Gospel Story Finder

One of my mom’s favorite memories is of when she brought cupcakes to share with my class on my birthday. Josh was with his special education teacher in another classroom down the hall and around the corner. Miss Ready asked me to go get him. I was so excited that I told Josh, “Let’s run!” With Josh holding my arm, we ran for all we were worth. When we got to the classroom, we were out of breath, and Josh said, “That was so much fun! Can we do it again?” I realized then that Josh never gets to run.
Josh’s teacher came huffing and puffing into the room, her eyes big and round from fright. She calmed down when she saw that Josh was OK and that I had been careful and hadn’t bumped him into anything as we ran.
During a field trip toward the end of our first-grade year, Miss Ready separated Josh and me and put me into another group. She told my mom that she hadn’t realized until then how isolated I had been, taking care of Josh all year and that she felt bad about it. But both Mom and I feel that it was a very rewarding year.
I have gone on to second grade now. Josh stayed back in first grade. I miss him a lot, but every couple of days or so we talk on the phone. I’m going to invite him back to church with me and pray that his grandma will let him come. I know that Heavenly Father loves Josh, and I pray that he will find someone else in his class to care for him with love and kindness. In the meantime, I’ll find someone in my second-grade class who needs a friend, because I’m trying to be like Jesus.

Why is it that the most impoverished seem to know best how to thank the Lord? In the highlands of Guatemala, members barely subsist. Going to the temple requires great sacrifice. A visit takes a year of preparation. There is hard work, sacrifice to save money and food, the spinning, dyeing, and weaving of new clothing. There is the long, barefoot walk out of the mountains, the crossing of Lake Isabel, the bus rides with little food. Tired and worn, they arrive at the temple. They scrub until they shine, dress in their new clothing, and enter the house of the Lord.

Reclothed in white, they are taught by the Spirit, receive ordinances, and make covenants. One highland woman was greatly touched by the spirit and meaning of the endowment. Entering the celestial room, she saw others seated, with heads reverently bowed. Innocently, she knelt at the entrance to the room, oblivious to others. She bowed her head, sobbed, and for 20 minutes poured out her heart to her Father in Heaven. Finally, with her dress soaked with tears, she raised her head. The sensitive temple matron asked, “May I help?” She responded, “Oh, would you? This is my problem: I’ve tried to tell Father in Heaven of my gratitude for all of my blessings, but I don’t feel that I’ve communicated. Will you help me tell Him how grateful I am?”

Before I begin my formal remarks, I am going to tell you a little story about why I feel so strongly about this place. It is not only because as a student here for a year after my mission I found my professional calling to be a teacher and a scholar at the feet of truly, truly inspiring teachers like Larry T. Wimmer and others, but it is also because I met Sue here.
I want to tell you this little story about why I get a chill that just covers me when I walk on this campus. I had met Sue, and we were in the same family home evening group. We went for a walk one night, and I had the very distinct impression from the Spirit: “This is your eternal companion.” Fortunately, she had the same feeling.
Just a couple of days later I was walking along a diagonal sidewalk toward where in those days the sidewalks met in a big X, right about where the Harold B. Lee Library annex is now. I was walking along toward that X when the national anthem began playing, so I stopped. When it finished playing, I walked along the sidewalk and came to where the sidewalks crossed in an X. I ran into Sue right there in the middle of the X. It was on a Wednesday afternoon, and there were thousands of students in that area. And I ran into my eternal companion in the center of the X! I didn’t say this to the Lord, but I got it.
Just a few weeks ago we celebrated our forty-fifth anniversary. She is the love of my life. I came here to find her because she wasn’t in Boston. She was here. I am so grateful. And whenever I walk on this campus I feel the same way.

Years ago, I was preparing dinner and realized that I was missing a couple of ingredients. I didn’t have the energy to load up all six children for a run to the grocery store. So, I asked our oldest son Chase if he could watch his siblings while I made the quick trip with our youngest son. I would be back in 20 minutes tops! He assured me that they would be fine and he would call if they needed anything.
As I rushed out the door, our second youngest son Ethan asked if he could come. “Sure!,” I replied, but I was in such a hurry that it didn’t occur to me to tell Chase that I was taking his two youngest siblings.
When I returned a short time later, I could immediately tell something was amiss. First, the house was silent…in a home with six children that is very unusual. As I walked around a corner, the next thing I encountered was a red-eyed son who calmly but soberly told me how he and his siblings had been searching for Ethan, and before I could say anything, he continued to explain how they had looked in every closet and under every bed, had walked the perimeter of our home, had run up and down the street, and had knocked on neighbors’ doors, but he had failed to find his brother. At just that moment, Ethan came walking in behind me, and again, before I could apologize and explain, Chase grabbed Ethan, wrapped him in his arms and just sobbed.
The silver lining of my unintentional but horrible error was witnessing both Chase’s efforts and Ethan’s reaction. In an instant, Chase’s anguish was turned to complete relief and sheer joy at finding his brother! He and his siblings had been in relentless pursuit of their little brother and did everything they could think of to find him and bring him home.
Ethan was quiet, pensive, and a bit confused at his big brother’s sudden sobs and massive hug. I quickly explained my mistake and what Chase and his siblings had done in their exhaustive search for him. Ethan was deeply touched and could feel his older brother’s love for him.
I have reflected on this experience for many years. There were so many lessons learned that evening, like the importance to “repent daily!” I did a lot of repenting that night!
Why did Chase search so relentlessly and respond with so much emotion in finding his brother? Because he loved him. Love is the greatest motivator. The evidence of Chase’s love for his little brother that day was powerful and tangible.
Like Ethan, who was never truly lost, neither are we. We can never escape the loving eyes of our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ.

