Gospel Story Finder

When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
“When we took on this challenge, I thought it was going to take a lot of time,” Andrew says. “I worried that I wouldn’t have enough time to do everything I wanted to do, like play the guitar or hang out with my friends. But I realized that it just doesn’t work like that. The more I was into reading the Book of Mormon, the more time I actually seemed to have. I realized that if I keep up on reading the scriptures as much as possible, my life is balanced. I have more time in the day.”

I am grateful to Heavenly Father for His love and special blessings in my life. During the desperate times of difficulties and throughout the war, I wandered to the very edge of my life and felt most helpless. There was no hope and no future for me. I thought I had been completely thrown out and left out by everything.
Heavenly Father, through my loving parents, worked out miracles for me. I was able to stand up and move forward.
The shelters and food were provided here and there. It wasn’t much, but enough for me to keep going and ultimately to join with you today in this historic great Tabernacle, surrounded by the chosen leaders of the Lord’s Church.
Thus, I say, “Kam sa ham ni ta” to my Heavenly Father.

“Why do you keep saying that you know this Church is true? What exactly does that mean, and how can you possibly know that?”
My concerned parents asked me those questions when I told them about my decision to be baptized. I thought back on all the missionary lessons I had been attending recently. I remembered asking myself the same questions just weeks before. How did I know the Church was true?
For 17 years I had been content with the little knowledge I had about anything religious. I never realized how much I longed to have a relationship with Christ and my Heavenly Father and feel the peace of the Holy Spirit.
I thought back on the missionaries’ telling the story of Joseph Smith’s First Vision: a young boy seeing God and the Savior, Joseph hearing their words and knowing that what he was seeing was real and true.
Then I remembered my first prayer. Sure, I had prayed many times throughout my life, but this prayer was the first time I had asked my Heavenly Father if what the missionaries were teaching me was real and something from Him. I knew that He wouldn’t lie to me. He wants the best for His children. With that knowledge I prayed with my whole heart.
The Holy Spirit touched me for the first time. I knew that as I said “amen.” I had been told by the missionaries and my close friends who had introduced this new gospel to me that “I would feel of the Spirit, and it would let me know.” I knew that it had.
As I related this story to my parents, who had asked the questions, I felt it again. The Spirit was with me, which meant the Lord was with me also. I once again knew that my choice to be baptized was the right decision.
Standing alone in the dressing room of the meetinghouse a few months later, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Who was this girl wearing a long white gown and staring back at me? As I stood there all by myself, I realized that this was how I had made the decision to join the Church—all by myself. But I also realized I was not truly alone. The Spirit was strong. In a few moments, I would be the newest member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The door swung open, and in came my close friends, friends who had decided to share a message about their Church with me a few months earlier.
“Are you ready?” they asked.
We walked out toward the chapel. I thought again about my first prayer and the Spirit I had felt. I knew the Church was true, and because I knew that, I was ready.

If you’ve read the first verse of the Book of Mormon, you already know something about 17-year-old Juan Ordoñez and his 15-year-old sister, Mayra, of the Pachitol Ward, Patzicía Guatemala Stake.
Juan, Mayra, and their seven older brothers and sisters were “born of goodly parents,” who have passed on skills the family needs to survive, such as the family trades of farming and tortilla making, as well as the language of their ancestors, Cakchiquel.
But those aren’t the only ways their family is like Nephi’s. Juan and Mayra have parents who understand that it is as important to pass on a “knowledge of the goodness and the mysteries of God” (1 Nephi 1:1) as it is to pass on physical survival skills.
While many teens don’t have Lehi- and Sariah-like parents to pass on the gospel (see sidebar on page 13), for Juan, Mayra, and others who do, the question is: Will we be Nephi-like learners, who listen, apply gospel truths, and pass them along as well? Or will we be like Laman and Lemuel, who heard the same information but didn’t want to find out the truth for themselves and couldn’t pass it on?
Juan can’t remember how old he was when he started working with his dad in the fields. “The children would start going with me when they were small,” Juan’s dad, Joel, says. “They learned by watching and then doing what they could, depending on their strength and capacity.”
Mayra learned to make tortillas the same way, watching her mom and sisters until she was old enough to pitch in and help.
But plowing, planting, and tortilla making aren’t the only things being passed from one generation to the next. As Mayra’s mother, Carmela, molded and shaped tortillas, she was also giving shape to her daughter’s character. As Brother Ordoñez prepared, planted, or cultivated the ground, he was doing the same for Juan’s heart.
As the family spent time together, the children could see not just how their parents worked but how they lived. And when the opportunity arose, their parents made the gospel a topic of conversation while they worked.
But observing—and even doing—isn’t always enough. In the Book of Mormon’s first family, Laman and Lemuel heard the same things that Nephi heard from their father, and they too even went and did what their father asked. But they were missing something important, something that Juan and Mayra have—a desire to learn.
Juan and Mayra live in Patzicía, a Cakchiquel community a few hours from Guatemala City. Because many of those who buy their tortillas and seek their plowing services don’t speak Spanish, it was important to Juan and Mayra to learn Cakchiquel.
But not everyone feels that way. Cakchiquel isn’t taught in the schools. The language has been passed down from generation to generation for hundreds of years. However, in each succeeding generation there are many who don’t want to learn it or feel they don’t need it.
As their children grew, Brother and Sister Ordoñez often wondered if their children would listen. Would they obey? Would they want to know, like Nephi? Would they pass the gospel on to their children?
It may be too early to tell. But Brother and Sister Ordoñez have reason to hope.
Their older children are starting to pass gospel truths on. And the younger children are recognizing the importance of passing the gospel on too. “It’s hard sometimes to take counsel from your parents,” Juan says. “But I’m grateful for their help.”
“They didn’t just teach me how to cook beans and make tortillas,” Mayra says. “They have taught me the right path—to follow God.”

