Gospel Story Finder

Each of us remembers with affection the teachers of our youth. I think it amusing that my elementary school music teacher was a Miss Sharp. She had the capacity to infuse within her pupils a love for music and taught us to identify musical instruments and their sounds. I well recall the influence of a Miss Ruth Crow who taught the subject of health. Though these were depression times, she ensured that each sixth-grade student had a dental health chart. She personally checked each pupil for dental health and made certain that through public or private resources, no child went without proper dental care. As Miss Burkhaus, who taught geography, rolled down the maps of the world and with her pointer marked the capital cities of nations and the distinctive features of each country, language, and culture, little did I anticipate or dream that one day I would visit these lands and peoples.

Photographs by Cody Bell and courtesy of Sydney G.
For an entire week, Sydney G., 14, from Utah, USA, visibly carried a copy of the Book of Mormon everywhere she went—to school, to her extracurricular activities, and to church. She was prayerfully trying to find someone to share the gospel with, and keeping the Book of Mormon out with her was a constant reminder of that goal.
One day, she went to the office at school and accidentally left the book there. Without even opening the cover, the office secretary knew immediately whose it was. That week, Sydney had become known at her school for carrying that Book of Mormon with her. And throughout her life, she’s become known for many other things as well.
For instance, she participates in student council. She dances for her school’s dance company. She was the lead in an Alice in Wonderland musical. She volunteers for a service group. She cheers. She crafts. She loves to spend time with her friends and family.
She’s also a strong advocate of type 1 diabetes awareness and research.
When Sydney was three, her parents noticed changes in her behavior. Among other things, she was extremely thirsty, moody, and fatigued. One day she slept for 22 hours, waking up only for moments before falling back asleep. Her parents knew something was wrong and took her to a doctor the next morning. The doctor said she was on the verge of a diabetic coma and was lucky she came in that day. Sydney and her parents now recognize that the timing was more than luck; it was a blessing.
Sydney’s diagnosis flipped her life upside down, but that hasn’t stopped her from living a life that gives back to others. Despite her age, Sydney is a leader, role model, and friend as she works to help promote diabetes awareness.
What Is Type 1 Diabetes?
Type 1 diabetes is a disease in which the pancreas produces little or no insulin, the hormone that converts glucose into energy. To treat this, people with type 1 diabetes take insulin every time they eat to help their bodies get the energy they need.
If left untreated, diabetes can have serious complications. It’s important to recognize the symptoms and be treated as early as possible. Type 1 diabetes requires constant care and vigilance throughout a person’s entire life.
In 2015, Sydney and her family participated in a fundraising managed by JDRF, an organization that helps fund research for type 1 diabetes. After the walk, Sydney wanted to keep helping. She says, “I was super excited to get out and do stuff, and I wanted to inform people of the symptoms of type 1 diabetes so they would know to get tested.” To do this, she and her mom created a social media page to promote awareness. Their first post included pictures of the walk, and they’ve continued with regular posts debunking myths about diabetes, promoting fundraisers, and showcasing diabetes-related events and activities Sydney participates in.
Sydney knows the impact youth can have in their communities, and she hopes to keep helping those around her. “Young people can make a huge difference,” she says, “and it’s good for them! They get to get out and help the community. It’s just good for the soul.”
She’s already seen some positive results from her efforts. One day, soon after they started the page, Sydney’s mom felt prompted to post Sydney’s diagnosis story. A woman in their neighborhood read the post and then, two days later, recognized the symptoms in her own daughter. As a result of a prompting, this five-year-old girl was able to receive an early diagnosis and get the medical attention she needed.
Sydney knows it’s important to have friends during times of trial, and she always strives to be that friend for people in times of need. When she heard of another young girl in the community who was just diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, Sydney immediately reached out and met with her. The girl’s mother later told Sydney about the great influence she had on her daughter. The daughter had felt alone in her trial because no one else she knew had diabetes. But immediately after Sydney’s visit, she had a friend, and that made all the difference.
Sydney also recognizes the importance of friendship in her own life and strives to include and love others. When she was about to turn 12, she was “probably more excited than anyone to go to the temple for the first time.” So for her birthday party, she invited some friends over to eat a formal dinner and then go to the temple to do baptisms and confirmations on behalf of those who have died. One of her close friends, Lindsay,* wasn’t a member of the Church, but Sydney still wanted to include her. So Sydney invited Lindsay to the birthday dinner with them and explained why the temple was so important to her.
Remember that Book of Mormon that Sydney carried around with her? She felt prompted to give it to Lindsay with her testimony. Though Lindsay respectfully said she didn’t believe in the book, Sydney didn’t focus on the rejection. Instead, Sydney just appreciated the opportunity she had to share her testimony with someone she cares about.
Though she sometimes feels discouraged, Sydney tries to stay positive and move forward in her goal to help others. She says, “I think it’s important to just keep going if you’re having a trial. It helps to focus on something positive. Like, if you fall off your bike, you just get back up and keep going, and soon you’ll forget you even fell off in the first place.”
Every day, Sydney chooses to focus on the positive of her situation by striving to be a leader in her community and a friend to those who need one. She’s learned that the smallest decisions—like deciding one day to go to a fundraiser walk with her family—can make a big difference.

