Gospel Story Finder

I am deeply grateful for four boys in the ward Sister Shumway grew up in because of their kindness and respect they showed her through their teenage years: Terry Summerhays, Terry Pantalakis, Legrand Lyman, Dwight Laws. These were her "friend boys" who danced with her, called her "Little Sister," and carried her on hikes when she sprained her ankle so that she wouldn't miss out on the fun; wrote complimentary notes to her for being a good girl and looked me over carefully when I started dating her. Their kindness and respect bolstered her feelings of self worth and confidence around men. She felt accepted, even honored.

I am blessed because of them. After 43 years of incredibly happy marriage, I still honor these men and their kindness to Carolyn before I ever knew her.

I have always had a great love for music, as most of you do today. Yes, our music was different, but it was just as enjoyable to us as yours is to you today. I played the piano in a small dance band. We played for dances around town and quite often my date would accompany me as my friends and I played. She would sit at the side of the piano and listen to the music and smile at me as I played and tried to earn a few dollars to help with high school and college. We’d have good visits at intermission, and I’d take her home after such a date where often the only pleasure she’d had was sitting, listening to dance music, and tapping her foot to the beat of the drum. When I was 17 I was the ward organist, and many times I would take my date to the church so that I could practice the organ, and she would sit and listen. This may well have been because I didn’t have any money, much more than because of her deep love for music, but we started a relationship in doing that and we found that we both liked music. I played the hymns and they brought a lovely spirit to our times together in a chapel as hymns were played with intermittent talk, perhaps followed by a five-cent ice cream cone when I took her home. Now, any one of you reading this might think these were strange kinds of dates, but the important thing in any generation is to find uplifting things you can enjoy together and do them! There’s nothing more boring—and potentially dangerous—than a date that starts out, “Well, what do you want to do?” Be creative, be enthusiastic, and prepare by thinking about the kinds of things that will help you get to know each other better. Decide well in advance where you are going, what you will do, and what time you will be home.

Young men and women should continually prepare for conversation—an important part of any date. Each young man or woman reading this might well ask, “What subjects am I prepared to talk about?” Talking and listening attentively add depth to dating.

Are you interesting? Are you aware of what is going on in the world? Can you discuss several subjects intelligently? Are you a good listener? Do you talk too much? Not enough?

It seems to me that quality young people are searching for other young people of high caliber who dress and act modestly, understand conversation, have high standards of behavior, and are refined yet “down to earth.”

On many occasions our children have had dinners on a tennis court. It was interesting to watch them plan who would attend, where the food would come from, and what type of date would want to spread a checkered cloth on a piece of cement and have a picnic on a tennis court. On another occasion this same group had dinner inside a playhouse and acted like they were on the roof garden of an elegant hotel. It was interesting to watch them plan and grow and develop as they made assignments and had a truly wonderful time without it costing very much.

Dates can be fun and wholesome without spending a lot of money. Young men and young women alike should be cautious about overspending and taxing resources unnecessarily on frills that are not necessary to have a good time.

Young men should treat their dates with respect and honor in every sense and on every occasion. Good manners and actions appropriate to age and culture are just as important today as they were ten, twenty, thirty, or fifty years ago. Young women, too, should behave accordingly and be concerned about manner of dress, speech, and actions while on a date.

How pleasant it was to have a young man take one of my daughters on a date and tell me as they left where they were going and what time I could expect them home. This type of young man is going to impress many fathers and mothers and, of course, will impress the daughters, who are most important.

It is wise to date in groups. There is safety in numbers. Doctrine and Covenants 6:12 tells us, “Trifle not with sacred things.” [D&C 6:12] What is more sacred than virtue?

My wife and I recently attended a high school reunion. How grateful I was for the dates I had in high school! Meeting these good friends many years later, I was very grateful I had no sad memories of dates that were not what they should have been.

Always conduct each date so that you can meet the person many years later and have no regrets about what took place. Don’t ever trade a lifetime of happy gospel living for a brief moment of promiscuous pleasure.

Dating can be a wonderful stage of life with many rewards. Plan well, enjoy your date, and use the time to meet and make many wonderful friends. Let those friendships lead you to a lifetime of happiness that can and will be yours as you work toward the blessings of the temple and as you seek to find the one who can join you for a temple marriage and an eternal family unit based on living the gospel of Jesus Christ.

