cannon, “Missionary Theme Was Pervasive during Visit of President Hinckley,” Church News, Sept. 9, 1995, 4).
President Hinckley continued by saying: “You want to be happy? Forget yourself and get lost in this great cause, and bend your efforts to helping people” (in Church News, Sept. 9, 1995, 4).

When my wife was a little girl, she often prayed for the mother of the man she would someday marry. She prayed that his mother would teach him the gospel and prepare him to be a righteous husband. I think her prayers were answered! My mother was a great influence in my life. For 25 years, she was the editor of the Children’s Friend, as it was called in those days. I used to watch her edit the articles. Sometimes I went with her to the Primary offices and sat in a corner, reading a book, while she held a meeting. As I watched her serve, I came to understand that the Church is true. She worked harder for no pay than most people work to earn a living. Her testimony showed through her actions and efforts.

During December, my seminary teacher invited our class to bring food and presents for a family in need. We didn’t know the circumstances—only that there was a husband and wife with three little girls, ages 5 to 10 years old.
A few days before Christmas, I met my classmates in the seminary building with a Barbie doll and some boxes of macaroni and cheese in my hands. I was surprised to see that our class had filled not one box but several boxes with canned food, a large cooked turkey, baked goods, and toys.
We wrapped all the presents and carpooled to the family’s home. Most of us hid behind bushes and watched as a few boys quietly carried the boxes to the doorstep of the small, run-down home. Wanting our contributions to be anonymous, the boys rang the doorbell and ran.
From our hiding places, we watched a small girl in her pajamas open the door and squeal. One by one her sisters joined her, each screaming with delight as they saw the many boxes overflowing with presents.
The door widened and, as the mother stepped out, we could see a small Christmas tree with no presents beneath it in the center of their living room.
I saw the mother look around, bewildered. She then fell to her knees and began to cry. We saw her look up and heard her pray: “Thank Thee, God. Oh, thank Thee for sending Thine angels to give my children Christmas.”
We drove back to the seminary building in silence. No one thought of the doughnuts or hot chocolate waiting for us. Instead, there was a tangible feeling of love, peace, and gratitude.
When I got home that night, I sat on my bed and prayed to Heavenly Father, thanking Him for letting me act as His angel for a night. I realized that “I have been given much” and that part of that blessing requires that “I too must give” (“Because I Have Been Given Much,” Hymns, no. 219), which was the greatest blessing of all.

Last summer when I was away from home going to school in Manchester, England, I had to ride the bus into town every day. Then I had to walk several blocks through the worst part of the city in order to get to my college. I remember that the most corrupt street of all was right next to my bus stop. The walls of the street shops were covered with obscenities, pornographic posters, rude writing, and vulgar swear words. There were several bars, where loud, questionable music could be heard every time the doors opened.
People inside called out crude things to me as I walked. The first time I went into town to attend school, I got off the bus and walked right down this street. About halfway down, I was so sick, offended, and afraid, that I didn’t think I could make it the rest of the way. I did, with my eyes shut as much as possible, but I decided at that moment that I would never walk down that street again.
Being far away from our home and family, I had plenty of things to worry about and more temptations than I could ever list. I certainly didn’t need to add this street to my worries. So, everyday when I got off the bus to go to school, I would walk an entire block out of my way to avoid that street. Sometimes on rainy mornings when I was late to an eight o’clock class I would want to forget what I had resolved and take the shorter route. But I knew I would feel sick inside if I let myself be exposed to unclean things.
Crossing that street to take the long way around every morning just became a habit. After a while, I didn’t even think of why I was doing it. Then one afternoon a friend of mine, Bob, offered to show me a new music store close to my bus stop. As we left the college together, I automatically crossed the street.
“What are you doing?” Bob asked.
Without thinking, I answered, “I can’t walk on that street.”
“Why not?” he laughed.
Suddenly I heard myself telling the whole story. I was far from home and didn’t want to return to my family with a lot of bad thoughts in my mind that didn’t belong there. I was uncomfortable on that street.
Bob was several years older than I and knew more of the ways of the world. I fully expected him to laugh again, and I felt foolish for even telling him about my feelings.
Waiting for his laughter, I looked up to find a very subdued expression on his face. After a few minutes of silence (very uncomfortable ones for me), he told me he wished he’d had a commitment like mine when he first came to school. “I wish I had crossed a few streets, Vivian,” he said. “I’m ashamed to go home and see my family. I can’t look Mom in the face after some of the things I’ve seen and done.” We stood in silence for a few more minutes, but it was a comfortable one now. Then he took my arm, and we crossed the street together. We found our music store in no time at all, and had a chance for a wonderful conversation because of the route we took. He is now a friend I will always treasure.
I didn’t have to preach a sermon on moral and mental cleanliness. All I did was cross a street when there was something I wasn’t supposed to be exposed to on the other side. He didn’t sneer or criticize or think I was odd. By doing what I knew to be right, I actually earned Bob’s respect and friendship.

