Gospel Story Finder

“When I was released, for some reason I didn’t want to go to the Protestant school anymore. I wanted to go to another school called AKAS. So my grandmother enrolled me in 1974. During that year, Eb Davis, the LDS mission president in Fiji, came to our school to select 10 students to attend Liahona High School on Tonga. Attending high school is a great opportunity. Only two groups had gone before. I was older than most and had been out of school for two years, so I didn’t have much hope I would be selected. But I was.
“The big problem for my family was finding the money to purchase the required round-trip airfare. I asked my father, ‘How will you get the money? We don’t have any.’ My father had a terminal illness that left him unable to work, but he said, ‘We’ll get the money.’ My mother sewed for the hospital and had some money saved. My uncle and other relatives also helped. It seemed a miracle, but we came up with the money.
“So there I was in 1975 at Liahona High School. When I came to the campus, I thought I was in heaven. The people were clean, the school was clean, and the men were wearing ties. And then I discovered this was a church school, run by Mormons. I had no idea what a Mormon was, so I asked.
“That first Sunday I started the missionary discussions. Grant Howlett, one of my teachers, taught me. I was really excited. I had promised the Lord I would be a missionary if He healed me, and I knew I couldn’t be a missionary until I joined the Church. I was baptized on 22 June 1975—the first from our group. When my friends asked why I joined the Church so quickly, I said, ‘I couldn’t reject anything they taught. I just felt it was what my Father in Heaven wanted me to do.’”

Nita Blackwing dragged her bleating one-year-old sheep across the corral. “You’re going to get your first shearing,” she told him. “But don’t be afraid—it won’t hurt.”
Mother and Granny were shearing the whole flock that spring day. Some of the sheep belonged to Nita’s older brothers and sisters. This was Nita’s first sheep. With a pair of big hand shears Granny expertly sheared the wool from Nita’s sheep in one whole piece.
“How skinny he looks!” Nita declared. “Poor thing!” She wished she could wrap his woolly coat around him and make him a baby lamb again.
Feeling a bit sad, Nita walked home with Granny as the glowing sunset turned the earth and rocks of the Navajo reservation red.
Running ahead of the older woman, Nita shouted, “The cactuses are in bloom, Granny!” Nita kept a safe distance from the spiny pads of the prickly pear cactuses as she stroked the dark pink petals of a colorful blossom. They were big and as shiny as wax. “I wish I could take one home,” she said.
“A cactus flower lives only a short while,” Granny cautioned. “Let it turn into a fruit that we can use.”
The Blackwing hogan was a round house made of logs and bark, plastered with mud the same color as the rocks around it. The boys helped their father with the horses and ponies and the crops of corn and squash. The girls herded the sheep and helped prepare the wool for weaving. Mother wove good blankets and rugs, but Granny was known far and wide as one of the best weavers among the Navajos.
Nita and her sisters spent the hot summer days in front of the hogan, beating the wool with sticks to make the burrs and dirt fly out. Then they carded it into strands by combing it with metal-toothed paddles. Nita carded her own sheep’s fleece especially well so that Granny would want to use it in her rug.
Every night Nita watched Granny spin the wool into yarn on a spinning stick. “Why do you whirl it around so many times?” she asked.
“The more you spin, the finer the yarn,” Granny explained. “The finer the yarn, the better the rug.”
Mother, who liked new ways and bright colors, bought the dye for her yarn in paper packages at the trading post. One night when they were all snuggled down under their sheepskins, the children chose the colors they wanted for their wool.
“Turquoise!” said Maria. “Like the sky.”
“Yellow!” said Jolie. “Like the sun.”
“Red—bright red!” Ben shouted.
Those three colors would go into Mother’s rug.
“My sheep is black, so I don’t have to choose,” said Ramon.
“I want mine to stay white,” said Johnny. “And my wool will be twisted with Ramon’s to make gray.”
Both Mother and Granny used the three natural colors—black, white, and gray. But Granny wouldn’t use dyes from the trader. She made her own by boiling roots, bark, fruit, and leaves from plants.
“I guess you’ll have to choose brown, Nita,” said Maria. “That’s about the only color Granny ever makes.”
But brown was dull, and Nita like bright colors too.
One day Nita went with Granny to the nearby mountains to find plants for making dye. The trees and shrubs were turning red and yellow in the frosty air.
“What a pretty tree,” said Nita as they dug up roots of a mountain mahogany with reddish bark and leaves. “Does this make red dye, Granny?” She hoped it did.
But Granny replied, “No, Brown,”
On the way home they came to the prickly pear cactus, now bearing dark red fruit. “We’ll pick some of these to make rose-colored dye,” said Granny.
“You’ve never woven a rose-colored rug before!” Nita said excitedly.
“I mix it with brown to make a good Indian color—the color of the earth that takes care of us.”
Nita looked toward the hogan framed against the rocks. It was a kind of rosy brown in the setting sun. “Like that?” she asked, pointing.
“Yes. I see a design in my head that has many squares of the Indian earth color at sunset.”
“Then I want that for the color of my sheep’s wool,” Nita declared.
When the snow came and the coyotes howled, Nita sat in front of the loom and watched Granny weave her rug. It had a gray background and a black border and a design in squares and rectangles of white and black and the rosy Indian earth color.
When the frozen ground thawed and the snowstorms were replaced by dust storms, Granny took the rug off the loom and laid it on the floor. Nita touched the rosy brown squares.
“There is my sheep’s wool,” she said. “And there are the colors from the prickly pear flower and the mahogany tree.”
Granny began to roll up the rug. “Now I must take it to the trading post. We need flour, sugar, and canned food, and some cloth for blouses and skirts.”
Tears came into Nita’s eyes as she thought about the beautiful rug that must be traded for supplies.
“Come,” said Granny. “Your father will drive us to the trading post in his truck. The trader will give you a peppermint stick.”
Nita smiled. “It’s almost time for the ewes to have new lambs, isn’t it? Will I get to choose another one to be mine?”
“Of course,” said Granny. “You will have a new lamb, and your old sheep will have new wool. The cactus will bloom again, and we will go again to the mountains for our plant dyes. That is how the earth takes care of us.”
“And I will learn to weave rugs full of beautiful things like yours,” said Nita

Recently I heard of an excommunicated man who angrily walked out of his Church court bitter and unrepentant. Many of us, if we had participated in that court, might have said, “Well good, he’ll have time to make his peace”; and others might even have thought, “Good thing that he’s gone.” But one of the high councilors present spent three evenings a week for the next several years visiting this man until, mellowed, repentant, and renewed in the Spirit, he was reinstated in the Church.