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

Our home in Manti, Utah, was small, and our family was very close. Our sons, Stewart and Chandler, played together constantly and shared a bedroom. The room was small, and the boys didn’t seem to mind sharing a twin bed, one sleeping at each end. Their toes would barely reach to the middle, and often the sounds of giggling would escape as they tickled each other’s feet.
They soon outgrew the bed, though, so we shopped around and decided to get bunk beds. Their excitement was overwhelming as my husband, Rex, set up the new beds. He attached a board across the top bunk to keep Stewart, age four, from rolling off the bed. Chandler was younger and smaller and had the bottom bunk. After family prayer they climbed happily into their new beds, and we heard giggling and whispering through their closed door. Eventually they went to sleep, and the house was quiet.
Housework, dishes, and laundry filled the rest of my evening, and I clutched Rex’s hand tightly as we had our evening prayer. Finally we climbed into bed, exhausted from the day’s work. It must have been only seconds before I was in a deep sleep.
I woke up around 2:00 a.m., opened my eyes, looked at the clock, and was ready to doze back to sleep when I heard a very quiet voice say, “Check the boys.” I looked at Rex to see if he was awake, but he was sleeping soundly. I closed my eyes a second time, but again I heard, “Check the boys.” My body was so tired I wasn’t sure if I was awake, and once more I closed my eyes to go to sleep when I heard the voice a third time: “Check the boys.” My mind began to fill with stories I had heard about the still, small voice. I couldn’t imagine why I should check the boys, but finally I climbed out of bed and headed toward their room.
I walked down the dark hall and through the kitchen. All was quiet. I walked through the family room and finally reached the boys’ door. I heard a faint whimpering in the bedroom. As I quietly opened the door, I looked at the new bunk beds, and to my horror, Chandler was hanging from the top bed. His skinny body had slipped through the space between the mattress and the board, but his head had caught. His small body hung limp. His only cry was a muffled whimper as his face was buried in the mattress. Stewart slept soundly on the bottom bunk, unaware of his brother’s distress. They must have switched beds after we tucked them in for the night.
I quickly slipped Chandler back through the small space and held him tightly in my arms. His frightened, tear-filled eyes met mine. I realized how close he had come to death. I rocked him back to sleep and placed him in the bottom bed beside his brother. The image of Chandler hanging from the top bed haunted me. I knew he couldn’t have survived for more than a few minutes.
As I watched my two sons sleep, I felt the protective Spirit of the Lord within my heart and realized I had been given a miracle that night. After returning to my bedroom, I knelt and thanked my Heavenly Father for the repeated prompting I had received and for the safety of our family.