My family and I learned that the Lord is willing to help us in money matters years ago, while I was in my medical training in Salt Lake City. Sister Davis and I would have our small children say their prayers out loud with us. Our oldest boy, Taylor, gave a rather brief prayer one evening that consisted only of asking the Lord for $10 so he could buy a toy workbench. We both wondered whether a prayer like that was really okay or not, but decided to leave it alone.

The next day, our 90-year-old neighbor from across the street, named Jim Downward, knocked on our front door. When Sonja opened the door, he handed her $10 and told her that it was for our little boy. She, of course, was surprised and amazed, and asked Jim why he had done this. He just answered that he didn't know, and then turned around and returned home. Through that experience, we were reminded that the Lord hears and answers his children's prayers, usually through the actions of others.

The earliest instance of which I have recollection of spiritual feelings was when I was about five years of age, a very small boy. I was crying from the pain of an earache. There were no wonder drugs at the time. That was 85 years ago. My mother prepared a bag of table salt and put it on the stove to warm. My father softly put his hands upon my head and gave me a blessing, rebuking the pain and the illness by authority of the holy priesthood and in the name of Jesus Christ. He then took me tenderly in his arms and placed the bag of warm salt at my ear. The pain subsided and left. I fell asleep in my father’s secure embrace. As I was falling asleep, the words of his administration floated through my mind. That is the earliest remembrance I have of the exercise of the authority of the priesthood in the name of the Lord.

There are other ways the Lord uses miracles to answer our prayers. Sometimes, for instance, he seems to manipulate our temporal world to our benefit, as one sister related in testimony meeting:
“We knew when we were preparing to send Roger on his mission that we would have to change our lifestyle to afford it. But when we sat down and figured out exactly what our new budget would be—to the penny—we discovered that we wouldn’t have enough even for must items. We worried and prayed about it; we were going to trust the Lord and send Roger anyway, but we didn’t know how we were going to do it.
“Then, the day before Roger left, my husband’s boss called him into his office and said they were giving him a raise effective immediately. He then wrote the amount of the raise on a slip of paper and handed it to my husband. It was the exact amount—to the penny—that it was going to cost to support Roger on his mission.”

While I served as bishop, one of the Mia Maids in my ward came in for her annual interview. It was a sunny early summer day, and the rays of the afternoon sun were causing the dust in my office to float around like a million little gliders. She and I talked about the significance of the small things in life versus the highly visible parts of what we are doing.
Without any warning she suddenly burst into tears and wept and wept. I left the chair behind my desk and walked around to where she was seated and sat down next to her. I attempted to comfort her and give her solace.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“I am so awful!” she cried out.
“What have you done that you think is so awful?” I asked.
“I am so cruel to my best friend. I go out of my way to play jokes on her and to embarrass her in front of others. I am just awful.” Then she cried some more.
“Could you give me an example of how you treat her?” I asked cautiously.
She described several situations that really were vicious, well-planned attacks on this other young woman that she claimed was her best friend.
“What am I going to do, bishop?” I remember her asking me.
As kindly and gently as possible, I explained to her that she must repent.
“How?” she asked.
“Well,” I said, “you have recognized that you are doing wrong toward your friend. That is the first step. Now you have to decide if you really want to repent. Do you really want to go all the way with this decision?” She nodded her head that she did.
Through the following days and weeks, this fine young woman worked hard at learning how to stop being quietly vicious. She changed her plans to hurt into plans that would help and lift.
She confessed her sins to me, as her bishop. Then kneeling together in prayer I listened while she confessed them to God. Finally, she went to her friend and made peace. In an attempt to make restitution, my young friend went out of her way to make life easier and less complicated for her true, understanding friend. I learned firsthand how it is equally as important to forgive as it is to seek forgiveness. Fortunately, these were two special young women.
Within a few months my young Mia Maid friend had forgiven herself—her friend had forgiven her weeks earlier—and she had been forgiven in heaven.
Her heart and mind are now at peace. I am certain that she still remembers how she treated her friend. That will help her remember not to ever do it again. However, she feels no heartache or torture of mind because she has fully repented.