Ouch! Have you ever been attacked by a jumping cactus? Cholla cactus segments “jump” off to stick to clothes, skin, or whatever else they can hook their spines into.
The Latter-day Saint youth of New Mexico know how difficult it is to detach themselves from a prickly cactus. They got some extra practice, though, as they cleaned the site where the Albuquerque New Mexico Temple will be built. Armed with shovels, rakes, and gloves, youth from four stakes assembled on a hot Saturday morning to rid the property of sagebrush, garbage, and cholla, so the weeds could be mowed and the ground made safe to walk on for those attending the temple’s groundbreaking ceremony.
“It was hard work, but it will be totally worth it for the temple to come,” says Robyn Sampson, age 15.
Before the city of Albuquerque approved the plans for the temple, the youth fasted and prayed for a solution to the problems the temple’s project manager faced when he presented the plans to city officials. Now they say they are fasting and praying for the temple builders. But the prayers and the cleanup are only part of the work the young people of Albuquerque are doing to prepare for the temple. They are also working to make certain their own lives are clean.
Despite the burrs on their socks and an occasional scare from a snake or lizard, the Albuquerque youth succeeded in clearing the future temple site of every spiny cactus and broken bottle they could find. It might seem strange, but the youth actually enjoyed pulling cactuses and loading trucks with sagebrush.
“We’re so happy we will have a temple here. We thought it would never happen,” says Rosalie Campbell, age 12.
Amber Chee, age 17, looks forward to doing baptisms for the dead and someday getting married in the Albuquerque temple. “It was really fun coming here. I felt the Spirit,” she says.
Both Rosalie and Amber have done baptisms for the dead before, but opportunities for temple trips come only once a year for the Albuquerque youth, who have had to travel at least eight hours to get to a temple.
“Temples were always a faraway thing,” says Neil Peterson. As 16-year-old Neil wipes his brow, he says he enjoys helping out with something so important, even if it is hard work.
Besides concentrating on the cactus plants, Michelle Williams is thinking about what it will mean to have a temple in her area and about why she is cleaning up the temple site. “It’s very symbolic,” she says. “You have to be clean yourself to go to the temple.”
Logan King is waiting for his call as a full-time missionary. He won’t be able to go to the Albuquerque temple before his mission, but he realizes the importance of being worthy to attend the temple. “We need to clean all the cactuses out of our lives before we can go to the temple,” he says.
Researching family history is another way the Albuquerque youth are preparing for the temple. Many of them have become excited about doing family history, knowing they will soon have a temple in their area. Albuquerque’s family history center missionaries, Sister Wilcox and Sister Hatfield, say the temple will strengthen the youth. Among the large number of young people in the area, they have seen a “big push for genealogy.”
Sarah Sego, age 17, loves doing baptisms for the dead and can’t wait for the temple to be built so she can do baptisms more often. “I know it’s the right thing to do, because all those people are waiting,” she says.
Sarah is eager to tell others why she loves going to the temple. She talks to her friends about the temple and even tactfully shared her testimony of temple work with her high school class.
Sarah is not alone in her missionary efforts. Many Church members are enjoying the opportunity to explain the gospel to others because of the temple.
“I think the temple will make people notice us more,” says Lisa Willis, age 14. She’s also been telling her friends about the temple. “The best part of building a temple is having people ask about it,” she says.
Albuquerque’s full-time missionaries were also working hard at the cleanup. They say members in the area feel that the temple will bring many blessings to all the people of Albuquerque.
“While tracting, we stopped by a house and a woman opened the door and said, ‘Hey, I heard you are building one of those temples.’ That allowed us to get in the door and talk to her about the Church,” says Elder Moyer from California. Many missionaries have similar stories.
The temple will be built in a valley where it can be seen from far away. In fact, it’s the same valley the Mormon Battalion came through on its famous march from the Missouri River to California.
At the groundbreaking ceremony, many young people who had been at the cleanup also sang in the youth chorus. The strains of “High on the Mountain Top” (Hymns, number 5) rang out over the crowd of thousands that had gathered to see the temple ground dedicated.
“We all joined together to celebrate our temple,” says Tyler Lindsey, age 16. “I knew that it was right and the ground was holy. I don’t know how we sounded, but the Spirit was there.”
The Spirit is there. The spirit of service, of missionary work, and of love can be felt strongly in Albuquerque. Whether pulling cactuses or doing baptisms for the dead, the youth of Albuquerque are carrying out the Lord’s work with His Spirit to help them. The youth don’t know yet all the ways the temple will change their lives, but they are grateful to have been able to take a small part in the temple-building project. They are looking forward to the temple’s dedication in the year 2000 and to even greater blessings and opportunities to come.

A youth group in Missouri, USA, decided to put their culinary prowess to the test on this tasty activity. All youth were separated into groups. Then each team was given a cake, some decorating supplies, and the task of decorating the cake to depict a specific scene from the Book of Mormon. In the end, before eating the cakes, everybody had to guess the scene on each cake. “The Spirit was so strong and we were having fun,” said one of the young women. “We all got along and helped each other out.”

