Gospel Story Finder

I express gratitude for a Sunday School teacher [named] Lucy Gertsch. She was beautiful, soft-spoken, and interested in us. She made the scriptures actually come to life.
We undertook a project to save nickels and dimes for what was to be a gigantic party. Sister Gertsch kept a careful record of our progress. As boys and girls with typical appetites, we [imagined] cakes, cookies, pies, and ice cream. This was to be a glorious occasion—the biggest party ever.
None of us will forget that gray Sunday morning in January when our beloved teacher announced to us that the mother of one of our classmates had passed away. We thought of our own mothers and how much they meant to us. We felt sorrow for Billy Devenport in his great loss.
The lesson that day was from the book of Acts, chapter 20, verse 35: “Remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Lucy Gertsch asked, “How would you like to follow this teaching of the Lord? How would you feel about taking your party fund and, as a class, giving it to the Devenports as an expression of our love?” The decision was unanimous. We counted very carefully each penny and placed the total sum in a large envelope.
Ever shall I remember the tiny band walking those three city blocks, entering Billy’s home, greeting him, his brother, sisters, and father. Noticeably absent was his mother. Always I shall treasure the tears which glistened in the eyes of each one present as the white envelope containing our precious party fund passed from the delicate hand of our teacher to the needy hand of a grief-stricken father. We fairly skipped our way back to the chapel. Our hearts were lighter than they had ever been, our joy more full, our understanding more profound. We [had] learned through our own experience that indeed it is more blessed to give than to receive.

In April 2006 general conference, Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf shared a story from his childhood to teach the blessings associated with keeping an eternal perspective.

For his family to survive financially in the years following World War II, they operated a laundry business. Elder Uchtdorf’s responsibility was to pedal the delivery bike and pull the extremely heavy laundry cart.

Years later, a physical exam showed scars on his lungs resulting from a former lung disease. Doctor’s asked what therapy he had used to heal his lungs. In that instance, Elder Uchtdorf knew his lungs had been cured through the difficult exercise of riding the delivery bike every day.

If you come to Puerto Montt very early in the morning, you will find smoke curling from the chimney of one of the well-kept buildings. Inside, LDS seminary students are studying the gospel. Some of them have gotten out of bed at 4:00 A.M. to be here, but they are smiling. Their attendance record is almost perfect. Some of them are not even Mormons. This is typical. When the seminary program was established in this part of Chile, there were very few members. Undiscouraged, the leaders founded classes composed mostly of nonmembers. Before the end of the first year, many of the students were baptized, and a powerful new missionary tool was born.

I would like to share a story about my grandfather’s transformation to illustrate this principle.

Though Okuma was fully converted from the time she was baptized, it took more time for her son, Tomosue (Tomo for short). He said of his own baptism in his pidgin English, “I was baptized on July 26, 1942. Baptized but not converted. But rather get baptized then get a good beating from mom’s broom. I would always do what mom wanted us to do, right or wrong, rather than get a beating from her! Glad she did not get the lesson on free agency, because I certainly didn’t get free agency when I joined the Church!”

Tomosue was an extreme introvert. He shared how in his sophomore class in high school they had to do a book report presentation in front of the class. Tomo chose to take an F instead of doing the presentation. He said, “I could not talk like that in front of 25 people.”

Despite his introverted nature, about 18 months after joining the Church, Tomosue found himself unwittingly set apart as a missionary. Once again his mother had used her agency to volunteer him! He recalled, “I do not believe I had any indication of the call. All of a sudden I was on a boat, headed to Hilo to serve. I guess that’s what you call being shanghaied!” Of course this story is shared with some humor—a mission is a personal choice and not something to be undertaken for someone else, but Tomo was eventually grateful to have such a fierce tiger mom in the early days of his spiritual journey!

Tomo shared how difficult, yet pivotal his mission was: “My mission experience was anything but joyful in the first months. I know I cried a lot. Whether it was fear or homesickness, I don’t know, but I know I wasn’t happy.” He persevered and little by little, he began to be converted. He continued, “I imagine that praying all day, all night helped me because at first prayers were mechanical, had no meaning, just a lot of words, but repeating it day after day, it turned from mechanical to really talking to the Lord.”

From that point on, Tomo went “Go for Broke” on the gospel. He later recalled: “As I review my life, this first mission was really the turning point. It is when the greatest change occurred. I can truly say that a miracle occurred while I was out serving. The growth and joy I’ve experienced through my membership in the Church has been phenomenal. Every challenge that came to me made me appreciate the Church and my Father in Heaven that much more.”

Tomosue eventually served another mission (this time voluntarily!), became a stake president here on Oahu, and a mission president and temple president in Japan, and went on to bless many lives. How remarkable is it that the Lord was able to take an introverted, uneducated boy with broken English and transform him into such a leader? As our Prophet, Russell M. Nelson, recently reaffirmed, “men and women who turn their lives over to God will [find out] that He can make a lot more out of their lives than they can.” [8] This is exactly what the Lord did with Tomo.

One evening a single sister, Cynthia, felt prompted to go and see a sister she visit taught. The sister wasn’t home. As Cynthia walked home, she noticed a nurse outside a hospital with two children, both serious-burn victims. When Cynthia heard the nurse call the little girl’s name, a flash of recognition crossed her mind: she had known these two children as a missionary in Bolivia four years before. Becoming reacquainted on the lawn of the hospital, it was obvious the children were healing physically, but without any family support, they were suffering emotionally. Cynthia began visiting the children and nurturing them. Heeding the prompting of the Spirit, Cynthia became God’s instrument for blessing two homesick children.

