Gospel Story Finder

As I casually peered out the window, an unexpected stomach spasm began at the sight of an all-too-familiar car pulling into our driveway. It shot from the pit of my stomach, tickling its way upward, stopping briefly to flip-flop my heart, then climaxed in my throat with a delighted scream. Matthew Conally was here! Actually here at my house! He was only the most coveted hero on campus. And he was actually here!
I began to run to the door, but just as I realized it wouldn’t look cool, I tripped, falling flat on my face, and from my now horizontal position, I had a horrifyingly realistic view of our living room floor. It was covered with blocks, Lincoln logs, doll clothes, doll furniture, a dollhouse, and among other things, that rotten Tonka truck I had just tripped over.
As I picked myself up, another unexpected spasm began. Only it began in my throat, draining all the moisture, and dropped downward until it landed with a painful thump in the pit of my stomach. The living room was a total disaster area! What kind of an impression would it make? Grabbing up an armful of coats, newspapers, and books, I relocated them into the next room. Next, I began kicking anything else that would fit into and under the sofa and then threw the cushions back into their natural position on top. As I ran past the window, I could see that Matthew was having a hard time climbing over the tricycles in the driveway. I dumped another quick load down the hall just as the doorbell rang. A final glance around the room revealed that I had cleared out most of the clutter.
Putting on my calmest smile and trying to concentrate all my 16 years into a look of maturity, I opened the door. Then there we were, face to face, Matthew Conally and me, his biggest fan.
“Well hi!” I said in my sweetest, most surprised voice.
“Hi. How are you?” came his refined reply.
“Just fine. Won’t you come in?” I most invitingly smiled back.
Matthew strolled through the door and handed me a book.
“Well, I just dropped by to bring you back your book. You left it in the car the other night. You know, the night I brought the gang home.”
“Oh, really? Gee, thanks for bringing it by. I was beginning to wonder where I had left it.” That was my coolest response yet, but I was letting my cool go too far. I knew darn well that I had left it on purpose as an excuse to see him again.
But of all times, why had he chosen this day to return it! The whole house was such a mess because I was in charge. Mother was in the hospital with a new baby. It was very evident that I wasn’t as organized as she. I watched Matthew’s puzzled expression as he looked around the room and into the kitchen. That was the worst spot in the whole house! Nothing in the kitchen was in its proper place. Aside from every dish, pot, and pan piled high in the sink, every box, package, mixing bowl, and canister was stacked on the counters.
With a crush like I had on Matthew, I knew enough about his life history to write a book. He was an only child, and it didn’t take much to know he’d never seen a mess like this one. Matthew was suddenly aware I was watching him. He calmly lifted his eyebrows and tried to explain.
“Oh, I, I was just wondering if, if I could have a drink of water.” He seemed pleased at his quick response.
“Sure,” I said, “but you’ll have to excuse the mess.” This seemed like the only natural thing to say. I reluctantly led him into the kitchen and was even further embarrassed to find that there weren’t any clean cups. Quickly I grabbed a clean bowl and filled it. Then I handed it to him with an apologetic smile.
“You’re lucky today,” I chuckled encouragingly, “sometimes it gets down to plates!” Matthew didn’t say anything. I was going to explain about Mom and the new baby and me being in charge of eight younger brothers and sisters, plus the house, when Kent and Steve came running into the kitchen chasing each other. They made it around our legs twice and over the kitchen table, throwing chairs for barricades. After they had made two more laps, I was furious and, without thinking, handed the baby I had rescued from the floor to Matthew and excused myself.
I ran after the boys, even though their size was in their favor. They darted around the furniture in the bedroom—over, under, through, and between. I finally caught two handfuls of hair and found, much to my delight, a brother attached to each. After threatening them with the termination of their lives, I returned to the living room, panting. There I found Matthew still holding little Jerry in the same position. He hadn’t moved an inch. It was obvious he didn’t know what to do with the baby. When he saw me, he quickly handed him back, giving Jerry a nasty little smile.
“What in the world is he wearing?” he asked.
“Oh … ah … it’s a towel. We’re all out of clean diapers.”
We sat down as I tried to explain about the circumstances.
“You see, the washing hasn’t been done yet. My mom is in the—” Again my explanation was interrupted. Matthew’s eyes suddenly grew terrified, and he opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. Quickly I grabbed Jerry, prying his teeth away from Matthew’s arm. Little Jerry was teething and happened to like the feel of flesh against his sore little mouth. But Matthew didn’t understand.
“I think he likes you,” I told him reassuringly.
“And I think you’re right,” he replied as the baby once again squirmed his way back onto his lap. But this time, very much to Matthew’s relief, Jerry sat quietly, beaming his toothy grin. Then into the room came Kent and Steve and Lori and Cathy, dancing and singing, “Ginnie’s got a boyfriend! Ginnie’s got a boyfriend!” One glance at the look on my face, and they knew it was time to leave.
My anger and embarrassment were suddenly forgotten as I heard Matthew’s terrified voice announce, “I think he’s wet!” Again I quickly rescued Jerry from his lap. Jerry wasn’t wearing plastic pants and, boy, was Matthew soaked!
“Where’s the bathroom?”
“Gosh, I’m sorry about all this.”
Matthew followed me down the hall. Then as I opened the door I found myself staring at another embarrassing mess! I had forgotten I had hung flannel sheets in place of towels on the racks. Again I was apologizing.
“I used all the towels as diapers!”
“What kind of a madhouse do you live in?” I was surprised to find his good looks fading away with his anger. “This place ought to be condemned!”
Matthew stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him as I began to apologize. The doorbell rang. I slowly walked down the hall back to the living room and sank down onto the sofa. I just couldn’t face anyone now.
The bathroom door swung angrily open. Out charged Matthew with a huge wet spot on his pants. It looked terrible. He said nothing, just stormed out of the house.
“My mom had a baby,” I quietly called after him. “It was a girl.”
The front door had been left open and in through it came Charlie. Good old Charlie Miller, the best piggyback-ride-giver and sidewalk-snow-shoveler in the neighborhood, with a smile big enough to make a pumpkin jealous.
“Hi, Ginnie! I rang the bell, but nobody answered. Hey, what’s wrong? What was Matthew Conally doing here?”
He sat down and listened as I told him about the whole horrible mess. Suddenly I was surprised to hear the sound of laughter. Charlie thought it was funny! And then I was laughing, too. We howled until we thought we’d break. The tears were rolling down my face from pure delight. How come everything suddenly seemed so funny?
Charlie had come over with a pie his mother had baked. But it was after he had changed Jerry’s diapers and was helping with the dishes that I realized he was truly something special. Quietly I slipped my name bracelet into his coat pocket—just in case he needed a reason to come back over.

