Gospel Story Finder

Imagine waking up to the smell of smoke, the sound of screams and gunshots, the sights of looting and beating. Imagine racially inspired violence so dangerous that schools close and curfews are imposed for days.
This tragic scenario might seem like something you’d see in a movie—the kind your parents and leaders would probably recommend you avoid—but during late April and early May this year LDS youth in the Los Angeles area actually lived it. They saw the rioting. They knew people who looted. They watched familiar buildings burn to the ground.
Yet even while the ashes were still smoldering, the Young Women of the Los Angeles area were busy putting the finishing touches on a long-planned multistake conference that would unite nearly 500 LDS young women of various ethnic backgrounds and affirm that the gospel offers peace to everyone.
The six-hour conference featured an address from Young Women General President Janette Hales. Her message focused on how the fundamentals of personal religious behavior, things like reading the scriptures, praying, and keeping the commandments, can get you through life’s trials and keep you close to Heavenly Father, no matter what is going on in the world around you.
The conference also included 15 workshops covering subjects like dating, preparing for a mission, self-defense, sign language, and baby-sitting. It was just what the doctor ordered for the girls after the tragedy of the weeks before. But the memories for some of the young women were still vivid.
“We went to the store before they burned it to get some food,” said Virginia Smith of the Inglewood Stake. “It was crowded. All of a sudden people were screaming and running to the back. Someone said there were people there with guns. So my mom said to get on the floor, ’cuz if they shoot, they’re not going to shoot down there. Then someone said they went out. The next chance we got, we headed for the door, got in our car, and left.”

The talent concert gave them the perfect opportunity to prove that. Take Amy Ravsten, a 17-year-old from Garland Third Ward, for example. When she heard that the young women in her stake would be performing, she offered to teach the girls in her ward a jazz routine she’d learned at cheerleading camp. A real sense of camaraderie developed as six girls of varying aptitudes worked together to perfect the dance.

For gymnast Kim McCauley, a 14-year-old from the Rockwall Ward, “someday” began when she was a toddler. She was walking at six months, running at eight months, and by the time she hit three, her parents decided they’d better find a way to channel her energy, or they’d be exhausted in the chase. They enrolled her in gymnastics classes, and today, she not only is a top competitor on her high school team, but she also uses her talent in her spare time to teach gymnastics classes for small children.

Instead of waiting for “someday” to take time to really get to know and enjoy the rest of her family, 12-year-old Stephanie Smith of the Dallas Fourth Ward learned a family talent that would send them touring the state and the country. The family took up clogging, a misleading term for a high-energy form of tap dance. Through it, she learned all about keeping in step with the rest of the family. “It’s really helped us with our unity,” she says. “Although it’s sometimes hard to get everyone together to practice, we feel a real closeness when we perform.”

“Someday I’ll be a great piano player … when I have time to practice,” is a foreign phrase to Susanna Olsen, who proved that she already has mastered the instrument. She dashed off a Rachmaninoff opus as if she’d written it herself. Members of the Richardson First Ward know that they can come to Susanna whenever they need an accompanist. She’s more than willing to oblige them.

Sherry Blanpied, a 13-year-old from the Richardson Second Ward, had no intention of waiting for “someday, when I’m good enough,” to display her dramatic talents. She performed a monologue right after winning first place with the same piece in a school competition held earlier that day.

These girls and many more were able to shower the stake with their talents. And for those who had talents that were not easily displayed on stage, such as soccer finesse or computer programming, their “someday” in the limelight came when they performed in one of three song and dance routines choreographed to include every girl who wanted to join in.

The conference theme came to life as the girls prepared for the concert. The price they paid to realize their dream of a successful show was a lot of time and effort. They passed up parties and various other school activities to meet a grueling rehearsal schedule, and some even missed going to their high school football games. That’s practically unheard of in Texas, where school spirit is as high as a lone star in the sky.

The girls in Dallas are just like most young women everywhere. In their spare time, they like to get together to talk and watch video movies, they like to go to dances, eat Mexican food, and go horseback riding. They’re especially proud of their new temple, and they go to the visitors’ center frequently. But in preparation for the conference, they put most of their other activities on the back burner and concentrated on “paying the price” to make it a dream come true.

Michelle DeMarco, 13, of the Richardson First Ward, even gave up a part in a school play to participate in the conference. Michelle, who lives and breathes theater, insisted “it was worth missing the school play to come to this. I’ve really enjoyed being together with everyone here.”

Michelle’s mother was right there supporting her from the rehearsals through to the actual production. “My mom has helped me with everything,” said Michelle. “She’s always making me feel good about what I’m doing, and she’s always there to lift me up.” That’s the way it is with many of the mothers in the Richardson Stake.

“We just can’t stand by on the side of the river and watch these young women try to maneuver the rapids by themselves,” said Linda McCauley, who spearheaded the conference. Sister McCauley had three daughters involved in the day and feels that she needs to “jump on the raft with them … to share their experiences so they don’t float so far away and become strangers.”

Some mothers and daughters in the stake are so close it’s even hard to tell them apart. They share jokes, clothes, and friendships. They were more than willing to help with the other parts of the conference by spending long hours decorating for the elaborate luncheon and pulling together the programs, speakers, and handouts for the educational part of the day.

The informative portion’s purpose, according to Sister McCauley, was to “provide the girls with a positive, uplifting experience where they learned about their responsibilities to Heavenly Father, to themselves, and to others.”

These responsibilities were brought home to the girls during a multimedia presentation starring many familiar faces. Advisers had taken the time to interview some of the girls and discuss how they could pump the most from their talents.

