Gospel Story Finder

I will conclude with a true story that happened not long ago. The story begins with a BYU-Idaho student (I will call Jane) inviting her boyfriend into her bedroom. This happened more than once. Her roommates knew what Jane was doing, but she told them, "We just need a place to talk."

Most of the roommates ignored what Jane was doing, but one of them, Mary, talked to Jane. Jane was upset with Mary and told her it was none of her business. Mary did not let it go. She followed Matthew, chapter 18, verses 15-17, and eventually persuaded Jane to go with her to the Student Honor Office.

Jane went, but she was really upset with Mary. Jane met with a Student Honor administrator. He could tell that Jane was very angry with Mary for bringing her in, and so he asked Jane a really interesting question: "Which of your roommates do you think loves you the most--the ones who turned away or Mary who brought you here?" Jane dropped her head and began to cry. She said in her tears, "Mary is the one who loves me the most."

That moment of tears and recognition was for Jane the beginning of "coming to herself" and turning to Christ. Many years from now when Jane is a wife and mother she will look back on the love of her roommate with overwhelming gratitude. She will think of her temple marriage, of her husband and her children, of her deep and abiding testimony of the gospel; and she will thank Heavenly Father for His plan of salvation, for the Atonement of Jesus Christ, and for a roommate who reached out to her in a moment of great need.

While Elder Quentin L. Cook and Sister Mary Cook were in the Philippines, a big volcano erupted. They were glad they were there to help and comfort people.
The air was so ashy that it was hard to breathe. People had to leave their homes. Many families slept in Church buildings.
Elder Cook told the people that Heavenly Father loves them and that He would help them.
Elder Cook thanked Church members for their Christlike service to each other and to friends of other faiths.
“The Savior’s Atonement gives peace regardless of what we are faced with.”*

Like many of you, I am a convert to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I joined the Church when I was 18 years old. I would like to share with you how the Atonement of Jesus Christ has changed me personally.

I was raised by “goodly parents”. [26] They taught me about God and a Savior. We attended religious services every week and on special Holy Days. I attended religious training appropriate to my age. We had prayer at home. I would say we were a family of faith.

Yet, when I was in high school, I began to question my faith. It was at this same time that I had many friends from high school who were Latter-day Saints. Just after I graduated high school, the week before I left for college, one of those friends gave to me this copy of the Book of Mormon. “I will never ask you if you have read it,” she said. “But feel free to bring it up with me if you like.” Not the best missionary invitation!

As I packed my bags for college, I tossed the book into my suitcase and brought it with me. My parents and younger sister flew with me across the United States from California, where we lived, to New York, where I would start University. The dorms were not yet available, so we spent that first night in a hotel. As I sat in that hotel, I remember wondering if I should read the Book of Mormon. I was uncertain. It might be a cult? I realized I had never read the entire Bible, and I decided that before I read some new book, I should first read the Bible, get to know my own religion. I had not packed a Bible. But, having traveled a lot, I knew it was not uncommon for hotels to have a copy of the Bible in the nightstand drawer. As I opened the drawer to read the Bible, I was shocked to discover a Book of Mormon in the drawer next to the Bible! Yes, we were at a Marriott. But, I did not know that Mr. Marriott was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. To me, this was a sign. I was to read the Book of Mormon. And so I began that very night.

Over the next few months, as other freshmen were exploring the delights of New York City, I spent many hours in my dorm room reading the Book of Mormon. On my dorm floor I gained the nickname “Dan-dan the Morman.”

My high school friend had not marked any specific passages to read and so I began at the beginning. I must confess, that I did not start with the greatest of faith. I recall my attitude being something like, “let us see what this Joe Smith guy wrote, that makes my LDS friends act so weird.” I continued reading with this attitude until I was 289 pages into the book. Almost halfway through. Then I read:

“But behold, if ye will awake and arouse your faculties, even to an experiment upon my words, and exercise a particle of faith, yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you, even until ye believe in a manner that ye can give place for a portion of my words. Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves— It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.” [27]

At that moment, I felt those swelling motions. I realized that I had been feeling them. I began to know that this book was true. And that knowledge changed everything. I was not baptized that day, or even that month, and I had many more confirmations along the way, but that is a story for another day.

