Gospel Story Finder

A friend of mine received an invitation to the temple wedding of a young man she had taught in Primary. When she responded to the invitation, she asked, “David, you moved away, and I haven’t seen you for years. Why did you think of me?”
“Sister McMullin,” he said, “you taught us about being clean and worthy to receive the priesthood. You taught us about scrubbing our hands and wearing clean clothes when we would pass the sacrament. You taught us about being clean inside too. When I was faced with temptations and decisions in my dating years, your voice would come into my mind: ‘A deacon is clean inside and out.’ I am worthy to go to the temple because of you. That’s why I want you to come with us.”

At 18, Wellington, New Zealand’s, Tony Fitisemanu can hardly wait for his next birthday, when he’ll finally be able to serve an official mission. He’s been doing missionary work for years now—going out with the full-time missionaries and talking to his friends at school about the gospel.
“I especially like to talk about the plan of salvation,” says Tony, “because my friends are always asking, ‘Where did I come from? Why am I here? Where am I going?’ Because I go to seminary, I’ve learned how to show them the answers in the scriptures. If I don’t know the answers to all their questions, I ask my parents.”
Tony, his parents, and his five brothers and sisters moved to New Zealand from Samoa eight years ago, and have introduced a number of their friends to the Church. Several have been baptized. Their family is very close, but there’s always room for others to join in and feel right at home.

Jovencio Ilagan smiles as he tells that he had intended to just play along with the missionaries who knocked on his door. “I wasn’t a very religious person,” he says. But then he began to read the Book of Mormon. As he was reading in Alma, he says, “I felt the warm feeling that comes when the Holy Ghost is there bearing testimony.” Jovencio, Zenaida, and their six children who were old enough set a baptismal date.

But three days before the baptism, “I had a business appointment with some of my old drinking buddies,” he says. “They persuaded me to drink beer with them.”

Jovencio admitted to the sister missionaries what he had done. “I’m sure they were devastated. I told them to go ahead and have my wife and children baptized, and I would follow later. But the very wise district leader said no. That was a tremendous pressure, you know! Here’s my family—they couldn’t be baptized! Oh, I struggled!” A week later, they were all baptized.

Soon Jovencio became Young Men president and Zenaida became Relief Society president. They’ve since had many callings, including his as regional representative and mission president.

The Ilagans saw their lives change in many ways. “We have a data entry service bureau,” he says, “and many times we had to work on Sundays to meet our deadlines. But after we joined the Church, we decided we wouldn’t work on Sundays. So we lost some clients. But the income we earned during the six days in the week was far more than what we used to make working overtime seven days a week.”

Then they had an opportunity to open a restaurant while still operating their service bureau. “But we never opened on Sundays. We never served any beer or coffee. We never sold any cigarettes—or anything that we felt was against the Word of Wisdom. Some customers would say, ‘What kind of restaurant is this?’ and walk off! But we had a good family atmosphere and reached a different market.”

A few years later, they sold the restaurant for a profit. Jovencio was hired as manager of the Church’s distribution center in Manila. He later worked with membership and statistical records and in data processing. Now he is area manager of materials management.

“The gospel brought a complete turnaround in my husband,” says Sister Ilagan. “It brought a peace I had never known before. And it came into our lives just in time for our children.” Several of them have served missions and have been married in the temple.

