Gospel Story Finder

That was in June 1974. One year later there was another change of a historic nature. It was announced that Churchwide June Conferences held in Salt Lake City would be discontinued. One of Ruth’s most memorable experiences came during the last June Conference session held in the Salt Lake Tabernacle. Traditionally, every year the leaders of the MIA sang “Firm as the Mountains Around Us” during the opening session. It was the last time that Ruth May Fox’s hymn for youth would be sung in such a setting. The song was announced, and then the conductor arose. But instead of raising his arms to lead the singing, he called for President Funk to come forward. “Because of her great love for youth and her dedication to them, we feel it only fitting that she conduct this song at this special time.” Surprised but willing, she was assisted by the Brethren nearby to climb onto the conductor’s stand. With exuberance she led the thousands of leaders packed into the Tabernacle in singing: “O youth of the noble birthright, Carry on, carry on, carry on!”

How do you feel when someone expresses gratitude to you? One Sunday I sat next to a sister in Relief Society and got to know her a little better. A few days later I received an e-mail: “Thank you for sitting next to my daughter in Relief Society. You put your arm around her. You will never know how much that meant to her and to me.” This mother’s words surprised me and brought me happiness.

Two years later, Simon came home from work and asked Rostya if she would like to move to Brazil on a company assignment. “When?” she asked.
“Tomorrow,” he replied. They were soon in Santos, Brazil, where Simon began work on an oil pipeline along the coast. They knew they had opened a new phase in their life. But the real change was yet to come.
The young couple soon joined a club for expatriates, where Rostya was attracted to a group of women that seemed enthusiastic and open. When Rostya introduced herself, one of the women said, “‘Gordon-Smith’ sounds English enough, but ‘Rostya’ certainly doesn’t.” “That’s because I’m Czech,” Rostya replied. To Rostya’s surprise, the women started speaking in Czech. Rostya had just met Zaza, a native Czech raised in Brazil, married to an American, Don Clark.
The Clarks and the Gordon-Smiths soon became friends, attending movies together, playing tennis, and just visiting. One day, two Latter-day Saint missionaries called at the Clark home while Rostya was there. “I did not know they were missionaries at that time,” Rostya says. “They were just two young men with short haircuts, dressed in shirts and ties. I asked them who they worked for, because I presumed any foreigner was working for a company. They gave me a very vague answer: they were working for a church, they said, and they were visiting people and reading scriptures with them in their homes. I thought it sounded very strange at the time.”
Don and Zaza Clark, who were members of the Church, began to talk to the Gordon-Smiths about the gospel. Soon, the Clarks invited their friends to attend a Church meeting with them. It was a fast and testimony meeting. “It was a shocker for me,” Rostya says. “All I could see was that everybody wept: men, women, and children. I was very, very embarrassed, and my husband was, too. When Don Clark asked me what I thought about the meeting, I looked at him and said, ‘I think it’s mass hysteria.’”
A short time later, Don and Zaza invited Simon and Rostya to an area conference in São Paulo, where President Spencer W. Kimball announced the building of the temple in Brazil. Rostya was impressed by the affection the people showed for the prophet. Following the conference, the Gordon-Smiths agreed to take the missionary discussions.
Nothing much happened until the lesson on repentance. “I was good at justifying any of my actions,” Rostya says, “but somehow the process of repentance seemed logical to me.” She found herself thinking about repentance, even writing letters of reconciliation. “But when the missionaries asked me to pray about the principle of repentance, I said, ‘How can I pray if I don’t believe in the existence of God?’ ‘How will you know if anyone lives on the tenth floor,’ they asked me, ‘if you don’t ring the bell? Ring the bell and see if anyone answers.’
“I was thinking about what they said while I was doing the dishes one day. I decided to follow their suggestion. I knelt down and said, ‘Heavenly Father,’ and a wave of warmth enveloped me. I started again, ‘Heavenly Father,’ and the warmth intensified. I felt enveloped in love and protection for the first time in many years. I asked all the questions: ‘Is this the true church?’ ‘Is Joseph Smith a prophet?’ ‘Is the Book of Mormon true?’ ‘Do you love me?’ My answers came in the affirmative by the power of the Spirit.
“I telephoned my friend Zaza Clark. ‘I’ve got it! I’ve got it!’ I cried. ‘What have you got?’ she asked in alarm. ‘A testimony!’ I exclaimed.”
Rostya and Simon were scheduled to be baptized after a stake conference. During the conference, Elder James E. Faust of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles called on members of the congregation to bear their testimonies. He motioned for Rostya to come to the podium. With Don Clark translating into Portuguese, she bore her testimony in English. When she finished, tears were running down her cheeks. “At the end, when I said, ‘Amen,’ Don Clark turned to me and smilingly said, ‘I don’t understand. What is all this mass hysteria about?’”

