Gospel Story Finder

When my sister Janalee and I built our cabin, we decided it would be a hunter’s cabin. We found a big rock up on a hill and leaned some branches up against it and covered the two openings with old gunnysacks. We could go in and sit real quiet, and no one would ever know we were there.
We built our cabin because we wanted to catch a cougar. We knew there were cougars in the mountains because our neighbor, Brother Poole, caught one. He keeps its pelt on the floor in his house and says it’s a rug, but he doesn’t ever let anybody walk on it.
Ever since seeing that old cougar skin, though, I wanted to catch my own cougar, and Janalee said she would help. Dad made me the neatest flipper—that’s what most people I know call a slingshot—and I have my own BB gun. I can shoot that BB gun better than anyone. Well, almost anyone. Janalee is probably just a little better, but she keeps quiet about it.
My sister can shoot straighter, play ball better, and run faster than me or any of my friends. Since I don’t have a brother to do things with, it sure is nice to have a sister like Janalee.
Well, one morning Janalee and I took my BB gun and flipper and headed up to our cabin to hunt cougars.
“Do you really think we’ll catch a cougar, Jonathan?” Janalee asked as we puffed up the mountain.
“Brother Poole did,” I said. “If he can, we sure can.”
“It’ll be nice to have a pet cougar to take care of.”
“A pet?” I grunted. “He isn’t going to be any pet. We’re going to make him into a rug like Brother Poole’s.”
“A rug? What good’s an old rug that nobody can walk on? A pet would be lots better.”
“Whoever heard of a pet cougar?” I said, rolling my eyes. “But before we catch any cougars, we need to practice hunting smaller things.”
We crawled into our little cabin and rested for a minute and ate some oatmeal cookies Mom had given to us.
“What are we going to hunt first?” Janalee asked as she picked the raisins out of her oatmeal cookie and dropped them on the ground. She doesn’t like raisins.
“There are some magpies in those maple trees behind us,” I said. “Maybe we should try shooting them.”
Just then my friend Joe poked his head in and grinned. “What’re you doing?”
“We’re going to go hunting,” Janalee told him. “Want to come?”
“Sure. I even have my flipper.”
I handed the BB gun to Janalee, saying, “You take this.”
Joe and I filled our pockets with rocks. We could hear those old magpies talking a mile a minute. We started sneaking through the bushes and trees so that we could take those noisy old birds by surprise.
“There’s one,” Janalee whispered. “Isn’t he pretty? He has such a beautiful long tail and such shiny black feathers.”
“OK, Jonathan,” Joe said, “let’s kill it.”
“Kill it!” Janalee cried out, jumping up and scaring the magpie away. “Why do you want to kill it? It hasn’t done anything to anybody.”
“Now look what you’ve done,” Joe growled.
“What’d you think we were going to do with it?” I asked. “That’s what hunters do—kill birds and cougars and things.”
“Well, that’s dumb,” Janalee said, putting her hands on her hips. “What good’s a dead magpie?”
“What good’s a live magpie?” Joe asked. “My dad says they’re no good at all.”
“Well, I think they’re pretty. That’s a good enough reason not to kill them. Besides, the prophet has asked us not to shoot the little birds.”
“Oh, brother!” Joe muttered. “Why’d you bring her along? Girls don’t know anything about hunting, Jonathan. Maybe she ought to go back to the cabin so she won’t get hurt.”
I looked at Janalee and then at Joe and then down at the ground. “Maybe Janalee’s right,” I said. “We don’t have to kill the magpies. There are other things.”
“You too?” Joe groaned. “I’m not hunting with a girl. Girls can’t shoot.”
There was an old tin can lying on the ground. I picked it up and set it on a fallen tree trunk. “Back up a few steps,” I called to Joe and Janalee. They moved backward. “Now, let’s see which one of you can knock the can off the tree trunk.”
Joe snickered. “She’ll miss it a mile.” He put a rock into his flipper, pulled back hard, chewed on his tongue a little, aimed, and let the rock fly. It came close, but it didn’t hit the can. “Let’s see you come that close,” Joe challenged Janalee.
Janalee didn’t say anything. She got my flipper, looked around until she found a round, smooth rock, then went back to where Joe was standing. She tucked the rock inside the flipper’s leather pouch, pulled back, aimed, and let the rock fly. It hit the can and knocked it off the tree trunk.