From the days of our earliest childhood, our mother was there to make sure we were appropriately dressed for all occasions. With five daughters this took some doing. If we had on pants when a dress was required, she would make us change. When one of us was wearing a cute new outfit that we thought should not be covered up by a coat no matter how cold it was, she would still insist that all of us wear a coat. She always dressed appropriately herself, and she made sure we did too.
Mom had spent her life teaching each of us not just how to dress but also how to live. She shared her insights about the joy of the gospel and her testimony of the importance of the temple. She made it clear that she hoped we would each come to understand the effect of temple ordinances on our eternal happiness.
Then came the day when we had to gather to dress Mom for burial. She had left this world for the next, after teaching us all she had been given time to teach us. This was our opportunity to show our devotion to her, our gratitude for the principles she instilled into our hearts.
This time it was our job to make sure she was appropriately dressed.
When we came into the room where Mom was to be dressed for burial, her lifeless body looked empty. The warmth of her spirit was gone, replaced by the coldness of death. As her daughters and some of her granddaughters encircled her, we honored the life of this grand lady, wanting to show her, one last time, our gratitude for the blessing she had been in our lives.
We were now six daughters: Leah, Heather, Gaylene, Lori, Melinda, and daughter-in-law Adrianne. The six of us formed a tight circle around Mom. Then our own daughters created a second ring around us. These two circles brought to mind the ripple of love created by her life. Because of her influence and the righteous choices of her descendants, the blessings of temple covenants would ripple throughout generations, ever expanding the blessings of priesthood covenants.
Her daughters would prepare her for burial. We carefully covered her cold body with the warmth of the robes of the temple. Each ribbon was tied carefully; slippers slipped on; effort made to ensure that all the clothing was correctly in place. The last thing to do was to tie a final bow. As we did so, making sure that it was tied as nicely as we could, a memory came to each of our minds—she had tied that bow for each of us the first time we had entered the temple. As we tied hers for the last time, we were now symbolically giving back to her, with eternal gratitude, the gift of temple blessings.
As we looked at her, we were each filled with a feeling of warmth. No longer did the cold chill of death surround her. She looked beautiful. It was easy to imagine her in heaven, encircled there by those she loved, eager to return to her Heavenly Father.
As I left the room, it occurred to me that I had now lived through the time of life when I could care for my mother. She had endured to the end. She had aged faithfully and blessed her posterity through her example. I hoped and prayed that I could do the same and that one day I could leave a similar legacy for my daughters and granddaughters.

Simon had had enough! Joe and Bob had been bragging about their pets all afternoon. Joe had two large German shepherds and a furry hamster, and Bob had a calico cat and six goldfish.
Simon didn’t have any dogs, cats, hamsters, or fish. But he did have a secret. “Come outside,” he said. “I’ll show you my pets.”
“What pets?” asked Joe.
“You don’t have any pets,” Bob scoffed.
Without answering, Simon led them into his backyard. He took them all the way to the back fence, which was overgrown with ivy. He jiggled the fence, then waited, listening, and jiggled it again. The leaves rustled.
Joe and Bob watched wide-eyed as a large brown lizard scooted out of the ivy and took refuge in the tall weeds by the garden shed.
“That’s one of my pets,” Simon told them. “His name is Leonard. He lives right here in the ivy and takes care of himself. I don’t even have to feed him. Mom and Dad are glad we have him, though, because he eats bugs.”
“Lucky you,” said Joe. “My mom doesn’t like lizards. If one shows up in our yard, she chases it away.”
“So does my cat,” Bob sighed.
“Come and see my next pet,” said Simon, glad that his friends liked his first one.
He led them to a shady corner of the yard where the ground was moist. “This is Oliver,” he said, pointing at a small, spotted toad sitting on a mossy rock. “He eats insects too.”
The boys watched with interest as Oliver took three short hops.
“My third pet lives over here,” said Simon, heading for the corner of the garage. He pointed up at the eaves. “That’s Edith.”
A large brown spider hung in the middle of a filmy web. “You should see her web at night,” said Simon. “The moonlight makes it shine. You can come over some evening to see it,” he offered.
“I’d like that,” said Joe.
Bob nodded his agreement.
“I have one more pet to show you,” said Simon.
He took them to the peppertree and pointed up into its spreading branches. “You have to look very carefully, or you’ll miss her,” he told them.
Peering through the leaves, the boys saw a small, gray bird sitting motionless on a nest.
“I call her Penelope,” Simon explained. “She chose our yard out of all the yards in the neighborhood for her nest. She knows she’s safe here; we won’t hurt her. Her eggs are almost ready to hatch. I’m going to watch the babies grow and learn to fly.”
“Boy! I wish a bird would build a nest in my yard,” said Bob, with a wistful sigh,
“A bird wouldn’t feel safe in your yard,” Joe pointed out. “Your cat would scare it.”
“I know,” agreed Bob glumly. “Will you let us see the baby birds when they hatch, Simon?”
“Sure,” answered Simon, “as long as you don’t get too close. We don’t want to scare them.”
“Hey, Simon, whenever you want to visit my cat or watch my goldfish, let me know,” offered Bob.
“And you can play with my dogs and hamster, too,” Joe added promptly.
“Thanks!” said Simon. “And you can come to see my pets anytime you want to. It’ll be fun to share my secret pets with my friends.”