I was good at saying my evening prayers. But morning prayers were a different matter. I always managed to find an excuse for not praying when I left my room in the morning. The Spirit would often prompt me to think, “I really should be saying prayers every morning.” I tried but often failed after a few poor attempts.
For about a year, I had been praying for an answer to a question. I was planning to go to university, but with just a few weeks to go before my application forms had to be finished, I still didn’t know what to study. I couldn’t work out why I had not received an answer.
My nervous and often desperate feelings of confusion became so bad that on one particular night I lay awake in bed, tears in my eyes, unable to sleep. Why hadn’t Heavenly Father answered my prayers? I had patiently prayed for a year about various courses and options, but I felt I still hadn’t received an answer.
One night while reading the scriptures I came across Alma 37:37: “Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good; yea, when thou liest down at night lie down unto the Lord, that he may watch over you in your sleep; and when thou risest in the morning let your heart be full of thanks unto God.”
I had read that scripture before in Primary, Young Women, seminary, and Sunday School lessons, but this time I really understood what I was reading. I made up my mind to pray every morning. I left little notes everywhere to remind me, and sure enough they began to work.
A few days later, I received an answer to my prayers about what to study. I knew what I had chosen was wrong, and I knew what I had to do instead. The cloud of uncertainty that had hung above me lifted, and the prospect of university became much brighter. I was even excited.
Heavenly Father did answer my prayers, just as the scriptures said He would. I know He loves us and listens to our prayers. I had to listen to what the Spirit was telling me to do and exercise a little extra faith and effort before my prayer was finally answered.

“What can I do for you?” Michele asked. Michele was my ministering sister and one of my best friends. Her question rang in my ear, and I felt bothered that I had again failed to give her a straight answer.

Heartbreaking circumstances had recently troubled my extended family, and I knew I needed help. I did not, however, want to look weak asking for Michele’s help.

Often I would compare myself to others like the Latter-day Saint pioneers who sacrificed everything for their faith or that friend on Facebook who seemed to have it all together. I knew that none of these comparisons were fair. Yet I continued to hold myself in isolation when the comfort of a loving brother or sister in the ward could make all the difference.

For years, I had been putting off well-meaning friends with myriad versions of the phrase “I’m fine.” Ironically, I was frustrated to receive the same answer from those I served. How often had I pridefully turned away people God had sent as an answer to my prayers? My recent circumstances, however, forced me to put down my pride and ask for help.

At first, I didn’t know what to say when I called Michele, but as I poured out my feelings of grief and loss, she cried with me and listened to me. I told her I just wanted someone to give me a snack, wrap me in a blanket, and put me to bed with assurances that everything was going to be OK.

Michele told me she had been praying to know how to comfort me but didn’t know how because I wasn’t talking about my grief. Once I finally opened my heart to her, however, she was able to better understand and know how to help me.

The next day she showed up on my doorstep with a bag of cherries and the warmest, softest blanket I have ever touched. Her ministering companion, Linda, came soon after with a meal for my family and fuzzy socks for me.

Now when grief howls inside me like a storm, I wrap myself in the warmth of Michele and Linda’s love and know I’ll be OK. Their love is a reminder of Christ’s love—something I can call upon anytime I need it (see Romans 8:35, 38–39).

The author lives in Utah, USA.

After the young people had presented the quilt, the Sambongis, our neighbors from Japan, gave Chris his gift, a sembazuru, which translated means 1,000 paper cranes. The Sambongis told Chris that in Japan, cranes are said to live as long as 1,000 years, and that a paper crane will take away sickness when it flies away. They also gave him a note:
“Dear Chris, These paper cranes were made by a lot of people, including people in our ward and those you have never met before. We all pray for your recovery, and may the Lord bless you.”

