Gospel Story Finder

When in 1832 Joseph Smith first narrated his vision of the Father and the Son in the woods of western, New York, he told it as a story of personal repentance and forgiveness. It is a great story, a heartening story. It begins with Joseph telling us that at about age twelve he began thinking seriously about the welfare of his soul. He says that his mind became exceedingly distressed for I become convicted of my sins . . . and I felt to mourn for my own sins and for the sins of the world. Joseph tells us that he cried unto the Lord for mercy, and that the Lord heard his cry in the wilderness. Joseph's story hinges on the Savior saying to him, Joseph my son thy sins are forgiven thee, and ends with Joseph remembering that my soul was filled with love and for many days I could rejoice with great Joy and the Lord was with me.

I have also always remembered his mission stories. Even though he was married and had a child, Grandpa was called to serve as a missionary in Mexico City—just as the Mexican Revolution broke out. One time, federal soldiers accused him and his companion of being spies and threatened to shoot them on the spot. Remembering the story of Abinadi, Grandpa said, “You can’t kill us because we haven’t delivered our message yet. Take us to the president.” He and his companion were taken to the presidential palace, where they gave the president a Book of Mormon and taught him for two hours. The president discovered that my grandpa was from his hometown and asked, “Do you know Francisco González?” Grandpa replied, “Yes, he’s my father.” The president said, “He was my teacher when I was a little boy! Now that I know who you are, is there anything I can do to help you in your work?” The missionaries asked for a letter with the presidential seal and signature, stating that they had permission to preach. The president gladly gave them the letter, and they were able to continue their missionary work.

In one of my classes in high school, some Buddhist monks came in to give a presentation on their religion. The class responded well and asked lots of questions, and as the presentation went on, I thought about how cool it would be to have Latter-day Saint missionaries teaching my classmates about the gospel.
The thought kept nudging me until I found myself in front of my teacher requesting to work on a presentation with the missionaries to present to the class. My teacher gave an enthusiastic yes!
As I worked with the missionaries to prepare for the class, I worried about how people would respond. I prayed hard that the students would ask questions, that I wouldn’t embarrass myself, and, most of all, that the presentation would help me teach about the gospel.
That day when I walked into class with the missionaries, my hands were shaking. But then the missionaries began to speak. The students in the class were actually interested in the discussion, and for many of them, this was their first introduction to the Church. I slowly began to feel the warm feeling of the Holy Ghost telling me that I had done the right thing in having this presentation.
Since that experience I’ve grown to trust in the Lord more. I now have more courage to stand up for my religion and even to seek out missionary experiences.
Grace M., Alaska, USA

Every time I turned around there was something new that I wanted to do. Then my teacher told my class we were supposed to write a book and turn it in. I was reluctant to even try because it seemed enormously boring to me. When I tried, I found that I liked writing, and I had all sorts of ideas to write down on paper. I am absolutely certain that I want to be an author. I wouldn’t even know I liked to write if I hadn’t been forced to do that assignment. My advice to you is to take every opportunity you can get to try new things. Don’t be judgmental before you try it.
Melanie Wise, 12Green River, Wyoming

In early 2002, while I was serving in the Relief Society general presidency, the Church instituted a security system that required those of us who frequented the extended Church campus in Salt Lake City– including Temple Square, the Conference Center, Church Office Building, Relief Society Building, and so forth–to wear ID badges. Because our presidency had served nearly five years, we were easily recognized, and I don’t remember ever actually using my new ID badge.

In one of the Saturday sessions of the April 2002 General Conference, our presidency was released, but we continued to come and go to that conference in the usual manner for General Authorities and general officers–through a series of pedestrian tunnels that connect the various buildings on the Church campus.

I had been assigned to speak early Sunday morning at a devotional for all of the General Conference hosts and hostesses, and I was to be in the Conference Center at 6 AM. As I drove to the Conference Center that morning, it dawned on me that heavy double doors located at various places along the tunnel might not be open that early.

Sure enough, the first door in the tunnel was locked. I noticed an intercom on the wall, pushed the buzzer, and asked the Church Security officer who answered if he would let me through the door. “Sister Dew, do you have your ID badge with you?” I thought but didn’t say, “You know who I am. Why do you need to see my badge?” but I rummaged through my binder and found the badge. The officer then said, “Just wave it in front of the sensor, and the doors will open.”

“Seriously. That’s fantastic! What else will this badge open?”

He laughed and said, “You have a high clearance. Your badge gives you access to most doors throughout the Church campus. Didn’t you know that?”

“Amazing!”

I was already wondering what else my badge would open when he brought me down to earth: “Wasn’t your presidency just released, Sister Dew?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Well, enjoy your badge today because tonight at midnight, it will be deactivated.”

As promised, my badge opened the doors through the tunnel, and also, as promised, the next day it no longer worked. The privilege was gone.

The irony was unmistakable. For months, I had carried with me a badge that gave me privileges I had never made the effort or took the time to understand.