Brother Blanchard also introduced Meliton to President Brigham Young. Meliton told President Young that more than anything, he wanted to translate the Book of Mormon into Spanish.
President Young asked Meliton to help the missionaries who were going to Mexico translate parts of the Book of Mormon into Spanish. Meliton spent many weeks translating the English words into Spanish. Each night he reviewed his translation with the missionaries. They spoke some Spanish but felt this important translation needed a native Spanish speaker. They knew Meliton was an answer to their prayers.
In 1875 the translation was published. It was called Trozos Selectos del Libro de Mormon (Selected Passages from the Book of Mormon).
The missionaries were now ready to go to Mexico. They loaded 1,500 copies of the translated scripture onto horseback and started on their journey. For the first time, Spanish speakers were able to read the Book of Mormon in their own language! Even though Meliton had lived thousands of miles away in Spain, Heavenly Father led him to exactly where he needed to be. Because of Meliton’s courage and faith, he helped bring the word of God to countless people.
Meliton Gonzalez Trejo (1844–1917) served several missions in Mexico and baptized some of the first members of the Church there. In 1886 Meliton helped finish translating the entire Book of Mormon into Spanish.

I once attended a meeting with President Joseph Fielding Smith. Someone asked President Smith about a letter that was then being circulated by an apostate who claimed that the Church had lost the priesthood because certain words had not been used when it was conferred. President Smith said, “Before we talk about his claim, let me tell you a little about the man himself.” He then described the character of the man and concluded, “And so you see, that man is a liar pure and simple—well, maybe not so pure.”