Some time ago I learned I was about to lose my job. At this time the June 2000 Liahona arrived; it included a message from Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles titled “Cast Not Away Therefore Your Confidence.” I immediately thought, “This is for me.” Indeed it was. I read the message several times until I had gained what I needed in peace, confidence, and security. My faith increased, and I knew I was not alone.
By applying the principles Elder Holland taught, I was able to find a new job. My heart was filled with happiness and gratitude to my Heavenly Father because once again I had been a recipient of His goodness. I realized that adversity is necessary for our spiritual growth and that we should not cast away our confidence.Freddy Baeza Sandi, Nuevo Loarque Ward, Tegucigalpa Honduras Toncontin Stake

Holiness to the Lord in everyday life looks like two faithful young adults, married for a year, sharing with authenticity and vulnerability gospel covenants, sacrifice, and service in their unfolding lives.
She begins, “In high school, I was in a dark place. I felt like God wasn’t there for me. One night, a text from a friend said, ‘Hey, have you read Alma 36 ever?’
“As I started reading,” she said, “I was overcome with peace and love. I felt like I was being given this big hug. When I read Alma 36:12, I knew Heavenly Father saw me and knew exactly how I was feeling.”
She continues, “Before we got married, I was honest with my fiancé that I didn’t have a great testimony of tithing. Why did God need us to give money when others had so much to give? My fiancé helped explain it’s not about money but following a commandment asked of us. He challenged me to start paying tithing.
“I really saw my testimony grow,” she said. “Sometimes money gets tight, but we saw so many blessings, and somehow paychecks were enough.”
Also, “in my nursing class,” she said, “I was the only member of the Church and the only one married. Many times I left class frustrated or crying because I felt classmates singled me out and made negative comments about my beliefs, my wearing my garments, or my being married so young.”
Yet she continues, “This past semester I learned how to better voice my beliefs and be a good gospel example. My knowledge and testimony grew because I was tested in my ability to stand alone and be strong in what I believe.”

Taking to heart the theme of their youth conference, Be Thou an Example—Strength through Service, youth from the Reno Nevada North Stake showed a lot of strength. One day of the conference was spent on a spring cleanup project at the Rancho San Rafael Regional Park. More than 134 youth were grouped in “families” and worked a total of 670 hours and filled 225 large garden bags with leaves and debris.
That evening youth-conference “families” performed cultural presentations from various countries or regions around the world to reflect the theme of being an example to all the world. The conference concluded with a testimony meeting.

Switch channels with me to a scene on a Saturday night in a ranch home kitchen, where a boy who has just answered the telephone nervously approaches his mother with a question: “Mom,” he says, “Bob is on the phone. He and his dad and Tom and his dad are going snowmobiling and shooting tomorrow morning, and they want to know if I can go with them.” The mother seems startled at the question and uncertain as she answers. (Later, she explains that she was strongly tempted to respond sharply to her boy, reminding him that he had duties on Sunday morning, that in their family they went to church together, and that when Dad returned later that night he would not consider such a thing.) But instead, she says to her son, “Richard, you are twelve years old. You hold the priesthood. You are president of the deacons quorum. I am sure Dad would want you to make up your own mind and answer Bob yourself.”
The boy goes back to the telephone, and the mother goes to her room and prays that their son will give the right answer. Nothing more is said about the matter, and on Sunday morning the lad and his parents go into town to church, park in the lot across the street, and are crossing, arm-in-arm, when a pickup truck passes. Two men and two boys are in the seat, snowmobiles in the truck bed, guns slung in the rear window. The boys wave to Richard as they pass. He pauses a moment and says, “Gee, I wish …” The mother catches her breath a bit, and then Richard finishes: “Gee, I wish I had been able to talk Bob and Tom into coming to priesthood meeting this morning.”
The mother, telling the story, thanks the Lord for this choice lad and his personal decision to do the right thing. And then she weeps freely as she explains how important that was to all of them. You see, their son was killed in a farm accident that week.

Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, is a most interesting place. In company with Elders Richard G. Scott, Rex D. Pinegar, and Larry W. Gibbons, I presided at a regional conference there just a short time ago. The facility in which we met was packed with members of the Church and other interested persons. The singing by the choir was heavenly, the spoken word inspiring, and the sweet spirit which prevailed during the conference will long be remembered.
I reflected on my previous visits to this location, the beauty of the state song—“Oklahoma,” from the musical production of Rodgers and Hammerstein—and the wonderful hospitality of the people there.
This community’s spirit of compassionate help was tested in the extreme, however, on April 19, 1995, when a terrorist-planted bomb destroyed the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building in downtown Oklahoma City, taking 168 persons to their deaths and injuring countless others.
Following the regional conference in Oklahoma City, I was driven to the entrance of a beautiful and symbolic memorial which graces the area where the Murrah building once stood. It was a dreary, rainy day, which tended to underscore the pain and suffering which had occurred there. The memorial features a 400-foot reflecting pool. On one side of the pool are 168 empty glass and granite chairs in honor of each of the people killed. These are placed, as far as can be determined, where the fallen bodies were found.
On the opposite side of the pool there stands, on a gentle rise of ground, a mature American elm tree—the only nearby tree to survive the destruction. It is appropriately and affectionately named “The Survivor Tree.” In regal splendor it honors those who survived the horrific blast.
My host directed my attention to the inscription above the gate of the memorial:
We come here to remember those who were killed, those who survived and those changed forever.
May all who leave here know the impact of violence.
May this memorial offer comfort, strength, peace, hope and serenity.
He then, with tears in his eyes and with a faltering voice, declared, “This community, and all the churches and citizens in it, have been galvanized together. In our grief we have become strong. In our spirit we have become united.”
We concluded that the best word to describe what had taken place was compassion.

