Gospel Story Finder

It tells of a tiny striped caterpillar and how he joined a pile of other squirming, pushing caterpillars who were trying to get to the top of the pile. It was only when he talked to a certain yellow caterpillar that the two of them decided that getting on the top wasn’t really what they wanted most. So, they climbed down and away from the others. They enjoyed being together, and they ate and grew fat until one day they became bored, and they wanted to find out if there was more to life. The striped caterpillar decided to find out by climbing again to the top of the caterpillar pile. The yellow caterpillar felt ashamed that she didn’t agree but decided it was better to wait until she could take action she could believe in. So he climbed, and she wandered aimlessly until she saw a caterpillar hanging upside down on a branch and caught in some hairy substance. She said, “You seem to be in trouble. Can I help you?” “No,” said the hanging caterpillar, “I have to do this to become a butterfly.”

“Butterfly? What is a butterfly?”

“It’s what you are meant to be. It flies with beautiful wings and joins the earth to heaven. It drinks only nectar from the flowers and carries seeds of love from one flower to another. Without butterflies the world would soon have few flowers.”

The yellow caterpillar exclaimed, “It can’t be true! How can I believe there’s a butterfly inside you or me when all I see is a fuzzy worm? How does one become a butterfly?”

The hanging caterpillar said, “You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar.”

The yellow caterpillar began fearfully but continued the process until at length she became a butterfly. Then she helped the striped caterpillar learn who he was and leave the pile to become what he was really meant to be.

As the months passed and the difficulties increased, apparently he came to feel by the Spirit that he would not live to see the Nauvoo Temple finished. In anticipation of that, he made several important decisions.
On May 4, 1842, he called to his side nine of the most faithful of his brethren—Hyrum Smith, Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, Willard Richards, Newell K. Whitney, and others—and later their wives came with them.
“If it should be the will of God that I might live,” he had said. Now, he continued and said in effect, “It is not the will of the Lord that I should live, and I must give you, here in this upper room, all those glorious plans and principles whereby men are entitled to the fulness of the priesthood.” He proceeded in an improvised and makeshift way to do so.
How did Joseph Smith know all these ordinances, and how were they transmitted to us today? The promise is recorded in section 124 of the Doctrine and Covenants, given in 1841, that the Lord would reveal to Joseph “all things pertaining to this house, and the priesthood thereof, and the place whereon it shall be built.” We have a further glimpse in the occasion already referred to—May 4, 1842—when a few faithful men received their endowments. We have from Brigham Young this testimony, that after they had received these glorious blessings the Prophet said: “Brother Brigham, this is not arranged right. But we have done the best we could under the circumstances in which we are placed, and I wish you to take this matter in hand and organize and systematize all these ceremonies.” Then, Brigham Young later said, “I did so. And each time I got something more [meaning that each time he worked on systematizing he had not only his memory and the records kept by Wilford Woodruff and others but also the light of revelation], so that when we went through the temple at Nauvoo [and without Joseph] I understood and knew how to place them there. We had our ceremonies pretty correct.”

“Please hurry, Mom, we’re going to be late!” Matthew said as he carried his science project to the car. As Mom opened the car door, Matthew very carefully placed the bright blue poster and experiments in the backseat.
On the ride to school Mom said, “Matthew, I’m very proud of you for the hard work you did.”
“Thanks, Mom, but do you think there’s a chance that maybe … just maybe … I could win first place?” Matthew asked.
Mom smiled. “I’m sure all the other students worked hard on their projects too and the judges would love to give each one a blue ribbon.”
“But, Mom, only one person can get the $15 prize in physical science, and I sure hope it’s me! I know just the skateboard I want to get,” Matthew said excitedly. “With the prize money and what I’ve saved, I’ll have enough to buy the skateboard.”
When they got to school, Mom helped Matthew inside with his project. Matthew quickly saw that there was more competition than he had anticipated—the gym was full of projects for earth science, animal science, plant science, and physical science.
As Matthew and his mom walked down the long aisles between tables, they found a project that caught Matthew’s attention. “This is Aaron’s,” he said. The project was on leukemia, a disease Aaron was battling. “Aaron wears a baseball cap every day, and sometimes he sits out during P.E. instead of playing with us,” Matthew said. He could tell Aaron had worked really hard to get so much information and pictures for his project.
A voice came booming over the loudspeaker instructing students to report to class.
“Wish me luck!” Matthew said to his mom as he turned and waved good-bye.
The judges were to make their decisions after school, and then there would be a program later that night to present the prizes in each category. The day seemed long, but the time finally came.
As Matthew and his mom approached the school that evening, one of his friends called out, “Hey, Matt! I think you won!”
Matthew beamed. “Mom, do you think that’s true?” He pulled his mom faster and faster toward the gym. When they walked in, people stood all around his project. Matthew ran up to the table. There, hanging on the corner of the poster board, was the biggest blue ribbon he had ever seen.
“Matthew, you did it!” Mom exclaimed.
Matthew was so excited he didn’t know what to say. His friends patted him on the back and congratulated him. Then he remembered Aaron. He ran to see if Aaron had won in his category, and pinned to his project was another big blue ribbon!
As the program began, an announcer said, “In one week, there will be a benefit dinner for Aaron to help him raise money for medical expenses. Everyone is welcome. Any donations will be appreciated.”
Then one of the judges started naming winners. “From the physical science category, the winner of the $15 prize is Matthew!”
The judge held the check up high as Matthew made his way to the front and accepted it. He couldn’t wait to show it to his mom.
“Do you know what I want to do with this money?” he whispered to her.
“Yes,” Mom said. “I’ll take you shopping tomorrow to get that skateboard.”
“No, Mom,” Matthew said. “I want to give this money to Aaron.”
Surprised, Mom looked down at Matthew. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”
Matthew was so excited that he barely heard the announcement of the last award. “The Best of Show goes to Matthew,” the judge called. Matthew jumped from his seat again and ran to get the beautiful plaque.
The next week, Matthew went to the benefit dinner with his mom and placed his prize money in the fishbowl of donations. On the way home, Mom said, “Matthew, that was a very kind, unselfish thing you did.”
Matthew smiled. “It felt better to give it away than it did to win it.”
That night he looked up at his bulletin board as he lay in bed. Hanging next to his favorite baseball card was his big blue ribbon and plaque for Best of Show. He knew that each time he saw them, he would remember how it felt to make a small difference. He would think of his friend Aaron and hope that a cure for leukemia would be found.

