Gospel Story Finder

Scott Giles, of BYU football fame, gave permission for us to share his perspective:
As a youngster, before one particular game, I turned to my mom and asked, “Mom, will you love me even if we lose and I don’t play very well?”
“Scott, I love you no matter what happens. If you win or lose I love you all the same.”
This brought peace to my heart and took the added pressure off of my shoulders. I knew then that my mother’s love was not based on the things I did but she loved me because of who I am. In my life I have seen that many people wanted to be with me because of my successes with football, but their friendship and attitudes changed depending on how successful or unsuccessful I was. While serving an LDS mission I learned that Heavenly Father loves all of his children. He looks upon the heart and soul. He does not weigh a person’s worth by the way they dress or the things they have accomplished or attained. His love is an intrinsic part of the gift of life. Sometimes I do not achieve that which I wanted to accomplish or do the things that I should do, but I like myself. I like who and what I am. I am thankful for a Heavenly Father that loves me. He allows me to learn from my own choices but still loves and values the things that are truly me.

We had some additional motivation not to cancel FSY. The year before at almost the same time, the conference had been planned for this same group, everything organized and ready to go. On the morning FSY was to begin it had to be cancelled because the Omicron variant of COVID-19 that originated in South Africa was spreading quickly. The youth had been unable to participate in any activities the years before due to the coronavirus, and now at the last minute in 2021 the light at the end of the tunnel had been ripped away from them. Would we have to repeat this again in 2022? We hoped not.

We inspected the bridge to see if it would be possible for the youth to cross it by foot. We observed that most of the bridge was out of the river, but if we were to use it, the youth would still have to cross a portion of the river in at least knee-deep water that was running swiftly for the last 30 meters. We asked the Konka staff to begin setting up ropes across the bridge, emphasizing that we would not take any risks with the youth, many of whom do not swim at all. If it was clear we could cross the river safely, we would go forward with this plan.
A few hours before the youth began to arrive, we held a meeting and a quick spiritual thought with the young single adults. As a Church, our pioneers have crossed rivers in times of extreme difficulty before. “Let me tell you about the Sweetwater River in Wyoming and the story of the Martin and Willie handcart companies,” I said.
I recounted the events of Nov. 4, 1856, when the members of the Martin handcart company could go no further and wept at the thought of crossing that river in the frigid cold to find shelter from the storm at Martin’s Cove.
I told them of three members of the rescue party from Salt Lake City, all young adults, who stepped forward and volunteered to carry the entire company across the frigid river at great personal cost. I then asked, “who is willing to carry on this tradition and carry our 530 youth across the river this morning so a different kind of rescue can continue today, right here?”
The young single adults leapt to their feet volunteering in excitement to be a rescuer for the 2022 FSY and carry our youth across the river. They ran to their dorm rooms and changed into suitable clothing, knowing they were about to get very wet and dirty in the river and mud.
At 10:45 am we walked down to the water. The youth had already begun to arrive. The Konka staff had fixed the ropes to hold while crossing the water and were ready for the assistance of the young single adults. Several leaders grabbed onto the ropes and walked across the river and foot bridge to greet the youth and their parents and leaders as they arrived, to give them confidence and assurance that everything was safe, and we were moving forward.
There was shock on the faces of the youth and leaders as we explained the situation and instructed the youth to remove their shoes and socks and pull up their pant legs as far as they could. An umbrella to protect them from the rain was all most had planned on. Now they were about to cross a river on foot. As they walked down to the footbridge, several slipped, a few even falling in the deep and slippery mud. “Hang on to the rope!” was the yell that echoed for the next three hours as group after group arrived.
The young adult leaders took every suitcase and all the bedding and carried it across the footbridge. Over 500 youth made it across the river, either on the backs of the young single adults or picking their own cautious paths across the river whilst holding onto the safety ropes. A few hours later, the rain began to lessen. We had made it, and the FSY experience could go forward.
Uniformly, the youth expressed thanks that FSY had not been cancelled and we had found a way forward. Several analogies to our river crossing followed during the week, all relating back to the theme trust in the Lord. The young single adults acting as counselors not only carried and guided the youth across a literal river, but then spent the week teaching and strengthening the youth in a way that has had a deep and meaningful impact—teaching them and sharing tools for navigating an increasingly difficult world. Lives have been forever changed.