Melinda was almost eight, and she was eager to be baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. She was ready to make a covenant—a sacred promise—with Heavenly Father.
Melinda had already practiced making and keeping promises. When her mother asked her to read to her little brother each evening, Melinda promised to do it—and she did! And each time she went to her friend’s house, she promised she would be home on time. She kept that promise, too.
Most of all, Melinda was trying to always remember Jesus. When she was tempted to pretend she didn’t hear her father call her to come home, she thought, What would Jesus want me to do? She quickly ran home.
Now she was eager to promise Heavenly Father to keep His commandments and to take upon her the name of His Son and always remember Him. She knew when she was baptized and made that promise, He would promise her that she would always have His Spirit to be with her.
In family home evening, her father taught about the Liahona, a special compass the Lord gave to Lehi’s family to guide them through the wilderness (see 1 Ne. 16). The Liahona worked only when the people were faithful and diligent in keeping the commandments (see 1 Ne. 16:28). Melinda knew she must also be faithful and diligent in keeping her baptismal covenant so she could have the Holy Ghost to guide her. She knew if she kept her promise, Heavenly Father would keep His promise.

I remember an experience that Elder K. Brett Nattress shared with us in a general conference address. His mother read the scriptures to him and his brother every day during breakfast, and he acted irreverently along with his brother. One day he questioned his mother asking her why she did that every morning and she told him something that just remembering it embarrassed him. Let me share his own words:
“I told her, ‘Mom, I am not listening!’
“Her loving response was a defining moment in my life. She said, ‘Son, I was at a meeting where President Marion G. Romney [1897–1988] taught about the blessings of scripture reading. During this meeting, I received a promise that if I would read the Book of Mormon to my children every day, I would not lose them.’ She then looked at me straight in the eyes and, with absolute determination, said, ‘And I will not lose you!’”2

Twenty-four years ago, our tiny newborn son struggled for his life in the intensive care unit of a hospital. His lungs were not fully developed because of his premature birth, and he desperately fought for each breath of air. He was so small but with so much will to live. As young and inexperienced parents, my courageous and ever faithful wife, Jan, and I prayed that the Lord’s hand would reach out and somehow help our baby boy continue to breathe. As I put my trembling hand through the small opening into the isolette, I felt so inadequate and powerless. I took hold of the tiny but perfect hand of our newborn son, and there was a powerful spiritual connection never to be forgotten. Two fingers from each of my hands covered his tiny head as I administered to him.

Our desire for him was pure, but we knew that his earthly experience rested in the Lord’s hands and not in ours or in the medical team who cared for him. I then humbly realized that my quivering hands held power and authority well beyond my own. My fingers on his head symbolized the placing of God’s hands and power upon our son. Following that blessing, in a moment of emotional peace, my eternal companion and I looked at each other across the isolette, feeling the spirit of renewed hope and comfort born of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and in the personal effect of His Atonement. It was a powerful witness of His love for an infant son who had just left His presence. We were then better prepared to accept His will for our son. We truly felt we had placed our hands in the hands of the Savior. It was as if the Savior’s own hands provided the critical respiratory aid, allowing our son to breathe and gain sustenance. With each breath and with each incremental bit of progress, we expressed prayerful thanks. Today our healthy son and his indebted parents continue to be so grateful for the Savior’s willing hands.

The faith of the young men of this Church is remarkable!

On June 12 of this year, I received an email telling me that the bishop from a Utah ward, his wife, and two of their children had been killed in an airplane accident. Bishop Mark Openshaw had been piloting the plane as it left a small airfield, when it suddenly fell from the sky and crashed to the earth. Bishop Openshaw, his wife, Amy, and their children Tanner and Ellie were killed in the accident. Miraculously their five-year-old son, Max, thrown out of the airplane in his airplane seat, escaped with only broken bones.

