Gospel Story Finder

Third, we should not argue. Arguing never leads to understanding. I listened to President Harold Wright, recently released as president of the Mesa Temple in Arizona. He has served over the years as stake president and regional representative and has had many contacts with nonmembers. He said that for years he would go to general conference and notice those people outside Temple Square passing out literature antagonistic to the Church. President Wright noticed one man in particular who seemed to be there every time. One conference he talked with the man and found that he was a minister from Los Angeles. President Wright talked to him every time he came to conference, and they came to be friends. One day he said to this man, “Have you ever attended a session of general conference?”
The man said, “No, I haven’t.”
President Wright asked, “Would you like to go in?”
The man answered, “I would very much like to go in.”
So he took the minister to the session. President Wright said his friend felt an influence he had never felt before in his life, and he commented on it repeatedly.
As far as I know, the minister didn’t join the Church, but what a beautiful way to respond to someone with a difference of opinion!

Let me provide an example. When I first visited Czechoslovakia, accompanied by Hans B. Ringger, long before the freedom bell sounded, I was met by Jiri Snederfler, our leader through this dark period, and Sister Olga Snederfler, his wife. I went to their home in Prague where the branch met. Displayed on the walls of the room in which we assembled were picture after picture of the Salt Lake Temple. I said to Sister Snederfler, “Your husband must truly love the temple.”
She responded, “I, too; I, too.”
We sat down for some soup Sister Snederfler had prepared, after which she brought out a treasure trove: an album containing individual pictures of the missionaries who were serving there in 1950 when the government edict came for the mission to be closed. As she slowly leafed through the pictures of different missionaries, she would say, “Wonderful boy, wonderful boy.”
Brother Snederfler has been a courageous Church leader in Czechoslovakia and has been willing to put everything on the line for the gospel. When the opportunity came that we would seek recognition for the Church in that country, the government leaders, then Communist, said: “Don’t send an American. Don’t send a German. Don’t send a Swiss. Send a citizen of Czechoslovakia.”
There were ominous implications in that particular statement because to have admitted that you were a church leader during this period of the prohibition of religion was tantamount to possible imprisonment. And yet, this call came to Brother Snederfler to be the designated person to go before the government and to forthrightly state that he was the leader of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for all of Czechoslovakia and that he was seeking recognition for his church. He later told me that he had been somewhat frightened and had asked for the prayers of his brothers and sisters in the Prague Branch. He went to his sweet wife, Olga, and said to her: “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, Brother Snederfler went before the government officials and acknowledged that he was the leader of the Church and that he was there to seek a restoration of the recognition the Church had enjoyed long years before. In the meantime Elder Russell M. Nelson had been working tirelessly to bring about the desired decision. Later, Brother Snederfler heard the good news: “Your church is again recognized in Czechoslovakia.” How eager Brother Snederfler was to tell his dear wife and the other stalwart members of the Church the wonderful news that once again missionaries could come to Czechoslovakia and the Church could provide a haven for freedom of worship in that nation. It was a happy day for Czechoslovakia.
Where are Jiri and Olga Snederfler today? Just last month they responded to their calls to serve as temple president and matron of the Freiberg Germany Temple, where faithful members of the Church in Germany, Czechoslovakia, and surrounding nations attend. These two saintly souls find themselves each day in the Lord’s house they so dearly love.
And what of Richard Winder, one of the former missionaries of whom Olga Snederfler exclaimed, “Wonderful boy, wonderful boy”? He is now the president of the Czechoslovakia Prague Mission, responding to the call to him and his wife, Barbara, to reopen the work in that country.

I was sad when I found out that my ballet exam was to be on a Sunday. My friends in the class couldn’t understand why we chose not to do things like that on a Sunday. They even offered to take me to the exam after our church meetings. I knew that the right choice was not to go, and Mum and Dad said Heavenly Father would bless me for keeping the Sabbath Day holy. At my next lesson after the exam day, my teacher gave me a medal. She felt I deserved it even though I didn’t do the exam. It is good to choose the right. I felt happy inside.

What are you going to spend your Chinese New Year money on?
I’m going to buy a new jump rope.
I’m going to buy candy.
I’m going to buy a new bag.
I’m going to save it.
What should I do with my money?
I know what to do with some of my money first!
The next Sunday …
Thanks for your donation, Chung.
You’re welcome!
It feels good to pay my tithing first. I know it makes Heavenly Father happy.
This story took place in Taiwan. Chinese New Year will be on February 1 next year!

