Gospel Story Finder

The clock was running out in my New York high school wrestling match, and the score was 13 to 2. I was behind, and even though I had tried everything, I was no match for my opponent, Elmer. Yet I thought to myself, I can’t afford to lose. Everything depends on my match. If I lose, we can’t possibly get enough points in the rest of the matches to win. And there will go our undefeated season.
This was supposed to be our high school’s 99th consecutive wrestling team match win, and the 100th team match was scheduled later that day. It took many years of undefeated seasons to have a school record like that. Reporters from local newspapers and several radio stations would be at the 100th match because we were about to make Long Island wrestling history. No one ever expected us to lose.
Unfortunately, for publicity’s sake, the coaches had decided to save all the first-string wrestlers for the upcoming 100th match and let the second string wrestle the 99th. We watched in horror as many of our teammates lost their individual matches. It became painfully obvious to all of us that everything was going to depend on my bout. To make matters worse, I was not only the last-minute substitute for our sick, 165-pound wrestler, but my opponent outweighed me by 13 pounds.
Throughout each period, I worked extremely hard to leverage speed and skill to put Elmer on his back. Instead I fought most of the time to keep my own back off the mat. I simply could not compete with Elmer’s size and strength.
In the final moments of the match, Elmer was on his knees with his chest pressed against my back. He must have figured he could contain me there while he caught his breath and ran out the clock. Meanwhile, my coach sat despairing with his head in his hands. The roar of the crowd was deafening as they cheered Elmer’s imminent win and Brentwood’s upset.
By chance, my eyes caught sight of the clock. There were only 20 seconds to go. I wondered, What do I do now?
Just then, Elmer’s head dropped to obscure my view. He was exhausted. Instantly, both of my hands grabbed Elmer’s head. I tucked it into my chest and arched my back. Over he went like a sack of potatoes. “Pin!” shouted the referee as his hand slammed the mat and the buzzer sounded. I’d pinned Elmer before his feet ever hit the mat. Victory was mine. With only seconds left, I had glued Elmer, and our high school won its 99th in a row and went on to win the 100th team match.

My impression of each year in my life is linked to its events—the year I was married, the year my father died, the year we built the dairy barn … For me, 1977 is the year of the miracle.
I’m a farmer in Cache Valley, Utah. We live or die according to the weather, and 1977 was the year of the drought. It started in the fall of 1976 when the seasonal snows did not come. A dry fall seldom happens in our high mountain valley, and we took advantage of it to do the plowing, repair the sagging fences, level several fields, and even pick up rocks.
By the end of January, we still had no snow; even the mountains were bare and gray. It was so cold that the one light snowfall we had had was still on the ground; we knew we were in trouble.
During the month, the stake presidents in the Logan region met with Brother M. A. Kjar, our Regional Representative. A special fast was authorized. On Sunday, January 23, the members of the Hyrum Utah Stake met for the first time in their new building; Brother Kjar outlined the plans for the fast; our stake president, Garth Lee, announced that the fast would begin January 26 at 6 P.M. and that on the 27th we would hold a prayer service.
That was the beginning of the miracle. We fasted willingly. Over 50 per cent of the stake assembled for the prayer services—old people, men and women with their families, teenagers, college students. We sang. President Lee led our congregation in prayer, asking the Lord to send us the needed moisture in due time. It was uplifting; I was confident that the Lord had heard our prayers.
The moisture did not fall that night, nor did it come in the following weeks. February was warm, melting what light snow remained. I tried to work down the plowed ground, but it was in hard lumps. Obviously, the Lord’s answer was “not yet”, but in our impatience we sometimes found it difficult to hear him.
In mid-February, the governor declared Utah a disaster area. The whole economy was suffering. Many winter resorts had failed to open; others were operating at limited capacity. Tire stores featured snow tires in an ironic never-ending sale. Communities urged citizens to use water sparingly. Now the skeptics began to mock those who trusted in God; one skeptical person even wrote to the local paper asking if we did not know that nature, not God, controlled the weather.
What the skeptics did not know was that the prayers and fasting continued. Time and again, I turned to the promise: “If ye walk in my statutes, and keep my commandments, and do them;
“Then I will give you rain in due season, and the land shall yield her increase, and the trees of the field shall yield their fruit.” (Lev. 26:3–4.)
In March our faith renewed. Several good snows came—“normal” for the month. The last week was clear and warm; the ground dried quickly; the plow turned the once hard clods into a good seed bed. On March 21–22, I planted 18 1/2 hectares of barley; a week later we finished planting the welfare farm’s grain.
The testing began again. April came and went, virtually dry. Stake quarterly conference came, and President Lee sent us home with the reassurance, “Plant your crops; the Lord has heard our prayers.”
By now, Porcupine Dam Reservoir (our main source of water) was barely half-full; runoff from the mountains had already stopped. March’s moisture had penetrated only 15 or 20 centimeters. Experts were predicting a total loss of dry-farm crops and less than 50 percent harvest on irrigated land. Local irrigation boards set up plans for summer water rationing. We continued to pray in public meetings and privately.
On May 5, the answer began. None of us could doubt it. It was as though the Lord had waited until the test of our faith was completed, and then accepted it fully. Day after day, the rain fell on our young crops. May became the wettest month in recorded history in our valley, and we cut one of the best hay crops the valley has ever seen.
Officially, the year is described as a drought. Statistically, it was. But those rains came as the manna fell for the ancient Israelites—exactly what was needed each day, with none left over. As each crop of alfalfa matured, we wondered if there would be enough moisture for another. Each cutting was average or better.
As the season of the sign drew to an end, our barns were full and running over. The stake welfare farm had its best year ever. So did my own. The barns and granaries were filled and my heart was overflowing.
Our stake met again on September 22 at the call of our stake president, this time to express appreciation and gratitude to the Lord for his mercies. Once again, approximately 50 percent of the stake gathered to share that prayer of thanksgiving. I left the meeting feeling peaceful. The test had strengthened my faith and testimony—I would never again doubt miracles. I understood deeply the meaning of a familiar scripture: “And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments.” (D&C 59:21.)
Driving home, I suddenly realized that rain was falling on the windshield.

