Gospel Story Finder

I was born on a little dry farm in northern Utah in 1934. By the time the doctor drove the thirteen miles from Logan to our house, I had already arrived.
I was born blue because I wasn’t breathing right. The connection between my heart and lungs was not very good, and doctors told my parents that I would have serious health problems. My family prayed hard that I would be healthy, and none of the things the doctors predicted happened. In fact, I was six feet tall by the time I was thirteen! I know that this was a blessing from Heavenly Father.

One time we were talking about the Savior’s Atonement, and I raised my hand. I just told how thanks to His Atonement, Jesus Christ not only frees us but can also help us become closer to Himself and to God. I talked about my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and how it has been strengthened as my understanding of the Atonement has grown. After class, a man came up to me and thanked me for my comments. He told me he had never thought about things the way I had said them and really appreciated my insight.

When I had been on my mission in Germany about a year, I was assigned to work with a brand new missionary named Elder Keeler, who had just arrived fresh from converting, so he thought, all the flight attendants on the plane from New York to Frankfurt. Within a few days of his arrival, I was called to a meeting in another city and had to leave him to work in our city with another inexperienced missionary, whose companion went with me. I returned late that night.
The next morning I asked him how his day had gone. He broke into an enthusiastic smile and said he had found a family who would surely join the Church. In our mission, it was rare to see anyone join the Church, let alone a whole family. I asked for more details, but in his excitement he had forgotten to write down either the name or the address. All he could remember was that the family lived on the top floor of a big apartment house. “Oh, that’s great,” I thought to myself as I contemplated all those flights of stairs.
He also explained that he knew so little German that he had exchanged but a few words with the woman who answered the door. But he did think she wanted us to come back—and he wanted to go find her and have me talk to her that very minute.
I explained that the people who don’t slam the door in our faces do not necessarily intend to join the Church. But off we went to find her, mostly to humor him. He couldn’t remember the right street, either, so we picked a likely spot and began climbing up and down those endless polished staircases.
After a frustrating hour, I decided I had to level with him. Based on my many months of experience, I said, it was simply not worth our time to try any longer to find her. I had developed a tolerance for the realities of missionary work and simply knew more than he did about it. His eyes filled with tears and his lower lip began to tremble. “Elder Hafen,” he said, “I came on my mission to find the honest in heart. The Spirit told me that that woman will someday be a member of the Church.” So I decided to teach him a lesson. I raced him up one staircase after another until he was ready to drop, and so was I. “Elder Keeler,” I asked, “had enough?” “No,” he said. “We’ve got to find her.” I began to smolder. I decided to work him until he begged to stop—then maybe he would get the message.
Finally, at the top of a long flight of stairs, we found the apartment. She came to the door. He thrashed my ribs with his elbow and whispered loudly, “That’s her, Elder. That’s the one. Talk to her!”
So I did.
Not long ago, my wife and I were with this woman’s family in the Frankfurt Germany Temple, where the father, now a temple sealer, performed the marriage for their youngest child and her husband. It was a sacred moment for all of us. Earlier he had been a bishop, and the mother was a Relief Society president. Three of their four children have served missions. All four have married in the temple. They are raising righteous families and contributing their strength to the wards where they live. Their lives reflect the fruits that grow from 40 years of living the gospel.
That experience is a lesson I can never forget about the limitations of skepticism and the tolerance for ambiguity that comes with learning and experience. I hope that I will never be so aware of “reality” that I am unresponsive to the whisperings of heaven.

One young man I will call Joseph said, “In my school I’ve always been known by what I can and cannot do. People say, ‘Joseph can’t drink coffee or alcohol. Joseph doesn’t look at pornography or swear.’ Now I want them to know the reasons.”

He said that when people used to ask him why he lives this way, he would say, “Because of my church.” That’s a good answer, but there are better ones. Now he refers to the principles in the For the Strength of Youth guide:

Illustrations by Emily Davis
Why do you go to church on Sunday?
Because I love God and others.
Why don’t you drink coffee or alcohol?
Because my body is sacred.
Why don’t you look at pornography?
Because I want to walk in the light.
Isn’t it hard trying to be so good all the time?
Sometimes, but Christ helps me.

One research study reported that some young people are choosing to leave religion because they don’t see the reasons for the rules and boundaries associated with religion.2 Joseph is not one of those. The For the Strength of Youth guide is helping him know those reasons for himself and share them with others. It can do the same for you.

One day during an institute class, the teacher presented a video portraying a person much like myself—one who was not sure of his testimony. He sought counsel from his bishop, and the bishop explained that our Father in Heaven looks for moments to answer our prayers, but we must be attentive and receptive to the Holy Ghost. The bishop in the video also said that learning to recognize the voice of the Holy Spirit requires time and a humble heart.

These words touched me deeply. I recognized that I had never listened to the voice of the Spirit regarding the Church because I had been unwilling to do so. From the time I began praying for a testimony of the Church, the answers had come to me quietly, little by little, but I had refused to hear.

During that institute lesson I felt a change in my heart that I could not understand, and the heavy burden of doubt I had carried for nine years left me. I now accepted what I had previously doubted.

But even then I was tempted to fight against the Spirit. I told myself that what I was feeling was just a passing impression, an emotional response to the film. This war continued inside me as I left the classroom, so I found a place to be alone. And there the presence of the Holy Spirit came to me more clearly and finally liberated me from my doubts. I was filled with incomparable joy. A weight was lifted from my shoulders.

Now I can say with full conviction that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true Church, restored in these last days by Jesus Christ through the Prophet Joseph Smith. This testimony is precious to me. With it, I feel spiritually prepared to receive the greater light and knowledge the Lord and His Church have to offer.