When I first visited Czechoslovakia, long before the people there had freedom, I was met by Jiri Snederfler and his wife, Olga. I went to their home, which is where the Prague Branch of the Church met. On the walls were picture after picture of the Salt Lake Temple. I said to Sister Snederfler, “Your husband must truly love the temple,” and she said, “I, too; I, too.”
She brought out an album of pictures of the missionaries who were serving there in 1950, when their government made the mission there close. As she held up each photograph, she said, “Wonderful boy, wonderful boy!”
Brother Snederfler has always been willing to stand up for the gospel. When the Church wanted the Czechoslovakian government to again recognize it officially, the Communist leaders told us, “Don’t send an American or any other foreigner. Send a citizen of Czechoslovakia.” That was frightening because to admit then that you were a leader of any church meant that you might be thrown into prison!
Brother Snederfler was the one chosen to go to his government. He later told me that he had asked for the prayers of the branch members. Then he went to Olga and said, “I love you. I don’t know when—or if—I’ll be back. But I love the gospel, and I must follow my Savior.” With that spirit of faith and devotion, he went to his government leaders and told them that he was the leader of the Church there and that he wanted them to again recognize it officially.
Meanwhile, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles had been working very hard to get the needed approval. It came: “Your church is again recognized in Czechoslovakia.”
Brother Snederfler eagerly went to tell Olga and the other stalwart members of the Church there that once again missionaries could come to their country and that they could again worship Heavenly Father in freedom. It was a happy day.
Jiri and Olga Snederfler are now the president and matron of the Freiberg Germany Temple, where faithful members of the Church in Germany, Czechoslovakia, and nearby countries attend. They are happy to find themselves each day in the Lord’s house, which they so dearly love.

"While I was still living in Arizona, we would get to see movies in elementary school. There were a lot of cowboy, cavalry, and Indian films shown. Indians would invariably sweep around the bend and wipe out a whole wagon train. They were savages. Then the cavalry would dash after the Indians, and that whole theater of Indian kids would shout and cheer for the cavalry. No kid wants to identify with the bad guy, and yet we never saw a film where Indians were any good. I was always a cowboy when we played cowboys and Indians. Cowboys rode white horses, carried shiny guns, and always won. Indians weren’t smart enough to win," Tracey said.

Yet deep inside himself Tracey knew he could win. His parents had taught him that winning depends on the individual. They had taught him that if you want to win, you can win. "Feeling inferior is terrible, and I felt it quite often during junior high school," he said.

By the time he got into high school, however, Tracey knew he was breaking out of his inferiority feelings. He ran cross-country for the track team, and he was elected student body vice-president.

"By then I felt great," he said. "I remembered the teachings of my own parents. I knew I had a Father in heaven who loved me and that in his eyes I was just as good as anyone else. I knew I would be judged on my own abilities and what I was able to do with them.

"Now, through the medium of film, I can help other Indians gain a realization of these same true principles."

Two weeks ago I met for the first time a man I would like to meet again and know more of. His name is Henry D. Stagg—Don Stagg to his friends. He went to bed in August of 1965 about the way everybody else goes to bed and about the way he had all of his life. The difference came the next morning, when his body awoke and his eyes didn’t. He was blind, frightened, and he was more than that—terrified. He went to the doctor, who said with guarded optimism, “Well, this thing sometimes doesn’t last very long, and it might just be an hour or two.” Well, the hours stretched into days and the days stretched into weeks and the weeks finally became a month. Don Stagg could think only of one thing, and that was suicide. He wanted out. (He hadn’t asked for this kind of body, and he didn’t suppose that he had to go on with it, so he wanted out.)