My life was changed by a saintly patriarch. He married his sweetheart. They were deeply in love, and soon she was expecting their first child.
The night the baby was born, there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick. After many hours of labor, the condition of the mother-to-be became desperate. Finally, the doctor was located. In the emergency, he acted quickly and soon the baby was born, and the crisis, it appeared, was over. But some days later, the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at another home that night.
The young man’s world was shattered. As the weeks wore on, his grief festered. He thought of little else, and in his bitterness he became threatening. Today, no doubt, he would have been pressed to file a malpractice suit, as though money would solve anything.
One night a knock came at his door. A little girl said simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”
“Daddy” was the stake president. The counsel from that wise leader was simply “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”
This had been my friend’s trial. How could he leave it alone? A terrible wrong had been committed. He struggled to get hold of himself and finally determined that he should be obedient and follow the counsel of that wise stake president. He would leave it alone.
He said, “I was an old man before I understood and could finally see a poor country doctor—overworked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little medicine, no hospital, few instruments, struggling to save lives, and succeeding for the most part. He had come in a moment of crisis, when two lives hung in the balance, and had acted without delay. I finally understood!” He said, “I would have ruined my life and the lives of others.”
Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise priesthood leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”

I think back to 1951 when Sister Ballard came into my life. When I saw her, I fell in love. I have to admit that I worked very hard to get her to understand that I was the only true returned missionary.Brethren, sometimes you have to put forth that kind of effort! I have often told our children that the best sales accomplishment of my life was getting their mother to agree to marry me. In my case, I had to work hard to win the heart of my precious companion. Some of you may need to do the same.

We were married in the Salt Lake Temple. I had a part-time job and was attending the university (I won’t name which one). She also had a job. Together we were very careful. We saved what we could. We had a hard time and we had some desperate moments. But as we look back on our thirty-six years together, some of the most beautiful times of our lives were during those early days of our marriage when we were your age. Sister Ballard was nineteen and I was twenty-two. Do not miss living through the difficult times with your companion. I believe in many ways Barbara and I became more dependent upon each other and more dependent upon the Lord in those early days of our marriage than perhaps at any other time.

Some are concerned about supporting children. I tell you tonight: do not worry about it. If Barbara and I had sat down and figured out what children would cost and whether we could afford them, we never would have had any. Yet we are now the parents of seven children and grandparents of twenty-two grandchildren—and within a matter of weeks, twenty-three. Of all our life’s accomplishments, our children and our grandchildren are the most precious. We could not afford any of our children, but they are here and doing well. We have given them much love and they have given us much love in return. Today when we gather together as a family, it is glorious to us. We made it work and so can you.

When I periodically enter the Missionary Training Center in Provo, I am reminded of him when I view the replica of a stone that is on display in the main entrance. The inscription on the stone influenced President McKay throughout his whole life. The message came at a time when President McKay was very discouraged and downhearted while serving his first mission in Scotland. He had just received a rebuke from a Scottish woman to whom he had presented a tract. The prejudice and misconceptions he felt the people had toward him and the Church hurt him very deeply. As he departed from the Scottish town of Stirling after touring its historic castle on that same day, he had the following life-altering experience:

As we were coming back into town, I saw on my right an unfinished dwelling, over the front door of which there was some carving. That was most unusual, so I said to Elder Johnston, “I’m going to see what that is.” I was halfway up the graveled walk when there came to my eyesight a striking motto, carved in stone: “Whate’er thou art, act well thy part.” I repeated it to Elder Johnston as we walked into town to find a place for our lodgings before we began our work. We walked quietly, but I said to myself, or the Spirit within me whispered, “You are a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. More than that, you are a representative of the Lord Jesus Christ. You accepted the responsibility as a representative of the Church.” . . .
. . . I accepted the message given to me on that stone, and from that moment we tried to do our part as missionaries in Scotland. [David O. McKay, “My Young Friends . . .” President McKay Speaks to Youth, comp. Llewelyn R. McKay (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1973), 39; see also “Pres. McKay Speaks to Pioneer Stake Youth,” Church News, 21 September 1957, 4]

President McKay spoke often of this experience and of how powerful and influential the message on the stone was to him and how it became an important guideline throughout his life. In fact, in his biography of President McKay, Francis Gibbons stated:
There can be no doubt that this experience, which planted the motto in his mind under such unusual circumstances, was one of the major factors in the growth and development of David O. McKay.