The completion of the Kirtland Temple was foundational for the entire Church. It was accompanied by spiritual outpourings, doctrinal revelations, and restoration of essential keys for the continuing establishment of the Church. Like the ancient Apostles on the day of Pentecost, many members experienced marvelous spiritual experiences in connection with the dedication of the Kirtland Temple. But, as in our own lives, this did not mean they wouldn’t face challenges or hardships going forward. Little did these early members know they would be faced with a United States financial crisis—the panic of 1837—that would test their very souls.

One example of the challenges related to this financial crisis was experienced by Elder Parley P. Pratt, one of the great leaders of the Restoration. He was an original member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In the early part of 1837, his dear wife, Thankful, died after delivering their first child. Parley and Thankful had been married almost 10 years, and her death devastated him.

A few months later, Elder Pratt found himself in one of the most difficult times the Church has experienced. In the midst of the national crisis, local economic issues—including land speculation and the struggles of a financial institution founded by Joseph Smith and other Church members—created discord and contention in Kirtland. Church leaders did not always make wise temporal decisions in their own lives. Parley suffered significant financial losses and for a time became disaffected with the Prophet Joseph. He wrote a stinging criticism to Joseph and spoke in opposition of him from the pulpit. At the same time, Parley said he continued to believe in the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants.

Elder Pratt had lost his wife, his land, and his home. Parley, without telling Joseph, left for Missouri. On the road there, he unexpectedly met fellow Apostles Thomas B. Marsh and David Patten returning to Kirtland. They felt a great need to have harmony restored to the Quorum and persuaded Parley to return with them. He realized that no one had lost more than Joseph Smith and his family.

Parley sought out the Prophet, wept, and confessed that what he had done was wrong. In the months after his wife, Thankful’s, death, Parley had been “under a dark cloud” and had been overcome by fears and frustrations. Joseph, knowing what it was like to struggle against opposition and temptation, “frankly forgave” Parley, praying for him and blessing him. Parley and others who remained faithful benefited from the Kirtland challenges. They increased in wisdom and became more noble and virtuous. The experience became part of their foundations of faith.

Throughout the world in Africa, Asia, the Pacific, North and South America, and Europe, charitable women, united with their families, also make a difference in their communities. On the tiny island of Trinidad, Sister Ramoutar, a busy branch Relief Society president, and her family are helping neighborhood children. The Ramoutars live in a village that is a “drug-infested” place where many parents and adults are addicted to alcohol or are trafficking in drugs. The children are at great risk and are often without supervision. Many do not attend school.
Every Thursday night, as many as 30 children, ages 3 to 19 years, sit in the covered area outside of the Ramoutar home, eagerly participating in a group known as “Our One Big Happy Family.” Prayers, hymns, fun songs, and the sharing of good deeds done by the children each week are part of the activities. Sometimes doctors, policemen, teachers, or our own missionaries share useful lessons such as President Gordon B. Hinckley’s six B’s. The Ramoutar family rescues children through their small and simple acts of charity. As they have shared the gospel in their “One Big Happy Family,” others have joined the Church.

The Book of Mormon is not just a history book, nor just a book of scripture, for the Wolfgramm kids, whose parents migrated from Tonga to Salt Lake City nearly 20 years ago. It’s the story of their family—their relatives. Its sacred pages help them trace their genealogy back to Adam, through their 88th great-grandfather, Nephi.
Their story parallels that of their ancestors in the Book of Mormon to some degree. Their parents, Mike and Vake, left their homeland and crossed the sea for religious reasons. Back then there were no temples in the South Pacific, and they came to Salt Lake City to be sealed together. They didn’t have the funds to make it back to Tonga, however, so they stayed in the States and began adding to their family.
Like the family of Lehi, the Wolfgramms had to work hard to carve a place for themselves in their new country. In addition to other jobs, the parents were involved in Polynesian performing groups in the Salt Lake area. As soon as the children were old enough to walk and talk, they were taught to play, sing, and dance in the Polynesian tradition. They eagerly took to the stage, and soon the family had a Polynesian group of their own.

Since middle school I’ve sold magazines for a fund-raiser. Each year, I tried desperately to find the right magazine for me. Little did I know that the perfect magazine for me was already in my home. I used to just read “The Extra Smile” and then toss the New Era aside. But a few years ago, I began to read more and more of the articles. I found that they were directed to people my age and discussed situations I could relate to. It wasn’t full of degrading articles or beauty ads. It described true beauty, answered my questions, and uplifted my spirit. The New Era is “The Perfect Magazine for Anne.” It just has a different title.Anne Sheffield, Moorpark Ward, Saratoga California Stake

For Brett Allen and Ben Marwick of Perth, it started with simple friendship, but it really got going the night they spent several hours riding their bikes in circles.

You can see why Brett and Ben became friends in the first place. Both quick-witted. Articulate. Fond of taking a subject apart and looking at it from all angles, arguing opposite sides just for the sheer pleasure of it.

You can also see how their first gospel discussions must have been frustrating for both. Ben, the nonmember, his mind racing ahead, full of detailed questions. Brett, the member, wanting to keep things simple at first, focusing on testimony.

It all started with friendship, when Brett moved and started attending the same school as Ben. As Ben tells it: “We became pretty good friends, and occasionally I used to call him up in the morning—in the first term this was—and he was never there. His dad would say, ‘He’s in seminary.’”