Well, to make a long story short, Don Stagg found, in the midst of his experience, what one of the prisoners found; that is, it takes some love to get from where we are to where we need to be. One evening Mrs. Stagg arranged to slip the children past the hospital security. They shuffled into the room, and Don did not know who was there. He was surly and arrogant almost all of the time, by his own admission, and he didn’t want to talk, but then he felt those little hands on his legs and on his arms. The children said, “Daddy, we love you, and we want you to come home. We don’t want any other daddy.”

Don had seen a little light in a dark place, so he went home and started that night to pace off the house. He first paced off the steps from the bedroom to the refrigerator. He says, “It’s one thing to be blind; it’s another thing to starve to death.” When he had the house mastered, he went out into the neighborhood and then up and down the streets for miles away. He decided that he could do quite a little bit, and about two years after the effects of this disease had taken his sight, he enrolled in law school at the University of Utah. In four years he had passed all his courses and the state bar. For one year he worked for the attorney general’s office and now is in private practice.

Don Stagg is blind and has some limitations and some bonds put upon him by his own body, but he is doing a great deal. He water-skis and he snow-skis and, just a short time ago, he shot a two-under-par game at the Bonneville Golf Course in Salt Lake City. Now, there are some things he can’t do. He cannot see the daughter who has been born to him since he lost his sight. But he believes he will and he believes that that will not be a limitation upon him and that he will not be bound down by that blindness or by anything else. There’s something in that kind of spirit which seems to break every kind of bond that might ever come in this life or the next.

Let me share with you a few personal examples of how this has occurred in my life which also answers why I am here at BYU-Idaho.I had a verbal employment agreement before I ever left for graduate school. However, between my first and second year of graduate school the organization in which I would have been hired was restructured and those who wished to hire me were no longer in a position to do so. I started praying more earnestly to know what I should do for employment. The thought kept coming to me that I should return to Provo.

Most of my graduate school cohort was preparing to travel to Chicago for a national conference and job placement fair for our profession. Through prayer I had the strong impression that I did not need to go to Chicago, as I was to return to Provo upon graduation. However, I chose to ignore that impression and went to Chicago with my cohort.

My failing to heed this impression proved nearly fatal to my confidence and pride. I submitted countless resumes and had a number of interviews, but not one single school contacted me back. Later in humble prayer I again felt the impression that I should return to Provo.This time I trusted in the Lord and returned to Provo with no job and very little money. After a few weeks I was able to secure a one year temporary job at BYU.

Eight months later, I still hadn't found anything permanent and was praying to know what I should do. This time I received a distinct impression that I would soon receive a phone call and be offered a job. It sounded crazy, yet I trusted in the Lord.

A few weeks later the promised phone call came and I was offered a position as the Assistant Director of the Freedom Festival at Provo. I had volunteered with this organization throughout my undergraduate years at BYU and continued to assist them while at graduate school. Little did I know how much this opportunity, which the Lord led me to, would impact my life.

It was through my job at the Freedom Festival that I met a young lady named Jennifer Blake. She was a volunteer with the Festival and we ended up dating for a month or so before it ended.

By November it was time to start staffing our volunteer positions once again and I faced a major predicament. Jennifer was the only one who had experience with this particular responsibility and I knew I would need to contact her and ask her to continue to volunteer. I was nervous but to my surprise, she agreed to meet with me.

She was working full-time for housing at BYU so I invited her to meet me in the lounge of the Wilkinson Center on the BYU campus for lunch. When she walked into the lounge, I felt like I was suddenly in a movie....it was as if time stood still, there was a bright light, and there may even been angels singing. In that moment I received a spiritual confirmation so strong and clear I could not deny. I knew I was going to marry her.

Within one month after getting married we started to receive impressions that we would be leaving Utah. For us it was crazy to think about, we both loved our jobs and couldn't imagine leaving or doing anything else. However, in a short period of time, things changed and we felt we needed to look elsewhere for work. I looked for jobs everywhere but couldn't find anything in my area of expertise until I looked at the employment web site for what was then Ricks College. Sure enough, there was listing for a New Student Orientation position. I submitted my resume by mail, and seven days later received a job offer.