This is my friend Aisha, from Tonga. She joined the Church when she was 13, even though her father was opposed to the idea. She worked hard in high school to show her dad how responsible she was, but he passed away before he could see her graduate with honors.
She wanted to serve a mission. That fell through.
She wanted to be sealed to her family. That fell through, too.
Even when her plans completely fall apart, Aisha has a heart of gratitude, because God has other things planned for her. He’s shaping her into what He wants. She loves giving thanks to God.

I have recently thought about influences in my life that have developed my convictions about the human body and about my body in particular. Growing up on a farm in southeastern Idaho provided me with many opportunities to develop and test my physical body. While I was very young, one of my chores was to get up early and run to the pasture to bring the cows into the milk barn. I got up at five o’clock—that habit has stuck with me all of my life. This daily activity—considered a chore by others—was a wonderful experience for me as I ran through the pasture, jumping the ditches, dodging the gopher holes, skipping, leaping, changing movement patterns, finding new routes to travel, and finding the exhilaration of the body moving through the atmosphere. I also remember the wonderful inner feeling I received when I first noticed that the cows were interested in my physical entrance into their presence. Old Pet, the leader of the herd, would be the first, and soon the entire herd would watch my antics as I rounded them up.

One day around Christmas, I was with my dad at the store. My favorite singer’s new album had just come out, and I begged him to buy it for me. Dad explained that he and Mom had already bought presents and didn’t have a lot of extra money to spend. Still, I was upset I couldn’t get the album.
When we reached the check-out line, I noticed a mother in front of us trying to buy some sparkly shoes for her little girl. She didn’t have enough money to pay for them, and she left looking very sad as her daughter began to cry.
When it was our turn to check out, I was surprised when Dad picked up the sparkly shoes and bought them. He ran to the parking lot to give them to the mother. Through her tears, she thanked him and said the shoes would be her daughter’s only Christmas present that year. She had prayed she might find a way to buy them.
The album suddenly didn’t seem so important to me. I was glad my dad followed the Spirit and helped someone else, even though it was a sacrifice. That day, I learned that giving is better than receiving.
Makenna L., Utah, USA

