Gospel Story Finder

I drummed my fingers on the wooden chair’s skinny armrest, then twisted to the right and looked at the photograph of the First Presidency hung on the light-blue wall. Calm down, I said to myself. After all, I had requested this visit. I could hear a familiar voice grow louder as the bishop left the clerk’s office, crossed the hall, and came inside. He smiled and said, “Well, Jeff, how are you doing?”
“Fine, just fine,” I said out loud while thinking to myself frantically, What am I doing here?
Bishop Smith pulled his heavy chair from behind his solid dark desk, put it alongside me, sat down, and smiled again. Bishop Smith was a big man, very round, and when he smiled, his whole body seemed to beam right along with his face. I basked for a moment in all that warmth and then said, “Actually, bishop, I guess things aren’t all that great. I’ve thought a lot about our talk last month, a lot about a mission. And, well, frankly I just can’t go.”
“Don’t think you can go?”
“Yeah, I mean I’m 22. I’d be 24 when I got back. I’d be too old.”
“Too old for what?”
“Come on, bishop. You know. I just graduated from state university. I’m a pretty good botanist. How can I work with someone who was a junior in some high school when I was worrying about passing Professor Gotlieb’s Advanced Plant Pathology? I can tell you anything you want to know about wheat germs.”
Bishop Smith looked at me for a moment, leaned forward, and asked in a manner as gentle as when I had planted fir tree seedlings on Rye Grass Ridge, “Is that your real reason?”
I wasn’t ready for that question. I had hoped for a cheery smile and ready agreement. “Well, yes. Mainly,” I stammered. “I mean, basically.”
“Jeff, we’ve had some serious talks, you and I. Tell me, what are some other reasons to go with this basic reason?” The chair creaked as Bishop Smith leaned back.
“Oh, you know.” I spread my hands out in front of me and then picked some lint off my slacks. “Bishop, I haven’t exactly made the best decisions in my life. Being inactive for seven years didn’t help any. How can I say to some investigator, ‘I just loved Sunday School when I grew up,’ or ‘I’ve always believed living the Word of Wisdom was important’? How can I talk about goals or loyalty or testimony?”
“Converts can talk about testimony and goals and loyalty, and they weren’t always active members.”
“But they chose to join, not to leave.”
“You chose to come back.”
I didn’t have anything to say at that moment, and all I could hear was a rustling out in the hall. After a moment the bishop said kindly, “I don’t quite understand. Are you worried about worthiness?”
“Bishop,” I replied firmly, “I’ve got my life going again. I have nothing to hide. I know the Lord loves me, and I love him. But at every sacrament meeting or general conference or whatever, I hear that the Lord wants only the best, the strongest, the most reliable to be his missionaries.”
“I think in a small way I see, Jeff.” Bishop Smith paused and tapped his thick fingers against each other. “Have you talked to your dad about this?”
“Only a little. I guess I haven’t said much at all. At least I told him I was coming here tonight.”
“Jeff, maybe it’s time to see your dad. I know him; he’s a good man. Talk to him and then come see me again. Okay?”
The interview hadn’t gone quite as I had planned it. Suddenly I really didn’t know what to do. “Okay,” I said, and we stood up. Bishop Smith walked me to the door, and just after he shook my hand, he gave my shoulder a squeeze.
“Remember,” he said, “come see me again.”
As I drove away from the institute building on Powell Avenue, I considered going home to my apartment or seeing some friends. I even thought about going up on campus and walking through the greenhouses. Although I had already graduated, I was still helping Professor Gotlieb work with some sunflower research. And then I decided to talk to my dad.
My parents live on the east side of town on the other side from my apartment and campus. When I decided that I wanted to attend state university but didn’t want to live at home, I moved out and into the back room of an old, dark-green Victorian house with white trim. My parents were pretty understanding. We’ve always talked together fairly well. When I quit going to priesthood, and then Sunday School, and then Church completely, they never threatened or yelled at me. I’m sure they felt unhappy inside, but I always knew they loved me. I never really ignored my parents, but I had friends and things at school and got pretty busy. Still, my folks would call me up just to say hi, and my mom would bring over some of her delicious carrot cake every now and then. In fact, when I first started going back to church, because of two great home teachers, I didn’t say much about it to my parents. I remember the little pause the first time after I asked them to attend church with me at the institute, and then my dad said, “Are you sure?”
I was surprised when I got to my folks’ and found the lights off and the car gone. But I noticed the backyard light was on, so I got out of my car and went around the side. Out back I saw my dad working on his pride and joy, his small, old sailboat. When I was little we would go sailing on Lake Lourraine, up north. The boat really wasn’t very much. Only one at a time could get in it, but we all liked to try it, even if we spent most of the time in the lake and not the boat. As everybody grew older, everybody got busier, and we didn’t take the boat out much. Finally, it sat pushed against the garage until my youngest brother grazed it with the car; then, we hid it under some tarp behind the house. Now that all the kids are gone, my dad’s interest in sailing has flared up again. Late last year he started to tinker with the boat. A few weeks ago, I helped him paint it white.
“Ship ahoy,” I called as I walked around the house.
“Hey, what a surprise! Just what I needed, another hand.”
“Sounds fine. I was in the area and thought I’d drop by. Where’s mom?”
“Oh, she’s over at the neighbors. Did you just see Bishop Smith?”
“Boy, whatever happened to subtlety?”
“I’m sorry. I was just thinking about you tonight. Here, help me sand a little.” My dad gave me some yellow, fine-grade sandpaper. We both started to work.
“Well,” I said, “do you want to know what we talked about?”
“Whatever happened to subtlety?”
I smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”
“You tell him you’re too old?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he fall for it?”
I looked quickly at my dad. He was grinning at me. “No,” I said, “bishops don’t fall for much of anything. I guess dads don’t either.”
“I guess not. So, what are your plans?”
I walked over to the back steps and sat down. “I don’t know. What do you suggest?”
“What’s more important is what you think. It’s up to you, Jeff. You and the Lord. Have you ever talked to him about your future, about a mission?”
The words weighed on me, and I fiddled with a stem of foxtail grass I had pulled up. “No,” I said quietly, surprised that the night was so still.
“Do you mind if I ask why?”
“I’m afraid he wouldn’t answer or want me. I’ve let him down before.”
My dad started sanding again, and I looked up at the sky and saw Venus burning brightly. “Isn’t she a beautiful boat?” my dad said.
I was glad to change the subject. “She sure is. A beaut.”
“I hope you’ll go sailing with me sometime.”
“You can count on that.”
“She might sink on us, you know.”
“Come on,” I laughed. “She’ll float just fine.”
“Well, she used to be a wreck.”
“But look at her now,” I said. “We’re proud of her. I’d be a fool not to sail in a boat as good as this one.” I paused for a moment and looked straight at my dad. “You know, I get the feeling you want to tell me something.”
“Son, we’d all be in pretty bad shape if we couldn’t start over when we make mistakes. We wouldn’t have a chance.”
“I know, dad.”
“Why don’t you ask the Lord, Jeff. You might be surprised.”
“Do you think he’ll answer me?”
“I promise you he will.”
“Thanks,” I said, looking at my dad’s hands still holding the sandpaper. “I mean it.”
“You know, Jeff, maybe you’d like to fast before you ask. Your mom and I would be glad to fast with you.”
We sanded some more, and I told my dad about work with Professor Gotlieb. When mom came home, we talked about fasting together. My parents were right behind me, and we agreed to do it. As I drove to my apartment, I could smell the scent of rain on the pines in the mountains mixed with apple tree blossoms. I thought of some things I’d like to do before I fasted. And for the first time, way back in my mind, I knew I’d be calling Bishop Smith soon, sooner perhaps than even he expected. And this time, I wouldn’t be going to his office with any excuses.