When I was a new bride, I asked my mother-in-law, who is a very good cook, if she would teach me how to make her delicious dinner rolls. With a sparkle in her eye, she replied that it took 25 years to learn to make a good roll! Then she added, “You had better start making some.” I followed her advice, and we have enjoyed many good dinner rolls at our house.
If reading the scriptures is not already a habit with you, today is a great day to start. It did not really take 25 years to learn to make good dinner rolls. I just needed the encouragement to get started. Homemade rolls have brought much enjoyment to my family. But the greater joy has come from the habit of daily scripture reading which I started so many years ago. Some days I have a lot of time to contemplate the scriptures. Other days I reflect on a few verses. Just as eating and breathing sustain my physical body, the scriptures feed and give life to my spirit. I can now echo Nephi and say: “My soul delighteth in the scriptures, and my heart pondereth them. … Behold, my soul delighteth in the things of the Lord; and my heart pondereth continually upon the things which I have seen and heard” (2 Ne. 4:15–16). In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Several months ago, after boarding an airplane scheduled to fly to Phoenix, Arizona, the passengers found themselves retained on the ground because of foggy weather. While we were waiting, the door of the airplane opened several times and others joined us, even though it was half an hour or more after the plane should have departed.
A young teenager took the vacant seat beside me. After a short time, he looked toward me and said, “Hey, mister, are you a Mormon?”
I said “Yes” and inquired why he asked.
He reported, “I joined the Church several months ago, but I don’t know whether I believe it anymore.”
We talked about the gospel. I bore my testimony. We discussed many things relating to the Church and to life. Meanwhile, the plane had left Salt Lake and was winging its way south.
This fine young man who wanted to have his testimony reaffirmed and strengthened was willing to do something about it. Cody and I are pen pals now. When I think of him, I recall a wonderful young man, searching for truth, needing a little reassurance, and seeking it on his own. He took responsibility.

Recently, I found myself in a situation where I struggled to overcome this.
Not too long after I was called as an Area Seventy in the Africa West Area, I was assigned to a district conference in Soubre, a town about six hours’ drive from Abidjan, the capital of the Ivory Coast.
As I journeyed from Calabar through Lagos to Abidjan, I peacefully pondered what I had prepared and what the Savior would have me say and do. However, when I arrived at the Abidjan airport, where interactions and exchanges are in French, I started experiencing feelings of linguistic inadequacy. I have limited ability in French, which made it difficult to communicate and ask for assistance at the airport. My poor pronunciation resulted in the taxi driver taking me to the wrong hotel, and only with the help of a passerby were we able to arrive at the right one.
Eventually, safely in my hotel, where I was able to reach mission support, I reminded myself how Nephi and the brother of Jared were blessed because they worked by faith and never murmured against God, even when details of their assignments were unknown to them.
In my state of helplessness, including challenges communicating and ordering food, I reminded myself of the words in Alma 37:36 encouraging us to, “Cry unto God for all [our] support”. I followed this pattern and prayed for strength and direction, waited patiently, and trusted in God’s timing.
A temporary relief came as the mission president provided an interpreter for the Saturday session, which was a great blessing. As I returned to my room later that evening, I continued asking the Lord for wisdom to see me through His first assignment for me (alone) in a French speaking country. The desire of my heart was to accomplish His purpose. The Sunday session was similar, and I never ceased calling upon the Lord. As I journeyed home after the meetings and several visits to the homes of members, I earnestly pled with the Lord to know how I was going to overcome this language barrier problem.
Upon arriving home, I shared my frustrating language ordeals with my wife, and she gently reminded me to stop murmuring, and encouraged me to trust in divine help. Her sincere admonition reminded me of Elder Neal A. Maxwell’s explanation that “murmurers have short memories. . . . [and] the longest list of demands”.
I already had two on my list and was not willing to have it increased.
I was home the next morning when a call came from a student who introduced himself as the class representative of the modern languages and translation studies at the University of Calabar where I teach.
His call was to inform me that I had just been assigned to teach English composition to the first-year students of that department who were majoring in French! I was in a state of bewilderment. Certainly, this was not the handiwork of man and if it was not, then it was God setting up support structures for me, not to only succeed, but for me to acknowledge Him. As I entered the class on my first day, the students welcomed me saying, “Bonjour professeur, tu es la bienvenue dans notre classe.”
“Bonjour” I replied.
This class is like a miniature French-speaking community in a country with English as its second and official language.
Today I am making some progress. It is slow, but I am grateful for this because I am compelled to always interact in French with them both in and out of class. But this was not all. As I shared my experience with a fellow servant of the Lord, he was also kind enough to suggest how to project my trainings in French and English to ease the training process, save time, and reduce interference.
I am glad to witness the Savior’s support as I no longer rely only on my strength.
He miraculously made the French class available to me when I least expected it. He has further supported me with a smart training method from a fellow servant as I humbly asked for help. But above all, He has strengthened me with the Spirit to trust in Him and in His timing. I know He can provide support for and help me accomplish what He wants me to, both now and in the future, so I will never allow myself to be worried over things.
Little wonder, this year’s schedule shows me returning to this same French speaking country five times. I am strong! I know like Nephi, no matter the nature of my calling, if I trust in Him and His timing, I need not fear nor doubt. “For I know that the Lord giveth no commandments [or assignments] unto the children of men, save He shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which He commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).