Photograph by Leslie Nilsson
We were all excited for Agatha’s birth in 2015. She would be my parents’ first grandchild. Everything went well until the day she was born. She was a large baby, I suffered complications, and the doctor was late getting to the hospital. When he finally arrived, he had to use forceps to remove her. By then, she had suffered neonatal asphyxia.
When they put Agatha on my chest for a moment, I thought it was so I could say goodbye. Nurses then whisked her away for neonatal intensive care. I found out later that her Apgar score, used to assess a newborn’s overall condition, was only 2. A score of 7 to 10 is considered normal.
Scans showed a large white spot on Agatha’s brain, revealing significant damage from lack of oxygen. Doctors told us that if she lived, she would suffer serious cognitive and physical disabilities and likely have epilepsy.
When my family learned how gravely ill Agatha was, my parents and in-laws were given permission to enter the neonatal intensive care unit at different times to see Agatha and say goodbye. My father and father-in-law, unbeknownst to one another, each gave her a blessing. My husband also gave her a blessing. That Sunday we organized a family fast for her.
Agatha spent 11 days in the hospital before we could take her home. For several months, she underwent tests and procedures. She couldn’t swallow, she lacked reflexes, and she suffered convulsions. They told me she would never move her head, never walk, and never speak.
Over the next year, we continued to pray and fast for Agatha, and we took her to a physical therapist to help her learn to move. The left side of her body had been especially affected by her asphyxia. She could move her right hand but not her left hand. Doctors told us that progress would be slow. But after only a few sessions, she could move both sides of her body equally. The therapist said it was a miracle. Because she learned so quickly, he wondered why we had brought her in the first place.
Every small improvement brought us happiness. Soon Agatha began to move her head. Then she began to sit up. When she started to smile, we knew that our faith and prayers were being answered. And when she said “Mama” for the first time, I felt great joy.
We received our biggest miracle at her annual checkup. A magnetic resonance image (MRI) showed no white spot on her brain. Her doctor couldn’t believe it.
“This scan looks like it came from a different child,” he said, comparing the new image with the original image taken after she was born. He requested a second scan, asking, “What is going on here?”
Today, Agatha has no cognitive or physical disabilities, and she no longer takes medication for epilepsy. Her school knows her as an intellectually advanced child.
We attribute Agatha’s healing to what my father calls “a perfect triangle”: faith, fasting and prayer, and priesthood blessings from righteous men. We know that the Lord loves us, we know He has power, and we know He gives us His power to exercise here on earth. We are grateful that He healed Agatha.

A young woman’s heart was touched as her institute teacher taught about Lehi giving blessings to his children. He encouraged the students to ask for a father’s blessing. After the class, she asked the teacher if he would give her a blessing because she was sure her father was not prepared to do so. The teacher encouraged her to write to her father and ask him if he would give her a blessing when she was home for the holidays. When she returned to school, she reported with joy that her father had made a mighty change. He was reading the scriptures and attending church again. The blessing he gave her was beautiful. The entire family was blessed and strengthened.

I had some friends who turned on me between seventh and ninth grade. At first I didn’t realize they were making fun of me, but when I did, I was shocked and couldn’t understand where I’d gone wrong.
I thought that if I did what Christ would do, everything would get better. So I continued being nice, helping my classmates with their homework, and relying on God, trusting that someday I would make a good friend. At first, not much seemed to change. But after I started high school, my classmates were nicer people.
More importantly, during those years when I was looking for friends, I found that my best friend is Jesus Christ. So not only did I make new friends at school, but I also made the best Friend that I could ever have.