Robert is Mister Popular. Everyone in my sixth grade class likes him. I kind of wish he would disappear like invisible ink. Before he came to our school, my life was great, but now all I hear is “Robert, Robert, Robert!”
This week, our teacher, Mrs. Beng, told us we were going to do reports on different dinosaurs. I love dinosaurs. I was so happy with this assignment, I couldn’t stop grinning—until Mrs. Beng said that my best friend, Jeff, would be Robert’s partner.
“You should see the neat picture Robert drew of a tyrannosaurus,” Jeff told me at lunchtime. “Our report is going to be great!”
“Probably,” I mumbled. “I’m partners with Katie. She only likes to draw horses.” I hurriedly changed the subject. “Want to play soccer?”
Jeff nodded as he finished off his milk. “I brought my ball.”
We grabbed our hats and ran outside to the grassy field next to the playground. The kids were waiting to start a game, and I made sure I wasn’t on Robert’s team. I’m pretty quick, and I figured I might score a couple of goals.
But Robert got the ball. He weaved in and out of the players and passed it off to Jessica before I could get my legs racing in the right direction. Jessica kicked it into the net. Before the bell rang, Robert’s team had scored four goals. He’d kept stealing the ball and passing it to a teammate in front of the net.
That afternoon, we had a spelling bee. Robert knew how to spell triceratops.
“Good job,” Mrs. Beng said when he finally outspelled everyone. He didn’t even get the extra-hard challenge words wrong. The whole class clapped for him. I didn’t clap very loudly. Everyone would cheer for me, too, if I had a computer brain like Robert’s.
After school, I waited by my locker for Jeff. “Do you want to come over and play basketball?” I asked him.
“I’m going over to Robert’s,” Jeff answered. “We’re going to work on our dinosaur report. And he’s going to show me his aquarium. I love fish. Plus, I’m going to try out his new skateboard. Want to come over to my house tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll let you know.” My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a pile of rocks. It figured that Robert had all sorts of neat stuff. No wonder Jeff wanted to go there. No wonder everyone liked him.
That night, I thought about Robert before I fell asleep. There had to be some amazing thing I could do, too. It took a lot of thinking, but I finally remembered the trick Grandpa had taught me. I knew how to make a coin disappear and then seem to pull it out of someone’s ear. Jeff would like seeing that, and then he’d forget all about Robert.
Tomorrow will be a much better day, I told myself as I pulled up my covers. Besides my magic trick, our class was going on a field trip to the dinosaur museum.
When I woke up the next morning, I wanted to make my stomach disappear instead of a coin. It kept flipping and flopping. My head hurt, too.
“You have the stomach flu,” Mom said. “You’ll have to stay home today with me.”
“Not today,” I moaned. “We’re going to the dinosaur museum.”
“I’m sorry.” Mom brushed back my hair with her cool hand. “I’ll take you there another day.”
“I can go,” I said, standing up. Everything in the room twirled around, and I felt myself getting hot and sweaty, like I’d raced ten miles. My stomach lurched.
“Lie down,” Mom said sympathetically but firmly. “Maybe you’ll feel better tomorrow.”
I lay down, but I missed two whole days of school before I felt normal again. I was really glad to go back to school, but I didn’t tell everyone that. I also remembered to bring my coin.
At lunchtime, Mrs. Beng asked me to stay in and make up some of the work I’d missed. Two seconds later, guess who showed up at my desk—Robert. He was going to help me.
“I’m sure you two will do fine,” Mrs. Beng said as she left, her heels tip-tapping down the hallway.
First, Robert explained the math assignment to me. I started working on it while he went to dig something out of his backpack.
“What’s that?” I asked when he plunked a box down on my desk.
“It’s from the museum,” he explained. “It’s a plastic model of a brontosaurus, but you have to put the bones together. You like dinosaurs so much, I felt kind of bad when you missed our trip. I thought you might like this, so I got one for you.”
“How did you know I like dinosaurs?” I said, picking up the box.
“I noticed that you have dinosaur stickers all over your folders, and Jeff told me you have a collection of plastic ones in your room.”
“Oh.” A bunch of thoughts jumbled around in my head. Robert cared about me, and he even knew my favorite hobby. I guess I never realized how he always paid so much attention to the other kids. That’s why everyone liked him. It wasn’t because he could draw or spell or play soccer. Robert was just plain nice! Suddenly I didn’t feel so good about myself. But maybe I could fix that. “The dinosaur’s great,” I told him. “Thanks. Do you want to come over and see my collection?”
“Sure.” He gave me a friendly grin.
“Do you collect anything?” I asked Robert next.
“Stamps,” he answered.
“I’ll keep my eyes open for any special ones,” I promised.
“Great!” He grinned again.
“No problem,” I said. A warm feeling spread through me as I finished up my math. Robert had helped me more than he knew. In fact, from now on I decided I’d try to be like him, a real Mister Nice Guy. It was the only “magic” trick I’d really need.

When the Livingston Branch of the Kingwood Texas Stake put on a dance, it was a new page in their history.
The branch, with a total membership of 59, had never sponsored a stake activity, so the Mutual decided to remedy the situation and sponsor the next stake dance. They decorated the multipurpose room, planned refreshments, and sent out invitations. When the night came, more than double the expected number attended. It was a good night for dancing in Livingston.

“Remember a long long time ago when you were just a little kid?” I mused. “Well, you couldn’t, of course, because you were only about 18 months old, but it was the night after Robby was born in the old Dee Hospital on 24th Street. Anyway, you and I were the only ones home, and I guess it was about midnight or later. I came into your room to see if you were covered up, if everything was okay. The light from the hall was shining on your face a little, and there you were, wide awake as could be, just looking up at me and smiling—like right now. So I sat down on the edge of our old rocker, and we looked at each other. That’s all we did. We were all alone, just looking at each other through the bars of that crib—looking into each other—for maybe 15 minutes. And you know something?” I paused. “That was one of the neatest experiences your old dad has ever had.”

The Lord can help you see the danger in taking a rest because you feel you have done enough. He helped me by letting me have a conversation with one of His aged servants. He was feeble, his body weakened by decades of faithful labor and by illness. His doctors no longer allowed him to leave his home. At his request, I reported a trip I had taken in the Lord’s service, across several nations, in dozens of meetings, and in many private interviews, helping individuals and families. I told him of the gratitude people expressed to me for him and his many years of service. He asked me if I had another assignment soon. I told him about another long trip soon to come. He surprised me, and he gave me an inoculation against complacency which I hope will last forever, when he grabbed my arm and said, “Oh, please, take me with you.”