As a matter of fact, their love for Christ is so big that they wanted to share it with all their friends, LDS or not. They wanted to host an activity that would bring LDS kids and non-LDS kids closer to the Savior and closer to each other. They also decided that such an activity would be the perfect way to cap off the year’s seminary study of the New Testament.
Both youth and adult leaders were called to help organize the event. They decided that since football is such a big sport in Texas, former BYU and Houston Oiler quarterback Gifford Nielson would help attract a crowd. They invited Tim Ross, a Church member well known in the area for his wacky TV weather reports, to speak, figuring he would draw people out too. The conference would include slide presentations, testimonies, prayers, workshops, and of course, there would be some serious, heartfelt talks about the Savior—how much he means to the youth of Texas and to people everywhere. There would be lighter activities, as well, like a dance and a Texas barbecue.
Equipped with an irresistible agenda, they went out to contact various youth groups in the vicinity and invite them over for the big day.
That’s when a big problem came up.
“I contacted several youth groups, and they were really excited at first,” said Anna Francis, 17, a member of the youth planning committee. “But when it got to their ministers, they decided they didn’t want them to come to a Mormon activity. Some of them seem to think that Mormons aren’t Christians, so they said we had no right holding a conference on Christ. It’s sad, because we were trying to help them see that we really are Christians.”
At that point, Plan B went into effect. Since all the youth groups invited declined the invitation, the LDS kids were encouraged to invite their nonmember friends from school. “All the Mormon youth fasted and prayed that everything would work out, and that more people would want to come,” said Tomasyn Harlow, another member of the planning committee. “We invited our friends and talked to people all over the stake. It worked. We ended up with over 225 people.”
Actually, that was quite an impressive turnout. “On a beautiful Saturday like this, they could have been in a million other places,” said Bob Ferguson, a member of the stake high council who was assigned to coordinate the conference. “They could be out waterskiing, fishing, hitting all the new movies. They could have been out working and earning some money. But they wanted to come here to get closer to Christ.”
And the event turned out to be a big success after all.
“I think this is the best we’ve ever done,” said Johnny Apel, 16. And that’s a pretty big compliment. After all, this is a stake that sponsors memorable activities at the end of each seminary year that correspond with the book of scriptures they’ve been studying. They’ve put on things like a “Nephite Festival” that was their version of a county fair in the land of Bountiful, complete with a realistically simulated earthquake and storm, followed by a beautiful talk on Third Nephi.
Then there was the big “Wander in the Wilderness,” where the seminary students were taken to a desolate area, divided by their birth months into twelve “tribes,” and required to complete 12 Old Testament-oriented tasks like rescuing Daniel from the lion’s den, building a tower of Babel, and building an ark. At the end, they were treated to a big feast, similar to that of the Passover.
With activities like that, rating the “Come unto Christ” youth conference number one really says something.
What made the event such a big success? The location wasn’t out of the ordinary—much of the program was held in the chapel, and the workshops were held in church classrooms. Meals were brought in and either eaten outside in the Texas sunshine or inside, picnic-style, on blankets on the gym floor.
So it was the theme itself and the attitudes of the kids involved that made this such a big event. “What could be more important than to come unto Christ?” said Tisha Perry, age 16. “I hoped that this activity would help me to get closer to him, and it did.”
You could actually see some changes taking place right before your eyes as the day wore on. “I really don’t know where it started, but lately I’ve had a real problem with listening to what my parents say and following the counsel they give me,” Greg Harkrider, 16, told the entire group. “I just want them to know that I’m glad that I listened to what they said and came today to learn more about Christ. That’s what I need to be here for. I’ll try to be better because of this.”
And responses from the 30 or so non-LDS kids who did come were positive as well. Rick Moore and Eric Bradshaw, two 16-year-olds who met on the set of a movie they were both involved in, came to the conference because the subject was of great interest to them both. Rick is LDS. Eric is Presbyterian. “Pretty much everything that’s been said here today I’m 100 percent with,” said Eric. “This is really encouraging for me.”
Darla Marburger, 16, who came with her LDS friend Milli Egger, 14, had a response similar to Eric’s. “This has really helped me to grow spiritually,” she said.
“I’m just glad someone has taken the time to teach us more about Christ,” added Milli. “It’s important to learn now, when we’re young and impressionable, so we have a better chance of turning out right.”
Richard Cromwell, a very popular high school teacher and an ordained Methodist minister, also paid big compliments to the event. “This is great!” he said. “I’m all for anything that helps bring the kids closer to Christ.”
The spirit of the day was not diminished when the lights in the gym went down low and the music was turned up for the dance that finished off the conference. A stake music committee, made up mostly of youth, had previously selected all the music that would be played, making sure it was fun to dance to, yet didn’t contain inappropriate lyrics.
While the music played inside, the youth on the organizing committee wandered outside for a breather. They inevitably began discussing the big subject of the day. “Being a part of all this really makes me want to work harder to be better—to be more like Jesus,” said Mark Davies, 17. “That would be so great.”
“We heard a lot about Christ today, and his spirit was here,” added Anna. “That’s exactly what we wanted.”
“Oh yes,” Thomasyn agreed. “Even though it didn’t turn out exactly like we’d planned at first, it was a big success.”
There it was. Still another big to add to the Texas list.

