Gospel Story Finder

The File on Jerry
To everyone around him, Jerry was a normal, happy, well-adjusted Latter-day Saint youth.
That is, he was until he turned sixteen. Then he began having troubles. He couldn’t get along with his parents. To his teachers and old friends, it seemed that Jerry had decided to abandon them. He developed the reputation of being a loner. His grades deteriorated and he quit going to church.
As time went on, Jerry ran away from home twice for short periods. The police found it necessary to question him about a burglary.
The cases of Jerry and Cindy are true. They don’t know each other, but they do have something in common: Both of them are young Latter-day Saints who were having troubles. But today they are secure about themselves. Jerry has found new confidence in himself, which makes him feel good about his home life and school activities. He is planning on a mission. Cindy has developed a warm relationship with her family and even enjoys talking to her parents. In fact, she has helped some of her friends with their problems.
There is one other thing that Jerry and Cindy have in common. Both were helped tremendously in overcoming their problems by meeting with their bishops, who in turn through the stake president brought into the setting some professionals from the Church’s Social Services Department.

John has already started saving money for a mission. When John was baptized by his father, he received a set of scriptures from his parents. John uses his scriptures at church, during family home evenings, and when his family reads scriptures each morning. He loves the stories in the scriptures, and his favorite is the one about David and Goliath. John was happy to be able to appear in a road show about David and Goliath.

A group of young members of the Church with recommends were going to the Salt Lake Temple to be baptized for the dead. One of them was hesitant because she felt that she didn’t really understand what temples were about. Her teacher said, “If you don’t feel that you’re ready for this experience, maybe you’d be willing to help a young lady in a wheelchair. Would you go with her, help her dress, help her into the font, and take care of her?” The girl said that she would.
In helping the young lady in the wheelchair, whom she hadn’t even known before, this girl became close to the Spirit of the Lord. She was so touched that she asked for the privilege of doing baptisms herself.

There have been times in my life that I have hidden my light under a bushel. When I was in high school, I played on the basketball team which was made up primarily of members of the Church. I remember overhearing a couple of teammates trying to recall the name of someone mentioned in the scriptures. They began to ask other teammates for help. They eventually asked me, and a comment was made that I would know the answer because my dad was a bishop. At that moment, the name popped into my mind but before I could give them the answer, the thought that knowing the answer would make me seem uncool overwhelmed me,
so I hid my light and claimed I didn’t know the name. I know my teammates wouldn’t have judged me that way, but Satan was able to make me feel ashamed in that moment. Shortly after that experience, I was preparing to serve a mission and I wondered if I would be able to rise to the occasion as a full-time representative of the Lord. As I was studying the scriptures, I read Doctrine and Covenants 50:24, “That which is of God is light; and he that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light growth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.”

Through this scripture, I received an answer from the Lord to one of my questions. If I continued to follow God, I would receive more and more light which would strengthen my testimony and resolve to be a witness and servant of the Lord.

In 1931, Vashni [H.P.] Young wrote a popular best-seller entitled A Fortune to Share (Bobbs-Merrill). Vashni Young had worked as a salesman during the lush, easy, prosperous years of the late 1920s, and then the market crash of October 1929 had plunged Vashni Young, with a few million other people, into the bottomless economic pit of the early 1930s. But he did not like the depression and he had become pretty sour on this world generally. And so he bought a gun and decided to have a look at the next world by committing suicide. But before he pulled the trigger, he spent a little time thinking about his wife and children and he decided that suicide was not a very manly way to solve a problem. And so instead of shooting himself, he did a little analyzing and he discovered that his mind had been operating like a giant junk factory, turning out all kinds of mental, emotional, and spiritual junk.

Then he remembered William James, the great Harvard psychologist who said, “The greatest discovery of my generation is that you can change your circumstances by changing your attitudes of mind.” And while everybody wants to change his circumstances, Vash Young decided to change himself. He said: “I got tired of being a fool.” He wanted to get out of the junk business and so he dumped overboard a lot of his bad habits of liquor, tobacco, and irresponsibility. He decided to adopt some good attitudes, think like a man, be responsible, and go to work.

It wasn’t long before Vash Young discovered that life was much more pleasant and that his prosperity level was going up by leaps and bounds. And then he made a great discovery that he had personal possession of a vast fortune which he could share with every other person in the world without lessening his own supply.