Chris loved playing football in grade school and junior high. He started at linebacker all during high school. And, as Chris points out, football in Georgia is serious business. His high school would have 10,000 fans attend its Friday night games. During his junior year, he began getting attention from college scouts. It was exciting, but his mom would remind him not to get too interested because he was going on a mission.
When the scouts showed up, that was the time Chris had to face the possibilities of playing football at the college level. His high school coach told the scouts that he was a hard-working player and was an honor student. Finally concrete offers started to come—full-ride scholarships through four years of college, worth thousands of dollars.
“I asked,” said Chris, “if they would hold a scholarship for two years. One coach was shocked. I told him I was going to go on a mission for my church. He just stared at me and said, ‘You’re going to give up 80 thousand dollars to serve a mission for two years?’ He got mad at me. But I didn’t get offended.” After that, his coach started turning away college recruiters interested in Chris.
Eventually, State University of West Georgia called. The school offered him a scholarship. It turned out that Chris would be able to play a year and a quarter, essentially two seasons, before turning 19 and receiving a mission call. “I knew that all things were possible with the Lord. There were people saying that I couldn’t serve a mission and play ball, yet the Lord provided a way to do both.”
Chris struggled at West Georgia, not on the field where he started as a true freshman but in the permissive atmosphere in the dorms. He didn’t like what was going on around him. He was more determined than ever to go on a mission. And it was on his mission that Chris put football behind him completely. He told his coaches that if they needed to talk to him, to go through his parents. He didn’t keep up on what the team was doing. He says that the only way to serve on a mission is completely and with total focus.
At the conclusion of his mission, Chris decided that he could not return to the atmosphere at his former college. He thought that was also a decision to give up football, and he was willing to do it.
Just as Chris was completing his mission, his mission president contacted BYU about Chris. At first, becoming a BYU football team member didn’t seem like a possibility, but he was invited to try out. He received a full-ride scholarship but was redshirted a year. Once Chris thought sitting out a year would be horrible, but now it was a blessing. He was able to concentrate on his major, a difficult one, in manufacturing engineering and technology. He feels that the Lord has guided his life because at BYU he has had the opportunity to continue missionary work as a ward mission leader. Football will fall by the wayside. That’s fine with Chris. It no longer has his heart.
There is, however, one thing Chris has always wanted—a championship ring. He just missed taking state in high school. And his college team won the conference the year he left on his mission. Knowing this, some friends on his mission got together and bought Chris a ring—a CTR ring that he wears continually. It’s become his championship ring.
Whenever Chris looks at it he is reminded of what he believes deep inside. “Right makes you happy. If you do what is right, everything will fall into place.”

When I was 15 years old, I liked a girl in my class at school and wanted to date her. She was attractive, but I wondered if I should ask her out before I turned 16. I remembered Alma 37:37, which says, “Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good.” So that is what I did. I prayed and waited several days for the Lord’s answer before making a decision.
One day at church, my bishop called me in to a room and invited me to speak the next Sunday. Guess what the topic was? Do not date until you are at least 16 years old. I felt that this was the Lord’s answer to me, and it was no. How could I teach something that I did not practice?
Because I had counseled with the Lord, I was able to learn the Lord’s will for my life and also to flee from temptation. I know that if we counsel with the Lord, He will tell us His will and we will be greatly blessed.

Like many of you, I have shared the gospel with some who are soon baptized or activated, and others—such as my nonmember friend Tim and his less-active wife, Charlene—take much more time.

For over 25 years I engaged Tim in gospel conversations and took Tim and Charlene to temple open houses. Others joined the rescue; however, Tim declined each invitation made to meet with the missionaries.

One weekend I was assigned to preside at a stake conference. I had asked the stake president to fast and pray about whom we should visit. I was shocked when he handed me the name of my friend Tim. When Tim’s bishop, the stake president, and I knocked on the door, Tim opened it, looked at me, looked at the bishop, and then said, “Bishop, I thought you told me you were going to bring somebody special!”

Then Tim laughed and said, “Come on in, Merv.” A miracle occurred that day. Tim has now been baptized, and he and Charlene have been sealed in the temple. We must never give up.

Illustration by Rafael López
Where did I come from? What am I doing here? Where do I go after this life?
When I was 29, these questions kept coming back to me. My parents had passed away. I grieved for the loss of my firstborn infant son. I had three other children to raise and a life full of challenges.
The Lord began to answer my questions when He guided two young missionaries to my home. When I welcomed them inside, they asked if there was anything I felt was missing in my life. I told them about my parents and my son. I told them I thought it would be unfair to have children and to form families if everything just ended with death. I asked if I would ever see my parents and my son again.
“Marta,” they said, “you can have your family forever.”
Joy filled my heart. I wanted to know more. At their next visit, they taught me more about the gospel of Jesus Christ. They gave me a Book of Mormon and challenged me to read it and ask God if it is His word. I accepted their challenge. When I prayed, God’s answer came clear as sunshine. I knew in my heart it was true.
Unfortunately, when I took a new job, I lost contact with the missionaries. In the months that followed, my marriage ended and I tried to start a new life with my children.
Eventually, I remarried. One day my husband said he missed having God in his life. We decided to attend the church he once attended. When we entered the building, I saw a Book of Mormon on a table in the foyer. This was the same church I had been introduced to before! I loved the Spirit I felt there. When we left, I asked my husband how I could be baptized.
“You need to be taught by the missionaries,” he said.
“I was taught five years ago!” I replied.
My children and I were taught the lessons. Our baptism day was the happiest day of our lives.
Several years later, I felt that I should tell the sisters who first taught me that I had joined the Church. On Facebook, I found a group of returned missionaries from the Brazil Santa Maria Mission. It included one of the sisters who had taught me. I sent her a friend request and told her who I was, how I became a member of the Church, that our family was sealed in the temple, and that my son was serving a full-time mission. I told her all this was possible because she and her companion had planted the seed of the restored gospel in my heart.