Masaki was listening for the sounds of a boat motor. Ever since he had first awakened, he had listened. Now it was almost noon and still no boat.
“Masaki!” called his mother from the kitchen hut. “Aren’t you ever going to get that firewood for me? How can I cook your dinner with no firewood? Why do you keep standing there, looking toward the sea?”
“I’m going now, Mother,” said Masaki.
She doesn’t understand, Masaki thought, why it is so important to hear the boat coming.
Of course, Masaki’s mother knew that the white man from America was bringing his family today—everyone in the village knew that. But it was especially important to Masaki and his brothers, sisters, and cousins. They had never seen a white child before. The white children’s father had told the chief of Masaki’s village, that three white children would be on the boat today—one girl, ten years old like Masaki, and two boys, twelve and six. Today they would all move into the house that the white man had built for them on the land next to Masaki’s village.
Masaki began chopping halfheartedly at a dead branch behind his father’s grass hut. Suddenly he saw his cousin, Samesa, running down the great stone hill that overlooked the bay. Samesa was waving his hands and shouting something. Masaki dropped his knife and ran to meet him.
“They’re here! They’re here!” Samesa was shouting. “I saw the boat turning into the bay and they’re all in it! A man, a woman, and three children. Quick, come and see!”
Samesa turned and ran back up the hill, followed by the rest of the village children. By the time they had reached the crest of the hill, the boat motor had stopped. Below them they saw the white man pulling his boat up on the white sandy shore, directly in front of the new house. He saw the village children and waved at them.
But the shy children ran away when the man waved. They hid behind some of the bushes that grew on top of the hill. From there they could watch without being seen.
“Look!” exclaimed Samesa. “They all have golden hair.”
“My father says that it is because they come from the North Country. Everyone there has white skin and golden hair,” said Mary, Masaki’s cousin.
“And see the mother!” Masaki’s older sister cried out. “She wears trousers just like the man!”
They all looked at the mother, who was wearing a pair of bright red slacks. This seemed very strange to the children. They had never seen a woman wearing anything except a sulu (long, wraparound skirt).
“The small girl wears trousers too,” observed Masaki. “I’m going to a bush nearer to the new house so that I can see them better.” And with that, Masaki jumped up and ran down the great stone hill, followed by the rest of the excited children. Everyone wanted to see more of these people from America.
As Masaki and Samesa ran through the forest toward the big house, Masaki thought about his new neighbors. How strange that they should come here to Fiji, so far away from the home of their ancestors. And why do they want to farm the land here in this place where only Fijians live? How very different the children are from my own brothers and sisters!
The white children neither laughed nor shouted; nor did they splash in the water when they got out of the boat as he would have done. Staying close to their mother, the children looked around with wide, frightened eyes. How odd that they should be afraid of this place, Masaki pondered.
The children reached the edge of the clearing where they saw the beautiful new house of the white man. Masaki and Samesa crept closer to the house and hid behind some banana stalks. The other children stayed farther away, hiding in the forest bushes. With their dark skins, it was difficult to see them in the shadow of the trees. But just then, Masaki saw the little golden-haired girl looking through the window straight at him.
“Hey, Masaki!” whispered Samesa. “See that girl. I think she sees you.”
“She’s looking right at me,” agreed Masaki.
“What are you going to do?” teased Samesa. “Maybe her father will come out and give you a strapping! Or maybe her mother will cook you for dinner.”
The children who were close enough to hear Samesa’s teasing were laughing and snickering at Masaki. Then Masaki did the only thing he could do to prove that he was not afraid. He got up from his hiding place and walked straight over to the front door.
“Hello!” he called. As Masaki knew nothing of the American custom of knocking, this was all that he could do.
The father heard Masaki and came to the door. When he saw the frightened Fijian boy, he called to his own children to come. Then the father put out his hand and took Masaki’s trembling hand into his own.
“Come in, son,” he welcomed Masaki. “Come in and meet my children. They have no friends in this new place. We are having our lunch. Come eat with us, and then you can play with them.”
Masaki was taught English in school and could understand most of the words. But it was the warm, friendly smiles of the family surrounding him that induced Masaki to go inside.
Once inside the house, Masaki was glad that he had done the manly thing and had not run away like a frightened pigeon. These strangers weren’t so different after all. The little girl—her name was Alice—even knew how to play marbles! And they ate fish, just like the people of Masaki’s village, and something called potato that tasted just like the kawai that Masaki’s father planted in the garden at home.
Then, as Masaki was preparing to return to his village (for he had suddenly remembered his mother’s firewood), he saw a beautiful picture lying on an unopened box. It was of the Savior with a lamb in His arms. Masaki stood admiring the portrait as the family quietly gathered around him.
Masaki looked up at his new friends standing silently beside him. Suddenly he realized that they would never seem like strangers to him again. For they, just like him, were children of God.
It was with a full heart that Masaki raced back to the village that afternoon with his mother’s firewood. There he was met by a mob of brothers, sisters, and cousins. He had so much to tell them!

The summer of 1870 was a good time to live in the valley of the Great Salt Lake and to be 16 years old! The pioneers’ original settlement was becoming a bustling city, and there was work for anyone willing and able.
That is just what young Robert Hemphill Gillespie was. Bob had gained a reputation for being good with horses and cattle and for being a hard worker.
Bob already had a fine horse and the necessary gear for it—a big accomplishment for such a young man, especially one who had been on his own with no home or parents since he was nine. He had proven himself to be trustworthy and dependable, and people liked to hire him.
One fine June day, Bob accepted a job that required him to cross 100 miles (160 kilometers) of the Great Salt Lake desert. Today people can cross this desert in a car in less than two hours. But on that day more than 130 years ago, it took many hours on a horse. Friends told Bob to be sure and take along some water, so he filled a canteen and set off.
Bob had never crossed a desert before, and he didn’t realize the danger of needing water and having no place to get it. He drank all the water he had before he had covered even half the distance. When he and his horse really began to suffer, Bob figured they still had about 60 miles (98 kilometers) to go.
He thought, “Oh, if I had only saved some of the water! It was warm, but it was wet! If I hadn’t hung the canteen on my shoulder where it was so handy, I might have a little left now!”
He thought of all those swallows of water he had taken when he was not in real need as he was now! In desperate hope, he turned the canteen upside down above his mouth once more. The water really was gone! Fear made him urge his horse to go faster—for a while. Then he noticed that his horse was sweating, and he slowed down.
Soon Bob’s tongue was so swollen he couldn’t close his mouth. His horse was suffering too. “We have to have water!” Bob said to himself.
Just then he saw a small cabin a short distance off the trail. A cabin meant there would be water! He immediately turned in that direction. When he reached the cabin, he found it deserted. There was a deep hole in the ground nearby, and there appeared to be water at the bottom. Bob climbed inside. There was a little water! But there were also dead birds, a dead rabbit, and maggots! The water was bad. Sorrowing, Bob climbed out, mounted his horse, and returned to the trail.
Then he remembered his mother teaching him to pray when he was a small child. He had not prayed in a long time, but he decided to try. Looking around for a suitable place, he left the trail again. He found a large, low place, dismounted, knelt, and began to pray, pleading for water: “Please send me a drink, Lord. Yes, and a drink for my poor horse too! My fine, good horse! Please, Lord!”
Bob thought of rain. “God, canst Thou send rain, please?” he prayed. “Please forgive me, Lord, but we need a drink. Please make it rain. I thank Thee, Lord. Amen.”
After his prayer Bob felt a little better. He climbed back on his horse and rode on, still filled with thoughts of the heat, his thirst, and his horse’s thirst.
Recalling that he had asked for rain, Bob began to scan the sky for clouds. All he could see was one tiny cloud, far to the southwest. He watched that cloud closely, wondering and thinking. After a while he noticed a little wind coming toward him from the direction of that little cloud. Could it be drifting his way? It seemed larger now too. “Yes, Lord,” he said aloud, “I prayed for rain.”
Soon a drop of rain hit his hand. Another hit his saddle, another hit the horse, and then one hit his hand again. Suddenly there came a rain shower from that one little cloud! Within a few minutes, water was rushing down the trail and into a little ravine beside the trail, reaching almost to the horse’s knees! The horse bowed his head and drank. Bob dismounted, got down on his belly, and gratefully drank his fill of the muddy water. Then he refilled his canteen. Refreshed, he and his horse continued on their way.
After riding just a short distance, Bob found that the trail and the ground all around him were hot, dry, and dusty once again. It was then that Bob fully realized what had happened. Halting his horse, he again dismounted and knelt on the dusty trail. Again he prayed with a full heart: “I thank Thee, Lord, for making rain come from a small cloud in the desert so my horse and I could have a drink.”
From that day until Bob died at the age of 86, he told this experience many times to his children and grandchildren. They never tired of hearing it, and they have passed it on to their children and grandchildren.
The most thrilling moment every time Bob told the story was when he bore his testimony: “Now, children, don’t ever let anyone convince you that the Lord can’t answer your prayer, for I know that He can!”