Greg hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. We all hushed up as if we were waiting for an important news bulletin. “We’re going down the block to do some painting.”
“Huh?” I stared at him. “You mean work?”
“Mark, don’t be a dope.” He held up a can of black spray paint. “I ‘found’ it in the hardware store.”
We laughed. That meant that Greg had stolen the paint. I felt kind of funny in the stomach. I really didn’t like the idea. But I was new here. If I said anything, the other guys wouldn’t be my friends.
Greg led us to a house with a wooden fence around the backyard. He handed the paint to Sam.
“Wait a minute,” I blurted out.
Greg cuffed me on the side of the head. “Are you chicken?”
I snorted. “Me? Of course not.”
When Greg wasn’t looking, I rubbed my head where he’d hit me. It hurt. He’s a year older than I am, and a lot bigger.
After Sam finished, Greg and a couple of other kids did their thing. Then it was my turn. I took a deep breath and pushed the button on the can. Black paint sprayed out.
“Hey!” The shout came from an unseen person.
We took off running. Then I tripped. I jumped up, but someone grabbed my arm. My heart rate speeded up so much that I thought I’d either faint or get sick all over my new sneakers.
I peeked up at a gray-haired man wearing glasses. “What were you doing?” he asked, not loosening his grip any.
“I don’t know,” I said, though it sounded silly.
“Who gave you the right to vandalize my property?”
“Uh, I’m sorry. Are you going to call the police?” I asked. My voice shook like I was going to cry.
“I believe I’d rather keep this between me and your parents.”
I took a shaky breath, then told him my name and phone number. But I’d rather have gone to jail than have my parents know what I’d done.
Dad came over right away. He looked as though he couldn’t decide whether he was more hurt or more angry at what I’d done. I kind of shrunk down inside my shirt.
“Mark will pay for all damages, Mr. Parker,” Dad said.
I gulped hard. My allowance after tithing and savings, doesn’t cover half the stuff I want to buy. I figured that it would take a big part of my childhood years to pay for repainting that fence.
“I believe I have a better idea,” Mr. Parker said. “I’d planned to repaint it, anyway. How about if I buy the paint and Mark does the painting?”
I sagged with relief. I wasn’t looking forward to the work, but painting the fence was a lot better than paying for damages.
I wouldn’t have been so happy if I’d known what was also in store for me at home—Mom and Dad grounded me for six weeks.
“Hurting others is against the word of God,” Mr. Parker said when I went over to his place. He handed me a brush.
I shrugged. “I know.”
“You sure didn’t act like it the way you worked my fence over.”
I turned away and carefully drew the brush out of the paint can. I took my time making my first brush stroke nice and neat. I figured that if Mr. Parker saw that I could do a good job all by myself, he’d leave me alone.
Mr. Parker didn’t take the hint. In fact, he got a brush of his own and started painting too.
My hand shook. I dribbled paint onto my pants leg.
“Careful,” Mr. Parker said.
“I can’t help it—you make me nervous!” I blurted. I dug the toe of my sneaker into the ground.
“I do? Now, why is that?”
“You keep watching me as if I’m bad or something.”
“Is that so? Well, I know you’re not bad or you wouldn’t have stayed and owned up.”
“I never did anything like that before. But Greg said …” I stopped and looked away quickly. I hadn’t meant to mention anyone else.
Mr. Parker chuckled softly. “Greg must be one of the other young fellows I saw running away that day.”
“You saw them?”
“I sure did.”
“You didn’t even ask me to snitch.”
“I was a boy once myself.” Mr. Parker winked at me.
I felt a knot ease out of my shoulders. Mr. Parker was turning out to be a lot nicer than I’d figured.
We started painting again. After a while he said, “Do you ever go to church?”
“We used to.”
“I’m going to ask your folks to come with me on Sunday.”
“They’re pretty busy.”
“We’ll let them decide. I think your parents will welcome the chance for you to meet the right kind of friends.”
My face turned warm. I leaned over and concentrated on my painting. “I have friends,” I mumbled.
“Sure you do, son.”
Mr. Parker didn’t say anything else. I’d expected him to start preaching and tell me how bad my friends were—how they were not only a bad influence but how they ran off and left me. I was all set to get mad and tell him my friends were great.
But all he did was start whistling. I recognized the tune—it was a hymn.
My parents were all eager to take Mr. Parker up on his church offer. I told myself that it didn’t matter—at least I had somewhere else to go for the next six weeks. I couldn’t wait until my grounding was over and I could see Greg and the other guys again.
The only thing was, I got busy with the kids from Primary. By the time the six weeks were up, I was involved in a ward project to get books for a shelter for the homeless. After that, we Blazers all got parts in a play that we were going to put on at the care center.
The next time I saw Greg, he was leading his gang past the park. He stopped suddenly, and everyone piled into the back of him. They reminded me of robots playing follow the leader.
“Mark. I haven’t seen you around.”
“I … uh … I’ve been busy.” I felt a familiar shrinking in my stomach. Funny, I’d never realized it before, but I always felt that way around Greg.
“Yeah, I heard you were busy painting old man Parker’s fence.”
Greg and the robots cracked up. I clenched my fists.
“Come on—we’re doing something fun.” Greg held up a cloth sack.
I knew that they planned to steal oranges from Mr. McKellar’s grove. Six weeks ago I’d have stumbled over my own feet rushing to join them. Now all I felt was sorry for them.
“No thanks.” I turned and marched away. I had new friends now. My kind of friends. The shrinking in my stomach disappeared. It didn’t come back.