One South American stake president, for example, had spent a painful year looking for a job before finally enrolling in the Career Workshop. As a result of what he learned, he made some changes in the way he dressed, rewrote his résumé, prepared a 30-second introduction, and practiced interviewing. Armed with the skills he learned, he found a position as chief financial officer in a large business.

One inactive member was jolted into the realization that she was not converted to the Church when her son went on a mission. Comparing herself to others whose impressive conversion stories she had heard, she asked herself, “Why are these people converted so powerfully, and I, with my pioneer heritage, remain unconverted?” She began to read the Book of Mormon even though she doubted its worth and found it boring. Then a friend challenged her. She said, “You say you believe in prayer. Well, why don’t you pray about it?”

This she did, and after she prayed, she began to read the Book of Mormon again. It was no longer boring. The more she read, the more fascinated she became with it and thought, “Joseph Smith couldn’t have written that—these words were from God!” She finished reading it and wondered how God would tell her that it was true. She said: “A power strong, beautiful, and joyful moved completely through my body. … I knew that Jesus Christ was resurrected, … that Joseph Smith was a prophet who saw God and Jesus Christ. I knew that he miraculously translated ancient records with God’s guidance. I knew that Joseph Smith received revelations from God.” It changed her life because now she too was a convert!

When I think of this principle, I remember a brief encounter with a charitable influence in my own life. One December I found myself facing some unexpected surgery. As I slowly began to awaken in the recovery room, I distinctly felt someone’s hands taking my vital signs and ministering to my needs. The hands felt competent and caring, and they conveyed such a sense of peace and comfort to me that I immediately knew all was well.
Despite my semiconscious state, the experience made a vivid imprint on my spirit, so much so that upon fully awakening, I recalled the touch of those hands. During the week I lay in the hospital, many nurses cared for me, but I never found the one I was looking for.
The morning of my release, a nurse came in to do a last-minute check. I immediately recognized her touch. “I’ve never seen you, but you’ve taken care of me before, haven’t you?” I said.
“Yes,” she said, surprised, “but only once. I cared for you in the recovery room five days ago.” Though that experience was many years ago, I can still recall the kindness and charity conveyed in the touch of her hands.