September Roses, by Jeanette Winter. Based on a true story, this book tells about two sisters stranded in New York in the aftermath of September 11. The women, who are flying with thousands of roses for a flower show, land right after the Twin Towers are hit. A stranger offers them a place to stay. Wanting to repay this kindness, they take their flowers to Union Square and arrange them in the shape of the fallen towers.

The Somali language had not been written, only spoken, until October 21, 1972, when the three-year-old revolutionary government announced it would be written.

Haroon still found writing and reading Somali a bit strange. Reading had always involved a foreign language. His experience was like those who speak English at home but must use French everywhere else. There would be no books or magazines in English, for everything to read and write would be in French.

Haroon was only four when he began going to school to study the Koran, the Muslim’s holy book. He chanted the Arabic words with his classmates, but he didn’t understand them.

At seven he began learning English.

“This is a book,” the teacher at that school said.

And thirty voices repeated, “This is a book.”

All Somalis who had gone to school in the past had to learn a foreign language, but there was no chance to learn to read and write their native tongue. Only about 5 percent of the people could get a proper education. Different ones had tried to write the Somali language, but before 1972 none were successful.

Haroon remembered the excitement of the day the announcement was made that the language would be written with the same alphabet he used to study English. Airplanes had dropped leaflets all over the city to tell the people the good news.

People began learning to read and write Somali at once.

Three months later Haroon’s father, who was a clerk in a government office, told him, “Next week I must pass a literacy test in Somali in order to keep my job.”

That same week Haroon and three of his friends sat at a sidewalk cafe sipping a spicy beverage. Jama ran up to them, waving the first edition of the Somali daily newspaper.

“Just look at this!” he shouted. Proudly he read the name “Xiddigta Oktoobar (October Star).”

Soon five heads were bent over the pages, sounding out familiar words that looked strange in print.

Radio Mogadishu began broadcasting literacy lessons daily. Everyone in town was learning to read now. Classes sprang up all over the city.

In August of 1974 the literacy campaign was taken to the nomads in the bush country. All schools, except technical schools and the senior classes, were closed for the year. Students fourteen years and older were sent into the bush to teach the nomads to read and write Somali.

Thousands of students were assigned to various sections of the nation. Haroon was one of these. He had stepped up to the official handing out the supplies. “Nabad miyaa,” he greeted.

“Haah waa nabad weeya,” came the cheerful answer. “Here is what you’ll need, Haroon: a blanket for cold bush nights; a folding blackboard that is also a box for the eraser, pens, pencils; a textbook; and a class register. Nabad gelyo. llaah ha ku barakadeya. (Go in peace with God’s blessing).”

Haroon began with great confidence, but he found the nomad chief was not interested in learning anything from a city youth who knew nothing about camels. Only the children and some women attended classes—sometimes.

Haroon longed for the comforts of his father’s house, especially plenty of water for showers. He longed for a chance to talk with friends, for most of the men here ignored him.

Just when he felt especially low in spirit, he met Osman, a former schoolmate, traveling with another group of nomads. Osman was bubbling with enthusiasm about the literacy campaign and all that he was learning from the nomads. “I even helped load the camels for this move,” he said with a grin. “I’d never touched a camel before. And what do you know?” Osman continued, stroking the flank of the animal near him. “This animal actually obeyed my command to get up after we had put on its load.”

After they parted, Haroon reflected on Osman’s words and obvious enjoyment of his experience. I guess I’ve just been thinking of one part of the president’s challenge. I think I know so much the nomads should learn that I haven’t thought about learning anything from them. He softly repeated the president’s words, “Haddaad taqaan bar, haddaadan aqoon baro.”

That night he moved closer to the men around the campfire. He was captivated by the stories Chief Abdi told of Somali heroes of the past. Just before he fell asleep, he thought, I ought to write those stories in Somali. But the next day there was no time for classes nor for story writing, for the clan had to move to find more pasture.

Haroon tried to be helpful. By the time they got settled in their new location, he was feeling as though he were almost a part of the group. However, he was also feeling sick with a fever. He did not complain, but when Chief Abdi heard about his sickness, he was concerned. He sent a young man to find a special plant that was used for a fever medicine. To Haroon he said, “Perhaps you want to return to your father. Life in the bush is hard.”