He wrote his great book, A Fortune to Share, and gave it as wide a circulation as possible, telling people about his discovery. Then he set aside one day each week which he called “trouble day” during which he worked with other troubled people trying to persuade them to get out of the junk business and share in this great fortune which was so readily available.

On my mission, I was in a car accident that left me with back pain and memory loss. Once I returned home, I enrolled in school, but I struggled. I couldn’t remember simple things, and I couldn’t carry more than a notebook and a pen in my backpack because of the pain.
I was angry. I had spent 18 months serving God and giving Him my all. Why wouldn’t He heal me? Where was He?
As the intense pain continued, I began to feel that I couldn’t turn to God. I began to doubt that He would—or even could—help me. And if He couldn’t help me, then I thought scripture study and temple attendance wouldn’t help either. I turned away from God because life was too hard, and I couldn’t see a way out.
On one particularly difficult day, I had failed another test after studying for hours, and the pain in my back was worse than it had ever been. I stepped outside, sat down, and cried.
A few minutes later, a girl came up to me and smiled. She handed me a note that read, “‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself’ [Matthew 6:34]. Heavenly Father is watching over you. I asked Him to. He loves you.”
The Spirit washed over me. I hadn’t felt God’s love for me in a long time. But the girl who handed me the note sparked feelings in my soul, brought me back to the beginning of my faith, and reminded me of my many prior experiences with the Spirit.
I began to turn to Heavenly Father more often in prayer. Even if I couldn’t see the end of my pain, I asked Him to ease my pain or to give me the strength to simply make it through the day. I concentrated more on scripture study and temple attendance.
Though my memory and my pain aren’t fully healed, I have learned to stay close to the Lord. Even when I cannot see all of what lies ahead, I know He is there. I can look forward to the future with faith in Him.

The Prophet Joseph Smith was our neighbor. We lived next to him on the corner of Main and Parley streets. He came to our house quite often for short visits.

One day my older brother, Wallace, and I were on our way to school. It had been raining the previous day and the ground was very muddy, especially along the street on which the building known as Joseph’s brick store was. Wallace and I both got stuck fast in the mud and could not get out. And, childlike, we began to cry. Looking up, I beheld the loving friend of children, the Prophet Joseph, coming toward us. He soon had us on higher and drier ground. Then he stooped down and cleaned the mud from our little heavy-laden shoes, took his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped our tearstained faces. He spoke kind and cheering words to us and sent us on our way to school rejoicing. You can see why Wallace and I loved him.

Much of what I know I have learned from watching and listening to those older and wiser and younger and wiser than myself whom I have lived near enough to see and hear up close. As a young bride, newly arrived in Cambridge, Massachusetts, I was experiencing some cultural shock. In those days Boston billed itself as the hub of culture which included the Cabots and Lodges and their associates. That dates me just a little bit if you know when those people had any influence in Boston. My husband suggested that I not keep mentioning how old I am, but I’m fifty years old. I’d like you to know that right to begin with. I think that lends some credence to my experiences. In our first Relief Society meeting in a little old house on Brattle Street, I listened as a strong, faithful, wise woman (a long-time resident) implored us:

Now don’t you Utah girls come here and hold your noses for four years wishing you were back in the only true West where things are done right! Absorb this wonderful culture. Learn New England cookery, get to know your Yankee neighbors; that may take some patience, but it’s well worth it. Catholics are people. Take the subway over to the Esplanade and hear the Boston Symphony, free, this summer. Do it; then you, as well as your husbands, will have something to take home.

I believed her. It changed my responses. It has changed my life. When our four years were over, my husband brought home a Ph.D., and I came back loving New England: speech patterns, seafood, Catholics, and all. She taught me about differences and a most impressive lesson on tolerance. I learned that tolerance can lead to love—a lesson I was able to apply recently living among the Jews in Israel.