A video clip was shown of Rebecca Duehring, a 15-year-old from the Rockwall Ward, gliding across the ice during one of her many intense ice skating competitions. Rebecca’s struggle to be a competitive skater hasn’t been easy. She was born with brain damage that limited her coordination and space perception. She could barely walk, was constantly falling, and had broken nearly every bone in her body. Then she took up ice skating, which, for some reason she can’t explain, helped her gain her coordination.

Although it takes more time and concentration for Rebecca to perfect her routines, she’s right up there with the best in town and dreams of one day going to the Olympics. “Sometimes I can feel that Heavenly Father is behind me, and I go for the top,” says Rebecca.

The girls were also treated to talks, workshops, and presentations by people who had paid the price to reach excellence. “Commitment is more than desire,” stake president Larry Gibbons told them in his speech. “Commitment implies action.” And in other workshops, the girls learned just what kind of actions they’d have to take to be successful in different aspects of their lives.

They were shown the literal prices they’ll have to pay when the time comes to support themselves. They shuddered as they saw just how far an average, 40-hour a week job paying $5 an hour would take them. After paying tithing, taxes, rent, food, gas, transportation, insurance, and utility bills, they’d be in the hole about $2,000 per year.

“This has really started me thinking about what I want to do,” said Ruth Vigil, 16, of the Richardson Third Ward. “I hadn’t really set any goals for my future occupation, but now I realize that I’ll have to.” Ruth is musically talented. She sings and plays the piano and is now thinking about ways to incorporate those talents in a future occupation.

“We wanted to help the girls change their lives and get moving into some sort of direction,” said Connie Riska, stake Young Women president. “They need to make some of their decisions now and not wait until they graduate from high school.”

The girls realize that not all of them will go on to become working women. “My ambition is to have ten kids. six cats, and five gerbils,” jokes 16-year-old Tami McCauley of the Rockwall Ward. Just in case her dream comes true, the conference helped her to realize that the experience she’s gaining now by helping her mother take care of her nine brothers and sisters is invaluable.

Tracy Rico, 17, of the Garland Third Ward, had her feeling reaffirmed that if she’s going to meet her goal of entering into the medical profession, it can’t hurt to start learning now. That’s why she’s working as a “sports medicine trainer” at her high school.

The girls were encouraged to think about their future goals in preparation for a very special fashion show that was also part of the conference. Each young woman either made or coordinated an outfit to wear, and as they were escorted down the runway, their achievements and dreams were capsulized by the emcee.

Amanda Wilson, 15, of the Richardson First Ward, was right in her element during this part of the day. Her mother began teaching her to sew when she was seven years old, and now you might wonder who is teaching whom. Not only did Amanda sew several outfits for the fashion show, but she designed them as well, making her own patterns.

Amanda is refining her talents now so that one day she can major in fashion merchandising and hopefully have her own designing business. But in the meantime, she uses her abilities by sewing for ward members.

Short-term goals were also met via the fashion show. “It was great because my mom and I worked together on my outfit,” said Jennifer Beckham, 15, of the Rockwall Ward. “We took a whole day to go pick out the material, and as we cut it out and worked on it, we just talked about all sorts of things. It was really nice.”

That feeling of unity and understanding seemed to characterize the day. Most people were a bit surprised when Melissa Lane, 13, modeled her outfit as it was announced that one of her major goals was to become a member of the Church.

Melissa later explained, “My aunt is a member of the Church and I live with her now. She lets me go to church, and it really makes me feel good. I’m starting to read the Book of Mormon, and my aunt is letting me subscribe to the New Era. My special friends here have helped me with my testimony, and this conference has too.”

Most of the girls agreed that the friendship they cultivated by sharing their talents with each other was one of the best parts of the conference. Many of the girls go to different schools and don’t have the opportunity to get together often. “I’ve grown so close to the people here,” said Tova Carter, 14, of the Garland Fourth Ward. “We learned that if we put our minds to something, we really can accomplish it.”

An elaborate luncheon, a fashion show presented by a local designer, and minimusical concerts performed by local professionals and local Suzuki violin students all added to the day as the young women struck it rich in Dallas.

The girls might not be able to buy expensive sports cars and luxurious wardrobes with the wealth they gained by tapping the well at their conference, but deep in the hearts of the young women in Texas, they know they struck something far more valuable.