Many years ago I was called to the bedside of Robert Williams, a young man who lay dying. His wife and their two children stood nearby. We were all trying to be brave, but tears were in our eyes. Robert asked me, “Where does my spirit go when I die?” I offered a silent prayer. I noticed on his bedside table a copy of the triple combination. I reached for the book and fanned the pages.
Suddenly I discovered that I had, with no effort on my part, stopped at the 40th chapter of Alma in the Book of Mormon. I read these words to Robert: “Behold, it has been made known unto me by an angel, that the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, yea, the spirits of all men, whether they be good or evil, are taken home to that God who gave them life.
“And … the spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow” (Alma 40:11–12).
As I continued to read about the Resurrection, a glow came to Robert’s face, a smile graced his lips, and his tired and ill body slept. I said good-bye to his wife and children. I next saw them at Robert Williams’s funeral. In those precious corridors of memory, I think back to that night when a young man pleaded for truth and, from the Book of Mormon, heard the answer to his question.
I read the words, but God turned the pages.

“Living the Word of Wisdom has been another real help to me. It seems like I can recuperate from an injury in half the time it would normally take. In 1969 a horse flipped over and fell on me and broke my back. The doctors said at best I might be able to walk with a bad limp, but that I’d never ride again. A year later I won the saddle bronc riding at the first rodeo I entered. I know that living the principles of the gospel pays off, because I sure have a lot of blessings to be thankful for,” he added.

Even during my darkest times, I have always felt peace in my trials through the Holy Ghost. But that changed when I underwent treatment for chronic pain that left me bedridden for two months.
The pain lessened after my treatment ended, but I began to struggle with depression. At the same time, it seemed to me that I had lost my ability to feel the Spirit.
For six months, I felt abandoned and desperately longed to feel the Spirit again. My healing was long and painful, which seemed even more daunting without the Spirit.
I met with my bishop, who explained that depression sometimes masks the Spirit so that we cannot feel it. His counsel comforted me, and a priesthood blessing from my husband gave me added strength as I waited hopefully to feel the Holy Ghost again.
General conference had always been a source of spiritual strength for me, but during the opening session of the April 2019 general conference, I felt nothing. That changed during the next session when a combined choir from Brigham Young University sang “Jesus, Once of Humble Birth.”1
The lyrics and the imagery of Jesus Christ as a lamb softened my heart. I realized that a wall of anger, depression, and false feelings of abandonment had masked my ability to feel the Spirit. A fortress of darkness had surrounded me, making it impossible for the Spirit to enter my heart. When the choir sang the second verse, that fortress began to crumble.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles followed the hymn with his talk “Behold the Lamb of God.”2 With the added power of his words, a love for the Savior and Heavenly Father washed over me.
Many impediments can hinder us from feeling the Spirit, but we can work through these barriers with help from Heavenly Father and His Son. Jesus Christ perfectly understands my struggles. Out of love for us and His Father, “He groaned in blood and tears.”3
Heavenly Father knows what will bring us comfort, and He knows when to bless us for our greatest spiritual growth.

They had worked for years to resolve problems in their marriage. At times things would improve, but before long the same old problems would return again … and again.
“Why should it be so hard to have a good marriage?” they asked. They had been married in the temple, were active in the Church, and had four delightful—though demanding—children. Yet recurring stresses and strains exerted a lot of pressure on their relationship. Lately their disagreements seemed more frequent and more volatile, satisfactory solutions seemed harder to find, and conflicts often lasted for days.
At one point, they had sought professional help and were instructed in the use of various techniques. They had discussed how to have clear communication, had practiced creative listening, and had worked through a number of exercises in effective problem solving. As a result, their marriage received a needed boost and things seemed to improve for a while.
But after several months, they were plagued again by the old, dividing conflicts, and although they tried to apply what they had previously learned from the marriage counselor, nothing appeared to work. As their marriage deteriorated, they became haunted by the unanswered questions: “What’s really wrong with us? How can we revitalize our relationship? Is there nothing better?”
The complexity of this particular couple’s dilemma doesn’t permit a simple solution. However, it is likely that part of the problem lies in their failure to understand fundamental laws governing human interaction—laws based in the gospel of Jesus Christ. To their credit, this husband and wife had expended considerable time and effort in trying to resolve their difficulties, but they had never uncovered the cause of their problem. I’ve found that couples who are most successful in creating a wonderful marriage are those who not only have developed valuable marital skills, but—more important—have developed an understanding of the basic gospel principles that underlie productive relationships.
The couple discussed earlier in this article had to struggle quite a bit before catching the vision of voluntary servitude. But as they quietly and conscientiously moved toward this goal, they began to realize some of what is meant by taking upon themselves the name of Christ. (See D&C 20:77.) Who but Jesus himself can better demonstrate for us the role of servant? As they grew in their desire and ability to serve, they discovered a sweetness and peace that comes only from an increased interest in the needs of others. They found that, in fact, they had truly begun to find their own lives by losing them in the service of each other. This was probably the greatest gift of all—to learn that the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ could have no greater relevance than when applied to their own marriage.