Thirteen-year-old Sherrie underwent a 14-hour operation for a tumor on her spinal cord. As she regained consciousness in the intensive care unit, she said: “Daddy, Aunt Cheryl is here, … and … Grandpa Norman … and Grandma Brown … are here. And Daddy, who is that standing beside you? … He looks like you, only taller. … He says he’s your brother, Jimmy.” Her uncle Jimmy had died at age 13 of cystic fibrosis.

“For nearly an hour, Sherrie … described her visitors, all deceased family members. Exhausted, she then fell asleep.”

Later she told her father, “Daddy, all of the children here in the intensive care unit have angels helping them.”20

My life changed in a big way the year I turned 16. Like most of my friends, I had entered a complicated stage in life. It seemed that all my thoughts were increasingly centered around my problems and aspirations. I worked to excel in school, tried out for the top choir, lettered in track, and even went to the prom.
Then on a Tuesday evening late in the spring, my whole perspective changed. My dad gathered the family in the living room, explaining that he had something important to tell us. Never before have I seen my parents look so dismal and depressed. Dad explained that my mom had breast cancer. My father went on to explain that the odds were very good that with treatment Mom would be okay and the cancer would go into remission. Emotion erupted in my home with tears and hugs. I struggled with my feelings, searching for a way to deal with the emotion welling up inside.
It was Mutual night, so I decided to go. But while I watched everyone else laughing and playing volleyball, I felt lost. Could anyone understand what I was going through? In my mind I said a silent prayer, asking Heavenly Father to give me the strength to help support my mother and the rest of my family.
Slowly a comforting feeling grew within me. I realized that, although it might be hard for others to understand my feelings, Jesus Christ always knows our troubles and hardships. I thought of a scripture I knew in John 14:18, “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.” It reminded me that if we go to him, Christ will help us to bear our burdens and give us comfort.
Over the next year my mother had surgery and multiple radiation and chemotherapy treatments. Throughout that year I relied very heavily on the comfort of the Holy Ghost. With that added strength I was able to support my mother through her illness and help out at home. Now the doctors have declared my mom successfully in remission. Although a chance for recurrence exists, she will probably continue to be healthy.
Through our trial my family has grown much closer. I learned to be less selfish, and I came to recognize that my family and the relationship I have with them is what is truly important in my life. Most important, I realize now that the Savior knows all that we experience and we are never alone. He is always there, ready to extend his love to us.

In Belfast, in quieter times, I had two roommates—girls of another faith whom I had met through a mutual friend. None of us had any extra money. Carol and Anne were both midwifery students, and I was saving for a postgraduate nursing course.
Our apartment was dismal, faded, and hard to bear, but we could find no other place within our means.
Nevertheless, Carol and Anne decided to call the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children and offer to give a Christmas party for 12 needy children. Of course, I agreed to help with the work and the financing as did Carol’s sister Marian.
I had seen some of the miseries of the slums. The most appalling thing I remembered was a little girl in a torn summer dress sitting on the cold, windy sidewalk molding a lump of filthy clay because she had no other toy. I could not now find and help that child, but I could try to help some others.
Our Christmas tree was two feet high, decorated with nine small glass balls, one package of tinfoil icicles, and a star we had made from the foil inside a cracker box. The room was decorated with a few streamers and a dozen balloons. The food was simple—fried potatoes and sausages, grilled tomatoes, cookies, and orangeade. Fancy food is almost unknown to ghetto children, and we were afraid they would not eat anything unfamiliar. Besides, we couldn’t afford it. The 12 gifts were small and inexpensive: a string of plastic beads, a doll’s feeding set, a young child’s picture book, small toys and games. And, remembering the girl on the sidewalk, I bought a package of clay.
The children arrived semiclean and in their best rags. Eleven, twelve, thirteen! One of the girls had come with her toddler sister, who had refused to stay at home. That presented a problem.
In those days my annual project for the Relief Society bazaar was dressing little plastic dolls in sturdy clothes for girls to play with. Several such dolls were in my room. I quickly wrapped one of them in the last scrap of tissue paper for our extra guest and hurriedly put it under the tree.
Most of the children stood in a group at the door, but one determined boy about eight years old examined all the gifts through the paper.
“If you don’t mind, Missus,” he declared, “I’ll have this game of blow football for me and me mates.”
Carol smiled but was firm.
“We’re giving out the presents at the end of the party. Right now we’re going to play some games.”
We played their games; they played our games. We told stories; they related past experiences. We sang songs and grew decidedly tired of the children’s favorite, “Jingle Bells.”
“Last year,” announced the oldest girl, trying hard to be sophisticated in an ill-fitting sheath and high heels much too large, “I was to a party in the Linen Makers’ Hall. Hundreds of us there was, and a tree 30 feet high.”
“Was it grand, but?” asked a slightly envious voice.
“It wasn’t, for no one had time to talk with us like these good ladies are doing.”
We served the simple food, which first brought forth cries of delight and then the silence of serious eating.
“Ye’ve left food on your plate,” objected our blow football elf to his neighbor.
“I can’t eat it, but,” she replied, “for I’ve never had this much food on me plate at once.”
“Give it here, then, for ’tis a shame to waste good food.”
He ate several children’s leavings and then conceded defeat. He could not prevent a few scraps from going to waste.
We gave him the blow football game. We gave the 12-year-old, would-be sophisticate the plastic beads.
We gave the doll’s feeding set to a seven-year-old Raggedy Ann.
“It’s no use to me, Missus. I ain’t got a doll.”
So the Relief Society lost another plastic doll. This time it was wrapped in writing paper, and we pretended it had fallen behind the tree.
“Tis the best party I was ever at,” someone announced with satisfaction. “I felt right to home.”
“Indeed it was grand, Missus,” seconded another voice. “For whenever we’uns wanted something, one of you ladies was near.”
I thought then that I had learned something about giving, but I was shortly to learn more. The sophisticate, I noticed, had traded her beads for the clay, the clay for a toy car, the toy car for the baby’s picture book.
“Sure it’ll do,” she said, trying to rewrap it. The used cellophane tape wouldn’t stick.
“And would you have a bit of string, Missus? And a pencil, please?”
I produced them, wondering. She tied the parcel awkwardly, and in large uneven letters she printed on it “TOMMY.”
She saw me looking and she explained: “’Tis me wee brother, Missus. Nobody invited him to a party, and we can’t afford him no present.”
Ragged, messy little girl in your run-over, outsized high heels, I seem to remember that you are beautiful.