I have been impressed with the moving account of Emma Smith’s most earnest desires at a very challenging time in her life. We read of when her husband decided to return to Carthage:
Emma asked [him] to give her a blessing. The Prophet told her to write the best blessing she could desire. He promised her that upon his return, he would sign it for her. [In Relief Society Courses of Study, 1985 (Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1984), 199]
That tells us something about the confidence the Prophet had in the desires of Emma’s heart. He never returned from Carthage. But we have a record of her desires at that fateful time in her life. She wrote nine things she most desired. The first sentence used the words “I . . . crave,” and the following nine “I desire.” I would like to share with you her first and last statements:
First of all that I would crave as the richest of heaven’s blessings would be wisdom from my Heavenly Father bestowed daily, so that whatever I might do or say, I could not look back at the close of the day with regret, nor neglect the performance of any act that would bring a blessing.
She completed her list of ten with this statement: “Finally, I desire that whatever may be my lot through life I may be enabled to acknowledge the hand of God in all things” (in Relief Society Courses of Study 1985, 199). Under the most severe testing during that crucial time in the history of the Church, Emma Smith’s desires tells us something of the strength of her back.

Then, one day, I was introduced to Myriam, a young woman who, at the time, I could only describe as “different” from others I knew. She radiated an inner beauty. We began to go out together and we became very good friends. I fell in love with her.
We had a very open communication and agreed about everything—except religion. One afternoon after discussing Joseph Smith (whom I could not accept as a prophet) and the Book of Mormon (about which I was very skeptical), she told me that she had been called to serve as a missionary in her stake.
Selfishly, I was angry that she had accepted the call and I told her that she must reconsider her decision or I would end our relationship. I was overwhelmed by her calm and self-assured response. She told me that if I really loved her I would try to understand and accept her decision and, most of all, support it. She also invited me to attend her church and try to determine for myself whether or not it was true.
As I pondered the consequences of losing the woman I loved, and as I saw how important Myriam’s religion was to her, I thought that the least I could do was to find out what motivated her decision—a decision I could not fully understand.
The light of truth in my life increased as I entered the chapel the following Sunday. I had my first surprise as soon as I walked through the door. A tall, blond man welcomed me very kindly, and introduced himself as the bishop of the ward. Not more than a few seconds later, several other members greeted me.
I was amazed that so many people could express such sincere love at our first contact. Then, as I sat through the meeting, I heard people talk about things of the spirit with a conviction and an eloquence that I had never heard before.
I had not been interested in investigating other religions because they had all seemed so mysterious. But as I continued to attend church with Myriam, the questions I had about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints were all answered. The light grew and finally the path led me to baptism and to a temple marriage with the woman who first showed me the way.
As a youth, it seemed that there were so many paths in life to choose. Many of them could have led to unhappiness. I can never repay the Lord for the special woman he put in my life to show me which path led to the eternal light of truth.

I had a long-remembered meeting with a former prime minister. He had seen much of conflict and trouble in his time. He told a very interesting story of a Jewish rabbi who was conversing with two of his friends. The rabbi asked one of them, “How do you know when the night is over and a new day has begun?”
His friend replied, “When you look into the east and can distinguish a sheep from a goat, then you know the night is over and the day has begun.”
The second was asked the same question. He replied, “When you look into the distance and can distinguish an olive tree from a fig tree, then you know morning has come.”
They then asked the rabbi how he could tell when the night is over and the day has begun. He thought for a time and then said, “When you look into the east and see the face of a woman and can say, ‘She is my sister,’ and when you look into the east and see the face of a man and can say, ‘He is my brother,’ then you know the light of a new day has come.”

It was my very first Christmas after Dad died. I was only seven then, but I was the man of the house—at least that’s what Dad had always told me whenever he went someplace. Whenever he had to go away, he’d say to me, “Son, you’re the man of the house while I’m gone, and I want you to look after Mom and Aaron.”