I tore open the envelope expectantly and unfolded the stationery. As I did, a small photo fluttered to the floor and landed face down. Snatching it from the shabby linoleum of our tiny apartment, I gasped in amazement.
“What is it, Sister Larsen?” my companion asked. I turned to her and beamed, speechlessly waving the photograph in her direction. That was Annemarie—all dressed in white. She stood with two sisters and two elders, one also in white. I immediately recognized the setting. It was the baptismal font of our stake center back home. My best friend had been baptized!
Now after nearly eight years of friendship and six months in the mission field, the letter I had dreamed would come had finally arrived. I stared at the photograph. Then I began to read.
Dear Sister Beth Larsen,
Greetings to my favorite missionary! Are you surprised? I know you thought I was too stubborn for this, but I got baptized. Me, your old knuckleheaded best friend! I kept my promise to you and read the Book of Mormon. So what if it took me five months into your mission before I got around to it? After I started, it didn’t take long before I had questions, so your wonderful parents referred me to two nice young sisters who promised they could help me.
I want to share with you the story of my conversion, and it isn’t long. It’s very simple, just like you said it would be. The Book of Mormon is true, and the Church is true. You told me that you have always known these things. I can now testify the same.
As the sisters spoke, explaining my premortal life and eternity, I realized these were things I already believed. They explained the plan of salvation, the need for an Atonement, and the nature of God. Beth, everything they said sounded so right, almost familiar. I felt these were things I had already known but had never been able to put into words or even remember at times. I guess you could say it was just like getting a long lost letter from home. …
I paused as my eyes misted over. My brother was right! I had learned it many times during the past few months in the mission field, and I felt it deeply within my heart now. As much as my example and prayers for Annemarie may have assisted in fulfilling the Lord’s work, my best friend’s conversion had very little to do with me. Like every conversion, hers was an intensely personal experience that came about miraculously. A loving Father reached down to His contritely seeking child, peeling back the veil just long enough to give her a glimpse of what she already knew.
“Are you okay?” my companion asked with concern as I refolded Annemarie’s letter.
“Yes. I just received an incredible letter,” I smiled, wiping my eyes hastily.
“Who is it from?”
“Just a friend from home. She told me about an amazing message she received. I’ll let you read it.”
I had been trying for years to remind Annemarie of the gospel plan taught long ago, but in the end it was she who reminded me of one important truth. Heavenly Father knew the right timing and circumstances that would help Annemarie come into His light. How could I ever doubt that He was not equally mindful of me? Whenever I feel Him guiding me in important decisions, carefully leading me back, I remember Annemarie. She showed me that whether personal revelations come in ways great or small, they are messages from our Heavenly Father—letters from our eternal home.

Several years ago, a couple who were about to marry came to me. They asked for my advice regarding children. I reminded them of the commandment they would receive when they were sealed and counseled them that it was a commandment that could only be kept by the two of them in consultation with the Lord. I reminded them that it is a commandment just like tithing or any other commandment. The question is not whether or not to keep it but how to do it in a way that is pleasing to and approved by the Lord.

I watched as they started their marriage. He had a year left of undergraduate studies, and she had another year in a master's program. They felt directed to have their family immediately--despite the schooling and uncertainty over future jobs. It was not easy or convenient to have a child so soon. He had to search for a job, they had to move, and she had to finish her degree. There was stress and sacrifice. He had to rush home early and watch the baby while she completed her thesis and practical training. She studied and wrote between nursing and changing diapers.

The Lord has blessed and prospered them. While many others lost jobs in the economic turndown of 2008, he was retained and promoted. Because they lived frugally, they are out of debt except for a mortgage, and they have been able to completely pay for a master's program. All the while, they have continued to learn the valuable lessons that can come only with parenthood.

Years ago I took a botany class here at BYU. The professor described a problem that sometimes occurs with sweet cherry trees. Apparently, there are times when they look fully mature, are beautifully shaped, and have complete foliage, but they don’t bear fruit. As I remember (and I ask the life sciences students here to be patient with me as I describe this in lay terms), he said that there are times when the sugar that sets fruit does not stay in the branches but goes to the roots instead. If this has occurred, then it may be necessary to “shock” the tree by upsetting the cambium layer in the tree trunk so that the sugar will stay in the top of the tree and set fruit.
We students asked how one does this. The professor told us we could carefully cut into the bark with a knife or we could shoot the tree with a small-caliber firearm. (Apparently, years ago some farmers did this.) Or we could beat the bark with a baseball bat. He said if we did beat the bark with a bat, we should do it after dark so our neighbors wouldn’t see us.
Well, I decided to try shocking the tree because I had a seven-year-old sweet cherry tree that would not bear fruit. So I got out my bat, waited until dark, and “carefully” tapped the bark around the base of the tree—then waited for the results. And results I got. The leaves began to wilt, turn yellow and then brown, and finally fall to the ground. I had completely girdled the tree, which totally cut off the branches from the roots. The tree died.
My purpose is not to illustrate that a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing—though in my case it was. Rather, my purpose is to illustrate the devastation that results when branches are cut off from their roots. When this occurs, nourishment cannot flow from the roots to the branches. Similarly, if we cut ourselves off from the Holy Ghost, our source of spiritual nourishment, we experience spiritual devastation.