I was running the last quarter mile to the high school when a bit of gravel worked its way into my left shoe, bringing me limping to a halt at the curb. I yanked off my shoe and dumped the pea-size rock on the pavement. I glanced down the street and saw my cross-country teammates approaching a block away. We were finishing up the last leg of our afternoon workout.
“You run like the wind, man.” A slightly slurred voice startled me.
I turned to see a slovenly dressed man grinning at me from under the elm tree at the corner. I noticed immediately his missing front tooth, his vacant, bloodshot blue eyes and his long, straight blond hair hanging out from under a dirty, faded baseball cap. Catching the faint trace of alcohol in the air, I pushed myself to my feet to hurry on.
“Like the wind,” he repeated. His grin widened. “Or maybe,” he added, “you run more like a breeze.”
I brushed him off, figuring the guy was probably too wasted to walk the 200 yards to the track, much less try to run.
“For your information, man, I was the cross-country state champion here in Snowflake,” he said. “No one could beat me. I was a wind nobody messed with. I wasn’t just a little breeze.”
His comment rankled me even though I knew the alcohol was speaking more loudly than the man.
Several days later I saw the man on the same corner. He flashed a grin and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. “Hey, man. You’re still at it,” he called out, waving at me as I passed. “I’ve had too much to drink or I’d pace you.”
The next Saturday morning Dad and I were in the yard raking the leaves out of the garden and trimming the bushes when a beat-up ‘74 Ford pickup rattled to the curb. A woman with stringy brown hair was driving. On the passenger side a man sat slumped with his baseball cap pulled down over his face. The woman climbed from the truck. “Are you interested in us hauling your clippings away?”
Dad set his rake down and considered the offer.
I returned to my work when someone called out, “Hey, if it ain’t the breeze!” I looked up. I recognized the man inside the truck as the guy by the school.
“The breeze is raking leaves today.” He smiled. “We’ll haul you and your old man’s trash to the dump for $25. My rock-bottom deal to a fellow runner.”
He turned to the woman and was about to speak when he saw Dad. For a moment he stared, his mouth hanging open. He looked from me to Dad and then back to Dad. “Sam Davidson!” he said in obvious amazement. “This kid’s your son?”
Taken back, I glanced toward Dad, who stood surprised and a bit embarrassed. “You remember me, Sam?” he asked Dad.
“Rex?” Dad questioned. “Rex Manning?”
He laughed, stepping to Dad and pumping his hand warmly. “Summer,” he announced, turning to his wife, “we’ll haul their stuff for $15. This is Sam Davidson, the skinny kid that chased me to the state championship. And this is his son. What’s your name, kid?”
“Joseph.”
“He looks like you, Sam.”
Dad agreed to Rex’s deal, and Rex and his wife drove off.
“You know him?” I asked Dad.
Dad stared after them. “I knew him. We ran cross-country together. Rex Manning.” He said his name with respect. “What a guy!” he whispered. “I hate to see him like that.”
“Could he really run?” I questioned, my doubt obvious.
Dad chuckled, remembering. “Twenty-three years ago he was cold sober, trim, and as gutsy as they come. He could run forever and hardly break a sweat. I would have had two gold medals had Rex not beaten me when I was a junior.”
“That’s the guy who beat you your junior year? What happened to him?”
Dad looked away and heaved a sigh. “What happens to a lot of guys?”
The following Wednesday I had a meet in Holbrook. My top challenger in the state was Dennis LaDuke, a kid from Holbrook. I led LaDuke over the entire course. Maybe that was my mistake. With the finish line less than 200 yards ahead of me, LaDuke made his move and beat me by three seconds.
“You’re barely at midseason, Joseph,” Dad said, trying to console me that evening. “All you have to do is shave three and a half seconds off your time.”
“You know how hard that can be, Dad?” I grumbled.
“You need a Rex Manning to push you,” Dad remarked.
“What do you mean I need a Rex Manning?”
A couple of days later I was warming up when I spotted Rex leaning against the elm tree. All during my workout I had thought of LaDuke and those three-and-a-half seconds. I’m not sure I was actually serious when I first panted over to Rex.
“Hey, man, you still pounding the pavement?” he greeted me in his jovial way.
“Dad said you were the best runner he ever knew,” I said.
Rex’s smile faded. “That was a long time ago, kid. I’ve had a whole lot of booze since then.” There was genuine sadness and regret in his simple confession.
“Dad said you helped him run faster than everybody.”
“Sam was fast. He beat everybody—but me.”
“Help me run.” I didn’t smile. “Only one guy, Dennis LaDuke, is faster than me.”
A gray shadow dimmed Rex’s features. “I’m a loser, kid. I don’t run no more. I drink too much. Sometimes I can’t even walk.”
“Just help me cut a few seconds off my time.”
Rex didn’t answer. He just stood there solemnly, ignoring me as though I had never spoken. After a moment I jogged away from him, leaving him to his memories and his hurt.