Architecture and the dental profession constitute an unlikely combination, but this unorthodox blending of occupations makes life interesting indeed for Jacinto Lambino Ledesma, a 37-year old Tarlaqueño from Paniqui, who holds a degree in Architecture (MLQ University, Class of 1966).
If one visits a dentist and sits snugly on a dental chair that somehow eases the fear and pain commonly associated with the ministrations of a dentist, there is a good chance that the patient is sitting on a functional Ledesma dental chair that has been designed with a lot of psychological factors thrown in.
He cannot fill a cavity or fit a dental brace and yet his name is now a by-word in the dental profession in this country, with about 500 satisfied practitioners and users of the Ledesma chair endorsing the product of a Mormon’s ingenuity.
Not one to sit on his laurels, Bro. Ledesma forged on by inventing the first hydraulic dental chair and unit with X-Ray, panoramic light and switchboard, earning the privilege to display his invention in the National Science Development Board pavilion during the last National Inventors Week.

When I returned home to the Philippines after my mission, the first thing I wanted to do was meet a worthy priesthood holder whom I could marry in the temple and build a Christ-centered family with.
I thought that finding him would be easy. But now it’s been quite a few years since I returned home, and I have yet to find someone to marry.
I’ve been goal-driven all my life. In high school, I made goals for my future, specifically goals that would help me progress on the covenant path—the only path that will ultimately lead me, and all of us, back to live with Heavenly Father.
I made goals to graduate from seminary and institute, to finish my studies, to get endowed in the temple, to serve a mission, to find a job in line with my degree, and to build an eternal family.
I’ve achieved all those goals apart from one, and despite being proud of all I’ve accomplished, I’ve sometimes felt as though I’ve stopped progressing.
For years I’ve spent so much time searching and praying to find someone to be with for eternity. I’ve always obeyed the commandments, applied the teachings of the prophets and the leaders in my life, and striven to be worthy to enter the temple. So, in frustration, I’ve sometimes wondered why, after trying so hard, I am still unable to reach this one goal and often feel unable to move forward on the covenant path.
What am I lacking?
One night when I was feeling extra discouraged about my marital status and seeming lack of progression, I poured out my feelings to Heavenly Father. I felt stuck, lonely, and lost. As I prayed and pondered, a clear reminder came to me:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart. …
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6).
In that moment, I realized that those “paths” included the covenant path.
I was reminded that if I “let God prevail” in my life, as President Russell M. Nelson taught,1 He would direct me toward Christ and grant me spiritual strength, promised blessings, and eternal progression.
Elder Marvin J. Ashton (1915–94) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Set your goals. … But don’t become frustrated because there are no obvious victories. Remind yourself that striving can be more important than arriving.”2
For so long I had focused only on my hopes for marriage and my “failure” at not achieving that covenant. I had forgotten the significance of the covenants I had made and how those covenants had helped me move toward Christ.
I had forgotten how beautiful my circumstances were. Right now, because I don’t have children or many obligations at home, I have time to develop more skills for the future. I’m able to give a great amount of my time to serving others and ministering to those in my ward. I am able to meet more people and learn from them. I get to spend time improving my relationships with my parents and siblings. And most importantly, I still have plenty of opportunities to continue becoming more like the Savior.
I’ve realized that if I’m still walking on the path that leads me to Jesus Christ, then I’m right where I need to be.
I am moving forward on the covenant path.

“My friend has been to college. Even more important, she doesn’t want to be treated like a baby,” Karen Critchfield of Los Altos, California, said. “We were both nervous to start with, but now we confide in one another.”