Jill squeezed her eyes shut, then popped them open again. Tree shadows moved across the unfamiliar wallpaper. She wished that morning would come so that she could get the first day at her new school behind her. How she longed to be back at Three Forks! There everyone knew her and she had good friends. But her father’s new job had taken them out of Montana’s January blizzards to the gray curtains of rain in Seattle, Washington.
If only I could find a magic ring, like the little girl in the fairy tale! Jill thought. Maybe then my wish would come true. She let herself drift back to her dream of deep grass rolling in the wind.
Awake once more, Jill saw that it was morning. She looked down at her hand—no magic ring.
“Jill,” her mother called, “time to get up! French toast!”
Her favorite breakfast. Mom was trying to help. Jill put on her dark blue skirt and white sweater, then pulled a sock over her thin, twisted foot and shriveled leg. Taking her crutch, she swung herself to the stairway and expertly two-stepped her way down.
“You look very nice this morning,” her mother greeted her. “And see what Great-Aunt Laura sent you. It’s a ‘schoolwarming’ present.”
By the side of Jill’s plate lay a gold-colored thimble. “Mom! It’s a magic thimble!” She slipped it onto the middle finger of her right hand. It fit perfectly.
“It may not be magic, Jill, but it’s a nice gift from your great-aunt. Now, drink your orange juice and eat your breakfast while it’s still warm.”
“OK, Mom, but I’m going to take the thimble with me, just in case.” If it is a magic thimble, she thought, I’ll have at least one wish come true.
At school the principal, Mr. Pearson, told Jill, “Your teacher is Mrs. Rhodes. I’ll take you up to her class.”
Jill followed Mr. Pearson upstairs to her classroom. All eyes turned toward her when she and Mr. Pearson went in. Blood rushed to her face and neck. This was the moment she dreaded most—people looking at her and staring at her brace and crutch.
A slender young woman came forward, and Mr. Pearson said, “This is Jill Oldham.”
“I’m Mrs. Rhodes, Jill. We’re glad to have you with us. You can sit at this desk here.” She pointed to an empty desk in the front row.
Morning classes began with math. Although she was good at it, the butterflies came back again as she heard the teacher and the class talking about “sets.” What are they, anyway? she wondered.
Jill slumped down in her seat, avoiding her teacher’s eyes. Kathy, the dark-haired girl next to her, had her hand in the air constantly, and she snapped her pencil back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. Suddenly Kathy’s pencil slipped out of her hand and landed on the floor, its point broken off. Mrs. Rhodes frowned. Jill hesitated, then offered her pencil box to her classmate. Kathy flashed a pleased smile as she picked out a sharpened pencil.
Next came social studies. Jill pricked up her ears at mention of the Lewis and Clark expedition. When Mrs. Rhodes asked if anyone could name the three rivers that came together to form the Missouri River, Jill put up her hand.
“Jill?”
“The Madison, Gallatin, and Jefferson rivers.”
“That’s correct. I understand that you moved here from Montana. Is that how you knew?”
“Yes. Three Forks, Montana, is near where our family lived. And, besides, my dad named our three cats after those rivers!”
Mrs. Rhodes smiled, her classmates giggled, and Jill joined in. Then a bell sounded. Recess! The other kids would rush out to the playground, but what would she do? At her old school, she and her best friend used recess to do projects and share secrets. But she didn’t have a best friend—any friends, for that matter—here. She took her crutch and made her way to the end of the recess line.
“Kathy will you be hostess for Jill today?” Mrs. Rhodes asked. “Show her where the lavatories and the cafeteria are.”
“Yes, Mrs. Rhodes.” Kathy replied.
Jill felt her face redden. “You go ahead of me, Kathy,” Jill said. “It takes me longer to go downstairs.”
“Oh, I’ll stay with you. I don’t mind. I hurt my leg last year when I chased our dog over a ditch, and I had to be on crutches for a while. I know how it is.”
As Jill made her way down the stairs, Kathy said admiringly, “You sure know how to handle yourself. You’re twice as fast as I was.”
“Well, I’ve had enough practice.” Jill smiled ruefully.
On the playground the girls first sat behind the baseball safety fence and watched their classmates play one-up. Then Jill said, “C’mon. Let’s swing. I like to pump high. It makes me feel good.”
Kathy said, “I like to pump high too. But I didn’t know you could do that.”
“I can do lots of things,” said Jill. “I can swim and ride a horse and play the piano.”
“Say, where do you live?” Kathy asked on their way back to class. When Jill told Kathy, her classmate exclaimed, “Hey, we ride the same bus! Only I go four blocks farther. I’m glad you came to our school! I’m still mad at one of the kids on the bus. He called me ‘peg leg’ when I was on crutches. He’d better not say anything to you, or I’ll hit him on the head with my lunch bucket, and he’ll have jelly sandwiches hanging from his ears!”
Jill laughed. Putting her hand into her pocket, she discovered her great-aunt’s gift. I found something better than a magic thimble, she thought. I found a friend!

I have a brother named Matt.
I always thought of my younger brother as competition. When he was a baby, I played games in which points were earned if I could make him cry. In all those years of punching, growing, and playing I never realized he’d get bigger than me. But Matt knew, and he savored the day when his physical attributes could overcome his tyrannical older sister.
In time Matt did outgrow me, but in more ways than height and strength.
Matt and I attended the same high school, and with only a year’s difference between us, we were often placed in the same classes. We pretended not to know each other. Our public arguing brought out our stubborn personalities for all to see, and teachers who had a class with both Marriotts seemed to contemplate early retirement.
So when I announced I intended to run for student-body president, Matt flew into an understandable rage. “You’re going to humiliate me!” he yelled, rolling his eyes.
In the weeks that followed, I had campaign parties, made posters, and handed out candy with my name boldly printed on it. All too soon, the day for the speeches arrived. I left my class early and placed a flyer on each chair in the auditorium. I was alone when my brother burst in with a gang of his friends.
“Oh, no,” I thought. “Not now.”
But Matt had other ideas. He walked up to me, patted me on the back, and said, “You can do it, Paige.” I felt like a prize fighter. But for once I wasn’t going to fight my brother. He was in my corner helping.
Later, when the speeches were completed, and the flyers and crumpled candy wrappers remained where students once sat, I started to clean up the mess. After my speech I was nervous and desperately needed some reassurance. Then Matt reappeared. He grabbed a handful of garbage and stuffed it into the sack I was holding.
“Paige.” He placed his arm around my shoulders. “It’s okay if you embarrassed the family name. I’ll still vote for you.” It was his way of saying I did all right.
It was an act of kindness I will never forget. As we stood in the auditorium that afternoon, I realized my brother had outgrown me in many ways, and one of them was love.

In tournament golf competition, there is a rule that a contestant must be disqualified if he signs an incorrect scorecard or turns his card in without signing it. Gary Player did that once and was eliminated from a prestigious tournament. He was asked if someone in the scoring tent couldn’t have reminded him to sign.
“My friend,” Player replied, “there are responsibilities in life. You cannot shove your responsibilities onto the shoulders of someone else. This was my responsibility. I failed to meet it, so I must suffer the consequences.”