I grew up in a family in which my parents have been a glowing example to my two brothers, my sister, and me, and our family has received many blessings because of their efforts. For instance, we have grown together to become a close family, turning to each other in times of need or trials. And although some of my family members are less active, they still join in family home evening.
I spent some time living in Sydney, Australia, and was very homesick living so far from Ireland. Luckily, I lived near a Church meetinghouse where I attended family home evening with other young adults. This was a great blessing to me, and when I attended, I no longer felt homesick. It was great to mingle with fellow members in a relaxed setting and where the Spirit was present.
Linda Ryan, Ireland

Before Christmas my parents bought a box full of copies of the Book of Mormon to give to people. That was when I had the idea to take some to school and give them as presents to three of my teachers.
When I got to the music classroom, I saw my music teacher and thought, Go ahead, Sophia. Give one to her! I walked slowly up to my teacher. But I didn’t have the courage to give her the book.
I went to a corner of the room and prayed very quietly. “Heavenly Father, I ask Thee to help me give this book to my teacher.” When I finished my prayer, I felt very strongly that I should give the book to her. Suddenly I had courage.
I went up to her. She looked at me, and I gave her the Book of Mormon and said, “Teacher, I love you from the bottom of my heart, and I want to give you this Book of Mormon!”
She took it and looked at the cover. “Look inside!” I said. She saw that I had written a few words.
She hugged me and said, “Oh, Sophia, thank you for giving this to me!”
After I sat down, she said to the class, “Look what Sophia gave me. I am going to read it during the holidays!”
When I got home, I ran to my mother and said, “Guess what! I gave my teacher a Book of Mormon.”
She smiled and said, “That’s wonderful! You’re a great example to me, Sophia.”
We decided to pray to thank Heavenly Father for giving me the courage to give my teacher the Book of Mormon.

Zina’s father, William Huntington, a well-to-do farmer, was not happy with the church that the family attended, so he decided to study the Bible and join the church that had the same organization as the one Christ organized during His mortal ministry. William discovered, however, that none of the churches had the same organization as the early Church; there were no prophets, apostles, or demonstrations of spiritual gifts.
Soon after William had heard a rumor about a prophet who had found a “new and golden Bible,” two missionaries, Hyrum Smith, Joseph Smith’s brother, and David Whitmer, one of the Three Witnesses of the Book of Mormon, came to the Huntington home. When Zina returned there from school, she saw the “new Bible” lying on the windowsill. Immediately the Spirit whispered to her that the book was the word of God. She picked it up and clasped it to her, saying, “This is the truth, truth, truth!”
Zina, her parents, sister, and all but one brother were baptized and moved to Kirtland, Ohio, to join the Saints there.

For some, there will come the temptation to dishonor a personal standard of honesty. In a business law class at the university I attended, I remember that one particular classmate never prepared for the class discussions. I thought to myself, “How is he going to pass the final examination?”
I discovered the answer when he came to the classroom for the final exam on a winter’s day wearing on his bare feet only a pair of sandals. I was surprised and watched him as the class began. All of our books had been placed upon the floor, as per the instruction. He slipped the sandals from his feet; and then, with toes that he had trained and had prepared with glycerin, he skillfully turned the pages of one of the books which he had placed on the floor, thereby viewing the answers to the examination questions.
He received one of the highest grades in that course on business law. But the day of reckoning came. Later, as he prepared to take his comprehensive exam, for the first time the dean of his particular discipline said, “This year I will depart from tradition and will conduct an oral, rather than a written, test.” Our favorite trained-toe expert found that he had his foot in his mouth on that occasion and failed the exam.

Let me conclude with an account of two men who are heroes to me. Their acts of courage were not performed on a national scale but rather in a peaceful place known as Midway, Utah.

Long years ago Roy Kohler and Grant Remund served together in Church capacities. They were the best of friends. They were tillers of the soil and dairymen. Then a misunderstanding arose which became somewhat of a rift between them.