In the hall he saw Cathy and Jay talking in serious tones. Steve, pretending to examine the school’s trophy case several feet away, listened to them.
"Jay, I want you to stay here with me."
"You don’t trust me."
"I trust you, but I don’t trust those others you run around with."
"We’re just going for a walk to the end of this one-horse town and back, that’s all."
"If you really love me, like you say you do, you’ll stay here with me."
"And if you trust me, like you say you do, you won’t worry when I’m out of sight for five minutes."
"Jay," she pleaded, "if you mean it about us getting married in the temple after we graduate, you’re going to have to change your life."
"I will; I promise I will. You know I love you."
Jay kissed her and that ended the argument.
...
Outside, the wind cut through them and stung their faces. Most of the stores had closed early in the afternoon; the only one that hadn’t was in the next block, and its large red neon sign blinked erratically the word Bar.
It was a corner bar and they could look into a window away from the wind’s direction for some protection. Inside Jay and his two friends sat at a table playing cards. There was a big pitcher of beer on the table.
"I never should’ve let him come with those guys," Cathy said.
"Let’s go back. I’m cold."
"Don’t you care about him? He’s a member of the priests quorum."
"Sure I care."
"Then go in there and bring him out."
"It looks to me like he’s where he wants to be."
"He promised me he wouldn’t drink again."
"Look, Cathy, everybody knows the only reason he goes to church is because of you."
"But if I can get him away from his friends, he’ll change. I love him. He’s asked me to marry him after we graduate."
They watched as Jay poured himself another glass.
"If he goes to the bar after you’re married, then what?"
"He wouldn’t do that. Besides, I’d be with him."
"All the time?"
"He wouldn’t do it!"
"Okay."
"You don’t believe me, do you? I can help him be strong."
"Can you?"
"Yes, and I’m going in there to bring him out."
"Do you know what he’s going to say if you go in there?"
He wasn’t sure if she heard him, because she just looked down at nothing in particular for the longest time.
"Yes," she finally said, "I know what he’ll say. He’ll tell me that it’s just the music and the air hockey and the laughter and the cards that he likes, and he’ll ask me to just sit with him, and if I do, then all the way back he’ll tell me that he’s no good and that I deserve somebody better, and I’ll tell him it isn’t true but that he needs to change, and he’ll say he knows it, and he’ll ask me to help him to be good, and we’ll map out goals for him, and then things will be good for a while, but in a few weeks it’ll happen all over again."
She melted into his arms and cried, and he told her it was all right. A few minutes later they returned to the school.
"Thanks for letting me cry on your shoulder," she said just after they were inside.
"It’s okay," he smiled, "the jacket’s waterproof."
...
About midnight, after the bar closed, Jay returned with his friends and some of the truckers. He stumbled around until he found Cathy, who was sleeping on the floor near the other girls in the band.
"Cathy, I’m back. I hope you’re not mad. We found a little cafe in town and we played cards there."
"Oh," Cathy said sitting up. Steve watched them as they talked.
"Anything exciting happen here while I was gone?"
"Jay, if you only knew."
"Knew? Knew what?"
Cathy looked at him carefully in the dim light. "Jay, Steve said he’d pick you up for priesthood meeting next Sunday. I hope you go. Good night."

We need to make sense of what we perceive as injustice. Raising a child with a disability can give you a close view of the cruel side of life. Creating a new definition of what is fair and just, however, can reduce anger. For example, when my daughter was 10 years old, she attended a Sunday School party. She came home scraped and bleeding. One of the boys in the class had called her a “stupid retard” and pushed her down. I felt angry that my child was hurt. Angry feelings can be a message that something needs to be done. Anger can alert us to dangers, problems, and offenses that may need some correcting. We can make decisions, however, about how we act on those feelings. We can deal with anger in a constructive way.
My husband and I visited the boy’s family. We sat with the boy and his parents and calmly talked about what the word retarded meant. We asked the boy how he would feel if he were unable to do the things he enjoyed. This boy became one of our daughter’s strongest allies. That experience ultimately helped another person to grow. This seemed “fair.” Retaliation would not have produced justice. Although anger may come from experiences with injustice, we can turn them into good experiences for ourselves and others.