“Lucky shot,” Joe muttered, his face all red.
“Do it again, then,” I said. And they did. In fact, they did it three more times. Janalee didn’t miss once. Joe nicked the can on his second shot, but he didn’t knock it off.
“Do you want to try the BB gun?” I asked.
Joe glared at me and shook his head. “I guess she can stay,” he mumbled. “But let’s get to hunting. We’re just wasting time here.”
We started tromping through the trees, and just past a clump of cedar trees we spied a skunk. Right behind it were three baby skunks. I’d seen skunks before, but not a family of them. Joe and I reached for our flippers.
“Which one shall we shoot,” Joe whispered.
“How about the big one?” I whispered back, loading my flipper.
“The big one?” Janalee gasped, grabbing my shoulder. “That’s the mom!”
“Do you want us to kill one of the babies then?” I asked, shaking off her hand.
“I don’t want you to kill any of them.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, brother!” Joe grumped. “I bet she thinks they’re pretty.”
I looked at Janalee; she had her hands on her hips again. I looked at the skunks. A couple of them were sniffing around in some weeds. They really were kind of pretty.
“What’s the use of hunting if you can’t kill something once in a while?” Joe asked.
“We can watch them,” Janalee said. “That’s lots more fun.”
So we sat and watched the skunks for a while. I didn’t tell Janalee, but it really was kind of fun watching those babies follow their mom and play around in the weeds. And when they finally ambled off, I was glad we hadn’t hurt them.
“Let’s go back to the cabin for a while,” I said. “I still have two oatmeal cookies. We can split them and plan our next hunt.”
“If we want to have a real hunt,” Joe grumbled, “we’d better split with your sister.”
Just as we got to the cabin, we saw a squirrel scrambling out the other side. It had been eating the raisins Janalee had picked out of her cookie.
“Let’s get it.” Joe mouthed the words. He looked at Janalee and groaned, “Oh, boy.”
The squirrel scampered over to a pile of rocks, sat up on its hind legs, and watched us.
“Now you scared it away,” Janalee said, shaking her finger at Joe.
“So? You wouldn’t have let us kill it anyway,” he said.
“Of course not. Who’d want to hurt a little squirrel?”
“I could still get it from here,” Joe said to me. “It’s just sitting there.”
I looked at Janalee.
“Give me a cookie,” she said.
I handed her one, and she crumbled it onto a rock a few feet from us. Then she said, “Let’s go back in the bushes and watch.”
Joe grumbled, but he went with us. We’d hardly gotten settled before the squirrel scampered over to the rock and started eating the cookie crumbs.
Just then Zeke, Brother Arnold’s dog, bounded into sight. That squirrel saw the dog, dropped to all fours, and made a mad scramble for the rocks, with Zeke right behind it.
I just sat there staring, but Janalee didn’t. She grabbed my flipper and a rock, took aim, and let the rock fly. It made a beeline for Zeke’s behind. He let out a yelp and tore out of there.
“No old dog is going to hurt our animals!” Janalee yelled.
“Some hunters we are,” Joe moaned. “We can’t shoot at birds or skunks or squirrels, and when a good hunting dog comes around, we chase him off. I’ve never heard of hunters like that.”
“Well, we’re not ordinary hunters,” Janalee said, handing the flipper back to me.
“What kind of hunters are we?” I asked.
Janalee said, “We’ll make this an animal preserve. We’ll protect the animals, like policemen, making sure nobody or nothing hurts them. And we’ll bring food to them. That’s the kind of hunters we’ll be.”
Joe frowned. Finally he said, “If we’re policemen, who’s going to be the captain?”
“Whoever will protect the animals and birds and treat them right,” Janalee told him.
Joe picked up a rock and tossed it at a bushy cedar. “I can do that.”
“Then you can be the captain of our preserve,” Janalee told him, beaming.
“Really?” When Janalee and I nodded, he said, “All right then. You two go home and get some bread crumbs, and I’ll get some lettuce and things from Mom. Meet me back here as soon as you can. We can’t leave this place unprotected very long. Zeke might be back.”
“What about my cougar?” I wanted to know.
Janalee grinned. “Well, if he’ll behave himself, we’ll let him come too. We might even be able to find a piece of meat for him.”
As we headed down the mountain, I was glad I had a sister like Janalee. She’s as good as a brother any day.