Ben knew a seminary was where people studied religion, and that aroused his curiosity a little more. He and Brett had already been having those frustrating religious discussions, including the infamous evening when they were riding their bikes home from school and started talking about the Church. “I just rode around in circles with him for several hours, talking,” Ben recalls. “When you get involved in that kind of thing, you don’t notice what the time is. So of course we drove to our respective homes and got blasted for the lateness of the hour.”

Later, during the holidays, Ben was at Brett’s house with a couple of Brett’s LDS friends, who were there studying to finish off the seminary term. That’s when they invited Ben to join them at seminary. “I thought I might as well see what it was all about,” Ben says simply. So he started attending early-morning seminary, riding his bike to Brett’s house, where the class was held. The subject was Old Testament. Ben took to it like a frog to flies, completed the rest of the seminary year, and even received a certificate.

In fact, Ben didn’t just enjoy seminary. As Brett puts it, “He stole the show. All of us sort of viewed seminary as something that you needed to do if you wanted your parents to let you live. But Ben thrived on it.”

Once Ben started attending seminary, it wasn’t long before he, his sister, Josie, and his mother, Eleanor, were receiving the missionary discussions. They had the usual struggles and challenges, but all three were eventually baptized, and now Ben is thinking about his own future mission. He’s also continuing those gospel discussions with Brett, but from a very different perspective.

Actually, the missionary work never ends. Emily wants to be married in the temple and raise her children in the Church. Ben plans to go on a mission. At last report Sally was working to introduce a friend to the gospel. But first it has to begin. And it begins with friendship. It begins with letting your membership and your values be known. And it begins with faith that if you do your part, the Lord will do his.

First, I’d like you to start thinking of a time you felt your Heavenly Father’s guidance and love in your life. I’ll have you write your thoughts in just a minute. As you reflect on this, I would like to share an experience that happened to me many years ago as a teenager.

Our young men’s group had planned an outing to go to a ranch and ride horses on a day trail ride. I was excited to go and fortunate my father was able to accompany me on my adventure with our ward. As they saddled up the horses and gave me mine, I wasn’t as thrilled as I noticed my horse was extremely spirited and stubborn. We went on a ride for several hours, where I constantly had to work to keep the horse with the group. We took a break and then started down the trail again.

Not too long after, a nearby horse, that wasn’t part of the ride and was feeding in the pasture, took off in a gallop and ran in front of my horse. Immediately, my horse bolted and ran after that horse. With my limited experience and everyone behind me yelling commands, I tried pulling several times on the reigns to stop the horse, but to no avail. We were headed for thick brush I probably wouldn’t clear.

At that time, I did what most people recommend you don’t: I closed my eyes. But then I proceeded to pray, saying, “Heavenly Father, help me.” I kept my eyes closed and felt the impression to put my hands together as if I was going to dive into a swimming pool. Later, I would learn from my dad that this helped me do a rolling summersault off the horse.

A few seconds later, I was laying on the ground face down. As I got up, I noticed several rocks and a tree trunk near me. Miraculously, I had only a few small scrapes on my face, a small bruise under my chin, and my glasses had been thrown quite a distance.

They then brought my horse back, which I wasn’t too excited to get back on but had to so we could get back to the ranch. I was still surprised by what had happened as someone handed me my glasses. I put them on and couldn’t see very well out of one eye. I kept asking the riders near me if my eye was okay and they said it was. Finally, I reached up to move my glasses and poked myself in the eye. To my relief, I realized the rim had had broken and the lens had fallen out. My eye was completely fine.

That day, I could have easily had my feet stuck in the stirrups, or any number of other outcomes, but I came to a profound knowledge that my Heavenly Father heard and answered my prayer and He loved me.

During his senior year Billy heard of a village in Mexico that had been flooded, and he organized a relief effort with some of his friends. They collected clothing and food and with a good number of trucks and trailers delivered the provisions to the ravaged town. Billy and his bride, Amy, are now living in Southern California, where he teaches early-morning seminary. A criterion for the corporate position that he ultimately took was that he would have the time he needed to continue to make a difference.

Billy took seriously the parable of the sheep and the goats as taught by Jesus and recorded in Matthew 25:34–37, 40:
Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me. . . .
Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink? . . .
And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