I met William on the first day of my third year of teaching English in the adult high school program at our local community college. He was small, dark-eyed, with tight blond curls, rather unattractive, unwashed, and, as I soon came to discover, almost totally illiterate. It was the early ’70s, when long hair was popular among the young and drugs were beginning to be a major problem. I thought, Here’s another victim of the drug culture, and my heart sank.
After making my introductory remarks, I asked the class, as I always do on the first day of school, to write about themselves. Looking from student to student, I noticed that William worked very hard on his paragraph, grasping the pencil in a stranglehold, licking the point every few minutes. William’s face was close to the paper, his brows knit close together.
The rest of the class completed the assignment rather quickly and grew restless. I let them leave. It took William 40 minutes to print a few lines, and when he at last handed it to me, I could not read it. He stood at my desk staring at me while I looked at the paper.
“You want I should read it for you?” he said.
“Yes.”
“My name is William, and I live off a government pension in my car in an empty garage. I’m 19 years old, and since I was 11 I been a drinker. Now I’ve decided to be a learner.”
I had never before taught a student who could hardly read and write. I had no idea how to handle the problem.
“You’ve misspelled every word,” I said.
William looked dismayed. “I can learn,” he said.
“All right. I’ll print them correctly, and when you come to class tomorrow, plan to write them for me.”
“A spell test,” he said, as though it were some magical word.
I looked away from him. “Look, William …” I meant to tell him that the class would be impossible, that his skills were so poor he would fall behind immediately, and that there was no hope for him to catch up. I meant to tell him he could not possibly succeed. But instead I said, “Your basic skills are somewhat limited. How hard are you willing to work?”
He stared at me.
“We’ll be studying difficult writers—like Shakespeare and Twain.”
“Who?”
“William Shakespeare. Mark Twain.”
“Oh,” he said. And after a pause he added, “I can learn.”
“It won’t be easy for you,” I said, “but if you work hard …”
I didn’t expect to see him ever again, but the following day William was the first one in the room. He took a front-row seat, and as I taught, his eyes followed me intently, his brows knit into the same shaggy line, his mouth slightly open as he listened. After class ended, he stood by my desk staring at me for a long time.
“What is it?” I asked, irritated.
“I’m ready to spell,” he said.
And he was. He had memorized all the words, and as I called them out to him he wrote them quickly.
He stood watching as I marked his paper, putting a check by each correct word and then an A+ and a large I AM SO PROUD OF YOU at the top of the page. For the first time, I saw William smile. He took the test, folded it carefully, and put it into his shirt pocket.
“Now,” he said, “I’d like to pick up some on my reading. You got anything I can borrow?”
“I don’t think I have anything appropriate,” I said. Opening the desk drawer I began to look through the papers and books.
“What about that?” he said, pointing to a copy of Huckleberry Finn.
My hand hesitated, and then I shook my head. “It would be too hard for you.”
“I’ve done hard things all my life,” he said.
I pulled Ellie the Elephant Learns to Fly, one of my daughter’s books, from my desk drawer.
“That’s for little kids,” he said.
“It’s for new readers,” I said, handing it to him.
“I want that other one.”
Ignoring his comment, I opened the child’s book and began to read aloud, resting a finger under each word while he stood beside me watching and listening.
“Let me do it now.” He read hesitantly and with great difficulty. “See, if somebody shows me, I can learn. If I had that other book, I could work at it. I’m not stupid.”
I gave him Huckleberry Finn.
Each day I sent William home to the garage with a list of words clutched in one hand and one of my daughter’s books tucked under his arm. Every morning he came back with the material mastered. A few weeks later he returned the Twain text. “I read it,” he said, and the look of pride on his face brought tears to my eyes.
That week I gave him a bag containing a bar of soap, a washcloth, a towel, and deodorant. “This is an important part of education, too,” I said.
He looked in the bag and then at me, stunned. But the next day William was clean. And he was reading and writing with greater confidence. He had progressed so much that he insisted on taking his turn at reading poems from our literature text aloud. And every day he stayed after class for an hour to talk with me. Actually, he asked question after question, and I tried to answer them.
His enthusiasm for learning was contagious, and soon three other students began to stay, too. There was Suzy, who later trained as a registered nurse; Jody, who went on to earn a doctorate in biology; and George, who planned to become a physician but died in a motorcycle accident that spring.
George’s death upset the class deeply, and we spent that day talking about the transient quality of life, trying to answer the eternal questions—where did we come from, what are we doing here, and what happens to us when we die? I taught the class that knowledge is power, that the glory of God is intelligence, and that all we take with us from this world to the next is our relationships with others and the knowledge we gain in this life.
“There are two ways most people learn,” I told them. “One way is by experience—and life doesn’t last long enough for us to get all our knowledge that way. The other is to read.” I encouraged them to spread their wings and learn while they were young and filled with energy and enthusiasm.
One day William came into class with a list of quotations he’d copied from the library, and he shared them with us. He particularly loved “Knowledge is the wings wherewith we fly.”
“Watch me fly, teacher.” He spread his arms and flapped them, bringing laughter from the students and me.
William (this genius—the only true genius I ever taught) was my student for two years of English. When he graduated, I sat in the audience and watched with pride, tears brimming my eyes. He enrolled in the community college program and continued his education. On occasion he stopped by my office during the week, sharing with me the excitement of his new world. Each Friday afternoon he borrowed one of my books, which he quickly read and returned. On one occasion, he asked to read my Book of Mormon. I gave him a copy and a week later learned that he had called the missionary number left with my testimony on a front page. At his baptism, I gave him the Pearl of Great Price.
Last spring I received a card from William. He was teaching Spanish and American literature at a large university. “We’re reading Huckleberry Finn,” he wrote, “and I’ve never been happier. I seem to have a gift for languages.” He continued, “Remember years back when you had to teach me English? For all you did for me, I thank you, teacher. Thank you for lending me your wings while I was growing my own.”