Aaron’s my little brother, and he was only four that Christmas. We didn’t have much money with Dad gone; at least that’s what Mom told me. Now when she went to the store, she didn’t buy peanuts and candy like she used to when Dad was still alive. Aaron didn’t get much for his birthday either—just a ball, and it wasn’t even brand-new. I didn’t tell Aaron that because he liked the ball just fine.

Christmas was getting close, and I was getting excited. I told Aaron all about Christmas. He couldn’t remember the other ones because he was just a baby back then. I told him about the lights and the decorations and about Jesus in the manger and about the presents and the stockings and Santa Claus. Aaron doesn’t talk much, but he listens a lot. I really like Aaron because he’s a good listener.

Lots of times when we were in bed at night, Aaron would ask me to tell him about Christmas. I’d talk and talk until I was sure he was asleep, but as soon as I stopped talking, he’d whisper, “Alma, tell me again,” and I’d have to start all over. He’d never go to sleep until I finally told him that my throat was sore and that I had to stop talking.

The thing Aaron liked most to hear about was the Christmas tree. He’d make me tell him about it all the time. Whenever I talked about the tree, his eyes got really big and he’d smile. He always asked me if we would have a tree, and I’d say, “Sure. Everybody has a tree. You can’t have Christmas without a tree.” Well, I shouldn’t have said that, because later Mom told me that we couldn’t afford to have a tree.

I was in trouble then, because it was getting really close to Christmas, and everybody on our street had trees in their windows. Aaron was getting more excited. He asked me every night to tell him about Christmas and the Christmas tree.

I didn’t know what to do, but I knew I had to do something. Well, on Sunday my Primary teacher told a story about a pioneer boy who found his own Christmas tree. He just went outside and found a tree in the woods and cut it down. It didn’t cost him anything. I didn’t hear the rest of the story. All I could think about was getting a tree.

On the way home I looked for a tree. We weren’t pioneers or anything like that; we were just poor. We didn’t live in the woods either, but there were some Christmas trees growing in our neighborhood. Lots of people grew Christmas trees in their yards, and there were some growing in the park, but most of them were too big for our house. We didn’t have a very big house, so I knew I had to get a little tree that would fit.

I looked and looked, and I almost decided that there weren’t any trees our size when I saw one in Brother Hubbard’s yard, right next to the sidewalk. The tree was about as high as my mom, and it was really fluffy. It had lots of branches, and it was kind of blue and green. I knew that that was the tree I was going to get for Aaron.

That night in bed I told Aaron all about the tree and asked him if he would help me cut it down. He said he would, and then he asked me to tell him about Christmas again.

The next day, when Mom was in the house cooking supper, Aaron and I went to the garage and got an ax and one of Dad’s saws. Dad had two axes, but one was too big for me. The other one was still kind of big, but I was the man of the house and I figured I could use it.

We put the ax and the saw into my wagon and started down the street. At first Aaron pushed while I pulled, but after a little while he climbed into the wagon and rode.

Brother and Sister Hubbard weren’t home when we got to their house. I was glad because I didn’t want to ask them if I could cut down their tree. I figured it would be easier to just cut it down like the boy in the story and not ask anybody anything. Besides, I didn’t think Brother Hubbard would mind. He was the nicest man I knew, next to my dad. Brother Hubbard was our home teacher, and he visited us all the time. He did lots of nice things for us, especially after Dad died. He told us that whatever we needed he’d try to get for us. So I didn’t think he’d care if we cut down his tree, because Aaron really needed a Christmas tree and I didn’t know how else to get him one.

I got right to work, but Aaron just sat in the wagon and watched. Although he was cold, he didn’t ask to go home. He wanted a Christmas tree. First I had to saw off some of the branches so I could chop at the trunk. That was kind of hard because the branches prickled my hands and face.

As soon as I got the branches out of the way, I got the ax out of the wagon and started to chop, but it didn’t work very well. The ax was too big, even though it was Dad’s little one. It kept hitting into the branches and bouncing off the trunk. I knocked some bark off, but I couldn’t chop down the tree. I kept trying, though, until I dropped the ax on my foot. Then I just had to cry because the ax was heavy and my foot really hurt. I didn’t let Aaron see me, though. I put my head down close to the trunk and pretended I was looking at it.

I finally decided to use the saw, and it worked better. Pretty soon I had cut halfway through the trunk. But the tree still didn’t fall over, and the saw kept getting stuck. It would squeak and then stop. I pushed and pulled and kicked the tree, but that just hurt my foot, and I scratched my face on some branches. I was tired by then, and my hands and feet were cold. I started to cry. This time Aaron saw me, and he started to cry too. When I tried to get him to stop crying, he said that he was cold and wanted to go home and that we could get Mom to come back and help us. Yet I was the man of the family, and this was my job.