“Maybe you’re right. My cousin used to make sack lunches for her dad. He rode to work in a car pool, and the other men liked his lunches—she always put a little extra treat inside or wrote him a note. Pretty soon she was making lunches for everyone in the car pool, and they each paid her. Maybe we could do something like that,” Tom said. He was starting to catch Jim’s excitement, but Jim issued a friendly word of caution.
“We might have to get a license if we start a restaurant business,” he grinned.
“Even for a lemonade stand?” Tom shot back. They both laughed.
The situation Tom and Jim faced is typical. Many teenagers have a hard time finding a summer job, especially if they put off worrying about it until school is over. For those who haven’t yet arranged for employment, the time to start thinking about it is immediately. Even those who figure they’re too young to get anything but a “try again next year” response from prospective employers would do well to begin brainstorming now about ways to invest their time away from school. Perhaps they’ll decide to follow Tom and Jim’s example and hire themselves this summer. It’s a viable alternative to teenage unemployment.
It would be wise, however, to keep in mind that going into business means assuming responsibility. Many communities have laws requiring licensing, payment of taxes, business permits, food-handling permits, work permits, liability insurance, and inspection of facilities, regardless of the age of the proprietor.
In the United States, state offices of the U.S. Department of Labor can furnish guidelines concerning both agricultural and nonagricultural labor laws governing youth employment. Most states also have a state Division of Labor or similar agency that will gladly furnish a copy of youth employment regulations. Many other countries have ministries of labor or other governmental agencies that provide information about labor laws for those under a prescribed age, usually 18. Most of the work ideas mentioned in this story require no special permit or license and are legal when conducted on a neighborhood basis, but regulations vary, and it’s a good idea to double check the law if there are any questions.
There are many ways to learn new talents, earn the respect of friends and neighbors, provide service, and gain some income at the same time. Perhaps the following list will generate additional ideas.
Take care of things during summer that people normally put off until the last minute. For example, if you know how to use and have access to a camera and a darkroom, make photo Christmas cards ahead of time. Ask for help if necessary. Then make up some samples to exhibit. Take pictures while there is sunshine and good weather to pose them in; then deliver the cards early in the fall so customers have three months to address and mail them.
Summer’s a good time for cleaning rain gutters, changing air filters on furnaces, or cleaning out fireplace ash traps, before winter storms make the chores miserable.
Even people who do plan ahead often forget things when they come down to the wire. Why not combine a wake-up telephone agency with a reminder service? People might pay to have a cheery greeting reminding them to get out of bed on time, and they would certainly be glad to know they could depend on someone to remind them about birthdays, anniversaries, or critical business appointments.
Advance preparation includes storing up reserves. Help prepare fruits and vegetables for canning and learn valuable homemaking skills at the same time. Or chop and bundle firewood, including tree branches pruned and discarded by neighborhood gardeners. One group of teenagers spent the Christmas holidays stockpiling unwanted Christmas trees, then spent the summer trimming off the branches and sawing the trunks into logs so they could sell firewood in the fall.
By now you should be catching on to the job discovery method the same way Tom did when Jim started discussing garbage cans. Just think of things other people would be willing to pay to have done. Here are more ideas:
Wash and brush pet dogs and take them out for a walk; polish silverware; establish a mending service to sew on buttons and repair torn sleeves; help neighbors haul trash to the dump; wash shower curtains and repair their torn eyelets; form an oven-cleaning brigade that will also make refrigerators and sinks sparkle, for a modest fee; form a garage cleaning troupe. Two high school football players talked their fathers into lending them the money to purchase some wrecked cars and a piece of ground to store them on. They built a shed for an office, removed serviceable parts from the cars, inventoried them, and established a solid reputation for providing dependable used parts. When school reconvened, they sold their business at a profit.
Keep thinking, now. Try doing things people can’t do, don’t know how to do, or don’t like to do. Help a summer school teacher record grades or correct papers. Write letters for someone. Or stencil or etch identification codes on property to discourage burglars. Make puppets or sew doll clothes. One group of enterprising young people spent their summer making maps showing points of interest in their community. They were able to make a little money and also learned a lot about their town.
Be careful learning new skills, though. Several BYU students started their own worm farm and met with great success, but a young California man took up beekeeping only to find his insects were pollinating eucalyptus trees, producing honey that tasted like cough syrup!
Lots of people would like to do thoughtful things but don’t find time. Why not run a “Dial-a-Smile” company. Anonymous services could include birthday cakes, singing telegrams, running errands, or cooking dinners.
People also run out of time for certain tasks. Help them fight procrastination by regularly vacuuming and chlorinating their swimming pool; watering all the plants in an office building; sorting, labeling, and organizing old photos and papers; making an official scrapbook for a civic club; or conducting a garage sale.
Build on creative ideas and talents. Prepare visual aids and bulletin boards; make signs, posters, or greeting cards; have a bedtime story service for young children; organize neighborhood puppet shows, art lessons, or informal concerts for younger kids (they’d be glad for the change of pace from regular babysitting, and you and your friends would get a chance to practice before an audience); offer to plan birthday parties, picnics, or dinner dates for brothers, sisters, neighbors, or friends and supply all food and entertainment; make and sell your own cookbook (without plagiarizing, of course); or organize an advertising agency for all the other kids who need publicity (run off handbills on a mimeograph machine and distribute them).
Save others money by doing things less expensively. It may not be feasible to run a copy center, for example, but how about organizing a center specializing in collating, hole punching, and stapling after photocopies are made; or one that addresses and stamps envelopes for large companies, freeing secretaries for work requiring more technical skill. If your friends are brave, they might even hire you to give them a haircut! Or save money yourself by becoming a car washer who specializes in house calls, using the customer’s water instead of your own.
Some jobs, of course, are traditional, but if you approach them from a new angle, they can be modified from mundane chores into exciting, or at least profitable, endeavors. Try specializing: One fellow was earning money repairing flat bicycle tires when he also discovered he could use the same kit to patch the elementary school’s punctured playground balls. Now he has a regular agreement with the school to maintain their playground equipment.
Take youngsters you baby-sit to a park, museum, playground, or play. Make sure, though, to keep them under control and to obtain parental permission before going. Instead of just regular cleaning, specialize in one or two things: become a chrome polisher for cars (most car washers fail to remove rust and tar from bumpers and hubcaps); instead of just painting, become a whitewashing or a trim expert; learn how to sharpen and repair garden tools; study cement work; plant trees. Governmental forest services in several countries hire local residents near forests to plant and thin trees, but with this and other jobs involving formal organizations, it may be necessary to obtain a work permit, generally issued only to those 16 years old or older, and to contract ahead of time for a specific number of acres. Contact regional foresters for details.
A specialist in cleaning and repainting small boats could readily establish a clientele. Or concentrate on polishing furniture. Rather than just taking care of someone’s yard, become involved in planning what will be planted, perhaps studying enough to know which plants will ripen when. In doing yard work, vary the routine to add some spice by forming a partnership with a friend and alternating tasks. Besides painting house numbers on sidewalks, clean, repair, and paint mailboxes.
One other idea—anything you know how to do, you can teach to others. Many young women spend summers teaching younger children how to do everything from macrame to horseback riding. A high school auto mechanic spent part of one summer teaching ladies in his neighborhood how to change flat tires, measure the battery fluid level, change oil, check tire pressure, and do other minor maintenance on their cars.
Your brain gears should be well warmed-up and cranking by now. If ideas are flowing, take a moment now to write them down. Don’t worry about how silly they seem at first; judge them later. When the brainstorming list is finalized, however, it might be wise to review it, keeping in mind some of the following suggestions:
1. It’s a lot more enjoyable to do something fun. Enthusiasm will shine through, sometimes securing a job that otherwise would have gotten away.
2. In order to do a job immediately, it’s vital to already possess required skills and manpower. It may be necessary to wait until some training is completed.
3. Do you have the necessary tools and money to get started?
4. Can parents or friends lend help and advice if you get in a jam? Do you have your family’s support?
5. Once the enterprise is on its feet, let people know about it. Word-of-mouth will help, of course, but so will small classified ads or inexpensive handbills. Don’t overdo it. Do some work free for friends so that they will generate publicity.
6. If others are working with or for you, are they reliable? Your reputation may depend on them. Will supervision be required?
7. Some jobs require transportation. Not having a car, truck, or license may limit efforts to particular types of employment and may also reduce marketing area.
8. It’s hard to compete with real professionals. You’re selling comparatively amateur services, even though conscientiousness, honesty, and lower costs are generally on your side. Be frank about what can and can’t be done.
A summer job can be one of the most enjoyable parts of the school vacation, opening up the opportunity to develop new skills, eliminate boredom, and bolster self-confidence. Even if the employment market seems grim, there are lots of things to do around the neighborhood that will display resourcefulness. It’s not important to use the ideas listed here. Careful thinking adapted to local situations will generate others perhaps more practical for your area. Whatever works in a specific locality is fine. The point is, with so many things that can be done by hiring yourself, work is attainable.
Also, keep in mind the stepping-stone theory. The way your time is spent during junior high and high school summers may affect your potential for both future summer work and later, full-time employment. Mentally probe the future to see where what you’re doing will lead.
The real secret to finding a summertime job is to get busy long before vacations arrive. It’s too late to do that for this summer, but it isn’t too early to lay plans for next year. Here are some articles previously published in the New Era that offer valuable guidelines about steps to follow in applying for work:
“You Can Make It in the Summer Job Market,” by Jon M. Taylor, May 1972, p. 46.
“Summer Jobs: Keeping the One You Have or Creating a New One,” by Jon M. Taylor, June 1972, p. 42.
“What to Consider When Choosing a Vacation Job,” by Brian Kelly, April 1971, p. 40.
“Finding What Is Available,” by Robert Ghoslin, April 1971, p. 42.
“Canadian Jobs,” by Brian Woodford, April 1971, p. 43.
“How to Get That Vacation Job,” by Lynn Eric Johnson, April 1971, p. 44.
“What to Do If You’re Going Away to Work,” by Charlie L. Stewart, May 1971, p. 5.
“What About Summer Work?” Policies and Procedures, May 1971, p. 39.