At one time during the freeze, I had to leave my home to go to a boarding school. When I got there, one of the teachers heard that I was a Latter-day Saint. He singled me out to talk negatively about the Church to me. He had so many harsh words to say. I often wondered, “Why are you picking on me and saying these things? I believe in the teachings of the gospel, but I’m still a person.”
One day he asked me how I could call myself a Mormon anymore. Didn’t I know about the freeze? Now, in our culture, we don’t talk back to adults. So the fact that he was a teacher meant that I couldn’t challenge him. But in that moment, I realized that I really had a testimony. I don’t know how these words came out of my mouth, but the Spirit came to me, and I stood up and said, “The Church is in my heart. And nobody can freeze what’s in my heart.”
And after that he left me alone.
In November 1990 the government ended the freeze and said our Church members were free to worship again. We didn’t have radios or televisions on school campus, so I only found out because that teacher heard and immediately sent someone to get me. When he saw me, my teacher said, “The ban on your Church has been lifted! You can go to church again.”
He was happy for me.

Clara and her family had just been baptized. Clara liked getting up on Sunday and going to church together.
One Sunday the Primary president said there would be a Primary program soon. Clara wasn’t sure what a Primary program was. But she knew she wanted to be in it.
“Can you read a scripture and bear your testimony in the Primary program?” her teacher asked.
Clara nodded. She was excited! She wanted to learn as much as she could about the gospel. But she was nervous too. What if she made a mistake?
Clara practiced her part every night. She didn’t know all the words in the scripture yet.
“You’ll do great,” Mama said.
Clara wasn’t so sure. This was her first Primary program. All the other kids had done this before.
“Remember, if you do your best, Heavenly Father will do the rest,” Papa told her.
The night before the program, Clara prayed for help to do her best. She stayed on her knees and thought about her part. She felt good about it.
On Sunday morning Clara prayed that she wouldn’t be scared.
When it was her turn, Clara walked to the front. She messed up one of the words in the scripture. But then she remembered how good she’d felt after her prayer. She smiled and bore her testimony. She talked about how much she loved the Savior.
Clara smiled as she sat back down. She knew Heavenly Father didn’t care that she didn’t say everything perfectly. He cared what was in her heart.

In a curious parallel 300 years later, Nancy Towle, a famous itinerant preacher in the 1830s, visited Kirtland to personally observe the “Mormons.” In conversing with Joseph Smith and other Church leaders, she sharply criticized the Church.
According to Towle’s record, Joseph said nothing until she turned to him and demanded that he swear that an angel had shown him where to find the golden plates. He good-naturedly replied that he never swore at all! Failing to rattle him, she tried to belittle him. “Are you not ashamed, of such pretensions?” she asked. “You, who are no more than any ignorant plough-boy of our land!”
Joseph calmly responded, “The gift, has returned back again, as in former times, to illiterate fishermen.”11