If you think about it, it’s a bit strange for someone to put goodies in your old sock. But like many Christmas traditions, the tradition of Christmas stockings comes from an old legend. A long time ago (so the story goes), a poor man had three daughters and couldn’t afford to give them a dowry (money or goods given to the groom’s family by the bride’s family). In those days, it was very hard for a woman to get married without a dowry. A Christian bishop named Nicholas heard about the problem and wanted to help, but the man refused to accept money. One night, Nicholas threw three balls made of pure gold in through the open window of the man’s house. Each one landed in a stocking hung by the fire to dry. The next morning, each daughter found a gold ball in her stocking. With this bounty, they were all able to get married. Stockings can remind us of the importance of service. The greatest example of service is Jesus Christ. He always “went about doing good” (Acts 10:38). Take some time to think about the Savior’s selfless acts of service. How can you give Christlike service and show kindness to others?

Sometimes I wanted immediate blessings from Heavenly Father. I thought He’d bless me with fewer panic attacks just because I went to church. But I’ve learned that it doesn’t work that way. I often have to push through the attacks and attend church before I can see His blessings.
Now I’ve realized I can also ask for help from my parents and medical professionals. I still have bad days, but they don’t control me. Instead, they help me prove to my Heavenly Father that I love Him and that I’ll fight through this challenge with His help.