Eighteen-year-old Tam Sun-wan lives in Hong Kong. Four years ago he joined the Church after he was “tracted up” by missionaries. Today he has a strong testimony of home teaching.
It was through the home teachers that Sun-wan was reactivated. Shortly after his baptism, he stopped attending his meetings; now he recognizes he “wouldn’t be active in the Church today if it weren’t for home teachers.” The follow-through concern of what Sun-wan calls “good members” helped him accept the responsibilities that Church membership entails.

While on his mission, Brother Khanakam first met a newly called lady missionary, Sumamaan Srisarakham. Three years after his mission, he made contact with her again through a mutual friend, and they began a correspondence. When they started talking of marriage, Sister Srisarakham prayed for guidance and felt as though “the Savior’s hand was on my head confirming my decision to marry and have a family.” Currently, Sister Khanakam serves as the district Relief Society president and teaches a Primary class in the Chiang Mai Branch.

“What we do within the four walls of our home is most important to us and to those we can influence for good,” says President Khanakam. “For example, a neighboring couple has been taking the missionary discussions and now permits their son to attend church with us. This has come about because they liked what they saw in us as a family. As a family, as Latter-day Saints everywhere, we can perfect our lives through living the gospel.”

It was early Saturday morning. Samuel sat at the kitchen table and stared at his bowl of cereal. He didn’t really feel like eating.
“Dad?” he said quietly. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to meet my basketball team today.”
“I know it’s hard to be the new kid, but you’ll make friends,” Dad said.
“No, it’s not that … I’m just worried about what they’ll think.”
Dad sat next to him. “Do you mean you wonder what your team will think of a new player who only has one hand?”
Samuel was born without a left hand. His left arm stopped at the wrist.
“Yeah,” said Samuel. “Since they don’t know me, they might think a one-handed kid can’t play basketball.”
“They might think that, but you’re a great player. And going to practice will help you play even better,” Dad said with a smile. “Come on. Get your jersey and your water bottle. Let’s go meet your team.”
Samuel sighed. “OK.”
As soon as they entered the gymnasium, the coach walked over.
“Hi there! I’m Coach Monroe. You must be our new player.”
“Yes, I’m Samuel.”
“We’re glad to have you on our team,” Coach Monroe said. “Let’s go meet the other boys.”
Dad sat on a bench. Samuel grabbed his ball and followed the coach.
“I want to introduce Samuel, our newest player,” Coach Monroe said. A few boys gave Samuel a small wave. “We’re lucky to have him in time for our first game. I think we’re going to have a great team, a great game, and a great season!”
Coach Monroe blew his whistle, and the team started some practice moves. Samuel saw a few of his teammates staring as he bounced and threw the ball with just his right hand. He tried not to let that distract him.
During a water break, a boy sat next to Samuel on the bench. “Hi, I’m Jackson. What happened to your hand?”
“Nothing. It’s just the way I was born,” said Samuel.
“I’ve never seen anyone with one hand play ball before,” said Jackson. “You’re really good.”
Samuel smiled. “Thanks.”
Coach Monroe blew his whistle again. “For the last 30 minutes, we’re going to play a practice game.” He put the boys into two teams. Samuel was glad Jackson was on his team.
With a minute left in the game, both teams had the same number of points. One of Samuel’s teammates got the ball and looked around for someone to pass to. Samuel was nearby, ready to catch the ball. But the boy passed it to Jackson instead.
Jackson took a few steps. Then he spotted Samuel and passed the ball to him. Samuel caught the ball, turned, and threw it toward the basket.
Swish! The ball went in just as Coach Monroe blew the whistle. Samuel’s team cheered.
“Great pass,” Samuel said to Jackson as they walked to the benches.
“Great shot,” Jackson said. “The other guys will learn that one hand is enough to play basketball.”
Samuel smiled and gave Jackson a high five. He had a feeling Coach Monroe was right. It was going to be a great team, a great game, and a great season.
This story took place in the USA.