When I was baptized, I was the only member of my family who accepted the gospel. I was 19 years old, and I was happy about my baptism. I was welcomed by the brothers and sisters of the Panuco First Branch in Veracruz, Mexico. In addition, I began preparing to serve a full-time mission as soon as I had been a member of the Church for one year. It was wonderful to know the true Church, and I wanted to share the gospel with others.
My father, my stepmother (my mom died when I was 12 years old), and my three brothers rejected the Church when I was baptized. Unfortunately, I didn’t respond well. I was disrespectful to them. I didn’t consider my father or his opinions. When I told him I would serve a mission soon, he was not happy since I would stop working and especially since I might go far away. It bothered me every time my family’s lifestyle conflicted with my principles, such as when they watched TV or listened to music programs that I felt were inappropriate for Sundays or when my father would invite me to have lunch on fast Sunday.
I justified my negative attitude toward my family by telling myself that I wasn’t doing anything wrong—as a member of the Church, I should live gospel principles even when my family members bothered me. I told myself they were the ones who should change. Due to this reasoning, my relationship with my father was not good. It got worse because of my attitude and pride. I continued this way—not concerning myself with his spiritual welfare.
One day while I was studying for my institute class, I came to 1 Nephi 16, where Nephi breaks his steel bow, making it difficult to get food. Everybody began to murmur—Laman and Lemuel, as was their custom, together with their father, the prophet Lehi. Nephi responded by making a bow and arrow out of wood and asking his father where he should go to obtain food. His father prayed for guidance and was reprimanded by the Lord for having murmured. Lehi reacted favorably and retook his role as leader of his family and as a prophet of the Lord. Nephi did not judge his father in his weakened state, nor did he think that he shouldn’t be prophet anymore, even when Nephi had spoken with the Lord and had received visions.
When I read and understood this account, immediately I thought of how badly I had behaved toward my family. I was embarrassed by my attitude—feeling that I was better than they were—and felt especially bad for not treating my father with respect. I was sad for not making it a priority to share the gospel with them.
I had not seen my family as they could become. I had focused only on their weaknesses. From that day on, my attitude and behavior changed gradually. I strived to always respect my father’s opinions, despite the many times I did not agree with him. If he invited me to lunch when I was fasting, I said I was sorry for not being able to share the meal with him. I no longer felt bothered by the programs or music they watched or listened to on Sundays, remembering that they still hadn’t made covenants with our Heavenly Father, as I had.
One morning while I was helping my father with a meal, I told him how much I loved him and how sorry I was for my rude behavior. I told him I was proud that he was my father and that I wanted to have a peaceful relationship with him.
Everything began to change. The arguments lessened and disappeared. Although I thought it would be a long time before my family joined the Church, their attitude toward the Church improved. None of these changes would have happened had I not changed first.
After I had been a member of the Church for one year, I served as a full-time missionary in the Mexico Tijuana Mission. Three months before returning, I received a letter saying that my family had accepted the gospel and would be baptized. When I returned, they already belonged to the Church.
In my 15 years as a member of the Church, one of my greatest lessons came from my study of the Book of Mormon and with the children of God I had closest to me: my family.

In the fall of 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic had the world on its knees. We were certainly all affected in some way.
Given my vocation in the culture and tourism industries, the pandemic posed a serious challenge to me professionally. So, I was full of expectation when I learned that our beloved prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, would deliver a special address to the world on Nov. 20, 2020.
As he began, President Nelson told of some of the challenges he had experienced in his life and expressed great concern about the pandemic. Then he said, “There is, however, a remedy—one that may seem surprising—because it flies in the face of our natural intuitions. Nevertheless, its effects have been validated by scientists as well as men and women of faith.
“I am referring to the healing power of gratitude.”1
President Nelson invited us to use social media as our personal gratitude journal and to express our thanks to God in our daily prayers for the innumerable blessings in our lives.
I applied the “therapy” he suggested and felt it helped me in that difficult time to experience healing and have a cheerful, believing heart.

One of the most telling of these experiences occurred in 1978, in competition for the coveted France Cup—a trophy sought by soccer clubs throughout France and its territories. Since the Tahitian football league is affiliated with the Fédération Francaise de Football, Tahitian teams also vie for the France Cup.
By a long-standing arrangement, two top clubs from Tahiti, together with two leading teams from the French-administered territory of New Caledonia, play off to see which South Pacific club will travel to France to compete against the French professionals in the annual France Cup competition. The playoff locations alternate each year between Tahiti and New Caledonia.
In 1978, Erroll’s club, Central, qualified for the local play-off with the New Caledonians, but it was to be played outside of Tahiti and the final was fixed for a Sunday. Not even the persuasive talents of Napoléon Spitz could get the New Caledonians to move the game to another day. And so, as he had the previous year after leading his team to the France Cup finals, Erroll stayed away from the game. While his teammates spent that Sunday morning preparing for the all-important clash later that day, Erroll went to Church. When the whistle signalled kick-off, Central’s captain was alone, back in his hotel room.
“I’ll never forget that day,” he recalls. “Towards the end of the match I had the strongest feeling that things weren’t going well. I wondered whether it would be right to pray to the Lord about a soccer game, but I knew He was aware of my situation and that I had tried to do what was right. Finally, I knelt and asked the Lord to help my team players do their best.”
Erroll learned later that Sabbath day that Central had been a goal down with only 60 seconds to go when the Tahitian club had equalized the score at 2–2. In the mandatory extra time that followed, Central took the winning goal. It was one of the most memorable of Central’s matches.