About eleven years ago our twins, Max and Mia, were two years old and we were living in an apartment while I was in graduate school. To my wife’s horror we discovered that there was a mouse in our apartment. We bought a mousetrap, put some peanut butter on it, and placed it next to a baseboard on the kitchen floor where we had seen the mouse. Two-year-olds and mousetraps don’t coexist very well, so we took Max and Mia into the kitchen, pointed out the mousetrap, and explained to them how dangerous it was. We told them to stay away from it, to keep their fingers out, and that it would hurt them. We even used our scary voices: “No. Don’t touch. Danger.” A couple of days later, while most of us were sitting on the couch in the other room, we heard a snap and then a scream. We hurried into the kitchen and found little Mia with her fingers in the trap and peanut butter on her lips.

Brothers and sisters, there are many sources of falsehood in the world. Please don’t put your fingers in those traps. Don’t turn to them in your quest for a testimony. There have been, and always will be, intelligent and articulate people in the world who will try to convince you that the Church is not true, that God does not exist, and that anyone who believes that there is a God is foolish and naïve. Don’t go to those sources. Don’t turn to people on the Internet who are seeking to destroy your testimony. Like with our twins, I want to point at those traps and tell you how dangerous they are. I want to tell you to stay away from them, to keep your fingers out, and that they will hurt you. I want to use my scary voice: “No. Don’t touch. Danger.”

Alma taught that, for the righteous, the spirit world will be a paradise—“a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow” (Alma 40:12). I have often wondered how we can be in a place of rest and yet be busy and deeply involved in intense activity. It reminds me of an account that one of my colleagues shared with me. His aged mother-in-law, who had been widowed for decades, saw into the spirit world shortly before her passing. She told the family that she had seen departed family members, including her beloved husband.
“Well, doesn’t that make you want to go join them?” a daughter asked her.
She responded, “Oh, no. They were so busy. It made me tired watching them.”

When I first became a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, I had the opportunity to accompany President N. Eldon Tanner, a counselor to President David O. McKay, to a stake conference in Alberta, Canada. During the meeting, the stake president read the names of four brethren who had qualified to be ordained elders. These were men whom President Tanner knew, for at one time he had lived in that area. But President Tanner knew and remembered them as they once were and did not know that they had turned their lives around and had fully qualified to become elders.

The stake president read the name of the first man and asked him to stand. President Tanner whispered to me, “Look at him. I never thought he would make it.” The stake president read the name of the second man, and he stood. President Tanner nudged me again and reported his astonishment. And so it was with all four of the brethren.

After the meeting, President Tanner and I had the opportunity to congratulate these four brethren. They had demonstrated that men can change.

For example, Eunice Black, a Relief Society teacher, told of a speaker who set out 10 apples to represent his monthly income. He “paid” one apple for food, two apples for rent, and so on until only one apple remained—a tithing apple. Then he asked the bishop to stand next to him. He said that he hoped the Lord would understand he still had many bills to pay and could pay only part of his tithing that month. Then he took a big bite out of the apple and handed the bishop the partially eaten fruit. This lesson left a powerful impression on Sister Black. She determined to pay tithing first, then budget the remainder of her money.