Illustration by Jim Madsen
A missionary activity had been planned in the stake where I was serving. My companion and I were to briefly explain a gospel principle to the investigators who would attend. However, when we arrived at the meetinghouse, we discovered that hardly any investigators had come. Instead of teaching the principle as we had originally planned, we were asked to go out into the street and invite the people passing by to come and take part in the activity.
Truthfully, I couldn’t help but think, “This is not going to work.” I felt that our efforts would be fruitless—that no one would accept the invitation to just come to the activity, particularly with such little notice.
But we understood the importance of obedience, so my companion and I tried to invite people to come in. Not much later, a woman and her daughter and her daughter’s boyfriend passed by. We invited them to come in. At first they were hesitant, but finally they accepted the invitation and joined the group inside. I was surprised but very happy.
The activity started: a gospel-centered musical presentation. The activity lasted more than an hour. I worried that our guests were angry because the event lasted so long, but I had a prayer in my heart asking for everything to work out well.
When the activity ended, I approached them to apologize for taking so much of their time. Before I could say a word to them, the woman said, “Thank you. Thank you so much. It was very beautiful. Thank you.”
I was astonished; they were thanking us for the experience, and they weren’t concerned about the time. It was marvelous, and there was joy in my heart. (And to think that I had been saying that inviting people on the street wasn’t going to work!) The woman wanted to know more about the Church and to attend our Sunday meetings.
I learned something great from this experience: exercising just a little faith, even if it is nothing more than a desire to believe, can yield great fruits (see Alma 32:27–28).
This experience changed my attitude for the rest of my mission. From that time on, at each missionary activity, I would see the fruits of my labors when I went forth with hope and an eye of faith.
If we exercise faith, even when we think it cannot come to pass, we can obtain delicious fruits. What we see as impossible is not impossible for God.

After my wife, Anne, and I received a call to serve as full-time mission leaders, our family determined to learn each missionary’s name before arriving in the field. We obtained photos, created flash cards, and began studying faces and memorizing names.

Once we arrived, we held introductory conferences with the missionaries. As we mingled, I overheard our nine-year-old son:

“Nice to meet you, Sam!”

“Rachel, where are you from?”

“Wow, David, you’re tall!”

Alarmed, I went to our son and whispered, “Hey, let’s remember to refer to the missionaries as Elder or Sister.”

He gave me a puzzled look and said, “Dad, I thought we were supposed to memorize their names.” Our son did what he thought was right based on his understanding.

Nearly 200 years ago, the American short story “Rip Van Winkle” became an instant classic. The main character, Rip, is an unambitious man who is very good at avoiding two things: work and his wife.
One day, while wandering in the mountains with his dog, he discovers a group of strangely dressed men drinking and playing games. After accepting some of their liquor, Rip becomes drowsy and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens his eyes again, he is surprised to find that his dog is gone, his rifle has rusted, and he now has a long beard.
Rip makes his way back to his village only to discover that everything has changed. His wife has died, his friends are gone, and the portrait of King George III in the tavern has been replaced by a portrait of someone he does not recognize—by General George Washington.
Rip Van Winkle had been sleeping for 20 years! And in the process, he had missed one of the most exciting periods in the history of his country—he had slept through the American Revolution.

I’m on a cheer-dance team at my school, and they’re known for doing some dance moves that aren’t very appropriate. So when I joined the squad last year, my mom and I talked with one of the school administrators and asked if they would enforce the school rules that didn’t allow inappropriate behavior. They said they’d try to enforce the rules better. I still had to go up to my coach a couple times and talk with her about it. That was really nerve-racking, but I’d always talk with my parents and pray about it beforehand. After I talked with my coach, I knew I did the right thing, even though it wasn’t the cool thing to do and some of the girls still don’t understand and think it’s weird. But in the end, I was proud of the decision I made. I was glad that instead of doing what was popular, I chose to stay strong in what I believed.
Annie B., California, USA