While we were both crying, Brother and Sister Hubbard drove up in their car. They didn’t know what we were doing at first, but as soon as they got out of their car, they could see. Brother Hubbard’s a nice man. He’s old—kind of like a grandpa—and he’s my best friend, next to Aaron.

“What are you boys doing, Alma?” he said when he walked over to us. Sister Hubbard stayed by the car and watched. I wasn’t crying anymore. I just stared at Brother Hubbard’s big feet. They were bigger than Dad’s. Aaron stopped crying too.

“We’re cutting a Christmas tree for Christmas,” Aaron said. “We’re going to put it in our house, and we don’t even have to buy it. Do you want to help us?”

Brother Hubbard didn’t say anything, and I didn’t dare look at him. “We can’t buy one,” I whispered, “because we don’t have any money, but my Primary teacher told me about a pioneer boy who cut down a tree, and he didn’t have to buy it. We aren’t pioneers like the boy in the story, but we thought it would be all right, since we didn’t have a tree. Yours was the very best tree. I hope you don’t need it.”

Brother Hubbard thought for a minute and then asked, “Does your mother know you’re here, Alma?” He put his hand on my shoulder, and I shook my head.

“I’m the man of the house,” I said, “and I wanted to surprise her.” I looked up at Brother Hubbard and then at Aaron and then back at Brother Hubbard. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” I pulled Brother Hubbard by the hand and took him behind the tree so Aaron couldn’t hear us. “I’ve been telling Aaron all about Christmas, but now it doesn’t look like we’ll have too much Christmas. Tommy—he’s my friend at school—says Santa Claus is just your mom and dad. Well, we don’t have a dad now, and Mom is poor, so if there isn’t a Santa Claus, we won’t have any Christmas at all unless we get a tree. That’s why I needed a tree. I really want Aaron to have a Christmas. He can’t remember the other ones, and I want him to have a real good Christmas, even if Santa Claus doesn’t come.”

I don’t know why I started to bawl, but I did, I guess my foot still hurt. Brother Hubbard patted my shoulder and said, “Well, Alma, it doesn’t look like that tree will be doing much good where it is now. Do you want me to help you finish cutting it down?”

I looked up at him, and he was smiling, so I figured everything was OK. I just nodded my head. I was afraid I’d start to cry again.

When Brother Hubbard had finished cutting down the tree, he said, “Alma, don’t worry too much about what your friend Tommy said. I don’t have a dad or a mom anymore, but Santa visits me every Christmas.”

“He does?” I asked.

“Sure. And I bet he’ll come to your house. In fact, I know he will.”

Brother Hubbard dragged the tree home for us, and I pulled Aaron in the wagon. When Mom saw the tree, she was really happy. She even cried.

On Christmas Eve Aaron and Mom and I sat around the Christmas tree and sang. Mom told us about Jesus and all the people who came to see Him when He was born. We were almost ready for bed when someone knocked on our door. I answered it, and there stood Brother Hubbard with a big box in his arms. It was filled with oranges and apples and nuts and fruit cake and a turkey and candy and lots of other good things. Mom invited Brother Hubbard in, and while Aaron and I looked through the box, she and Brother Hubbard whispered in the corner. When they were through, Brother Hubbard put his arms around me and Aaron and asked us if we were ready for Santa Claus. I nodded my head, but I really didn’t believe Santa Claus would come. I was afraid Tommy was right and that Brother Hubbard was just trying to make me feel good.

I guess Brother Hubbard knew what I was thinking, because he patted me on the back and smiled. “He’ll be here, Alma. You wait and see. He hasn’t forgotten you and Aaron.”

Aaron and I had to go to bed then. I was tired and wanted to go to sleep, but Aaron wouldn’t let me. He made me tell him everything I knew about Christmas. I don’t know which one of us fell asleep first, but it didn’t seem like I’d been sleeping very long when I felt Aaron shaking me and heard him whisper, “Alma, he’s here! He’s here! Wake up!”

Finally I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see anything but a crack of light under our bedroom door. Someone had left the light on in the living room. “Who’s here?” I asked grumpily.

“Santa Claus!”

“Santa Claus? Who said?”

“I can hear him, Alma! I can hear him! He’s out by the Christmas tree!”

“Go back to bed, Aaron,” I said. “I’ll turn the light off. It’s not Santa Claus. Go back to bed.”

I stumbled down the hall to the living room. Aaron was right behind me. I was too tired to stop him. All I wanted to do was turn the light off and get back into bed. Before I could, Aaron yelled, “It is Santa Claus! Alma, it is Santa Claus!”

I turned around and there he was! Aaron ran and kissed him on his white beard. I couldn’t even move; all I could do was stare. Santa’s eyes got big. He was surprised. I could tell. I was afraid he was going to go away and not leave us anything. Mom used to say that if we didn’t go to sleep, Santa wouldn’t come.