For much of my life, I believed if I was obedient to God’s commandments, I was entitled to any and all blessings that I asked for. Imagine my bewilderment when, after trying to live a life of obedience for my nearly 30 years, I watched addiction and a cancer diagnosis devastate my family; my father lose his job at the outbreak of a pandemic; my sister contract a debilitating terminal illness; and several other life-changing events I never dreamed I’d experience.
I spent a lot of time in fervent prayer, trying to figure out why these things were happening. I felt I had earned blessings. Why did it appear that people who made no efforts to be obedient had amazing lives without the kinds of trials I had faced? From my finite perspective, my circumstances felt confusing, frustrating, and unjust.
It can be hard to have a broad perspective amid trials, but looking back, I can see that the Lord’s ways truly are not our ways (see Isaiah 55:8). As finite beings in this mortal sphere, some of us like to be instantly gratified, effortlessly happy, and constantly comfortable.
But Heavenly Father wants better for us. In His infinite wisdom, He understands what each of His children needs to obtain eternal joy, lasting happiness, and divine comfort.
Consequently, we are not always given the blessings we ask for because they are not for our everlasting benefit. Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Some misunderstand the promises of God to mean that obedience to Him yields specific outcomes on a fixed schedule. They might think, ‘If I diligently serve a full-time mission, God will bless me with a happy marriage and children,’ or ‘If I refrain from doing schoolwork on the Sabbath, God will bless me with good grades.’ … If life doesn’t fall out precisely this way or according to an expected timetable, they may feel betrayed by God. But things are not so mechanical in the divine economy. We ought not to think of God’s plan as a cosmic vending machine where we (1) select a desired blessing, (2) insert the required sum of good works, and (3) the order is promptly delivered.”1
The Lord said that “inasmuch as ye shall keep my commandments ye shall prosper in the land” (2 Nephi 4:4). The ultimate prosperity Heavenly Father intends for his children is “immortality and eternal life” (Moses 1:39). And because of His deep love for us, He invites us to use our agency to make choices that will lead to that point. But nowhere in the scriptures does it say that He will give us exactly what we want. He knows far better than we do what is best for us. So whether we receive the blessings we are hoping for or not, we are asked to trust that it is for our good (see Doctrine and Covenants 122:7).
The personal revelation to serve a mission was one of the clearest answers to prayer I’ve ever received. Admittedly, I was not thrilled about the prospect of leaving my family for 18 months, but I could not deny the answer I received. So, I obediently heeded the call.
There were wonderful parts of my mission, but I also experienced a lot of challenges that tested my faith and caused me to wonder why I was even prompted to serve a mission! However, as I look back now, I can honestly say that the difficult experiences on my mission strengthened me in many ways, and they prepared me to receive blessings later on.
Sometimes our obedience leads us into a refiner’s fire (see Malachi 3:2), and that is never a comfortable experience. But if we allow that fire to change us, from the resultant ashes comes new growth and beauty (see Isaiah 61:3).
True conversion to Christ includes having complete trust that both He and Heavenly Father want us to have only what is best for us in the eternal scheme. When we wholeheartedly believe that, we can genuinely end all our prayers with “Thy will be done, O Lord, and not ours” (Doctrine and Covenants 109:44). With this commitment to do as President Russell M. Nelson instructed and “let God prevail in our lives,”2 we understand that we will not get all the things we want or think we deserve. We will be content and happy with the blessings that have come to us through obedience to God’s commandments without comparing ourselves with how we perceive other people are living and how God is blessing them.
Abraham’s perspective allowed him to have faith.
Abraham, by Robert T. Barrett
A beautiful example of this true conversion is the prophet Abraham. The Lord told him to “look now toward heaven, and tell the stars, if thou be able to number them: and he said unto him, So shall thy seed be” (Genesis 15:5). So it must have been shocking to Abraham when, in his old age, the Lord commanded him to kill Isaac, the son God had indicated He would use to establish His covenant (see Genesis 17:19). Abraham must have wondered why God would ask him to give up the son who was to follow him in the covenant line. But Abraham never questioned the Lord, recognizing that the Lord knows the end from the beginning and trusting that His promise would be fulfilled.
At the very moment Abraham was about to slay his son, an angel stopped him and commended his willingness to be obedient (See Genesis 22:11–12). Later the angel quoted the Lord, saying: “I will multiply thy seed as the stars of the heaven, and as the sand which is upon the sea shore” (Genesis 22:17). Abraham had faith that somehow the Lord would bless him, even if it wasn’t in the manner he had originally thought.
A powerful reminder from this account is that we can choose how we perceive the workings of the Lord; we can choose to have faith. Abraham could have looked at the Lord’s command to kill his son as profoundly unfair and merciless. Yet Abraham chose to see it differently—he chose to focus on the Lord’s power, reliability, and goodness.
Developing a perspective like Abraham’s isn’t easy—it takes time and practice. At times I have been resistant to developing the humility required for submitting my will and trusting in the Lord. I have thrown spiritual temper tantrums, upset that I’m not getting what I want and feeling bitter that I continue to experience hardships. In these instances, I have failed to see that “to get [us] from where [we] are to where [the Lord] wants [us] to be requires a lot of stretching, and that generally entails discomfort and pain.”3
This does not mean that the Lord wants us to be miserable—just the opposite. The Lord intends that we “might have joy” (see 2 Nephi 2:25). But the word “might” implies that our joy depends on our agency. If we want true, everlasting joy, we choose to see blessings in whatever form and time they come. We choose to remain obedient, even when it doesn’t yield immediate results, because we love and trust Heavenly Father. And we work to understand that the richest blessings are in the lessons we choose to learn from our trials, for those are what draw us closer to Christ.
And isn’t drawing closer to the Savior and becoming like Him the whole point of this life?
I have spent a lot of time focusing on the negative aspects of trials and the disappointment of not getting what I think I want. I still have moments of questioning why my life often seems harder than many other people’s. And I sometimes wonder why, despite my diligent obedience, desired blessings seem to be missing. But I am learning to see that the Lord is constantly blessing me when I am obedient to His commandments (see Doctrine and Covenants 82:10; 130:20–21), even if those blessings do not always come in the timing or manner I may hope for.
Whenever a blessing is not granted in the manner or timing we expect, we have the opportunity to carefully evaluate the ways we have seen Heavenly Father and our Savior show up in our lives, because They always do. When we truly understand this truth, we will have the perspective and courage to humbly proclaim, “Thy will be done.”

A few weeks ago a stake president in Japan felt that we should visit a man diagnosed with cancer. Despite his going through treatment, the cancer continued to spread. In these situations, I struggle to find the words to say. So, for days I pleaded for the Lord’s help. I pictured the man to be downtrodden and devastated. I anticipated that he would ask why the Lord gave him this trial. I imagined that he would be hopeless and perhaps even a little angry. The day of the visit arrived, and I was still at a loss. When we finally met, I was completely astonished. What stood before me was not at all the man I had imagined. His countenance was bright and happy. There was no bitterness, and he never asked why.