Let me finish telling you about the missionaries in Mongolia. Because all the elders were expected to teach English, I became something of a teaching supervisor to help them provide the best classes possible. I would visit them in class, observe their teaching, and then give suggestions.
I never expected to have to supervise teachers on a mission. But the Lord needed someone who could help these elders do the job they needed to do in order to introduce the gospel to Mongolia. From one class I had taken in college, I knew enough to talk about the positive things they had done instead of focusing on the negative. I knew I had to build their confidence. Having these young men do a good job was so important to introducing the gospel to the Mongolian people.
Much later, when we had returned from the mission field and the missionaries I helped were pursuing their own educations, one elder e-mailed me and thanked me for the day I came to their class to watch him and his companion. The first thing I had asked them that day was to list all the things they had done right. They made their list, but what he remembers is that I came up with a long list of things they had done well. It changed his attitude. It gave him confidence. He had not done well in school before his mission, but now, because he felt he was a good teacher of English, he thought he could return to school and succeed. It wasn’t until he had graduated from college that he wrote the e-mail to thank me. I had no idea that I was helping him. But the Lord knew how to use that bit of knowledge I had learned in college to help one of His missionaries while on his mission and afterwards in his own education.

Some years ago, as our youngest son, Clark, was approaching his 12th birthday, he and I were leaving the Church Administration Building when President Harold B. Lee greeted us. I mentioned to President Lee that Clark would soon be 12, whereupon President Lee asked him, “What happens to you, Clark, when you turn 12?” This was one of those times when a father prays that a son will be inspired to give a proper response. Without hesitation Clark said to President Lee, “I will be ordained a deacon.”

The answer was the one President Lee had sought. He then counseled our son, “Remember, it is a great blessing to hold the priesthood.”