Shortly before my wedding, my brother, Neipta, and I started arguing. We had been mad at each other for a long time, and the tension finally erupted into words. Although we couldn’t remember what had made us angry in the first place, the feelings were real.
At that time my brother’s relationship with the whole family was suffering. There was antagonism and misunderstanding between him and my father, and he and my two sisters did not communicate at all. But my mother suffered the most. She said I didn’t love Neipta. But I knew I loved him, and it hurt to hear my mother say that. The problems escalated, and my brother left our home in Venezuela.
The next week in Sunday School we had a lesson about forgiveness. I started to feel horrible, and the thought came to my mind: “Aurora, you must apply what you have learned.” The Spirit touched my heart that day, and I knew I needed to forgive my brother. I left with a firm determination to fix things between us.
On Friday of the next week, Neipta came home to pick up some things. I feared his reaction—but that day was my mother’s birthday, and asking my brother’s forgiveness would be the best present I could give her. I went to my room and said a prayer for strength and for the right words to say to my brother. Heavenly Father heard my prayer and gave me courage.
I pulled Neipta aside to talk. I explained how much this situation had hurt us and that I wanted it to end. With tears in my eyes and almost unable to talk, I asked for forgiveness. My brother also began to cry. He forgave me and asked for my forgiveness in return. In just a few minutes we were able to erase months of bitter feelings.
Two days later, my brother and father worked to reconcile their differences and ended their discussion with a hug. The transformation in my family was a miracle. My heart was filled with joy and gratitude to Heavenly Father for teaching us to forgive.