Isaac bounced up and down in his seat. He looked out the car window. They were going to visit Grandma and Grandpa. They were going to see something else special too.
“When will we see the new temple?” Isaac asked Mom.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
Isaac smiled.
Finally Isaac and his family got to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.
The next morning, Isaac got dressed in his Sunday clothes. It felt funny to wear his tie in the middle of the week. Isaac ate breakfast with his family. Then they drove to the temple open house. They were going to see inside the new temple before it was dedicated.
“I see the temple!” Isaac said. He pointed to the white building with the angel Moroni on top.
There was a Church building next to the temple. Isaac and his family went there first. They watched a video. Someone helped put white covers over their shoes.
Finally it was time to go inside the temple! Isaac walked through the temple doors. His heart felt happy.
Isaac saw lots of paintings on the walls. Some paintings showed people praying. Some paintings showed beautiful plants and animals.
Then Isaac saw a painting he liked best of all. It was a painting of Jesus! Jesus was standing with His arms stretched out.
“It looks like Jesus is opening His arms to me,” Isaac whispered to Dad.
“Jesus always has His arms open for you,” Dad whispered back. “He loves each of us.”
Isaac had a good feeling in his heart. He imagined walking next to Jesus in the temple. He imagined Jesus giving him a hug.
Jesus loves Isaac. And Isaac loves Jesus too!

For Aileen Akagi, 17, the word crèche doesn’t remind her of only one nativity scene—it reminds her of roughly 600 of them! As a member of the Midway Fourth Ward, Midway Utah Stake, she has volunteered at the Interfaith Crèche Exhibit for three years in a row.
“It’s interesting to see the different styles of nativity scenes,” Aileen says. Seeing how diverse cultures portray the Christ child’s birth reminds her of how well-known the Christmas story is.
Volunteers set up the exhibits, monitor them, and lead children’s activities. Although Aileen has done a little of each, she spends most of her time running the marionette show for children. She organizes young women into groups who perform scenes from the Nativity with puppets. The show runs every 20 minutes.
“The first year we did the marionette show, one little boy brought his grandma to see it four times in a row,” Aileen laughs.
Throughout the show, the young women and audience sing Christmas songs. “One year, we finished by singing ‘Silent Night’ (Hymns, no. 204), and all the children and their parents joined in. It sounded like more than the audience was there—like angels were singing.”

What started out as a simple conversation about temple work and a desire to see the different temples in the area turned into a full-scale youth conference for the young men and women of the Salt Lake Valley First Ward (Deaf). They decided not only to visit but also to perform baptisms for the dead at several temples in their area.
Over the summer, the youth were able to do work for 1,196 souls; many of them were names provided by ward members or even family names the youth had researched. “Every time you visit the temple you can feel the Spirit,” said Austin Duran, 14. “As you visit the temple more, your spirit becomes stronger and you become attached to the temple and want to go all of the time.”
Many of the youth have gained a new perspective on the importance of the temple as a result of their temple service youth conference. “I have a new standard,” explained Riley Case, 13. “Now every time I think of something I should or shouldn’t do, I decide if that will help me go to the temple or not.”

The third convert, Mine A?kan, is the ?stanbul Branch Relief Society President. She was converted in the country of Malta along with her husband and three sons. Her husband served as a branch president for a time in Malta but sadly went less-active along with her sons. In fact, her husband did not want Mine to go to Church but she, on the other hand, wanted desperately to go to Church. Her husband would at times even physically restrain her from going to Church. She then would wait until her husband was asleep on Saturday evening and then sneak out of the house around midnight or in the very early hours Sunday morning and go sit in a hotel lobby near the branch meetinghouse until the branch building opened on Sunday morning. She is a great member-missionary in Istanbul at her work explaining to others why she has a special glow about her. Mine has given Books of Mormon out to many neighbors in her apartment building. By the way, in her patriarchal blessing it states she is of the lineage of the tribe of Napthali, one of the ten lost tribes.