Was it a church project or a school project? Allison Steiner, a Laurel in the Rosepine Second Ward, Alexandria Louisiana Stake, got credit for both, proving that she’s a good manager and worthy of her title of Louisiana’s Miss Future Business Leader of America.
At the state conference, Allison won first place for a community service project she chaired. It involved showing support for the families of servicemen stationed overseas at Christmas. She helped the families tape messages for their loved ones, and entertained the children. Allison also planned the event as a Young Women Value project focusing on “Good Works.”

It is worth noting the way the Lord prepares our spirit and mind, without our realizing it, to obtain this high level of understanding.

When we were still visiting the Church as investigators, in the second week we received a phone call from the branch president, Brother Antonio Landelino Barros, who asked if it were possible for him to come visit us the following night. At the assigned hour, President Barros arrived, accompanied by two men, all formally dressed. Before the family gathered in the living room, President Barros asked permission to offer a prayer. His words were a simple but inspiring supplication to the Lord asking for the guidance of his Spirit and special blessings upon the family, for us to understand the purpose of that visit and to benefit from it thereafter.

Briefly, President Barros presented a discussion on the home teaching program and introduced his companions, Brothers Nelson Bezerra dos Santos and Alfredo Orlando Torres Lima, as our home teachers and from then on our first and most direct contact with the Church.

What a great experience! What a great opportunity and privilege to serve! Those brothers were around our family during the whole time we lived in the branch area.

Every Sunday, those brothers received our family when we arrived at the chapel. They sat next to us during meetings. They taught us the hymns. They taught us about the standards of the kingdom. They called to inform us about the passing away of President Joseph Fielding Smith and later about the calling of the new prophet, President Harold B. Lee.

They were interested in the well-being and the progress of our family and our eventual needs. After our baptism, postponed for two months, and even after we had moved to the Tijuca Ward, these dedicated home teachers and President Barros took turns during the following three months, approximately, in regular phone calls to know if our family was well adjusted in the new ward, if everything was all right, if any help was needed.

In spite of the change of residence, the home teachers did not feel totally released of their duties of taking care of and giving attention to our family.

Even being sure we had new shepherds, they continued as our brothers in Christ.

What a magnificent attitude! They no longer had the assignment, but they kept the Christian interest. What an extraordinary bond was established. Almost twenty-three years have passed since then. Many other home teacher companions have succeeded those first ones. Their names, with few exceptions, are vaguely remembered, but the names and images of those first servants are forever in our memories since they served as true shepherds.

Those brothers were, in fact, guardians, keepers, and very supportive. It is also worth mentioning that they fulfilled their stewardship with happy countenances, which reflected a happy state of spirit.

It seemed as if it were an honor and a privilege for them to serve so. They seemed to understand the duties of the eldest and youngest alike, as taught by the Apostle Peter:
“Feed the flock of God which is among you, taking the oversight thereof, not by constraint, but willingly; not for filthy lucre, but of a ready mind” (1 Pet. 5:2).

The example of those dedicated brothers served as the foundation for the future conduct of a new priesthood holder. As I recall these experiences, myself being a home teacher now, I have a pattern very close to the model of Jesus Christ to follow.

Ever since then I have devoted myself with all my might, with my best efforts, to the care of assigned families, and some of my most significant experiences as a priesthood holder were lived as a home teacher.