Have you ever had a school teacher who has made a real difference in your life? How about one you thought was especially funny, or smart, or nice? Youth in the Edgewood Ward, Kimball (Mesa, Arizona) East Stake thought long and hard about those questions and then invited 37 of their favorite school teachers to a special teacher appreciation dinner at their church building.
The young men and young women ate dinner with the teachers and then performed a dance number for them. Three of the students also gave short talks about the importance of teachers in their lives.
“The teachers here are remarkable,” said Mia Maid Brittney Riggs during the program. “Teacher starts with T, and so does the following: ‘Thank you, teachers.’”
Certificates of appreciation and a program highlighting the lives and achievements of the teachers were given to each teacher in attendance.
Now there’s a program that deserves an A for effort.

A family of four was initially contacted by sister missionaries, and from the very beginning the mother and her children often read in the Book of Mormon, prayed daily, and wanted to attend church. The father, however, resisted. Unlike his wife, he was not of a Christian faith, and he did not yet feel prepared to reevaluate his beliefs.
The sister missionaries were inspired to focus their teachings on Jesus Christ. In their words:
“We taught about Joseph Smith, of his faith in Christ, what we learn about Christ from the First Vision, and the Prophet’s testimony of our Savior. Everything we ever read together or challenged them to read as a family out of the Book of Mormon was teaching them more about our Redeemer. That is when we started seeing the progress. They displayed a framed picture of Christ proudly in their family room—it was one we had given them as a gift.”
The father’s change of heart occurred when his wife announced that she wanted to be baptized and his sons decided to pray to know whether they should also be baptized. From that moment on, he read regularly in the Book of Mormon and prayed about baptism. His sincere desire to know whether the Church was true changed him, and he became a spiritual leader in his home. Just before he and his family were baptized, the father asked for a tithing slip and an envelope. He did not want to delay keeping the commandments for even one second.

When I became too sick to continue my mission, I knew that God wanted me to go home, but that was the exact opposite of what I wanted. I was also distressed by the sudden loss of my health, which later proved to be the beginning of a chronic, disabling condition.
While adapting to my illness, I felt I had lost my purpose. I needed so much help and felt I had nothing to offer. But I knew I needed to continue exercising my faith, so I kept studying, praying, and trying to follow the Spirit. While studying the New Testament one day, I came upon a painting by James Tissot entitled Jesus Commands the Apostles to Rest. This depiction of Mark 6:30–31 immediately soothed me. As I saw Christ watching over His resting servants, I felt how much He loved them. And me.
Eventually, I learned that the expectations I had for myself were not the same expectations that God had for me. In some ways, His were more personally challenging, but they were much more attuned to my needs. I’m so grateful for the way He teaches me to more fully accept His help and His perfect love. His faith in me gives me the hope I need to keep going.
Sabrina Maxwell, Utah, USA