“It’s important to remember we just didn’t start out cold,” David Sackett said. “Sixty-five miles is a lot of bicycling for one day. We worked for months getting in shape.” The training program required each Explorer to cycle 300 to 325 miles a month for the three months prior to the trip. Each participant had to ride at least four days a week. In addition, once each month the trainees pumped the pedals through a 75-mile practice run.
Squeezing in training around a summer job might seem like a burden, but Steve Fowler managed it well. “Kevin Jolley (the post president) and I would get up early, around 6:00 A.M., and go out on his paper route. When the route was done, we’d just keep on going. I had a late night job, so I could go home and rest before work. When it got hard practicing so much, I’d think that if I didn’t push myself, I’d run out of energy during the trip, or maybe I wouldn’t get to go. That made me work harder.”
Training sessions on bike maintenance (including instructions about which parts to carry in a seat or handlebar pack), safety and first aid (a first-aid kit was attached to each bike), and physical care during periods of strenuous exercise were also conducted throughout the summer. A local bicycle shop provided training and parts. The owner kept his shop open late for classes and worked with each boy individually. He wasn’t LDS, but he seemed eager to talk with the group members about their Church-related activities.
Andy Carlstrom described the orange T-shirts the group bought with funds raised for the trip: “We had them silk-screened with the name of our ward, post, and a map of our route on them. The color made us more visible to traffic and worked as a safety factor in our favor, and the shirts also identified the post as a group,” he said.
Nine post members made the trip, along with Herbert C. “Chuck” Carlstrom, post advisor, and Chet Harmer, a post committee man. They were joined at the third stop by the Young Men’s president, Dale Van Horn, and his wife, Beryl. In the “Sag Wagon,” as the supply van was nicknamed, rode Hank and Olga Machado and their two children, Mike and Andrea. Hank is another member of the post committee. Scott Mortensen, a recently returned missionary, accompanied them. Janine Van Horn joined the group in another truck along the route.
Brother Carlstrom, in his daily journal, narrates the contentment he reveled in one evening: “We made camp. Some of us wanted to sleep on the beach, but after a while we were forced to higher ground by the unusually high tide. … The day’s end caught most of us watching the beauty of the coast as wild fowl flew … before us. As the sun sank … , it filled the sky with all shades of reds and oranges, with slight traces of pink. … It was replaced by the moon, almost full, as it came over the mountains in back of us, painting the ocean’s surface with flickering light. It was soon joined by other heavenly bodies and God’s handiwork was displayed before us. We had just received our compensation for an afternoon of hard, uphill riding, and we all were thankful.”
Danny shared similar sentiments. “Being able to see nature and many of the things the Lord has created on the earth strengthened my testimony of the plan of salvation and the creation of the world. I never realized how much there was to see.” Bob Nelson said he felt the most impressive part of the trip was following the road along Pismo Beach. On the left mountains jutted up into the sky. On the right hundreds of feet below, ocean waves hurled themselves into the rocky shoreline, jetting streams of water high in the air. At the tops of hills, the view continued for 15 or 20 miles.
The trip’s itinerary, along with the distance covered each day, included: Monterey (70 miles), Kirk Creek south of Big Sur (65 miles), San Simeon State Beach (40 miles), Pismo Beach (51 miles), Gaviota State Beach (65 miles), McGrath State Beach (65 miles), Santa Monica (55 miles), and Anaheim (46 miles). The route from San Jose to Anaheim was part of a 1,000-mile Bicentennial bikeway that stretches from Oregon to Mexico. Many of the stops retraced—only backwards—the route taken by the founders of San Francisco, led by Juan Bautista de Anza from Mexico.
The journey offered glimpses into the past, reflecting the colonizing efforts of Spanish, Russian, and Mexican explorers. Forts, lighthouses, missions, and old mining and lumbering areas were passed on the road. The route also showcased the modern agricultural bustle of northern California.
The cyclists divided themselves into sub-groups of two or three. “It was the buddy system used all the time in Scouting,” Andy explained. “Each person is responsible for the others with him. That way no one gets lost or left alone.” Kevin noted that those who were fast or slow were paired together.
Brother Harmer said he felt the Lord had protected the group. “It’s interesting that we went about 6,500 man-miles with only one slight tumble as an accident,” he noted. Others chimed in their agreement, noting that all the flat tires occurred on level ground instead of on steep downhill grades, and most of them at the end of the day, just as the group pulled into camp.
Still, there were a few difficult moments along the way. One morning during the first part of the trip, the cyclists were enshrouded in a damp fog. They had to stop and dig deep in their gear to find jackets. One night they reached the scheduled campground and found it closed. A friendly ranger let them camp a mile away on the beach at a picnic ground.
Later, anticipating an easy trip on flat land, the riders were buffeted by strong headwinds, which slowed their progress almost as much as an uphill grade. Another time they battled two large hills, one 15 miles long and rising 1,500 feet, in temperatures that exceeded 100 degrees F. at 10:00 A.M. What was worse, the road veered inland, away from the cooling effect of the coastal waters.
“We learned to appreciate the ocean more after that,” Mike Powell said. “When we got back to the beach that night, just about everyone went swimming to cool off.”
The rough spots were worth enduring, though. “There’s not one person who went on the trip, including the leaders, with whom I don’t have something in common now,” Danny said.
The final Saturday, having put the bikes on the train the day before, the weary travelers boarded to return home. There was plenty of room to stretch out and relax, and soon they were snoozers, not bikers.
Somehow, though, when the train finally halted in San Jose and they had to remount their cycles for another seven-mile jaunt to the chapel, they seemed almost eager to be riding once again. Soon they would be home recuperating, sharing a slice of their saga with their families.

Joseph F. Smith was called to serve a mission to Hawaii in 1854 when he was 15 years old. Although young, he had already lived a lifetime of experiences. The last time he saw his father Hyrum and his uncle, the Prophet Joseph, was as they were riding on horseback out of Nauvoo when he was a five year old. He led a wagon team to Salt Lake at seven with his mother and sister. His mother passed away when he was 13 of an illness, leaving Joseph and his sister orphans. He was watched over by Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball. And then at 15 he left school after stopping his teacher from whipping his sister. President Young felt it was time for a special experience for Joseph and he was sent as a missionary to Hawaii. He served three missions: Hawaii, England and he later returned to Hawaii. When the Church’s storehouse burned down in 1856 he lost his clothing, family photographs, personal papers, and copies of the scriptures that had belonged to his father Hyrum.

After his first mission he returned to Utah by way of Los Angeles. That year Johnston’s Army was on the move for Utah, and there was much excitement and bitterness concerning the “Mormons.” Just after the little train of wagons had traveled only a short distance and made their camp, several anti-mormon toughs rode into the camp on horseback, cursing and swearing and threatening what they would do to the “Mormons.” Joseph F. was a little distance from the camp gathering wood for the fire, but he saw that the few members of his own party had cautiously gone into the brush down the creek, out of sight. When he saw that, the thought came into his mind, “Shall I run from these fellows? Why should I fear them?” With that he marched up with his arm full of wood to the campfire where one of the ruffians, still with his pistol in his hand, shouting and cursing about the “Mormons,” in a loud voice said to Joseph F., “Are you a Mormon?” And the answer came straight, “Yes siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.” At that, the ruffian grasped him by the hand and said, “Well you are the (blanket-blank) pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow. I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions” (Gospel Doctrine 518). Joseph F. had learned how to lead.