The following Monday I trotted out to the track to warm up. Rex Manning was sitting in the bleachers. He stood and waved as I ambled over to him. The first thing I noticed was that he was sober. “You going to help me shave those three-and-a-half seconds from my time?”
Rex snorted. “We’re taking off ten seconds so you can beat everybody—including this LaDuke.”
At first Coach Spaulding was a bit hesitant having Rex around. But one day at the track changed that impression. Rex ceased being an old, out-of-shape drunk. He became an expert.
Rex worked at one of the mills outside of town and was usually off by 3:30. In the past it had been his practice to stop at the bar on the edge of town after work. But once he started coming to workouts, he postponed his stop at the bar and headed directly to the track. A week later, Rex took me to a wash that cut along the west side of town. Sinking into the soft sandy wash bottom up to my ankles, I waited for Rex to tell me what to do. He sat in the shade of a cedar and ordered me to do wind sprints in the sand. It didn’t take long before my tongue was hanging out and sweat was pouring down my face.
But seeing my exhaustion only increased Rex’s intensity. Soon he had me racing through the cedars toward a steep knoll a mile away. He gave me instructions: On the west side of the knoll I would find a narrow path that zig-zagged to the top of the knoll. I was to take that path and race up and down the knoll five times. From a distance it didn’t look very steep, but once I reached it and started challenging that knoll, I discovered that my efforts in the sandy wash bottom had been a mere warm-up for the rest of the afternoon.
By the end of that first day, exhaustion took on a whole new meaning. That night at dinner I whined to Dad about what had happened.
Dad looked across the table at me. “Sounds like Rex still has his old drive.” He smiled.
“I’ll bet he never worked like he made me work today.”
Dad set his fork down. “Who do you think made those trails you jogged on this afternoon, Joseph? Nobody worked out like Rex. I know. I tried to keep up with him.”
The next afternoon Rex was at the track. He became my personal coach. He was as regular as the three-thirty bell. He still stopped occasionally at the bars after practice, but he was always cold sober at three-thirty. I worked out with Rex every day right up to the state meet.
Several days before the meet, Dad knocked on my door and I invited him in. He studied me for a moment. “Joseph, I want you to know something before the race Friday.”
“I’ve always wanted you to win this race.” He took a deep breath. “But, Joseph, during these past few weeks I’ve come to see something that means more to me than your winning Friday.” He paused. There was a mist in his eyes. “I appreciate what you’ve done for Rex. I used to see him stumbling down the street. I tried to ignore him. I wanted to remember him another way. But yesterday I ran into Rex at the store. We talked.” Dad smiled. “He’s proud of you, Joseph. I could see some of the old Rex. I saw hope instead of despair. If you win Friday, that will be wonderful. But the real victory, the one that means the very most, is the one you’ve already won with Rex. I want you to know that.”
Rex showed up late for the next day’s practice, but when he arrived he came with his blond hair cut short, his face clean shaven, and wearing a fresh pair of jeans and white T-shirt. “I almost didn’t recognize you,” I joked when he strolled up.
“Well, kid, I figured you deserved to have somebody with a little class coach you.”
At the end of practice as I told Rex good-bye he shook my hand. “Good luck, kid.” There was excitement in his eyes. “The boss gave me the day off to see the race.”
“You’re going to Payson tomorrow to watch me run?” I asked, grinning.
He looked away. “If I can get there. My truck broke down this afternoon.”
“Davidson,” Coach Spaulding interrupted, “remember the van’s pulling out at six o’clock in the morning. We want to get to Payson early.”
An idea struck me. “Coach,” I spoke, stepping away from Rex, “hey do you think we could take Rex with us? There will be plenty of room in the van.”
Coach Spaulding looked at me, hesitating. “I don’t know, Davidson. I don’t know if I can count on Rex to be sober.”
“Coach, Rex has been cold sober for over a week. He was planning to go, but his truck broke down. I’d like to have him there, Coach. I promise he’ll be sober. I need him there.”
Coach Spaulding glanced in Rex’s direction. “All right,” he finally conceded. “He’s been helping you out. I suppose I can take him as a volunteer coach. But,” he added, “if I smell just the faintest trace of …”
“You won’t smell anything,” I cut him off. “Thanks, Coach.”
“Rex, you’re going with us in the van,” I announced excitedly. “You’ll be an assistant coach.”
For a moment my announcement didn’t register, and then suddenly his face crinkled into a grateful grin. “Thanks, kid. I’ll be here before six,” he committed. “And tomorrow LaDuke can have that silver medal all to himself,” he added with confidence. “Tomorrow nobody beats Sam Davidson’s kid. Not while I’m around.”
As I stood there witnessing Rex’s excitement and confidence, I knew that regardless of the outcome of the race the next day, Rex and I had already secured a gold medal victory.