It all started when President Searle called me into his office and asked me to be the chairman of the youth conference. He asked if I would accept the call, and I very quietly said yes. He and his counselor set me apart and gave me a blessing. I remember coming home and telling my parents. Then I sat on the couch just crying. Mom asked, “Why are you crying? This is a neat thing.” I just cried and cried. It felt so good to be needed. I hope each one of the kids realize how needed they are.
Charmaine Moncur poured out her feelings and frustrations in her journal as she and a dozen other youth leaders assigned to head a variety of committees worked to make the youth conference for the Los Angeles and Inglewood Stakes a reality. This youth conference was different than those held in past years. This youth conference would be planned and carried out by the youth themselves. They chose fellowshipping as the theme. Susan Cowley and Steve Young, the youth representatives invited to the first meeting about the youth conference, asked their leaders if the youth could take charge of the conference themselves. “I don’t think we knew what we were getting into,” said Charmaine.
The Inglewood and Los Angeles stakes in southern California have an interesting and diverse mixture of people. There are several Spanish-speaking wards, a Tongan ward, and wards from both the well-to-do and poorer sections of town. How to bring all these young people together? Where could they get to know each other and appreciate each other’s talents and personalities? Plus the youth conference must be located close to home. The youth looked west, off the coast just 20 miles, to an island visible on the horizon—Catalina Island. A ferry makes the trip several times a day. Other than one small town, the island is rugged and essentially unpopulated. They found an old school at a spot called Toyon Bay that would have facilities to accommodate the group. They would be together in a secluded spot away from telephones, television, and radios. It was perfect. It was a place to appreciate the beauty of the ocean and learn to love the other members of their stakes.
What can we do to get everyone together and excited about doing something close to home? We don’t want to just have workshops in one of the stake centers. I think we’ve found it. There’s an old school on Catalina Island that can handle this big a group. The ferry landing for the trip to Catalina is less than an hour away for most people. On an island we won’t lose people after one day whenthey don’t feel like coming back. On Catalina you can’t say, “I feel like going home, see you later.”
More than 350 young people signed up for the youth conference, including nonmember friends. The youth decided to organize the conference copying a stake organization. Stephen Tanner was asked to be the “stake” president. Charmaine and her counselors acted as the “stake” activities committee. Three “wards” were formed, and three “bishops” chosen, counselors for each were selected, and teachers from the ranks of the youth were asked to prepare lessons for Relief Society, priesthood, and Sunday School. Tournaments and games were to be played with the three Catalina “wards” in competition. Because everyone would be divided up, hopefully the mixture would produce new friendships.
Last night I met with my committee, Susan Cowley and Nicole Land. We sat for three hours discussing the activities for youth conference. How much work it is! I can’t believe that we’re to oversee this all and make it work. I am definitely getting to know my Heavenly Father through prayer. We went over all the materials we’ll need and all those who need to be called to help. It’s an endless list.
As the youth committees were called to help organize different aspects of the conference, the young people gained a new appreciation of the work their adult leaders had done in past conferences. As Dina Chatwin said, “Our adult leaders would sit in on our meetings. And when we were discussing problems, I guess we would have reactions just like they have had, and they would laugh. As people would call and cancel out on things they were asked to do, the leaders would just say, ‘Welcome to the real world.’”
As the planning progressed, the youth learned that they couldn’t do everything themselves. They had to learn how to delegate and ask for help. For Charmaine, this was a hard lesson to learn. In her journal she wrote:
It is so hard for me to ask for help. It is hard to admit I just can’t do it all. I called someone and told her I needed some things done. I called her back a week later, and she not only had those things done, but more. I sat down and cried. It’s good to know that someone cared enough to really help. I feel so much gratitude. The countdown has begun. Just eleven days until we board the boat. Although I’m frustrated and concerned, I wouldn’t trade this opportunity for anything. I know that I’m doing the right thing and that I was called for a reason. I alsoknow the Lord’s giving me the strength to keep planning, making calls, and thinking up new ideas. My love of the gospel has grown so much. But what a job!
At the last minute some big problems presented themselves. Youth leader Stephen Tanner, who had been working and planning the conference from the beginning, became extremely ill. He would not be able to make the trip. And then the weather wasn’t cooperating. Rain squalls had made the sea choppy. It was going to be a very rough ride across the channel to Catalina Island.
Rough was putting it mildly. No sooner had the ferry filled up with excited youth-conference-bound passengers than it was released from its moorings into a rolling, pitching ocean. The shoreline, outlined in lights in the twilight, rose and fell as the sturdy boat plowed through the rough water. The exuberance of youth was squashed as waves of seasickness seized those aboard and reduced them to hunched shapes crouched in their seats yearning for solid ground. Only a few avoided getting sick. The get-acquainted game planned for the ferry trip was a flop since everyone was more interested in keeping their stomachs calm than in getting to know the unfamiliar if slightly green faces of their companions. On the other hand, being seasick together had a cohesive effect. They had shared a common trial, and it was something to laugh and talk about. It was dark by the time the group landed at Toyon Bay, but after the rough crossing, they were only interested in getting their assignments and settling down for the night.
In spite of the problems, things were coming together. Just before boarding the ferry, Charmaine recorded her feelings about the day:
The big day is in just a few more hours. There’s so much to do still—materials I’ve forgotten and things to pack. It’s endless. Last night Nicole Land and I met and sorted through all of the candy which will be given as a final prize for the group competition. I think I ate half of it, but we had a good time sorting it. The general activity is organized, but the final day has a lot of rough edges still to be smoothed out.
I had a long talk with my mom, and I told her my feelings of how it has been for me and what I’ve learned. There have been some moments that I thought, “I can’t do this anymore,” and I’ve really struggled. At times I just said a prayer and went to sleep. But there have been times like whenI’m working with my committee that I’ll always remember and cherish. I’ve learned what it means to plan and organize a major activity, and it’s hard to do right. I’ve learned—and this is the most important thing for me—to say, “I need help,” and ask for it. That’s been something I needed to learn. It was hard for me to admit I’m not Super Teenager. It isn’t the same as being teachable—because I feel I am that—but it is something I’ve had to learn.
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The rains had stopped. It was a glorious day for snorkeling and exploring the undersea world just a few steps off the beach. Since the school was now a marine institute, it had plenty of snorkeling equipment. Shiny black wet suits and bright orange flippers were a common sight as the brave ones swam in the chilly water. Even though it was winter, the sun gave hints of the summer to come as youth explored the surrounding hillsides, climbed on rocks along the beach, and participated in activities designed to get to know each other as well as learn.
That evening everyone spent a little extra time getting dressed before they set the main hall rocking at a dance.
Even though activities and a dance occupied much of their time, the real experiences of a youth conference took place in diverse moments: getting to know a name to go with a new face, asking someone you don’t know to dance, struggling with team members to help your group come in first. One girl was standing to the side waiting for a game to get started and said, “Do we have to play?” Her friend turned to her and answered, “Of course we do; that’s what we came for, isn’t it?”
That’s what they came for, to participate, to get to know each other, and to learn more about fellowshipping. The meetings were conducted by the youth with youth assigned to prepare lessons and serve as teachers.
I love being on the planning committees. I love the excitement and getting to know the kids. But the testimony meeting is my favorite.
Charmaine was not alone in expressing her enthusiasm for the testimony meeting. Everyone looked forward to that special evening when the whole group sat down together and shared the things that meant the most.
One young Spanish boy told about being inactive and being involved in stealing and lying. He turned to the Lord for help and has come back to the Church. His major problems have been solved, and he is again establishing good family relationships.
Margaret Bishop of the Hollywood Ward, Los Angeles Stake, told how grateful she was for the closeness that had come between her and her sister. She said, “I know I am living a happy life because of the gospel. It’s the only way to go. It’s not just a religion; it’s a way of life, and I’m grateful for my life.”
Tracie Pressler of the Centralia Ward, Inglewood Stake, told about going through a hard time before coming to the youth conference. “But here,” she said, “I’ve grown to love people that I’ve never really known before.”
Sulin Fifita of the Lennox Second Ward, Inglewood Stake, said, “My testimony is very precious to me and no matter what happens to me no one will be able to take my testimony from my heart.”
Several more admonished their friends to never leave the Church because they will be lost. Others talked about coming back into activity. Some testified of their love of the Savior and of the prophet and added the testimonies of the truthfulness of the Church. It was a time when feelings and tissues for heartfelt tears were shared freely as an outpouring of emotion took place in the open-air plaza under an inky sky filled with stars.
The final day was time for group competition. Three big groups picked their representatives to join in relays, sand castle building, and races. Then they lined the sides of the playing field and cheered their fellow teammates on. Soon chants of “We’re number one” drowned out casual conversation. Everyone was caught up in the activity, because in just a few hours they would have to leave, board the ferry for the return to the mainland and the end of the Catalina Youth Conference. No one really wanted to go home.
I’ve come to really respect the Church leaders and respect the work they do for us. Today as everyone is playing games, no one is going to think, “I wonder how much work or how many phone calls went into the planning of it.” It will be just another game. Some will like it, and some will hate it. It’s amazing how much work and prayer and trust go into planning a conference like this. If I could say anything about it, I’d say it was one experience I’ll never forget. And it has been so valuable to my maturing and understanding. I have grown closer to many, but most importantly I’ve grown closer to my Father in Heaven. I know he’s been a constant companion, and without that I’d never have endured to the end.