I learned that their son Elder Porter Openshaw was serving in the Marshall Islands Majuro Mission and that their 17-year-old son, Zane, was on a school cultural exchange in Germany.

I called Elder Openshaw on Christmas Island. Although heartbroken by the unexpected death of his mother, father, brother, and sister, Elder Openshaw immediately turned his concern to his two younger brothers.

Ultimately it was Elder Openshaw and his brother Zane who decided that others could help at home and that Porter should stay on his mission. They knew it was what their parents would want.

As I spoke with Elder Openshaw, I felt his sadness but also his unquenchable fire of faith. “I have the confidence,” he told me, “and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I will see my family again. … Strength in our trials is always found in … our Lord, Jesus Christ. … God’s omnipotent hand has been so apparent in helping [me] and my brothers throughout [this] very difficult challenge.”24

I met Zane for the first time at the funeral. As I looked at the four caskets before us in the chapel, I marveled at the faith of this 17-year-old as he addressed the congregation. “Today,” he said, “we have gathered with humble hearts and weary souls to remember the lives of my mom, dad, Tanner, and Ellie. … We have talked together, cried together, remembered together, and felt the hand of God together. …

“The day after I heard the news of the accident, I found a letter in my bag from my mom. In the letter she wrote: ‘Zane, remember who you are and where you come from. We will be praying for you and missing you.’” Zane continued: “There could not be more fitting last words from my mother. I know that she, along with Tanner, Ellie, and my dad are … praying for [my brothers and] me. I know that … they pray that I remember who I am … because I, like you, am a child of God, and He has sent me here. I testify [that] … no matter how alone we feel, God will not forsake us.”25