On a small island out in the harbor, the Statue of Liberty raises a torch for all the world to see. If she turned her head to the left, she would stare straight across the water at the gleaming twin towers of the World Trade Center. On a brisk Monday last January, she could have seen the Manhattan Second Ward Mutual gazing down from the 107th floor at the sprawling maze of streets sardined between skyscrapers that stretches on forever—the city of New York that these teenagers call home.
“There, that’s Lower Manhattan. That’s where I live!” exclaimed Mary Esquilin, pointing to the north. “And see that apartment over there? That’s where Deborah Woodhouse lives.” It was hard for an untrained eye to pick out individual buildings. I could find the bridge-laced East River breaking the pattern of towers that rise like so many mountain ranges. And the famous green rectangle of Central Park, that refuge of trees and grass and lanes and lakes in an otherwise concrete and asphalt cosmos, was clearly visible. But when it came to picking out one tiny building …
“Okay,” said Harry Lee. “You know where Central Park is. The chapel is just two blocks from there.”
I thought back to Saturday morning when I had seen the chapel for the first time. It was just another building in a world of buildings, Number 2 Lincoln Square, across the street from the Julliard School of Music and kitty-corner to Lincoln Center and the Metropolitan Opera, until over the door I noticed the bold yellow letters spelling out “Mormon Visitors’ Center.” I knew I had found the complex that houses the center, the New York New York City Mission offices, and the Manhattan First, Second, and Spanish wards (the chapel, cultural hall, and classrooms are on the third floor).
When I arrived upstairs, the Mutual group was reviewing last year’s activities and planning for the rest of the winter, then spring and summer. They had done plenty of reminiscing.
“We have a lot of activities in Central Park,” 17-year-old Lily Lee explained. “It’s a novelty to have such a large, beautiful park so close at hand. It’s part of our culture. The New York Philharmonic gives free concerts there in the summer, and there are free Shakespeare performances. We saw two plays there last year.”
Lily’s brother Harry, who is 15, mentioned other activities. “There is a zoo and there is public ice-skating in the park. We have picnics, play softball with the bishopric, play volleyball, or sometimes just walk around.”
There are also lots of museums in the area, including the Metropolitan Museum of Art, which is at the far end of the park. “The church is located pretty much in the center of everything, so it’s not hard to get around,” Lily said. “We try to plan things early in the day so it won’t be necessary to travel at night on the subways, and we always travel in groups.”
Deborah Woodhouse, 15, remembered other successful activities, like Christmas caroling, a night at the Nutcracker ballet, cleaning trash from streets near the chapel, and a trip to the United Nations building. Kirsten Anderson, age 12, said she enjoyed the personal feeling of birthday parties and holiday celebrations. “We had a fun Halloween party, and we had a good volleyball game with the Young Men one time. We made dinner for them afterward. The things we do aren’t usually big things, but when you do them with each other and use the time you’ve got, it’s important,” Kirsten said.
Lily said she particularly enjoys joint activities with the Spanish Ward. The seminary students from both wards often meet on Super Saturdays or at youth conferences. Despite the language barriers, they enjoy themselves.
Sister Linda Rane, the Young Women president, explained that the ward includes the Broadway theater district in its boundaries and that LDS actors sometimes help the Mutual with roadshows and skits. Ballet students, medical students, and musicians often live within the ward boundaries while studying, and “once we had a fashion designer who helped the Mutual girls make their own dresses and put on a show.”
The meeting at the chapel had adjourned with prayer. It was followed by a stroll through Central Park. We watched equestrians trotting along a horse trail, joggers pacing themselves along a road closed to traffic, and spritely drivers whose brightly colored hackneys painted a portrait of another era when hay, not gasoline, furnished horsepower.
As we rested near some park benches, the sun melted through the chilled air. I couldn’t help asking questions:
“I was born and raised in New York,” Deborah, 15, said. “But I have visited several other places as well. The people of the Church are the same everywhere. You may have different races and cultures, but you always get the same warm feeling all around.
“At school, people tend to look up to you. Kids are curious, and teachers get to know you and are interested in what you believe. I have a friend who says I must have a nice family because we’re not always fighting. I guess I talk about my brothers a lot, and she can sense the family love we feel.
“The greatest challenge that I feel is avoiding the lesser sins. It’s harder here because there are so many temptations, but it’s easier to resist the big temptations because they are so obvious.”
Mary said, “There are so many things to do and see. But there are challenges too. Most of us are converts. Sometimes we’re the only members in our families. So we rely on other Church members to talk to when we need someone who understands about the gospel.”
Mary, 18, and her sister Eileen, 12, joined the Church ten months ago. They were first interested by a friend who was a member and eventually came to meetings with her. “All I had heard about Mormons was awful,” Mary said. “But as I started going to Church, I had this wonderful feeling. I couldn’t even recognize myself. This was a new Mary. I’ve been a member for less than a year, but for me it seems like a lifetime,” she said.
Louis Perez, 13, and Frank Cerda, 14, said they feel New York is popular because it’s so busy all the time and because so many organizations are headquartered there. “There are people here from all over the world,” Frank said. “I think it’s terrific.”
Lily said, “A lot of people wonder if you can find the Spirit of the Lord here. You can. The things He manifests to everyone, He manifests here, too. New York has a lot of good people, and the pure in heart will build Zion wherever they are.”
“I talk to my friends at school,” Mary Ann Iavarone, 14, said. “I share my testimony with them. We talk about religions almost every day. Lots of kids tell me that our Church sounds great. I tell them I have fun here, too, but that the most important thing is that it’s true.”
“I think Eileen (Esquilin) showed me a good example of fellowshipping,” Daisy Cerda, 12, said. “I met her the first time I came to Church, and she was my friend. Then I met Kirsten, and so on. Everybody’s my friend now.”
“Having gone through the conversion process myself makes it easier to talk to others about the gospel,” Mary said. “I can tell them my experiences, that I used to feel the way they feel.”
Lily is student-body president at a high school where she is the only LDS student. “It’s a challenge, but it’s not as difficult as everyone says,” she said. “Living in a place like New York, there are so many backgrounds and cultures that when you say you believe in something, people accept it. At my school, for example, there are a lot of Greek Orthodox students, and it’s not unusual for someone to say they’re not going to a party because it’s on Sunday or to say they don’t smoke or drink. They understand. So it’s important to share all the facets of the gospel with them.”
Deborah, also the only LDS student in her school, said missionary work is a great challenge: “I’ve got 3,500 students to convert.” But she said that many students know about BYU because of its athletic programs and many of her Jewish friends want to discuss the Old Testament with her because she has studied it in seminary.
“I find that for a lot of my friends it’s difficult to get in front of a classroom to give an oral report,” Lily said. “I have to do it in front of the whole student body, but it hasn’t been hard. At first I didn’t know why. Then I realized what training I have had. I’ve been giving 2 1/2-minute talks all my life. Forget about the religious part of the Church programs and just look at their positive influence. Then add in the truthfulness of the gospel, too, and you have the best thing on earth.”
Terry Burdick, 14, who attends the Second Ward Mutual because he is the only Mutual-age teen in the First Ward, said that growing up in an all-member family has helped all of them feel close. “I have a growing testimony,” he said. Frances Pizzaro, 17, felt the gospel had strengthened her family as well. They were already holding family prayer when the missionaries tracted them out. “My brother and I joined the Church, and my mother will soon join,” she said. She also said she learned things in seminary that “help me every day. I study the scriptures every morning and my workbook at lunchtime at school. Other people say, ‘Oooh, what’s that?’ And then everybody starts talking about it. It’s great.”
Iris Rivera, who graduated from Mutual last year, said one of her blessings has been the fellowship she has shared with Mary as Mary joined the Church. “I’ve seen her grow a lot. And now we’re going to be visiting teachers together starting next month.”
The noise of Harry rattling the door brought me back to the top of the World Trade Center. He was trying to gain access to the rooftop observation area, but it was locked and a sign said the wind was so strong no one would be allowed outside.
“Sorry,” he said. “That’s the best we can do.”
And I remembered again. I remembered his patience as he explained to me over and over the subway system the morning the group went to the Statue of Liberty, and finally how he said, “Just follow me and don’t get lost.”
I remembered the wind whipping over the bow of the ferry and the steamy cups of hot chocolate the young women shared back on the pier. I remembered stopping to read plaques at the statue and the young members’ feelings of pride in their country and in their hometown that were genuine and unpretentious.
And then I remembered interviewing some of the group in between meetings on Sunday. The young women’s lesson had been on developing a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. The young men had discussed morality. All of them had commented afterward about the influence the lessons exerted throughout the week.
“These activities and lessons keep us together,” Mary said. “We share our testimonies and they grow. We treat each other like brothers and sisters because we are.”
Mary Ann nodded agreement. “From my friends’ testimonies, I can build my testimony. They are a great influence on me.”
“The lessons help me keep my mind off things I shouldn’t think about,” Harry said. “I have a strong testimony of the gospel, and I know it’s good to be together with my friends in church. I need the recharge I get from being with them.”
“As you can see, we have a lot of fun together. We like each other a lot. But the neatest thing is that when I leave, I feel the Spirit coming with me, helping me choose wisely and do what’s right,” Mary Ann said.
“I’m glad to have friends who help me honor my priesthood,” Frank said. “When I carry the sacrament, I feel proud.”
And that made me think of a comment one of the adults made that same Sunday. “I admire these kids tremendously,” he said. “New York is beautiful and fun, but it’s also a difficult place to live righteously. There’s a lot of pressure on these kids from their friends not to follow the teachings of the prophets. I think they’re real heroes to live the gospel as they do.”
The group walked to the south side of the tower for one last look at the Statue of Liberty. One thought lingered in my mind. I was in the company of heroes. Real heroes, with a mission—to live and share the gospel with all of New York City. Somehow, in my heart, I knew they would be equal to the task.