Francoise watched quietly as her friend Hilda marched in the St. Nicholas parade. Hilda wore a large miter-shaped hat with a design of stars and snowflakes cut out in it. She carried a big horn that she blew often and loud.
Hilda waved as she passed Francoise, but Francoise did not wave back. Instead she frowned at Hilda and the other children in the parade.
Unhappy thoughts tumbled through Francoise’s mind as the St. Nicholas parade came to an end. Why did my father have to come here to Switzerland? Why didn’t he stay in France? They don’t celebrate Christmas here in this country the way they should!
Hilda ran to meet Francoise. “Didn’t I tell you it would be fun?” she exclaimed, speaking very fast in German. “You should have worn the hat I made for you and marched in the parade with us.”
Francoise didn’t say anything.
“Well,” Hilda asked after a few silent moments had passed, “didn’t you like the parade?”
“It is not how we celebrate Christmas in France,” Francoise mumbled.
“I know. But I wanted you to see how we celebrate here in Switzerland.”
Silently the two girls walked to the bus stop. Hilda put her big hat and her horn on the bench and sat down.
“You know,” Hilda said at last in French, trying to make Francoise feel better, “I’m glad there are so many ways to celebrate Christmas. In our country we have many customs from Germany, Italy, and France.”
Francoise sat down beside Hilda. “I think there should be only one way to celebrate Christmas, and I like our way best,” she insisted. “All of this about St. Nicholas is wrong. It is Christkindli who brings gifts.”
“He may bring gifts to your house, but it is St. Nicholas who comes to my house,” Hilda replied. “Anyway it doesn’t really matter. Christmas is Christmas!”
A big gray bus soon sputtered to a stop and the girls climbed into it. Neither of them spoke during the ride home, but mixed-up thoughts kept turning around in Francoise’s mind. What did Hilda mean by “Christmas is Christmas”? Of course Christmas is Christmas, and that is exactly why it should be celebrated in the right way as we’ve always done.
When Francoise arrived home, she sat in front of the Christmas tree and stared at Christkindli on top. “Now this is how Christmas should be,” she said out loud.
“What do you mean?” a voice asked.
“Oh, Mama,” Francoise gasped as she turned and saw her mother in the doorway. “You frightened me. I thought I was alone.”
“What were you talking about when you said, ‘This is how Christmas should be’?”
“I was talking to myself about Christmas. Hilda has a star on top of her tree, and St. Nicholas comes to her house instead of Christkindli. They don’t recite Christmas poems when they open their presents. And—well, they just do everything wrong.”
“Wrong?” Mother questioned.
“Yes. Everyone should celebrate Christmas the way we did when we were home in France,” Francoise insisted.
“But Francoise,” her mother explained, “although we still speak French, our home is here now. We are Swiss people. And besides from the stories my father used to tell me, we do not celebrate Christmas at all as they used to do in France. Christkindli isn’t even a French word, you know. Many Swiss people have Christkindli in their homes at Christmas.”
Francoise felt bewildered. She stared at the tree for a moment and then spoke, “Well, maybe our way of celebrating is different from the old French way, but still I think it’s the right way.”
“Why should our way be right and Hilda’s way be wrong?”
Francoise started to answer, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. A big lump formed in her throat. She felt there must be some reason for her beliefs, but she couldn’t think of a single one..
“Well, we all celebrate the birth of Jesus; so shouldn’t we celebrate it in the same way?” Francoise asked.
“Why?”
Again Francoise couldn’t answer. She only shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.
“Christmas should be a time of love, and love can be shown in many different ways,” Mother said gently as she patted Francoise and left her alone to think about the events of the day.
Maybe it is I who have been wrong and not Hilda, Francoise decided.
Just then the doorbell rang, and Francoise went to answer it. But when Francoise opened the door, no one was there. Instead, on the step was a colorful box filled with tirggel, a delicious Christmas cookie. A tiny blue card tucked between the tirggel said, “Froehliche Weihnachten! (Merry Christmas!) From whoever brings presents!”
Francoise looked all around, but she could not see who had left the cookies.
“Who is it?” Mother called.
“Only a box of tirggel,” Francoise answered.
“That is my favorite Christmas treat,” Mother said as she entered the room. “Do you know who left it?”
“It must have been Hilda.”
“How nice,” Mother smiled as she tasted the cookie.
Francoise wanted to smile, but she couldn’t. She thought about the way she had acted at the parade and on the way home. She must have made her friend sad by not marching in the parade with the hat Hilda had made for her.
Then Francoise remembered what her mother had said about Christmas being a time to show love. And that was just what Hilda had been trying to do.
Slowly Francoise tasted a cookie. It was delicious.
“These are good,” she said.
“If we were still in France, we might never have tasted tirggel. And you’d never have had a friend like Hilda either,” Mother replied.
Francoise thought very hard. She had been selfish and she felt awful. “Christmas is Christmas,” Hilda had said, and looking at the cookies, Francoise knew exactly what she could do.
“I’m going to celebrate Christmas the right way,” Francoise decided, and she hurried to her room.
She took colored pencils and paper and wrote out her favorite Christmas poem. Then she drew pictures around the edges of the poem and framed it neatly in heavy colored paper.
Her legs couldn’t carry her fast enough to Hilda’s house, but soon she found herself knocking at the front door. When Hilda answered the door, Francoise handed her the poem.
“Thank you for the tirggel,” Francoise said. “And now here is something from our Christmas tradition. We always read our favorite Christmas poems when we exchange gifts. I guess if we put the tirggel, Christkindli, St. Nicholas, poems, and parades all together, we’d have a lot of Swiss Christmas traditions.”
Hilda laughed. “Yes, after all, Christmas is Christmas!”
“I know what that means now,” Francoise said softly. “Christmas isn’t German or French or Italian or English or even Swiss. Christmas is Christmas, and Christmas is love no matter where you are.”