My mother and I received our patriarchal blessings together. I was 20, and Mother was 49. I will never forget that day—how the patriarch placed his hands on Mother’s head and told her how often her life had been spared through bouts of rheumatic fever, heart disease, and many other illnesses. He recounted her life, enumerating the times she had blessed others. He told her of things the Lord had in store for her and offered guidance as to what she needed to do. I knew my mother’s life, and I listened as this patriarch, who was not acquainted with her, described her life. This experience was a witness to me that God lives, that He loves us, and that He knows us individually. I felt the Lord’s love for my mother—and for me—on that memorable day.

A mother overheard her son, four, tell his brother, six, “I don’t believe in Jesus.” The brother responded, “You have really hurt my feelings.” Sensing a need, the mother reinforced the younger boy’s understanding of the Savior. She placed a picture of the Redeemer in his room and continued to teach all of her children more about the Master. Sometime later, the younger son commented, “Mom, you’re my best friend—next to Jesus.”

I remember the story of Emma Smith trying to escape the persecution in Missouri. The Mississippi River was only partially frozen—not enough that a wagon with people and their possessions could travel on it. It is a wide river, and it was dangerous to cross. Emma had a six-year-old child holding onto one side of her skirt, an eight-year-old on the other side, a two-year-old in this arm, and an infant in that arm.

The sister-in-law of one of Joseph’s scribes had sewn cotton bags that buttoned around the waist. In those bags under her skirt, Emma carried the only copy of Joseph’s translation of the Bible, which he had been working on for months. With the documents and with her children, she took one step after another across that frozen river, hoping she wouldn’t fall in.

To me, that is the consummate signal of courage and faith—that when you need to do something for what you believe, you just move forward, one foot in front of the other.

My husband, John, was a big man. He stood six feet four inches (1.9 m) tall and weighed more than 200 pounds (90.9 kg). For him, air travel in economy class was uncomfortable at best, painful at worst.
In August 2006 we were called to serve a Church educational service mission at Brigham Young University–Hawaii. When it came time to return home, we were dreading what he would have to endure in the flight back to the mainland. During check-in we were delighted to find that there was one seat available in first class, so we upgraded his ticket. He would be able to sit in a comfortable seat with plenty of room for his long legs.
About midway through the flight, I decided to go see how he was doing. As I approached the first-class area, a flight attendant stood in the doorway to stop me.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, I would like to see my husband for a moment,” I replied.
“I’m sorry,” she said pleasantly but firmly, “you can’t come up here.”
“But he’s my husband, and I just want to see him for a minute.”
Still barring the door, she again stated, “I’m sorry, but you are not allowed up here. I can give your husband a message, and if he would like to, he can come visit you. But the policy is that only first-class passengers can be in this area.”
I was taken aback for a moment, but seeing her persistence, I quietly returned to my seat in economy class.
I began to think about the three degrees of glory mentioned in the scriptures and by the prophets. We read that Christ will visit those in the terrestrial kingdom (see D&C 76:77), and administering angels will visit those in the telestial kingdom (see D&C 76:88), but those who are in the lesser kingdoms can never go up to the celestial kingdom (see D&C 76:112; see also D&C 88:22–24). Reflecting upon my experience, I felt that I just had a glimpse of what it might be like for those in the lower kingdoms. How would they feel upon hearing the words “I’m sorry, you can’t come up here”?
About five months later my husband passed away from cancer. My experience on the airplane gives me extra incentive to live so that I never have to hear those words again—at least not on the other side of the veil.