Long ago, the renowned author Charles Dickens wrote of opportunities that await. In his classic volume entitled Great Expectations, Dickens described a boy by the name of Philip Pirrip, more commonly known as “Pip.” Pip was born in unusual circumstances. He was an orphan. He never met his mother or father. He never saw a picture of them. Yet he had all the normal desires of a boy. He wished with all his heart that he were a scholar. He wished that he were a gentleman. He wished that he were less ignorant. Yet all of his ambitions and all of his hopes seemed doomed to failure. Do you young men sometimes feel that way? Do those of us who are older entertain these same thoughts?

Then one day a London lawyer by the name of Jaggers approached little Pip and told him that an unknown benefactor had bequeathed to him a fortune. The lawyer put his arm around the shoulder of Pip and said to him, “My boy, you have great expectations.”
Tonight, as I look at you young men and realize who you are and what you may become, I say to you, as that lawyer said to Pip, “My boy, you have great expectations”—not as the result of an unknown benefactor, but as the result of a known Benefactor, even our Heavenly Father, and great things are expected of you.

On the other hand, Jill and Kent Sorensen, who are from the same stake, say one of the best ways to strengthen their family has been to serve away from home. Sister Sorensen says, “One of the main excuses couples give for not going is grandkids, married children with struggles, daughters expecting babies, aging parents—you name it. Family is a priority, and you miss them every day. But going on a mission sends a powerful message that missionary work is important too.”
Besides, Elder Sorensen notes, “there are so many ways to keep in touch now that you can check in all the time.”
The Sorensens’ missionary journey began three years ago, when their bishop asked them to host monthly firesides for couples contemplating missionary service. “After talking about it constantly,” Sister Sorensen says, “we had to go ourselves!” They received a call to serve in the Cook Islands, where Jill’s grandparents served 50 years ago.
Today, among other duties, they are asked to teach Bible classes in schools.
“We talk about Christ being the rock,” Elder Sorensen says. “We give the students a small rock and encourage them to remain rock solid in Christ. Now everywhere we go, people say, ‘Rock solid!’ when they see us.”

When Jonathan K., 17, was helping to plan an upcoming high adventure activity with his Scout troop, he couldn’t get one young man out of his mind: his friend Mitchell F., a young man with spina bifida.
The group had some incredible—but physically challenging—country in mind they wanted to explore. They were planning on hiking through canyons and other wilderness areas around southern Utah.
Jonathan knew the rugged terrain they planned to visit could make it difficult for his friend to participate. However, he and the rest of his troop wanted to do all they could to allow Mitchell to join the adventure. “We wanted him to experience everything too,” Jonathan says.
As a solution, Jonathan used his Eagle Scout project to build a carrying device—the “Mitch Mobile,” as it came to be called—that would allow the young men to literally carry Mitchell throughout the journey.
There was no shortage of volunteers to help with building the Mitch Mobile. Friends and business owners from around town donated supplies to build the carrier and harness. Many people worked long hours to make sure the entire construction was safe, strong, and portable.
Of course, it was only after the carrier was completed that the true service began. After a few short trial runs around town, it was time to take the Mitch Mobile out on its true maiden voyage.
Ultimately, the high adventure outing was a huge success from start to finish. Jonathan and friends were able to carry Mitchell over every stretch of landscape and rough terrain they’d planned to see and explore. All of the young men gladly took turns wearing the harness. “I love taking him with us,” Jonathan says. They have since been on trips to many other backcountry locations.
“We’ve taken him everywhere,” Jonathan says. They’ve traversed slot canyons, cliffs, rivers, sand dunes, and steep hills. “He’s basically like a brother to me.”
As for Mitchell, he’s enjoyed the camaraderie with his friends every step of the way. He’s also enjoyed the amazing terrain they’ve visited together. One of his favorite activities was rappelling. “I’ve loved it,” Mitchell says.

After a discouraging day of prom-dress shopping with two of my daughters, we returned home in weary tears. We had not found one modest dress. I encouraged my daughters to take their desires to the Lord in prayer. They looked at me quizzically, not at all certain that a wardrobe concern was prayer-worthy. I promised them that Nephi’s conviction in 1 Nephi 3:7 applies to the mundane as well as the monumental: “I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.” My daughters agreed to pray about the problem, and within a week we found beautiful dresses in unexpected places that we could alter to be perfectly appropriate.
We continue to make modesty a matter of prayer. I have learned to follow small promptings from the Spirit, even if it means driving a distance, searching through sample racks, or making substantial alterations. I want my daughters to know that I value modesty enough to go out of my way.
Jerie Jacobs, California, USA

Choosing my friends wisely, following Church standards, and going to Church activities help motivate me to do things I should do, like reading my scriptures and working on Personal Progress. During my first year at Young Women camp, my leaders announced that a second-year girl in a different ward had completed her Personal Progress. Her example motivated me to work on mine more often, and soon we became great friends. The next year, she had moved into my ward and went to camp with us. On the first day, I asked if we could go play tetherball together, but she said she had to read her scriptures first. I was so impressed, I decided I would read with her. She was such a great example to me! Because of our friendship, I’ve almost finished my Personal Progress and the Book of Mormon. Choosing to follow good examples can start a chain reaction to doing great things and developing your testimony.
Cadence J., 14, Texas, USA

Rookies Kenny, Jacob, and Harlan may have made the Little League Angel Park Dodgers team, but they still have problems. In Making the Team, even though they ace the tryouts, they still have to prove to the older guys that they, the rookies, really are good. In Big Base Hit, Harlan is going to be kicked off the team if he doesn’t come through for it. Find out how the team got out of its awful slump in Winning Streak. In What a Catch! veteran player Brian will have to quit the team unless he can show his dad that he can play well. Jacob and Harlan are convinced that Kenny thinks that he is too good for them in Rookie Star.Dean Hughes7–11 years

Another great quality Merlene has is her love for animals. More times than I can tell you we have had stray animals become permanent pets simply because after my wife has taken care of them for several days, they feel they have found a home. I remember one little furry dog who one morning began whimpering on our back steps. It was bitter cold, the temperature was around zero, and Merlene heard the whimpering. She got up and went to the door, and she saw this furry little dog who had been caught in a trap that had been set by someone in the neighborhood. The dog had somehow pulled the stake attached to the trap loose and had dragged the trap to our nearby house. Merlene cried as she saw the pitiful plight of this little dog. I remember going out; the foot was frozen because the big, heavy trap had conducted the coldness into the foot and leg. I remember taking the trap gently off the leg and taking the dog to the veterinarian for appropriate care. Because of her great love for animals, each of our children loves animals.