Every year my parents took me to visit Aunt Ruby and Uncle George, who lived on a dairy farm. I enjoyed visiting them because there were so many different things for me to see and do. I played in the barn, helped feed the animals, rode on the tractor, and explored the big red shed.
One year, a few days after we had arrived, I was helping Uncle George feed the animals in the barn. “You sure are quiet this morning, Justin,” he said.
“I was thinking about something my Primary teacher said in class last week.”
“Oh—what did she say?” Uncle George asked as he pitched a forkful of hay to one of the cows.
“She said that making right choices will help me keep the promises I made to Heavenly Father when I was baptized. The problem is, it’s hard to always make the right choice.”
Leaning on his pitchfork, Uncle George nodded. “It is hard to always make correct choices, Justin. But when we live the gospel standards and follow the strait and narrow path, like the scriptures tell us to, the Lord will help us.”
I thought about the “strait and narrow path,” for the rest of the morning. When we finished feeding all the animals, Uncle George said, “Thanks for your help, Justin. I surely appreciate it. What would you like to do now?”
“I’d like to go over to my friend Jeff’s and play, but Mom and Dad usually drive me to his house.”
Tilting his hat back on his head, Uncle George said, “And they’ve gone into town to help Ruby with the shopping. I’d like to take you over there, but I have to fix the tractor.”
He put his arm around my shoulders and led me to a big dry ditch. “If you get in this ditch, you can follow it all the way to Jeff’s house. Do you think you can do that?”
I told him that I was sure I could do it. Before he sent me on my way, he gave me two warnings. One, I was to stay in the ditch. If I got out, I could get hurt or lost. Two, I was to keep going, even if I got tired. Then he assured me that if I followed his instructions, I would have no trouble reaching my friend’s house.
At first I was nervous. The grass on both sides of the ditch was so tall that I couldn’t see over it. But soon I began to see interesting things all around me and being in the ditch didn’t bother me. I found a small, white-colored snail shell, a lot of joint grass I could pull apart, and milkweed pods filled with silk and seeds. Then I found a round, clear pebble that I shined up and put into my pocket.
After a while, the newness of my adventure began to wear off. I’d seen everything twice, and my legs were beginning to hurt. I felt like I’d been walking for miles and miles. My faith in Uncle George’s words began to waver. Maybe I’d already passed Jeff’s house. I wasn’t even sure if I was still going in the right direction. My uncle’s warnings were still clear in my mind, but I carefully climbed to the top of the ditch so that I could see over the tall grass and find out where I was.
Happily, I saw that only a fence and a large, green pasture stood between me and my goal. All I had to do was walk through the pasture, and I’d be there. The day took on a new excitement. My goal was in sight; my uncle’s warnings were forgotten.
Finding a hole in the fence, I slipped through. All I thought about was the fun Jeff and I were going to have once I reached his house. I paid no attention to what might be going on around me, until I heard a loud snort and the snapping of breaking sticks. Turning, I saw a large bull charging toward me out of the tall willow patch at the edge of the pasture.
Running wasn’t my greatest talent unless I was scared. And I was really scared. I ran like the wind. It felt like I was running a hundred miles an hour. I could hear the air whistling around my ears. Everything around me was a blur. I had a new goal in life—to reach the fence before the bull reached me. All the time, I was silently praying that Heavenly Father would bless me to run faster than the bull.
The fence was getting closer, but so was the bull. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder, because I was afraid it might slow me down. Although I was only nine years old, I already knew that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. So I ran, as straight as an arrow, back to the hole in the fence I had climbed through earlier.
I was sure I felt the bull’s hot breath on my neck as I dove through the fence to safety. The bull snorted loudly as his nose pushed through the hole and he realized he couldn’t reach me.
My life had been spared. Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. My heart was full of gratitude to Him. I would see the sun come up in the morning. I would see my family again. I could still play with my friend. Life was good!
Now all I wanted to do was return to the “strait and narrow path” and follow my uncle’s instructions. I knew that there were no bulls in the ditch. It was a safe place. I also knew that I would never forget the words my uncle told me that morning. “Go down the ditch in the direction that I’ll show you. Stay in the ditch, because if you get out, you could get hurt or lost. And you need to keep going, even if you get tired.”
I had learned that my Primary teacher and Uncle George were right. There is great safety when choosing the right and following the correct path. I was sure that the Lord had helped me run faster than the charging bull. He had saved my life, and I was grateful. I was glad to have a chance to be back on the right path, and I knew that Heavenly Father would always help me stay on the “strait and narrow path” if I would listen and obey.

Sometimes in our church we think only of our dear sisters offering and doing compassionate service. But it is the high priests in our ward who have served our family.
One day, without warning, my husband suffered a stroke that paralyzed his left side. He spent two and a half months in the hospital, and when he came home, I had to take care of him twenty-four hours a day. Other members of our family, who live many kilometers away, called and wrote letters filled with kind words of encouragement, but it was impossible for them to come and help me take care of my husband.
My husband had been home from the hospital only a day when our home teacher, Cliff Barton, stopped by to see how the high priests in our ward could help. We decided that my getting away from the house for a few hours each week would be the best therapy for both me and my husband.
Since then, loving and caring high priests have come to stay with my husband for a few hours each week. They have brought spiritual and intellectual enlightenment through sharing magazine articles, stories, humor, and companionship.
Men we knew only casually before are now dear friends because they have given of themselves in precious service to us. The first Monday of every month, without fail, the telephone rings; it’s Brother Barton wanting to know my schedule for the month so he can arrange the visits.
These men are wonderful, caring, and tender. Their happy visits have made the long, cold winter days shorter, the dull days brighter, and the sunny days more brilliant.
There’s no question that in my ward, the brethren know how to serve.