Grudges, if left to fester, can become serious maladies. Like a painful ailment they can absorb all of our time and attention. Guy de Maupassant has written an interesting chronicle that illustrates this.
It concerns Master Hauchecome, who on market day went to town. He was afflicted with rheumatism, and as he stumbled along he noticed a piece of string on the ground in front of him. He picked it up and carefully put it in his pocket. He was seen doing so by his enemy, the harness maker.
At the same time it was reported to the mayor that a pocketbook containing money had been lost. It was assumed that what Hauchecome had picked up was the pocketbook, and he was accused of taking it. He vehemently denied the charge. A search of his clothing disclosed only the piece of string, but the slander against him had so troubled him that he became obsessed with it. Wherever he went he bothered to tell people about it. He became such a nuisance that they cried out against him. It sickened him.
“His mind kept growing weaker and about the end of December he took to his bed.
“He passed away early in January, and, in the ravings of [his] death agony, he protested his innocence, repeating:
“‘A little [piece] of string—a little [piece] of string. See, here it is, [Mister Mayor.]’” (See “The Piece of String,” http://www.online-literature.com/Maupassant/270/.)

Like many young men my age, I looked forward to the spring in anticipation of the yearly high school prom. It wasn’t long before I accepted an invitation to attend with a group of friends, including my two best friends, who were fellow priesthood quorum members.

The days leading up to the prom were full of anxiousness and planning. Where would we have dinner? What color tuxedo should I wear? So many decisions to be made! In anticipation of the events, our Young Men president reminded us who we represent as priesthood holders and how we should conduct ourselves. He reminded us that the scripture “stand ye in holy places” (D&C 87:8) should be firmly in our minds as we went to the dance.

The night of the prom came. As I was preparing to leave and join my friends for pictures, a knock came at my door. Somewhat to my surprise, my Young Men president was standing on the porch. He told me he was there to see me off and wish me an enjoyable time. Before he left, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden dollar coin. As he handed it to me he said, “Chase, I want you to take this. Keep it in your pocket as a reminder of who you are and whom you represent as a faithful priesthood holder. Much like this gold coin, your priesthood is precious and valuable. Hold it dear to you and honor it regardless of where you are.”

I left shortly after to join my friends for dinner and pictures. And then, the prom! We all had a great time. Later that night, I became separated from my group and was surrounded by a group of people I didn’t know very well. Within a few minutes, I found myself in a difficult situation that would have compromised my standards. Feeling anxious and nervous, I shoved my hands into my pockets. My fingers felt the golden coin; I’d almost forgotten about it! I was instantly reminded that I bear His holy priesthood. I thought, “I am a faithful priesthood holder. I can honor my priesthood regardless of where I am.” I immediately walked away from the compromising situation and reunited with my friends.

Afterward, I was so thankful for faithful leaders who stayed in tune with our needs. I felt like I better understood the importance of honoring the priesthood that I bear. A night at the dance and a single golden coin reminded me that I can have the strength to stand in holy places, even when it’s hard.