Hiking out of the Grand Canyon is no easy task. The trail is steep. The sun is hot. When you stop to rest, squirrels steal your candy bars. There must be a dozen different kinds of plants with stickers, and they all seem to be waiting just for your feet.
The only water on the way is in your canteen. It is warm and stale and tastes of halazone.
Granted, the scenery is spectacular. But after five days you’re starting to think you’ve seen it all. It’s at least four hours and a 4,800-foot climb to the top. What you want to do is get back to the car and head home, stopping at the first hamburger stand along the way for a nice, cold milkshake.
Why in the world, then, would you take any longer to hike out than you have to? And why in the world would you be carrying 50 pounds of extra gear?
If you were Willie Holdman, a 16-year-old priest in the 75th Ward, Orem Utah Windsor Stake, you’d know the answers to those questions.
Willie’s father, Floyd, is a professional photographer. The 50 pounds of extra gear is camera equipment. And the hike takes half again as long as normal because every time there’s a possibility of a good picture, the hiking stops.
Willie, who wants someday to be a professional photographer himself, has traveled with his father on assignments in Utah, Arizona, Wyoming, Washington, Florida, and the Caribbean. But he remembers vividly that long walk up from the depths of one of Earth’s deepest canyons.
“People just don’t realize how much work goes into taking pictures,” Willie said. “We got up before dawn—and it’s hard to get up early when you’ve done it all week and you’d rather stay in the sleeping bag for two more hours. We waited for the morning light to be just right. While other hikers were starting out early to take advantage of the cool morning temperatures, we spent an hour taking photos before we even thought of breaking camp. And then we couldn’t just throw things in our backpacks. We had to be careful to protect the film and cameras from heat and dust.
“Then, when we finally got on the trail, we’d just get moving and Dad would say, ‘Wait, we need to take a picture here.’ Sometimes you’d be ready to forget the whole thing.
“But,” Willie said, “when you get home and you see the pictures, it makes you glad you did it.”
That’s just one of many lessons Willie has learned from working with his dad: to work hard, even when you don’t want to work, because you know the reward comes later on.

Ajan smiled big when he heard a knock on the door. Madda (Mom) had invited their ministering brother to help with a special home evening.
He opened the door. “Wah gwaan, Brother Williams!” (“What’s up?”)
“Everyting is irie!” Brother Williams said. (“Everything is alright!”) He handed Ajan a bag of mangos from his tree.
Brother Williams sat down on the couch. Madda asked Ajan’s little sister, Dana, to say a prayer.
After she finished, Brother Williams said, “This year, Ajan will be turning 12. Does anyone know why this is a special year for him?”
Ajan’s little brother, Tejaun, wiggled excitedly. “Because he can get the priesthood and pass the sacrament!”
“That’s right!’ Brother Williams said. “But there’s another reason too.”
He opened his wallet and pulled out a small piece of paper. “This is a temple recommend.”
He handed it to Ajan.
“Cool!” Ajan ran his fingers over the gold temple on the card. “What do you do with it?”
“I show it to the person sitting at the front desk at the temple. It shows them that I’m worthy to go inside.”
“I wanna see!” Dana grabbed it from Ajan and studied it closely.
“How do you think you’d feel if you had a recommend of your own?” Brother Williams asked.
“I’d feel special!” Ajan looked up from the card. “But I don’t know if I can go to the temple. It costs a lot to buy a plane ticket to go there.”
“I can’t go to the temple very often either,” Brother Williams said. “But my recommend reminds me to always be ready to go inside.”
Ajan thought for a minute. “I want to be ready too,” he said. “How can I get a recommend?”
“You meet with the bishop,” Brother Williams said. “He will ask you some questions to see if you are ready.”
“So it’s like a test?” Ajan asked, a little nervously.
“It’s more like a conversation,” Brother Williams said. “The bishop is your friend, and he wants to help you be ready.”
Ajan nodded. He liked the bishop.
“Would you like to see the questions?” Brother Williams handed Ajan a piece of paper with some questions on it. Dana and Tejaun huddled around him to see too.
“Number one,” Ajan read. “‘Do you have faith in and a testimony of God, the Eternal Father; His Son, Jesus Christ; and the Holy Ghost?’”
He brightened. That was easy. “Yes!”
He kept reading the questions, one by one. Madda and Brother Williams explained what a few things meant.
Then Ajan read another question: “‘Do you understand and obey the Word of Wisdom?’” He frowned. “Once D’andre gave me some rum punch when I was at his house,” he said. “But I don’t ever want to drink it again. Does that mean I can’t have a temple recommend?”
“Keeping the Word of Wisdom means not drinking alcohol, and rum punch has alcohol in it,” Brother Williams said. “But you can always repent and be worthy to go to the temple.”
“Because of Jesus!” said Tejaun.
“Exactly!” Brother Williams said. “Then your temple recommend can remind you to keep obeying the Word of Wisdom. And to always be ready to go to the temple.”
Ajan grinned. He felt much better.
“Maybe I’ll get to go to the temple sometime soon,” Ajan said. “And when I do, I’ll be ready!”
This story took place in Jamaica.