“Aaron, come here,” I hissed. “We aren’t supposed to be here.” But Aaron didn’t mind me. Santa was holding him, and Aaron was squeezing his neck and wouldn’t let go.

All of a sudden, Santa started to laugh. He sounded a little like Brother Hubbard, but Brother Hubbard is skinny, not fat. He put Aaron and me on his knees and laughed and hugged us. He looked at me and said, “I heard you didn’t think I was going to come.” I looked at the floor. “Well, I’m here,” he said. “I brought you and Aaron something very special, but you must go back to bed while I work. You’ll see everything in the morning.”

Santa carried us to our beds and tucked us in. He kissed us both on the forehead, and his beard tickled my cheeks and nose. It felt good. I didn’t go to sleep for a long time. I listened to Santa doing things in the living room. When he left, I listened for him on the roof, but I didn’t hear anything.

I wanted to go out and see what he’d brought, but I didn’t dare. I knew I had to go to sleep. As I lay there thinking, I was glad that I was the man of the house and that Brother Hubbard and I could get Aaron a Christmas tree. That was one of my very best Christmases.

Nikolas and Sergey Chemezov and their parents are also helping the Church grow. And they have seen their own family become closer and closer since embracing the restored gospel in 1992.
Of course, like all brothers, they have similarities and differences. Sergey is 20, Nik, 12; but Nik is the taller of the two. Nik is quiet; Sergey is bolder. Both are athletic, lift weights, and love helicopters. Both are musicians: Nik plays piano; Sergey, violin. Both love the gospel and all it stands for. And both are fiercely loyal to each other and to their parents, Sergey Sr. and Valia.
That loyalty was tested when Valia and the boys returned from an extended visit with her parents and found that Sergey Sr. was investigating the Church. But he persuaded them to listen to the missionaries, to learn what he was learning, and to give it a fair chance.
“I can say the gospel saved our family,” Sergey Jr. says. “I decided to be baptized because of the example of my father. I saw a very big change in him when he joined the Church. He became so nice, so loving. It was a testimony for me.”
“Before,” Sister Chemezov explains, “the family didn’t come first. But now we understand we are an eternal family, and we appreciate one another on a whole new level.”
“I used to think because I was the big brother, I always had to lead the way,” Sergey says. “But now when I stand next to Nik, I see that he is taller than I am. I know that sometimes he teaches me, that when I need help I can count on him.”
Nik has been there not only for Sergey but for his parents as well. “From the time he was baptized, he’s been saying, ‘I want to pass the sacrament; when can I start?’” Brother Chemezov explains. “That kind of excitement has strengthened our own testimonies and our faith. Helping other people and helping his family—Nik understands that’s what the priesthood is all about. He was very happy when he turned 12 and I ordained him a deacon.”
Nik was also happy when the family was sealed in the Freiberg Germany Temple. “After finishing the sessions, we had free time,” Brother Chemezov says. “Other people went to the city and went shopping. I asked the family, ‘Do you want to go to the city?’ and Nik said of the temple, ‘This place is so good; I don’t want to go to another place.’”
“The priesthood has the highest position in my life,” Nik says. “It helps me live as Jesus Christ says we should. I know if we will honor it, God will help us and make us better.”
That’s a reminder Sergey thinks of every day, especially now that he is serving full time in the Japan Tokyo North Mission. Nik, of course, hopes to someday follow his example.

Until one Sunday. I don’t know what got into me. (It certainly wasn’t pancakes! Might have been a past Sunday School lesson, though.) At any rate, I decided that I would really see if I could get something out of fasting besides killer breath. Why go through the discomfort and come away with nothing more than relief that it’s over?
So when I woke up that Sunday morning, I made a deliberate effort to be pleasant and patient. I didn’t prowl the kitchen, growling like an echo of my stomach. Yes, I spent some time reading the Sunday paper, but I also spent time (and effort) in the scriptures. When I went off to my room, it was not to sulk, but to pray—for patience, for understanding, for an increase of testimony.
My mouth still tasted like something small and furry had hibernated in it. But mouthwash helped. My stomach still threw tantrums for a while. But then the hunger pangs faded into the background, partly because I was tuning them out, and partly because my body seemed to shift into another gear.
As the day progressed, I actually became happy. (No, it wasn’t delirium.) In fast and testimony meeting I found myself watching the speakers and listening to their testimonies, rather than watching the clock and listening to my stomach. Being there felt good. When dinner time finally arrived, I discovered that I was able to sit calmly. A new sense of self-control allowed me to eat reasonably, instead of giving way to the usual gluttony of the “feast of the fast over.”