We often hear that love can heal all wounds, but I didn’t know just how true this was until I lived it.
For years, my family struggled to find a place to belong. My two boys were diagnosed with autism and ADHD at a young age, and due to their uncontrollable and often disruptive behavior, many people weren’t understanding of their situation. In my home country of Japan, 98 percent of the population is Japanese. In any area with low diversity, it can be difficult for society to accept those who are even a little bit different.
When my children were young, I tried to enroll them in preschool. I began applying to schools in the area, but with each application, I encountered the same difficult response: as soon as the staff met my sons and found out about their condition, we were informed that the school no longer had any openings. Eventually a facility in a neighboring town welcomed us, but this was only after we were rejected by every preschool in our city.
It was incredibly painful.
Riding public transportation wasn’t much easier. Sometimes, when I would scold the boys for making too much noise on the train, they would act out, causing strangers to tell me that I was being abusive. Other times, I would restrain myself from quieting the boys out of fear of how they might react, only to have other passengers tell me that I was being neglectful.
I even had social workers insist that I place one of my children in a semipermanent facility, with contact only once every two years, because they believed I’d never be able to raise two children with autism and ADHD as a single mother. However, having personally experienced the pains of a difficult childhood—my parents divorced when I was a toddler and for various reasons weren’t able to care for me—I was determined to do my best to give my sons the deep love that every child deserves.
Several years ago, I attended a work seminar, and I noticed that some of the seminar leaders would fold their arms and bow their heads before eating lunch. These people are usually so nice, I thought to myself. Why are they in such a bad mood whenever they sit down to eat?
I quickly learned that they were praying—not sulking—and I couldn’t help but ask more questions about their faith. They were overwhelmingly kind and had such a unique spirit about them, and I yearned to know more. I learned that they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we quickly accepted their invitation to attend church with them.
Due to his autism, my younger son was afraid of being in large groups and meeting new people, but the ward welcomed us with open arms and did everything they could to accommodate our needs. The members set aside a special room at the back of the chapel just for my son, and they fulfilled our request to avoid making eye contact with him until he felt more at ease. Even when one of my children would disrupt sacrament meeting, we were treated with the utmost respect and kindness.
I saw my sons unfold in the warmth of the ward’s embrace. They quickly made new friends, and my sons even started to attend Primary classes on days that I was unable to attend church.
We were eventually baptized, a memory that still brings tears to my eyes. At the baptismal service, the ward members—understanding my children’s fear of crowds—tiptoed into the back of the room after the boys had been seated to avoid frightening them. Afterward, we were offered a mountain of congratulatory sweets, and the love in the room was so palpable that my sons remarked, “I want to be baptized again!”
I have nothing but gratitude in my heart when I think about the deep love demonstrated by the members in our ward—a love that ultimately allowed us to find the light of the gospel. The ward perfectly encapsulated what it means to have our “hearts knit together in unity and in love one towards another” (Mosiah 18:21). My family was truly blessed by the kindness of these welcoming Latter-day Saints.
It’s now been two years since my sons and I were baptized. Both of my sons have been ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood, and I’ve seen an incredible change in their demeanors.
I’m grateful for the many caring individuals who accepted my family and who helped my sons overcome their fears through the power of love. I’m grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ, through which even the deepest wounds of prejudice can be healed. And above all, I’m grateful for a loving Heavenly Father, who prepared a way for my family to find peace and belonging, even when I couldn’t see what that path would be.
I’ve learned that as we make room for our differences, we make room for greater love. Each of us is a beloved child of heavenly parents, and as we remember this truth, we can all—no matter where we are or who we are—become one in Christ (see Doctrine and Covenants 38:27).