Paula didn’t know who she was. Oh, she knew she was Paula Gonzales, an American citizen who had spent much of her childhood in Mexico. But now, as a teenager, she was back in the United States, and what had worked well in Mexico wasn’t working at her new high school in the San Diego, California, area.
In April of 1989, Paula’s father was killed in a construction accident when a steel beam fell on him. Her mother, an American, had no means of supporting her six children in Mexico, so the family came to live near Paula’s grandmother in Leucadia, California. Paula suddenly found herself trying to juggle and balance conflicting social expectations.
It wasn’t that making friends was difficult for her. She spoke Spanish fluently and readily teamed up with some of the Hispanic students. Although her English language skills were limited, she also made close friends among the Anglo-American students. She liked them all, but this became the cause of her sense of displacement and pain.
“If I was with my Anglo friends, my Hispanic friends said I was betraying my culture and my people. If I stayed with my Hispanic friends, my Anglo friends said I was unfriendly,” Paula says.
In an effort to help her resolve her problem, Paula’s mother offered her the following advice: “It seems to me you are standing with one foot on each side of a wall. I think what you need to do is remove the wall stone by stone.”
And that’s just what Paula did. In the process she has not only been able to tear down barriers between people; she has been able to build up her capacity to be loving and charitable to everyone she meets.
Becoming fluent in English was Paula’s first step. If she could read, write, and speak in both languages, perhaps she could more effectively express her feelings to both groups. So she poured herself into study.
Next came a test of faith. Paula’s mother, who is a member of the Catholic faith, accepted an invitation to listen to the missionary discussions. Paula and her younger sister, Patricia, became enthusiastic investigators. They listened, read, and prayed. They attended meetings and developed a fervent conviction that the gospel was true. Peace came with their new beliefs. They told their mother they wanted to be baptized.
“It was hard for me to give my permission,” says Paula’s mother. “It meant they were leaving the ways of our family. I thought about it for a couple of months. Then I was filled with a warm feeling that this faith would bring them happiness, that I should let them follow their hearts.”
Now Paula had the skills and the knowledge to start helping others. She became a peer counselor at her school, helping her friends work through their problems. She helps others see the good in themselves and those around them.
“Looking for the good in others is the real basis of what I think Jesus meant when he taught about brotherly love,” says Paula.
Through peer counseling Paula found that drugs and alcohol are often at the root of people’s problems. Consequently, she immersed herself in her school’s Drug-Free Youth program. But she didn’t stop there. She found that awareness was only one part of the solution. She felt that removing people from dangerous situations could eliminate some of the most damaging problems. So she joined the Safe Ride program at her school. The organization gives rides home to teenagers who find themselves in compromising situations.
“We’re as close as the phone,” she says. “No one has to stay in situations involving dangerous activities, drugs, alcohol, or moral violations. We give them a way to escape.”
Many people would think Paula was doing all she could, but she decided that her peers needed to do more than escape bad situations; they needed chances to participate in good ones. Paula noticed that a large number of athletically talented Hispanic students were not involved in school sports. When she invited them to join her on the track team, she found that the problem was not lack of talent or desire, but a lack of money to provide physical exams, sports insurance, and track shoes.
Paula found a local health facility that was willing to do the examinations for free if each person was prompt for the appointments. She then petitioned service clubs and individuals to give financial aid for shoes and insurance. Donations finally covered costs. The track team got several new members.
Next, Paula’s focus shifted to people living just across the border in Tijuana, Mexico. She heard about the desperate conditions many families were living in and she went to work. She collected clothing, food, and household items from everyone she knew. Soon the collected items were taken across the border and given to the families who so badly needed them. She is still collecting and sending on a continual basis.
Paula spends so much of her time sharing with others, that some people think she needs to take time to relax and enjoy.
“I do enjoy. I enjoy my family, my church, and my friends,” says Paula. “Our family has never had a lot of material things, but I’ve always been taught to share what we have. Anyone can reach inside and share what they have in heart and spirit.”
Paula intends to enter a profession of some type that involves helping others, a goal that she knows will require a college education. So with that goal in mind, she is moving forward, helping everyone she can along the way. She has taken her own personal pain and turned it into gain.
Paula Gonzales now knows who she is.