Roberto frowned. This was only his second time at Primary since he had moved from Chile to America, and already his teacher was telling the class she loved him.
How can she say such a thing? Roberto wondered. She does not even know me. And besides, why should anyone love a chubby boy who doesn’t have nice clothes to wear? Tears threatened to fill his eyes as he thought of the many relatives and friends he had left behind in South America. He had been so lonely since his father had died. He and his mother had come to Utah so that she could learn English and attend Brigham Young University.
“I have made each of you a special valentine,” Sister Porter said, handing each child a shiny foil heart on which she had written “I love you.” Roberto took his but shrugged off the hug his teacher tried to give him. Later, when he got home, he tore up the card and threw it in the garbage.
All that week, Roberto felt very sad. During class, he looked out the window and daydreamed about moving back to Chile. He was never going to fit in here.
On Thursday afternoon, Roberto walked home from school. He forgot all about locking the door behind him when he saw a note from his mother taped to the refrigerator: “I’m taking a test. I’ll be back at 5:30. Read the Friends Sister Porter dropped off for you.”
After fixing himself a snack, Roberto began to leaf through the magazines.
First he looked at the pictures. Then he started to read a few stories. After a while he noticed that the sad and lonely feelings were starting to go away.
Then he remembered the unkind things some children had said on the school bus that morning when they thought that he couldn’t hear. One of the children had been in his Primary class! Hurt and anger began to build up inside him again until he looked down at the magazine in his hands. There was a picture of the Savior with little children all around Him. Roberto was surprised to find tears of happiness in his eyes. It was almost as if a voice was saying to him, “Jesus loves you, Roberto.”
A feeling of warmth and love surrounded him, and he knew somehow that the Savior truly did know him and love him. He was filled with hope and an overwhelming assurance that in time he would have many friends in his new school and ward.
Roberto thought back to Sunday and how Sister Porter must have felt when he pulled away from her hug. I will make her a valentine, he decided, jumping up and gathering paper and crayons. Then he remembered the new colored markers his mother had bought for her college classes. They were on top of the highest shelf in the kitchen, and he climbed onto the counter to get them.
Stretching as far as he could, he couldn’t quite reach them. He jumped just a little but lost his balance and fell. Twisting awkwardly, he plunged to the floor and heard an ugly cracking noise as he landed on his left arm.
Never had he felt such pain! His arm felt as if it was on fire. He knew that he should telephone his mother, but as soon as he tried to stand, waves of nausea and dizziness washed over him, forcing him back to the floor.
The clock on the wall read ten to four. Swallowing back the tears, Roberto began a silent prayer, asking Heavenly Father to send someone to help. As he worked up his courage to crawl to the phone, a car pulled into the driveway. His mother! Heavenly Father had sent her home early! But then he heard a knock, and after several moments, a familiar voice called his name.
“Help me!” Roberto yelled. “I’m hurt!”
The door opened and Sister Porter looked in. “What happened?” she asked, hurrying to his side.
“My arm—I think I broke it.” Roberto was embarrassed by his tears, but his teacher didn’t say anything about them as she gently helped him up and made him as comfortable as possible on the couch in the living room.
“Where’s your mother?” she asked him then. “Your arm will need to be X-rayed.” After leaving a message at the university for his mother, Sister Porter sat beside him. “I see you’ve been reading the magazines I sent over. Did you find any stories you really liked?”
Roberto felt a little shy, but talking helped keep his mind off the pain. “I read a lot of the stories, but the best part was finding this picture of Jesus with the little children. I have never seen it before.”
Sister Porter studied the picture, and a very peaceful look came to her face. “I think that this is a special picture, too, Roberto. Whenever I look at it, I feel how much love Jesus has for all children.”
Roberto found himself telling his teacher about his feelings on Sunday and all during the week. Then, somewhat sheepishly, he admitted that he had torn up the valentine he had received in class. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I was going to use my mom’s special markers to make you a valentine. They were up high, and when I climbed up to get them, I fell.”
Sister Porter smiled as she gently patted his cheek. “Crayons will do fine.”
Just then Roberto’s mother came in. “Roberto! Oh Roberto!” She knelt beside him, very tenderly feeling the large lump on his arm. “It must be broken. We will go to the hospital right away.” She looked at Sister Porter with worry and pleading in her eyes. “There will be many insurance papers. My English is not very good. …”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Sister Porter said. “I’ll call my children and have them fix supper. I’ll go with you to the hospital and help you with the papers.”
That evening was a long one. Many people were waiting in the emergency room, and it seemed forever before a nurse called Roberto’s name and he was examined and X-rayed. Never having had a cast before, Roberto felt a bit nervous. But Sister Porter stayed with him the whole time, entertaining him with a story about the time her oldest son had fallen from the backyard swing set and had broken his wrist.
Roberto lay on the examining table after the cast was applied. He was surprised to see that it was almost nine o’clock. “Aren’t you hungry?” he asked his teacher. “Doesn’t your family need you?”
“They’ll be fine,” Sister Porter said, producing a granola bar from the depths of her purse. “Feel up to sharing this?”
They ate and talked while they waited for Roberto’s mother. Sister Porter had found a Spanish-speaking nurse to help his mother fill out the insurance forms.
“Do you know why I came to your house this afternoon?” Sister Porter asked.
Roberto shook his head.
“I was on my way home from running errands, and I felt prompted to stop my van. I think you must have been praying for help. Were you?”
“I was! I asked Heavenly Father to send someone. I am very glad He sent you.” Roberto smiled at his teacher.
Sister Porter asked to borrow a red marking pen from one of the nurses passing by.
“What do you need a marker for?” Roberto asked.
Sister Porter winked and uncapped the pen. “In this country, we have a tradition,” she said. “If someone gets a cast, we write nice messages on it. May I be the first to write on yours?”
Roberto nodded, curious and pleased.
Sister Porter drew a large red heart, then wrote I • U in the middle of it. She grinned mischievously. “This one you can’t rip up and throw away!”
“Don’t worry,” Roberto said, his eyes twinkling. “Today I have learned that you really do love me!”

Cody Carr knew when he was only four that he wanted to be an astronaut. He had a little bank shaped like a spaceship that he put his tithing money in, and each time he dropped in a penny, a light would go on as if the rockets were firing. As he grew older, his school friends kidded him about being a spaceman, but Cody was serious. Those were the days of the birth of the manned space program, and he listened to every minute of every flight.

Naturally, his twin interest was astronomy. He received a telescope for Christmas and began getting up at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning to look at the stars. “The night sky always fascinated me,” he said. “The whole universe is God’s creation, but we don’t know very much about it. I have often thought that if there were another frontier left, I’d be out exploring it. But the only one left is outer space, and there’s only one way to get there—by becoming an astronaut.”