Oh no—a roadblock! Is there anything more frustrating? There you are, running through life at a good, strong pace, when suddenly, something completely out of your control appears and it stops you dead in your tracks.
When you come to that kind of a roadblock, you have three choices. You can wander around whining about it, you can ditch that path completely and give up, or you can find some way to get around it.
Meet Ed Eyestone, whose distance running has broken both world and national records. He attained his championship status by conditioning himself to run right around any roadblocks that got in his way.
Today, Olympic medalists and international record holders fear Ed’s presence at track meets and road races all over the world. Ed’s main event is the 10K, or 10,000-kilometer run, but not long ago he set a new 5K world road racing record. In between his grueling workout and racing schedule, Ed manages to squeeze in masters degree studies at Brigham Young University.
The road to his current position hasn’t been a smooth one, though. There have been numerous obstacles along the way. And the interesting thing is that the lean, six-foot-one runner never emphasizes those problems. If you ask him about his career, he’ll tell you, “I guess I’ve just really been blessed.”
As a matter of fact, Ed became involved in track in the first place by going over a roadblock. When he was in seventh grade in Ogden, Utah, he desperately wanted to be involved in sports and tried out for the junior high baseball team. He was disappointed when he didn’t make the team, but instead of giving up on sports altogether, he decide to go out for track.
Ed began running the mile, and while he beat everyone at his school, he wasn’t the best in town. He plodded along through eighth, ninth, and tenth grade winning his share of victories, but “there was no real indication that I would be that good,” he said.
“Then in the summer between my sophomore and junior year, I don’t know what happened. Maybe I finally went through puberty, but I started beating everybody in cross-country.” His times went down. His reputation went up, and it looked like he would win the state championship.
But along came another roadblock. This time it was in the form of a stress fracture in his foot— diagnosed three weeks before the state finals. The same thing happened in his senior year.
At that point, the obstacle he faced was called discouragement. “It seemed like every time I was doing really well, I would come down with an injury. I began to think that if I was going to be injured every six months and wear a cast around, I didn’t know if it was really worth it.”
But the “glimpses that I might do well,” were what got him over that roadblock. “I wasn’t ready to trash my spikes yet,” he said. “I had run well in my senior year and I had an offer to come to BYU anyway, so I thought I’d go down to Provo to see how I’d do.”
That was a wise decision. Ed gained a seed in the World Cross-Country Championships in Paris and managed to finish third. He was unaware at the time that that race would later affect his mission.
In the meantime, however, Ed had set his sights on All-America status as a freshman in college. To be All-America, you have to finish in the top six among collegiate athletes at the National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) finals. It was an ambitious goal, but Ed’s times weren’t too far off, and, if he worked hard enough, he saw no reason why he couldn’t reach it.
He came close to reaching that goal, too, but another roadblock popped up. The finals were held in Austin, Texas, right in the middle of one of the severest heat waves on record. Ed, however, was paying more attention to the race than to the heat. He was running the 10K, which is 25 laps around the track, and about halfway through, he was in the sixth position, which is exactly where he wanted to be. Suddenly, one of the runners in front of him started to wobble, then passed out on the side of the track from heat prostration.
Ed was now in the number five position. If he could hold it, he’d be an All-American in his freshman year for sure. Then, with about three laps to go, Ed felt the two runners behind him begin to gain on him. He knew he couldn’t let them pass, and he exerted all the effort he could to stay ahead. But suddenly, “everything went fuzzy around the edges, and instead of running straight, I was running to the left and to the right. I was doing what the guy in front of me had been doing before he dropped out. I guess I was feeling the effect of the heat. I don’t remember much after that, but a half a lap later I was dragged off the track by my coach and a few teammates, and I remember waking up in the training room in a tub of cold water with some ice in it. I went back to my hotel room just thinking that I blew it,” he said.
But this time there was a hand outstretched, waiting to help him over that particular barrier. “One of my coaches came by to talk,” Ed relates.
The coach was also a rancher and said, “Ed, I’ve worked a lot with runners, and I’ve worked a lot with animals, and I just want you to know that today you ran like a horse.”
“I didn’t exactly know how to take that,” Ed confided, “but then the coach explained, ‘You can take a good mule out and work with it, and it will do what you want it to until it gets tired. Then it will just sit down. And you can kick it and beat it and do whatever, but until it’s good and rested, it’s not going to budge. But you can take a good horse, and that horse will work for you until it drops over from exhaustion. Today, you ran like a horse, Ed.’
“I learned a great lesson that can be applied in jobs or studies or any aspect of life, really,” Ed relates. He realized that the endurance to follow a job through and give your all is more important than the final outcome. It’s the ultimate effort you put into anything that makes it worthwhile.
Ed would go on to become an All-American ten times before his college career was over. But that path was not to be a smooth one either. At the end of his freshman year, another opportunity arose that the world might consider a roadblock, but that Ed considers one of the greatest blessings of his life. He turned 19—time to serve a mission.
He was called to serve in Barcelona, Spain, and ran off to the mission field without giving track a second thought—except when he used his knowledge and experience to interest members of Spanish track clubs in the gospel. It was under these circumstances that he once again met up with Jorge Garcia, the winner of the world cross-country meet in Paris. Jorge listened to several discussions, and though he wasn’t baptized, “he has a positive attitude about the Church,” Ed says.
Ed did very little running on his mission, but when he returned, his career seemed to improve with each race. He applied the “patience and perseverance” he’d learned in the mission field to his running. By the time the national finals rolled around in his senior year, his times were good enough to garner his second cross-country championship and he was expected to win both the 5 and 10K events.
But a week before the national championships, something that could have proved to be the biggest roadblock of all obstructed his path. Ed’s older brother Robert was killed in a boating accident.
“It’s tough to deal with death,” Ed commented. “Even for us, with the knowledge we have of what lies hereafter, it’s still hard. Knowing that we’re not going to be able to see that loved one or be with them or share their many talents is a loss, no matter how strong a testimony you have. You just have to pull together as a family. And the knowledge that someday you will be together again, even though you won’t see them for a long time, helps.
“The only thing that kept me going through it was that I knew deep down inside that my brother would be disappointed if I didn’t run,” Ed added.
Ed did run, and finished the NCAA finals first in both events.
Since his collegiate running career ended, Ed graduated with honors from BYU in psychology and is certified to teach high school. He minored in Spanish and coaching. His education continues as he works on his masters in health promotion and corporate fitness. He plans on getting his PhD.
He also plans to continue winning races for about the next ten years. When not in class, Ed is working out twice a day. Most of his weekends are spent running races all over the country, and during the summer he spends several weeks running in Europe. He takes advantage of trips to do missionary work, trying to fulfill his father’s challenge of giving away a Book of Mormon every time he travels.
Ed took advantage of a track opportunity to place a Book of Mormon in some of the most prominent hands in the world. He and fellow LDS runner Farley Gerber were competing in the World University Games in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. They were excited to see that Prince Charles and Lady Diana were there as dignitaries, and even more excited to learn that the royal couple would be greeting the athletes individually. Ed and Farley decided it wouldn’t hurt to present them with a copy of the Book of Mormon, so they wrote their testimonies in one and presented it to the prince when it was their turn to shake his hand.
“He was very cordial about the whole thing,” Ed recalls. “He said, ‘Oh, you chaps are Mormons, are you? So that’s what keeps you going.’ When he walked off, he tucked the Book of Mormon in the crook of his arm, and seeing him carrying it, if you didn’t know who he was you might have thought he was a representative of the Church,” Ed recalled.
Ed’s road for the next ten years seems clear. Among his goals are competition in at least two Olympics, and racing in a host of track events along the way. He never knows when roadblocks will obstruct his path, and really doesn’t think much about the ones behind him. In the meantime, he heeds his own advice to just keep trying. “In my career,” he says, “it seems that any successes that I have achieved have been through consistent training and have been very slow in coming. Most improvement has come on a long-term basis.”
Roadblocks, victories, whatever crosses his path, Ed is conditioned to take it in stride.