Stephen Fairbanks and Heather Colbert have lots of experience living in different worlds. Both of them should still be in high school but left a year early to attend a special college program at Clarkson University in Potsdam, New York. Then, on Sunday, they cross the U.S. border to attend their church meetings in Montreal.
“We have strong testimonies,” says Stephen. “It doesn’t matter where we come from, whether we are at an activity in Canada or in New York. We are all God’s children. Because of the way we are living, it doesn’t matter.”
Heather says she couldn’t agree more.
“It’s kind of neat to know the Canadians because we get to see what they are like and they get to see what we are like,” she says. “It kind of broadens our minds that we are all members of the Church. It’s like a universal language.”

In December of 1987, I had gotten my reassignment to be stationed in Hawaii after being stationed in North Carolina for four years. My wife and I were very happy to be going home because we were expecting our first child. We made the drive from North Carolina to California, just taking our time and enjoying our travel time.

While I was in California shipping my car home to Hawaii, I was told by my aunt, whom I was staying with, to call my mom as soon as possible. I called home, and my mom had said that my younger brother Douglas, my cousin, and a neighbor friend were missing out at sea. She said that I needed to get home right away, like on the next flight. My brother, cousin, and a friend were out fishing and had left from Kahana Bay the night before when their boat had capsized. The boat they were in sank, and they lost all the fish they had caught. My brother Douglas being the biggest of the three, kept them all from drowning by hanging on to the floating cooler that he had emptied out. All he could see in the dark of night was the lights at Laie Point, and so that is what he started to swim towards.

My father had prayed and had faith that the Lord would help my brother, cousin, and friend. He prayed that they would all be safe. After his prayer, he was given comfort by the Spirit to know that my brother was alive and okay. Early the next morning, my brother, cousin, and a neighbor friend were found by search and rescue not too far from laie point. That day my father showed us that the prayer of faith is the key to revelation from God. As a father, he prayed in faith, believing that God the Father would answer his prayer.

As you trust in the Lord and His goodness, the Almighty God will bless His children through you.16 Elder Hollings from Nevada learned that early in his mission. The day after he arrived in India, he traveled with Sister Funk and me to Rajahmundry, his first area. That afternoon Elder Hollings and Elder Ganaparam went to visit a Church member and her mother. The mother wanted to learn about the Church because she had seen how the gospel blessed the life of her daughter. Sister Funk joined them to provide fellowship. Because the lesson would be taught in English and the mother spoke only Telugu, a brother in the branch was there to interpret what was taught.

Elder Hollings’s assignment in his very first teaching appointment was to teach the First Vision, using the words of the Prophet Joseph. At that point in the lesson, he turned to Sister Funk and asked, “Should I say it word for word?” knowing it would be interpreted.

She replied, “Say it word for word so the Spirit can testify of what you say.”

When this new missionary sincerely taught the First Vision, using the words of the Prophet, the countenance of that dear sister changed. Tears appeared. As Elder Hollings finished that glorious message and before what he said could be interpreted, she asked through her tears in her native language, “May I be baptized? And will you teach my son?”

My young fellow servants, doors and hearts open daily to the gospel message—a message that brings hope and peace and joy to the children of God throughout the world. If you are humble and obedient and hearken to the voice of the Spirit, you will find great happiness in your service as a missionary.17 What a wonderful season it is to be a missionary—a time when the Lord is hastening His work!

Two young men jumped at the chance to complete their Eagle Scout requirements through service. The foundation was planning a trip to the Andes so it could build a medical post in Urubamba, but lots of preparatory work needed to be done at home first.

Scout John Tateoka gathered friends and family and coordinated a project of painting window frames, siding, and doors for the medical post. His fellow Scout, Adam Watts, contacted several construction suppliers for possible donations. In a short time, the necessary donations and work were complete, and supplies were shipped to Peru.

An old Swedish couple, Brother and Sister Palm, worked in the shoe shop of the Co-op Store in our town. Brother Palm’s hand was intriguing to watch as he mended the shoes. Jimmie and I would go to the shop just to watch him work his stiff fingers and see the hole that ran through the center of his palm.
Brother Palm didn’t like children chewing pine gum, so he’d always give us cobbler’s wax when we went to the shop.
One day when Jimmie and I were there we saw a dime in one of his tack cups and we both began to think about what that dime could buy.
“Brother Palm would never miss a dime,” I whispered to Jimmie.
“I’ll get Brother Palm to show me something in the rear of his shop while you take the money and run away,” Jimmie suggested.
The plan worked perfectly, and we each bought a bottle of soda water at Joe Coslett’s Novelty Store.
It took a long, long time for me to get over the guilty feeling I had about that dime. Every time I saw Brother Palm, I remembered I had stolen from him.
Each winter the ward sent the boys out on Saturdays to chop wood for the widows, the aged, and the disabled. I worked harder at the Palm home than anywhere else to try and work that dime off my conscience.
After I grew up I saw very little of Brother Palm. But, when I did, he would always put his crippled hand in mine, and then I’d remember the dime I took from his tack cup. I wanted to tell him about it and give him a dollar to quiet my conscience, but I lacked the courage to confess my dishonesty.
Later, I was hired as a clerk in the old Co-op Store where Brother Palm did all his business. When he traded with me, I always put ten cents’ worth more of goods in his sack than I charged him for. Then when he left, I’d put one of my own dimes in the cashbox and mark it “paid” on the store’s ledger.
Soon the old man learned that his money bought more from me, and he would not trade with any other clerk. When someone else offered to serve him he would say, “Thank you. I will wait for Brother Palmer.”
After a while I began to realize that I wasn’t clearing my conscience of that long-ago theft. The only way for me to stop feeling guilty about that stolen dime was to confess what I had done and ask his forgiveness.
The next time Brother Palm came to trade, I gave him his order as usual and asked him to come into the office for a little talk. I opened my ledger account and showed him how I had charged myself—“sugar to Palm 10¢,” “oatmeal to Palm,” “rice to Palm,” and so on, totaling $3.70. He was amazed and asked, “What does all this mean? Has Louisa been buying things and forgetting to pay for them?”
I answered, “No, it was not Sister Palm. You bought them yourself.”
He turned to me with a puzzled and challenging look and said, “There must be a mistake! I never buy ten cents’ worth of sugar, I buy a half dollar’s worth, and I always buy a quarter’s worth of rice or mush.”
Then I told him about the dime I had stolen long ago from his shop and how I was reminded of it each time I saw the hole in his hand. I explained that I had been trying all this time to square my debt by putting ten cents’ worth more of goods in his sacks than he paid for. “I paid the extra amount and then marked it paid in the ledger,” I continued.
Pointing to the list of figures I said, “You see, Brother Palm, I’ve paid my debt many times over, but I’ve found that I can’t clear my conscience that way, so I am telling you the whole story and asking for your forgiveness.”
The old man smiled and said, “Oh, Brother Palmer, I do forgive you. I’m only sorry you didn’t tell me sooner.”
Then he stood up and put out his hand for me to shake. My finger slid into the hole in his palm and at last the guilty feeling left me.