Years passed, and I found myself in England. I was in command of a cavalry unit in the Canadian Army. I held the rank of field officer in the British Canadian Army. I was proud of my position. And there was an opportunity for me to become a general. I had taken all the examinations. I had the seniority. The one man between me and the office of general in the British Army became a casualty, and I received a telegram from London. It said: “Be in my office tomorrow morning at 10:00,” signed by General Turner.
I went up to London. I walked smartly into the office of the general, and I saluted him smartly, and he gave me the same kind of a salute a senior officer usually gives—a sort of “Get out of the way, worm!” He said, “Sit down, Brown.” Then he said, “I’m sorry I cannot make the appointment. You are entitled to it. You have passed all the examinations. You have the seniority. You’ve been a good officer, but I can’t make the appointment. You are to return to Canada and become a training officer and a transport officer.” That for which I had been hoping and praying for 10 years suddenly slipped out of my fingers.
Then he went into the other room to answer the telephone, and on his desk, I saw my personal history sheet. Right across the bottom of it was written, “THIS MAN IS A MORMON.” We were not very well liked in those days. When I saw that, I knew why I had not been appointed. He came back and said, “That’s all, Brown.” I saluted him again, but not quite as smartly, and went out.
I got on the train and started back to my town, 120 miles away, with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. And every click of the wheels on the rails seemed to say, “You are a failure.” When I got to my tent, I was so bitter that I threw my cap on the cot. I clenched my fists, and I shook them at heaven. I said, “How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?” I was as bitter as gall.
And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, “I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.” The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness and my bitterness. While kneeling there I heard a song being sung in an adjoining tent. A number of Mormon boys met regularly every Tuesday night. I usually met with them. We would sit on the floor and have Mutual. As I was kneeling there, praying for forgiveness, I heard their singing:
“But if, by a still, small voice he calls
To paths that I do not know,
I’ll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in thine:
I’ll go where you want me to go.”
(Hymns, no. 270)
I arose from my knees a humble man. And now, almost 50 years later, I look up to Him and say, “Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.” I see now that it was wise that I should not become a general at that time, because if I had I would have been senior officer of all western Canada, with a lifelong, handsome salary, a place to live, and a pension, but I would have raised my six daughters and two sons in army barracks. They would no doubt have married out of the Church, and I think I would not have amounted to anything. I haven’t amounted to very much as it is, but I have done better than I would have done if the Lord had let me go the way I wanted to go.

Some years ago in the Church News there appeared a most interesting article about a young man who made his decision to trust in the ways of the Lord.
“President Spencer W. Kimball is a constant inspiration to the Church. This is not only so through what he says, but likewise by what he does. When addressing the Stockholm Area Conference he revealed the secret of this success. Said he: ‘As I was out alone, milking the cows, or putting up the hay, I had time to think. I mulled it over in my mind and made this decision: ‘I, Spencer Kimball, will never taste any form of liquor. I, Spencer Kimball, will never touch tobacco. I will never drink coffee, nor will I ever touch tea—not because I can explain why I shouldn’t, except that the Lord said not to.’ He said those things were an abomination. There are many other things that are, too, that are not in the Word of Wisdom. But I made up my mind.

‘That’s the point I am trying to make. I made up my mind then, as a little boy; ‘I will never touch those things.’ And so, having made up my mind, it was easy to follow it, and I did not yield. There were many temptations that came along, but I did not even analyze it; I did not stop and measure it and say, ‘Well, shall I or shall I not?’ I always said to myself: ‘But I made up my mind I would not. Therefore, I do not.

“‘I want to just say that I will soon go into another year and that I have never tasted tea, nor coffee, nor tobacco, nor liquor of any kind, nor drugs. Now that may sound very presumptuous and boasting to you, but I am only trying to make this point: that if every boy and girl—as he or she begins to grow a little more mature and becomes a little more independent of his friends and his family and all—if every boy and girl would make up his or her mind, I will not yield, then no matter what the temptation is: I made up my mind. That’s settled’” (Church News, Oct. 4, 1975, 16).

My wife and I observed with sadness and amazement as some of our friends went through the process of divorce. The first thing we felt was the fear that this would happen to us if we found ourselves facing difficult challenges in our marriage. When a serious crisis did arise in our marriage, we decided to give ourselves one last chance—but to do it in the right way. We had already been trying for some time to solve our problems by taking one another’s thoughts and feelings into consideration. Our relationship would improve temporarily, but after a time our problems always returned.
Not until we realized that the Lord needed to play a prominent role in our marriage did our marriage begin to change. We realized that we were never going to be able to work through, much less solve, our conflicts by ourselves. Putting aside our pride, we did something we hadn’t done before. We forgot our own opinions and asked the Lord what He wanted of us. Only when we included Him did our marriage start to improve—gradually and in His way and in His own due time.
It has now been several years since we knelt at the altar of the Santiago Chile Temple, and we have faced many challenges and much adversity. Looking back, we can say that everything we have gone through has been for our good. The adversity has taught us to be humble and has made us stronger. We are still learning how to put our lives in order—both of us learning to work together as equal partners in love and understanding—and the effort has been worth it.
There is no magic recipe for success in marriage. The ingredients are found, as they always have been, in the gospel of Jesus Christ. So, as a family, we have written a declaration that we use alongside the proclamation on the family issued by the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.1 Our declaration, titled “Preparing to Be an Eternal Family,” begins with these words: “We, the Castro Martínez family, testify that marriage is ordained of God and that family relationships can be eternal through the Atonement of Jesus Christ if we are obedient to the laws and ordinances of the gospel.”
What follows are 17 principles that in our judgment encompass the basic gospel values that will give us the greatest chance for success in our marriage and in our family. Our list is by no means revolutionary; it includes things such as personal and family prayer, scripture study, weekly family home evenings, attendance at Sunday meetings, regular temple attendance, treating one another with love and respect, and giving service. We also realize that principles by themselves have no effect whatsoever—we have to put them into practice.
Putting aside our pride and incorporating the Lord and His will into our marriage have put us on the path to becoming an eternal family.