Recently at a stake conference a young man was called to the pulpit with only a few moments’ notice. He said he had been away to school and had come home to find a very dear friend in trouble. She had become enmeshed in the drug scene and had been tragically hurt. The young man sought the Lord in prayer, crying out for strength to help his friend. “For the first time in my life I truly forgot myself,” he said. “While I prayed I came to a consciousness I had never before possessed. My concern for her was honest and intense and without self-reference, and I knew as I prayed that the love and concern of Almighty God for me and for my friend were pure and real and very personal.”

A wonderful example of a physical building anchored to a firm foundation is that of the Salt Lake Temple. The groundbreaking for that temple took place in 1853. Using blocks of granite stone cut and hauled from a nearby canyon, work proceeded slowing but steadily on the 32-foot deep foundation until the approach of Johnston's Army in 1857. At that point the Saints buried the foundation of the temple to make the area look like a plowed field.

After peace was restored and work resumed, the dirt was removed. But at that point, cracks were discovered in a few of the foundation stones. The prophet Brigham Young had the entire foundation removed. After much discussion and with the guidance of the Lord as to how the foundation should be designed and built, it was redone based on that new design. When asked about all the additional work required, President Young replied, "When the Temple is built I want it to stand through the millennium [along with] many other temples that will yet be built." What a wonderful example of building on a firm foundation.

I learned this firsthand after I graduated from BYU and focused on a possible professional career. I trained really hard and performed well at the NFL workouts and pro day. I signed a contract as a free agent fullback for the Cincinnati Bengals. It was everything I had wanted since I was a boy. I was in the NFL, ready to live the dream in Cincinnati. The setup was actually better than anything I could have imagined. Even though I was known as a fullback, I had learned how to long snap during college with the hope that it would help increase my chances at the next level—and it did.

On report day, I met with the head coach, who informed me that I would need to provide depth and competition as both fullback and a long snapper. Everything was going my way, and it felt like all my plans were lining up perfectly. I was full of appreciation and gratitude. It was happening!

Before going to bed that night, I knelt down and thanked God for everything. I thanked Him for the blessings and even the struggles I had endured during my playing days at BYU: the three major surgeries followed by rehab, the strength to play through the pain and the hurt, the knowledge I gained from all the coaches, and the fact that I was able to play in fifty games at BYU. I was full of gratitude. Now living in Cincinnati, I was the healthiest I had been in a long time, ready for my first practice. I thanked God for his guidance and ended my prayer by saying, “Heavenly Father, I trust you. Whatever is best for me, let it happen. I’m ready to do so much good with this gift and this opportunity.”

The next morning, I woke up sore, which was normal because of the back surgery I’d had three years before. But today felt different. My body was not responding like normal, making it more difficult for me to move. I compare it to having your foot fall asleep, but it was affecting both my legs and my lower back. In a panic, I tried to warm up. I took a hot bath and stretched but something was definitely wrong. The feeling wasn’t going away.

It was the first day of practice. I remember pleading with my body to respond and desperately asking God to help me. In pain, I went to the football facility and attended meetings and eventually practice. I was doing my best to hide the pain I was experiencing in my lower back and legs, but it wasn’t working. It was obvious to the trainers and coaches that something was wrong. Not long after practice started, they took me into the training room for an evaluation and then later to the hospital for tests and an MRI. There I sat in the hospital room—alone, confused, and nervous. Eventually, the team doctor walked in followed by the general manager—never a good sign. I was told that my back was in such horrible shape from my preexisting injury that continuing to play would put me at risk of permanent damage. My football career was over. I was forced into retirement, never to get another opportunity. My dream had ended before it had even started.

A short time later I was in my hotel room, still in shock. As reality set in, I started to speak out loud to God. I was angry with Him. I said things like, “Are you kidding me?”, “What just happened?”, “When I said, ‘I trust you’ and ‘whatever is best for me, let it happen,’ this is not what I meant!”, and “I told You I was going to do so much good with this gift and opportunity! I was going to make You and everyone so proud! It was going to be amazing.” I was mad—you’ve been there.

It was one of the most frustrating moments of my life. I felt lonely, abandoned, and distraught. I was broken—again.

Then all of a sudden, I felt this warmth that was very familiar. It was the same feeling I’d had as a nine year-old-boy getting hugged by my favorite football player, but this time it felt like a hug from the Savior and His angels, saying, “Everything is going to be fine. I love you and God loves you.” I was healed immediately—not physically, but spiritually and mentally. My anger quickly went away, and my goal now was to find God’s plan for me. Because if playing football in the NFL wasn’t it, then there must be something better.

“Okay, Heavenly Father,” I said, “I’m ready. I’m sorry for the things I said, but I trust You. Let’s go.”

The next fifteen years were full of highs and a few lows as I tried to keep my trust in Him. I made it through the lows, and the highs were amazing. I became a loving husband, a doting father, a more appreciative son, a kinder brother, and a more empathetic friend. And I coached a little football too. I learned so many lessons that gave me the tools and mindset I needed for the next design. He was right. For me, this is definitely something better!