When I was 11 years old, my older brother and I each got a sled for Christmas. When the first snowfall finally came, one steep road in our town was covered with ice. It seemed like all the children in town gathered at the top of that hill with their sleds.
My older brother and I had contests to see who could go the farthest. Since he was bigger, he always won. A friend suggested something I could do to beat my brother—he handed me a block of wax and told me to rub it on the runners of my sled.
As I took the block of wax, I could feel the Spirit telling me I shouldn’t use it. I thought it might be cheating, and it was also dangerous. These thoughts gave me an uneasy feeling in my stomach and in my heart. But then I thought, It’s all right just this once. I deserve to win sometimes. No one will know. So I put a thick coat of wax on the runners of my sled.
As I started down the hill, my sled quickly picked up speed. Soon I lost control. I saw that I was headed toward a car parked on the side of the road, and nothing I could do would turn the sled. I rolled off onto the ice, hoping to avoid the crash, but it was no use. My sled hit the front wheel, and my left leg hit the back one.
I spent the next eight weeks in a cast from my mid-chest to the tips of my toes on my left side. I recovered well and have enjoyed a full and active life. But my left leg is just a little shorter than my right leg. This reminds me how important it is to follow the promptings of the Spirit. I learned from this experience that when I get the feeling that I shouldn’t do something, I must follow that inspired feeling without delay.

The ministering efforts of one couple also made me feel like I had family members in the Church. I honestly considered them my grandparents in the Church—they treated me the way they would have treated a grandchild.
Of course, they were the young adult advisers in the district and it was their calling to minister to the young adults, but they never treated their responsibilities as a simple calling. They went above and beyond to find opportunities to care for us as young adults. If I or any other young adults in the area needed someone to talk to, someone to give us advice, or just a shoulder to lean on, this couple was there for us.
One particularly helpful exercise that the sister would do with me before my mission was to have us read one general conference talk each day and share our thoughts about it. We did this for months, up until the day before I left for my mission. The days leading up to missionary service can be stressful and hard, but I believe that her patience and willingness to do this exercise with me every day helped me get to where I am now.

Maria, a 16-year-old from Brazil, was struggling one Christmas after losing a second beloved grandparent. A few years ago it had been her grandfather on her mother’s side, and now she had lost her other grandfather.
“I remember Christmas always being a magical and incredible experience,” Maria says. “I remember singing hymns with my family, waking up in the night to see my Christmas present, performing the play of the birth of Christ in elementary school, and many other things that marked my childhood.”
“Focusing on Jesus Christ … gives me a certainty that these feelings of sadness and longing won’t last forever.”
Maria always enjoyed time with family. But now, with her second grandfather’s passing away, some of the gladness was stolen from her at Christmastime. Her path through the grief, like David’s, involved focusing on Christ.
“Focusing on Jesus Christ, especially at Christmastime, gives me a certainty that these feelings of sadness and longing won’t last forever,” Maria says. “I know that God is with me always. Over time I have felt this hole inside me being filled with the Savior’s love.”
Maria still has one grandparent living—her grandmother on her mother’s side. “I’m enjoying all the time I have with my grandmother,” she says. “Even if my other grandparents and relatives are no longer with me, I know I will see them again one day. We have an eternity together ahead of us.”

Tate lay awake in the darkness, blinking back tears. He had prayed for help, but it seemed like a heavy black cloud hung over him, shutting out the Spirit.
What if I never forget that awful TV show? he worried.
A few days ago, he had finished his homework early and flipped on the TV. But he hadn’t expected to see something like that on the screen. Tate was so shocked that he forgot to turn off the television as quickly as he should have.
It was an accident. He hadn’t meant to watch a scene like that, but now he couldn’t forget it. Sometimes it popped into his head in the middle of school, at the dinner table—even during church. At times like that, he was glad Mom and Dad couldn’t read his mind. Tate’s parents had taught him not to look at pictures of people without clothes on. He knew that they also expected him to avoid violent TV shows, movies, and video games.
“Now I know why,” Tate mumbled to himself.
Tate got out of bed and onto his knees again. What could he do?
“Heavenly Father,” Tate whispered. “Please help me stop thinking about what I saw.” He wiped away the tears that had been forming in his eyes and listened. His heart beat faster. He thought he felt the Holy Ghost prompting him, but it wasn’t the answer he wanted.
He needed to tell his parents.
“Why?” Tate wondered. He would feel like a baby going into his parents’ room in the middle of the night. And to tell them? He felt embarrassed and sick all over again.
Then a clear thought came into his mind: Heavenly Father wanted him to be happy. Heavenly Father wanted him to feel the Spirit again, to think about good things, and to be honest with his family. He especially wanted Tate to become a worthy Aaronic Priesthood holder when he turned 12 in a few months. Tate realized that if he held on to what he had seen and kept it a secret, he would stay unhappy about it.
Tate knew he needed help—and the Holy Ghost had just told him where to find it.
Tate looked at the digital clock’s glowing numbers beside his bed. It was nearly 1:00 in the morning. He stood up and headed into the dark hallway toward his parents’ room. Swallowing nervously, he tapped on their door.
“Mom? Dad?”
“Tate, is that you?” came Mom’s sleepy voice.
“Is something wrong?” Dad asked.
“Yeah,” Tate said. “Can we talk? And can I maybe get a blessing?”
Dad clicked on his bedside lamp and invited Tate inside. For the first time in days, Tate felt warmth, hope, and light.