Greg hooked his thumbs through his belt loops. We all hushed up as if we were waiting for an important news bulletin. “We’re going down the block to do some painting.”
“Huh?” I stared at him. “You mean work?”
“Mark, don’t be a dope.” He held up a can of black spray paint. “I ‘found’ it in the hardware store.”
We laughed. That meant that Greg had stolen the paint. I felt kind of funny in the stomach. I really didn’t like the idea. But I was new here. If I said anything, the other guys wouldn’t be my friends.
Greg led us to a house with a wooden fence around the backyard. He handed the paint to Sam.
“Wait a minute,” I blurted out.
Greg cuffed me on the side of the head. “Are you chicken?”
I snorted. “Me? Of course not.”
When Greg wasn’t looking, I rubbed my head where he’d hit me. It hurt. He’s a year older than I am, and a lot bigger.
After Sam finished, Greg and a couple of other kids did their thing. Then it was my turn. I took a deep breath and pushed the button on the can. Black paint sprayed out.
“Hey!” The shout came from an unseen person.
We took off running. Then I tripped. I jumped up, but someone grabbed my arm. My heart rate speeded up so much that I thought I’d either faint or get sick all over my new sneakers.
I peeked up at a gray-haired man wearing glasses. “What were you doing?” he asked, not loosening his grip any.
“I don’t know,” I said, though it sounded silly.
“Who gave you the right to vandalize my property?”
“Uh, I’m sorry. Are you going to call the police?” I asked. My voice shook like I was going to cry.
“I believe I’d rather keep this between me and your parents.”
I took a shaky breath, then told him my name and phone number. But I’d rather have gone to jail than have my parents know what I’d done.
Dad came over right away. He looked as though he couldn’t decide whether he was more hurt or more angry at what I’d done. I kind of shrunk down inside my shirt.
“Mark will pay for all damages, Mr. Parker,” Dad said.
I gulped hard. My allowance after tithing and savings, doesn’t cover half the stuff I want to buy. I figured that it would take a big part of my childhood years to pay for repainting that fence.
“I believe I have a better idea,” Mr. Parker said. “I’d planned to repaint it, anyway. How about if I buy the paint and Mark does the painting?”
I sagged with relief. I wasn’t looking forward to the work, but painting the fence was a lot better than paying for damages.
I wouldn’t have been so happy if I’d known what was also in store for me at home—Mom and Dad grounded me for six weeks.
“Hurting others is against the word of God,” Mr. Parker said when I went over to his place. He handed me a brush.
I shrugged. “I know.”
“You sure didn’t act like it the way you worked my fence over.”
I turned away and carefully drew the brush out of the paint can. I took my time making my first brush stroke nice and neat. I figured that if Mr. Parker saw that I could do a good job all by myself, he’d leave me alone.
Mr. Parker didn’t take the hint. In fact, he got a brush of his own and started painting too.
My hand shook. I dribbled paint onto my pants leg.
“Careful,” Mr. Parker said.
“I can’t help it—you make me nervous!” I blurted. I dug the toe of my sneaker into the ground.
“I do? Now, why is that?”
“You keep watching me as if I’m bad or something.”
“Is that so? Well, I know you’re not bad or you wouldn’t have stayed and owned up.”
“I never did anything like that before. But Greg said …” I stopped and looked away quickly. I hadn’t meant to mention anyone else.
Mr. Parker chuckled softly. “Greg must be one of the other young fellows I saw running away that day.”
“You saw them?”
“I sure did.”
“You didn’t even ask me to snitch.”
“I was a boy once myself.” Mr. Parker winked at me.
I felt a knot ease out of my shoulders. Mr. Parker was turning out to be a lot nicer than I’d figured.
We started painting again. After a while he said, “Do you ever go to church?”
“We used to.”
“I’m going to ask your folks to come with me on Sunday.”
“They’re pretty busy.”
“We’ll let them decide. I think your parents will welcome the chance for you to meet the right kind of friends.”
My face turned warm. I leaned over and concentrated on my painting. “I have friends,” I mumbled.
“Sure you do, son.”
Mr. Parker didn’t say anything else. I’d expected him to start preaching and tell me how bad my friends were—how they were not only a bad influence but how they ran off and left me. I was all set to get mad and tell him my friends were great.
But all he did was start whistling. I recognized the tune—it was a hymn.
My parents were all eager to take Mr. Parker up on his church offer. I told myself that it didn’t matter—at least I had somewhere else to go for the next six weeks. I couldn’t wait until my grounding was over and I could see Greg and the other guys again.
The only thing was, I got busy with the kids from Primary. By the time the six weeks were up, I was involved in a ward project to get books for a shelter for the homeless. After that, we Blazers all got parts in a play that we were going to put on at the care center.
The next time I saw Greg, he was leading his gang past the park. He stopped suddenly, and everyone piled into the back of him. They reminded me of robots playing follow the leader.
“Mark. I haven’t seen you around.”
“I … uh … I’ve been busy.” I felt a familiar shrinking in my stomach. Funny, I’d never realized it before, but I always felt that way around Greg.
“Yeah, I heard you were busy painting old man Parker’s fence.”
Greg and the robots cracked up. I clenched my fists.
“Come on—we’re doing something fun.” Greg held up a cloth sack.
I knew that they planned to steal oranges from Mr. McKellar’s grove. Six weeks ago I’d have stumbled over my own feet rushing to join them. Now all I felt was sorry for them.
“No thanks.” I turned and marched away. I had new friends now. My kind of friends. The shrinking in my stomach disappeared. It didn’t come back.