I’m grateful that our youth leaders planned a visit to the temple. As we were preparing for this trip to Apia, Samoa, we were happy for this rare opportunity. We joyfully went into the temple to do baptisms for the dead—for those who are in the spirit world waiting for us to find our family history and do work for them.
During baptisms, I saw a young man in our group baptized for Faataga Agavale, my grandfather. I felt tears of joy in my eyes, and I knew his spirit was there. I was very happy we were able to do work for him in the temple.
Saini Agavale, Samoa

I would like to use my own family as an illustration of what I have in mind. Mother and I were filling a mission together over in Holland when we had a little girl born to us, and after we had been home a few years she passed away. When she was born, my wife has told me over and over again that she felt she saw an angel bring that spirit to her. And yet she is gone. Then I think of her four sisters. You voted here today to sustain one of them as a counselor in the general presidency of the Relief Society. Her other three sisters are just as noble and wonderful, although their talents may be just a little different.

When I think of this little one that we laid away when she was three-and-a-half years old, I thank God I have the faith to believe that God reigns in the heavens above and in the earth beneath and that this little one will ultimately enter into her glory and be equal to any of her four sisters who have tarried here upon this earth and raised their families. I thank God for the statement of the apostle Paul when he said that “If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.” (1 Cor. 15:19.) In this brief period of mortality, it would not be possible for God to accomplish for all of his children all that he has in mind for them, the ones that are true and faithful.

I think of the statement of Moses as recorded in the Pearl of Great Price: “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” (Moses 1:39.) I wonder sometimes if we ever stop to analyze that statement. I think we can understand what “to bring to pass immortality” is, that we will never die after we come forth in the resurrection, as President Romney pointed out this morning. But what about eternal life? As I interpret this, I find in it the feeling that all that God has ultimately planned for his children who are faithful and true shall come to them in his own due time.

We read in the Book of Mormon that we are not all born at the same time (and that doesn’t matter) and that we don’t all die at the same time. (See Alma 40:8.) I think of the words of Abraham when he saw the placing of the spirits here upon this earth, that the Lord would prove them to see if they would do all things whatsoever he had commanded them. Then he adds: “And they who keep their first estate shall be added upon.” (Abr. 3:26.) That was in the spirit life before we came to mortality. “They who keep their second estate shall have glory added upon their heads for ever and ever.” (Abr. 3:26.) This little girl of ours kept her second estate as far as she could at her age.