It was a Friday night much like any other. My closest friends and I were sitting in my apartment after watching a movie, periodically chatting quietly and then laughing loudly. A sense of genuine contentment filled the air, and I couldn’t help smiling as stories and ideas swirled through the room. Some of the people I had met only a month before; some I had known all my 25 years.
At one point one of these longtime friends and I got to sharing memories about some of our college friends from a few years earlier. As we talked, I thought of how I missed these friends, of how much fun we had had, and how close we had been. Now we had graduated and moved to places all over the world, finding ourselves in situations we never could have predicted. I sighed with momentary feelings of loss, then glanced around the room at the laughing faces surrounding me at that moment and was struck by the sudden thought: good things keep on coming.
That simple thought was actually quite profound for me, especially since I have always had a hard time facing change and am hesitant to let go of good things. I miss the past even while it is still the present, desperate to enjoy fully moments in which I consciously and determinedly live. I know when I have a good thing, and I want to hold on and never let go; this lazy and happy Friday night was one of those good moments. Usually when I realize how good things are, I instantly begin thinking of how everything is fleeting, that it will eventually be lost to time or circumstance.
But this night the internal regret didn’t come. Sitting quietly, surrounded by people I loved, I knew that even though some good things must naturally come to an end and that there would undoubtedly be many hard things in the future, the good things would keep on coming. And they always would—as long as I let them. Even as those I love moved on, voids would be filled with new and amazing people and experiences I had never even imagined.

As I grew older, I continued to be taught that same important lesson in different contexts. When I was 14 or 15, my older brother thought I should learn to drive. Without any training at all, he threw me the keys and told me I needed to drive him to the store. Everything was going fine until we started heading home and needed to make a right turn at a main intersection. Unfortunately, a police officer was turning left from the opposite direction at the same time and I ran him out of the single lane we were in. I learned quickly that just because you can drive without training or a license doesn’t mean you should. I also learned about the principle of mercy that day when the police officer let me off the hook.

When we got married, I found out that even in a small home like ours, there is tons of stuff to do. You can’t imagine how much stuff! In the beginning, I wasn’t really helping out. I did some little things, but Jackie was doing most of the work. She is very caring and giving. One day she became upset, and I’m like, “What’s wrong?”

I grew up thinking that girls were supposed to do all the housework. I quickly learned that was not realistic. Jackie was very busy and under a lot of pressure with her job. While I’m under a lot of pressure too, I realized that I should start doing more to help.

I started sweeping the floors and washing dishes. Then I learned how to use the washing machine. I put notes on it to help me remember. Seriously! I have a sticker to help me know which washing powder to use. These things have now become my habit.

It’s been good since I started doing things in the house. It has made Jackie happier.

One couple said:

“Serving a senior couple mission was our righteous desire, but we [faced] many challenges. We exercised our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ to have the Holy Ghost guide us in every step. Despite our challenges, we were blessed with peace and confidence to move forward. We were able to save sufficient funds for our mission, paid off debts, and organised our family. We are blessed to have a better relationship as husband and wife, as well as [with] each of our children.”