One experience preeminent in my mind is the Suva Fiji Temple open house and dedication. There had been political upheaval resulting in rebels burning and looting downtown Suva, occupying the houses of Parliament and holding legislators hostage. The country was under martial law. The Fiji military gave the Church limited permission to assemble people for the open house and a very small group for the dedication. The members as a whole were uninvited due to concerns for their safety. It was the only temple dedication since the original Nauvoo Temple that was held under very difficult circumstances.

One person invited to the open house was a lovely Hindu woman of Indian descent, a member of Parliament who was initially held hostage but was released because she was female.

In the celestial room, free from the turmoil of the world, she dissolved in tears as she expressed feelings of peace that overwhelmed her. She felt the Holy Ghost comforting and bearing witness of the sacred nature of the temple.

As a young missionary serving in the Chile Concepción Mission, Sean Douglas began his service in the rural backcountry. His “wonderful first Chilean companion and trainer spoke Spanish at lighting speed.” After three months in the South American country, Elder Douglas still struggled with Spanish.
Discouragement and homesickness plunged him into doubt and drove him to his knees. “I am not doing any good,” he prayed. “I do not seem to be impacting anyone.”
His heart filled with a burning question from above: “Are you here for Me, or are you here for you?”
At this moment he resolved with God to forget himself and keep trying. “That very night I dreamt in Spanish,” he said.
The following day everything was easier. “I could speak a little better. I could understand a little more,” he said. “The mission catalyzed my testimony of the power of prayer and that when you go and do what the Lord commands, He always provides a way for you.”
That philosophy has guided the rest of his life.