When I was a little girl growing up in Perú, I dreamed of traveling through time. But it wasn’t until I was older that I found a way to do so. I don’t have a spectacular machine with flashing lights and strange sounds, and I don’t have to wear a special suit. All I have to do is open a book. But it is not just any book—it is my book of memories, where I keep things that have special meaning to me.
One of my favorite trips through time begins with the cover of a card. On it are beautiful flowers in a vase. Whenever I see this card I am taken back, and it seems like yesterday I held it in my hands for the very first time.
Sister Nancy Pace was one of my Primary teachers; we called her Sister Nancy. We Primary children loved her very much for teaching us new songs and telling us about Jesus Christ. Sister Nancy and the other Primary leaders worked for many months to help prepare the CTR class for their baptisms. Knowing we would be baptized like Jesus Christ was exciting for us, but we still felt nervous.
One day Sister Nancy told us the story of Nicodemus and the Savior, and we read John 3:5: “Except a man be born of water and of the Spirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God.” Sister Nancy told us that once we were born of water through baptism, we would be born of the Spirit through receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands. She said that baptism was a commandment from the Lord and that by being obedient to this commandment, we could show our love for Him.
As the day of my baptism approached, Sister Nancy told me and the other children who were going to be baptized that she was very sorry but she was not going to be able to attend our baptism. But she said her heart would be with us.
The day before I was baptized, I began feeling very nervous. I repeated again and again to myself, All you have to do is go down a few steps and take Daddy’s hand. But when I thought about going down under all that water, I was afraid I would never come back up. As I worried about this, someone delivered to me a white envelope from Sister Nancy. When I opened it and read the message in the beautiful flowered card, my fears disappeared.
Romy,
I want to send you special greetings. I know that tomorrow you are going to be baptized. It is such a special day, and I wanted to be there, but I am not going to be able to. You are a good girl, and I know that Father in Heaven is very happy with you and that you are going to have a very special day. I am very happy for you and grateful for your strong desire to obey the Lord. I hope everything goes well.
With love,
Sister Nancy
Reading these words strengthened my desire to be obedient to the commandment to be baptized. At that moment I was more sure than ever that the Church is true.
The following day I was nervous, but the words of my teacher echoed in my heart: “I am very happy for you and grateful for your strong desire to obey the Lord.” Again, my fears vanished, and I felt confident as I was baptized.
Remembering my baptism is one of my favorite trips through time—a trip that begins with the cover of a card and ends with a special feeling—the testimony my dear teacher planted in my heart.

The first is illustrated by an experience of several months ago. A stake president and I took the opportunity to visit a young woman in her home near Atlanta, Georgia. She was twenty-nine years old; her husband had been killed in a car accident; she was living in a modest apartment with her two young children. I suppose we expected to find her upset and discouraged at having received a “bump” not of her own making. On the contrary, she was cheerful; she was calm; she was very gracious. She thanked us for coming and then said, as nearly as I can recall: “Brethren, I want you to know I believe in the plan of redemption. I am grateful to my Savior for the promise of a glorious resurrection with my husband. I am grateful for His redeeming sacrifice.” Then, putting her arms around her two children, she said, “Our faith in Jesus Christ will see us through.”

We came expecting to comfort and strengthen, and we left humbled, buoyed, and blessed by her wonderful expression of faith.