I didn’t feet much like an expert, but the four men in the small room looked at me as if I were, Reggie, Robert, Charles, and Don, the district president; they needed my help in getting their new chapel built, and I’d been sent for that purpose.
But there are times when the expert doesn’t have any answers. What could I tell these men who wanted an infallible method of gathering the needed funds? Certainly the approved way was by member contributions. But these members said they were incapable of such contributions—or at least they seemed to be. Even the richest among them appeared poor.
But I could think of no other solution. I said, “Of course, we’ll need to get the money from the members.”
They nodded, but said nothing. They knew I hadn’t really solved their problem.
So I took it a step further. “First it is essential that each of you make your own personal commitment,” I said.
“How much do you suggest?” Don asked.
“I’d suggest about fifty pounds.” I could tell by their expressions that I had struck too deep.
“As with the leader, so with the people,” I reminded them. “You cannot ask others to do what you yourself are reluctant to do. After you have made your own commitment, the Lord will help. With that, good planning, and hard work, anything can be done.” They nodded, but I could see they had some reservations. Two of the men had retired on small pensions, and the other two, one a contractor and the other a day worker, had families and small incomes.
Following the meeting, Don drove me back to my hotel, with Charles accompanying us. As I got out of the car, Charles looked at Don and said, “I’ll take a bus from here. I need to talk with Brother Walton.”
“All right,” Don replied. “I will come and get you at seven so that we can get to our meeting on time.” He was smiling but the worry that had come into his eyes at the suggestion of a fifty-pound donation was still there.
Charles and I went up the steps of the hotel veranda and sat down on wicker chairs. I looked into his face and saw a lifetime of grinding toil behind him. We sat there and rocked and looked across the street to the big green park and the Indian Ocean beyond.
At last he spoke. “About the money: I’m on a fixed pension and I have no other source of income. My health is poor. My wife and I struggle every month to have enough to pay our bills. I can honestly see no way to pledge anything—fifty pounds or even less.” He was a humble man, and I regretted having placed him in this position; I also felt his regret that he was not able to carry his share of our burden. “Most of the others are in as difficult a position as I am. It may be that we should wait awhile before we attempt such a huge undertaking,” he said sadly.
I said nothing because I didn’t want to pressure Charles, but I must admit that my mind began to reflect over the many pages of history written about the efforts of people who achieved the impossible. I finally said, “May I suggest that you talk this over with your wife and pray about it. It’s really between you and the Lord, not with me or anyone else.”
Charles stood and we shook hands. He was a small, pale man, with very little strength in his hands, but there was sincerity in his eyes. He walked down the sweeping wooden steps; as he crossed the street he must have felt my eyes on him for he turned and waved.
I was about to go to my room when Reggie drove up, waved, and parked his car. He was young and wiry and came up the steps two at a time. He told me of his small business, his young children, and lack of work, and finally that he simply could not see how he could pledge fifty pounds.
I gripped his shoulder. “Let me suggest that you discuss this with your family and with the Lord. You are not wanting to build this church for me, but for the Lord. Perhaps He has a way in mind for you. But most of all, don’t be depressed. No one expects you to do more than you are capable of doing.”
Reggie was in a hurry, and there was obviously nothing more that I could say. I knew that unless these leaders made their own commitments, their people could not be expected to respond. I did not have much time to think about Reggie; before my visitor was out of sight, a young hotel employee called me to the phone.
The caller was Robert. He was a retired postal worker, a fine man, and a recent convert. He talked slowly and he repeated, over the wires, almost word for word what Charles had said. “We have only a small pension … fixed income …”
I was standing in the lobby at the reception desk. There were other people around and I felt I should not discuss Robert’s finances in a public place. I agreed with all that he said, then reminded him, “But there is someone else that you need to talk to besides me.”
There was a pause, then he answered, “I understand. I will see you at the meeting.”
The members filled the small red brick building they called their Church. We closed all of the windows, but still the neighbor’s radio could be heard through the wall. It was the usual meeting, with few surprises. Despite the events of the previous afternoon, I wasn’t even surprised when the president and his counselors announced that they would each pledge fifty pounds for the new building. Their talks, though short, rang with sincerity, and the audience was moved to participate.
I returned to Sydney the following day with confidence. The money would be collected; the building would be built. All that remained for me to arrange was a Church building supervisor. I sent a telegram to Salt Lake City asking them to send one.
The first few weekly reports from Perth were not encouraging. Money was being pledged, but not enough. Soon I decided to make another visit to see when they would be ready to start construction. Certainly I did not want a supervisor sitting in Perth with no building to build. I sent a telegram to Don, and one week later I sat down again with the same four men. This time there was a definite air of excitement among them that had not been there before. I began to speculate, gave up, and asked Reggie to give his report.
“I didn’t see how I could possibly get the fifty pounds, but my wife and I decided to make the pledge anyhow and hope we could find a way to get it. After pledging the fifty pounds, I contacted a nursery to see what I could do. I got a contract to bring in wild flower seeds—we have the most beautiful flowers in the world here in western Australia. I was lucky; the nursery had just received a request for these seeds from a U.S. company. My family and I have given our Saturdays and every possible hour after work to gathering them. We have not only earned our pledge money, but we’ve also received some side benefits from the work. The children enjoyed the family outings as well as the opportunity to earn extra money. We have started some projects of our own at home that we could never afford before.” He looked at each of us and smiled, “It sure has been a great benefit for us!”
Next I asked Robert to report. He crossed his legs and, with a quiet smile, leaned forward and began to speak.
“Like Reggie, I just didn’t know how I was going to fulfill that commitment. I spent some time before and after that meeting in conversation with the Lord—I really needed help. Well, the next morning I received a letter from an old friend. His son had been admitted to the university here, and he needed room and board. Now that our children are married and gone, we have an extra room. The boy has been with us for the past two weeks, and he has brought light and sunshine into our home. He’s a fine lad, and we are happy to have him with us. He has no church ties, so he’s started coming with us.”
“What about your pledge?” Don asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Oh, yes! Well, his father sent us fifty pounds in advance for his school year. It will be fairly easy to add what little he eats to what Mum and I need—especially with our garden as it is growing now.” He smiled at us, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “We not only got the money, we got extra sunshine in our lives as well,” he said.
Don turned to Charles. “Let’s hear from you now.”
“I also did not know what to do. I could not conceive of how I would ever get the fifty pounds I committed for the Lord’s house. I, too, spent some time telling the Lord of my problem and asking his help to fulfill my commitments.
“I was in town the morning after that meeting, and, as I crossed the street, a truck came by with a load of reinforcing bars extending well beyond the bed of the truck. I nearly walked into them—and I wasn’t the only one. Several other people had equally narrow escapes. I was so angry that he hadn’t tied a warning flag on the ends of the bars that when I got home I called the chief of police. He told me that there was an ordinance requiring red flags, but it had not been enforced because no flags were available for the truckers.”
Charles took a deep excited breath, then continued. “As of now, my wife and I have bought up all the red cloth in town. It’s all cut into the legal size; she sews a seam and I thread a piece of stout twine through it for tying it to the loads. I contacted some of the truckers, and we have more orders than I can possibly fill. More than that, our usually dull days have turned productive and we have established a little business that will bring us additional money long after the building is completed. Yes, we have fulfilled our commitment; and we will have the strength to do even more now.” He sat back with a satisfied smile that had in it more than a tinge of gratitude.
Don was the next to give his report.
“That Monday morning following our fund-raising meeting, I went to an early morning sales meeting. Afterwards, I overheard our store manager complain about the lack of honest, competent help to take inventory. I stepped forward and volunteered four people—my wife, my two oldest daughters, and myself. We’ve already received our first check, the fifty pounds that we agreed to work for. In six months we’ll take inventory again—just in time to meet the next needs. Oh, and one more thing: our work has brought me favorably to the attention of my superiors. I have already received a pay raise and I was told that I’m next in line for promotion.”
I looked at the men in the room, each of whom had found a way to honor his commitment—with the Lord’s help. And then I knew as never before that even though I may have felt inadequate as an expert, the Lord is never inadequate as a helper. The good Saints in Perth had responded to the challenge with obedience and effort. In turn, the Lord had responded by opening the windows of heaven and pouring out blessings.