But Haroon was determined to remain, now as eager to learn as to teach. After his recovery, when the chief observed Haroon’s genuine desire to learn of the nomadic way of life, he became more friendly. He ordered his people to attend classes.

Sometimes in the afternoon when the youths gathered under the spreading branches of an acacia tree, the camels shared the shade. It was very different from the classroom in the city where Haroon had studied English. Here the blackboard hung on a tree. And the strong, acrid odor of camels hung on the dusty air.

Some of the nomads were keen students and helped others. Little children chanted the alphabet as they herded goats. They wrote the letters in the dust while goats nibbled whatever they could find.

One evening when the full moon shone over the settlement, Haroon read to the group a story the chief had told some weeks earlier. The men sat enthralled, realizing in a way for the first time that these marks could tell a familiar story.

Chief Abdi was thoughtful as Haroon finished. “That is good, Haroon,” he said. “If we write our history, our children will not forget. I must learn this writing also.”

He became an earnest pupil, and with his constant encouragement, others came more regularly.

Later in Mogadishu, there was a big celebration when Haroon and thousands of other boys and girls returned to the capital after eight months among the nomads. Crowds lined the streets to welcome them and to celebrate the completion of one more phase in the fight against illiteracy.

The schools opened and these youths returned to being students again. But there was a difference. The experiences in the bush had changed them and increased their appreciation and understanding about some of the problems their country was facing. Many now had a growing respect for the skills of the nomads who could survive in the harsh desert. They also had a greater appreciation for the Somali nomadic culture of their ancestors.

Six months later Haroon was walking home from school one day through the noisy city streets when he suddenly caught the strong, unmistakable scent of a herd of camels. Memories rushed into his mind. Then he saw the herd come around the corner at the end of the block. They jostled each other as cars and taxis honked their horns. A bushman was bringing a herd to the slaughterhouse. Haroon went to talk to the nomad and found he knew Chief Abdi’s clan very well.

The man handed Haroon a letter showing sings of being carried many days in the folds of the man’s skirt. Haroon opened it and read greetings from many in the clan. It was written by the hand of Chief Abdi himself. He thanked Haroon for teaching him and his people.

Haroon was happy to know that Abdi was also following the president’s words: “If you know, teach; if you don’t know, learn.”

Yolanda Elsie Díaz de Vega of the Jardines Ward, Guadalajara México Reforma Stake, recalls staying up late to study the gospel with her husband after they were baptized in 1979: “It was as though we hungered for the scriptures.” But after seven months as a member of the Church, she felt that she was criticized unfairly by an older member and that she could not go to the next meeting. For four years the Vegas did not go to church—until concern for the blessings their family was missing led them back.

The Vegas have been active for many years now, sharing strength with their family, their ward, and their neighbors. There have been great blessings in learning how to be a better couple and in serving others, Brother Vega says. The gospel “changed our way of thinking, our way of living.” Their children have grown up learning and living the gospel, and now grandchildren are enjoying the same spiritual opportunities through Church activity. “I’m proud of our children because we’ve never had to worry about people knowing we are members of the Church,” Sister Vega says. Their four children respond that they live the way they do because of parental example.

When I was rushed to the emergency room with both of my lungs collapsed, I thought I was at the end of my life. I was not yet ready emotionally or spiritually for the end, but my body was giving up on me. It was hard for my family to see me in that condition, but they remained strong, and I was blessed to have survived.
My struggles did not end there. Since then, I’ve had to live my life with only one functioning lung and a curved spine. Every day is painful and difficult. I once thought that I would be better off dead rather than to continue suffering. I felt weak, not just physically, but mentally and spiritually as well. I lost hope and confidence. I began to push away the people in my life who encouraged me. But my family never gave up on me. They loved and cared for me, and my friends continued to support me. Even so, I still felt that my future was not going to be as bright as I had imagined.
One night I found myself feeling so down. I decided I needed to read my patriarchal blessing. Tears came to my eyes the moment I read the first few lines, “Our Father in Heaven cares for you and loves you. He wants you to be happy in this life.”
In that moment, I realized that Heavenly Father really has a very bright future in store for me and wonderful blessings for me to anticipate as long as I follow the path He wants me to take.
Our Father in Heaven knew that we would all struggle, so He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to suffer for us and to comfort us. That’s how vast Their love for us is. I may still struggle every day of my life here on earth, but I know that Their love will always be there for me and Their promises will be all fulfilled if I hold on and follow Them.