My plan to make friends and integrate seamlessly into my new boarding school was working out as I had hoped—until the first Sunday morning when I hurried into the dining hall dressed in my suit and tie to grab a quick bite before heading to church. It felt like the room went silent as my peers, still wearing their pajamas, stopped eating and stared at me through their half-shut, sleepy eyes. I quickly realized that I was the only active member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the school.
The Lord has said to Church members, “Arise and shine forth, that thy light may be a standard for the nations” (Doctrine and Covenants 115:5).
Without me saying a single word, news of my religion spread rapidly. I began receiving daily questions about my faith, which usually began with “Hey, you’re Matteo, the Mormon, right?” Most questions were genuine, some were jarring, others were malicious, and a few were simply comical.
One friend asked me sincerely, “Isn’t it true that you guys don’t eat oranges?” to which I jokingly responded, “Oh yeah, oranges are straight from the devil.” As we were both laughing, I realized that his initial apprehension eased, and we felt a stronger connection as friends.
Since I could not escape my newfound notoriety, I decided to create opportunities that would add laughter to potentially uncomfortable conversations. I took a chance and dressed up as a nametag-wearing missionary for Halloween (a costume holiday celebrated in October). I knew this was a risky endeavor as I could be completely ridiculed, but I had a feeling that doing so would show that I was sure of my beliefs.
The risk paid off. Walking around campus as a missionary made everyone smile and sparked lively role-playing sessions. I broke some stereotypes and made some new friends.
After Halloween, people’s attitudes toward me changed, and questions about my faith evolved into peers asking me for advice about their own lives. To my surprise, friends and acquaintances who had gotten over the initial shock of learning that I do not drink, smoke, or do drugs and that I am waiting to have sex until I’m married turned to me for guidance specifically on those topics.
I found myself reassuring friends who were feeling pressured into having sex that they had the power to choose, encouraging some to go to the school counselor to talk about mental health and addiction concerns, and even consoling someone who made a mistake that would likely lead to expulsion. I was baffled by the way many of my peers could transition from mocking me to seeking my advice.
Over time, I understood that being completely confident, open, and vulnerable about who I was drew others to me who were seeking a judgment-free space and a listening ear.
I am grateful for two of the many important lessons I learned that year. The first is that healthy laughter can dissolve apprehension and contention and is an excellent way to unify people. The second is that choosing to be confident in who you are brings remarkable opportunities to help others that would have never come otherwise.
There were many times when I wanted to hide my religion and be known for something else. But having a sense of humor and vulnerability about who I am allowed people to get to know me as Matteo, not just someone with different beliefs.
Elder Matteo Huish, age 18, Arizona, USA
Enjoys spartan races, family game nights, and performing music.
Elder Huish is currently serving in the Canada Toronto Mission, speaking Persian.

President Young knew of what he spoke. In Kirtland, several of the Twelve Apostles, including Witnesses to the Book of Mormon, and other leaders met in the newly dedicated temple to plan how to wrest control of the Church from Joseph Smith. It was a time when “the knees of many of the strongest men in the Church faltered.” [24]

Dissatisfied with the financial situation in the Church, they intended to renounce Joseph Smith as prophet and appoint David Whitmer instead. Brigham Young rose up, and in a forcible manner told them that Joseph was a prophet. “They might rail and slander him as much as they pleased, [but] they could not destroy the appointment of the Prophet of God.” [25]

Brigham later wrote, “During this siege of darkness I stood close by Joseph, and with all the wisdom and power God bestowed upon me, put forth my utmost energies to sustain the servant of God and unite the Quorums of the Church.” [26] Brigham had integrity.

Others did not. Eliza R. Snow observed at the time, “Many who had been humble and faithful to the performance of every duty. . . drank in the love and spirit of the world, [and] the Spirit of the Lord withdrew from their hearts.” [27] You don’t want to be in that company.

William’s first contact with the Latter-day Saints evidently came when he was about age 13. While doing an errand for his father, he stopped at a window where some curious boys were peering in; a gentleman suddenly ushered him inside where a Mormon meeting was beginning.
“I took my seat in one corner of the room,” he recalled, and “thought it was a very funny place, and not suitable for administering the holy sacrament.” But the sacrament was passed, hymns were sung, and speakers preached. The last speaker was British convert Charles Penrose, who later served in the First Presidency. His discussion of the Godhead “upset all my confused ideas of God,” William noted. “If ever a sermon touched the heart, this did mine.”

One more story - President Isaia wanted to give some of his land to the Church to build a Chapel. The village Matai said he couldn't do that - only Catholics and the LMS were allowed in that village. President Isaia said it was his land and he could give it to the Church. Another long story shortened. The Matai had made it very clear the Chapel could not be built. A fourth and final letter was sent to President Isaia by a special messenger from the village's council of chiefs. The letter contained threats of what would happen if the construction went forward. Brother Isaia said, "I talked with my wife and children. My answer to the threats was that if I die, I die with a testimony of the Church. We prayed. I put on clean garments, I put on long pants instead of a lava lava because I did not want the villagers to see my garments. My brother and some others came with bush knives and said they would protect me. But I told them the Lord was watching." The villagers arrived about 12:00 pm in a pickup truck. They put me in the truck, tied me with ropes, and drove me to the village green. My hands and feet were tied. The young untitled men were instructed to collect wood. I still remember the faces of the two men who lit the fire...I was lying on the ground facing up. The firewood and dry coconut leaves were placed around me and on top of me. I could see through the pieces of wood the faces of those who were there...During this time I felt as if I was being held - as if I was being embraced. The wood was lit on fire and then it began to rain. They tried seven times to light the fire - I was like that about five hours."