“Did I tell you enough times how much I love you, my son?” I silently wondered. As my husband and I sat in the intensive-care unit at the hospital, we prayed for the life of our eldest child, Joel. I held his thin, cold hand in mine, listening to machines keeping him alive and weeping at the thought that perhaps I hadn’t done enough to let him know of my love. Most of all, I wanted to tell him once more, “I love you.”
I don’t know how many times I have expressed my love for Joel since his life was spared. Our family members now show love for one another more often and more easily—both in word and in deed. We try not to miss a chance to express our affection.
Joel’s brush with death reminded us that life is short and that we can’t let any opportunity pass to show our children how much we love them—especially given the great joy and security children experience in knowing they are loved.

For me, parenthood has been a refiner’s fire. My weaknesses seem to come out as I become stressed, sleep deprived, worried, or upset. Of course, parenthood’s blessings make up for those moments, but I have found that I have a temper. It’s humiliating to admit, but I used to yell or throw things to get my children’s attention.
I would resolve time and again not to lose my temper, but I would still lose it in times of stress. Heavenly Father knew I needed something dramatic to help me.
One evening after a long day of bottling peaches, I put on the last batch and decided to take a short nap. I was sure I would wake up in time to take the bottles from the steamer.
I didn’t.
My husband, Quinn, and I were startled awake by the sound of exploding jars. I ran to the kitchen and saw shattered glass and gluey peaches over every surface of the room. Apparently, the steamer water had evaporated, heat and pressure had built up, the top of the steamer had blown off, and six of seven peach jars had exploded.
“I think I’ll clean this up in the morning,” I said.
Bad idea.
By morning the hot peach muck had solidified into hardened, glass-filled mounds all over the kitchen and dining room. The plastered peach-glass tidbits had even found their way behind countertop appliances and into every nook and cranny, including behind the fridge.
Cleanup took several hours. I had to soak the glass-filled mounds with wet paper towels and then try to wipe them up without cutting myself.
As I cleaned, a familiar voice whispered to me: “Mary, when your temper explodes, as did these jars, you cannot easily fix things. You cannot see where and how your anger hurts your children and others. Like this mess, that hurt hardens quickly and is painful.”
Suddenly, the cleanup took on new meaning. The lesson was a powerful one. Like my anger, there was no quick cleanup. Weeks later I was still finding little clumps of peach rock embedded with glass.
I pray that someday my patience will become as great a strength as it was a weakness. Meanwhile, I am grateful that the Lord’s Atonement is helping me better control my temper so that I can spare my loved ones any more messes caused by exploding anger.

When I returned home from my mission, my grandmother was dying of cancer. She wanted to know what would happen after this life, so I taught her the gospel. She didn’t join the Church, but I had faith that the testimony I shared with her about Heavenly Father’s love for her and about life after death would have an impact on her in the next life.
After she passed away, my family went to the temple for her. I know that because of the work we did for her in the temple, she and my grandfather can be together forever—and I can be with them! The differences that we had can be resolved by knowing the truth and having the gospel be a part of our lives.