Then on December 19, 2015, I spoke out loud to God again, “Are you kidding me? What just happened?” I got my dream job. The dream job I never knew I always wanted. But God knew. He knows!

When I first started my academic career I had occasional contact with a very driven professional colleague. He had finished a Ph.D. at the University of Michigan in economics with an emphasis in public finance. Soon he was in high demand to discuss public finance with public and private officials all over the US. He was in demand because he could explain terms like revenue elasticity or dead-weight loss in a manner that people and groups could understand. He was also an accomplished analyst. When he spoke people understood and his observations were generally on target and devoid of rhetoric. He was respected by fellow academics and his work was published in the best academic journals in his field.

Early in his career he discovered the concept of frequent flyer miles. He not only discovered them he embraced them. Frequent flyer miles became an obsession to him. Frequent flyer miles were placed on his vertical axis and on his horizontal axis was time and he wanted the line to be increasing at an increasing rate. His obsession was so strong that if he was going to Austin, Texas he would not take a direct flight but would take a series of flights, Chicago to New York to Miami and Miami to Austin. Such a route would allow him to accumulate thousands of extra miles on each trip. I found out this practice when I had a chance meeting with him in a New York airport and he was on his way to Austin via Miami.

He learned that he could be very productive on an airplane. He could write papers on the plane, he could edit papers on the plane, he could prepare lectures, and he could even correct student exams on an airplane. Travel provided him with credits to his frequent flyer accounts and the freedom to produce academic work without interruption from the phone, colleagues or students.

After several years he was offered a position that took him away from his current posting in a Midwestern University to a University located in the Northeast. As part of his bargaining with his new employers he sought additional salary because he thought the new position would not allow him to travel as much and he felt he needed to be rewarded for the potential reduction in his frequent flyer account. He thought the new position would reduce his rate of accumulation of miles. Or the rate of change on the vertical axis would slow. The account might grow but not as fast as he was used to or wanted.

His new employer agreed and granted him a boost in his compensation. There was no need to do so. He actually now traveled more than he ever had. The miles now accumulated on not one but multiple airlines. Not thousands, not hundreds of thousands but millions of miles. He had, at least in his mind a graph for each airline and they were increasing.

Did he use the miles? Did he take a vacation and travel around the world? No! Flying on an airplane for him would be like a bus driver going for a ride on his or her day off, or a postman going for a walk on his day off. The miles just kept accumulating.

Again he was offered a new position with a prominent think tank. This time the location was Washington, DC. Once again he used the argument that the new position would reduce his ability to accumulate frequent flyer miles and again the new employer agreed to his request. About this time Eastern Europe was being transformed from governments based on socialism to democratic governments. These governments now needed to understand how to develop efficient processes to fund their operations. Governments in Eastern Europe wanted him to help them design their tax systems. The same processes began to occur in countries in Asia. And he was off to Asia. And the travel continued to increase at an ever increasing rate. He continued to accumulate millions of miles on multiple airlines and as far as anyone could tell he never used them.

But a cruel reality occurred in this life. One day he noticed a small sore inside his mouth that would not heal. After a series of medical tests it was determined that he had an aggressive form of throat cancer. Within a year this disease imposed a heavy toll on his life. His last months were consumed by surgeries, chemo therapy, and radiation.

He spent most of the time in hospital gowns and hospital rooms. He spent no time using his frequent flyer miles. You might wonder how important the frequent flyer miles were to him. After he passed away the speakers at his memorial service almost universally commented on the millions of miles he had accumulated. Millions of miles that did him absolutely no good. He had found a way to kept score on the vertical axis but the score he accumulated was meaningless.

The danger is the same with wealth or power or status. It can become a measure that consumes us. But in consuming us it consumes everyone associated with us. This is the most important point from this story as the miles accumulated and as they consumed him they also consumed his family, his students, and his associates.

If you are accumulating "things"  at an increasing rate make certain that they are things that matter in the eternity. In other words if I asked to plot over time your relationship with your family I hope it is increasing at an increasing rate. Now think about what really matters to you? And if you decide that what you are accumulating does not make any sense for the eternities then following a model of decreasing at an increasing rate would be appropriate.

On the day that no one in the neighborhood saw “Hanse,” as she was called, concerned neighbors rang her doorbell, but to no avail. They were anxious for this gentle and gracious widow who found a place in their hearts. They looked on her as one of their own.

Finally, a member of the bishopric forced open the door and there, in the bedroom, was Marie Woodruff Hansen, as if she had fallen asleep, but never again to awaken in this life.

As the bishopric member paused to take in this sad but peaceful scene, he was startled, when from behind him he heard the words, “I love you.” Knowing that Marie lived alone, he turned; and there in the corner was a bird cage. A second time the bird said, “I love you.”

It was as if Marie, herself, had paused at the portals that mark the point between life and death to send back one final message before moving on to that new day.