Several years ago, I was invited to speak at a convention of insurance executives in Vail, Colorado. On the way, we crossed the Colorado River.

We could see a new bridge in process of construction. It was an engineering marvel. Anchored to the sheer stone walls on both sides was an abutment for the bridge. Launching out into space from that abutment, reaching out for the other side, were sections of steel girders. When they met and were locked together in the middle 1,000 feet above the Colorado River, each would give strength to the other, and that bridge would be locked together over which traffic of all kinds could flow back and forth safely and conveniently.

Alwi, a devout Muslim of Arabic ancestry, and I, a Christian and devout Mormon, have agreed to symbolically walk arm in arm into the future. Together we hope to build a bridge. Except what that symbolizes is accomplished, all of us face a very dark and very dangerous future.

That was the way he looked when I reached the summit of Snowdon for the first time. As the highest mountain in England or Wales, Snowdon, for a six-year-old, seemed as inconquerable as Everest does to me now. The old miner’s track was surfaced with rough shingle that shifted unnervingly as we walked. The craggy gray rocks and scattered boulders were a stark contrast to the sailor-blue sky and white scudding clouds above. Occasionally, we would pass a stray sheep searching for an area to graze. These hardy animals were so used to human invaders that they barely noticed us passing.
It wasn’t long before my short legs were failing, and with them my spirits. The gray path seemed endless. “Come on, Sian. You can do it,” Dad coaxed as he heaved me onto his back. It made the climb more difficult for him but helped revive me. We trudged past crumbling stonewalls that had been built by a now forgotten shepherd long before the era of cement. From a distance they looked like huge scars on the face of the mountain.
At last we reached the final scree. Dad held my hand tightly as we scrambled up. When we reached the plateau on the top, we sat down breathlessly. I looked around. Far below I could see moving people like multicolored ants. As far as the eye could see there were mountain ridges, deep valleys, and in the distance the glint of blue from the North Sea. I gazed around in wonder, then laughed excitedly. “We made it, Dad. We reached the very top!” I looked up to see that the expression in my father’s eyes at that moment was a reflection of my own. It said, I love you, I have faith in you, and I know that you can do what you set your mind to do.

Harold was called, at the age of thirty-one, as the president of the Pioneer Stake, just as the Great Depression struck. More than half the members of his stake were unemployed. Seeking inspiration from the Lord, and with the help of his counselors and bishops, President Lee formulated a plan to help his stake members. A warehouse was donated, and surplus goods were gathered to it; contracts were made with farmers to provide labor to help harvest their crops in return for payment in kind; and the Relief Society sisters established canning kitchens to preserve the food. These supplies were then distributed to those in need. A gymnasium was constructed by the unemployed men, using donated materials.