Sometimes it takes years to find the truth, and for me and my family it took generations. Three generations, to be exact. But we had found The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints again. My great-great-grandfather, Chief Washakie, of the Shoshone Indian tribe, had been baptized many years before, along with the rest of the tribe, but the generations that followed them had fallen away. Now we had returned to the gospel, and I was the first missionary to be sent from the Wind River Branch out into the mission field.
The day I received my call was exactly two weeks after I had sent in my papers. Before opening the envelope I knelt down to ask my Heavenly Father if this was where he wanted me to go. I begged with all my heart that he would answer me, and the answer came with the same peaceful feeling I had received when I asked about the gospel before my baptism. “Yes, this is the mission I have chosen for you,” came the answer, and I quickly opened the envelope. I was called to the California Ventura Mission.
Once on my mission, as I prepared for a transfer, I thought back to all the spiritual experiences I had had. I remembered a humble woman who asked my companion and me, with tears in her eyes, why we hadn’t come sooner. I remembered a little ten-year-old we baptized who worked long hours in his neighbor’s garden so he could first earn money to buy a Bible and then go on a mission. I also remembered one sacrament meeting when a woman I had baptized came up to me and said, “It’s all because of you,” when she received a call to serve in the Primary. She practically radiated gratitude as she thanked me for coming to her door the afternoon we met.
All these experiences were a fulfillment of a blessing I had received before leaving on my mission that said I would bring many people into the Church who would become great leaders. But now I was facing a transfer that I was not excited about, completely unaware of what was in store for me in my new area. The transfer was to Agoura Hills, California. I believed my mission president was an inspired man, but why Agoura Hills? The area was very affluent but very low in baptisms. You could count on one hand the baptisms in that area for the past several years. I had been one of the top baptizers in the mission for several months, but now all that would probably change. Then I remembered the words from a song that was sung at my farewell: “I will go where you want me to go, dear Lord.” So I went.
It is every convert’s dream to find the missionaries who baptized him and let them know about the change they brought to his life with the gospel. I also had that dream, especially because so many members of my family had been baptized after the elders left our area. I was now serving a successful mission. I had a sister attending Ricks College, another sister on a scholarship at BYU, and a brother and a sister both preparing to go on missions. I had lost track of the elders who had converted me. I wanted to find them and let them know how many lives they had touched.
My second Sunday in Agoura Hills, just before sacrament meeting started, a man in the ward came up to me and asked me about myself. I told him I was from Wyoming, and he said they had sent a son on a mission to Wyoming. A sensation of electricity ran through my body, but I knew it was not likely that this was one of the elders that I knew. So I asked, “What mission? The Colorado, Utah, or Montana mission?”
He said his son had served in the Billings Montana Mission, and when I asked him if he had ever been in Lander, Wyoming, where I was converted, the man answered yes again. I asked him a few dates and names and soon discovered that the man I was talking with was the father of one of the elders who had converted me. I said, “Your son is one of the elders responsible for bringing me and my family into the Church.” The man immediately introduced his wife, and tears filled her eyes as she realized that she was seeing a direct result of the sacrifices she and her family had made to send their son on a mission. Brother Miller introduced me to other members of the ward, and every time he told them who I was he choked up. I sat in sacrament meeting with tears streaming down my face as I thought of the mysterious ways the Lord had worked in my life. Who could have predicted that Elder Miller would come to my home and I would go to his almost nine years later?
I was able to see Elder Miller again, and he looked the same except for the three little daughters clinging to his leg. I finally had the chance to tell him thank you. He too was overcome with emotion as he told me what a feeling of satisfaction he had, seeing someone he had taught having as much success in the gospel as my family and I were.
I am truly grateful for that family who gave so much to bring me and my family the gospel. Because of their sacrifices, we as Lamanites are fulfilling Nephi’s prophecy in 2 Nephi 30:6, where it says, “and many generations shall not pass away among them, save they shall be a pure and a delightsome people.” [2 Ne. 30:6]

It’s what’s inside that counts, at least that’s what Mom always said. And while Joshua didn’t understand everything that that meant, he was sure that his mom knew what she was talking about when it came to chocolate-covered cherries. They were one of his dad’s favorite treats at Christmastime, and they had become one of Josh’s also.
This wonderful candy was shaped like a little pitcher’s mound with a swirl of chocolate on top. And while the chocolate outside was good, it was the inside that Joshua really loved: a gooey, sticky, sweet, white cream and liquid surrounding a delicious maraschino cherry. The liquid center sometimes made it a little difficult to eat without making a mess, but that challenge was all part of the fun.
Sometimes he bit right into the top and looked down as if looking into a volcano with a red-hot-lava cherry. Sometimes this caused the side to break, and the hot lava came gushing out onto his hand, making him slurp and lick as quickly as he could to keep from getting sticky all over. Sometimes he tried to eat one in one gigantic bite. Being only six, that was a lot of candy in his mouth and sometimes a little juice squirted out onto his chin.
But his favorite way to eat a chocolate-covered cherry was to turn it upside down and carefully nibble off the bottom piece of chocolate. That left him with a little cup full of delicious syrup with a cherry floating in it like ice cream in root beer floats. Then he would sip a little juice and nibble a little chocolate. He could eat the cherry inside whenever he wanted, but he usually saved it for his last bite!
One Saturday before Christmas, Dad asked that magic question, “Who wants a chocolate-covered cherry?” The family had just finished lunch, and Joshua thought that it was the perfect time for just such a treat.
Joshua and his brother, Jacob, both cried, “Me! Me!” Jaclyn, their older sister, would certainly want one, too, but she had finished lunch early and was in another room on the computer.
“Wait!” Dad said. He was standing in the kitchen, holding the box of cherries with a sad look on his face. “There are only two chocolate-covered cherries left. What should we do?”
Josh thought about it. They could cut one in half. They had done that before with other candy. But cutting a chocolate-covered cherry would only make a big mess and ruin the candy. They could just quietly eat them in the kitchen, and Jaclyn wouldn’t even know. But he knew that that wasn’t really fair.
He started to think about the family home evening lesson they’d had that week. They had learned that Christmas is the celebration of Christ’s birth and how He came to earth to give us all a very special gift that only He could give. The family had talked about how Christmas isn’t about all the things you get but about showing love to your family and friends.
Suddenly a wonderful and terrible thought entered his mind. It was terrible because it meant missing out on his favorite treat. It was wonderful because it was what Joshua knew that Jesus would want him to do.
“Dad,” he said, “you can give mine to Jaclyn.” He almost couldn’t believe his own mouth was saying those words. But as soon as he said them, he felt a wonderful, warm feeling inside. It was as if his whole insides had become like the inside of a chocolate-covered cherry—sweet and happy.
“Are you sure, Josh?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Josh said, this time with a smile on his face.
Dad gave the last piece to Jaclyn, and Josh couldn’t believe that he could be so happy about not getting a chocolate-covered cherry.
That night, after pajamas were put on, teeth were brushed, prayers were said, and Mom and Dad had kissed everyone and tucked them into bed, Joshua lay awake thinking about his day. As the glow from the Christmas lights on the house filtered into his room, he thought about his decision to give the last chocolate-covered cherry to Jaclyn and how happy she had been and how wonderful that had made him feel. And then he realized his mom was right—it is what’s on the inside that counts!