Twelve-year-old Caternia sat on the floor of the small, cluttered attic, rummaging through the old chest. The big, tattered coffer and its treasured contents had belonged to her great-great-uncle, Ephram Gage. The sweet, musty smell that floated out of the wooden box only added to the wonder and mystery of its contents. As soft, filtered light seeped through a small attic window, it washed across each object she touched.
Next week was Caternia’s turn to give the lesson in family home evening, and she wanted to do something different about families. “Maybe there’s something in Great-Great-Uncle Gage’s old wooden chest that might be of some help,” her father had suggested. The idea intrigued Caternia, so she’d climbed the steep stairway to the attic.
This wasn’t the first time she’d been there. In fact, it had become her secret place, where she could pray and think and read in private. Her parents had said that everyone should have such a place where they could go to pray and think things out.
Caternia shared a bedroom with her little sister, Ebony. It seemed like every time she tried to be alone, Ebony’s pet hamster, Bartholomew, would get loose, and Ebony always recruited two or three friends to assist in the hunt. By the time Bartholomew was back in his cage, the room was in total chaos—rummaged drawers, scattered school papers, and beds that looked more turbulent than her father’s just-plowed field!
After every successful capture, a victory party was held—in Caternia and Ebony’s bedroom, of course. The festivities were loud enough to out-noise, Caternia was sure, all the other sounds made since Adam, stacked together. Caternia had learned to seek refuge in the small, quiet attic.
The problem that had been most recently weighing on her mind was the big test coming up in her math class. In order to remain on the dance team at school, she had to maintain a grade of C or better. That wasn’t difficult in her other subjects, but math was especially hard for her. Her parents had helped her all they could, and so had her instructor at school, but she just wasn’t able to grasp it. If she scored well on this test, however, she would get a C for the term and be able to continue on the dance team. If she failed …
Two days earlier, one of her friends had found the test with the answers in their teacher’s desk drawer during recess and had copied it. She offered to give it to Caternia. Caternia knew that cheating was wrong, but she stood to lose her place on the team if she didn’t do well on the test.
As she sat now in the attic, mulling over what she should do, she withdrew an old World War I boot from the trunk. She pushed a fingernail into a crack and scraped out a trace of dirt, which floated like dust through the gilded light. “Dirt,” she uttered out loud. “Maybe it’s from the trenches where so many died.”
But not Uncle Gage. Somehow he had survived the bullets and the barbed wire and the gas. He had made the right moves. Dropped to the ground at the right time. “And prayed constantly,” she remembered her father having once told her, “that God would be mindful of him in his darkest hour. That he might be worthy of a loving Father’s saving grace in his time of greatest need.”
Replacing the shoe, she picked up a compass. It was old, like everything else in the chest, and scratched. But it still worked. It probably had helped Uncle Gage find his way when the smoke and fear of war clouded his judgment. Just like the gospel of Jesus Christ helps me find the way, she thought.
Her eyes faltered as guilt crept across her heart, stealing away her peace like clouds hiding the sun from the land. “But I just have to pass that test,” she protested out loud. “I just have to! I just …”
Her voice trailed suddenly as she pulled out a large tintype of a great castle. The photograph was faded and yellowed, but the castle’s walls were strong and appeared impenetrable. Like the gospel, she deduced, that fortifies one against any assault by the adversary if we keep the commandments.
“But I always do,” she defended herself aloud. “Well, almost always. Surely one wrong isn’t going to outweigh all the right I’ve done. Besides, everybody makes mistakes. I’ll repent after the test. Heavenly Father will understand.” But how much harder would her repentance be, she speculated, when she knew beforehand that what she was going to do was wrong?
As she started to replace the tintype in the chest, her eyes fell upon a hole in the bottom of one of the castle’s great walls. It was a small hole, but it went clear through the wall, and it was big enough for an enemy to slip through and do his dark work.
Caternia sat back against a large vertical timber and gazed at the picture. That’s all that the adversary needs to penetrate our spiritual walls, she reflected. Just one small hole. Just one small sin.
Her eyes lifted to the haze of light that seeped through the little window. Tears oozed down her cheeks. “Forgive me, Heavenly Father,” her lips trembled. “Please forgive me.” Her gaze returned to the old tintype. She stared at it for some time, then closed her eyes in prayer.
An hour later, she descended from the attic. She held the tintype close to her.
“Did you find something you can use in next week’s family home evening?” her mother asked.
Caternia nodded, wiping residual tears from her cheek. “Yes, I did,” she got out. “This old picture. I found it in Uncle Gage’s—”
“Is everything all right, honey?” her mother interrupted when she saw her daughter’s tear-red eyes.
“Yes, Mama. And I’m going to make sure it stays that way, no matter what!”
The following day at school, she told the girl who had offered to share the test questions with her that she had chosen not to cheat. Caternia explained why and encouraged her friend to do the same.
For the next few days, she studied diligently. It wasn’t easy, but she had committed to do all she could do, then ask Father in Heaven for His help. The day after the test, one of her friends saw her crying by her locker.
“Did you fail the math test?”
“No.” Caternia smiled. “I got a B-.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because I’m so happy!”
Following family home evening the next Monday, Caternia went to the attic to return the tintype to Uncle Gage’s chest. As she placed it atop the other contents, she gazed one last time at it in the amber glow of an old lamp. She again promised herself and Heavenly Father that she would work each day to keep her spiritual walls strong. She gently ran a finger across the castle’s walls and remembered with warmth the special feeling that had filled her halfway through the test—a feeling that told her in a quiet, whispered way that Someone was with her. She closed the lid of the trunk, leaned back against the timber, and expressed her gratitude to a loving Heavenly Father for helping her in her hour of need.