Then I think of the statement of the Lord to the Prophet Joseph Smith when he said: “The works, and the designs, and the purposes of God cannot be frustrated, neither can they come to naught.” (D&C 3:1.) In other words, no one can stand in the way of God achieving what he has decreed for his children. Then a further statement in the Doctrine & Covenants where the Lord said: “His purposes fail not, neither are there any who can stay his hand. From eternity to eternity he is the same.” (D&C 76:3–4.)

Then there are the words of the Lord to the prophet Nephi when he said: “For my work is not yet finished; neither shall it be until the end of man, neither from that time henceforth and forever.” (2 Ne. 29:9.) Now that should enable us to comprehend and realize that there will never be a time when God will cease to do his work to bring to pass, as we read in the Pearl of Great Price, the glory that will be added upon their heads forever and ever.

Coming back to our family, we had four daughters before we got a boy and he grew into beautiful young manhood; we lost him in an accident down at the beach in California while I was the president of the stake there. He was just turning 16 and he stood as tall as his father, and to think now of his own brothers who are here: they have their families, and one of them has just been serving as one of the Regional Representatives of the Twelve. I can’t believe that boy will come out any less exalted in the eternities that are to come than his brothers who have lived here in mortality. When he died, the principal of the high school came to our home (and he was not a member of the Church) and told Sister Richards that our son was the best boy he had ever had in his school, and we felt that, too, as he grew into manhood.

My parents weren’t very happy about my baptism. My father even made me give him my word that I would never preach “Mormonism” to him.
Ten years passed, during which time I met a young lady, taught her the gospel, baptized her, and married her in the Idaho Falls Temple. All that time, even though we were active in the Church, I kept my word and never mentioned the Church to my father.
Then one day he said to me, “You never are going to mention it, are you?”
We both knew what he meant.
“No,” I replied.
“Well then, would you answer a couple of questions?” he asked.
His questions indicated that he had done some serious thinking. After I answered them, I kept quiet, even though I could tell he wanted to know more.
“Well,” he said impatiently, “aren’t you going to tell me any more?”
“No,” I answered. A long quiet followed. Then I said, “I can tell you have been doing a lot of thinking about the gospel. Since we’re so close, I don’t think I should try to teach you. But I know two fine young men who can answer your questions and tell you about the gospel.”
“Ray, I’ve heard about those two fine young men. One minute you’re having a few questions answered and the next minute you’re being baptized.”
“I’ll tell you what,” I said, “I’ll let them know that these will be informational discussions only, and that if they try to pressure you in any way, I’ll personally ask them to leave. And if you don’t mind, I’ll sit there during the discussions to make sure they keep to the agreement.”
“All right,” he said, “but if they pressure me to be baptized I’ll show them out of the house.” I assured him there would be no pressure.
The following Tuesday evening, my parents and I sat and listened to the missionaries present the gospel. I was pleased and a little surprised when my father said that everything they said was just common sense and that he believed it. After the second discussion, which both my parents accepted, the missionaries did what they were not supposed to do but which the Spirit prompted them to do: They challenged my father to be baptized. Before I could say anything, he answered, “Yes, I will.” Mother agreed. Appointments were made for the next discussions the following week.
That Sunday, I received a phone call from my youngest brother. His voice choked with tears. All he could say was, “Ray, … father is dead … Auto accident. …” I wept at the loss of my good friend, confidante, companion, and father.
A year later we went to the temple to do my father’s work. During the session, as I acted as proxy for him, good feelings told me that I was doing something he wanted me to do.
When we were in the sealing room to have him sealed to his parents, a warm glow came over me as we knelt around the altar. I knew my father was there in spirit. Looking at the temple president, I saw tears in his eyes. “Brother Snelson,” he said, “tell me about your father.” I started to tell him of the love and closeness I felt for him, but he interrupted me: “No, no—what did he look like?” As I described father, a gentle smile came across the temple president’s face.
After completing the sealing, he asked everyone but me to step out of the room for a moment. Taking me by the hand, he led me to the side of the room and we sat down next to each other. By then both of us had tears in our eyes, and the room felt as if it were filled with electricity. The temple president asked, “You know, don’t you?” “Yes,” I replied quietly.
He continued, “Your father was standing right behind you.”
Again I wept, this time for joy.

On another occasion, I met a young man 14 years of age who was a superb tennis player. He had won all of the tennis tournaments in his class in an area that included several states. He had reached the semifinals of a very important tournament that was to take place in a distant city. As he arrived there, he found that he was scheduled to participate on Sunday. He went to the officials and told them he didn’t play tennis on Sunday; whereupon he was informed that if he wanted to play in this tournament, he would play on Sunday. He again indicated he would not play on Sunday, knowing that not to do so would mean he would forfeit the match. As it happened, the matches were rained out on Sunday. He played on Monday and won.

He then went by bus with the other finalists to another major city to compete in the championship matches that covered the entire Atlantic seaboard of the United States. They arrived on Sunday. The coach instructed the contestants to get out on the tennis courts and practice immediately upon arrival. This young man did not go to the tennis courts. The coach asked him why he wasn’t practicing. He said, “I don’t play tennis on Sunday.” The coach asked him why. His response was, “I am a Mormon.”

I suppose he wanted to win the championship for his age group more than anything else, and yet he himself had made the decision that keeping the Sabbath day holy was more important than being a champion in tennis. You see, he had found himself and had the courage and integrity to live his life according to the principles he had been taught, and he had made his decision regardless of social pressures.