Two weeks ago at the Annual University Conference I shared a story with the faculty and staff concerning the mission of BYU. Since the students were not there, let me repeat it for their benefit. The incident took place in 1885, 10 years after the founding of Brigham Young Academy. In those days the school was funded by local donations with little support from Church headquarters, and the college had fallen on hard times. There was not enough money to pay teachers or provide supplies. The situation was desperate, and it appeared that the academy’s doors would close. Zina Young Williams, dean of women and a daughter of Brigham Young, initiated a meeting with President John Taylor in the hope of obtaining Church help. The story unfolds as follows:
After listening to Sister Williams’s plea for help, President Taylor took her hand “in a fatherly way” and said:

’My dear child, I have something of importance to tell you that I know will make you happy. I have been visited by your father. He came to me in the silence of the night clothed in brightness and with a face beaming with love and confidence told me things of great importance and among others that the school being taught by Brother [Karl G.] Maeser was accepted in the heavens and was a part of the great plan of life and salvation; . . . and there was a bright future in store for . . . preparing . . . the children of the covenant for future usefulness in the Kingdom of God, and that Christ himself was directing, and had a care over this school.” [Leonard J. Arrington, ed., The Presidents of the Church (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1986), pp. 108–9]

In spite of the dark hour overshadowing the academy in 1885, one can say with hindsight that it had a “bright future.”