Thank you so much for printing “Hidden Agony” in your March 1992 issue. It came at a point in my life when I really needed it the most. My older brother sexually abused me when I was about nine years old. I knew it was wrong, and felt awful and dirty because of it. I felt guilty, worthless, and totally confused. That was nine years ago, and it still affects me. Reading the article helped me realize I am not alone and there are people who understand. I am realizing it was not my fault and that our Father in Heaven understands and still loves me. Thank you very much.
Name Withheld

My first week at college was difficult. I had never been away from home before, and now I was living in a different state. I was away from family, friends, and everything familiar to me. To make matters worse, my new roommate had yet to arrive. I was lonely—very lonely. I missed my family a lot.
Most of all, I missed my mother’s hugs. Each day before I went to school, and each day as I returned home, my mother embraced me. Her hugs reassured me of her love, made me feel safe, and reduced all the stresses I had felt during the day. I would then talk with her about all that had happened. She was always there to listen to me and help me feel better.
Now, when I came home from school, all I found was an empty apartment. I would sit on the edge of my bed and cry because I felt so alone. I longed for her hugs.
The only thing I felt I could do was pray. I knelt and explained to my Heavenly Father how I felt. I talked with Him as I had with my mother and told Him of all the events in my day—of the new and exciting things, the stresses I felt, and the worries I had. I then told my Heavenly Father I desperately needed a hug. I felt the warmth of His Spirit flow through me. And although I could not see His arms, I knew they encircled me. I felt as though my mother had just hugged me. All the fear and loneliness was washed away, and I felt loved. The scripture from 2 Nephi 1:15 came into my mind: “I have beheld his glory, and I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love.”
After that day, whenever I feel lonely or need someone to talk to, I talk to my Heavenly Father. I gained a testimony of the power of prayer and the reality of the knowledge that my Heavenly Father really listens. I know I am never alone. No matter what my needs are, my Father in Heaven will help me.

Claire was a sad hippopotamus, for today was the day of the jungle talent show. All of Claire’s jungle friends were going to be in it—but not Claire.

Claire had no special talent. She didn’t dance. She didn’t sing. She didn’t juggle fruits, do somersaults, or play the drums. And she didn’t know any funny stories to tell. She was just a plain, ordinary hippopotamus.

“Oh, coconuts,” Claire sighed. “There must be something I can do.”

Then Claire had an idea. She went to visit Madame Gazelle’s Dancing School. “Will you teach me to dance?” Claire asked.

“I’ll try,” replied Madame Gazelle.

Claire put on a pair of pink dancing shoes. She learned to turn and curtsey. She leaped gracefully into the air. But when Claire landed, the jungle shook. Monkeys and bananas rained from the trees, mice bounced high into the sky, and everyone complained about the shaking jungle.

Claire did not want to make her friends angry, so she gave up dancing. She went to see Hester Elephant, who was famous for her singing. “Can you teach me to sing?” Claire asked.

“Of course I can,” Hester answered. “Listen.” She raised her trunk and sang “Mary had a little elephant. …” She had a lovely voice. “Now it’s your turn,” said Hester.

Claire roared, “Mary had a little hippopotamus …” as loud as she could. Her jungle friends had to cover their ears. She scared Lonnie Python right out of his tree house.

“This will never do!” Hester cried.

So Claire went to see the Great Chimpanzees. They had the best trapeze act in the jungle. “Please teach me to swing from tree to tree,” begged Claire.

“Sure,” agreed Bimbo Chimpanzee. “But first you must climb a tree like this.” He scurried to the top of a tall tree and waved to Claire. Claire struggled up the tree after Bimbo. The tree began to bend.

“TIMBER!” shouted the Great Chimpanzees who were on the ground. The tree and Claire and Bimbo fell with a crash. The Great Chimpanzees were happy that Claire did not fall on them. But Claire was not happy at all.

“I’ll never be a part of the show,” she cried.

“I’ll teach you to catch rings on your nose,” offered Walter Rhinoceros.

“But I don’t have a horn like you do,” Claire protested.

“Oh,” said Walter, “I forgot.”

“I’ll teach you to juggle rocks,” suggested Randy Baboon.

“Wonderful!” said Claire. She tossed two rocks into the air.

“Ouch!” They hit Randy on top of his head. He went home to have it mended.