Behind her was a neighborhood of friends, both young and old. She knew them all. They were like family to her; Marie’s baked goodies found their way into their homes, and they looked after her like a favorite aunt or a grandmother. Home teaching and visiting teaching were only the beginning as the whole neighborhood was caught up in this love affair. Children were welcomed into her home. They always knew there would be fresh-baked cookies. There was a warmth about that little home that was a reflection of Marie’s whole life. Many prayers had been offered here: prayers of gratitude, prayers of thanksgiving.

The words she taught her pet bird were the words she lived by. Even in death they echoed in the ears of those she left behind. Ahead of Marie was a husband who had gone first, too many years ago. She had lived a full life and left one final message of good-bye in the words she knew best: “I love you.”

Marie Hansen left a great legacy, probably greater than she realized. For did not the Savior say, “A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another”? (John 13:34.)

Brother Misalucha told about sharing the gospel with a friend, Larry Yumul. “He asked me why I became a Latter-day Saint,” Brother Misalucha said. “I told him that I had been looking for a church with more answers, a church that practiced what it preached, a church that could teach us things we hadn’t known before.”

Two and one-half months later, Brother Yumul joined the Church. He had a neighbor who used to profane, gamble, and dump his trash in front of the Yumuls’ house. Brother Yumul’s attitude toward him changed. “He began treating him like a good neighbor and tried to be a good Christian to him,” Brother Misalucha explained. “The formerly lousy neighbor cleaned up his act and joined the Church! Now he’s shared the gospel with another family, and they’ve been baptized, and they’ve helped introduce the missionaries to another family that also joined the Church!”