About halfway through my last year of high school, the school counselor was calculating my credit hours. After pulling up my class schedule, she turned to me and said, “If you want to graduate from high school, you cannot take seminary during the school day.”
I was shocked. I felt like I was standing at the end of a street looking at two roads, both of which I wanted to take: graduating from high school and taking seminary. I had been looking forward to graduating for a long time. Should I drop seminary so I could get the credit needed to graduate?
I left the counselor’s office feeling upset and frustrated. When I got home I went to my room and got down on my knees. I told my Heavenly Father that I wanted to take seminary very much, but I also wanted to graduate from high school. After praying, I felt calm. I didn’t know how things were going to work out, but I knew everything would be okay.
The next day I was back in the counselor’s room looking at possible class choices. One class caught my eye—Peer Tutoring. I had talked to people who had taken this class and liked it, so I decided to enroll.
On my first day in Peer Tutoring, the teacher went over basic classroom procedures. We would be helping special-needs students do schoolwork. The teacher said some of us would be going with these students to their classes so we could help them. She began to assign us to different students that we would work with. Then she asked, “Are any of you willing to take Tony to seminary?”
“For what church?” asked one of the students.
“For the LDS Church,” she answered.
I was the only Latter-day Saint student in the room, so I was assigned to Tony. At that moment I realized that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. For the next three months, I went to seminary with Tony and got to partake of the Spirit. I was also able to graduate from both seminary and high school.
I know my experience was not just pure luck. My Heavenly Father heard my prayer and answered it. This experience has taught me that prayer works and is a powerful tool in our lives.

One evening we were eating treats outside and reading in the Book of Mormon about the fall of the Nephites. I felt impressed to ask the children why they thought the Nephites had turned so wicked. Six-year-old Celeste said she thought the Nephites and Lamanites had stopped saying their daily prayers. We all agreed that the fall of the Nephites started with forgetting prayer and other seemingly little things. At that moment, the thought came to me to invite the children to pray with more thought and feeling.

The following day I asked them how their prayers went. This gave them a chance to share their experiences and gave me a chance to further share my testimony of prayer. Not every family scripture study experience has gone this well, but when we have had discussions and invitations to act as part of our study, the scriptures have become more meaningful.

When I walked into the house, the first thing I saw was the letter, propped on the narrow table in the front hall, my name typed on the white envelope and the Brigham Young University letterhead in the corner. With trembling fingers I tore it open. I was accepted! And the scholarship my counselor at the University of Wisconsin had recommended I apply for had been granted! I read the words again and again, unable to believe that the dream was really coming true.
I looked up and my mother was standing in the doorway watching me. “You don’t have to tell me what’s inside the letter,” she said. “I can see it in your face.”
“Mother—” I began, but her eyes were blazing and she interrupted me angrily.
“You really think you’re something, don’t you? Cocky and smug and sure of yourself. Just like my sister, Beth. That’s how she was, you know. And she walked out on us, just like you’re going to do.”
“Mother,” I cried desperately, “I’m not walking out on you. I’m just going away to college. Nine months at the university. That’s all.”
“That’s what you think, Michelle. But what if you never come back? Beth never came back.”
“But that was different! She had done something disgraceful. Grandpa Hunter sent her away; he wouldn’t let her come back!”
She stood staring at me, with the strangest look in her eye. “The minute you joined the Mormon church, you turned your back on us and all we stand for. You’re not one of us any more, Michelle. When you go out to Utah, that will break the last tie.”
“Mother, no! Please don’t say such things.” I stepped toward her, but she moved away.
“How could you do this to me?” she cried. “How could you be so selfish and cruel? Beth was my big sister and she turned her back on me. She left me when I needed her the most. You’re just like her, Michelle; you’re just like her!”
I ran past her and through the kitchen, out the back door, and into the quiet yard. I was trembling all over and cold, though the summer night was mild. I had never dreamed that my mother compared me to her lost sister, Beth. I’d always known the old story about the mysterious sister who was disowned by her stern father and who disappeared to live her life in shame and seclusion somewhere. As a child I had thought it a romantic story, sweet and sad. But I had never dreamed of myself as becoming the main character in such a story. How could my own mother think of me that way? Was she ashamed of me? Did she want to disown me, as her father had once disowned the sister she loved?
Later that night when I was alone in my room, my younger brother, Paul, came in. “I just want to tell you what a creep you are,” he said. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“You know what I mean. You upset mother, and she screams and takes it out on all of us, then ends up crying half the night. All you do anymore is cause trouble, Michelle.”
“That’s not true, Paul!” I defended myself. There was a hard knot growing in the middle of my stomach, and I felt humiliated having to apologize for myself every time I turned around. “I never mean to cause trouble.”
“Well, you do. I hope it’s worth it to you, making your whole family miserable just so you can do what you want!”
He stomped out of the room without giving me time to reply. Hot tears began to gather behind my eyes. His words were unkind and unfair. But how could I make him understand what was really happening, what I really felt?
Later, when my little sister, Katy, came in to kiss me goodnight, she looked up with wide, innocent eyes and asked, “Why do you want to go away and leave us, Michelle? Mommy says you don’t really love us anymore or you wouldn’t go away.”
I pulled her into my arms and hugged her fiercely. “That’s not true, princess! I love you dearly! And it will be fun for you when I go away because I’ll write you a letter every week and send surprise packages in the mail.”
She brightened a little, and I hugged and kissed her half a dozen times before I let her go. Finally I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. What was my mother trying to do? Why did she have to punish me for being different from what she thought I ought to be?
After that the days seemed to drag, gray and dull, one after another. Part of the time I felt defensive and angry at my mother, wanting to hurt her back. But at other times I felt small and frightened, like a little girl, longing for her to hold and comfort me and dissolve my fears. She had taken the excitement and anticipation out of the whole thing, and sometimes I weakened and felt that maybe I shouldn’t go after all. But too many of my prayers had been answered, too many signposts pointed that this should be the direction my life ought to take. I kept telling myself that things would work out. Perhaps it would be easier for my family if I went away. If I weren’t so close, such a source of conflict and friction, it might be easier for them to understand, to get a broader, kinder perspective. Perhaps they might even miss me and appreciate me a little.
But I was afraid. And there was no one to understand. Lori could only see that I had the world at my feet, that I was going to Zion, Mecca, where everything would be sunshine and happiness and dreams-come-true. But I had never been to Utah before. I didn’t even know what a mountain looked like in real life. I didn’t know a single person in all of Utah, much less at BYU. What were other Mormons like? Would they laugh at me if I was different, if I did things wrong? Our little branch was so casual, so experimental. What would it be like in a congregation of hundreds of Latter-day Saints? What if they all knew ten times more about the gospel than I knew?
Finally, suddenly, the long days were past, and it was time for me to leave. The day before the bus came that would take me to the airport in Madison, I prayed and fasted all day. I couldn’t bear to leave my mother like this, with her hating me and thinking that I was deserting her, rejecting her as, somehow, her older sister once had done.
That night I had a dream. In the dream I was a little girl again, with long pigtails and a dirty face. Some mean little boys were chasing me down the sidewalk and I fell and scraped my knee. I stumbled back up and ran across the lawn, sobbing for my mother, screaming for her to come. Suddenly she was there, sweeping me into her strong, soft arms. She smoothed back my hair and kissed my cheek, and cleaned my scraped knee, painting it with iodine, then sticking a big, beautiful band-aid on top. I woke suddenly, feeling still her gentle fingers against my skin, seeing the smile of love on her face.
I sat up in bed and it came to me that my mother didn’t know how much I needed her! How long had it been since I’d asked her advice or her help? In her eyes I seemed efficient, self-contained, and sure of myself. Mormonism had excluded her from my life, and I had done nothing to compensate for that—to let her know I still loved and needed and valued her! And all these months I had been thinking it was all her fault, that I, alone, was the wounded party!
The next morning I called her into my room and asked if she would help me pack. She’s very neat and efficient, and I knew she could organize and fit in all my last-minute things in a way I never could. I told her so. I talked with her and I praised her, and soon the look of guarded puzzlement left her face and we both began to enjoy being together. It didn’t work miracles; there wasn’t enough time for that. I still couldn’t tell her how frightened I was, how much I really loved her and would miss her. But the look of cold anger had gone out of her eyes, and she came to the bus station, and when I pushed the note I had written into her hands and reached out to hug her, she reached out, too, and held me close a minute and kissed my cheek. It was all I could do to hold back the tears. I looked through the glass and waved to my family, wishing they knew how very much I loved them.
By the time my plane approached the Salt Lake airport, I felt worn out with the traveling and emotions of the day. The plane had crossed the high Rockies, which in the early sunset presented a fairy world of peaks and crevices, clouds and shadows in changing, shifting patterns before my eyes.
But now, as the plane touched down, as I moved with the press into the crowded terminal, it seemed everyone had someone to meet them and some place to go. I hesitated, uncertain what to do or where to go next. I noticed a woman approaching, an older woman, very attractive, with rich brown hair and a lovely face. As she drew closer, I thought she looked familiar, so I glanced at her again. It looked as though she was coming directly my way. I shifted my feet and stared down at the floor, and when I glanced up again the woman was standing right beside me. She smiled, and the feeling that I had seen her somewhere before grew stronger.
“Michelle?” she said, with a little question at the end of the word. “You are Michelle Briggs, aren’t you?”
“Why … yes …” I stammered.
“I thought so,” she said. “You look very much like your mother, Michelle; you have her beautiful eyes.” She smiled again. “I don’t mean to alarm you, my dear, but I’m your Aunt Beth.”
“I don’t understand,” I cried. “What are you doing here? How did you know where to find me … or … or that I exist at all?”
“Your mother, Michelle,” she said, and took my hand gently in hers. “All these years I have written to your mother, but not once did she reply.”
“You, you mean, my mother’s known where you’ve been all along?”
“She’s known, but she hasn’t wanted to admit it. Your mother was very young when I went away, and your Grandpa Hunter did a good job of poisoning her mind. By the time she was old enough to understand … well, it was too late.” “Understand? Understand what?”
She paused, and her eyes began to sparkle. “When I was a girl I defied my father and joined the Mormon church. I was young and unwise. I hurt his pride, and he refused to forgive me. When I left and went to Utah, he refused to tell anyone where I had gone or what had really happened to me. He died without knowing that I had married and that he had three grandchildren he had never seen and another one on the way.
“But, you see, Michelle, I kept taking the Franklin City paper and I read about your mother’s wedding, and I wrote to her faithfully, hoping that sometime something would touch her heart and she would respond to me.”
“All these years?” I breathed in amazement.
“All these years. And all these years I have prayed that the Lord would soften her heart; and he has answered my prayers, Michelle, through you.” The sparkle in her eyes was wet now and her hand tightened over mine.
“But what …” I stammered, “how …” I still didn’t understand.
“Your mother wrote to me telling me you had joined the Mormon church, telling me you were coming to BYU and asking me to take care of you.”
“My mother … did that … ?”
My aunt nodded. “She told me what a special girl you were and how much she loved you.”
I couldn’t see too well, for my own eyes were clouded with tears and my throat ached trying to hold them back. My prayers and Aunt Beth’s prayers—and the prayers of a mother whose concern had overcome her pride and prejudice, and who could still teach me something about sacrifice and love! I smiled at the lovely woman who held my hand.
“I’ve got a long way to go,” I said.
“You’ll make it,” she replied, and I felt she understood all the things I was unable to say.
“Yes, yes,” I agreed, “I have to make it. I want to be a real Latter-day Saint. I want to make my mother proud of me.”