Most of my customers are great, but a couple of them give me nothing but headaches. The biggest skullbuster is—or rather was—Mr. Cory. He’s the kind of guy who would complain if you gave him a solid gold watch that wasn’t set to the right time.
Last Saturday, after putting it off as long as I could, I went to his house to collect. His tall wooden fence had signs all over it, saying “Keep Out” and “Beware of Dog.” I was a believer. The first time I went through that gate, Mr. Cory’s big doberman, Slash, had tried to use my leg for a chew bone. Anyway, on Saturday, I peeked through a knothole to make sure Slash wasn’t on duty.
Mr. Cory answered the door the third time I knocked. He kindly left the screen door latched so that Slash, who was pushing his nose against the mesh and snarling at me, couldn’t get to me.
Mr. Cory was a sour-faced, dried-up little man, stooped with age—but his faded blue eyes were sharp and suspicious beneath bushy eyebrows. “Is it that time again, Rosa? It seems like I just paid you.” He always said that.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “It’s been a month.”
“Well, if you’re sure … ,” he grumbled, tottering off to write a check, leaving Slash and me to glare at each other.
Mr. Cory opened the screen door a crack, slipped the check through, and took his receipt before he started complaining. “I wish you’d try to hit the porch once in a while. I don’t know why you kids don’t do your job like you’re supposed to, but I do know that I’m getting tired of chasing out in the damp grass in my slippers!”
“If I could get into the yard I’d put it right on your doorstep,” I told him. “It’s hard to throw over a six-foot fence and hit the porch.”
“And don’t throw it on the roof,” he continued as though I hadn’t even tried to explain. “I don’t want my roof covered with papers.”
“I only did that once, four months ago, Mr. Cory, and I gave you another paper.” I had even offered to climb up there and get the dumb paper, but he’d said, “No, leave it there. Maybe it’ll remind you not to be so careless.” It was still there, right by the upstairs bedroom window. I knew what window it was because if I even sneezed in the morning, that’s the one he hollered at me from.
“One more thing,” he growled. “I don’t feel well, and I’ll probably want to sleep late in the morning. Try not to disturb me!” He ended the conversation by slamming the door in my face.
The next day started out like a typical Sunday. The papers were fat with sale circulars and weighed in at a ton per copy. I reached the Cory house about seven and peeked through my favorite knothole. Slash was waiting there, all teeth and snarl.
I was getting ready to take a blind shot at the porch, when I noticed smoke pouring out of the back of the house. It didn’t seem likely that Mr. Cory, sick as he was, would be barbecuing in the backyard at that hour.
I backed off far enough to see the upstairs window and shouted at the top of my lungs, “Mr. Cory! Fire, Mr. Cory!” The only thing that happened was that Slash growled louder. I tried screaming once more, with the same result.
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to wake someone in one of the other houses and have them call the fire department, but the smoke was getting thicker and blacker, and I thought I should rouse Mr. Cory before the fumes got to him.
I did the only thing I could think of. I ran a few steps, then flung that Sunday edition like a pro quarterback heaves a football.
It went just where I aimed, smashing through the upstairs window. A couple of seconds later Mr. Cory stuck his head out and started bellowing at me.
Lucky for me, the house was on fire.
The next day, the paper said, “Due to the fast thinking of Chronicle carrier Rosa Martinez, damage was slight and no one was injured.” I bought ten copies of that edition.
Mr. Cory was waiting for me Monday morning. He opened the gate, and I almost panicked when I saw there wasn’t anything between me and Slash. Then I saw that Mr. Cory had him on a tight leash.
The old man smiled at me for the first time. “Come in here a minute, Rosa. I want you and Slash to make friends. We’ll do this every day until he recognizes you as a pal. Then you’ll be the only person besides me who can come into this yard whenever you want to.”
It worked too. After a few days I had enough confidence to carry the paper right to the doorstep. Slash would just dance around, whimpering excitedly and wiggling his entire back end until I petted him.
The best thing, though, happened just a couple of days ago. The paper printed a letter to the editor from Mr. Cory saying that I was the smartest, most reliable, most courteous newspaper carrier he had ever had the pleasure to do business with. And the old guilt paper was gone from the roof.