In school, Cody took all the science and electronics classes he could. “I didn’t think electronics had much to do with space exploration, but dad suggested it, and I loved it!” He became a finalist in a statewide electronics competition.

Part of Cody’s goal to become an astronaut included a goal to become an Air Force Academy cadet. As he progressed through high school, he counseled with his father and mother and prayed about each step along the way. He had three great goals in life.

The first was to keep all the commandments of his Father in Heaven. The second was to serve a full-time mission. “All my life we have talked about a mission and the things pertaining to a mission. It was never ‘if you go on a mission’ but always ‘when you go.’” The third great goal was temple marriage.

“Every night before we went to sleep, mom or dad would come around to our beds and ask each of us in turn, ‘What do you want out of life? What do you want to do? What do you want to be?’ Those goal-setting sessions really helped me keep my head on straight. Every night I said those three things and sometimes others—like the astronaut plans—but always those three. We would talk about what I needed to do to achieve those goals, and then we would talk about any problems or questions I had.”

But two of Cody’s goals conflicted with each other. In order to go on a mission, he would have to resign from the academy after his first year—there was no such thing as a leave of absence for a mission. If he left, he was probably out of the program. To get back in, he would have to be renominated, and the mere fact of his resignation might work against him. What were the odds?

The preparations continued. Cody ran four or five miles each night to condition himself. As a junior, he spent one whole day taking college entrance exams, including the ACT (American College Test), SAT (Scholastic Aptitude Test), an Air Force engineering aptitude examination, and a physical fitness test. He was also interviewed and appraised for leadership potential.

The first year at the academy wasn’t spent just waiting for a mission call. “It was hard,” he remembers. “After the first four months I started asking, ‘Is this what I want to do in life?’ But then I would think back to the confirmations I had received through the Holy Ghost. I knew I was doing things, as President Kimball says, in their proper season and order, and I prayed, and the plan was reconfirmed. I knew I was right where I should be, and that really helped me.”

As the first year drew to a close, Cody had to reaffirm in his own mind his decision to go on a mission. To survive the toughest year in the academy and then give it all up took a lot of courage. And it might also mean abandoning his lifelong dream of becoming an astronaut. “But I had already made the decision to resign eight years earlier. I had no doubt what I was going to do even though I agonized over it.”

In March, during spring break, Cody had his mission interviews with his bishop and stake president. At the end of the summer, following SERE training (survival, evasion, resistance, and escape), he resigned. As with any cadet who asks to leave the academy, he was sent to interviews with several different counselors and officers.

“All of them would grill me at first,” Cody said, “but as soon as I told them my reasons for resigning, their attitude changed. They all expressed their respect for the LDS people they knew, and when I told them I was going to try to come back, which was something of a shock in itself, they said fine.” His written statement included a full explanation of what a mission is and why he wanted to serve.

The officer who had to sign the paper as a witness commented, “I’ve never read anything like that before in my life. Is that really what you believe?”

“I sure do,” Cody replied.

“A lot of them didn’t understand,” Cody explains, “but they accepted. They were feeling something they’d rarely felt before.”

In May Cody received his call to the Switzerland Zurich Mission. He entered the MTC in August. Concentrating on studies was second nature, and obedience was ingrained. “I wanted to use my time wisely because I knew I was paying a price for my mission,” he said.

At first the thought of not being readmitted hung over him, but the time finally came when he stopped worrying and left it in the hands of the Lord. Besides, missionary work presented its own challenges. “For the first six or seven months, I found myself going through the motions. I knew the Church was true and that the work was important, but I didn’t love it as I should. My academy experience came to my aid. I was used to doing difficult things. I worked hard and prayed every day that the work would become a joy instead of a burden. In the course of about a week, the whole thing turned around. Suddenly I was happier; I was working out of desire, not just duty. I knew my mission would be worth it even if I never got accepted back into the academy.”

Then a letter from home told Cody that Ted Parsons, another cadet who had resigned from the academy to serve a mission, had been readmitted! Maybe there was a chance after all!

Cody took the necessary exams at a U.S. military installation. “My mission president gave me a blessing. He told me I had served an honorable mission and that the Lord would help me accomplish what I needed to.”

Shortly after the blessing, Cody had a head-on bicycle collision, shattering his nose on the handlebar. “Qualifications at the academy are stringent. With an impact like that you would normally lose pilot qualification. If I had hit my eye or forehead or even my teeth, it would probably have disqualified me.” Cody is convinced he was protected.

When the test results arrived, they showed a score higher than the first time Cody applied for admission, which was advantageous because the competition was tougher.

“I had done everything I could. I made sure my end of things was in order. I wasn’t expecting the Lord to meet me more than halfway. Then I left it up to him,” Cody said.

Cody was renominated by his senator. His faith had paid off. Two weeks after returning from Switzerland and two years after leaving Colorado Springs, Cody Carr entered the academy once more. His dream of being an astronaut was fully intact, along with his other goals of keeping the commandments, marrying in the temple, and being a lifelong missionary.