Following a suspected prognosis of Multiple Sclerosis, a friend of mine hurried home from the Doctors to research the disease and find out what exactly that would mean for her future. She entered the initials into the search engine.The more she read the more devastated she became. It was a terrible disease. She felt like she couldn't stand to read any more about it. Glancing down to turn off her computer she realized that she had entered the Disease MD, Muscular Dystrophy, not MS into her search engine. She then entered MS into her computer and started reading. Although MS is also a debilitating disease her perspective was forever changed. This experience was a tender mercy for her. Since the onset of her illness she has always remained grateful that her physical challenge is Multiple Sclerosis and not Muscular Dystrophy.

Jamie opened his bank, and out tumbled a small pile of pennies and nickles and dimes and quarters onto his bed. He had been working very hard the past several months to earn enough money to add to his spacemen collection. Mrs. Bunday had paid him to carry her garbage cans to the street. He had run errands for his grandma. He had walked the neighbor’s dog. He had helped his dad wash the car, and he had collected and sold empty pop bottles and cans.
But tomorrow was Mother’s Day. I’d rather get something for Mom, Jamie decided, picking up his money and putting it into his pocket.
Let’s see, he thought. What can I get—a big box of chocolates? I’ll get caramel centers because they’re my favorite! Or maybe I’ll treat Mom to lunch at my favorite hamburger place! Or we could go to the pizza place—I love all the video games there!
But those things seemed a little selfish. Jamie thought of all the nice things that his mother did for him, such as mending his shirt when he tore it playing ball, making chocolate chip cookies just because he liked them so much, bandaging his cuts and scratches, and tucking him into bed at night and hearing his prayers.
Then Jamie remembered the special verse he had learned in Primary. He read it again from the bulletin board where he had tacked it: “God first, others second, myself third.” That gave Jamie an idea. “Hey, Dad!” he called. “Will you drive me to a flower shop?”
Later, while Dad waited in the car, Jamie went into the flower shop, laid his money on the counter, and said, “I want a big bunch of flowers for my mom for Mother’s Day.”
The lady counted the money and shook her head. “I’m afraid that there isn’t enough money for a large bouquet,” she said. “How about a small one?”
Jamie shook his head. “I want a big, big, BIG bouquet!”
The clerk thought a moment, then leaned over and quietly suggested something to him. Jamie nodded, paid his money, and walked out with a very small sack.
Later, in his room, Jamie dumped out the contents of his sack; then he went outside to complete his Mother’s Day present.
When Jamie woke up the next morning, he got out of bed quickly, grabbed his present, and ran to the kitchen. His dad and mom were sitting at the kitchen table, talking. “Happy Mother’s Day!” Jamie exclaimed, dumping four little parcels onto her lap.
Jamie’s mother was surprised and declared, “I wonder what these could be!” She opened the first tiny present—it was a package of sweet pea seeds. She opened the second present—it was a package of pansy seeds. She opened the third present—it was a package of carnation seeds. And the fourth package held daisy seeds.
“Now come with me,” Jamie said, taking her hand. “There’s more.” Jamie took his mom to the backyard. He proudly pointed to a piece of ground that he had weeded and dug up yesterday. “That’s where I’ll plant your flower seeds for you tomorrow. Then this summer you will have a big, big, BIG, bouquet!”