When I was in Brazil serving as a counselor to the Area President, I was sent to reorganize a stake that was having problems. The president of the stake and his first counselor were not worthy to serve. So the second counselor had been carrying the whole burden of that stake for six to eight weeks.
When I got there I found that this second counselor was a young medical student. He had been married not too long ago, and his wife was a nurse. He was very busy, yet he was carrying this terrific responsibility, made even greater by the terrible circumstances of the stake presidency. As I talked to him, I thought that this worthy young man, because he was a busy medical student, should not be called as stake president. It would be too much of a burden for him.
So that evening when I knelt by my bed I prayed, “Heavenly Father, bless Elder Milder and me that we will be inspired to know whom we should call as stake president and resolve the difficulties of this stake.”
A strong feeling came over me that said, “I’ve already shown you the new stake president.”
And I said to the Lord, “Oh, no you haven’t!”
All night long I wrestled with the Lord. I kept waking up with the impression that that young medical student should be the stake president, but I thought, “No, no, no. He should not.”
The next day when we started interviewing, Elder César Milder, an Area Seventy, and I agreed that the second counselor should not be the stake president, even though he was worthy, because it would be too much to give him. We had interviewed a bishop who would do well. Then we interviewed a man who had just moved into the stake. He had served in a stake presidency. He had been a bishop twice. He was financially secure.
When we finished the interviewing, I told Elder Milder, “Give me the three names of those whom you think we ought to consider.”
He gave me the name of the bishop and this man who had just moved into the stake. Then he said, “I still feel we cannot ignore this second counselor.”
And I said, “Well, those are the three names that we should consider, but I agree that we should not, however, call the second counselor to be the new stake president.”
So, in prayer, we presented the name of the man who had just moved into the stake, and I understood at that moment what a stupor of thought was (see D&C 9:9). We did not get a confirmation at all. We prayed about the bishop and did not get a confirmation.
I said, “Well, I guess we’d better present this second counselor’s name before the Lord and see what He thinks.”
A powerful witness overwhelmed us. Our bosoms really did burn within us. Tears flowed down our faces as we received that confirmation.
So we met with him and his wife. I told him the reasons he shouldn’t be the stake president, then I said, “But apparently the Lord doesn’t care about any of those reasons. Therefore, on His behalf I extend the call to serve as stake president.” He accepted.
Later, while in Salt Lake City for general conference, I met with Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. After the meeting he said, “I’m being assigned to visit a stake conference in Brazil, but not to reorganize the stake. I’m not sure why I’m being sent. Do you know anything about this stake?”
It was the same stake where I had called the second counselor to be the stake president, so I told Elder Nelson the circumstances of the stake president being called.
He said, “You know, Elder Wood, we do not usually call medical students to serve as stake presidents.”
I said, “I didn’t know that, but I believe it, and I would not have done this on my own.”
After the stake conference, Elder Nelson came to Recife, Brazil, where I was living. When he got off the plane, he said, “Elder Wood, you did the right thing. That man was indeed called of God, and he has made a great difference in the stake.”

Always dealing honorably with others is part of loving mercy. Consider a conversation I overheard decades ago in the emergency department of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland, in the United States. A patient, Mr. Jackson, was a courteous, pleasant man who was well known to the hospital staff. He had previously been hospitalized multiple times for the treatment of alcohol-related diseases. On this occasion, Mr. Jackson returned to the hospital for symptoms that would be diagnosed as inflammation of the pancreas caused by alcohol consumption.

Toward the end of his shift, Dr. Cohen, a hardworking and admired physician, evaluated Mr. Jackson and determined that hospitalization was warranted. Dr. Cohen assigned Dr. Jones, the physician next up in rotation, to admit Mr. Jackson and oversee his treatment.

Dr. Jones had attended a prestigious medical school and was just beginning her postgraduate studies. This grueling training was often associated with sleep deprivation, which likely contributed to Dr. Jones’s negative response. Confronted with her fifth admission of the night, she complained loudly to Dr. Cohen. She felt it was unfair that she would have to spend many hours caring for Mr. Jackson, because his predicament was, after all, self-inflicted.

Dr. Cohen’s emphatic response was spoken in almost a whisper. He said, “Dr. Jones, you became a physician to care for people and work to heal them. You didn’t become a physician to judge them. If you don’t understand the difference, you have no right to train at this institution.” Following this correction, Dr. Jones diligently cared for Mr. Jackson during the hospitalization.

Mr. Jackson has since died. Both Dr. Jones and Dr. Cohen have had stellar careers. But at a critical moment in her training, Dr. Jones needed to be reminded to do justly, to love mercy, and to care for Mr. Jackson without being judgmental.