I’m home now, at our dinner table, after working my four-hour shift in the bookstore. Mom has just warmed up a plate of food for me.
“I think we’ll have fun in that class,” she says, scrubbing off a pot in the kitchen sink. “I can’t believe we ended up together. Of course, if you think it’s too awkward to have me in the same class, I could transfer.”
“Oh, no, Mom. I don’t mind at all,” I tell her, hiding the fact that for one more semester my social life probably will be roughly on par with a turnip. “But why family relations? It’s not like you don’t have any experience. Remember us? Your five children?”
Mom stands up straight and sets aside her dish rag. “Well, I’m taking three classes. Geology, because every time I’ve looked out this window in the last 27 years, I’ve seen mountains. I want to know more about those mountains. The humanities class is to help me better appreciate the beauty around me.” She picks up the rag and begins some intense scrubbing on a casserole dish. “And the family relations class—that’s to help me know if I could have done a few things better.”
I know what she is talking about—my younger sister, Jan. A little more than two years ago, when I was on my mission in Peru, Jan left home just before graduating from high school. We don’t really know where she is. A phone call, a postcard, maybe a letter at Christmas, first from Chicago, then somewhere in Florida, then a half-dozen other locations. She just tells us that she is fine, working, and maybe will come back someday. We’ve all lost sleep over her.
I finish my meal and give her a hand with the rest of the dishes before heading to my room to work through some calculations for my building materials class. I hope for the millionth time that Jan is okay somewhere.
I’ve decided not to break things off with the blonde-haired girl from California, at least not yet. In fact, once again I think our relationship is progressing nicely. She did sort of look around in class the other day. I took that as a sure sign she was checking to see if I was there.
Anyway, the big break came when the instructor, Dr. Holgate, took roll out loud. I very casually pretended not to be paying attention, but I was all ears, hanging on each “Here!” as the names were called out.
“Carianne Meacham?”
“Here!”
That’s it! She has a name. I scribble furiously in my notebook. Carianne. A wonderful name. It fits someone used to surfing off Malibu, working on her tan, and playing volleyball on the beach, all important qualities in a prospective wife.
My mother is nudging me. “The teacher’s calling your name!” she whispers hoarsely.
“Here!” I blurt out, standing up. The whole class laughs.
Tonight I am again trying to concentrate on homework. But there’s a huge distraction sitting on the end of my desk.
It is the university phone book.
Inside it, I know, Carianne Meacham’s name will be listed, where she lives, her hometown, her major, and her phone number.
Try this scenario:
“Hello, Carianne. I’m David Williams, the guy you said hello to in family relations class two weeks ago, the ruggedly handsome one who sits next to his mother.” Well, maybe I could get just a few basics about her from one quick peek at the phone book.
I open it and search through the M’s. Voila! Meacham, Carianne L. Sophomore. Nursing major. Lives off campus. But what’s this? She’s from Seattle, Washington, land of perpetual drizzle.
I can adjust. I like rain. I like little green plants growing behind my ears and between my toes. I like rust, honest.
I wonder if Carianne knows what sacrifices I’m making for her.
Family relations class, a debate is raging. Dr. Holgate raised the question. “Is there ever a time when parents are justified in asking their children to leave home?” The arguments churn on. The class consensus seems to be that, yes, there are rare occasions when a child should not be allowed in the home, such as if his or her behavior is damaging the entire family or setting a bad example for younger siblings. Dr. Holgate is at the front of the class, looking slightly entertained. Class is almost over.
“Any other thought?” she asks.
“Yes!” my mom says.
“Go ahead.”
“When you have children, they are yours forever, not just in good times or okay times, but always. You have to love them always, show them that you care always, and be there for them always,” Mom says, her voice slightly quivering.
It is an amazing turn of events. The class bursts into applause. Up front, Dr. Holgate is beaming. The buzzer sounds and class is over. Several students come up to talk with my mom, the new class star. One of them is Carianne who grasps her arm and says, “Ruth, what you said is true.”
While I’m happy for my mom, it’s a little difficult to accept that Carianne is more impressed with my mother than with me.
Not a good day in Family Relations 101. Dr. Holgate announces we need to pair up with someone else to work jointly on our final project. It will be a report on some aspect of family relations. The choice of topics is up to us. Half of our grade will be on our paper, the other half on a 15-minute class presentation by the two-person teams.
“Okay, pair up,” Dr. Holgate urges. “If you can’t find a teammate, I’ll assign you.”
Carianne Meacham stands up and turns toward me. My heart starts to thump. This is it. I knew I was right. All semester long, she’s secretly wanted to get acquainted. I owe Dr. Holgate for this opportunity, I really do.
Carianne smiles. I smile back. I’m already to ask, “How ya’ doin’?” which is my best get-acquainted line. She is only inches away. I hear her voice.
“Ruth, would you like to work together?” she asks my mother!
“Why yes, I’d be tickled to.”
Cruel fate. Aced out by my mom. Again.
I feel a hand on my shoulder. I look up into the bespectacled face of a man in his late 20s, balding, with a lopsided smile.
“Hey, we’re the only ones left without a partner. Whaddya say? Pete LaFete is my name, and I’ve got some great ideas for this project.”
I can’t find the right words to tell him I didn’t take this class to further my male bonding experience. But I’m so stunned, I nod. Peter LaFete and I are a team.
I am slumping. I am a baseball player who has gone hitless in his last 27 at-bats, a singer who comes down with laryngitis the night of the big concert. I’m struggling with my engineering classes, and Family Relations 101, the class I took for enjoyment is turning into a nightmare. Hey, I’m 22 years old, and I should know more about … about … life.
Yes, life. I should be more on top of it than I am now. I need a triumph. Just a small triumph, a little victory to reinforce that I do have something to look forward to.
I got together with Peter LaFete. We are going to do our research paper on successful dating. Pete is single, six years older than I am, and has just changed his major to family relations although he has 224 credit hours and should have graduated before I left on my mission. I told him since neither of us has much of a track record in dating, we might have a credibility problem.
“No way, pard. I know a lot about dating,” he says confidently.
I have a few theories about why Pete is still single.
Dark, cold, and rainy. Sort of like my life right now. I am in my room, studying. It is almost 11:00 P.M. Mom and I went over each other’s notes in preparation for the final tomorrow in Family Relations 101. Then I came up here to hit the books. Downstairs, everything is quiet. The rain slashes against my window. It’s on nights like these that I most often think of my sister and wonder where she might be.
I hear a commotion on the porch. I get up from my desk, wondering what is going on. There is a loud knock on the door. Mom and Dad are at the bottom of the stairs, fumbling with bathrobes, turning on the entry lights. Dad opens the door a little and peers into the darkness. A figure steps into the light spilling from our home.
It is my sister, soaking wet, looking tired, looking very different than the skinny junior in high school I knew when I left on my mission.
“Can I come in?” she asks, her voice trembling.
“This is your home, Jan,” my dad says softly.
“Mom, Dad, I need to start over.”
“We’ll talk later,” Mom says. My sister throws her arms around Mother, and they both begin to cry.
I think my slump is history.
It is Friday, at the end of the semester. All of the work for family relations and my other classes is done. Mom and Carianne were a brilliant team. Their presentation was terrific.
Pete LaFete and I were less than genius. “I’ve found in my experience,” Peter lectured during our presentation, “that a proper way of saying good night on a fourth or fifth date is to kiss a girl lightly on her forehead. Girls remember it.”
I bet they do, Pete.
Anyway, I’m just getting home and pushing my way through the back door. Something smells great in the kitchen. Mom is at the stove.
“Hello, dear.”
“Hi, Mom. Where’s Jan?”
“In the dining room with your dad. She registered at the community college today. Maybe she’s finally turning the corner. By the way, I invited some company over for dinner tonight. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No big deal, Mom,” I answered, since we often throw an extra plate on the table for guests. I peek into the dining room, and there, with her back toward me, chatting away with my dad and sister, is Carianne Meacham.
My mom smiles serenely.
“I got an A in family relations, remember? And I saw her name in your notebook the other night when we were studying. Now try to say something besides, ‘How ya’ doin’?’ Carianne is an intelligent girl, and I don’t think that will impress her at all.”
And that’s the way I got to know Carianne Meacham.
Sometimes I sit back and like to sort things out. I’ve been thinking about the last months. I think about Mom going back to school at age 53 and showing all of us that learning is something you do all your life. I think about her report card, two A’s and a B. (“Geology wasn’t as intriguing as I was hoping,” Mom explains.) I think about my sister and what my mom had to say about loving always. And I understand better that there are at least two kinds of education. One kind deals with the mind, the other with the heart.