Mariela came home from school with a frown on her face. “What’s wrong?” Mom asked as she planted flowers in the garden.
“Sonia promised she would play with me, and then she didn’t,” Mariela said. She plopped down in the dirt next to Mom.
“I’m so sorry,” Mom said. “It’s important to keep promises. Next week when you are baptized and confirmed, you will make some very important promises called covenants.”
“Really?” Mariela asked. She was excited to be baptized.
Mom put some yellow flowers in the ground. “You promise to obey the commandments. You also promise to take the name of Jesus Christ upon you. What does Heavenly Father promise if you do these things?”
Mariela thought about what she was learning in Primary. “That I’ll have the Holy Ghost with me.”
“That’s right,” Mom said. “You’ll also become a member of Jesus’s Church. How can you keep your promise to obey the commandments?”
“I can be kind, and I can tell the truth,” Mariela said. “What does it mean to take Jesus’s name upon me?”
“It means that you try to be like Him and do what He would want you to do,” Mom said. “What can you do to be like Jesus?”
Mariela twirled a purple flower between her fingers. “I can sit with the new girl at school. And I can try to be nice to Sonia,” she said.
“Those are great ideas,” Mom said. “And when you take the sacrament, you can remember your promises.”
Mariela smiled. “I know another promise—to water the flowers so we can have a beautiful garden!”

Years later, while I was attending BYU–Idaho, this fear confronted me again. I was in an adaptive physical education class taught by Brother Gary Griffeth, who was also a physical therapist. The first two classes were great fun. I established a friendship with the other three class members and my instructor. Then Brother Griffeth dropped the bomb. He casually announced that he had made arrangements for us to use the swimming pool for the rest of the semester. Everybody was excited—except me.
Brother Griffeth let us have the first couple of class periods to just play in the pool. Then one day he got in the pool with us. I knew this was trouble. He told me he was going to teach me how to swim. He started by attaching blue flotation boards to my legs with towels. What a scary feeling I experienced as my legs began to float and my head and upper body sank. Brother Griffeth gently held me up while he taught me how to move my arms in a rather awkward stroke, how to breathe, and how to rotate my head from side to side. Before I realized what was happening, I was swimming! What an exhilarating feeling! What freedom!
Once Brother Griffeth thought I had developed my upper body strength and technique sufficiently, he decided it was time to take off the flotation devices. My legs sunk; I sunk; and my fear of the water returned. With great patience, Brother Griffeth began the process of teaching me how to swim all over again. But with the strength and technique I had already developed in my upper body, I was soon able to get up enough speed that my legs actually began to float. As long as I kept within arm’s length of the side, I felt safe. When I felt myself sinking, I would reach out and grasp the side.
The semester was coming to an end, and finals were approaching. I did not even think about my final for the swimming class. On the last day of class, Brother Griffeth calmly announced that for my final I would have to swim a mile. This did not bother me too much because I had come close to swimming a mile each class period anyway.
But swimming a mile was only the first part. When I got into the water, Brother Griffeth calmly told me that if I wanted to get an A in the class, I had to swim in the middle of the pool, totally out of reach of my lifeline. My heart began pounding; the water suddenly wasn’t my friend anymore. It became a giant monster with mouth gaping open, ready to swallow me into its murky depths. Brother Griffeth put his hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eyes and said, “You can do it. I have faith in you. I will be right there beside you every stroke of the way.” And he was—right to the very last stroke. My eyes beamed with excitement and my heart swelled with happiness as I looked at that A on my transcript.

Sometimes we are afraid of the difficulties we may face in striving to keep certain commandments. After Aaron put a ring on my finger (in June 1993), he left to go to China to study Mandarin for a semester. He was to come home 7 days before we got married on December 15. During our long distance engagement, we wrote letters that helped us get to know each other’s philosophies and feelings on certain things to prepare us for our marriage, like where we want to live and raise our children, how many kids we want to have and foremost when or how soon we want to have children. Because infertility is prominent in our family, I had this deep fear that I might not be able to have children of my own. When Aaron expressed how he wanted to wait for a little while before having children when we got married, I felt strongly that I had to tell him how I felt. We decided that we would pray and fast about it and write our answers and feelings in a letter and mail it to each other. I felt strongly about not waiting and so I wrote Aaron these very words, “If I’m not ready for motherhood, I’m not ready for marriage.” I feared this response would have a negative effect on Aaron especially if he strongly felt that we should wait. When I received Aaron’s response, I was overcome with joy that we both got the same answer “to not wait to have children after marriage.” It turns out that the reason he wanted to wait was to give us more time together since we were apart for our whole engagement, and not because he did not want kids right away. We decided that if the Lord wanted us to have kids right away, we would not hinder him from giving us that blessing.

I know that as we try our best to keep His commandments, he will guide and bless us in ways we can’t comprehend. Despite our efforts to have children right away, the
Lord’s timetable allowed us time together for 2½ years later before our first child came. I want to think that God recognized our need to grow in love and understanding as a couple before kids came. Or He probably knew that if we had kids before I graduated, I would easily and happily have given up school to care for my children. I am grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who knows me personally and understands my every need and the desires of my heart. As the Apostle John said, “There is no fear in love but perfect love casteth out fear” (1 John 4:18).

The day I married Aaron was one of the most peaceful days of my life as I felt Heavenly Fathers love and approval. My love for him cast out any fear of the unknown future. Whatever the future brought, he and I would face it together.