After sacrament meeting the bishop called me into his office for a talk. Here it comes, I thought. I’m going to be the new teachers quorum president, I’ll bet. I was filled with pride and excitement. Wow, is the ward ever going to heap handshakes on me. Mom will be so proud!
I sat in the big chair across from the bishop. He was a pleasant man, smiling as always, but I felt that even so, this conversation was going to be an important one.
“Steve, we have an assignment for you,” he said. My heart raced.
“This is a special ‘good neighbor’ assignment. We’re concerned about Hasty McFarlan. He’s a pretty sad old man, you know. He needs someone to befriend him. He’s not a member of the Church, but God’s love reaches to all people, and we as members of his church have the responsibility to show it. Maybe I should say we have the privilege of showing that love.”
I guess I must have looked stunned.
“You know Hasty, don’t you, Steve?” asked the bishop.
My memory jumped back a couple of weeks to when some friends and I had made fun of the old man by singing jingles and shouting the jokes we had made up about him.
“Yes, I know him,” I said, choking down my disappointment and guilt. “He’s the old hermit who lives outside of town.”
“Right,” said the bishop. “I would like for you to go out and visit him two or three times a week.”
“Okay,” was the only answer I could manage.
The bishop must have detected my crestfallenness, because he leaned forward in his chair and looked at me carefully.
“Now, if this assignment will be too much, don’t be afraid to say so.”
I sighed. “Oh, I’ll do it, sir,” I said.
“Good,” said the bishop with a smile, and before I could catch my breath, he went on. “You can chop wood for the fire, and get him food, blankets—whatever he needs to help him feel wanted. Be a friend. Your father is aware of the assignment, and he told me he would help you. Your Heavenly Father will be prompting you, too.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
I was 15 years old then, and there were other things I would rather do—play football, hunt, fish, or just do the things my friends were doing. But I had told the bishop I would carry out the assignment, and I knew it wasn’t good to go back on my word.
Hasty lived in a little log cabin at the foot of a mountain, just outside the Idaho farming community I grew up in. On the long hike to his cabin after school that first afternoon, it seemed to me that every pine along the trail whispered Hasty’s loneliness.
Once a year at Christmas the old man got a free bath at the hotel, compliments of the sheriff. Probably, we all thought, it was the only bath he got all year. We used to say he looked like a pirate with that growth on the side of his head and his black eyepatch. Most of the kids and even some of the townspeople had the habit of making unkind remarks or doing something “clever” whenever Hasty was around. Would he remember me as one of the tricksters? By the time I reached the cabin, I was genuinely frightened.
I knocked. No answer. I knocked again. I knew he had to be in there. Where else could he go?
“Hasty?” My voice broke halfway through the word. I don’t know how long I must have stood there before I decided to go inside. The thick oaken door creaked as I pushed it open.
“Hasty?” I called again. “Hasty, are you there?”
Hearing a rustling, I poked my head in as far as I dared and peeked around the door. It was cold in Hasty’s cabin and very dark. I could just make out the figure of a man on the bed. Hasty was all slouched down, but not like he’d been asleep, or even like he’d been thinking. He looked like he was slouching because there was no reason to do anything else. I noticed that the soiled, mildewed blanket he was sitting on was more hole than blanket.
My heart was beating in my throat. I swallowed hard.
“Hasty, is there anything I can do for you?” I managed to blurt out.
I told him my name and that the bishop from the LDS Church had sent me to see how he was doing and to help out. He said nothing. The silent, staring troll was freezing my nerves.
“Hasty, your fire is out.”
No reply.
“Can I chop some wood?”
No reply.
I went outside, found an axe and some stacked stumps, and began chopping kindling. With every strike of the axe my brain pounded. What am I doing out here? Why me? Why?
“Quit grumbling,” a voice inside me said. “The old man is cold and lonely, and you can help him.”
I got a fire going and tried to talk to him, but after a few minutes I decided he wasn’t really listening. He needed a new blanket, so I told him I would get a thick, clean, comfortable one, and the next day I did. After that I came every other day. Slowly, over the next several weeks, he began talking.
One day after we had talked some he said, “Boy, why do you come? I’m sure a kid your age can find better things to do than visit a sick old varmint like me. But I’m glad you come.” And then he smiled.
At Thanksgiving I invited Hasty to our house for dinner. He didn’t come, but our family took part of the dinner to him. There were tears in his eyes as he tried to thank us.
I discovered as our visits continued that Hasty had been a sheepherder. Once he had had a wife and children, but they had gotten a terrible fever and died of it.
Feeling in his grief that his life had been shattered, Hasty wandered the whole country as a vagabond. A diseased growth on the side of his face made one eye blind. And the teasing and practical joking had begun.
But to me the old man didn’t seem as ugly and frightening anymore. In fact, after school I hurried to his cabin to help him and to listen to his stories.
When Christmas arrived, we invited him to dinner once again. This time he came, and what’s more, he came in a suit, all cleaned and handsome. He looked great. A smile curved his lips. Hasty was happy because we showed him he was needed.
As we finished dinner, the old man bowed his head for a second, and then raised it and said, “You people sure are wonderful. My life has been a shambles for a long time, but the love you’ve shown is making me a different person. I’m very grateful.”
As he said that, I could feel a little fire in my chest getting big. It felt good.

“You never know until you try,” said 16 year-old Camela Lines of the Yuma Fourth Ward, Yuma Arizona Stake. With that, she entered a local speech contest and ended up winning a trip to Seattle plus a $500 scholarship.
Her speech was entitled “Our Waste, Our Challenge,” and it was about what people can do in their own homes to help the environment. “Speaking to a large group of strangers in a very formal setting is a much different experience that giving a five minute talk in sacrament meeting to friends,” Camela said, adding that she was “scared to death.”
Camela is the Sunday School chorister, vice president of the Cibola High Chapter of the National Honor Society, and the oldest child in a family of ten.

Today is going to be a perfect day—an Abby Day! Abby thought as she skipped into the sunny kitchen.
“What would you like for breakfast, dear,” asked Mama.
Abby thought it would be nice to have strawberry ripple ice cream. But, sure that Mama would shake her head and sigh, “Oh, Abigail,” she said, “I’d like oatmeal with raisins and a little brown sugar.”
“All right, Abby. It will only take a minute.” Mama smiled at her.
Then, when Papa offered Abby orange juice or apple juice, Abby said she would like orange juice, please, and was glad that she’d remembered to be polite.
Breakfast was delicious. When she finished, Abby took her bowl, spoon, and glass to the sink. “Here, Papa. I’m finished.”
He smiled at Abby as he took her things. “Thank you, Abby,” he said. “What a big help you are.”
Abby went into the family room. Mama was sitting on the floor, surrounded by scraps of material. Each little pile was a different color or pattern. They were so beautiful that Abby wanted to grab all the piles and throw them up into the air. She imagined the bright colors and pretty patterns fluttering down like butterflies. But the last time she had done that, Mama had cried, “Oh no, Abigail!” so she knelt down next to Mama and asked, “What can I do to help?”
Mama hugged her. “Can you help me choose some pretty pieces for a quilt for Aunt Lisa?” Abby was glad that she could help.
When Mama went to help Papa for a minute, Abby noticed how the fluffy quilt batting looked just like a bouncy cotton cloud waiting for someone to jump into it. Then she thought it looked more like new-fallen snow, and she imagined being the first one to walk through it.
They were wonderful thoughts, but Abby wouldn’t like the sad “Ab-i-gail” Mama would say if she did walk on the quilt batting. And it was Abby Day, so she sat still and waited for Mama to return.
Soon Mama came back and said, “Thank you for waiting so patiently, Abby. Papa is going out to the barn now. Would you like to go with him?”
“Yes!” Then, because it was Abby Day, she remembered to get her coat and hat without being asked. Usually Abby squirmed a lot when Mama put on her coat. But today Abby only wiggled a little while Mama buttoned the top button. “There,” Mama said, “all done.”
It was cold as Papa and Abby walked down the driveway to the barn. “Will it snow, Papa?” Abby asked.
“Soon. Maybe today.”
Most of the leaves were off the trees, and Abby ran to pick up an armful of them. She threw them up as high as she could. “Look, Papa—it’s snowing leaves!” She started to run across the yard, then stopped and asked, “Can we run, Papa?”
She knew that if she ran too far ahead, Papa would call, “Wait for me, Abigail!” But today Papa said, “Sure, Abby,” and he raced her to the barn.
Papa and Abby finished their work in the barn just as it began to snow. They went into the kitchen where it was warm. Mama fixed hot chocolate, and it tasted just right and made Abby feel warm. Abby had an even warmer feeling inside as she thought about how she had made the day an Abby Day.