David Kovalenko lives in Panama where it’s warm all year round. He enjoys not having cold winters because he can go swimming anytime, and tropical plants like bananas and coconuts grow in his backyard.
David decides to pick some green coconuts like the native Panamanians do. The milky water inside green coconuts is a favorite drink that tastes a little like soda pop and is called cocoa frio.
It is very hard to climb a coconut palm because there are no branches to hold onto. It’s almost as hard as climbing a flagpole at school. By the time David reaches the leaves and the coconuts, he is tired and the coconuts are hard to knock loose.
The coconut is covered by a thick husk that David has to remove before he can get to the nut. At least he does not have to worry about them bruising when they hit the ground. David’s father helps him plant a sharpened stick in the ground with its point facing up. Then David hits the coconut on the pointed end of the stick many times to crack open the husk.
It is hard work and David’s sister Kanya helps when David gets tired. Kanya is wearing a native costume called a mola. It was made by the Cuna Indians who lived on the San Blas Islands a few miles off the coast of Panama.
Piece by piece David and Kanya pry the coconut husk away. Working on the coconut has made them very thirsty. At last they crack the top off the nut and have a nice cold drink of cocoa frio!

Chi Yun blew the cloud out of her mouth. Surely it was cold enough now in northeast China to make the cloud turn to ice. But it wasn’t. However, the thought of her breath turning to drops of ice made her giggle, and the muted sound filled the miniature ice pagoda. “Even the sounds are cold in Harbin,” she said and giggled again.
Humming a melody Papa had taught her, she slid across the ice floor. The sun, about to go down, sparkled through the side of the pagoda, making the ice bricks look like diamonds.
“We must go.” Papa interrupted her thoughts.
Chi Yun hated to leave. There was something magical about being alone inside walls of ice. But she knew that she would be back. Tonight the colored lights, frozen into the ice blocks, would be turned on to make rainbows of ice.
Her own name, Chi Yun, meant “rainbow in the sky.” Mama always said that Chi Yun was her rainbow that made all the storms worthwhile. Mama said that everyone needed a rainbow to carry in his heart so that dark, stormy days would be better.
“Come,” Papa called again.
“Yes, Papa.” Chi Yun left the dreamy ice pagoda and entered the smoggy world of Harbin.
Papa was already walking away. Chi Yun hurried to catch up to him. All around were palaces, cathedrals, animals, and dragons of ice.
At the edge of the park, they exited through the ice fence. Taxis honked, and bicycles jingled past trolleys that buzzed along electric cords. Chi Yun almost forgot about the magic of the ice carvings, but the cold air filled with Chinese voices more animated than usual reminded her that she was not the only one excited about the Ice Lantern Festival. Near the gate, vendors were setting up boothes of bing tanghulu (a sugared fruit on a stick), bear paws, salmon, nose of camel deer, and, of course, ice cream.
But Papa was starting up the road on his bicycle. There was no time for treats. If she didn’t hurry, she’d be left behind.
Chi Yun jumped on her bicycle and pedaled after Papa. It was frightening to travel the crowded streets, but today she kept her thoughts on the ice festival so that she wouldn’t think about the fear.
They rode past the Songhua river from which the blocks of ice had been cut to make the sculptures. At one hole, people in bathing suits were diving from stacks of ice blocks into the water. Chi Yun shuddered to think about it, but Papa had told her stories of the summers when he yearned for the cold winter swim and how much fun it was.
When they reached their small apartment, Mama was waiting. “Is it finished?” she asked. “Is it beautiful?”
Chi Yun was surprised that Mama was excited. Usually Mama was much to busy to be excited. “Oh, yes, Mama! Papa has built for his company the best ice pagoda of all. You will be proud.”
“We must hurry,” was all Papa said. “The lighting ceremonies are to begin soon.”
They ate quickly, then bundled and rode their bicycles back to the park. It was dark and without any magic at all. Chi Yun huddled close to Mama while Papa hurried ahead to the pagoda. Outside the gate, vendors shouted, crowds pushed, and taxis honked. It was difficult to even think of bing tanghulu in the shadowy dark.
But after a speech that Chi Yun could not hear, a rainbow of lights suddenly punctured the night. Red, blue, yellow, green began to blink in the ice with a brilliance that chased away the darkest of shadows. The magic was back!
Chi Yun walked around with Mama to see the beautiful sculptures. When they came to the replica of the old Russian church, Mama took her picture there. Chi Yun’s heart skipped as they passed the huge dragon, now alive with color. It had been magical this afternoon—now there was no word to describe its beauty. Soon they arrived at the pagoda. Papa was greeting visitors and telling them about how he had made it and about his company.
Waiting until no one else was inside, and closing her eyes, Chi Yun walked through the small door to where she had danced in the afternoon. She made her way to what she thought was its center, then opened her eyes. The sight took her breath away. She was enfolded in a rainbow.
She tried to memorize every ice brick and colored light so that the sight would still be hers long after it melted. She savored the chill around her and the scent of bear paws floating on the cold air. It was like a dream in which every happy dream she’d ever dreamed had come true. “It’s perfect!” she whispered aloud. “And when it is no longer perfect, this ice rainbow will still be in my heart. Its light will chase away the dark!”
“That’s right,” a voice behind her said.
Chi Yun jumped. She’d heard no one enter. She turned and saw Mama standing in a halo of yellow and red lights. “Always seek the light and keep it within your heart,” Mama said.
Chi Yun ran to Mama and hugged her tightly. “I will. This will be my rainbow memory.”
“Like you are mine, my little Chi Yun!” Mama smiled, adding, “And now it is time for bing tanghulu.”