In 2011, while I was serving with my husband as mission leaders in beautiful Curitiba, Brazil, my phone rang during a meeting. Rushing to silence it, I noticed the call was from my father. I quickly left the meeting to answer: “Hi, Dad!”
Unexpectedly, his voice was filled with emotion: “Hi, Bonnie. I need to tell you something. I’ve been diagnosed with ALS.”
My mind swirled with confusion, “Wait! What is ALS?”
Dad was already explaining, “My mind will stay alert while my body slowly shuts down.”
I felt my whole world shift as I began to wrestle with the implications of this grievous news. But on that unforgettable day, it was his last sentence that found a permanent place in my heart. My dear father said with urgency, “Bonnie, never give up an opportunity to testify of Christ.”
I have pondered and prayed over Dad’s counsel. I have often asked myself if I fully know what it means to never give up an opportunity to testify of Jesus Christ.
Like you, I have occasionally stood on the first Sunday of the month and borne a witness of Christ. Many times I have testified of gospel truths as part of a lesson. I have boldly taught truth and declared the divinity of Christ as a missionary.
Yet this plea felt more personal! It seemed as though he was saying, “Bonnie, don’t let the world overtake you! Stay true to your covenants with the Savior. Seek to experience His blessings every day, and be able to testify through the Holy Ghost of His power and presence in your life!”
We live in a fallen world, with distractions coaxing our eyes and hearts downward instead of heavenward. Much like the Nephites in 3 Nephi 11, we need Jesus Christ. Can you imagine yourself there, among people who had experienced so much chaos and destruction? What would it be like to hear the Lord’s personal invitation:
“Arise and come forth unto me, that ye may thrust your hands into my side, and also that ye may feel the prints of the nails in my hands and in my feet, that ye may know that I am … the God of the whole earth, and have been slain for the sins of the world.
“And … the multitude went forth … one by one … and did see with their eyes and did feel with their hands, and did know … and had witnessed for themselves.”
These Nephites eagerly went forward to thrust their hands into His side and feel the prints of the nails in His hands and feet so they could witness for themselves that this was the Christ. Similarly, many faithful people we have studied in the New Testament this year had anxiously awaited Christ’s coming. Then they stepped from their fields, workbenches, and dinner tables and followed Him, pressed upon Him, thronged Him, and sat with Him. Are we as anxious to witness for ourselves as the multitudes in the scriptures? Are the blessings we seek less needful than theirs?
When Christ physically visited the Nephites at their temple, His invitation was not to stand at a distance and look upon Him, but to touch Him, to feel for themselves the reality of the Savior of humankind. How can we draw close enough to gain a personal witness of Jesus Christ? This may be part of what my father was trying to teach me. While we may not enjoy the same physical proximity as those who walked with Christ during His earthly ministry, through the Holy Ghost we can experience His power every day! As much as we need!
The young women around the world have taught me so much about seeking Christ and gaining a daily, personal witness of Him. Let me share the wisdom of two of them:
Livvy has watched general conference her entire life. In fact, in her home they traditionally watch all five sessions as a family. In the past, conference for Livvy had meant doodling or drifting into the occasional unintended nap. But this past October general conference was different. It became personal.
This time, Livvy decided to be an active recipient. She silenced notifications on her phone and took notes of impressions from the Spirit. She was amazed as she felt specific things God wanted her to hear and do. This decision made a difference in her life almost immediately.
Just days later her friends invited her to an inappropriate movie. She reflected, “I felt the words and spirit of conference return into my heart, and I heard myself declining their invitation.” She also had the courage to share her testimony of the Savior in her ward.
After these events she stated, “The amazing thing is, when I heard myself testify that Jesus is the Christ, I felt the Holy Ghost confirm it again for me.”
Livvy did not skip like a stone over the surface of conference weekend; she dove in, mind and spirit, and found the Savior there.
And then there is Maddy. When her family stopped attending church, Maddy was confused and not certain what to do. She realized something significant was missing. So at age 13, Maddy began attending church alone. Even though being alone was sometimes hard and uncomfortable, she knew she could find the Savior at church and she wanted to be where He was. She said, “In church my soul felt like it was at home.”
Maddy held onto the fact that her family had been sealed together for eternity. She started bringing her younger brothers with her to church and studying scriptures with them at home. Eventually her mom began joining them. Maddy told her mom of her desire to serve a mission and asked if her mom could be ready to attend the temple with her.
Today Maddy is in the MTC. She is serving. She is witnessing of Christ. Her example helped lead both of her parents back to the temple and back to Christ.
Like Livvy and Maddy, as we choose to seek Christ, the Spirit will witness of Him in many different situations. These witnesses of the Spirit occur as we fast, pray, wait, and continue forward. Our closeness to Christ grows through worshipping frequently in the temple, repenting daily, studying scriptures, attending church and seminary, pondering our patriarchal blessings, worthily receiving ordinances, and honoring sacred covenants. All of these invite the Spirit to enlighten our minds, and they bring added peace and protection. But do we honor them as sacred opportunities to testify of Christ?
I have attended the temple many times, but when I worship in the house of the Lord, it changes me. Sometimes while fasting, I find myself simply going hungry, but other times, I feast on the Spirit with purpose. I sometimes have mumbled prayers that are repetitive and routine, but I have also come eager to receive counsel from the Lord through prayer.
There is power in making these holy habits less of a checklist and more of a witness. The process will be gradual but will grow with daily, active participation and purposeful experiences with Christ. As we consistently act on His teaching, we gain a testimony of Him; we build a relationship with Him and our Heavenly Father. We begin to become like Them.
The adversary creates so much noise that it can be difficult to hear the Lord’s voice. Our world, our challenges, our circumstances will not get quieter, but we can and must hunger and thirst after the things of Christ to “hear Him” with clarity. We want to create muscle memory of discipleship and testimony that will bring into focus our reliance on our Savior each day.
My father has been gone for over 11 years now, but his words are alive in me. “Bonnie, never give up an opportunity to testify of Christ.” I invite you to join me in accepting his invitation. Look for Christ everywhere?I promise He is there! True joy rests on our willingness to come closer to Christ and witness for ourselves.
We know that in the last days, “every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess” that Jesus is the Christ. I pray this witness will become a normal and natural experience for us now—that we will take every opportunity to joyfully testify: Jesus Christ lives!
Oh, how I love Him. How grateful we are for His infinite Atonement, which has “made eternal life a possibility and immortality a reality for [us] all.” I testify of our Savior’s goodness and great glory in His sacred name, even Jesus Christ, amen.