Perhaps this true account from two missionaries serving in the Seoul Korea Mission, while I was mission president there, will help to illustrate. Elder Craig Drew writes,

I recall walking in the vicinity of the Seoul train station one bitterly cold evening, as we made our way to an investigator's home, located in the middle of a dilapidated shanty town. It gave new meaning to "the other side of the tracks." For a young nineteen year old, raised in a comfortable middle class home, in the isolated reaches of northern Ontario, Canada, without much exposure to the world, it truly was a wake up call.
Elder Richard Rife, my first senior companion, had met a young married man, Mr. Chang, a few weeks prior and had begun to teach him, his wife, and their little boy, Do Young.
As we arrived at their home, I was overcome by the cramped quarters of their humble house. It consisted of a room, no larger than five feet by ten feet, where the family lived, ate and slept. The February temperatures were bitterly cold. Thin rice paper covered the walls as the family sat in traditional Korean style, and draped a large comforter over us in an attempt to keep us warm.
The Chang family had a special spirit about them, filled with humility, and were wonderful hosts, as we began to teach them the discussions.
On one of our visits, a short time later, Mrs. Chang, who was holding her agitated son in her arms, met us in the small lane leading to their home. It appeared she had been crying for some time. She told us that a day or so prior, little Do Young had slipped and fallen, and landed on a large, burning charcoal briquette, searing his bare bottom with a major third degree burn. I clearly recall the blistered and pus- filled wound that marred his tiny body. At that time, the Korean health care system had nothing for its poor. A doctor's visit was out of the question for the financially strapped family.
Instead of teaching one of the prescribed lessons that evening, Elder Rife felt impressed to teach the family about the power of the priesthood and the different ways it can be used, including the blessing of the sick and afflicted. The Chang's agreed to fast and pray with us the following day, and then we would return that evening to give their little son, Do Young, a special blessing.
Not one to be considered a shining example of fasting prior to my mission, a day of fasting, combined with a full day of missionary work with a dedicated companion/trainer, was a taxing experience. I had been raised in a part member family where the priesthood was not in our home. This was my first experience with exercising the priesthood and giving a blessing of this magnitude.
The next evening, we arrived at the Chang home and found father, mother, and child anxiously waiting. Sister Chang smiled as she told us how hungry she was, and what a challenge fasting had been for her, yet how good she felt inside. After a short visit and further teaching, I had the opportunity to anoint Do Young with oil. I had been working hard all day to memorize the anointing prayer in Korean. Elder Rife and I then joined together as he sealed the anointing. The spirit was strong as we finished. The Chang's both had tears of gratitude running down their cheeks as they felt the special spirit that visited their humble home that evening.
As we departed, Elder Rife once again expressed the importance of faith and told the couple their child would be healed through their faithfulness. The following evening we paid another visit and were overjoyed to find little Do Young's burn had formed a scab and the infection had subsided. Within a week, all that was left was a red scar that had once been a third degree burn. I learned, by first hand experience, that our Heavenly Father loves all his children, especially the meek and humble Chang family in Seoul, Korea, and that through the power of the priesthood great things can and do happen.[2]