A friend of ours was hospitalized following an accident. A neighbor remarked, “I’ve got to bake something for Sally’s family,” but she didn’t. Then she said, “I’ve got to visit Sally while she is still in bed.” But she didn’t. On another occasion she told us, “I’ve just got to get a card off to Sally,” but she never did. These are examples of wanting to be a good neighbor but kind of faking it, though there probably were extenuating circumstances and good excuses.

“Christy, this is for you,” her teacher, Mrs. Devin, said. She handed Christy an envelope.
“Thanks,” said Christy. She tore open the envelope and read the note inside.
Congratulations! You are one of six students chosen by your classmates to receive an Outstanding Citizen award for the fifth grade. Please answer the questions below and submit them to the office by the end of the day for our judges to review.
Christy gave the envelope a squeeze of excitement. She could hardly wait to show her friends!
“Guess what!” she told Gabriella at lunch. “I might get an award.”
“That’s great!” said Gabriella.
“I just have to answer all of these questions first,” said Christy. “But I feel like I’m running out of interesting things to write about. This one says, ‘How have you made a difference in your community?’ I’m having a hard time thinking of anything.”
“You could probably just write something you think would be good to do,” said Gabriella. “It’s not that big of a deal. They just want to know what kind of person you are.”
Christy didn’t feel great about making something up. But maybe she could write something that she could plan to do in the future. She tapped her pencil on the page while she thought.
Then she remembered a sign she’d noticed at the public library: “Looking for tutors for beginning readers.” She liked helping her younger siblings read. It could be fun to help other kids too. She hadn’t signed up to help yet … but she wanted to! She wrote down, “Volunteering at the library to help kids learn to read.”
Christy looked at what she’d written. She felt a little lump in her throat and tried to swallow it down. But the uncomfortable feeling just seemed to get worse as she walked to the office and turned in her answers.
As Christy walked home from school, her footsteps felt heavy. By dinnertime she didn’t feel like eating.
“You OK, honey?” asked Mom.
Christy let out a big sigh. “Not really.”
“Want to talk about it?” asked Dad.
Christy explained what she’d done. “I haven’t felt good inside since.” She folded her arms and slid down in her chair.
“I’m glad you told us.” Mom squeezed Christy’s hand. “That’s the first step in making things right.”
“And I know what the next step is,” Christy said with a smile. Just thinking about what she would do made her feel a little better.
That night as she prayed, she told Heavenly Father she was sorry that she hadn’t been honest. She knew He would help her repent and make things right.
The next morning, Christy walked to the school office. She swung open the door and stepped inside …
Help finish the story!
What did Christy do next? Write and tell us what you think happened. See the back cover to find out how to send us your ending.