John’s shoes needed repairing. He had worn them out running up and down on Steensbakken (Steens Hill), where he lived with his mother, Anna Widtsoe, and his two-year-old brother, Osborne. After the death of their father when Osborne was only two months old, the family had moved from Froya, the outermost island off the coast of Norway, to the mainland. They lived in a small apartment in Trondheim, the town known as the Cathedral City. The two little boys and their mother often looked out over the beautiful old capital city to the harbor and the fjord that zigzagged out toward the ocean.
When John showed Mother how his shoes had worn, she asked a neighbor to recommend someone who could repair them. He knew just the right person, he said, and soon a boy came to their door. He was a shoemaker’s son who picked up and delivered shoes for his father. A few days later the boy brought back John’s shoes neatly mended. A strange little pamphlet was tucked into the toe of each shoe.
John’s father had been a schoolmaster. Before he died he had taught his young son to read, but there were so many unfamiliar words in the pamphlet that the boy could not understand what was written.
The next day his mother wrapped another pair of shoes that needed repairing into a parcel, tucked them under her arm, and set out on the half-hour walk to the shoemaker’s shop. She seemed more quiet than usual when she returned, and during the next few days she was thoughtful and restless.
When the shoemaker’s son delivered the second pair of shoes, new pamphlets were tucked into the toe of each one. John knew that his mother spent many hours carefully studying them. The next Sunday she arranged for someone to be with the boys while she went to a meeting at the shoemaker’s sturdy log house.
It was not until some years later that she told John what the shoemaker had said when she went to his shop that first time to ask him why he had put a pamphlet into each of John’s shoes.
“You may be surprised,” he had answered, “to hear me say that I can give you something of far more value than soles for your child’s shoes.”
The pamphlets were Mormon missionary tracts. Because of them John, his mother, and his brother became members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. None of their relatives or friends approved; all became unfriendly toward Anna and the boys.
Two years later the Widtsoe family left Oslo, Norway, with twenty other Norwegian Saints to begin the long journey to America. Eleven-year-old John kept a diary of their trip over the North Sea, their smoky journey across the midlands of England, their three days of sight-seeing in Liverpool, their voyage over the Atlantic Ocean, and the long railroad ride from New York to Logan, Utah, where they settled. There John found many and varied jobs to help support the family. His mother did dressmaking and any other kind of work she could find to provide for current expenses and to save toward the education of her sons.
John was called to be an apostle in 1921, when he was forty-nine. At that time he was president of the University of Utah and had been president of Utah State University at Logan. He often said that from his earliest youth, education was his objective. John A. Widtsoe will always be remembered as one of the great men of the Church. In one of his books, In a Sunlit Land, he wrote:
“There was a real relish for learning in my soul. … The love of reading has been with me from my boyhood. To leave the routine of the day for a visit with great minds has ever been a delight. … I look with half envy upon the youth to whom the doors of new knowledge are being opened.”
The shoemaker in Trondheim, Norway, who repaired John’s shoes truly did give to John’s mother and her family something of far more value than soles for a worn pair of shoes. He was also instrumental in giving to the Church a great writer, educator, leader, and friend!

Elder Meurs told the story of his parents, who lived in the area, joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in 1958.
Fred and Lois Meurs, strong Christians from different faiths were actively searching for someone to answer their gospel questions. After carefully studying the New Testament, they began to search for a church that had teachings that were consistent with Jesus’s teachings.
They had questions about the purpose of life, priesthood authority, what happens when we die, ordinances like baptism, and the role of prophets and apostles. They had spoken to the religious leaders of the community, but no one could give them the answers they were searching for. They began to earnestly pray for someone to answer their questions.
That same week, two full-time missionaries, Elder Jones and Elder Erikson, knocked on their door and said they had a message about Jesus Christ to share with them. Fred and Lois asked them all their questions, and the missionaries answered every one. Three weeks later the Meurs were baptised and confirmed. Some other families joined soon after, and the first Warrnambool Branch was formed.