One evening, years ago, my wife and I sat alone together in the playroom of our house. The children were all asleep in their beds, and we were waiting for the birth of a new little baby. My wife, big with child, was sitting by the table. We were talking softly together, knowing that the baby would arrive that night. The lights were low, and there was a feeling of love for each other and for the baby that was to come. I remember looking at my wife—she was rocking quietly, her eyes closed, her pale white hands spread across her full waist. The sweet feeling in the room grew and persisted. It was very powerful. I said to her, “Do you feel this all around us?” and she replied, “Yes.” It was lovely being with her there then. It was a sweet closeness, a unity I can hardly describe.

“Can you tell?” I said. “We shall have a son.”

“I know,” she replied. “It will be a boy.”

And then for me the veil parted, and I saw our son, standing, waiting, a few feet from the chair my wife was rocking in. He was tall and well formed, taller and larger, it seemed to me, than the room allowed. There was power about his person, great power and goodness and patience and love.

I said, “Do you see him there standing beside you?”

Again there swelled that sweet feeling of closeness and unity. She looked at me, confident, a small smile on her lips. “I don’t need to,” she said. “I know he is there.”

Several years ago a friend of mine had a young daughter die in a tragic accident. Hopes and dreams were shattered. My friend felt unbearable sorrow. He began to question what he had been taught and what he had taught as a missionary. The mother of my friend wrote me a letter and asked if I would give him a blessing. As I laid my hands upon his head, I felt to tell him something that I had not thought about in exactly the same way before. The impression that came to me was: Faith is not only a feeling; it is a decision. He would need to choose faith.

My friend did not know everything, but he knew enough. He chose the road of faith and obedience. He got on his knees. His spiritual balance returned.

I share the story of the Laing family of Southern California. Sister Rebecca Laing writes:
“In the summer of 2011, life for our family was seemingly perfect. We were happily married with four children—ages 9, 7, 5, and 3. …
“My pregnancies and deliveries [had been] high risk … [and] we felt [very] blessed to have four children, [thinking] that our family was complete. In October while listening to general conference, I felt an unmistakable feeling that we were to have another baby. As LeGrand and I pondered and prayed, … we knew that God had a different plan for us than we had for ourselves.
“After another difficult pregnancy and delivery, we were blessed with a beautiful baby girl. We named her Brielle. She was a miracle. Moments after her birth, while still in [the delivery room], I heard the unmistakable voice of the Spirit: ‘There is one more.’
“Three years later, another miracle, Mia. Brielle and Mia are a tremendous joy for our family.” She concludes, “Being open to the Lord’s direction and following His plan for us will always bring greater happiness than … relying on our own understanding.”

During this difficult period, Jirí and Olga sought legal permission many times to leave their homeland, citing religious persecution. But their requests only triggered new interrogations and further persecution. Since there was no private enterprise in Czechoslovakia, Jirí was a government employee, devoting his career to agricultural and water research. His own supervisors were summoned by Communist leaders and were told to financially punish him. “Heavenly Father protected us,” says Jirí. “Our bosses were our good friends, so we weren’t harmed financially.”

In 1968 they abandoned their efforts to leave Czechoslovakia. “We felt we needed to stay in our homeland because our brothers and sisters would need us,” Jirí says. “We couldn’t leave them.”