Later, when Roy Kohler became grievously ill with cancer and had but a limited time to live, my wife, Frances, and I visited Roy and his wife, and I gave him a blessing. As we talked afterward, Brother Kohler said, “Let me tell you about one of the sweetest experiences I have had during my life.” He then recounted to me his misunderstanding with Grant Remund and the ensuing estrangement. His comment was “We were sort of on the outs with each other.”

“Then,” continued Roy, “I had just put up our hay for the winter to come when one night, as a result of spontaneous combustion, the hay caught fire, burning the hay, the barn, and everything in it right to the ground. I was devastated,” said Roy. “I didn’t know what in the world I would do. The night was dark, except for the dying embers of the fire. Then I saw coming toward me from the road, in the direction of Grant Remund’s place, the lights of tractors and heavy equipment. As the ‘rescue party’ turned in our drive and met me amidst my tears, Grant said, ‘Roy, you’ve got quite a mess to clean up. My boys and I are here. Let’s get to it.’” Together they plunged to the task at hand. Gone forever was the hidden wedge which had separated them for a short time. They worked throughout the night and into the next day, with many others in the community joining in.

Roy Kohler and Grant Remund have passed away. Their sons have served together in the same ward bishopric. I truly treasure the friendship of these two wonderful families.

After my mission to Taiwan, I thought international law would be a good career choice. As Christy and I considered that possible future, we understood that five more years of expensive education lay ahead.

The U.S. economy was in a deep recession and our funds were limited, so we reasoned that joining the Air Force ROTC would be a wise choice to pay for my schooling. But as I took the required tests and filled out the paperwork, we just could not get comfortable making that commitment. No stupor of thought or dark feelings came—only an absence of peace.

That seemingly illogical financial decision was inspired, in part, because I would have been a horrible lawyer!

When I read the article “A Magazine for All the World,” in the October 1998 Seito no Michi (Japanese), I decided to act on the suggestion that the branch present the public library with a copy of the magazine. I was able to place the magazine in the library, due in part to the service the sister missionaries give at the library and the courteous example of the elders. I hope it will be read there by many people.
Satsuki Sato,Nemuro Branch, Kushiro Japan District

When David was a boy, he dreamed of playing professional baseball. He thought the greatest moment of his life would be to hit the game-winning home run in game seven of the World Series.

When he was older, he changed his mind about this dream. One day Elder Haight was sitting with his wife and three children—one of whom was about to be married—in a sealing room of the Los Angeles Temple. Looking around the room, he thought, “David, you had your priorities all mixed up. Being a hero in a worldly event isn’t the great moment of life. … The great moment … is here, … because all I have that is really important is in this room. All of my children are committed to the Church.”1

Name: Jackson
Location: South Carolina, USA
Goal: Long-term: Own a food truck some day; short-term: Learn about making food
“I told one of my Young Men leaders about a goal I had to have a food truck. He said, ‘Every year I do a back-to-school party. Why don’t you come cook for us?’ So I did. I made about 50 hot dogs and burgers in 45 minutes. I loved being with the guys in my quorum, and I got awesome feedback from the experience and some compliments. And I learned a lot.”

As leaders, what are our attitudes toward percentages as they relate to active versus inactive? You have probably heard the story of the father who had four daughters. As each of them left on a date one evening, he cautioned them to be home by midnight. The first returned at 11:45; the next, at 11:50; and a third came in at midnight, whereupon he locked the doors, turned out the lights, and went to bed. When his wife reminded him that Mary had not come in yet, he said with great satisfaction, “Seventy-five percent of them are home—isn’t that a pretty good percentage?” It is so easy to love those who are active and responsive and sometimes so difficult to do the same for those who are inactive and rebellious.