One month ago I turned 13, and my mom wanted me to start reading the New Era, so I started looking through some old copies. In the April 1973 issue I read an article called “Becoming Saviors on Mount Zion,” which explained that we should never stop giving—not gifts of money but of service to others. All my life my sister had helped me and I had never helped her. Just then she walked into the room and said she had to get the dishes done in half an hour and that she was too tired to do them. Right then I told her I would do them, but of course, she wouldn’t let me do them alone; she had to help.
In the last month my sister and I have become very close. We have been sneaking around helping each other and doing our work together. You know, it’s a lot more fun helping someone. Before it was just me trying to keep the commandments, but now it’s both of us. My sister has told me how much she appreciates me bringing her closer to the Lord. I don’t think it was me so much as it was the New Era.
Name Withheld

Let me share with you a personal example. I was baptized when I was a young adult, the first one in my family to join the Church. After my conversion, the Holy Ghost helped me recognize some of my weaknesses. In response to my question "What lack I yet?" the Spirit told me I needed to overcome my fiery temper.

I was overly competitive when playing basketball or racquetball or anything where someone was keeping score. I had embarrassed myself a few times by losing my temper over a ballgame. I asked the Lord to help me overcome this weakness, and He heard my prayers.

Gradually, I was blessed with more patience in all areas of my life. I knew I was making progress when my mother said one day, "You have really changed ever since you joined the Mormon church. You won't even argue with me anymore." I considered that a great compliment. If you should find yourself challenged in the same way, if you find you could use more patience--why not ask? Patience is a spiritual gift.