I don’t think I worried about the promises I had made at baptism, until I met Darren. Getting baptized was just something a guy did when he turned eight. When I was baptized, Grandpa and Grandma were there, along with Uncle Rick and Aunt Teri and all of my own family. It was like a big celebration, so I wasn’t thinking much about promises. In fact, I didn’t really think about the promises until I was in the fifth grade.
The Sunday before Darren moved to our school, Sister Murray talked to us in Primary about when the prophet Alma was by the waters of Mormon and invited his people to be baptized. He told them that if they were willing to enter the waters of baptism, they needed to promise to mourn with those who mourned and comfort those who needed comfort. She gave each of us a small white card with these baptismal promises written on it.
Darren and his little sister, Tanya, were the first black people I had ever seen at my elementary school. Maybe that’s why he surprised me so much. When the principal brought Darren to Mrs. Riley’s class, all I could do was stare. In fact, the whole class was quiet and just stared.
When Mrs. Riley asked us where Darren should sit, no one raised a hand to invite him to sit next to them, which we usually did when a new student arrived. No one said anything. Everyone just stared silently. Finally Mrs. Riley invited Darren to sit at a desk at the back of one of the rows.
All during the morning lessons, I couldn’t help sneaking peeks at him. He seemed so different from the rest of us. I wasn’t the only one—everyone in class sneaked looks all morning. Darren pretended he didn’t notice by keeping his head down, working on his math and English papers.
I think Mrs. Riley was the only one in the whole class who said anything to him that day. At lunchtime, he got in line with the rest of us and picked up his tray from the kitchen. He went to the long table along the wall and sat down. Usually I sat there, but I didn’t go there that day. It wasn’t that I was afraid of him—it was just that he was so different. No one else went to that table, either.
During noon recess, I played football with the rest of the guys. Darren didn’t come over, and we didn’t invite him. He just wandered around the playground by himself.
In the afternoon, when Mrs. Riley had us work in groups on our science project, no one invited him to be part of their group. Mrs. Riley finally assigned him to work with Tanner, Whitney, and Lance.
As I started home after school, I saw Darren and Tanya walking in front of me. I was in a hurry, but they weren’t walking very fast, so I hung back, not wanting to pass them. I didn’t want them saying anything to me, and I didn’t know what to say to them. I ended up running to the other side of the street and walking past them, acting as though they weren’t even there.
As soon as I reached home, I rushed into my bedroom to change my clothes. My friend Brandon and I had decided to ride our bikes over to the creek to catch minnows. As soon as I stepped into my bedroom, I saw the little white card I had hung on my mirror, and I thought of Darren.
At first, I didn’t understand how that card could possibly be talking about him. When we had talked in Sister Murray’s class about mourning for and comforting others, we had thought of someone’s grandpa or grandma dying, or someone whose house had burned down. We hadn’t talked about someone like Darren. But I thought of him that afternoon.
For a long time I stared at that white card, and I remembered what it was like to move into a new school. Two years earlier I had been the new kid. At first I was afraid and was sure that everyone in the whole school was staring at me. Then Brandon invited me to sit next to him in class. His friends became my friends. We sat in the cafeteria together. We played at recess together. That very first afternoon he even invited me to his house after school.
I thought about Darren’s first day. No one had spoken to him. No one had invited him to join them. No one had eaten lunch with him. No one had asked him over after school to play. And all during the day, he had been forced to face the silent, scary stares from the rest of us.
As I stared at Sister Murray’s white card, I realized that although I had thought Darren was different from the rest of us, he really wasn’t. He had a different color of skin, and darker eyes and hair, but he felt and hurt just like the rest of us. He didn’t want to be alone. He wanted to have friends. He wanted to play. He wanted to go places without everyone staring at him.
Suddenly I felt sorry for Darren. I decided that by really feeling sorry for him, I was doing what Alma talked about at the waters of Mormon. I told myself that that was all I needed to do, that that was all I could do without the whole school staring at me like I was someone extra strange. I changed my clothes and rushed outside to play.
The next day I grabbed my football and charged out of the house for school. Before I could leave the yard, I slid to a stop. There were Darren and Tanya coming down the street on their way to school. Barry and Trevor were fifteen or twenty steps behind them. I saw Barry pick up something and toss it toward Darren and Tanya. Then Trevor said something that I couldn’t hear, and both of them burst out laughing. Darren and Tanya just kept walking with their eyes straight ahead.
Instead of starting down the street close to Darren and Tanya, I pretended to have forgotten something and slipped back inside the house until all four of them were far down the street. I tried as hard as I could to not think about the white card stuck on the mirror in my bedroom.
During the day, there were several times that I could have said something to Darren, but I didn’t.
I didn’t stare at him and snicker like some of the other kids, but I didn’t try to comfort him at all. At lunchtime, I was right behind him in the line, and when he went to sit down, I almost followed him to his table. Then Brandon called to me from another table, and I went over to him.
By the end of the day, I was glad that it was Friday because I had a whole weekend without having to think about or to see Darren. On Saturday, I hardly thought about him. By Sunday morning when I was rushing about to get ready for church, Darren was the last thing on my mind.
As sacrament meeting started, I sat on the bench next to Mom. She teaches Primary and had her manual and lesson materials piled neatly on the floor in front of her. Right on top was a picture of Jesus wearing a red and white robe. And He was staring right at me. We sang the sacrament hymn, and I began to think about my white card with those special baptismal promises written on it, promises that I was about to renew when the deacons brought the bread and water around. I was going to promise to mourn with those that mourn and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and I knew—and I knew that Jesus knew—that for me that promise included Darren.
For a moment I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t see that picture of Jesus looking up at me. But I could still feel His eyes staring at me. They didn’t stare at me like the eyes at school stared at Darren and Tanya. Jesus’ eyes were asking me to do something for Darren.
That Sunday was the first time that I was a little afraid to take the bread and water as it came down the row toward me. I knew that I wasn’t eating plain old bread or drinking regular old water. I was supposed to be thinking of Jesus and promising to do what I thought He would do if Darren was in His class at school.
I hesitated as Mom handed me the bread tray. In fact, I hesitated so long that Mom nudged me. Slowly I reached out and took a small piece of bread. When I did, I knew that I was repeating the promise I’d made three years ago, when Dad had led me down the tile steps into the baptismal font. For me, that shiny clean baptismal font was the same as the waters of Mormon for Alma’s people.
On Monday morning, I said an extra long prayer because I needed all the help and courage I could get. I grabbed my football, slipped out the door, and looked up and down the street. Darren and Tanya were still over a block away. Barry and Trevor were a few steps behind them.
I knew that I could start for school without running into Darren just yet. I could wait until I was in Mrs. Riley’s class and look for a chance to be nice to Darren there. Then I thought of that picture of Jesus, dressed in His red and white robe, staring up at me.
I gripped my ball and waited for Darren and Tanya. I was going to keep a promise.
“Hi, I’m Steve,” I said with a nervous smile. “I think you and I are in the same class.” I glanced anxiously down the street toward Barry and Trevor; then my gaze returned to Darren and Tanya. “Do you mind if I walk with you?”
Darren thought a moment and then shook his head. I smiled and took a deep breath because my heart was pounding and my hands were shaking a little bit. I tossed my football to Darren and he caught it. “Good hands,” I said. “Do you like football?”
“I love it! I used to play at my old school.”
“He was good, too!” Tanya spoke up, grinning up at her brother and then over at me.
“Then you’ll have to play with us. We can always use a good football player.”
We started down the sidewalk. I heard Trevor and Barry snicker, and I knew that they were staring behind us, but I kept walking with Darren and Tanya.
“Did you think of a frightening experience to write about in class?” I asked, remembering an assignment that Mrs. Riley had given us on Friday.
Darren laughed. “I can think of a lot of scary experiences that I’ve had. I haven’t written anything down yet, though.”
“Mrs. Riley said we could work in pairs. Maybe you and I can work together,” I invited. “We can help each other come up with something really good.”
When we reached the school, we went over to where the guys were starting the morning football game before the bell rang. As we approached, the playing stopped for a moment and all eyes were on Darren, Tanya, and me. No one said anything, but I could feel all of those staring eyes on me.
For a moment, I wished that I had hurried to school without waiting for Darren and his sister. I wasn’t used to those staring eyes. Then I realized that ever since Darren had entered this school, he had been facing those same staring eyes all the time. There was no place for him to run and hide from them, and those eyes hurt him as much as they hurt me—probably even more.
“Darren’s going to play with us this morning,” I burst out boldly. “Before he came here, he played a lot of football. He’ll be on my team. We can play with my ball.” I silently prayed that my voice wouldn’t crack or shake as I spoke. I didn’t want anyone to know how scared I was.
“We don’t need any extra guys,” Rusty spoke up, staring up at Darren and me.
“We can always use someone good like Darren,” I came back. “He’s playing,” I repeated. “Go out for a pass,” I said, turning to him.
While all eyes were on us, Darren raced across the field. I gripped the ball, cocked my arm, and threw with all my might. My pass was a little high and a little long. I figured that Darren would probably miss it. But just as it sailed over his head, he leaped and stretched out his arms. The ball touched his fingertips. It was as though they had invisible glue on them, because he held onto the ball, pulled it into his chest, and clutched it tightly as he fell to the ground.
“Awesome!” I heard someone mumble behind me. “What a catch!”
I grinned and waved Darren back to us. “Come on, Darren, we’ll kick off.”
The eyes still stared, but I didn’t mind them so much, because I remembered the promise I had made the day before, when I had taken the bread and water. Into my mind came the picture of Someone in a red and white robe with His eyes staring at me. As I raced across the field alongside Darren, I was glad for His staring eyes and how good they now made me feel.