I served in the United States Navy during World War II. I started in the lowest ranks. After the war ended, I decided that if I ever had to serve in the military again, I wanted to be an officer instead. So I went to drill meetings. I studied. I took exams. Finally I got a letter that said I was accepted! I showed my wife and said, “I made it!” She gave me a hug and told me I had worked hard.
But then something happened. I was called to be a counselor in my ward bishopric. The bishop’s council meeting was on the same night as my navy drill meetings. I knew that I couldn’t do both. I prayed about it. Then I went to see the man who was my stake president when I was a boy, Elder Harold B. Lee, who later became the prophet. I told him how much I wanted to become an officer. I even showed him the copy of the letter I had received.
After thinking about things for a moment, he said to me, “Here’s what you should do, Brother Monson. You write a letter to the navy and tell them you can’t accept the commission as an officer.”
My heart sank. Another war was starting, and if I was called to go back into the military, I wanted to be an officer. Elder Lee put his hand on my shoulder and in a fatherly way said, “Brother Monson, have more faith. The military is not for you.”
I went home and did what he said. Six weeks later, I was called to be a bishop. I would not hold the position in the Church I hold today if I had not followed the counsel of a prophet and prayed about that decision. I learned an important truth: the wisdom of God sometimes looks foolish to men (see 1 Corinthians 2:14). But when God speaks and His children obey, they will always be right. When you follow the prophets, you will be in safe territory.

I had heard the same story over and over again in church, the one about testimonies and planting seeds. But on fast Sunday, I usually just slumped down in my chair and thought about how boring testimony meeting was. So of course I didn’t think that a recent lesson in my Sunday School class about testimonies would affect me any differently than any of the other things I had heard, but I was wrong.
During class I was asked to read the familiar story in Alma 32:26–43, in which Alma compares faith to a seed. I had read or heard that story many times before, but for some reason, this time I couldn’t get the line that says “Because ye have tried the experiment, and planted the seed” (Alma 32:33) out of my head. I thought about the seed of my own testimony, and how I had never really “tried the experiment” to see if it would grow.
Near the end of the lesson our teacher brought out the most beautiful plant I have ever seen. It was full of bright red and orange flowers. Then she brought out another plant, except this one was brown and wilted. Our teacher explained that the flower that was beautiful and bright had been nourished and looked after, while the wilted one had been forgotten about and neglected. She then handed us a pot of dark soil and a single seed. She challenged us to nourish the seeds as a reminder to nourish our testimonies. She also challenged us to bear our testimonies often.
By the next month my seed had bloomed into a bright, flowering plant. On fast Sunday, my Sunday School teacher bore her testimony right after the bishop, and it made me think about her challenge. I also thought about my beautiful plant and how I wanted my testimony to be just as beautiful. I knew that I had a testimony, and that part of helping it grow was sharing it with others. I had butterflies in my stomach, but I finally got enough courage to stand.
As tears rolled down my face I looked down at my Sunday School teacher, and I could tell that she was proud of me. As I sat down I thought that even though my testimony didn’t seem like much right now, I knew within myself that my testimony was the beginning of the most beautiful thing I would ever grow.

Annie threw her paper airplane. It sailed up and over the gray block wall at the back of her yard. She stomped her foot and thought, Now I’m never going to get it back.
Just then, her typing-paper airplane glided back over the wall and landed by the patio. Annie grabbed the plane and ran back to the wall.
“Thank you,” she called. No one answered. “Is anyone there?” she asked. No one answered.
She threw her airplane back over the wall, sat on her swing, blocked the setting sun with a salute, and waited. Suddenly a different plane, made of newspaper, flew over the wall, through the swing chains above her head, and glided to a perfect landing in front of the sliding-glass door.
“Wow!” Annie reached for the plane. “I wish I knew how to make planes fly like—” Suddenly she stopped. The plane had a message written on one of the wings. “Hi, Amelia! From the Secret Pilot.”
Who’s Amelia? wondered Annie. Maybe the family who lived here before us had a girl named Amelia. The Secret Pilot sure can’t print very well. Her writing’s so scribbly, she couldn’t be very old. Or, it could be a boy. He sure knows how to make good airplanes. I have to find out who the Secret Pilot is.
“I’m going to ride around the block—OK, Mom?” Annie called.
“Not now, Annie. I need the table set for dinner.”
Annie chewed on her bottom lip. “May I go after dinner, please?”
“You need to wash your hair tonight,” said her mother.
Annie glanced back at the block wall. “May I please have a minute to do something before I set the table?” Her mother smiled and nodded. Annie grabbed a pen from the desk in the hall and ran back to the yard. On the other wing of the airplane, she wrote:
Dear Secret Pilot,
I’ll be over tomorrow.
Your friend,Annie
She paused for a minute, then added “Amelia” after her own name. She sailed the plane back over the wall and waited, but it didn’t come back.
The next morning Annie jumped on her bike and pedaled around the corner. She kept her eye on the tall palm tree in her backyard. When she rode past a park on the next street, she lost sight of it for a minute but then was able to line it up with a long, low building. It didn’t look like a house. There was a parking lot beside it, and a large sign on the lawn. The sign said, “Seacliff Retirement Home.” Annie could see her palm tree behind the building.
She went up the sidewalk and peeked through the door. As she stepped on the black rubber doormat, the door buzzed aside like the one at the supermarket.
A nurse hung up a telephone and smiled at Annie. “May I help you, dear?” she asked.
Annie walked to the desk. “Do any kids live here?”
The woman said kindly, “No children—just older people.”
As Annie turned to leave, she saw a man with white hair and a blue captain’s hat walking slowly down the hall. His hat had gold wings embroidered on the bill. Annie saw something sticking out of his jacket pocket—her paper airplane. He saluted to the nurse.
“Hi, Captain Penny,” said the nurse. “Off to the park again?”
Captain Penny nodded and patted the nurse’s hand.
“Excuse me,” said Annie. “I’m Annie Amelia. Are you the Secret Pilot?”
Captain Penny smiled with every wrinkle on his face.
“He was a pilot all right, but it’s no secret,” said the nurse. “You should see his scrapbook. Why, he even knew Amelia Earhart, the first woman to fly the Atlantic Ocean alone.”
Captain Penny took off his winged pilot’s hat and set it on Annie’s head. She grinned back at him.
“He can’t speak very well since his stroke, but he doesn’t let that stop him,” the nurse explained. “He takes his newspaper to the park every day and watches the children play.”
Captain Penny scribbled a shaky note and handed it to Annie:
Dear Miss Annie Amelia,
Some young friends and I are meeting at the park today to make airplanes. Might your mother let you join us?
Your Secret Pilot
Annie gave him a salute. The nurse called Annie’s mother, and Annie and the Secret Pilot headed for the park.