Have you ever found yourself at a crossroads in life? That is where I found myself more than 10 years ago. As I look at the blessings I am enjoying today, I realize that my life would be quite different had I made a different decision at my crossroads.
During my years in junior high and high school, I was a fence-sitter. I didn’t really do bad things, but at the same time I wasn’t nurturing my testimony and seeking out the Savior. So, shortly out of high school, I found myself at a crossroads. I made friends with some people who weren’t living gospel standards. They all liked to drink, especially on the weekends. I was spending a lot of time with these friends. In fact, I started dating one of the guys. We were spending a lot of time together.
I then had an experience I will never forget. I went to church with my family to my grandma’s ward. She was performing a musical number, and we went to support her. As I sat in sacrament meeting, I looked around at all of the families. The Spirit then gave my mind an impression I will never forget: “If you marry this man you are dating, he will never bring you and your kids to church.” I knew I had to make a decision. I had to decide what I wanted for the rest of my life. I knew what I needed to do—stop dating him. I also knew that I needed to stop hanging around my friends who were negative influences.
It was hard to make this decision. I gave up a boyfriend and all of my friends. The following days, especially weekends, became very lonely, but I knew what I did was what I needed to do.
I am so grateful that the Spirit whispered to my mind that day at church. It was indeed a tender mercy that the Lord guided me. I have since married a worthy priesthood holder in the temple, and we have four wonderful children. My husband faithfully takes us to church each week. My life has been blessed beyond anything that I ever could have imagined. I feel so much joy and happiness in living the gospel.

Rebecca Swain Williams heard several Book of Mormon witnesses in Ohio beginning in 1830. She bore her testimony to her father and brothers: “I have heard the same story from several of the [Smith] family and from the three witnesses themselves. I heard them declare in public meeting that they saw a Holy Angel come down from heaven and brought the plates and laid them before their eyes.”

When her family members rejected her testimony, Rebecca did not cower. She continued to love them, pray for them, and value her father’s good counsel. She also continued to testify to him that the Book of Mormon witnesses told the truth: “They are men of good character and their word is believed. … They have seen an angel of God and conversed with him.”2

In the late 1830s, a period of widespread dissent in the Church, Rebecca remained faithful, choosing to abide by the precepts of the Book of Mormon.3

I would like to share another experience of faith. The only child in his family, Elder Hermelindo Coy said good-bye to his mother and left for the first time in his life his small village in the mountains of Senahú, Guatemala. He entered the Missionary Training Center on 14 March 1991. Although he had been a member of the Church for only two years and was very timid about talking to people, his determination to serve was great. His formal education was less than five years of elementary school in his native language of Kekchí. Spanish, the official language of Guatemala, was foreign to him.
During his mission he learned to live with pain in his leg. He rarely complained. In August 1992 he noticed, in addition to the increase in the pain, something abnormal about his knee. The diagnosis was bone cancer. A more careful exam revealed cancer in the liver, lungs, and lymphatic system; in other words, his illness was terminal. He did not understand the nature of the illness or its seriousness. With the help of a translator and using examples from the farm life with which he was familiar, he came to understand he had little time to live.
He never asked, Why is this happening to me? He did not lament or express negative feelings. He was obedient to all that was required of him. He was asked if he would like to return home, but he asked to remain in the mission and serve as long as possible, even until his death.
By October he walked with difficulty, requiring the use of a cane. He could work only a few hours each day. By December he was unable to walk. For the first time he was discouraged because he could not proselyte. His worry was always who would take care of his mother after he died.
In one of his visits, the mission president asked him to teach more of the basic doctrine to his mother, who, along with mission nurses, was providing 24-hour care. When he taught the plan of salvation to his mother in his native tongue, his face radiated assurance and light. Elder Coy was understanding with power and conviction what he was teaching.
As his strength declined, he placed his complete trust in the Lord. On one occasion when the pain was very strong, he expressed in prayer, “Heavenly Father, I do not know the day or the hour that I will die, but I want to know soon from Thee about my new assignment.” He died in February 1993. His death blessed all the missionaries, leaders, members, and even nonmembers who learned of his courage to serve and endure to the end. His faith was so simple it was contagious. He never feared death. He strengthened all who knew him.

As I headed back to Provo that Sunday night, I thought about Kelly, the young man that Elder Neal A. Maxwell had talked about that morning in stake conference. I had gone home from BYU for the weekend to attend the conference with my family. I needed a spiritual boost, and the conference was no disappointment. Elder Maxwell had talked about facing and overcoming challenges, and he had told us about a young man named Kelly.
Kelly had fought through many physical difficulties. He had been born without a jaw, chin or ear on the left side, and was operated on 11 times before graduating from high school. A jaw bone was made with bone from his hip, and an ear was also made for him.
For Kelly to serve a mission he had to have special permission to wear his hair over his ears. They were uneven because of the effect of gravity on his left ear, so they needed to be covered. He received permission to wear his hair longer, and he served a mission. He was now attending BYU. I hoped that I would get the chance to meet him. I was so impressed by his story that I wondered over and over if I had passed him on campus.
For weeks I thought about him and hoped I would meet him, but with 26,000 students and the semester nearing the end, it didn’t seem likely. I had mostly forgotten about it until one afternoon in my history class.
I was late that day. I hated being late, especially for my history class. Uncle Joe, as everyone called the professor, was the kind of teacher who could make just about anything interesting.
Every person in the class had to do an oral report on one of the presidents of the United States. Each class period we discussed the life of one of the presidents, and the student who had chosen to study that president started off the class discussion with his report.
As I slipped into the classroom and into a chair, I noticed who was up at the front of the class. It was that boy with the long hair. He had already given his oral report, so I couldn’t imagine what he was doing up in front of the class again. He didn’t look like the type that would have done another report for extra credit. “It doesn’t even matter that I’m late,” I thought as I arranged my books, “if it’s just him up there talking.”
I got settled and sat back to listen. “Why does he wear his hair so long?” I self-righteously wondered. “Doesn’t he know about the dress and grooming standards here?”
He was telling us his own story. “I was born without a jaw and had to have extensive surgery to have one made from bone from my hip. I had 11 major operations before …”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. An uncomfortable feeling was growing inside of me. It couldn’t be him!
I listened to much of the story that I had heard Elder Maxwell tell in stake conference. He spoke of gratitude and appreciation for health and the sweet, simple things of life. When he finished and sat down, Uncle Joe stood up and said, “Thank you, Kelly, for sharing your story with us.”
I don’t remember anything else we talked about that day. I sat there thinking about how much I had wanted to meet Kelly, and all semester long he’d been in my class. But from the first moment I saw him, I had counted him out as anyone I’d like to get to know because he looked a little bit different.
As I nervously waited after class to finally get to meet Kelly, the words came into my mind: “for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Sam. 16:7). I realized I had almost missed meeting Kelly because I was looking in the wrong places.