Oftentimes we are like the young merchant from Boston who in 1849, as the story goes, was caught up in the fervor of the California gold rush. He sold all of his possessions to seek his fortune in the California rivers, which he was told were filled with gold nuggets so big that one could hardly carry them.
Day after endless day, the young man dipped his pan into the river and came up empty. His only reward was a growing pile of rocks. Discouraged and broke, he was ready to quit, until one day an old, experienced prospector said to him, “That’s quite a pile of rocks you are getting there, my boy.”
The young man replied, “There’s no gold here. I’m going back home.”
Walking over to the pile of rocks, the old prospector said, “Oh, there is gold, all right. You just have to know where to find it.” He picked two rocks up in his hands and crashed them together. One of the rocks split open, revealing several flecks of gold sparkling in the sunlight.
Noticing a bulging leather pouch fastened to the prospector’s waist, the young man said, “I’m looking for nuggets like the ones in your pouch, not just tiny flecks.”
The old prospector extended his pouch toward the young man, who looked inside, expecting to see several large nuggets. He was stunned to see that the pouch was filled with thousands of flecks of gold.
The old prospector said, “Son, it seems to me you are so busy looking for large nuggets that you’re missing filling your pouch with these precious flecks of gold. The patient accumulation of these little flecks has brought me great wealth.”