I am familiar with a ward that struggled with an ineffective ward council. It was difficult for the bishop to embrace the direction found in Handbook 2 because he was comfortable in his ways and liked his old patterns. After much counseling and training by a loving stake president, however, the bishop softened his heart, repented, and began in earnest to organize the ward council as instructed. He watched training videos available at LDS.org, he read sections 4 and 5 of Handbook 2, and he acted upon what he learned.
Members of the ward council quickly embraced the changes, and a spirit of love and unity settled on them as they focused on strengthening individuals and families. In every meeting, they spoke at length about investigators, new converts, less-active members, and members with needs. Their hearts began to be drawn out to these brothers and sisters, and miracles began to happen.
The bishop reported that almost immediately after these changes were made to the ward council, previously unknown less-active members began to attend church. These members said they suddenly felt moved upon to return to the Church. They said they had received a clear and compelling impression that they needed to once again associate with the Saints. They knew they would be loved and that they needed the support members would offer.
The bishop shared with me that he is certain Heavenly Father was just waiting for him to follow the counsel he had received and organize the ward council as instructed before He could put the desire into the hearts and minds of these less-active members to return to activity in the Church. The bishop realized that he needed to create the loving, nurturing environment these members needed before the Spirit would lead them back. His words remind me of the experience of Peter the fisherman:
“And [Jesus] entered into one of the ships, which was Simon’s, and prayed him that he would thrust out a little from the land. And he sat down, and taught the people out of the ship.
“Now when he had left speaking, he said unto Simon, Launch out into the deep, and let down your nets for a draught.
“And Simon answering said unto him, Master, we have toiled all the night, and have taken nothing: nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net.
“And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of fishes” (Luke 5:3–6).
As we listen to and follow the counsel given us by modern-day prophets, seers, and revelators—true “fishers of men”—and as we inspect and mend our nets while serving, our capacity to hasten the work of salvation will be greatly increased and we will become instruments in Heavenly Father’s hands to gather His children.

I know exactly how you feel. A few months ago, my boyfriend and I did something wrong. After that, it seemed as if in every fireside the speaker was talking just to me. I felt like dirt. I knew I needed to tell my bishop, but I just couldn’t.
I tried to tell myself that if I just forgot about it and never did it again, the Lord would forget too. Last week I had an interview with my bishop to get my patriarchal blessing. I knew I had to tell him. I prayed before I went in. Then with a prayer in my heart, I took a deep breath and told him. Now I feel so much better! It was so hard to do. But I thank the Lord for giving me the courage to confess. Now I can complete my repentance, and I won’t have to carry that burden for the rest of my life.
Name withheld

I recently went to the Belém Brazil Temple with other Church members from Suriname. This was my first visit and when I approached the temple, I was restless and nervous. As I entered that sacred house of the Lord, I felt its warm embrace. The Spirit was so strong. When I approached the recommend desk, I saw a picture of the Savior with two children by His side. My nervousness disappeared. The scripture from Matthew came to mind, “But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 19:14).
This scripture gave me strength for I was a little child coming into His sacred house.
That day I was washed and anointed and received the power of the endowment. This is an experience I will never forget, and I want to return to the temple as often as I can.

Brother Brigham then took his horse and sleigh to Canada after his brother Joseph, a circuit-riding Methodist preacher and missionary, and “told him what I had experienced of the power of God.”28 Joseph and Phineas and their father actually joined the Church a week before Brigham did, having traveled again to the little Mormon branch in Columbia. But then the same humble elder who had first touched Brigham with his testimony traveled from Columbia to Mendon and baptized Brigham on April 15, 1832—in his own little millstream behind his carpentry shop. Brigham’s record of the event helps us understand some of the reasons for the powerful changes that immediately began to take place in him:
“Before my clothes were dry on my back he laid his hands on me and ordained me an Elder, at which I marvelled. According to the words of the Savior I felt a humble, child-like spirit, witnessing unto me that my sins were forgiven.”29

“Why are you wearing your Sunday clothes, Ashley?” her mother asked as she stepped into her seven-year-old daughter’s room. “We’re just going to the cemetery to put flowers on Grandpa’s grave, honey.”
As she slipped into her shiny black shoes, Ashley looked up at her mother. “Grandpa Eli is not a ‘just,’ Mama. He’s Grandpa Eli. That makes him someone in particular. Besides, he’s a child of God—that has to take the just right out of it, doesn’t it?”
Mama smiled warmly at her daughter’s understanding. “That it does. You know,” she added, “for such a young lady, you sure have a handle on things.”
Ashley grunted as she tried to collect their big old cat in her arms and lift him off her bed. “I wish Mister Worthington had a handle. He’d be a lot easier to carry!”
While at the cemetery, Ashley noticed an elderly woman not far away, sitting on the grass in front of a tombstone. She was pulling out the crabgrass that was climbing up its base. As she studied the white-haired lady in the leafy swirl of soft sunlight, Ashley thought that she’d never seen so much loneliness bunched up on a single face. She seems more weighed down by it than by all her years stacked up together.
Ashley looked at the flower that Mama had given her to place in the vase at the foot of Grandpa Eli’s grave. The vase is already filled with fresh flowers, she decided. Grandpa wouldn’t mind if … She looked again at the old woman, then at her parents. “Mama? Daddy? May I go talk to that lady for a minute?”
“Why, honey?” her mother asked curiously. “Do you know her?”
“No.”
“Sometimes people like to be alone, pumpkin,” her father warned. “It wouldn’t be right to impose on her privacy.”
“Sometimes some people are too alone, Daddy,” Ashley coaxed. “And I think she’s one of them.”
Ashley’s parents looked at the woman. “She does look pretty sad and lonely all right,” Daddy agreed. He glanced at Mama, who nodded. “I guess it will be all right for a minute, pumpkin. Then we want you to come right back, is that understood?”
Ashley smiled. “Yep.”
The elderly woman felt a shadow pass over her. She looked up into the face of a small girl.
“Hello. My name is Ashley Donohue.”
A frail smile fell across the old woman’s face.
Ashley held out her flower. “Here.”
“That’s quite all right, young lady,” the elderly woman quavered. She pointed to a jar of fresh flowers next to the headstone. “As you can see, I have quite enough.”
“Oh, it isn’t for … for …” Ashley’s voice trailed off.
“Mr. Blakely, honey. He was my husband.”
“Oh. Uh, well,” Ashley stammered out. “The flower isn’t for him—it’s for you.”
“For me? But I’m no one to you, dear. I’m just an old—”
“You’re someone to God,” Ashley broke in. “So that means you’re not a just. It means you’re someone in particular. And you have a name, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, of course. My name is Nora. Nora Blakely.”
Ashley held out the flower closer to the elderly woman. “Everyone with a name is someone in particular, don’t you think so, Mrs. Blakely?”
“I suppose you’re right,” Mrs. Blakely acknowledged with a smile.
Ashley smiled back as a wrinkled, quivering hand reached out and accepted the flower.
“How do you know I’m someone to God, young lady?”
“Do you have any children, Mrs. Blakely?”
“Yes. Well, at least I did. Two sons.” Mrs. Blakely’s voice faltered. “They both died in a war. They’re buried west of here, in a military cemetery.”
“I bet you loved them bunches and bunches, didn’t you?”
“Oh yes,” the old voice was stronger now. “Very, very much. They were, and still are, most important to me. As is my husband here. Eugene and I were married for sixty-three years, you know,” she added, her eyes glowing like two little stones in sunlit water.
“Well, just like you love your children, Heavenly Father loves you, Mrs. Blakely. Because you are one of His children. So am I, and so is everybody else. Except Mr. Worthington. He’s our cat. But he’s still important, because he’s someone in particular, too.”
“I’m sure he is,” Mrs. Blakely chuckled.
Over by Grandpa Eli’s grave, Ashley’s father shook his head. “Well, I’ll be—would you look at that!”
Mama looked over her shoulder. The old woman was laughing and hugging Ashley, who was laughing and hugging her back. A moment later, the girl skipped over to her parents, then turned and waved to the elderly woman—who was heartily returning the wave with a smile as big as the red and gold autumn around them.
“What did you talk to her about?” Daddy asked as they started back toward the car.
“Oh,” Ashley teased, “stuff. “Important stuff,” she added as she skipped on ahead.
“If it was anything like what she told me this morning in her room,” Mama said, catching up to her husband, “it’s just that.”
“Just what?”
Mama squeezed his hand. “Important stuff.”