I had a sense of this truth a few months ago when I was walking one day and suddenly my sight became blurry, dark, and wavy. I was scared. Then the doctors told me, “If you don’t begin treatment immediately, you may lose your sight even in a matter of weeks.” I was even more scared.
And then they said, “You need intravitreal injections—injections right in the eye, wide-open eye—every four weeks for the rest of your life.”
That was an uncomfortable wake-up call.
Then a reflection came in the form of a question. I asked myself, “OK! My physical sight is not good, but what about my spiritual vision? Do I need any treatment there? And what does it mean to have a clear spiritual vision?”
So is my spiritual sight clear as I get my eye injections? Well, who am I to say? But I am grateful for what I see.

I remember when I was “[baptized] by immersion for the remission of sins.” That was appealing. I assumed that all my past mistakes were now washed away, and if I never made any more mistakes in my life, I would be clean. This I resolved to do. Somehow it did not turn out that way. I found that I made mistakes, not intentionally, but I made them. I once foolishly thought maybe I was baptized too soon. I did not understand that the ordinance of the sacrament, administered by you of the Aaronic Priesthood, is in fact a renewing of the covenant of baptism and the reinstating of the blessings connected with it. I did not see, as the revelations tell us, that I could “retain a remission of [my] sins.”

One Saturday my wife and I realized that we did not have enough money to take public transportation to church the next day, and there was no way to make a cash withdrawal. Our tithing was in a donation envelope ready to be given to the bishop. We began to talk about how we would travel to church. If we used the tithing money to pay for transportation, we felt that the Lord would understand; however, we decided that it was not right.
The other possibility was to not go to church, and again we thought that the Lord would understand since we had never missed before. However, if that happened, we would not be able to take our tithing to the bishop, so that possibility was also ruled out.
Trying to be faithful, we decided to leave earlier than usual and walk to church. We left on that beautiful Sabbath day for the chapel, which was about three miles (4.8 km) from our home. For our four children (the oldest was six), it was like a party, and they enjoyed running and playing along the way.
When we reached a certain point on a wide and dangerous street, I heard the Spirit tell me, “You should cross now.” I told my wife, and she responded that it was dangerous because that part of the street began to curve, blocking our view of oncoming cars. I responded that I felt we should cross there, so we quickly crossed, my wife and I each taking two children. Just as we stepped onto the sidewalk, a car stopped on that side, and the driver asked, “Are you going to church?”
The driver was a brother who did not belong to our ward, but I had met him before because I had visited his ward. We responded affirmatively, and he offered to drive us there. As we got in the car, the brother explained that he never took this route and he was only passing that way because his business partner had lost the keys to the office and he was taking his keys to his partner.
I thought to myself that this hadn’t happened by chance. The Lord knew we needed transportation to go to church. Our tithing was in my pocket, and it provided us the opportunity to teach our children about the blessings that come from paying tithing. We arrived at the chapel earlier than ever but happy and grateful. We participated in all the meetings and did not tell anybody about what had happened.
Summers in São Paulo are very hot, especially at midday, when our Church meetings ended. We were preparing to return when someone came up and asked us, “Do you have someone to take you back?” We responded that we didn’t, and he said to us, “Do you want me to take you?” We accepted his offer, and my wife and I looked at each other with emotional smiles.
More than once the Lord had given us a great blessing for our obedience.

A few years ago the Church distributed to our young people a series of small cards with a picture on one side and a message on the other. The series was called “Be Honest with Yourself.” I quote from one of these with a heading, “Can You Pass This Test?”

“Here is a classroom during an examination hour. The students are unwatched—the teacher has put them on their honor. Except for their own consciences and the disapproval of classmates, they are completely free to peek into those reference books or look over the shoulders of their classmates for easy answers. What will they do? What would you do?

“Some critics of modern youth claim that cheating in high schools and colleges is increasing. Even worse, they claim that it is common for fellow students—noncheaters—and some teachers to condone this practice. Various excuses for classroom cheating are offered:

“—to stay eligible for athletic teams or other activities;

“—to win the favor of fellow students or teachers;

“—to satisfy parents who believe their sons or daughters are, and should be, ‘as smart as anybody’;

“—or simply to stay in school.

“None of these reasons is an honest reason; none will hold up in the test of time and conscience. Cheating is dishonest wherever you find it—always was and always will be.

“The first cheater was Satan, ‘the father of lies.’ He tried to cheat our premortal spirits out of our birthright to free agency and eternal progression. Satan lost. Cheaters never really win.

“When anyone cheats, whether by taking help to pass a school test or through more flagrant forms of dishonesty, he cheats himself first.

“Don’t do it! Always, in all ways—be honest with yourself.”