“For family night tonight we’re going to go over our year’s supply,” Mr. McKinley said. The turned up noses and moans from the children on the couch let him know that his announcement was not being received well, but he ignored that and went on. “Well, Honey, how do things in the storeroom look?”
“Not too bad,” replied Mrs. McKinley, “but I do plan on canning cherries, apricots, and all the peaches I can get this year. I ought to do some applesauce too. That’ll mean a lot of help from you girls.” There were more moans of protest; then she went on. “Like I said, we’re not too bad when it comes to food supplies, but I’ve been thinking, if it ever comes to a point where there are no stores to go to like the prophet said, well, food won’t be the only thing we’ll need to have on hand. What about things like toothpaste?”
The younger children caught on immediately and made a game of it.
“Or soap,” one added.
“Or toilet paper,” another giggled.
Fifteen-year-old Lori, who had been tuned out up until now, suddenly came alive. “Or makeup!” she exclaimed, but immediately became embarrassed at having voiced her thoughts.
“Makeup?” her older brother, Keith, said incredulously. Keith was almost three years older than Lori and seemed to find pleasure in constantly teasing her.
“Is Lori going to get a year’s supply of makeup?” asked Bob, a younger McKinley. “That’s dumb!” The other children agreed and began to giggle.
“Now hold on a second,” Keith put in. “Maybe it’s not so dumb after all. Maybe Lori’s doing us a favor. I mean, if we’re all going to be suffering from starvation, we don’t need to suffer from having to look at her real face too!”
Bob took the lead from his elder brother. “Maybe it’s not for us after all. I’ll bet it’s so she can look good just in case Tony Wilkins comes over to borrow a cup of whole wheat flour during the famine.” Bob batted his eyelashes and flipped a lock of imaginary hair over his shoulder, while Keith pretended to be starving and begging for some food. The two little McKinley girls laughed with delight at their brothers’ antics and began chanting, “Lori’s got a boyfriend.”
Lori wasn’t amused. “Cut it out,” she said crossly. “I was just joking. Don’t you guys know a joke when you hear one?”
That only egged the boys on. But soon dad intervened and order was restored. The rest of the evening was spent evaluating the family’s preparedness needs, but Lori was miles away. She hadn’t been completely truthful when she said she’d only been joking. In fact, it was a lie. She was seriously considering putting in a supply of makeup. After all, just because a girl was going through hard times didn’t mean she had to look it. So while the family discussed how many bars of soap and boxes of laundry detergent it would take to get them through a year, Lori tried to figure how long a tube of mascara would last her and where she could hide 12 containers of lip gloss.
It was only a few days before Mrs. McKinley was able to get a lug of cherries, and Lori found herself stuck in the kitchen early in her summer vacation. Not that canning was so bad—her mother made the job as pleasant as possible—but it seemed as if she had to do most of the work. It was true that she could fill three bottles with cherries in less time than it took for her two younger sisters combined to get one bottle half full. Their deep purple tongues and lips gave evidence to part of the reason for this. Despite mom’s constant warnings not to eat too many cherries or they’d end up with a stomachache, it seemed to Lori that every other cherry ended up in their mouths rather than the bottles. And when mom wasn’t looking, they made a game out of spitting the seeds at each other.
Lori really didn’t mind helping out, though. In fact, she was just beginning to enjoy herself when the back door swung open and in walked Keith followed closely by Tony Wilkins with a basketball under his arm. Lori ducked her head. All she’d had time for that morning was a quick face washing and a hasty ponytail. She wondered how Keith could be so callous as to bring Tony here when he knew they were canning. All she could hope for was that he wouldn’t notice her. She wondered if there was some way she could crawl under the kitchen sink without being noticed.
“Well, well, well,” Keith said grandly, “so the women of the McKinley family are busy putting up our year’s supply!” The younger girls giggled and threw cherries at him.
“Whoa,” mom commanded, stopping their siege before it really got started. Keith nudged Tony as if he’d missed his cue, and mischievous grins spread on their faces.
“Hey, Lori,” Tony said, “I’m really surprised to see you canning cherries. I mean, I understood you were more concerned about storing things of greater necessity, like makeup.” Lori’s face went red with anger and embarrassment, and the boys knew they’d hit their mark. She kept her head down while they rummaged in the fridge. They soon found two bottles of pop, and after grabbing a handful of cookies, headed back outside.
Lori stood silently at the sink. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. When Keith came in alone later that day, she met him at the door with a glare.
“How could you?” she began coldly, but the coldness soon rose to hysteria. “You’re the most awful brother anyone could have, telling Tony about my makeup. You’re terrible; I wish I didn’t even have a brother.” With that she burst into tears and ran upstairs to her room.
Keith, who had been enjoying her outburst as a sign of his victory, was stunned by Lori’s tears. He had badgered her an awful lot before. He had seen her red in the face with anger and heard her yell until he thought she’d break a blood vessel, but he’d never seen her cry.
“We were only joking,” he explained half to himself and half to his mother who had entered in time to see the episode. “I didn’t think she’d take it so seriously.”
“Well,” Mrs. McKinley explained, “things like that and crushes on boys like Tony are awfully serious when a girl is 15. It would help if you were a bit more considerate to her.”
“I guess you’re right,” he admitted. “I did push it a bit too far.” He thought for a moment, then headed for the door. “I’ll be back in a while,” he said to his mother.
It was almost dinner time when Lori heard a tap on her bedroom door. She had spent most of the afternoon there crying and scolding herself for crying in front of Keith. “You should’ve been tough. Now he knows he’s got you and he’ll never let up.”
Lori sat up. “Who’s there?” she called.
“Me, Keith.”
“Go away.”
“No, please let me in. I just want to talk to you. No jokes, I promise.”
Lori finally relented. “The door isn’t locked.”
Keith came in cautiously. “How’s it going?” he asked.
“I’m okay, no thanks to you.” She wanted to say something about her crying and spending the afternoon in her room having nothing to do with his and Tony’s dumb joke, but she couldn’t think of anything that sounded very convincing.
“Here,” Keith held out a slip of paper to her. “I guess it’s sort of an apology.”
On the paper was scrawled a hasty attempt at poetry:
The typical Mormon family
Is concerned with preparation,
For times of famine, drought, or need,
Or just plain desperation.
So the father builds a storage shed
And fills it full of wheat,
And the brother stacks the logs for fuel
In piles tall and neat.
Home production is a project
The Mormon mothers take up,
But the typical teenage girl just wants
A year’s supply of makeup.
Lori couldn’t help but smile as she read the poem. “Typical, huh? So you really think I’m typical, not weird?”
“Oh no, not weird. If anything maybe a little abnormal, but only if the ‘ab’ meant above.” Keith noticed that it was kind of fun to tease Lori this way; it made her smile. “I mean, there aren’t many girls who are thinking far enough ahead to worry about how they’re going to look in the coming hard times, and we guys appreciate a girl who cares about how she looks.”
Lori grinned at his earnestness, but then her face fell. “What about Tony? I’ll bet he thinks I’m weird.”
“Oh, no,” Keith put in hastily. “In fact, he told me he thought you were good-looking!”
“Really? What did he say, I mean exactly.”
“Well … uh …”
“Come on, word for word.”
“Well, his exact words were, ‘I don’t see why a cute little kid like her should be worried about makeup.’”
“A cute little kid, huh?” Lori said with disappointment. “And I bet you agreed.”
“No,” Keith defended. “As a matter of fact, I said, ‘She’s not really a little kid. She’s only three years younger than we are, and when we get home from our missions, that’s probably just the age girls we’ll be looking at.’ And he said he hadn’t thought of that before and agreed. Then he said maybe he’d have to take a second look at you.”
Lori squealed with delight. “Oh thank you, Keith!”
He just smiled and shrugged. “How’s your makeup supply coming?”
Lori hesitated, then opened up the bottom drawer of her dresser and took out a sweater that was folded on top. Under it was a box with six tubes of mascara. “That’s all I’ve been able to get so far, and I spent all of my babysitting money on that. You should’ve seen the funny look they gave me at the drug store when I bought six mascaras.”
“If you think they looked at you funny, you should’ve seen the look they gave me when I bought four tubes of ‘kissing potion.’”
“What?”
In answer, Keith stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out four dainty glass tubes filled with lip gloss. “The prophet says to get our supplies in as fast as possible, and I figured you might be able to use some help.”
“Thanks, Keith,” Lori said warmly. “I guess you’re not such a bad brother after all.”
“Yes,” said Keith, using a deep voice and sticking his chest out melodramatically, “the true character of us good guys always comes out in the end.”
Laughing, Lori threw a pillow across the room at him, just as mom’s voice drifted up the stairs calling them to dinner.