The journey to her parents’ home some five hundred miles away seemed impossible. The distance was disheartening, and she had no provisions. To make matters worse, it was winter. But those fears were nothing compared to the thought of traveling alone through a war zone. Alexandria remembers sitting alone in the snow, hungry and weak, with cold tears on her cheeks. She was inconsolable until, remembering her mother’s prayers, she decided to offer her first: “Help me. Help me find my way home.” She wasn’t sure her prayer had been heard, but she nevertheless began the dangerous trek.
The winter days passed slowly. As if in answer to her prayer, someone along the way gave her a map. That spark of hope kept her going, from farm to farm and town to town, day after day. At dusk she pleaded with strangers for a place to sleep—floor or barn, it didn’t matter, as long as it was inside, so she wouldn’t get caught—and shot—for breaking curfew. Food was so scarce that she had nothing to eat but the meager scraps of stale bread and potato peelings that she scrounged from scrap buckets after her hosts had retired to bed. At first light she would resume her journey, often with her clothing wet because of the damp, leaking barns in which she had slept.
Late one afternoon, after an unusually long walk in deep snow, Alexandria was exhausted and knew she would not reach the next town on her own before curfew. She was afraid because she had learned that German soldiers were in the area. Suddenly, three horse-drawn hay wagons driven by German soldiers appeared on the narrow road. As Alexandria hid nearby, she got an idea. If she hopped onto one of the wagons without being seen, she could make it to the next town before dark. The last wagon passed, and she put her desperate plan into action. Running with all her strength, she managed to grab a pole attached to the back of the wagon and climb aboard.
Alexandria rode in relative comfort until, a few miles later, the wagons came to an abrupt halt. She froze with fear. At the sound of approaching footsteps, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. “Please help me, dear God!” The footsteps came closer, then stopped right next to her. Alexandria lifted her head to look into the compassionate eyes of a young soldier who motioned for her to remain still. Then he turned to rejoin his comrades without making his discovery known. The company moved on, and Alexandria safely reached the next town.
“I know Father in Heaven was watching over me and was helping me,” she says, her eyes misty with emotion.
After weeks of traveling, Alexandria arrived home, thin and weak but overjoyed to see her family again.

From the time I was old enough to grip the handle of a broom, my dad gave me the weekend chore of sweeping the driveway in front of our house. Though it was a fair-sized driveway, the sweeping only took a half hour, and it wasn’t difficult. But once the driveway was cleaned, well, like any other kid who is anxious to complete a chore, I hoped it would stay that way. Forever.
Only one thing could ruin my handiwork with the broom: squirrels. With a beautiful eucalyptus tree hanging over most of the driveway, squirrels were often a problem.
A eucalyptus tree bears much fruit: woody, cup-shaped receptacles filled with hundreds of small seeds. For lack of a better name, we used to call them acorns. As a kid who was trying to sweep the driveway once and for all, it seemed as if there were millions of those acorns. And the squirrels loved to eat them. Now squirrels eating acorns aren’t, in and of themselves, a problem. It’s the way they eat them that’s the problem. You see, squirrels are real connoisseurs. They don’t eat the entire acorn, just a bite here and a bite there of the insides. The outside shavings and the rest of the insides that the squirrel doesn’t eat simply fall to the ground.
I could do a wonderful job sweeping up every acorn, leaf, and twig, and the driveway would look great. Then, after a squirrel munch-out, the driveway would look terrible.
The squirrels were having a field day at my expense.
I can remember looking up into the branches at what seemed like the entire family tree of the two original squirrels that accompanied Noah. I also remember giving them dirty looks, but they only looked down at me, unconcerned and very content with the distance between us.
This is where the bright green tennis balls enter into the story. Dad always had a large bucket of tennis balls that had seen better days on the courts months before.
How could I remedy the dirty driveway dilemma? Right, throw bright green tennis balls at the little rascals in hopes of scaring them away to another tree. I just thought that if I could scare them away I might never have to sweep the driveway again. I confess, I used to worry about what our neighbor next door, Mrs. McDonald, might think. She loved animals. In fact, every year for four years I would go around the neighborhood selling Little League Baseball raffle tickets. Mrs. McDonald would always buy one, but she would always sign the name of one of her cats or dogs on the tickets. Last year it was “Elsa” the German shepherd.
Swoosh!
I easily followed the path of the bright green tennis ball. It missed its mark but came close enough to scare the squirrel away.
“Check, check, check, check, check, check,” it cried.
If you wanted to look on the bright side, you could say that throughout my teenage years, my baseball throwing arm became stronger and more accurate.
On the not so bright side, the squirrels quickly became accustomed to watching those mysterious green projectiles fly past them. I never did succeed in scaring the squirrels away on a permanent basis. Every Saturday morning, the driveway had to be swept. Every Saturday morning I would be out there with the squirrels. And no amount of tennis balls would make it easier, regardless of how accurately I threw. I always ended up sweeping.
Eventually I learned an important lesson, one I have reflected on again and again. For many kinds of work, there aren’t any shortcuts. Even when a job is done right the first time, sometimes it needs to be done right again and again. That’s why it’s called a chore—not because it’s burdensome, but because it’s a duty.
Today, when I visit my parents, the eucalyptus tree still towers over the driveway. The squirrels are still there, and they’re still dropping the acorns. Sometimes, just for fun, I’ll hurl a green tennis ball in their direction.
Then I’ll go get the broom.

In 1951 and 1952, I attended the Frankfurt branch, which was not as big as the one in Zwickau. The Frankfurt meetinghouse was small, and we had classes in the basement. The missionaries taught us important gospel principles. One missionary, Elder Stringham, impressed me very much with his lessons on the Pearl of Great Price, especially where Moses is being taught that he is a Son of God. Elder Stringham also taught me the scripture that says, “If God be for us, who can be against us?” (Rom. 8:31). This gave me comfort and courage, because at that time, the future looked bleak in Germany. The city of Frankfurt was in ruins with bombed-out buildings. That teaching has stayed with me throughout my life. It taught me that I need to be on the Lord’s side. I cannot afford not to be on the Lord’s side.