My best friend, Liz, and I were always eager for girls’ camp. Since we were 12, we had excitedly gone every year. The hot, muggy Texas weather didn’t bother us a bit. We loved spending time with the girls and leaders from our ward and stake, attending fun activities, and bearing our testimonies on the last night of camp. Now, as 18-year-olds, we were being given the chance to serve as music leaders in our seventh and final year before going to college.
The Saturday before camp started, we decided to drive to the location, an hour away from where we lived, to look at the unfamiliar campgrounds and get a feel for how to prepare our tent and cabin. Both of our mothers advised us not to go. They warned us that a storm was coming from the direction where we were headed. A thunderstorm in Texas is no small matter, especially in the early summer months of May and June. Downpours mixed with heavy thunder and flashes of lightning are not unusual. But we were excited and a bit rebellious, and we went anyway.
The moment we drove into the state park, immense drops of rain pounded the windshield of the small car I was driving. The wipers flipped back and forth, splashing the rain off. The sky was gray, and evening was quickly approaching. We didn’t have much time to find our campsite. We drove into the main part of the park, near a closed convenience store and park headquarters. The parking lot was empty, and everything looked secluded. There was no trace of anybody anywhere.
“What should we do?” I asked. “We can’t find these campsites from here.”
“Let’s walk around and see if a park ranger could help us,” she replied.
Wooden canoes, tied up to a dock on the lake, clanked together as fierce winds blew. The tall trees swayed back and forth, their leaves rustling together like pom-poms. Rain hit the lake like a million pennies falling from the sky. We quickly got back into the car.
“Maybe we should just go home,” I said. Just as I started the engine, though, a park ranger’s truck approached us. A stocky-built man stepped out and approached my vehicle. I rolled down my window, eyeing the state park badge sewn on the left sleeve of his stiff, brown button-up shirt.
He hunched over, tipping his ranger hat and placing his hands on his knees.
“Can I help y’all?” He asked. I could smell alcohol on his breath. I looked at Liz, and then back at him.
“We’re going to be attending a camp here this coming week,” I replied. “We just came to look for some campgrounds.”
“Oh,” he said. “I was just heading down that way. Why don’t you follow me?”
“Okay,” I replied, feeling unsure. I rolled up my window.
“Liz, that guy freaked me out,” I said. “Could you smell the alcohol on his breath?” I had a sick feeling in my stomach, which is the feeling I get when the Spirit is prompting me to turn away from a bad situation.
As the park ranger drove, we followed. Then we came to an intersection where we could choose to continue following the ranger or exit the park. For a moment, we stopped. I watched as his truck drove through the spillway into the camp. The water from the lake, which spilled over the road, reached halfway up the truck’s tires. I knew that my small car might get stuck on the spillway if the rain continued.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Liz, with urgency in her voice. I couldn’t ignore the sick feeling in my stomach. The Spirit was telling me that I shouldn’t continue to follow the park ranger. The truck drove one way and we drove the other, exiting the park. The farther away I drove, the better I felt. As we headed home, the raindrops pounding on the windshield lessened and eventually came to a complete stop.
I knew that we should have listened to our mothers, who were clearly more in tune with the Spirit than we were when they advised us not to go. I’m not sure exactly what danger we might have been in—it could have been with the ranger, who was a stranger, the stormy weather, or things completely unknown to us at the time. But the best part of the story is, we weren’t there to find out! I’m absolutely sure that we had to leave, and I’ve learned that when faced with a decision to make, following the inspired counsel of our parents and the promptings of the Spirit is the best and safest direction to take.

It’s Christmas Eve as we join this next family. They are at home in a strange city. It’s new to them. The father has to complete his professional training, and so the whole family had to be uprooted. At Christmastime, it is very difficult for them to be away from their extended families. They have just finished dinner as we enter the house, and so we’ll follow them into the family room.

The father says: “Children, Christmas is a time of great love. Our Heavenly Father loved us, his children, enough to send his Only Begotten Son into the world on that Christmas Day so long ago. He was to be the example of righteous living. He was to teach us how to grow close to our Heavenly Father. We must live worthy of that precious gift. This Christmas Eve I would like to give you a gift that is available to you only because Jesus was born. Because of him I hold the priesthood of God. With that power I would like to give each of you children a father’s blessing tonight. We will start with the oldest.”

One by one the children go to their father. They receive blessings suited to their special needs. Then we see each child, even the three-year-old, stand and tell how he or she has been blessed by the life of Jesus. The parents then testify to their children of the abundant blessings they have received from Jesus Christ.

I believe that those children will always remember this Christmas Eve. I believe that the example set by the parents of faith and prayer will be a directional force in the lives of their children. It is a needful thing to organize and to plan such experiences to be a part of one’s life. They don’t just happen.

In 1856, two handcart companies, with 1,075 pioneers under the leadership of James G. Willie and Edward Martin, left later in the year than planned, and they encountered early winter storms in present-day Wyoming (see Kate B. Carter, comp., Heart Throbs of the West, 6 vols. (1939–51), 6:360–61).

Peter Howard McBride, then but a boy of six years, was a member of the Martin Company. His father, after helping push handcarts through the icy river, died in the snow and freezing cold that night. Peter’s mother was sick; his older sister Jenetta watched out for the younger children. Her shoes had worn out, and her feet left bloody tracks in the snow. On the banks of the Sweetwater River the wind blew their tent down during the night. Everyone scampered out as the snow covered the tent—everyone except little Peter. According to his account: “In the morning I heard someone say, ‘How many are dead in this tent?’ My sister said, ‘Well, my little brother must be frozen to death in that tent.’ So they jerked the tent loose, sent it scurrying over the snow. My hair was frozen to the tent. I picked myself up and came out quite alive, to their surprise” (Peter Howard McBride, quoted in Susan Arrington Madsen, I Walked to Zion, 41, 43, 45–46).