Somewhat wistfully, Dad spoke up. “I sure wish I’d had the opportunity when I was a kid to meet my favorite baseball hero. Remember, Dad, the time we drove all the way to Boston to see Cal Herder pitch?”
“I’ll never forget it,” Grandpa answered. “You had a brand-new baseball, and you were hoping to get Herder’s autograph on it.”
Cal Herder. The name was familiar to Tom. “I remember hearing you talk about him, Dad. He was probably the best pitcher the team ever had, wasn’t he?”
“Sure was,” Dad replied, “but I never did get him to sign my baseball. There was a big crowd that day, and when the game was over, there was such a mob around him that I couldn’t get to him before we had to leave. I’d hoped to get one another day, but we never got there again.”
“Wasn’t he number eleven?” Grandpa asked. “As I recall, they retired his number when he stopped playing so that no other team member would ever wear it.”
“I think you’re right,” Dad agreed. “Well, Tom, maybe you’ll be luckier. David Reaves is number forty-three, isn’t he? By the way, I figured you’d want to go over to see the team, so I bought something for the occasion.” He handed Tom a small, cube-shaped box.
Tom quickly opened it. Inside it was a new baseball.
As he got dressed the next morning, Tom imagined David Reaves’s name autographed on the ball. Fishing and swimming could wait. The first thing he wanted to do was visit the training camp.
After breakfast Dad and Grandpa went out to work in the garden, and Tom ran down the street toward the ballpark. He was a little surprised that there weren’t many people at the training grounds, but then he realized that it was a school day for the kids who lived in the area. A few men Grandpa’s age stood along the fence talking to one another. Out on the field, catchers and pitchers were warming up. They weren’t wearing uniforms, so Tom couldn’t read their numbers. He recognized some of the players, though, but he didn’t see David Reaves.
He went over to the men along the fence, who were talking to a white-haired man in a coaching jacket. “Excuse me, but have any of you seen David Reaves?” Tom asked.
The men shook their heads, and the man in the coaching jacket replied, “He won’t be out here today, son. He broke his finger practicing yesterday, so he’ll be laid up for a while. But don’t worry. He’ll be in fine shape by the time the season opens.”
Tom couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Oh, no!” he moaned. “I sure hoped to see him.”
The man in the uniform smiled sympathetically, “I’m sorry. Say, I’d guess you’re a pretty good pitcher yourself, aren’t you?”
“Well,” said Tom, “I’ve pitched in Little League.”
“Why don’t you come over on this side of the fence and throw me a few balls? Maybe I can show you a pointer or two.”
Tom slipped through the gate, and the coach tossed him a ball. He made sure Tom was warmed up thoroughly, then asked him to throw his best pitch.
Tom pitched it fast and solid.
“Boy!” said one of the men leaning against the outside of the fence. “Maybe you’ll be scouting him for the team in a few years.”
Tom pitched a second ball and a third the same way.
“Not bad,” said the coach. “But let me show you how to get a little variety in your pitching so that the batter won’t know what you’re up to.” He showed Tom how to twist his wrist so that the ball would curve. “Now try it.” The ball went far outside, and the coach lunged for it. As the coach twisted around, Tom noticed the number on his jacket—number 11!
“Cal Herder was number 11 when he played for Boston!” Tom blurted out.
The coach looked surprised. “I’m Cal Herder,” he said. “I didn’t think a fellow your age would know about an old-timer like me.” He smiled.
“Oh, I sure do!” Tom replied. “You were my dad’s favorite player! But I thought you retired.”
“Nope,” said Mr. Herder. “Only from playing. Baseball’s my life, and I’ll coach just as long as they’ll let me.”
Tom threw a few more balls until he felt comfortable with the new pitch. Then Mr. Herder said, “I think I’d better go help some of the big guys.”
“Before you go, will you do me a favor?” Tom took the new baseball out of his pocket. “Will you autograph this for me, please?”
“Be glad to,” said the coach, and Tom watched with delight as the man wrote “Cal Herder” across the ball.
“Thanks a million for the help and the autograph!” Tom exclaimed.
“Glad to give you both,” Mr. Herder replied; then he trotted across the field.
Tom nearly flew back to his grandpa’s house. Dad and Grandpa were picking oranges off a tree in the front yard.
Dad looked at Tom and laughed. “From the grin on your face, I know what you have—a ball atographed by David Reaves.”
“Wrong, Dad. It’s something for you. Something you’ve been wanting for a long time.”

In my family’s pioneer history there are many accounts of noble souls who demonstrated the traits of true discipleship. My children’s great-grandfather was a valiant disciple of Jesus Christ. His family were wealthy landowners in Denmark. As the favored son, he was to inherit the land of his father. He fell in love with a beautiful young woman who was not of the same social standing as his family. He was encouraged not to pursue the relationship. He was not inclined to follow his family’s counsel, and on one of his visits to see her he discovered that all of her family had joined the Church. He refused to listen to the doctrine her family had embraced and forcefully told her that she had to choose between him and the Church. She boldly declared that she would not give up her religion.
With that forceful pronouncement, he decided he should listen to the teachings that were so important to her. Soon after, he was touched by the Spirit and he, too, became converted to the gospel. But when he informed his parents of his decision to join the Church and marry this young woman, they were angry with him and forced him to decide between his family and their wealth and the Church. He walked away from the comforts he had known all of his life, joined the Church, and married her.
Immediately, they started to prepare to leave Denmark and journey to Zion. Now without the support of his family, he had to work hard at any employment he could find to save for the journey to the new land. After a year of hard labor, he had saved enough for their passage. As soon as they were prepared to leave, their branch president came to them and said there was a family with greater need than he and his wife. He was asked to give up what he had saved so the needy family could go to Zion.
Discipleship requires sacrifice. They gave up their savings to the needy family, and then they began another year of hard labor to save to finance their journey. Eventually they arrived in Zion, but not before they had made many more sacrifices, showing true discipleship.

It was an incredible morning. The sun was an orange ball, crawling over the horizon behind a row of larch trees. As the warmth of the sun melted the ground fog that came off the river, girls from the Wilmette Illinois Stake gathered for the morning flag ceremony and a few minutes of vigorous calisthenics.