In 1952 the majority of the families in the Rose Park Third Ward were members whose fathers or husbands held only the Aaronic Priesthood, rather than the Melchizedek Priesthood. Brother L. Brent Goates was called to serve as the bishop. He invited a less-active brother in the ward, Ernest Skinner, to assist in activating the 29 adult brethren in the ward who held the office of teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood and to help these men and their families get to the temple. As a less-active member himself, Brother Skinner was reluctant at first but finally indicated he would do what he could. He began personally visiting with the less-active adult teachers, trying to help them see their role as priesthood leaders in their homes and as husbands and fathers to their families. He soon enlisted some of the less-active brethren to assist him in his assignment. One by one they became fully active again and took their families to the temple.
One day the ward clerk came out of a grocery checking line to greet the last of the group to go to the temple. Commenting on his position as the last, the man said: “I stood by and watched as all of that group became active in our ward and went to the temple. If only I had been able to imagine how beautiful it was in the temple, and how it would change my life forever, I never would have been the last of 29 to be sealed in the temple.”

“When I was a boy, I had decided that I would really like to work in an office at Church headquarters. I came to Salt Lake City after my mission, when I was twenty-one years old. I’d studied shorthand and typing in school, but I couldn’t afford to go to college. Every Monday for many months I went to the Church Administration Building and applied for a job. Finally I was hired for $100 a month in 1938, and I worked there for several years in various capacities. One day Brother Joseph Anderson told me that President George Albert Smith wanted a male secretary who could travel with him, and I was accepted for the job. Years later, on his eighty-first birthday, President Smith died while I was holding his hand.”

My testimony didn’t come to me by way of a great revelation or by some overpowering, indescribable feeling. I always thought I would have to experience one of those things to know the Church was true.
I was struggling with my testimony between my eighth- and ninth-grade years. My parents had always taught me the right things, and I had been riding on their testimonies. At this time, doubts started to accumulate in my mind, and questions I couldn’t answer found their way to the surface.
Hanging around friends who didn’t obey the commandments made it harder for me to find the truth. As I struggled through the year, I lost the sense of who I was and what was important. I was aggravated all the time. I only wanted to be around my friends. My life was plagued with wrong decisions and their consequences. I was praying and reading my scriptures, but I didn’t seem to be getting an answer when I asked if the Church was true.
I don’t know exactly what happened to me, but I finally realized my lifestyle was not good. An awful sense of guilt rushed through me as I realized how many people were affected by my actions. However, I couldn’t seem to get away from my friends. When I hit high school, things didn’t get much better.
Taking seminary was one of the best things I could have done. It helped me see what I was doing, and that I was getting nowhere in life. I still desperately wanted to find out if the Church was really true.
Later in the year, I became best friends with a girl in my ward. My friend played a major part in helping me find myself. Over the summer we went to Especially for Youth and girls’ camp. I began really seeking the truth instead of expecting it to be handed to me on a silver platter. I was able to share my testimony with friends at EFY. Ordinarily I wasn’t the strong one. I didn’t even know I had it in me. It was then I knew I had known all along the truthfulness of the Church.
Friends can either make or break you, and I found that out. I merely had to find myself and start living the principles Heavenly Father had laid out for me to follow.
So it wasn’t some big, shocking conviction, it was merely a look inside myself and a calm assurance that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true church. My life is so much better because I made the decision to follow the Lord.
In recent years, my testimony has only strengthened. I have come to rely on the Lord for everything. There are still trials ahead, but I know I can face them if I have faith and trust in the Lord.

Allison Bowman of Chandler, Arizona, explains her way of saying no. “I don’t preach; I just say no. You can’t be rude or they’ll think you’re stuck up. I just let them know what my standards are, and that’s the way I am. They can’t change me.

“When I moved to Arizona, there were some older guys in my debate class who wanted me to ditch class and go out to lunch with them. I told them, ‘No, I don’t do that.’

“They used to ask me to go on dates too. Every time they’d ask me, I’d tell them, ‘No, I can’t date until I’m 16.’ I must have explained it 100 times. But now they kind of look out for me. We’re all still good friends.”

For several months our family had been planning a vacation to a theme park. We had been doing chores and saving our allowance to have spending money. We were counting the days.
At the beginning of May, we held a family council where Mom reviewed our family budget and explained that money was tight. Dad presented a travel budget, and we realized that we couldn’t go on the trip without going into debt. We had a hard decision to make. We could go to the park and add to our debt, or wait until we could pay it off and save enough for next year. We talked about the prophet’s counsel to get out of debt and stay out of debt. Although it was a very difficult decision and some of us even cried, we chose to wait till next year.
We still wish we could go this year, but we are happy that we are following the prophet and know that we will be blessed for doing it.