You can do this, you can do this, Sydney thought as she walked into the stake Primary activity. She saw the girls from her ward and thought about what Mom had said in the car. Maybe things would be easier once she got to know them better.
She took a deep breath and smiled. “Hi, guys!” One of the girls shot her that look—the look that screamed you don’t belong here.
Sydney’s smile wavered. Then she noticed what Libby, the leader of the group, was wearing. “Hey, we have the same hat!” Sydney exclaimed.
“It’s not a hat. It’s a beanie,” Libby said slowly, like Sydney wasn’t smart enough to understand. The girls giggled. “Or don’t you know that word? You were held back a grade, right?”
Sydney turned and walked away, trying not to cry.
Why were they always so mean to her? Ever since Sydney had moved here a few months ago, Libby and the other girls had made church and school miserable. They’d been especially horrible since finding out that Sydney had been so sick last year that she’d had to repeat a grade.
She glanced at the clock. Maybe she could call her mom and just go home.
“Want to sit in our row?” Sydney looked up to see a tall girl from another ward grinning and patting the chair beside her. Her nametag said Lauren.
“Sure.” Sydney sat down and kept her eyes glued to the ground. That was how she noticed the socks.
Cool socks. Crazy socks. Socks decorated with purple polka dots, pink stars, lime zigzags, blue smiley faces, and everything in between. Every girl in the row was wearing them.
Lauren noticed Sydney’s gaze and stuck out her foot. “Like them? They’re our mascot!”
“Mascot?” Sydney asked.
“Yup! We’re Sisters of Courage, Kindness, and Service—S.O.C.K.S.,” Lauren explained. “We made these at an activity and wear them to remind us who we should be.”
Being one of the S.O.C.K.S. sounded pretty amazing to Sydney. “Can I be one too?” she whispered.
“Of course! Anyone can join the S.O.C.K.S. That’s the best part!”
Sydney smiled and settled back in her chair as the stake Primary president started speaking.
From that day on, Sydney was a S.O.C.K.S., whether she was by herself or with the other S.O.C.K.S. girls. She made a pair of her own crazy socks, and they reminded her to be a Sister of Courage, Kindness, and Service, no matter what.
A few weeks later, she was put to the test. She and Libby were standing outside, waiting for rides home after a Primary activity, when Libby’s cell phone buzzed.
“Dad! I can’t wait to see you this weekend!” Pause. “Oh.” Longer pause. “Are you sure you can’t come?” Long pause. “OK. Bye.” Libby’s voice quavered.
Sydney knew that Libby’s parents had split up, but she never thought about how hard that must be. Libby, so cool and popular, had hard times too.
“So I guess now you’re going to tell everyone that my dad doesn’t want to see me, huh?” Libby scowled down at the sidewalk.
This is a perfect chance to get back at her! Sydney thought. What should I say?
Sydney glanced down at her socks and knew the answer.
“Of course not. I’m sorry you can’t see him this weekend.”
Libby looked up, surprised, just as both of their moms pulled up.
“I’ll see you at school,” Sydney said.
“OK. See you then.”
That night Sydney put her crazy socks away extra carefully. Today she had proved that she was a true S.O.C.K.S.—a sister of courage, kindness, and service—no matter what.