“I know a funny joke,” laughed Smiley Hyena, “but I need it for the show. I wish I had another one for you, Claire.”

Tara Tiger tried to teach Claire to play a harmonica. But Claire swallowed it by mistake.

“Who needs a talent show anyway?” she huffed. “I’m going swimming.” All afternoon Claire swam around the lake. When she was tired, she took a long, long nap in the water. Voices woke her up.

“Claire! Claire!” the voices called.

Claire opened her eyes. Her jungle friends stood on the shore. They were wearing their talent show costumes. “Claire!” called Madame Gazelle. “We need you.”

“Me?” said Claire. She swam to shore.

“We have a terrible problem,” said Hester. “You are the only one who can help.”

“What can I do?” sighed Claire.

“Because we’re all in the show,” Bimbo explained, “there’s no one to watch us. So we have no judge to choose the winner.”

“Oh, I can do that!” cried Claire. So Claire sat in the very first row. She clapped as loud as she could. She cheered. She whistled and stamped her feet. “Hooray! Bravo! Encore!” she shouted. “More! More! More!”

When the show was over, Claire clapped so long that everyone took ten bows. “You were all so good,” said Claire, “I can’t decide who the winner is—”

“The winner,” announced Tara Tiger, “is Claire Hippopotamus.”

“Me!” exclaimed Claire. “I wasn’t part of the show.”

“Yes, you were,” said Lonnie Python. “You were the best audience a talent show ever had.”

Everyone clapped for Claire. She made a curtsey. Then she took her basket-of-fruit prize and went home—a happy hippopotamus.

As I conclude, I want to share with you two other examples of a combination of these three. One is a letter that came in Hong Kong from a family that I had never met:

Dear Elder Hanks,
In an effort to make our family Christmas more meaningful we decided together to economize and use the savings to feed the hungry children in Cambodia. Examples of what our children have done to earn money are to address envelopes for my work, sell stationery, work around the yard and house. The kids earned a penny a page for reading; they used the money they were going to spend buying presents for each other and put it into this account. They have given up a trip and goodies. We bought a smaller size Christmas tree that would sit up on top of the table rather than a full-size tree and are giving the difference. In all, the enclosed check represents on behalf of our family money that we would have spent on Christmas but did not. We know that you will put it to good use. We are grateful for our many blessings, sorry that there are so many who suffer so much. Please let us know what else we can do. Have a Merry Christmas.

And I did have and I know that they did have.

I returned home from my first day at Primary in shock. My only hope came from the disturbed looks I saw on some of the other teachers’ faces who had had a similar experience. Maybe all the students had a hard time settling down after vacation. I returned home the second week in total depression. Not once had I felt in control of my class. My homemade visual aids had not survived the rough handling; the boys had stood on chairs and tried to climb through the window; the girls had quarreled among themselves and with the boys.
My first impulse was to quit—no person could take eleven months of facing those eight-year-olds. But I had too much pride to give in. I had taught all my adult life—Sunday School, Relief Society, MIA, Seminary, college English—and I had never had a teaching failure. When my bishop asked me to take this assignment, he had said, “I feel that this work in Primary will open up new avenues of growth and development for you.” Well, it had done more than that! It was the most humbling, frustrating assignment I had ever had.
I slept little that night, and was irritable with my children the next day. I finally told my worries to my husband. He listened sympathetically and offered a very practical solution: that I should notify the parents about the behavior problem and send report cards home with the students each week. At first I didn’t want to do it because of pride. I didn’t mind the school class atmosphere as much as I did admitting my failure to others. I was desperate though; but as I made copies of some “class behavior” cards and tactfully talked to each mother, I realized that this would not be enough.
The unusualness of the reporting system did diminish in about a month, but during this “be quiet or else” period I had a chance to present my lessons, bear my testimony, plan a class party, and organize a service project for a widow. One of the previously noisy boys in the class told his neighbor: “Quit bothering me. Mother gives me a treat if I bring home a good report card.”
The weeks continued, some better than others, but none as disastrous as the first two. I found that constant variety—games, contests, films, and puppet stories in class, visits out of class, and frequent personal letters mailed to the students’ homes—all helped. By mid-year they had learned to respect me; and more important, I had learned to love them.

Writing in your journal should not be just for your posterity though, cautions Colleen Bell, 17, of Chicago, Illinois. You should get satisfaction from it, too. “When I began writing in my journal three years ago, I was painfully aware that I was writing for posterity. I felt that my life should be recorded and that I should portray the best part of me that nobody knew. I wanted my great-grandchildren to see what I had been and to like me. I’m afraid that the first few passages of my journal were a bit stilted because of this.
“Yet as time went on and I became more used to writing thoughts that had always remained unexpressed, I was no longer writing for posterity, but for myself. It became the most effective way for me to talk to myself and figure out what I was thinking. Reading it over now, I see my growth over the past three years.”