Subject: Lisa
Age: 17 years
Event: Another dateless Friday night
“Lisa, can I come in?” her mother asked just outside her door. Lisa opened the bedroom door for her mother.
“Are you all right? You spend so much time in here all alone. We worry about you.”
Lisa sat silently on the edge of her bed, and then suddenly blurted out, “Mom, am I so horrible? Other girls have dates. Why won’t anybody ask me out? What’s so terrible about me?”
“I think you’re terrific.”
“Oh, Mom, you’re supposed to think that. You’re my mother.”
Her mother sat down with her on the bed. “Lisa, did you know that boys develop slower in their interests in the opposite sex? In a while, some of the boys at church will get their heads out of a car engine, look around, and see what a beautiful woman you’re becoming.”
“Sure,” Lisa complained, “and then they’ll go on their missions, and I’ll wait for another two years.”
“Okay, you’ve got some time on your hands. Why not use it wisely? What talents and skills would you like to gain by the time you’re grown?”
Lisa thought for a minute and then said, “I want to learn to play the guitar.”
“Fine, you’ll have time.”
“I want to learn mathematics.”
“Good. That will please your father.”
“And I want to learn how to sew the way you do.”
“Okay.”
“I want to run on the girl’s track team.”
“That’d be exciting,” her mother said, reaching out for Lisa’s hand. “You can do all those things and more while you wait for the boys to mature.”__________

The big sheets of stamps are waiting to be affixed to the pile of envelopes. But Rebecca Pedersen is only one person. A Laurel in the Allerøt Ward, Rebecca has a few thoughts about pornography and its damaging influence, and she’s doing something about it. But the work—stuffing envelopes with literature—is tedious and time-consuming.
As she addresses the envelopes, she begins talking of her involvement with a program organized to protest the prominence of pornography in Denmark.
“Pornography has such a large effect on our values, but Denmark is quite a liberal country and I can see where people almost get used to the pornography. But instead of getting used to it, we should be startled by it,” Rebecca says.
At Rebecca’s school, a fellow student started this protest against pornography and enlisted Rebecca’s help. As they educate, they are also gathering signatures for a petition they hope will gain them a voice in the government—especially with Denmark’s minister of culture, who oversees public television in the country.
“We can’t stop people from looking at pornography,” Rebecca explains, “but we’d like to see pornography removed from public places where kids can easily see it. You can’t just put kids to bed early and expect them not to see those things on television.”
As she thinks about her Young Women values and considers what she represents as a member of the Church, Rebecca is glad to be involved in something she hopes will effect a change.
“You have to make a statement in your life. I think it’s important for us, especially as members of the Church who have the truth that we have, to do something to make the world a better place,” she says. “That thought has always struck me, but a couple of months ago when I received my patriarchal blessing, I realized even more that I had to do something.”
When Rebecca’s group completed the project and sent off the petition to the government, she allowed herself to think about the small part she did in getting more than 22,000 people to sign and how it strengthened her resolve to make Denmark a better place. She also smiles. They easily exceeded the goal of 15,000 signatures they set before they began.
Rebecca knows things are not going to change overnight. But you have to start somewhere, right? “I think there are a lot of people out there who hate pornography and its effects. But I think many people are willing to not do or say anything, or they’ll buy the magazines and watch the TV shows. Sometimes I think people maybe just need a little reminder once in a while.”