Before joining the ward team, I didn’t know the other teammates very well, but as we played basketball together they quickly became my friends. In fact, all of Skip’s friends from church became my friends—the boys who played basketball and also the girls who were their age. I didn’t know how to dance, so after Mutual activities several of my new friends and I would go to someone’s basement and play old records while they taught me how to dance. I’m still not a good dancer, but they taught me enough so that I could impress Carolyn Lake, another Latter-day Saint girl. After my mission to the Gulf States, Carolyn agreed to marry me.

At one time in his life, President Grant encountered some severe financial reverses, and in his words, “I was just $91,000 worse off than nothing.”
He was called to open and preside over a mission in Japan, and he was given one year to prepare and put his affairs in order prior to his departure.
After the meeting in which he was called, a fellow apostle told Heber J. Grant that the president of the Church would never have called him if he had known of his difficult financial situation. President Grant agreed. At that moment President Grant put himself completely in the hands of the Lord, and every morning his prayer, in essence, was: “Please help me today to do something to help me get out of debt.” Within the year’s time, all of his creditors had been paid. He was not only completely out of debt but had sufficient to sustain himself in the mission field.

The world today is dangerous and filled with temptations. After reading President Hinckley’s talk, I felt more strongly than ever that I must obey the teachings of the Church. The B that is especially important for me right now is “Be true.”
When school started this year, I made some new friends. One day I had the opportunity to talk about the gospel. I remembered the video I saw at church about the six B’s. While watching that video I was filled with a spirit of peace that assured me, “You can talk about the Church with confidence.” When the opportunity came, I was able to do so. I am thankful for that chance.
Reading the talk in the Liahona (Japanese) later, I noticed the well-known phrase “To thine own self be true.” When some sort of big decision needs to be made, these words lead me to the correct path. The other B’s are also important, but most of all I want to be true to myself.
Sakura Kajihara, age 15,Izumi Ward, Sendai Japan Stake

One reader, Lynna Shin, now a student at BYU, faced the same dilemma about dealing with her family, who are not members, and attending Church meetings. She wrote, “My parents needed to know I was still their daughter. My spending so much time with church families made them feel they were ‘not good enough.’ I began suggesting Sunday activities like a drive into the mountains or a walk as an alternative to shopping malls, amusement parks, or movie theaters. Sometimes it worked, but not always. But I still spend time with my family because this is what the Lord asks of us. Trying to avoid my family for fear I was becoming a ‘bad’ Latter-day Saint only estranged me from my parents, making it harder for me to share with them the joy of the gospel.”
Lynna also suggested reading Mark 2:27, where Jesus teaches that the Sabbath day is for our benefit. We do not have a list of dos and don’ts like the ancient Jews had for observing the Sabbath. Instead we feel it is a day to worship and be with loved ones.

The glacier glows from deep within, pulling scarce light from a gray day and turning it an eerie blue. Mostly, the glacier is dirty white. But from parts of the vertical face comes faint, cold blue fire. “Ice blue” is a real color.
At the glacier’s foot a shallow lake of ice melt is dotted with an occasional miniature iceberg. A stream of glacial water tumbles into the lake with a distant, dull rumble. It’s the only sound you hear until—
Splash! “Whoop!” Someone has just jumped into the lake. Or fallen. Or been pulled. Youth of the Juneau Alaska District are holding their annual games on the sandy shore. Relays rage back and forth across a shallow inlet. Put on hip boots, wade-run through thigh-high ice water, take off the boots and hand them to a teammate for the return trip. Splash! Someone else has tried to run too fast. Again, a sharp intake of breath and “whoop!”
Soon, a stout rope is drawn across the same inlet and the teams take sides, muscles straining, heels dug into the sand. Rhythmic chants of “pull … pull … pull” echo across the lake. Inch by inch the losing team is drawn toward the incredibly cold water.
Incredibly, too, some of the youth who didn’t get wet in the relay or tug-of-war give berserk yells and wade into the bone-chilling water for the sheer daring of it. Afterward, when everyone has dried off and is back at the chapel warming up, the kids explain. It’s not insanity, just enthusiasm.
Juneau is Alaska’s capital, beautiful and interesting but a challenging place to live. There are no highways to other major cities. To get to the rest of Alaska—and the rest of the world—you either fly or you load the family car on a ferry boat. Both are expensive, so you try to find most of your fun close to home—like the Mendenhall Glacier just a few minutes from town.
Close to home there’s plenty of cold and snow in winter, lots of clouds and rain the rest of the time—more than 100 inches of precipitation a year. So, the young women just plan their camps by the calendar, not by the weather forecasts. If you let the probability of rain stop you, next thing you know, you could start worrying about the possibility of bears. Instead, you take along rain gear and a few armed priesthood brethren. And you go enjoy camp.
School football and soccer games are rarely canceled for rain. Baseball is often played under conditions that would be a “rain-out” in the lower 48 states. In a climate like this, trees grow tall, roofs grow moss, and these LDS kids have grown an attitude that seems to say, “No matter where you live—live. Jump into life with both feet.”
No, the rope’s not for the weatherman. We’re still on the subject of jumping. Carly Perkins and Shannon Orme are members of the Juneau Jumpers, one of the largest rope jumping teams in the world. “It’s about the only thing we can do that’s indoors and doesn’t cost much,” explains Carly. “And since it’s always raining, it’s something to pass the time.”
But what a way to pass the time! According to Shannon, 10 minutes of rope jumping equals about 20 minutes of jogging. “If we didn’t keep the Word of Wisdom, we really wouldn’t we able to do this,” she adds. Qualifying for the “double unders”—two passes of the rope on each jump—requires doing 200 in a row without a mistake. Then there are the “quadruple unders” … !
Add complicated routines with multiple ropes and jumpers, and you can see that competition rope jumping is as different from the schoolyard variety of rope jumping as the Monte Carlo Grand Prix is from driving school. So who teaches all of this? Sure, there are adult coaches, but it’s the team members themselves who train new candidates for the team and literally teach each other the ropes. You work with another team member to qualify for new routines. “Even freestyle, we have to do it with someone else so they learn it too,” Shannon says. “You learn to get along with pretty much everybody,” adds Carly. There’s no “king-of-the-hill” mentality on this team. You only progress and go on the road trips by being willing to help others reach your own level of accomplishment.
That’s a lot like the attitude you find among the LDS youth of Juneau, Alaska. For example, at the lake and at the chapel afterward was a fellow student who was being friendshipped by some of the LDS kids. Having seen them in action, she announced that she was ready to talk to the missionaries. You know that when she does talk to the missionaries, she’s going to have a big team backing her up and teaching her the ropes. Around here, they don’t just jump into life with both feet. They like to take a friend along.
Sometimes the world can seem like a pretty cold place. But LDS kids in Juneau have learned that if you jump in with both feet—and help someone else do the same—life can be great no matter where you live.