Can a clown fish from the Indian Ocean find happiness with an anemone from the Gulf of California? That is the question we asked ourselves as we watched our recently acquired amphiprion bicinctus wriggle out of the plastic bag it had resided in for the past hour and into our aquarium. The salesman at the tropical fish store had assured us that the two of them would get along famously, but then that’s what he had also told us when we introduced a moray eel to our seven-armed octopus!
The meeting in this instance was considerably less dramatic. After hovering around in an upper corner of the tank for a few minutes and being sized up by the other fish, the banded clown made her maiden voyage across the ten-foot expanse of our upstairs show tank. Scattered across this stretch of sand and coral are twelve different anemones that we have collected from the Gulf of California just south of Puerto Penasco, Mexico. We wondered which one the clown would choose for her own. Would it be one of the smaller reddish ones? Or would it be the large brown and purple one in the center of the tank? Or maybe several of them?
Throughout that first day we didn’t notice too much activity on the part of the clown fish directed toward any of the anemones. But then on the second day, we saw that she had taken up a semipermanent residence close by the large anemone near the center of the tank. And soon she was vigorously wriggling among the many tentacles of her newly claimed possession.
This close association between clown fish and anemones has been a topic of some controversy among observers of the symbiotic (living together) relationship for several years. It has usually been agreed that nestled among the tentacles of the anemone the clown is protected from its enemies. But what does the anemone reap from the association?
At various times it has been suggested that the clowns purposely provided anemones with food or even lured other fish toward the anemones’ grasping tentacles with their nematocysts (poisonous stingers). This view has been challenged, however, by the observation that although clown fish have been observed to bring large chunks of food to an anemone partner, they do not let the anemone eat it. Instead, they often tear at it as soon as the anemone has grasped it, feeding themselves with small portions they break away from the large chunk. In the end, the anemone is left with nothing.
Which view is true? We decided to find out for ourselves—and find out we did.
Our first step was to provide a suitable food source. A quick trip to a nearby pond supplied us with plenty of freshwater minnows. We introduced three of them into the tank. Immediately the water churned with activity as the community of marine fish began to subdivide the minnows for their lunch. But then, as if from out of nowhere, the banded clown darted into the melee and returned just as rapidly with one of the minnows intact in her mouth. The clown fish’s rapid wriggling reminded us all of the joyous wagging of a puppy’s tail as the puppy returns to its master with a stick it has retrieved.
Upon reaching the large brown and purple anemone, the clown fish actually shoved the minnow down into its outstretched tentacles. Immediately they responded to the stimulus and began to close about the prey. Assured that the minnow was securely trapped, the clown turned back to the fracas at the end of the tank. Once again she somehow managed to secure another minnow, and once again she wigwagged her way back to the plump anemone. Plumper still with her second delivery, the anemone was soon to be truly gorged when the clown returned a third time with the last of the minnows.
On the following day, in the manner of true scientists, we proceeded to see if our observations were repeatable. And indeed they were. Not only did the clown fish again succeed in securing three minnows for the anemone, but she retrieved them when a sneaky Heniochus (pennant butterfly fish) stole them out of the anemone’s grip. And in no instance did the clown fish attempt to reclaim any of the minnows as her own.
It thus appears that the answer to our initial query about the banded clown and the displaced anemone is affirmative. An amphiprion bicinctus (clown fish) can indeed find happiness with an anemone from the Gulf of California, and the association is most certainly mutually beneficial. What else can you say about a friend who brings you a three-course meal each day?

When do we teach this principle? When we become alert to situations which point the need for its application. On an occasion when a small boy got angry at a playmate, he came into the house stating that he would never play with that boy again and would not ever let him into the house. The mother—a wise woman—stopped what she was doing, not later, but that very moment, and said: “Son, we need to go into the bedroom and kneel down and talk to Heavenly Father.” There she explained that the boy needed to learn how to forgive and told him he should pray about it. She prayed first and then helped him to start. When they came from the bedroom, the boy looked up at the mother and said: “I guess I’ll play with him again. I think he can come here.” You might say, answer to prayer. Yes, but it was also the beginning of that boy’s hearing the voice of the Lord, and that’s important.