When I first began college, I wasn’t sure what career to pursue. All I knew was that I felt happiest when I helped people.
Through studying, pondering, and praying, I finally decided to go into a medical field. But this career choice meant taking some difficult classes. I did all right in my basic biology, math, and chemistry courses, but I wasn’t confident I could handle the required upper-level courses.
Soon I found myself in a cellular biology course that was daunting, to say the least. I felt if I could pass the first exam, I could complete the course and eventually fulfill my goal. In preparation for this test, I studied extra hard—reading each chapter from the textbook two or three times, reviewing my class notes until they were almost memorized, and making flash cards with key words and concepts to review.
Just before the exam, my institute teacher taught a lesson on inspiration. One scripture he shared especially struck me: “Behold, thou knowest that thou hast inquired of me and I did enlighten thy mind; and now I tell thee these things that thou mayest know that thou hast been enlightened by the Spirit of truth” (D&C 6:15).
It dawned on me that the Lord might be willing to help in matters other than those strictly spiritual. I knew I had done my part in preparing for the test, but I also felt I could use His divine help.
The night before the exam, I went through my flash cards one last time, then knelt by my bed and asked Heavenly Father for assurance and clarity of mind during the test. I felt immediate peace and comfort, and I knew the Lord would be with me.
That night I dreamed I was taking the exam. In my dream I entered the classroom, sat at my desk, and went through the exam page by page, answering each question with ease. It was a good dream and gave me a feeling of confidence the next morning.
As I went to class, I knew everything would be OK. I sat at my desk and opened my exam. The questions were remarkably similar to those on the exam in my dream. “What’s going on?” I wondered. Then I remembered the verse my institute teacher had shared with us. I knew the Lord had enlightened my mind. I felt He had answered my prayer—not only helping me with the test but showing me He approved of my decision to pursue this course of study.
I breezed through the test, reviewed it once, and was the first student to hand it in. The following day, the teacher smiled as she handed me my exam with a bold “100% Great job!” written in one corner. It was the only perfect score in the class.
That night I knelt by my bed and poured out my heart in gratitude for Heavenly Father’s abundant blessings. I knew if I had not done my part and studied as never before, the Lord might not have given me the help I needed. But I had studied, and I had been blessed more than I could have imagined.

Danny Cope maneuvers his motorized wheelchair with the skill of a parking attendant. He can’t move his arms or fingers very well, but he prods the control stick mounted on his armrest with his fist. Danny’s wheelchair has seen a lot of action. As a deacon in the Oakridge Ward in the El Dorado California Stake, he uses it to fulfill his Aaronic Priesthood duties.
The wheelchair takes him to collect fast offerings and to quorum and Scout activities. His dad even made a special sacrament tray attachment so Danny can pass the sacrament with the other deacons. Since he isn’t able to lift the tray himself, the ward member nearest to the aisle helps him. Cerebral palsy might limit him physically, but mentally and spiritually he keeps moving.
Until last year, Danny had a hard time communicating. Even those close to him had a hard time understanding his speech. But now Danny talks with his eyes—well, with a laser that’s attached to his glasses. Using the laser, Danny can activate keys on a small, talking computer. Now that he’s able to communicate more easily, collecting fast offerings becomes as easy as pushing a button.
“Hello. I’m from the Church. Do you have any fast offerings today?” When the envelope is returned to him, Danny pushes another button, and the electronic voice says, “Thank you!” He’s also used his new voice to give talks and bear his testimony.
You can also see Danny’s testimony in his willingness to serve and in his love for nature and sacred music. Lately, Danny’s love for nature has translated itself into the desire to paint. He holds a paintbrush with his teeth to create acrylic or watercolor paintings. The process is slow, detailed, and requires a lot of patience.
“You should see his paintings,” says fellow deacon Jacob Ricks. “They are awesome!” Danny gets a lot of support from his deacons quorum.
As much as Danny seems to be enjoying life, his parents worry about him. They wonder if his easy, joyful smile really means he’s happy. His mom finally asked him: “Danny, are you having a good life?”
Her heart stopped for a moment when the first word to appear on his computer screen was “No.” Then Danny typed the rest of the sentence: “I’m having a great life!”