And I have seen it in young fathers trying to provide for their families. In that regard I once terrifyingly saw it in myself. At one point in our married life when financial fears collided with staggering fatigue, I took a psychic blow that was as unanticipated as it was real. With the grace of God and the love of my family, I kept functioning and kept working, but even after all these years I continue to feel a deep sympathy for others more chronically or more deeply afflicted with such gloom than I was. In any case we have all taken courage from those who, in the words of the Prophet Joseph, “search[ed] … and contemplate[d] the darkest abyss”3 and persevered through it—not the least of whom were Abraham Lincoln, Winston Churchill, and Elder George Albert Smith, the latter being one of the most gentle and Christlike men of our dispensation, who battled recurring depression for some years before later becoming the universally beloved eighth prophet and President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

How do you get back to feeling good again? I have a young grandson named Adam. When he was three, we were having a family gathering at our house. It had snowed, and we looked out and saw Adam in the front yard in his Sunday clothes, making designs in the snow with his feet. His mother went out and asked him to come in, but he refused. She reminded him that he was getting cold and that he was ruining his Sunday clothes. Still he was defiant and not feeling the Spirit at all.
Next I went out. He was walking up the street, blue with cold, and crying. “Adam,” I said, “would you like to hold Grandpa’s hand and walk back to the house with me?” He stuck his tongue out at me. Finally, his Aunt Becky went out and picked up Adam screaming and kicking and carried him back into the house.
A while later, Adam was wrapped in a blanket and was a cheerful little boy. I asked him, “Adam, what did you do to feel better?” Adam said, “I prayed.”

My friend, Marcia, had moved several times in her young years as her father’s work required it. She was now ten years old and facing another new school. Marcia’s mother could see the concern on her daughter’s face and sat down with her to discuss what was bothering her.
Marcia talked about the challenge of joining classes at midterm and trying to get in step with the subject matter, teacher, and other students. Mother pledged her support to help Marcia make the adjustment. Then tears welled up in Marcia’s eyes. In all honesty, she shared with her mother, “I can overcome the difficulties with the academics and the new teachers. But, Mother,” she said, with tears trickling over her freckled cheeks, “I just hate eating my lunch alone.”
Marcia needed someone to recognize her situation and invite her to join a group and get acquainted. The Savior told us: “And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.” (Eph. 4:32.)

Meanwhile, the Ungas moved to New Zealand from Tonga with plans to attend university. In church one Sunday, they overheard a conversation about BYU-Pathway and were intrigued by the low tuition fees and the ability to work while studying.
“My husband has a passion for carpentry and automotive work, and I had studied travel and tourism here in New Zealand but decided not to pursue it,” Ralueri said. “We saw BYU-Pathway as an opportunity to explore business studies.”
Mosese added that when he first came to New Zealand, many companies wouldn’t hire him for better jobs due to his lack of necessary credentials.
“I found a job in the scaffolding business because no one else would hire me,” he said. “I wanted to study, but education was too expensive due to my visa status.”
“Since my wife was already enrolled in BYU-Pathway, I decided to join as well,” he said.
The Ungas started their first semester together in 2020 and quickly progressed through their programs. Mosese completed his BYU-Pathway certificates in July 2021 and continued online courses with Brigham Young University-Idaho.
“I’m pursuing a bachelor’s degree in professional studies, which involves three certificates: auto service technology, computer support, and computer-aided design and drafting,” he said.
Meanwhile, Ralueri said BYU-Pathway helped her chart a course that could lead to the couple working together. “While my initial career path was in travel and tourism, BYU-Pathway allowed me to pivot toward a different future—one where we might eventually run our own business.”
“I have my associate of applied science degree in applied business management, and I’m currently in my last few semesters towards completing a bachelor of applied business management with Brigham Young University-Idaho in December,” she said.
Both currently hold full-time jobs—Ralueri with a bank and Mosese working for a home improvement retailer. Along with their current classes through BYU-Idaho, they also serve as service missionaries facilitating a BYU-Pathway class and attend once-a-week in-person gatherings teaching religion classes and helping other BYU-Pathway students with their educational journey.
“We often get asked how we manage it all, and our answer is simple: prayer and faith guide us through every step,” Mosese said. “It’s been quite a journey, and we’ve learned to manage our time more effectively.”
“You pray for help and somehow the Lord makes that time work out. Even though you only have 24 hours, time just seems to expand,” he said. “I don’t know how it happens, but He helps everything just fit in.”