“Telephone for you, Debra.”
“Got it downstairs.”
“Please hang up up there, Mom,” she thought. “This could be important.”
The Publications Dance was exactly a week away, and she had really been working on Ralph lately. Maybe, just maybe …
“Hello, Debra? This is Rick Meyers.”
“Oh … uh, hi.”
“You know who I am, don’t you? We’re in the same history lecture.”
She knew who he was all right. He had about the worst case of acne in the whole school.
“Yeah, sure. How are you?”
“Great. Listen, the reason I’m calling is about the Publications Dance next Friday night. Would you like to go?”
“Uh … gee … well … I’m really not sure. I mean, I’d like to, but my dad said something about some kind of a family activity that weekend, and I really ought to check with him first.”
“Oh, sure, I understand. Would you like me to call back this evening when he’s home from work?”
“Yeah. Okay. Anytime after dinner. That would be okay. Uh, thanks for calling, Rick.”
“Talk to you later. Bye.”
“Bye.”
Oh, groan! Rick Meyers! What to do now? He was a nice enough guy. He wasn’t a juvenile delinquent or anything, but she didn’t want to be seen with the worst case of adolescent acne in the school. She would only have to be seen with someone like that a couple of times, and it would be social suicide. People would think she liked him, and she’d never get anyone else to ask her out.
But there were other problems. If she told Rick no and then someone else called, she couldn’t very well turn around and say yes. Maybe Rick would be there with someone else, or maybe someone would tell him. And she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. She just didn’t want to go to the dance with him. Everyone would be at the dance. That’s all anyone had talked about in the cafeteria annex for a week or more.
Oh, rats! Where did a girl go for advice at a time like this? To her mother? Her dad? The bishop? Come to think of it, the bishop had said something about this very situation at a fireside one night. He had said, “You owe any decent young man who asks you out the courtesy of consideration. You should look beneath the surface when choosing your friends.” He had said that. Those very words. So, there it was. Like it or not. When Rick called back she’d have to tell him yes.
For the rest of the week Debra avoided the cafeteria annex. She made up an excuse about a big exam and spent her lunch hours in the library. A couple of times she saw Rick in the halls, but she always managed to duck somewhere so she wouldn’t have to talk to him, or heaven forbid, be seen walking down the hall with him.
She decided not to make a new dress. Who cares? The dirndl skirt and blouse would be fine. When she finally mentioned the date to her parents, she left out the acne. Her mom thought a bad complexion was about the worst thing in the world. She was always pointing out girls downtown or in the doctor’s office or somewhere and saying, “Aren’t you lucky your skin doesn’t look like that?” She could imagine the look her mother would have on her face when she opened the front door Friday night and saw Rick standing there.
Friday night arrived, just as she had suspected it would. Debra didn’t particularly care if she looked devastating or not, but she managed to be a little late getting ready anyway. She found Dad and Rick chatting quite pleasantly when she walked into the front room. Mom had straightened things up and had lit a fire in the fireplace.
“Ready to go?”
“Uh huh. I guess you’ve met my parents.”
“Yes. And it’s been nice talking to you, sir,” he said, shaking hands with her father and nodding to her mother. They said good night and stepped outside.
It was nice out. The sky was still azure, and there was a fair sprinkling of stars already. Rick’s car was empty. He hadn’t said anything about doubling with anyone, but she had been hoping there would be someone else along. Probably the boys weren’t any more enthusiastic about double dating with him than the girls were about going out with him.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Rick broke in.
“Hungry?” Now? at 7:30? It was standard procedure to go somewhere after the dance. Not before. Either to the Pizza Hut or to Sneldons for ice cream.
“I probably should have warned you in advance so you’d save your appetite. My Mom’s cooked up a whole bunch of Tahitian food, and my brother and his family are coming over.”
“Tahitian food?”
“Yeah. It’s the best. And Mom really knows how to cook it. She learned when we were in Tahiti.”
“You were in Tahiti? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, we were for three years. My parents presided over the mission there.”
“Your parents did? I thought mission presidents were always old and retired.”
“Well, a lot of them are. I guess my folks are pretty old compared to yours. I’m the baby of our family.”
“So, you’ve been in Tahiti for the last three years?”
“Just about. We only came home this summer.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“Well, that was a problem. The closest good schools were in Auckland, New Zealand.”
“Boarding schools?”
“Yep.”
“And how did you like it? I’ve always thought it would be fun to live away from home.”
“It was. It was a lot of fun, and I made some very good friends, but I really missed my folks. They’re the greatest.”
They really were. His mother was warm and welcoming. His father was a real tease. His older brother, Bob, was there with his wife and two little boys who plainly adored their uncle Rick. Debra noticed Bob’s complexion was a little rugged, too, like maybe he’d had skin problems when he was younger. His wife was cute though. She looked like she might have been a cheerleader somewhere. They were a jolly group. They laughed, and joked, and horsed around with the kids, and ate, and ate, and ate, until Debra started worrying about the snaps holding on her waistband. She was amazed when Rick said, “Hey, we’d better get going, or there won’t be any music left.”
Surprisingly enough, Rick’s dancing wasn’t half bad. And he had so many interesting things to talk about. She never had to worry about what to say next, and when they occasionally did slip into a few minutes of silence, it didn’t seem awkward. She didn’t find herself plotting endlessly to keep things bubbling along. It had always seemed very important to bubble when she was on a date.
They talked about the places they had been, and about families, and about the Church. Debra had a straight A average in seminary, but Rick knew things about the gospel she had never heard of. They were in the middle of a great discussion on free agency when Rick interrupted with, “I guess this is the last dance. Want me to get your coat now and avoid the rush?”
“No, let’s dance. I don’t mind waiting.” She closed her eyes for a second and then looked up at him. He still had about the worst case of acne she had ever seen. But he did have nice eyes. And a very nice smile. And she couldn’t remember when she had had more fun on a date.