When I was very young, I loved to play ball, any kind of ball. As I grew older, it became obvious that the Lord had given me a special talent in athletics, and of all the sports in which I participated, I was most attracted to basketball. I came from a relatively poor family, so when I was old enough to throw a ball through a hoop, my folks couldn’t afford the hoop or the ball. I found an old tin band from a wooden barrel and nailed it on the side of a building. Then I got some rags and tied them together until I had a good-sized rag ball. Every night after school I would go outside and shoot that rag ball through the hoop. Many times, I would have to climb up on the garage to straighten the band because it would bend from the rag ball hitting it so often. I could hardly wait to get home in the evening so I could start shooting my rag ball through the hoop.
It was during my 13th year when Dad took me aside one day and said, “Bobby, how would you like to have a real basketball hoop?” He had made one out of a rod of iron, had made a backboard, and had attached the hoop to it. I could hardly believe my eyes! Dad and I mounted it on the back of the building. He then gave me my first rubber basketball. Boy, was I excited! Night after night, as soon as I got home from school, I practiced.
In my mind I would always picture myself as one of the great ball players of the day. I always pretended I was in the national basketball finals with just a few seconds left in the game. I had the ball and the score was tied. I would run down the basketball court, shoot a long shot, and as it went through the hoop, I would sense the feeling of being a hero. I won more national titles than you can ever imagine. I could see it in my mind’s eye. I thought about it a lot. I knew I could do it. I practiced and practiced. I also dreamed of one day playing in a famous sports arena. It was the most famous basketball arena in the world at that time. There was no other place like it.
When I graduated from high school, I accepted a basketball scholarship to Utah State University in Logan, Utah. During my junior year, we were invited to Madison Square Garden to play in the first holiday festival tournament ever held there. My dream had come true! I had seen it! I had worked hard for it. Along with Utah State and other teams from the United States, the two top teams in the nation had been invited to the tournament. Our team played the number two-rated team the first night, and the game was really close, but in the last seconds, we won. I was highest scoring man and played one of my best games ever. The next night Utah State played another great team, and again it was a close game. We won, and once more I was high-point man.
Our team was now in the finals against the number one team in the nation. It was a tough and close game. We were never separated by more than four points. As we approached the final two minutes of the game, Utah State was leading by four points. We had the ball and had planned to use up some time but our opponents gained possession of the ball and one of the players stole a pass and went down and scored. Now Utah State had only a two-point lead with about a minute and a half to go. We came down the floor again and worked around the court until an open shot came. One of our players ran in and missed the shot our opponents got the ball again and scored. Now the score was tied with a minute or less to go. We had the ball, came down the court, and missed our shot, and did not get the rebound. Now they had the ball with about 35 seconds to go. We didn’t dare foul them. What a terrible position to be in! At times like that, you wonder why you ever took up the sport. They worked the ball around until there were about 10 seconds left, and then the player who had been scoring all night went to the basket and shot. I can still see that ball as it rolled around the rim but finally fell off. One of our players pulled down the rebound and threw it to me. I came down the side of the court and let the ball fly from about 30 feet out. It was a score! The final buzzer rang, and we had won the national holiday festival tournament! As that buzzer went off, I thought to myself, “I’ve done this before.” I had. In my mind’s eye and in the backyard, I had done it hundreds and hundreds of times. I had practiced and practiced. I had worked for it. Because of my faith and work, the Lord blessed me.

How, then, do we avoid and overcome the patterns of debt and addiction to temporal, worldly things? May I share with you two lessons in provident living that can help each of us. These lessons, along with many other important lessons of my life, were taught to me by my wife and eternal companion. These lessons were learned at two different times in our marriage—both on occasions when I wanted to buy her a special gift.
The first lesson was learned when we were newly married and had very little money. I was in the air force, and we had missed Christmas together. I was on assignment overseas. When I got home, I saw a beautiful dress in a store window and suggested to my wife that if she liked it, we would buy it. Mary went into the dressing room of the store. After a moment the salesclerk came out, brushed by me, and returned the dress to its place in the store window. As we left the store, I asked, “What happened?” She replied, “It was a beautiful dress, but we can’t afford it!” Those words went straight to my heart. I have learned that the three most loving words are “I love you,” and the four most caring words for those we love are “We can’t afford it.”
The second lesson was learned several years later when we were more financially secure. Our wedding anniversary was approaching, and I wanted to buy Mary a fancy coat to show my love and appreciation for our many happy years together. When I asked what she thought of the coat I had in mind, she replied with words that again penetrated my heart and mind. “Where would I wear it?” she asked. (At the time she was a ward Relief Society president helping to minister to needy families.)
Then she taught me an unforgettable lesson. She looked me in the eyes and sweetly asked, “Are you buying this for me or for you?” In other words, she was asking, “Is the purpose of this gift to show your love for me or to show me that you are a good provider or to prove something to the world?” I pondered her question and realized I was thinking less about her and our family and more about me.
After that, we had a serious, life-changing discussion about provident living, and both of us agreed that our money would be better spent in paying down our home mortgage and adding to our children’s education fund.
These two lessons are the essence of provident living. When faced with the choice to buy, consume, or engage in worldly things and activities, we all need to learn to say to one another, “We can’t afford it, even though we want it!” or “We can afford it, but we don’t need it—and we really don’t even want it!”
There is an equally important principle underlying these lessons: we can learn much from communicating with our husbands and wives. As we counsel and work together in family councils, we can help each other become provident providers and teach our children to live providently as well.