Recently I had the opportunity of riding a pleasure boat up Germany’s Rhine River. The three-hour trip only covered a few miles because we had to go against the current. The bus that took us to that boat sped on ahead to our destination, affording the driver a long nap while he waited for our vessel to churn against the river before catching up to him. As we sunned on the deck, looking at the medieval castles jutting out among the vineyard-covered hills paralleling the famous river, we saw many similar boats pass us from the opposite direction traveling at several times our speed.
Perhaps you have experienced such a boat ride or tried to swim or row against the current. You might have wished then that it was your option, like our oncoming craft, to ride easily in the opposite direction—allowing the force of the current to sustain you instead of the exertion of muscles. There is an obvious parallel in our secular society: it is easy, fun, fashionable, acceptable, even legal to move with the sensual current in entertainment, in courtship, in reading materials, but it leads into a secular atmosphere that you do not control. There is, however, another life-style that could be called “swimming upstream.”
For example, there was a young soldier on sentry duty one day. His foul-mouthed sergeant, whom he generally avoided, approached him. The recruit steeled himself for the customary barrage of profanity that he would later have to scour from his mind. Instead his sergeant said, “You’re a Mormon, aren’t you?” The recruit nodded in the affirmative, with some surprise, only to be stunned by the next observation: “I could tell because you don’t swear.” The private gulped inwardly as he took quick inventory. The sergeant continued: “You know what gets me about you guys? You are good when you don’t have to be!”
Another time in the military a whole delegation of LDS college men went through summer training. As they moved from one field demonstration to another, each hour they endured the military instructors who began each session with a dirty joke. One NCO unintentionally prefaced the inevitable lewd story by asking, “Anyone object to a joke?” There was a split second of intense silence while the opportunity ran through the group. Then quickly from the back came a solitary but solid, “Yes.” The cadreman looked up in shocked surprise, immediately becoming defensive. Intending to intimidate such an upstart, he fired back, “Well, leave if you don’t like it.” Again a second of silence—followed by a decision. Then three-fourths of the group voted with their feet.
The military experience is like other forays into secularism that LDS youth are facing today. They are away from home with carnal options on every hand—gambling, profanity, pornography, immorality, and bug-out-ism. Such crass enticements successfully ensnare the uncommitted, but thousands of others choose to swim against the current. One young priest, during his first week away from home, confronted some returned missionaries in his barracks who appeared more sophisticated. Why weren’t they saying their prayers, he queried. His challenge encouraged them all to overcome their smoothly disguised fears of censure. They joined after lights out for a family prayer each night. Soon they discovered that their Mormon compatriots throughout the post were doing the same in small scattered groups; they even included their fellow nonmember squad members. The result was a brotherhood—blessing when sick, counseling when troubled, and bolstering each other during competition—instead of the harassing, cutting, and undermining that are so common in basic training. This higher life occurs without leaders or instructions; it emerges from being “anxiously engaged in a good cause,” from conviction, from feeling the power of God within. All over the globe, many Mormon youth seek out each other. Their spiritual adventures are legion. They often reach out to friends who have followed the carnal path into deprivation. Their example, caring, and persistence have supported many through a transformation that has led them into the Melchizedek Priesthood, the temple, sometimes mission calls—in other words, into their eternal potential.
These modern youth discover the spiritual adventure, not appreciated by many today, that is symbolized by the legendary friendship of David and Jonathan in ancient Israel. Here were two young men who should have been rivals because David was anointed to be the successor to Jonathan’s father, King Saul. Instead, their commitment to virtue bound them, as the scripture says, so “that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.” (1 Sam. 18:1.)
The contemporary Davids and Jonathans in high schools and colleges, in the mission fields or army, on the job or the playing field, experience these rare friendships. They have no need to long for that relationship between David and Jonathan. It is available right now.
How can that be?
It is because there are many young Latter-day Saints, worldwide, who have caught the vision. They have discovered that by adhering to the Word of Wisdom, attending church, paying tithing, and performing other essential requirements, they are prepared to move on to a higher law—one that happens only in the soul, one that causes a burning in the bosom, a resolve in the mind, and a love in the heart. Once this happens, these youth discover a whole new vista about the gospel. They realize that being able to proudly answer to a bishop that they have refrained from sin is an exciting achievement and will help one enter the temple. But there is also a virtue built upon that restraint; it consists of positive acts that one has initiated. These are possible for young men and women who master their natural tendencies and then continue to grow by adding personal initiatives—magnifying the priesthood and radiating virtue.
This is what bound David and Jonathan; it was pure joy to love one who also loved virtue. Jonathan added selflessness and sacrifice to his basic self-mastery; David added total dedication. Their love for one another was magnified because they were committed to common principles. Their lives had purpose well beyond desire to rule an earthly kingdom over which they could easily have parted. Instead theirs was a consecration to build a kingdom of God. This vision throbbed in their beings and gave meaning to their lives.
For them and countless of your generation, it is not only a matter of filling requirements and doing what is expected in the structured environment of the Church. Instead, while holding to that rod, you go beyond to total dedication on your own initiative. It is the adventure of virtue when you are away from observation. That is where you find spiritual excitement—when you are on your own.
The result is electric.
In countless student apartments prayer permeates college life without destroying fun. On campus, as well as on the job, friendships grow beyond the joys of adolescent idealism when Mormon youth out on their own discover the adventure that awaits those who achieve self-mastery. In one apartment, for example, four freshmen lay awake late into the nights discussing the profundities of a universe governed by eternal progression. In another circle several young men regularly drove to the mountainside where they could view the heavens and discuss truths learned. There they extended the evening’s worship, pondering the galaxies. The power of prayer bound two other youthful companions, who were linked by friendship and by assignment as local missionaries. Because of the draft and a war, they were not called as full-time elders, but they did not let that rob them of the power others had to go to distant lands to discover. They found it on their own through mighty prayer, as have many others. There are home evening groups on many campuses that love roommates into the gospel—often guiding them through the substantial trials that conversion can inflict. These examples are not unusual; they are but a selection from a whole vista of LDS youth who are developing their own lifestyle, one not depicted in movies and records but one with a higher adventure.
Among them are some youth with real spiritual courage who contact a bishop to confess. These are the genuine heros who internalize the gospel. Instead of living behind a facade of acceptability, they choose to bare their soul to a judge in Israel. Anyone who has occupied that judgment seat is awed by the courage and integrity of those young Church members who take the scriptural admonition literally: “By this you may know if a man repenteth of his sins—behold, he will confess them and forsake them.” (D&C 58:43.)
In that vista of virtue, there are many who choose to develop their own courtship style instead of adopting the romanticized recreation that is loudly flaunted by the male-conquest approach. One such elder confided: “At first she was afraid, but when she discovered I would not take advantage of her, she developed a trust in me. What scares me is that now she trusts me too much. I could damage that sacred trust, so my challenge is to protect her from me. That is why I have to be the one who is in control instead of depending on her to resist.”
These are only a sample of the youth on several continents. You have undoubtedly felt their spirit too—in different places and with different actions. Not all achieve this level of internal growth, nor do even the best maintain such spirituality at all times. But this possibility of self-mastery plus positive virtue is achievable. It is often found powerfully in those under 18. You can strive for it without apology.
You must realize that such spiritual achievement does not immunize one from difficulties or doubt. Nor will it endow you with unearned talent. But it brings you an eternal perspective for our times. It will help you perceive the essence of the gospel life-style for a new era. Instead of despairing about the norms of society that are deteriorating and the laws that are legalizing what used to be forbidden, you will find a way to utilize the new freedom instead of allowing it to destroy the gospel environment. Whereas many of the youth of certain past centuries were controlled so they would avoid sin, you will know the heady feeling of voluntary choice; you can internalize moral restraints that will emerge more from conviction. This will be harder to sustain than the puritanical system of the past, but it will also bring more adventure to those who catch the vision.
Many will not be able to stand such freedom; they will be enticed by situation ethics, relativism, and even overt temptations. They will jump on the old-fashioned bandwagon that will be dressed in new apparel without recognizing that the arguments are crass. “Everyone is doing it,” “It’s your own life, so live it,” “It’s all right for consenting adults,” “There is a new morality that has outgrown conformity”—these are not new insights, merely new wrappings for sensualism. They will not lead to enduring the sublime joy. They will not qualify as spiritual adventure. Instead, it is positive virtue that leads to the celestial—even to knowing some of its joy right now.
There is more spiritual adventure to come than has yet passed—for those who swim upstream.

Although my remarks have been directed to the youth of the Church, for parents and grandparents, I offer the following:
Recently, Elder David A. Bednar described a simple way to conduct a family assessment to mark progress on the covenant path by essential ordinances. All that is needed is a piece of paper with two columns: “name” and “plan for next or needful ordinance.” I did this recently, listing each family member. Among them, I noted an infant grandson, soon to be blessed; a six-year-old grandson, whose preparation for baptism was essential; and a son turning 18, whose preparation for the priesthood and temple endowment was imminent. Everyone on the list needed the sacrament ordinance. This simple exercise assisted Lesa and me in fulfilling our role to help each member of our family along the covenant path, with an action plan for each of them. Perhaps this is an idea for you which will lead to family discussions, family home evening lessons, preparation, and even invitations for essential ordinances in your family.