It was Wednesday night—and it was snowing, a rare occurrence in our mid-Texas town. I stood at the door to the church, watching as snowflakes tumbled to the ground, changing the asphalt outside into a field of white. The youth in our ward were in high spirits as they streamed in for Mutual. Their laughter bounced along the hallways and reminded me of music.
Tonight I didn’t follow them into opening exercises. The draw of the snowstorm was too strong, and I remained at the window. I smiled as I remembered the snowball fights and igloo-building contests of my girlhood in Salt Lake. Back then, snow wasn’t cold; it was pure fun.
I was lost in these thoughts when Jack, a priest, tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Sister Shaw, we’re ready to begin.”
I nodded. “Coming,” I said as I turned to take one last look at the snow.
That’s when I caught sight of Deirdre. She cut through the shrubbery that lined the church property and ran across the parking lot towards the building. Her brown hair, wet from the snow, flapped stiffly behind her. As she approached the lighted church, I saw that her hands were pulled deep inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt. She reached for the door, but the handle slipped from her grasp. I leaned forward and pushed the door open for her. Her breath came out in a wild fog before my eyes as she scampered inside.
She looked around, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.
“Deirdre?” I asked.
She looked at me like I was a complete stranger. And I might as well have been. Although I had been her Primary teacher six years ago when she was baptized, I hadn’t seen her since that time. No wonder she didn’t remember me.
But I remembered her. What an exciting year that had been for Deirdre! Not only was she baptized, but her mother had remarried. They moved into a beautiful home just outside the city. Her stepfather was soon called to a position of leadership, and her mother served as a Sunbeam teacher.
Then things began changing. Deirdre, usually talkative in class, seemed to withdraw from her peers. Next, her family stopped attending church, but no one knew why. Back then, I reasoned that this newly formed family was having some adjustment problems that, in time, would straighten themselves out.
I was wrong.
Several months ago, our Young Women presidency attempted to visit Deirdre at home, but like every home and visiting teacher before us, we were politely refused at the door by her parents. Needless to say, I was astonished to see Deirdre at Mutual.
“I’m Sister Shaw,” I said, smiling at her. I taught you in Primary a long time ago. I’m the Young Women president now.”
She looked at me blankly as chills shook her body. She was a petite girl, barely five feet tall.
“Come with me,” I said, putting my arm around her tiny shoulders. “I’ll introduce you to everyone. Do you remember Stephanie? You two were little chatterboxes in my class! She’s the Mia Maid class president.”
Deirdre nodded as we walked into opening exercises together. But before I could make any introductions, Stephanie rushed toward us. “Deirdre!” she called enthusiastically.
“Stephanie?”
The two girls hugged, then Stephanie introduced her to everyone. Although Deirdre appeared shy at first, she warmed up to the others quickly and was soon drinking hot chocolate in the kitchen with them.
As Mutual ended, I handed Deirdre a Personal Progress book and asked her to look it over. “Next week we’ll set some goals for you. Will you be here?”
“Of course she will,” Stephanie chimed in. “Now that I’ve found her, I won’t let her go!”
Deirdre’s face shone as the two girls left the building, their feet making tracks in the new snow. I watched Stephanie open the door of her mother’s van for Deirdre. I felt certain we’d be seeing more of her.
But Deirdre didn’t come the next Wednesday. Stephanie said she and her mother had stopped at her house to pick her up, but no one had come to the door. I asked if Stephanie was certain Deirdre had planned to come.
“Yes. We talked on the phone, and both times she said she wanted to come to Mutual.”
“I wonder what happened.”
“I don’t know, Sister Shaw,” Stephanie remarked, “but I don’t think her stepfather wanted her to come. The second time we talked, he picked up the other line and demanded to know who I was and how I knew his daughter. When I told him, he got real quiet, and then got off the line. A few moments later Deirdre said she had to hang up. And she did. I mean, she hung up on me.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
I tried paying a visit to Deirdre’s home that week. Although I could hear people inside, no one answered the door. I called several times during the week, but the phone rang and rang, like a timer with no one free to answer it.
We saw Deirdre sporadically over the next few months. It seemed that each time she did come to Mutual, she was reluctant to go home. She’d linger at the drinking fountain or in the cultural hall. Deirdre was always the last one out of the building.
Eventually Deirdre began spending weekends at Stephanie’s and attending sacrament meeting. I wondered what Deirdre’s family would think if they could see the tears that silently slipped from her eyes each time the sacrament was passed.
Finally, I arranged to speak privately with Stephanie concerning Deirdre. The next Wednesday that Deirdre didn’t attend Mutual, we met alone in a classroom. I said, “I’m worried about Deirdre.”
Stephanie nodded. “You’re not alone.”
I smiled. “Lots of people care very much about her—but she doesn’t seem happy.”
“She’s not.”
“Do you know why? I want so much to help her, but she doesn’t open up with me. Is there a problem at home?”
Stephanie shrugged. “Sometimes I think she’s afraid of her stepfather.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, she and her mother try to keep him from knowing some of the things she does. He doesn’t know she’s with me as much as she is. Or that she comes to church. I think they’re afraid he’ll stop her from coming.”
“That must be awful for her.”
“Yeah,” Stephanie continued thoughtfully, “but she never really tells me what she feels about it. In fact, she never really talks to me about anything personal—just shopping and movies and stuff like that.” Stephanie sighed and looked at the floor. “Sometimes Deirdre seems so closed up, like a locked room—and I don’t know how to get inside to see who she is.” She paused, looking up at me. “Does that make sense?”
I nodded. My heart ached. I knew exactly what Stephanie meant. Every time Deirdre came to Mutual, she and I sat together to discuss her Personal Progress. Our conversations were always superficial. Even though I’d open my heart to her, she never expressed any deep feelings or thoughts to me, either.
Stephanie tucked her feet beneath her chair, “Sometimes I don’t think being Deirdre’s friend is enough.”
I nodded. “That may be true,” I said, “but friendship is all any of us has to offer her right now. At least until Deirdre offers us something in return—her trust.”
One night in April, I was called home from Mutual early because my two-year-old was having an asthma attack. My child recovered after receiving medical treatment, but, as I prayed at my bedside that night, I felt impressed to return to Mutual. Looking at the clock, I realized that Mutual would be well over by now. I ignored the feeling and got into bed. About three minutes later, I remembered that I had left my purse on a chair as I hurried away. I decided I better follow the prompting and retrieve my purse. Explaining to my husband, I dressed and headed out.
After unlocking the church door and letting myself in, I was able to quickly find my purse. As I turned to leave, I noticed that the light in the chapel was on. I pushed open the double doors and reached for the light switch.
A chill crept up my back when I heard the distinct sound of heavy breathing inside the chapel, yet I could see no one.
My voice trembling, I called, “Is someone here?”
No answer. Repeating myself, I walked forward, my eyes scanning each pew. The breathing became louder as I moved toward the front. “Who’s here?” I repeated.
A slight movement made me whirl to my right.
And there she was. Deirdre. Sound asleep on the fourth pew, center aisle, on her side, her left arm under her head, her right strewn across her ears. I let out a long sigh of relief.
“Deirdre,” I said softly, moving toward her. My mind was reeling with questions. Why was she sleeping here? Was she all right? Did her parents know where she was? Why hadn’t she gone home?
“Deirdre, wake—” and then I stopped and stared at her arm where her sleeve had pulled high, revealing a series of deep purple marks—bruises. I looked closer. Some of the welts looked like they had been made by someone’s fingers. Others were too large for that. My heart fell.
I sat beside Deirdre and gently called her name as I took her hand.
Like a snapped rubber band, Deirdre jerked away from me, automatically curling into a protective ball, her back to me.
“Deirdre,” I said softly, “it’s me. Sister Shaw.”
Turning, she muttered sheepishly, “How embarrassing.”
I reached for her again, this time pulling her closer. With one arm around her shoulder and the other holding her hand, I hugged her. Tears filled my eyes, and I looked from her wounds up to the brass pipes of the organ. In a voice barely above a whisper, I asked, “Are you being hurt at home?”
I felt a singular nod against my shoulder. I wanted to tell her everything would be all right, but I couldn’t. Instead, I told her I loved her. Stephanie loved her. Heavenly Father loved her.
“Deirdre,” I said, “we will help you. We can get you help. I’m going to call the bishop right now.”
Deirdre surprised me by pulling back. “No,” she said emphatically through her tears.
“But he knows better than I do what—”
“No,” she repeated, wiping her eyes. “I don’t need to talk to the bishop.”
“But—” I stopped when she whirled and pounded her fist against the pew.
“No!” she shouted. “I don’t have anything to talk to the bishop about! It’s not my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong. He makes me—” Her voice shriveled up, but she didn’t have to say another word. Suddenly I understood that the wounds this young woman had suffered were much deeper than the bruises on her arms.
The air in the chapel stilled as I asked, “Your stepfather?”
She groaned as her head nodded. “But it’s not my fault …”
Again I hugged her and we wept together. “No,” I murmured, “it’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong.” Never in my life had I spoken truer words.
Ten years have passed since I made that telephone call to the bishop, with Deirdre’s permission. He met us in his office within 30 minutes. Although I cannot say Deirdre’s pain ended that night, I can say that her healing began. I know she has shed many tears over the years, but each tear that has fallen from her eyes has chipped away at the ache and anger in her soul.
Today, I am once again watching as Deirdre’s eyes fill with tears. But my arms are not the arms which will hold her today. It is not my hands which clasp hers as she kneels across the altar, dressed in a gown of sparkling white, with a young man who is promising before God in His most holy house to cherish her in the way heaven intended, as a wonderful, worthy daughter of God.