I met Megan when my family moved into our new house. She lived down the street, and we were both in Sister Crawford’s Primary class. We became friends and played together a lot. I watched Megan closely, trying to remember how she told a joke or how she fixed her hair or how she talked to other kids so easily. I thought Megan was perfect. I was shy. I wanted to be like Megan.
One day I called Megan to see if she wanted to play. She didn’t say anything at first.
“Caitlin is already over here,” she finally said.
Caitlin was in our Primary class too. I waited for Megan to invite me over, but she didn’t. Her end of the line was quiet.
“Oh. OK,” I stammered. Megan hung up without saying anything else.
That Sunday in Primary, Sister Crawford asked us, “What does it mean to be a good friend?”
I smiled at Megan, but she didn’t see me. She turned the other way and whispered to Caitlin. Suddenly Caitlin laughed out loud.
“Please quiet down, girls,” Sister Crawford said. They stopped whispering, but their shoulders trembled with giggles. Sister Crawford turned to me. “Angie, what do you think makes a good friend?”
“Well, someone who is nice and likes to play with you and—”
Megan and Caitlin giggled louder. My face got hot, and I looked at the floor. Were they laughing at me?
Sister Crawford frowned at them, then smiled at me. “That’s right, Angie,” she said. She looked around at the class. “How can you be a good friend?”
Adam raised his hand. “We can help people,” he said.
Sister Crawford nodded. “A good friend wants to help and serve others. Jesus Christ taught that when He lived on the earth. He also taught us that we should be kind to everyone.”
I looked at Megan and smiled at her. She didn’t smile back. I felt an empty spot in my chest. Didn’t Megan like me anymore?
At the end of the lesson, Sister Crawford held up a small basket. “I have something for you,” she said. She reached into the basket and showed us colorful strings that had been tied in small circles. “These are friendship bracelets. You wear it on your wrist, and whenever you look at it you can remember to be a good friend.”
Maybe friendship bracelets would help! Maybe Megan and I could get matching bracelets. As the basket went around the class, I leaned toward Megan. “What color are you going to get?” I asked her.
Megan shrugged. “Maybe a yellow one.”
“Me too,” I said.
Caitlin chose a blue bracelet. Then she passed the basket to Megan. Megan fingered a few bracelets, then pulled out a blue one too. I stared at her. Blue? She quickly handed me the basket. I stared into it, not knowing what to do. There were only yellow bracelets left. I slowly pulled one out.
Megan and Caitlin giggled and held out their arms side by side, admiring their matching blue bracelets. I felt a lump rise in my throat. Tears stung my eyes. I clenched my teeth together to keep from crying. I was not going to cry in front of them.* * * *
I threw myself into Mom’s arms as soon as we got home from church. “What’s wrong, honey?” Mom asked as I started to cry. Through my tears I told her what had happened. She sat next to me on my bed and held me close. “I’m sorry, Angie,” she said.
“Doesn’t Megan want to be my friend anymore?” I asked.
Mom stroked my hair. “Sometimes we don’t know why people do certain things,” she said. “I’m sorry that happened.”
“Sister Crawford said today that we should try to be kind to everyone, like Jesus was. But I don’t want to be kind to Megan.”
“I understand,” Mom said. “But I also agree with Sister Crawford. It might be hard, but we should try to be kind even if someone hurts our feelings. Jesus taught us to forgive others.”
“How can I do that?” I asked. I thought of the way Megan and Caitlin had laughed, and I felt that empty feeling again.
Mom pointed to a figurine of a girl kneeling in prayer that I kept on my nightstand. “Whenever someone hurts my feelings, I ask Heavenly Father to help me forgive that person. I ask Him to soften my heart and the other person’s heart.”
“Does it work?” I asked.
Mom smiled and kissed the top of my head. “I always feel better when I’ve talked to Heavenly Father,” she said.
When I said my prayers that night I thanked Heavenly Father for the friendship I had with Megan. Then I asked Him to help me forgive her. I scrunched up my eyes and thought hard. “Please help Megan and me be friends again,” I said.
I prayed for those things for the next few days. On Saturday I was swinging on our swing set when Megan came up our walk. I stopped swinging. We looked at each other but didn’t say anything. Finally Megan reached out and put something in my hand.
“This is for you,” she said. I opened my hand and saw a blue friendship bracelet.
“Do you want to play?” Megan asked. “Caitlin is coming over to my house. We’re going to pretend we’re princesses, and Noodle is going to be the queen.”
Noodle was Megan’s gray-striped cat. I giggled, picturing Noodle wearing a crown. I felt the empty spot inside shrinking. “Yes, I’d like to come over,” I said. “Thanks.”
I smiled at her, and this time Megan smiled back.

We heard of the passing away of sister Rebecca’s father at their native place, Tiruchi. Members of the ward visited to offer their condolences to them and to their extended family.
As ministering brethren, Brother Raja Ganapathy and I were able to offer a small prayer of comfort and safe travel for their family who were traveling to Trichy. During the same day, Brother Karthikeyan, and Brother Raja Ganapathi, and I decided to travel to Trichy to represent our ward and offer our silent comfort to the family. This sudden travel arrangement had to be made without any bus or train reservations. We made our way to reach Trichy by travelling in various trains and buses. After many hours of travel, we joined their family around midnight.
This travel was purely to give moral support to their family members at their time of need. The next day in the early morning, even much before their family made their traditional funeral service at an Roman Catholic Church, we members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-­day Saints gathered together and were able to comfort Sister Rebecca’s family by singing our Church hymns, and a wonderful prayer was offered in Tamil by Brother Raja Ganapathy.
“Ministering is always needed. We may not know when, but we must always be prepared to minister to others.”