“His family had two boys and two girls in it, just like ours,” Julie noticed. “But look—the last one died the day she was born.”
“November 15th,” Dad said without having to look. “Grandpa told me that his sister was born prematurely and was just too tiny to live. But they always remembered Baby Annie and put a rosebud on her grave every November 15th.”
“That must have been a sad day,” Julie said quietly.
“It was,” Dad agreed. “But it was happy, too. It reminded them that they had a sister they could see again someday.”
“I wonder,” Amanda said, “if anyone remembers Baby Annie now?”
“We can!” Scott suggested. “Can’t we, Mom?”
“I think that would be nice,” Mom said, smiling. “I’ll mark November 15th on our calendar.”

At 8:00 A.M. on my 18th birthday, my mother and stepfather asked me to leave their home, and I joined the Church one week later. I moved in with the Bulleigh family and used the $9,000 I had saved by working between the ages of 16 and 18 to support myself until I graduated from high school seven months later. I read the entire Book of Mormon after being baptized and learned of a prophet named Alma who had also persecuted the Church of God. He spent the rest of his life preaching the gospel to amend for his past transgressions. I decided also to serve a mission.

Cindy Hanson opened the door to the Middletown Post Office and went inside. “Hi, Mrs. Tyler. Remember me?” she asked the tall woman standing behind the counter.
“Why of course, Cindy. My, how you’ve grown!”
“No more standing on my toes to buy stamps.”
“No indeed,” Mrs. Tyler agreed as she walked from behind the counter, opened the gate, and gave Cindy a big hug. “How’ve you been? Do you like your new home?”
“It doesn’t seem new any longer,” Cindy replied. “I’ve been living in Rockville for three years now, and I love it. I never thought I would when we moved, though. I thought I’d never be happy again.”
“I remember that,” said Mrs. Tyler. “When you came here to say good-bye to me, you were the saddest-looking child that I’d ever seen. Look, I still have the African violet that you gave me that day.” Mrs. Tyler picked up the plant. “Every year it gets bigger and prettier.”
“Then I guess my leaving was just the thing it needed,” joked Cindy.
Mrs. Tyler smiled. “I remember how sad we all were to see your family go and the good-bye party we had for you and your parents. It was such a happy/sad occasion. All your friends and your parents’ friends were there. Even Mr. Nealy was able to go.”
“Oh! Mrs. Tyler, that reminds me. I went by the train station to see him, but it was closed.”
“The business hours have been changed again, but you wouldn’t have seen him, anyway. He retired as stationmaster about a year after you left. You and he were good friends, weren’t you?”
“Yes. The train station was my school bus stop, and Mr. Nealy was always friendly to me. Have you seen him lately? How is he?”
“He’s very sick, Cindy. He has Alzheimer’s disease. Do you know what that is?”
Cindy nodded slowly, thinking of her friend Linda’s grandmother, who sat hunched over in a rocking chair, staring at the wall, not answering Linda’s questions, and constantly rubbing the chair arms with her hands. She had Alzheimer’s disease too.
“I’m sure that Mrs. Nealy would be happy if you visited him,” said Mrs. Tyler. “I have their telephone number, and you’re welcome to call from here.”
“Thanks, but I don’t want to bother them right now.”
Mrs. Tyler walked back behind the counter and got an address book. “Here’s his telephone number and address,” she said kindly, “if you change your mind.”
As Mrs. Tyler went back to work, Cindy lingered a moment and thought about Mr. Nealy. When she first met him, she had been too shy to talk to him. But Mr. Nealy had asked her about her school day. And soon she was asking him about the trains. He was always eating black licorice, and he was willing to share it.
He’d always stood tall, and he had beautiful silver hair and a thick mustache. He was strong, too, picking up cargo as if the crates were empty. One Christmas he had given her a pin in the shape of a caboose. She still had the pin. She had given him a conch shell that she’d found in Florida while on vacation. He’d kept it at his office, where it had lain among the forms and tickets and stamps. Even though it had looked out of place, Mr. Nealy had never moved it. Sometimes he had put it to his ear and listened to the sea. “That’s where I should be right now,” he’d say, “lying on a beach, loafing my life away.” Then they would laugh. To see him like Linda’s grandmother—Cindy shuddered at the thought.
A customer came into the post office, so Cindy said, “It was nice seeing you again, Mrs. Tyler.”
“You, too, dear. Come back and visit again before you leave.”
“I will. Bye.”
As Cindy passed the train station once more, she tried not to think of Mr. Nealy. But the thoughts persisted.
Cindy pushed the Nealy’s doorbell. She felt the package of licorice in her jacket pocket and hoped that she had made the right decision.
“I’m so glad to finally meet you, Cindy,” Mrs. Nealy greeted her. “Henry will love seeing you. He doesn’t get many visitors anymore. At first he’ll look strange to you, but that will pass in a little while. He’s in the living room.”
As they entered the room, Cindy could see the back of Mr. Nealy’s head. He was sitting in a green chair in front of the TV.
Mrs. Nealy bent over the chair. “Henry, look who’s come to see you. It’s Cindy Hanson.”
Cindy watched the chair swivel toward her. Mr. Nealy was hunched over, his eyes showing no recognition. He pushed the chair around and around, and each time he passed Cindy, his eyes remained blank.
“Sit here, Cindy.” Mrs. Nealy pointed to the sofa. She asked Cindy questions about her new hometown, her school, and her new friends.
After most of Cindy’s answers, Mrs. Nealy would say, “Isn’t that nice, Henry?” or “Did you hear that, Henry?”
Cindy knew that Mrs. Nealy was trying to include her husband. But as she watched him move the green chair around and around, Cindy thought that it was hopeless. It was obvious to her that he was in another world. Seeing him was worse than seeing Linda’s grandmother, because Cindy could not forget how Mr. Nealy used to be.
“I have to go now, Mrs. Nealy,” she said as soon as she thought that it would be polite. She pulled the licorice from her jacket. “Would you give this to Mr. Nealy. He used to like black licorice.”
“And still does. He’ll be pleased.”
“But Mrs. Nealy, he doesn’t even know that I’m here.”
“In his way, he knows. Please, you give him the candy.” Mrs. Nealy got up, and Cindy followed her to the green chair.
“Henry, Cindy has a present for you.” She put her hands on the chair, preventing it from swiveling. Mr. Nealy seemed annoyed and tried to push his wife away.
“It hurts me to see him this way,” Cindy said. “Is he in pain, Mrs. Nealy?”
“No, Cindy. He feels no pain.”
“He doesn’t, but we do,” Cindy said sadly.
She waved the candy in front of him, trying to catch his attention. “Mr. Nealy, this is for you.”
When Mr. Nealy saw the licorice, his eyes widened, and he grabbed the package. Closer to him now, Cindy realized that he still had lovely silver hair and a thick mustache. His eyes were still deep blue, and he still wore his railroad ring.
“Cin, Cin,” he uttered, staring at her.
“Yes, Mr. Nealy! It’s Cindy.”
He raised a hand, and Cindy stooped to let him touch her face. He smiled, pointed to a table, and said something that Cindy didn’t understand. But she did recognize the conch shell!
“You still have it!” Cindy exclaimed, picking up the shell. When she tried to place it in his hands, he pushed the shell back to her.
“Thank you, Mr. Nealy. It will remind me of you.”
He smiled, and Cindy knew that somehow he understood. She smiled back at him.