“How was your first night at camp?” It was a common enough question to ask a group of Chicago girls—girls used to the sound of big city traffic at all hours of the day and night. “We couldn’t sleep,” they answered. “The birds were too loud.”

Soon it was time for breakfast. But first everyone had to learn the assigned knot. “Where’s my rope? What knot are we supposed to learn?” This was a common conversation before every meal. On the first day of camp, each girl was given a length of rope and told she had to learn a new knot before every meal. All week long, girls simply wore their “meal tickets” around their necks and helped each other learn the knots that would gain them admittance to the mess hall.
The Wilmette Illinois Stake is a diverse stake with girls from downtown Chicago to girls living in rural areas near the Wisconsin border to girls from two Spanish-speaking wards. Yet they come together at camp to learn from and about each other.
Veronica Cousino, from Chicago Second Ward, is back for her second year at camp. She worked hard last year to pass her certifications. This year she was asked to come to camp as a counselor in one of the Inspirator tents. She loved learning how to cook outdoors. “The hardest part was speaking English all the time. It was a great experience for me. I loved it. That was the reason I wanted to come back this year. And,” Veronica added with surprise, “they wanted me to come as a counselor.”
The girls are allowed to choose one friend to stay with. Then they are assigned by skill levels to tents. Each tent has a leader.
Before coming to camp, the girls and leaders attended certification camps. They were able to go on their certification hikes right from the door of their stake center in downtown Chicago. The stake center is within a mile or so of a forest preserve. The preserve is a large section of wooded area set aside for recreation. The hike to and through the forest preserve was a good test of the girls’ endurance. Indeed, hiking is a good sport for the city dwellers because the forest preserves are set aside with trails for that purpose. They were also able to build fires and perfect some of their cooking skills. One stake member is certified to teach CPR (cardio-pulmonary resuscitation) classes, and most of the girls in the stake were able to pass that course as part of their first aid.
Since camp was located near a wide river suitable for canoeing, the girls worked on canoe safety in anticipation of making a canoe trip. A canoe was placed in the swimming pool, and each girl had the chance to learn to get into a canoe after falling out and how to empty a swamped canoe. Friends lined the sides of the pool excitedly waiting their turns and cheering as each one made it successfully back into the canoe.
The Wilmette Stake camp leaders added a new twist to the usual cooking assignments. Each cabin of girls had to cook a certain number of meals in their own area. Instead of simply being given the ingredients, the leaders had made a large chart with a list of foods and individual prices per serving: egg $.07, orange $.20, biscuit mix $.15, hamburger (1/4 lb.) $.40, etc. The girls were told they had to plan a menu for their cabin that cost $1.75 per girl. They placed their orders with their leaders, who took the opportunity to talk about nutrition, budget, and meal planning. The leaders were able to do this type of impromptu meal planning because they were close to a town and were able to go for supplies and be back before the evening or morning meal.
As in most girls’ camps, no radios or stereos were allowed. Evelyn Amundsen, with a smile that could light up a room, liked it that way. “I like to get away from the radio and listen to natural music.”
Since the Wilmette Stake takes in such a large area, many girls in the stake don’t get to see each other very often. Jennifer Wilding lives in the northernmost area of the stake. “Camp is a chance to make friends from the other wards,” said Jennifer, “and since my family goes camping a lot, I want to be certified.”
A positive, confidence-building experience for most, girls’ camp often provides an environment, away from the demands and distractions of town, where young women can be influenced by the loving concern of their leaders and of their Father in Heaven. As Lorraine Ward of Dallas said, “Everyone comes with her bag packed with problems and blessings. We help each other out.” Girls leave camp with a duffle bag full of dirty clothes but with something more valuable—a love for each other, a love for the beauties of nature, and a growing love of the gospel.

2. It isn’t always easy to get seven children to work in harmony around the home but when their dad can work with them the children just love it and “work” turns into “fun.” Part of this comes because he’s always telling them about the chores he had as a boy and how important it is to like to work.
As a family we plant a garden each spring. We all get involved in preparing the ground, planting the seeds, watering, hoeing, and pulling weeds. Then in the summer and fall each child experiences some part of harvesting the results—pulling radishes, picking berries or corn, digging potatoes, etc.
Neil is very alert for teaching opportunities and compares aspects of gardening to preparing for missions, life after death, the importance of getting proper care and training, destroying the enemy (weeds). Many lessons are taught from the simple things we do each day.