My name is Hailey Achter. I’m eight years old, and I live in Layton, Utah. When I was baptized by my dad and received the gift of the Holy Ghost, I felt happy and clean. I knew I was doing what Heavenly Father and Jesus wanted me to do. So I knew it was wrong a few days later when I looked at my friend’s paper.
We had been doing a worksheet that was very hard. I had figured out most of the questions but found some that I didn’t know the answers to. My friend was sitting close by, and her answers were in plain view, so I quickly wrote the ones I needed on my paper.
Then the bad feelings began. I knew what I had done wasn’t what Jesus would have wanted me to do. The bad feeling lasted until I got home. I decided to tell my mom and dad. They were sad at what I’d done but proud that I had told them. We all talked about it for a long time. Dad talked to me about the steps of repentance; then Mom said I should probably tell Mrs. Taylor, my teacher. I cried. I loved Mrs. Taylor and didn’t want her to think I was bad.
Dad told me he was sure that Mrs. Taylor would be as proud of me as they were. I was not so sure, but we decided that I would talk to her the next morning and that Mom would go with me.
It was a long night.
The next morning I was really scared, so as we were driving to school, I said a prayer. It was a long walk to my third grade classroom. I was glad Mom was there. We met Mrs. Taylor in the hall, and Mom told her that I needed to talk to her alone. I told her what I’d done.
She put her arms around me and gave me a big hug. “Hailey,” she said, “I’m sorry that you did that, but I’m proud of you for telling me!” She hugged me again. “I’ll give you another paper to work on to make up for your mistake. I’m so glad you came to me, Hailey! You are a special girl!”
Wow! I felt so much better! I loved Mrs. Taylor, and she still loved me, even though I’d made a mistake. I finished the paper she gave me then and had a really good feeling inside again.
I’m glad I have the Holy Ghost. I know He helps me do the things Jesus Christ would want me to do. I hope I can always listen to Him and do what I should. This feeling is much better than the other one!

I have a very funny kitten. She followed my grandpa home one day, and she has stayed with us since then. We call her Shadow because she is black.
Shadow always looks up. She jumps into the empty bathtub, looks up at the towels, then jumps up to pull one down. When she is outside and wants to come in, she looks up at the window in the door and jumps up and holds on to the window frame with her paws and looks in at us.
Sometimes I think Shadow believes she is a dog. She jumps out of a hiding place and lands on my dog; then they roll around on the ground and playfully chew on each other. When my dog grabs a stick, Shadow runs around, trying to catch it. They even eat out of the same bowl.
Shadow really loves to look up at my grandpa. He picks her up and pets her and tells her what a good kitty she is. I think she loves him in a special way because he found her. She was very tiny and sick when she followed him home. He took her to the animal doctor to get her some medicine. Grandpa made her a nice, warm bed in our house too.

In that old home, we knew that our father loved our mother. That was another of the great lessons of my boyhood. I have no recollection of ever hearing him speak unkindly to her or of her. He encouraged her in her individual Church activities and in neighborhood and civic responsibilities. She had much of native talent, and he encouraged her to use it. Her comfort was his constant concern. We looked upon them as equals, companions who worked together and loved and appreciated one another as they loved us.

She likewise encouraged him, did everything in the world to make him happy. At the age of fifty, she developed cancer. He was solicitous of her every need. I recall our family prayers, with his tearful pleadings and our tearful pleadings.

Of course there was no medical insurance then. He would have spent every dollar he owned to help her. He did, in fact, spend very much. He took her to Los Angeles in search of better medical care. But it was to no avail.

That was sixty-two years ago, but I remember with clarity my brokenhearted father as he stepped off the train and greeted his grief-stricken children. We walked solemnly down the station platform to the baggage car, where the casket was unloaded and taken by the mortician. We came to know even more about the tenderness of our father’s heart. This has had an effect on me all of my life.

I also came to know something of death—the absolute devastation of children losing their mother—but also of peace without pain and the certainty that death cannot be the end of the soul.

I have been persuaded to tell a story that involves my experience. Perhaps the lesson I learned from it might be of some help to you.
In the fateful war year of 1942, I was inducted into the United States Army Air Corps with the rank of private. One cold night at Chanute Field, Illinois, I was given all-night guard duty. As I walked around my post, shivering, and at the same time trying to stay awake, I meditated and pondered the whole miserable long night through. By morning I had come to some firm conclusions.
I was engaged to be married and knew that I could not support a wife on a private’s pay. I felt I needed to become an officer. In a day or two, following my all-night vigil, I filed my application for Officer’s Candidate School. Shortly thereafter, on the appointed day, I was summoned, along with some others, before the Board of Inquiry looking into my qualifications and aptitude. My qualifications were sparse, but I had had two years of college and had finished a mission for the Church in South America. I was 22 years of age and in good physical health.
Possessing only these few qualifications, I was grateful to be able to put on my application that I had been a missionary for the Church.
The questions asked of me at the officers’ Board of Inquiry took a very surprising turn. Practically all of the questions centered upon my missionary service and my beliefs. “Do you smoke?” “Do you drink?” “What do you think of others who smoke and drink?” I had no trouble answering these questions.
“Do you pray?” “Do you believe that an officer should pray?” The officer asking these last questions was a hard-bitten career soldier. He did not look like he had prayed very often. I pondered, Would I give him offense if I answered how I truly believed? Should I give a noncontroversial answer and simply say that prayer is a personal matter? I wanted to be an officer very much so that I would not have to do all-night guard duty and KP, but mostly so my sweetheart and I could afford to be married.
I decided not to equivocate and responded that I did pray and that I felt officers might seek divine guidance as some truly great generals had done. I added that officers at appropriate times should be prepared to lead their men in all appropriate activities, if the occasion requires, including prayer.
More interesting questions came from my examiners. “In times of war should not the moral code be relaxed?” one high-ranking officer asked. “Does not the stress of battle justify men in doing things that they would not do when at home under normal situations?”
Here was a chance to equivocate, to make some points and be really broad-minded. I knew perfectly well that the men who were asking me this question did not live by the standards that I tried to live by, had been taught, and myself had taught. I thought to myself, Here go my chances to become an officer. The thought flashed through my mind that perhaps I could still be faithful to my beliefs and respond by saying that I had my own beliefs on the subject of morality but did not wish to impose my views on others. But there seemed to flash before my mind the faces of the many people to whom I had taught the law of chastity as a missionary. I knew perfectly well what the scriptures say about fornication and adultery.
I could not delay my answer any longer and responded to the question simply by saying, “I do not believe there is a double standard of morality.”
There were a few more questions testing, I think, whether or not I was trying to live and behave as we of our faith represent to the world. I left the hearing resigned to the fact that these hard-bitten officers who had asked these questions concerning our beliefs would not like the answers I had given and would surely score me very low. A few days later when the scores were posted, to my complete astonishment the score opposite my name read “95 percent.” I was amazed. I was in the first group taken for Officer’s Candidate School and had to be promoted to corporal to get into the school. I graduated, became a second lieutenant, married my sweetheart, and we “lived happily ever after.”