At this conference we have seen the release of some faithful brothers, and we have sustained the callings of others. In this rotation—so familiar in the Church—we do not “step down” when we are released, and we do not “step up” when we are called. There is no “up or down” in the service of the Lord. There is only “forward or backward,” and that difference depends on how we accept and act upon our releases and our callings. I once presided at the release of a young stake president who had given fine service for nine years and was now rejoicing in his release and in the new calling he and his wife had just received. They were called to be the nursery leaders in their ward. Only in this Church would that be seen as equally honorable!

Not long ago, a young missionary stopped by my wife’s office at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, to make a special personal request. Since he knew that we were personally acquainted with his parents, he wondered if Sister Christensen would call his father and find out when his mother was going to have her surgery. He explained, “When my youngest sister was born, my mother almost died. All of us, including my five-year-old sister, fasted for her and she got well. Since that time, I worry when I think of operations. They make me nervous. I need to know when the surgery is going to be scheduled so that I can begin my fast.”
My wife willingly dialed his father’s telephone number and asked the elder if he would like to speak personally to him. He felt he should not because he knew it was against the policies and he thought it would make him homesick. When his father answered and learned that the call was from the Missionary Training Center, his first question was, “Is anything wrong?”
“No,” he was told, “not at all, but your son needs to know when the surgery on his mother is going to be so he can begin his fast.”
“Oh,” he said, “he’s going to be disappointed, because he can’t fast before the surgery; she already had it yesterday. It lasted for five hours and she is doing very, very well. We are so thrilled.”
The elder’s face brightened as he realized what was being communicated on the telephone.
“Tell my father I love him and send him a hug and a kiss. Tell him to give my mother a hug and a kiss from me and to all the family.”
After the telephone call ended and the details about the surgery were explained, this great young elder said, “Oh, I’m so thankful; I will fast anyway for gratitude!”
My wife, Barbara, wrote in her journal, “We shook hands and he left my office, and I sat down and cried!”

Anthony Quasie had a life-changing experience while just a boy growing up in Cape Coast Ghana. His mother told him that when he was 5 years old, he witnessed a man, who was hired to help at his home, cut the neck of a chicken just enough for the chicken to run around in pain before dying. He remembers his mother saying that “I folded my arms and cried all day”, and when it came time to eat the chicken, it made him very sick. He grew up not liking it when people mistreated animals.

On the way to a Sunday meeting, the stake president and I saw a couple walking along the road with a baby and two small children. We stopped to offer them a ride. They were surprised and delighted. When I asked how far they needed to walk to the chapel, the father replied that it could take 45 minutes to an hour, depending on the children’s pace. They faced this journey back and forth, every Sunday, with no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.

The experience of a couple whom I shall identify as Brother and Sister Brown (fictitious names) is instructive. Sister Brown was only twenty-one years old at the time, a beautiful woman and a devoted wife. In her first trimester, she contracted the dreaded German measles.

Abortion was advised because the developing baby would almost surely be damaged. Some members of her family, out of loving concern, applied additional pressure for an abortion. “Don’t burden yourself financially with a handicapped child,” they argued. “You are too young and too poor.”

Devotedly Brother and Sister Brown consulted their bishop. He referred them to their stake president, who listened to their serious concern and counseled them not to terminate the life of this baby, even though the child might have a problem. He quoted this scripture:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” (Prov. 3:5–6.)

They chose to follow that counsel and permit their child to be born—a beautiful little girl, normal in every respect, except for a hearing loss, that became evident later. After an evaluation at a school for the deaf, Brother and Sister Brown were advised that this child had the intellect of a genius. Now, some twenty years later, she attends a major university on a scholarship.

When recently asked how they felt about their once-weighty decision, the mother quickly responded, “She is one of the great joys of my life! She is such a choice spirit! Though she lost the sense of hearing, she has compensated with augmented ability otherwise. Her eyes are alive with constant attention. She excels in dancing, even though she perceives the sounds of music from vibrations. She has served as an officer in school. But most significant is her guileless spirit, her unconditional love. She has taught us to serve and to share. Her spiritual insights have helped us to know God and his purposes. My husband and I are so grateful that she is one of our children.”

One of the defining moments in my life happened for me at the age of 10 when I spent two weeks learning Catholic doctrine at the Loreto Roman Catholic Mission, about 20 miles (32 km) away from my rural home in Silobela, Zimbabwe. I have come to know and love the Savior Jesus Christ and to look up to the Lord through these early lessons and impressions.
While I was in the Catholic chapel, I saw paintings with scenes from the Savior’s life pasted on the wall: scenes of Jesus Christ’s birth, teaching in the temple, praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, carrying the cross to Calvary, being crucified at Golgotha, and His Resurrection. It really made me feel sad to see those nails and thorns. By the time I got to the painting of the Crucifixion, my eyes were filled with tears. And each time I would cry and say, “Hey, He really went through a lot, just for me.”
During the confirmation ceremony, one of the priests looked into my eyes and said, “You are the light of the world” (see Matthew 5:14). Then, pointing to a burning candle, he quoted the Savior’s words: “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16).
As I learned more about Jesus, I wanted to be of service to others. For example, we would have to fetch our water five miles (8 km) away from our village. Often, women in the village, including my mother, carried a 20-liter container on their heads filled with water. After my experience at the Catholic seminary, I often pushed a 200-liter (about 50 gallons) container of water to help my mother, and I helped two other widows who were our neighbors. I had a good feeling each time I helped others.
These experiences helped develop my faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and indirectly prepared me to accept the gospel of Jesus Christ when I was 22 years old.