One sunny day when I was seven years old, I was playing outside my grandmother’s home while my family visited on the front porch. As I walked along a shrubbery-lined path by the side of the house, I suddenly felt a sharp, terrible pain in my ankle. My family heard my screams and rushed to my side. To their shock they saw that I had been bitten by a snake.
I had to get to a doctor, but we were out in the country and didn’t have a car. My uncle ran several miles to a neighbor’s home to borrow a cattle truck, and once we were in the truck, we even had to stop to get gasoline. My leg started swelling, and we didn’t know what kind of snake had bitten me.
We finally reached the hospital—a little one-story frame building—and after some tests, the doctor determined that I had been bitten by a rattlesnake. Judging from the fang marks, it had been a huge snake—about five feet long! As the poison from the bite rose in my blood, it turned my skin black, until it was black only two or three inches below my heart.
I was in the hospital for many days, and it was a painful and difficult time. I can remember having nightmares and screaming. One time, a young medical student who lived in a house across the street heard my screams as he was taking a shower. He dashed over to the hospital to help me with just a towel wrapped around him. Another time, the owner of a small restaurant about two blocks away became alarmed when he heard me, and he called the hospital, wanting to know what was going on.
I’m told I almost didn’t survive, but while in the hospital I was given a blessing. Because I was unconscious at the time, I didn’t hear the words, but my family later told me that I had been blessed that my life would be preserved for a special purpose. My relatives later told and retold this experience at family gatherings. This has given my life special meaning, and it has strengthened my testimony of the importance and power of the priesthood.

We can let the light within us show in many different ways. It may be as simple as a smile. I recently read the account of a man in the northwest United States who used to drive past a bus stop on his way to work. He began to notice a young girl among some children waiting for the school bus. Even when it was raining, she would smile and wave as he drove by. He said: “The young girl was tall and slim and about 13 years old. She wore a mouthful of braces and I could see them glisten in the glare of my car lights.” Her effort to be friendly gave his day a good start and was something he looked forward to.
This man’s name was Hankins, and he had a daughter, Cheryl, who was about the same age as the girl at the bus stop. One day Cheryl asked her parents’ permission to attend an activity at a local church. A neighbor girl, Vicki, had invited her to attend. The activity was MIA, the forerunner to the Young Women program! Cheryl enjoyed MIA and after a while told her parents that Vicki was a Mormon. It wasn’t long before Cheryl came home from school and said that Vicki was sending two young men over—missionaries—to tell the family about her Church.
The elders arrived, taught them about the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith, and bore their testimonies of the Restoration of the gospel. As a family they began to read these new scriptures and were soon captivated by them. Mr. Hankins finally met Vicki. She was the smiling girl he had seen so many times at the bus stop. She was present when he and two other members of his family were baptized.
Looking back on Vicki’s actions and those of other young people, Brother and Sister Hankins became convinced that “the greatest potential for missionary work lies in the youth of the Church.” Brother and Sister Hankins have since served as missionaries themselves. They relied upon the referrals and good example that the youth supplied. Vicki—the girl at the bus stop who smiled every day, even when it was raining—changed their lives forever.
Each one of you can be a friend to someone, even if it is only by smiling. Like Vicki, you can let the sunshine that is in your heart show in your face.

Seeing 30 homes built from your own designs is quite satisfying, but when you are only 18 years old, it’s an outstanding accomplishment. Robert McArthur has had his own home designing business in the Salt Lake City area and has also worked for several builders and contractors even before his graduation from high school.
His love of home designing began early in his life—he was about 15 when he started sketching designs. While a senior at Bountiful High School (Bountiful, Utah), Robert won first place in architectural drawing in the State of Utah. This entitled him to a trip in the summer of 1975 to Washington, D.C., where he competed on a national level in architectural drawing. He took second place, with a gold medal in the skills contest. In 1975 he designed a home for the 1975 Parade of Homes in Salt Lake City, competing with professional builders and designers. The judges awarded him a trophy for second-best design in the show. In 1976 he designed a home for the 1976 Parade of Homes and again won second-best design and also the coveted award for “Best Home in the Home Show” (awarded by public vote).
Following graduation from high school he was awarded a full six-year scholarship from the Home Builders Association of Greater Salt Lake. But Robert decided it was time for more important things at that age—he decided he would complete a full-time mission, so he declined the scholarship.
Elder Robert McArthur is presently serving a mission in the Washington Seattle (Spanish-speaking) Mission. When he returns from his mission, he will have 30 homes, a challenging future career, and a very happy family waiting for him.