But he discovered when he arrived at BYU as a freshman, that Hawaii is a rather small pond, and the large splashes he had made there became tiny ripples in the world of intercollegiate sports. At BYU he was a 4:18 miler competing with the likes of Paul Cummings who was under four minutes. It looked as if Henry Marsh had come as far as his talent would take him.

But then came one of those wonderful turning points that can only be recognized much later for what they are. Not knowing what else to do with him, the coaches stuck Henry into the steeplechase, where they had a slot to fill. When they announced their decision to him, it was hard to react one way or the other, because he didn’t even know what the steeplechase was. He listened, worked, and did his best, but he was still able to run only an undistinguished 9:25 that year.

At this point, Henry interrupted his steeple-chasing to fulfill a mission to Brazil. He grew spiritually in the mission field, and to his chagrin he grew physically as well.

“For about 12 months in the middle of my two-year mission I didn’t run a step. I put on 20 pounds, and I was pretty out of shape. But the last six months I started running and trying to incorporate running with missionary work. I went to an athletic club, and we taught the people as we ran with them.”

Nevertheless, the Henry Marsh who returned home in August of 1975 struck no terror in the hearts of the world’s other steeplechasers.

“When I came back from my mission, I wasn’t having much success in running. I quit the team in January. I thought it just wasn’t worth the time. But I couldn’t feel good about that decision because I had this nagging feeling that I hadn’t really reached my potential. I hadn’t really developed my talent to the fullest. Finally I realized that I couldn’t quit until I had given it my all.

“My philosophy of life is that you try to take advantage of all the opportunities that come, because if you don’t, they’re going to be gone. It’s very hard for me to sit back and watch things pass by. Every day that ticks off there are certain things that you have the potential to accomplish, and if you don’t that’s too bad.

“The thing in life that motivates me the most is the need to reach my full potential with the talents and capacities that God has given me. It was frustrating sometimes, but it was mostly a question of not being able to quit until I knew what my potential was.”

Henry’s reasons for going on a mission were tied in with this same concept. “The importance of a mission had been instilled in me since I was a child. I don’t think I would have felt fulfilled religiously if I had not taken advantage of the opportunity I had to go on a mission. It’s a lot the same type of need I have to reach my potential in running. Except that reaching my religious potential is even more important.”

The decision to stick with running was soon vindicated, because 1976 was pure magic. In one of the great Cinderella stories in the annals of sports, Henry exploded from a 9:25 weakling to an 8:23.99 star, top American, and tenth-place finisher in the Olympics, with the second fastest time ever by an American, missing the record by seven-tenths of a second. He literally came from nowhere to stun the American sports scene.

His goal for 1976 had been to run an 8:55 and qualify for the NCAA meet. At the beginning of the year it seemed like an ambitious goal indeed, but as the year progressed it began looking more and more possible. In an almost magical progression, his times dropped every week. Improvements that should have taken months, came in days. He not only qualified for the NCAA meet, but astounded everyone there by finishing a strong second with a time of 8:27, which qualified him for the Olympic trials.

Never except in his wildest dreams had Henry even thought about going to the Olympics, but now it was a possibility. Still, he felt his chances were only about 50–50. He would be competing with real names in the sport. He proved himself again, however, by finishing second in the trials. He was on his way to Montreal. At the Olympics he again surprised everyone by reaching the finals, the only American to do so, and the second youngest finalist in that event in the history of the games. His eventual tenth-place finish was a triumph for a 22-year-old in a sport where runners reach their peak at around age 30. And this 22-year-old had been an “also ran” to “also rans” less than a year earlier!