Illustrations by Brad Teare
Thump!
Ben had barely woken up when something heavy landed on his back. It was the usual morning attack from his four-year-old brother, Evan.
“Wake up!” Evan’s fingers pried Ben’s eyelid open. “You in there, Benny?”
“Yeah, I’m awake!” Ben said. He wrapped Evan in the blankets and tickled him. Evan giggled and squealed.
Ben and Evan shared their bedroom, but not for long. Today Ben would get his own room! Ben turned 10 today, and he was moving his stuff into the basement. Now he could read in bed at night with the light on without bothering anyone. The cool stuff he built would be safe. And there would be no more pesky attacks from Evan. It would be his own private “bear cave,” as Dad called it.
Ben jumped out of bed and punched his fist into the air. He started tickling Evan again, but he stopped when a worry came into his mind. Will I be scared in the basement? He gave Evan a little hug. Then he rolled his brother out of the blanket. Nah, I’ll be fine.
Soon Dad walked in. “Are you ready to move downstairs?”
Ben’s worry slipped away. “You bet!”
Ben’s family helped him pack his things in boxes. One box was labeled “save,” another was labeled “give away,” and the last box was labeled “trash.”
Ben’s little sister, Marissa, dangled a ragged teddy bear by one ear. “You don’t need this old thing anymore, do you?” She tossed it into the trash box.
Ben tried to act like he didn’t care, but he could feel his heart beat faster.
“I think there will still be room downstairs for Bear,” Mom said. She picked up Bear and placed him in the save box. “But how about all your building stuff? You could leave it for Evan.”
Ben’s stomach flipped.
Dad came to the rescue. “He’s just moving his bedroom downstairs. I don’t think he wants to leave his identity behind!”
Ben smiled a little at Dad, but he rescued two army figures from the boxes just in case.
When it was bedtime, Ben raced downstairs. “My very own room!” He turned on his lamp, flopped onto his bed, and opened a mystery book.
Suddenly he heard water gurgle down a pipe. Then he heard squeaky floorboards above him. The house moaned, hissed, and groaned. Ben dropped his book and hid under the blanket. He missed hearing Evan snore.
I’ll be okay if I go to sleep, Ben told himself. But no matter how tightly he shut his eyes, he couldn’t fall asleep. Ben prayed for help and comfort.
It didn’t work.
He prayed for an angel to protect him. Nothing happened. Why wasn’t Heavenly Father helping him? He thought he would always get help when he prayed. That’s how it’s supposed to work. Hot tears built up in Ben’s eyes.
Then Ben heard footsteps, and his door creaked open. Peeking over the top of his blanket, he saw Mom walk over to his bed. “How are you doing in your little cave?” she asked with a smile.
Ben rubbed his tears away. “I can’t sleep. It’s too scary down here. I prayed for help, but it didn’t work! God can’t hear me way down in the basement.”
Mom stroked his hair. “Ben, He did hear you. The Holy Ghost told me that I should check on you. He sent me.”
Mom lay down beside him and began telling him stories. He didn’t feel so scared anymore. Mom was the angel he had prayed for! Ben shut his eyes and listened, and soon he fell asleep.

On August 7, 2014, Hurricane Iselle approached and directly hit the Big Island. The Waikahe and Pahoa Wards of our Hilo Hawaii Stake were particularly hard hit. Miraculously, there were no reports of deaths or damages to homes. All missionaries were safe and accounted for. Church buildings in Hilo and Pahoa were used as shelters. Many homes and communities were cut off from access to power and communications due fallen trees blocking the roads. On Friday evening at 9:30 PM, we established communications and made a plan to serve. At 12:30 PM on Saturday, August 9, 2014, Member and non-member volunteers from around the island, including members from the Kona stake, separated into groups of eight to ten people at the Orchidland Chapel. There were two chainsaws per group. Volunteers then went throughout the streets in the community where trees had not yet been cleared and moved debris. At 4 PM, the service project came to an end. I witnessed firsthand what Relief Society General President Linda K. Burton phrased, “First observe, then serve.”5

I experienced two tender moments while serving the Puna Community and Saints that I would like to share. The first house we helped looked like a war zone. You could not see the front entrance into the house. It took us a couple of hours to remove debris and repair the walkway to the house of this widow. I was hot and sweaty and probably didn’t look like the stake president. At the conclusion of our service and as we said our good byes, this poor sister finally recognized that the stake president was there, all hot and sweaty from working in her yard. She was so touched and moved that her stake president would come to her house to help her. The depth of her emotion touched me deeply. The last house we visited was to an active sister and less-active brother, both in their later years. Their backyard was a tangle of broken albezia branches. The tree branches that fell had crushed their chain link fence as if it had been warm butter. With much effort, we cleaned every branch that had fallen into their yard. Upon our saying good bye, this less-active brother gave me the warmest hug. In his hug, I felt the sweet love of our Savior. It was a purifying experience that changed me for the better. I know that we have a loving Father in Heaven who wants us to move forward in our lives despite temporary and long-term hardship.