I watched Jason dribble the ball down the court, weaving around two Trojan players while I tried to outrun the one guarding me. Jason leaped toward the side of the basket and shot. The ball teetered on the rim for a second before it swished through.
“Go, Jason, go!” cheered a crowd of little kids. I should have felt happy because our team, the Jets, had finally tied the score. But I didn’t want to hear Jason’s name anymore. He always scored the most points and caught the most rebounds—and got the most cheers.
The big red numbers on the clock showed only one minute left in the game when Dave passed the ball to me. The court was clear. I dribbled the ball down the sideline, the sound of thundering footsteps close behind. I jumped as high as I could and shot, trying to bounce the ball off the backboard and into the net. It hit the rim and bounced off. So who caught the rebound? Jason. Who scored the winning basket? Jason.
It wasn’t easy being in the same fifth grade class and on the same basketball team as a superstar. All the second and third graders knew Jason. They ran up to him on the playground and crowded around him like a fan club. I’d be famous, too, if I scored fifteen points a game. Secretly I wished that Jason would disappear. Then one day he did!
“Jason has to have his tonsils out,” Mrs. Litten told the class. “He’s going to be out of school for at least a week.”
Dave groaned. “Now we’re going to get trampled by the Kings,” he whispered to me loudly. “Our team will never win without Jason.”
“Maybe,” I whispered back. Mrs. Litten gave me a look that said, “Be quiet and do your work.” I tried to concentrate on my spelling words, but I kept thinking that maybe I’d finally have a chance to be the star. Maybe now the kids would be shouting, “Go Taylor!”
Basketball practice was a disaster, however. I practiced shooting from the free-throw line, and only one ball swished through. And when I tried dribbling fast, I tripped over the ball. But I didn’t give up. I started practicing my free throws again. It wasn’t going to be easy to be famous.
On Wednesday, Mrs. Litten asked me to stay after class, and I wondered what I’d done wrong.
“Taylor, I have a favor to ask.”
“Yes?” I was curious now, instead of worried.
“Would you fill in for Jason tomorrow and Friday? He goes to the second grade classes after lunch to help them with their schoolwork. They’re missing him.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Litten smiled. “You’re a good student.”
“Sure.” But I wondered what I was getting myself into.
The next day I walked into a second grade class after gulping down my sandwich. My stomach felt as though I’d swallowed a roller coaster when I saw all those faces staring at me. The teacher introduced me and told them that I played basketball like Jason. Suddenly everyone was asking me questions, and the time passed like a video on fast forward.
Right before I left, little Angelica gave me a hug. “Tell me your name again?” she asked.
“Taylor,” I repeated for the zillionth time—but I didn’t mind one bit. In fact, I felt fantastic!
“I need to know your name so I can cheer for you,” Angelica told me. “Just like for Jason.”
That’s when I figured it out. All the kids knew Jason because he helped them out. It had nothing to do with basketball! I thought that over.
That afternoon I had my own little cheering section at the game, and I started grinning like a circus clown. But I wasn’t thinking about being famous. Instead, I was planning to bring some dinosaur stickers for Robby, and a book about kittens to show Angelica. I planned to tell Mrs. Litten that I wanted to keep volunteering, even when Jason came back.
“Go Taylor!” shouted Angelica, and I was glad I’d learned that some things are much better than being a basketball superstar!

As a brand-new chemistry graduate student at the University of California, San Diego, my faculty advisor, Dr. Charlie Perrin, gave me the relatively easy task of replicating the experiments of a student who was leaving our lab. The results from that project were going to be published in the Journal of the American Chemical Society, which is a top journal in my field.

When I finished the experiments, my results were the opposite of the original findings. I repeated the experiments several times, but each time the results didn’t match. I began to panic. My failure to replicate felt like evidence that I was terrible in the lab. I took my results to my advisor, and he was surprised. He suggested a series of modified molecules on which I could repeat similar experiments.

I worked hard. I purified materials. I read literature techniques. I did a mountain of experiments. I talked about ideas with my favorite friend in chemistry, Julie, and at the end of a long day I would come home and worry out loud to my husband, Dan. In the end, what we learned is that the original results were inaccurate. Eventually we published a paper in the same journal, retracting the first claims and proposing a new conclusion. In fact, the title changed from the original “Symmetries of Hydrogen Bonds” to “Asymmetry of Hydrogen Bonds.”

Charlie Perrin became one of my heroes. He valued learning truth over protecting his reputation. Every time I entered his office with new ideas or new results, he welcomed them. He felt that even an unexpected or “wrong” result taught us something.

I learned so much from this experience—including that ice cream soothes my soul after a long day—that has shaped me over the years. I learned that experiments help us gain truth, that we can become stronger from struggles, that meaningful results require a lot of time and effort, and that working with others is essential.

Once I learned an important lesson from my wife. I traveled extensively in my profession. I had been gone almost two weeks and returned home one Saturday morning. I had four hours before going to a meeting. I noticed that our little washing machine had broken down and my wife was washing the clothes by hand. Having an engineering background, I began to fix the machine.

Jeanene came by and said, “Rich, what are you doing?”
I said, “I’m repairing the washing machine so you don’t have to do this by hand.”
She said, “No. Go play with the children.”
I said, “I can play with them anytime. I want to help you.”
She said, “Richard, please go play with the children.”
When she spoke to me that authoritatively, I saluted and obeyed.

I had a marvelous time with our children. We chased each other around and rolled in the fall leaves. Later I went to my meeting. I probably would have forgotten that experience, were it not for the lesson that she wanted me to learn.