It had been a one-step-forward, two-steps-back day for me. At 6:00 A.M. I tiptoed into my parents’ bedroom. “Psst, Dad, my alarm clock didn’t go off.” It was not until we were halfway to school that I realized my socks were each a different color, and that I had forgotten the homework I had stayed up until midnight to finish. Even though I slipped into the classroom only three minutes late, I was marked tardy by my smiling, but sharp-eyed teacher. You can probably guess that with such a terrific beginning, the rest of the day went downhill fast.
An unbelievable series of setbacks led to the final indignity, which occurred as I was running across the lawn to catch the bus for home. Almost as though there were a plot against me, they turned on the sprinklers.
By the time I staggered off the old yellow school bus, checked the mailbox, and plodded up the driveway, the only thing that kept me on course was the therapeutic thought of an afternoon with no obligations. Not one single thing I had to do. Just my own time—all mine!
As I drooped along nearing the house, I noticed a strange car. Upon shutting the back door and throwing my books toward the kitchen table, I called, “Whose car?”
“It’s mine and Dad’s,” came a six-year-old voice in answer. And who should come shooting around the corner but Aaron, my first-grade, out-of-town cousin. He sprang at me with a flying leap, wrapping himself around my legs in glad greeting.
“Uncle Dick brought Aaron along to help him,” Mom explained. Each time he came on business, Uncle Dick brought a different son, and this was Aaron’s turn. His first time. A big event.
Aaron is a beautiful boy. His blonde hair, blue eyes, and broad smile make me proud. He looked great standing there in little tennis shoes, faded jeans, and a gap-tooth grin that all but shouted, “I know you’re glad I came!” Ordinarily he’d be right. But not today.
So while everyone was caught up in conversation, I took a small year’s supply of cookies and started downstairs. Then I heard it. The big news was that Aaron was to stay with us the whole afternoon. My afternoon! I would be expected to spend my own private, precious time babysitting!
I slammed the bedroom door and turned up the radio extra loud, pretending I didn’t hear Mom’s call. Then I flopped down on the bed to figure out how I could make up a final in Algebra. I would have solved that, and other world problems, too, but the bedroom door was thrown wide. An eager Aaron was suggesting, “Hey, pal, let’s do something.”
“You go right ahead,” I muttered, turning my head away. Aaron pulled on my pant leg. “C’mon, Brad, let’s go for a walk.”
“Oh, joy, a walk!” I thought with a thud. But who could resist that full-face grin? Off went the radio, on went my jacket, away went my afternoon. Aaron grabbed my hand, dragged me up the stairs and out the door.
With explosive excitement Aaron began to show and explain all the mysteries of the world. Holding a dandelion under his pixie chin, he explained, “You know, if you like butter, you’ll get a yellow shadow. Try it, Brad.” And sure enough, I like butter.
Aaron’s next nature lesson concerned a cunningly soft, striped caterpillar discovered by fortunate accident. With profound observation Aaron remarked, “The reason caterpillars have so many legs is cause their moms had lots of legs, too. All babies are like their moms.”
As we built finger bridges for our caterpillar to make its ticklish way, my excitement grew to match Aaron’s. I began to see the world through freshened eyes. I had forgotten how much fun climbing a tree could be, or playing pirates in the leafy branches. The game was barely used before Aaron traded it in on a new entertainment.
“Look at those neat lines, Brad,” Aaron called, as he heaved a fistful of small pebbles into a spring puddle. They made neat ripples, and I watched them ripple and wear out against the shore. I stood wondering how I could have let myself forget all this. How could I have become so grown-up-busy as to forget the black-bordered pastel of butterfly wings, the crisp smell of wild flowers, the snow-nourished spring greenery of my mountains? How could I have passed them by day after day?
I had forgotten how high you can go on Grandma’s swing, or how good the sun feels after months of winter bundling. I had become so mired with mundane problems, I had forgotten to enjoy life. Only 16 years old and already I was so engulfed in monumental anxieties, I had simply forgotten small pleasures.
I picked up a pebble to jar the stillness of the small pool again. Then I noticed that Aaron was kneeling down all curled into a small-boy ball.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m being a rock. Can rocks feel, Brad?”
“Well, you’re a rock. How do you feel?” By now I was chuckling.
“I feel hard. C’mon, Brad. You be a rock, too.”
It seemed like forever that I lay curled up in the sun with a slight breeze creeping beneath my jacket. I loved it. I hadn’t taken the time to get that close to my earth for so long.
Aaron, the rock, was first to break our stony silence. He whispered, “Didn’t God make a beautiful world? And all for us. Boy! He must love us rocks.”
“You bet!” I agreed as I draped Aaron, the all-American twerp, around my neck with a swoop of joyful energy. Life was suddenly fresh, new, beautiful!
I was sorry to see Aaron go that evening. Really. What a world of good he had done his doddering old cousin as we had stretched out together on that moist, grassy hill, with eyes for nothing but the cloudless blue sea above. His chubby hand had reached for mine.
“Hey, Brad, let’s always be pals just like we are now. Pals forever.”
Behind my eyes I felt tears forming, childlike tears of joy. I rolled over to squeeze that miniature boy wonder.
“Yeah, pals,” I pledged. “Pals forever.”