After the closing prayer, while everyone is mingling and cleaning up, 17-year-old Chilton Sisinio Tutor, Jr., sitting in a wheelchair, shares his story. “I’ve been a member now for six years. First my mother was baptized, but it took me a year to decide. The missionaries always seemed happy. There was something different about them. I wanted to know more about the gospel.
“We hadn’t been very religious up to that time, because before my father died we spent every Sunday at the beach. When he died, we moved here. I was 12. Like Joseph Smith, I wondered what church was right.
“I haven’t been handicapped all my life, but I was only six months old when I got polio. It’s fairly common here. As I learned about the gospel the bitterness about my disease melted. It’s all gone now. Sometimes I think I’d rather be like this than able to walk. Maybe this has been a blessing in disguise, because it’s helped me to think about the Church more, to think about life more.”
He smiles and laughs. “When I first started coming to the ward, there were only 16 people. Now there are more than 600. The Church is growing fast here in the Philippines.” Then he talks about how Church activities have helped him develop reading and speaking skills. He just won first place in the stake speech contest.
“I’ve had lots of good examples in my life,” he continues. “But the man I admire the most is Joseph Smith. He had strong faith and courage to ask which church is true. I think he showed a lot of people how important it is to ask God.”
For the young Latter-day Saints in Quezon City, Makati, Cainta Taytay, and Angono, life in the Philippines is a life of contrasts. They know that in the tops of remote outer-island mountains some aborigines still live in tribes, while in the tops of modern office buildings in Manila executives plan international marketing ventures. In the streets, flashy motorcars and horse-drawn kalesas (carriages) travel down the same lanes. In private conversations 87 dialects are spoken, but in public, English and Tagalog (ta-GAL-ag) unite the people.
In the city, brightly painted jeepneys (taxi buses) rush commuters to businesses and markets where thousands of people crowd the streets. In the provinces, a farmer plowing behind a carabao (water buffalo) might spend the whole day without seeing another person, and by the ocean a beachcomber can wander for miles all alone.
The Saints here have seen contrasts in life, too. Chilton knows that his father’s death led his family to move to the area where they met the missionaries and found a new life. He is convinced that his childhood affliction has molded his character and helped him to rely on the gospel. Myrna has known the frustration of groping in ignorance and the joy of learning by the Spirit. Raoul doesn’t like to get up early but loves to go to seminary. Susie misses Mexico but loves her new home.
They live in a land where summer sparkles and winter brings monsoon rains. It is a land where wars and occupation once thwarted a people who love freedom and peace. It is a land that has bred a people full of optimism and courage, who firmly believe difficulties are only opportunities looked at from the wrong direction.
The Philippine Islands are a land of sunshine and rain, a land that hopes to weather storms and challenges to arrive at a bright tomorrow. Young Latter-day Saints who live here know that by living the gospel and sharing it with their friends, they will lead the way.

One sister, after being criticized for having a large family and giving up a career outside the home, wrote: “I rocked my newborn baby into the night, overcome with gratitude. How would I have found the joy of having this child if prophets of God hadn’t lit my path and shown me that womanhood, motherhood, and wifehood were beautiful ways to serve that have brought me warmth of soul, closeness to my Father, and joy that sometimes seems to consume me?”

First, here’s Curt. Today he is 25, but he has no difficulty recalling his 16th summer. “I was 2 meters tall, and I loved to play ball, especially basketball. I played on our high school team and even had dreams of playing professional basketball in New York.”

Curt grew up in Shelley, Idaho, where he could always find work on the neighboring farms. “I enjoyed working. I saved everything I earned as a boy, trying to get my missionary and college funds together.” Curt had saved six thousand dollars.

Curt’s accident happened one day during a break in his job.
“You know, sometimes young kids try crazy things. I looked at an electrical pole and thought, ‘That looks like something challenging to climb.’ So I did.” Witnesses told him that three electrical shocks held him in midair before he fell 7.6 meters and landed in mud. “The doctor said the impact of falling that far started my heart again, so now I’m alive. I lay there in the mud and thought, ‘I’ll never play ball again.’”

Curt spent six painful months in the hospital. He recalls that his family and friends helped greatly during that time. His close friends visited him regularly. His father kindly insisted he learn to be independent. The town held fund-raising campaigns to help pay medical expenses. When he returned to school, his classmates encouraged him and helped him see the brighter side of life. Curt graduated with his class.

Curt’s testimony helped him, too. He says, “I’m grateful to be a Mormon. I know this life is just a small speck in eternity. Someday I’ll have my legs and run again.”

A couple of years ago, in a tightly contested football game that came down to the last play on a rival team’s home field, Coach Sitake quietly did something that speaks to his character. Before the game ended, the opposing team prematurely stormed the field, only to be told by game officials to get back off the field so the final play could take place. The final play nearly swung the game in BYU’s favor but fell just short.

As the home-team student section stormed the field once again, many of the fans were charged with an emotion that I call “athletic-induced anger.” The situation became somewhat dangerous for players and coaches who found themselves in a wave of charging fans. As opposing fans approached Kalani to scream and jeer in his face, he invited them to take selfie photos with him. This small, humble act in a moment of high emotion instantly melted away the anger. Kalani’s reaction to the incident neutralized the entire situation. Rather than demeaning our coach, opposing fans swarmed him to take selfies. BYU runs deep for Kalani Sitake. Cougar Nation is thankful Kalani is with us!