The next morning, about 4:00 a.m., I was awakened as I felt two little arms around my neck, a kiss on the cheek, and these words whispered in my ear, which I will never forget: “Dad, I love you. You are my best, best friend.”

Are you having that kind of experience with your children? If you are not, you are missing one of the supernal joys of life.

Eliza was hungry. Her stomach churned and rumbled so loudly she was certain everyone at the table could hear it. But no one paid any attention. They were all too busy pushing the small portion of greens around on their plates, and waiting for their mother to sit down so they could say the blessing.
It had been a long winter, and the growing season in their small farming town had been too short, leaving little money for food and supplies. Now the Forsyth family was going hungry. For the past three weeks, all they’d had to eat was pigweed. Eliza didn’t want to complain, but pigweed was yucky and she didn’t want to eat it anymore.
“Do we have to eat this again?” she asked, poking at the stringy greens with her fork.
“Count your blessings, Eliza,” Father said in a quiet voice. “Be thankful that you have something warm to fill your stomach. It’s more than a lot of people have right now.”
Eliza hoped she hadn’t made her father feel bad. He worked so hard to take care of their family. It wasn’t his fault that they were having hard times.
“Soup’s on,” Mother said, carrying a large pot to the table. “Move your elbows and pass your bowls.”
Eliza’s stomach grumbled in anticipation. Her mother made the best soup in town, and she couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into a sweet carrot or meaty potato.
But as she watched her mother fill the bowls with hot, steaming liquid, Eliza’s heart sank. There were no carrots in sight. No potatoes. No beans. No meat of any kind. Just rocks. There were rocks in her soup!
At the sight of the stones in the bottom of her bowl, her eyes filled with tears and she groaned. “I’m hungry, Mother. Don’t we have anything else to eat?”
“Yuck,” said Eliza’s sister Agnes as she plucked a large brown chunk from her bowl. “What’s this?”
“That’s part of Uncle George’s saddle,” Mother said, looking around the table at the faces of her unbelieving family. “He doesn’t need it anymore, so I cut it up and boiled it to give the soup some flavor. Just set it aside. It’s not for eating.”
“What are the rocks for?” asked Neal, scrunching up his face as he pushed the rocks around with his spoon.
Mother smiled. “Those are just for fun. Now please fold your arms. Eliza, will you bless the food?”
Eliza didn’t want to. She wasn’t grateful for weeds and rocks and boiled saddles.
“Don’t forget to thank Heavenly Father for keeping us safe, and for giving us so many blessings,” Mother said.
Eliza looked into her bowl of rock soup, then around her at the bowed heads of her family. Despite the long, cold winter they had endured, all of them were safe and healthy. They had a house to live in, clothes to wear, and plenty of firewood to keep them warm. And in spite of their suffering, they were kind to their neighbors and each other. Mother was right. They really did have much to be thankful for.
“Thank Thee, Heavenly Father, for the food our mother has prepared,” Eliza prayed.
She thanked Him for the pigweed that grew plentifully on the farm.
She thanked Him for the rocks that covered the west pasture, because without them, they wouldn’t be having rock soup.
And she thanked Him for her family and the love they shared.
When Eliza finished her prayer, she had a warm feeling and knew that Heavenly Father loved her.
When dinner was over, the aching emptiness of her stomach was filled with the best soup Eliza had eaten in a long time.

The story is told of a farmer who needed an extra hand to help on his farm. Several interviewed for the position and the farmer asked each about his qualifications for the job. The response of one young man left the farmer both confused and intrigued. He had simply said, "I can sleep when the wind blows." The young man was hired and worked diligently through the harvest.

Autumn ended and the first cold storm of winter came late one night. The farmer panicked as the winds began to blow. Calling the young man for help, the farmer grabbed his coat and boots. He was disappointed to find the young man asleep at a time like this. Grudgingly he ventured out alone to move the animals to the barn and then fix a hole in the roof. He mumbled as he thought of the farm equipment left to rust in the field.

However, when the farmer reached the barn all the animals were tucked safely inside. In fact, clean hay had already been set out for the new day. Not a single hole could be found in the roof, and the tractor was parked perfectly in the shed. "Who could have done it?" the farmer wondered. And then, he realized what the young man's answer meant. "I can sleep when the wind blows."

Q. Have you done a lot of traveling?
A. Well, I took a working vacation to the United States last summer. Raymond Lowry, president of the Lisburn Branch, filled a mission in Germany. Then he wanted to go to America and see a lot of his friends who had been on missions there too. So off we set. We spent some time in and around New York and then took a Greyhound bus across the country. In Utah we stayed in Salt Lake City and Provo for about three weeks and visited in Cedar City for a time. Then we went to San Francisco, back across to New Orleans, and then home.
Q. What did you think of America?
A. I’m not sure we got a very representative view of America. You see, we were with Mormon contacts all the time. But I liked it—I really liked it, though not the big eastern cities so much, because I just wasn’t used to so many different peoples all mixed up. It was so different. People weren’t friendly. In New York we stopped a lady and asked her to show us the way, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. I guess she thought we were going to attack her. I said to myself, “What’s going on here?” But we enjoyed San Francisco and Salt Lake City—I thought they were tremendous.
Q. Was the trip a help to you in your life?
A. It was fantastic. I’ll never forget the experience, and it built my testimony a lot. It could have broken me. I’d only been in the Church a few months, and when you meet the missionaries here, they are fantastic. You wonder what the people will be like at their own back door. But the families we stayed with were fantastic to us. You could see that they live the gospel, and you could see the happiness it has given them. That helped me a lot.