“Here’s that video I was telling you about,” Jordan said, handing his friend a plastic case. “It’s got some cool stuff on it. Guns and stuff.”
“What’s the rating?” Blaine asked, opening the case and looking inside.
“Who cares? My mom lets me watch anything.” Jordan pulled on his roller blades. “Come on—put it in your backpack and let’s get to the park.”
As Blaine laced up his own roller blades, an uneasy feeling grew inside him. His family had often talked in family home evening about choosing good music, books, and videos. He had promised to not listen to or watch anything that he wouldn’t if Jesus were beside him. But if he didn’t take the video, Jordan would think that he was a wimp and might not want to be his friend any longer.
“Jordan?” Blaine kept his eyes on his roller blades. “I don’t think I’d better take the video. I know my mom wouldn’t like me to watch it.”
“So hide it and watch it when your mom isn’t home. Or is mommy’s little boy scared?”
The feeling inside Blaine had grown very strong, telling him to not take the video. He tried to ignore it as he tucked the video case inside his pack and raced after his friend. The feeling sank to a sick ache in his stomach.
Three other boys joined Blaine and Jordan at the park to play tag, race through a maze of giant cottonwood trees, and search for minnows in tiny, scattered pools fed by a winding stream. Blaine didn’t have much fun, though. He was trying to think of a way to give the video back without being teased by the other boys.
Soon it was time to go home.
“Hey, Chris,” Jordan said, “want to watch my video after Blaine’s done with it?”
“What’s it called?”
“Deathblaster. You should see how they kill off the bad guys.”
“Hey, cool! Blaine, when will you be finished?”
Now was his chance to give back the video, but somehow Blaine couldn’t make his mouth work. He shrugged, mumbled something about being late, and roller-bladed away, the video like a load of bricks on his back.
At home, he hid the plastic case at the bottom of his closet. I’ll just keep it for a few days and then give it back, he thought. Jordan will never know I didn’t watch it. But the sick feeling didn’t go away.
After dinner, the home teachers arrived with smiles and warm handshakes. Blaine loved to visit with Brother Jensen, who always had a story to tell, and with Brother Carter, who always asked Blaine how he was doing and gave him a peppermint.
Tonight, Brother Jensen told a story from the Old Testament. It was about Daniel and his three friends who were taken from their home in Israel, along with many other children, to the palace of King Nebuchadnezzar in Babylon. Nebuchadnezzar ordered them to be fed rich food and drink, but Daniel refused, asking instead for simple, healthy food for himself and his three friends. The king’s servant didn’t want to agree, but Daniel persuaded him to grant them a ten-day trial period. Ten days later, the servant saw that they were by far the healthiest of all the young people, and he quickly ordered the same food and drink for everyone. Because of their courage and faith, Heavenly Father blessed the four young men, and they became favorites of King Nebuchadnezzar.
“There are many around us who are trying to get us to make wrong choices,” Brother Jensen continued. “If we are as courageous as Daniel and his friends were, and stand for the right, Heavenly Father will bless us. We never have to go along with what everyone else is doing when we know it is wrong. To help us, we are given the gift of the Holy Ghost to tell us whether a choice is right or wrong.”
Brother Carter looked at Blaine. “Have you ever had to choose the right, Blaine, when all your friends wanted to choose wrong?”
Blaine felt his face get red as he thought of the video in his closet. “Y-yes,” he stammered, looking at his feet.
Brother Carter smiled. “I’m sure you made the right choice. You are the kind of person who would listen to the Holy Ghost.”
As the home teachers left, Blaine excused himself and ran to his bedroom. He knelt by his bed, asking Heavenly Father for forgiveness and courage. Then he put the video in his backpack and went to ask his mother if he could go to Jordan’s house. “I need to return something that belongs to him,” he explained.
“Hurry back home,” Mom said. “It will be dark soon.”
As Blaine skated up to Jordan’s driveway, he was dismayed to see him playing basketball with the other three boys. They saw Blaine and ran over to greet him.
“Want to shoot hoops with us?” Jordan asked.
Blaine shook his head. “I can’t. I just need to give you this.” He pulled the video from his pack and handed it to his friend.
“You saw it already? Hey, what did you think? Pretty gross, huh?”
There was silence as all eyes turned to Blaine. He looked right at Jordan. “I didn’t watch it. I don’t think it’s a family-rated video, and that’s what I watch. I’m going to rent a new video, though. Do you guys want to come watch it tomorrow? I’ll make popcorn.” He looked each in the eye, then turned back to Jordan.
There was another long silence.
“Yeah, sure, why not?” Jordan agreed. “Chris, you want this one?”
“Naw—my mom wouldn’t let me. I’ll watch Blaine’s with you. I’d better get going home.”
As the boys headed in separate directions, Blaine imagined Daniel beside him, a hand on his shoulder, smiling and nodding his approval. Blaine felt strong and courageous. A gentle warmth growing within told him that Heavenly Father was pleased with his choice, too.

If anyone ever had more reason to be bitter, it was the Prophet Joseph Smith. Yet his heart was forgiving. Prior to the dedication of the Kirtland Temple, William Smith, the Prophet’s brother and a member of the Twelve, had been embittered. He had said vicious and vile things against his brother in public. His was a distracted, vengeful heart, and he had even physically attacked his brother Joseph and beat him with his fists. The Smith parents and other children were deeply pained. The Prophet described this time as Satan trying to divide his family and to thwart the work and the building of the Kirtland Temple.

Yet in the midst of all of this, Daniel Tyler, a member of the Church, recorded in his journal this description of the Prophet Joseph:
At the time William Smith and others rebelled against the Prophet at Kirtland, I attended a meeting “on the flats” where Joseph presided. Entering the school house a little before the meeting opened and gazing upon the man of God, I perceived sadness in his countenance and tears trickling down his cheeks. A few moments later a hymn was sung and he opened the meeting by prayer. Instead of facing the audience, however, he turned his back and bowed upon his knees, facing the wall. This, I suppose, was done to hide his sorrow and tears.
I had heard men and women pray—especially the former—from the most ignorant, both as to letters and intellect, to the most learned and eloquent. But never until then had I heard a man address his Maker as though He was present listening as a kind father would listen to the sorrows of a dutiful child. Joseph was at that time unlearned, but that prayer, which was to a considerable extent in behalf of those who accused him of having gone astray and fallen into sin, was that the Lord would forgive them and open their eyes that they might see aright. That prayer, I say, to my humble mind, partook of the learning and eloquence of heaven. There was no ostentation, no raising of the voice as by enthusiasm, but a plain conversational tone, as a man would address a present friend. It appeared to me as though, in case the veil were taken away, I could see the Lord standing facing His humblest of all servants I had ever seen. It was the crowning of all the prayers I ever heard.

The decision by Nephi and his brothers to place their trust in the things of the world proved to be no more successful than leaving it to chance. I was talking to a father while attending a stake conference. He was telling me about the pressures on his teenage daughter to follow the ways of the world, and how she had made the decision not to allow those pressures to influence her life.

She was the only member of the Church in her class in school. She was a popular young lady with the boys, and had many opportunities to go out on dates. The boys in her class did not live by the standards she had been taught in our Church. She made the decision to tell every boy who asked her for a date what standards she lived by. If she were to date them, they would be expected to conduct themselves in accordance with her standards. She would get such a commitment from them before she accepted a date. One day the big campus football hero came up to her before the most special dance of the year and said, “You know, I would ask you to go to the dance with me if you would lower your standards just a little.”

There was no hesitation in her voice as she replied, “If I would go out with you, I would be lowering my standards.” Be strong enough to make your decisions to not follow worldly ways.