I met Anthony a long time ago. We had just moved into the area. I went to this new school and started to make friends. Anthony was one of them. We were maybe six or seven years old. It’s funny to think about that, now that I am 26.
We were playing a game called Pog. It’s a game we play in France—I don’t know if it’s played elsewhere. While we were playing, Anthony tried to swipe one or two of my game pieces. Suddenly, we started to fight. Our teacher had to pull us apart. After that, I think we appreciated each other more. We started doing things together—playing video games, skateboarding, and cycling. Little by little, we began to spend more and more time together.
My mother always wanted our family to pray. It was part of our practice at home. Same thing with reading scriptures too. These things were ingrained in us. One night I slept over at Anthony’s place. As I prayed before bed, Anthony saw me and asked what I was doing. I don’t remember what I said exactly; I just remember we were in his room and we talked about prayer.
Anthony came a few times to my house, and he saw us read the scriptures, ask a blessing before eating, and pray as a family. He saw us sing hymns together too. I asked him once or twice to come to church. I must have seen from his reaction that he wasn’t too excited about the idea of coming to church. I told myself, “Well that’s it, I guess, and it’s too bad, but we’ll just continue to be buddies.”
Anthony:
At first I was a little distant about the Church. I didn’t understand much, and I was a bit afraid to speak with Cayo about how his family gathered together for prayer. So in the beginning I didn’t respond to invitations. But little by little, I felt good. I felt in my heart that Cayo’s family was different from other families.
Cayo:
Eventually we both moved on to other things. We lost track of each other several times over the years, but we would always bump into each other again. When we were teenagers, we became close friends again.
Anthony:
I could see that Cayo was different from my other friends. We all do dumb things as we’re growing up, but Cayo helped me choose a good path.
Cayo:
Anthony started to come to church with my family. Then things evolved naturally, the missionaries spent a lot of time with us, and Anthony became quite familiar with the Church. He knew what prayer was, he knew the hymns, he knew all that—he was just not a member.
Anthony:
From age 8 to age 18, I reflected a lot about getting baptized. But it took me a long time because I had a lot of things I needed to change in my life, even though I tried to live good principles.
At the age of 18, I met the missionaries in Cayo’s home. The missionaries taught me the lessons to prepare me for baptism. They helped me, and their message touched my heart. During this time, my mother and my little sister were introduced to the missionaries. They were baptized a few months before I was. I was baptized on March 10, 2007.
Cayo:
It took the time that it took, more than 10 years, but finally he was baptized.
It’s interesting to see how the Lord does things. After that, I went on a mission in France and we wrote to each other. Now we’re going to be separated because Anthony just became a gendarme [policeman], and he will leave to work for two to five years in Guyana, but I’m sure we’re going to stay in touch.
Anthony:
Since I joined the Church, I do what is required to stay on the strait path and to share the gospel with those around me. It’s something that’s very simple, but the gospel can be difficult for others to accept and to live. As members of the Church, we are truly different from others.
Other members of my family had trouble seeing why my mother, my sister, and I get ready for church every Sunday. I get dressed in my suit and leave at 8:30 to be to church by 9:00, and I often stay until 3:00 in the afternoon because of my calling. I enjoy visiting with other members and finding out what’s going on in their lives. I like being able to participate with the members; it’s exceptional. It’s important to have people around us who are members, to have unity, and to feel like we’re strengthening each other.
Cayo:
I believe the Lord does everything He can so we can truly, honestly, and deeply change. Becoming a Latter-day Saint and a disciple of Christ is not just a question of deciding to adopt certain attitudes; it is to witness a profound change in ourselves. I saw that change in Anthony.
Anthony:
Knowing I have a Heavenly Father comforts me. It also comforts me to know that He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to die for us—for me.
But, in any case, I know it’s true. I also know the scriptures are true. The Book of Mormon is true. I’m convinced of it. The Church is true. We have a true prophet, Thomas S. Monson. The Twelve Apostles are truly called of God.
That’s something I didn’t understand before, and I think that, even today, I don’t understand it completely. It’s very powerful and it’s unique as an emotion.
Cayo Sopi (left) and Anthony Linat (right) walk through their neighborhood in the suburbs of Paris, France. They have been friends since childhood.
“As we got to be closer friends, I could see that Cayo was different from my other friends,” Anthony remembers. Over time, Cayo’s example helped Anthony to become more interested in the restored gospel.
Cayo and Anthony plan on staying in touch after Anthony moves to Guyana.
“Since I joined the Church,” Anthony says, “I do what is required to stay on the strait path and to share the gospel with those around me.” Sharing the gospel is “something that’s very simple,” he says.
Cayo remains grateful for the opportunity he had to share the gospel with his friend. “I believe the Lord does everything He can so we can truly, honestly, and deeply change,” Cayo says. “I saw that change in Anthony.”
Anthony says finding the gospel has been a blessing in his life. “Knowing I have a Heavenly Father comforts me,” he says. “It also comforts me to know that He sent His Son, Jesus Christ.”
“It’s interesting to see how the Lord does things,” Cayo says. It took more than 10 years for Anthony to be baptized, but in that time, Anthony gained a strong testimony.

“I hate Santa Claus!” I exclaimed, glaring at the jolly old elf painted on a mall window.
Mom looked at me with raised eyebrows. “You certainly have the Christmas spirit,” she said.
I hurried with her to the car, trying to find the words to explain how I felt. “It’s just that I’m sick of Santa and Rudolph and Frosty and all that,” I said, as I put my shopping bags in the trunk. “I mean, aren’t we supposed to be celebrating the birth of the Savior?”
“I agree. Christmas is getting too commercialized,” Mom said.
We drove past the town hall. A poster told people to bring their Sub for Santa goods in. “And that’s another thing,” I blurted. “I hate the way people feel a tug of guilt on their heart strings at Christmas time and donate all their old stuff to charity. Why can’t people be generous all year long? As if they’re fooling anyone.”
Mom smiled. “Christmas is a good time to start.”
But I didn’t care what she had to say. Before long I was mad at everyone, and by the time we pulled into our driveway I had made up my mind that I wasn’t going to act any different just because it was Christmas. I wasn’t going to be hypocritical like the rest of the world. And as for the Savior’s birth, I’d just celebrate that in April.
After dinner we cleared the table and sat down to do homework. “Hey, help me with this algebra problem,” my brother Tom said.
“I’ve got homework to do,” I snapped.
“C’mon, it’s Christmas,” he pleaded. Boy, was that the wrong thing to say. I told him I didn’t care if it was Christmas. “Ask someone who has time,” I said.
“How about someone who needs blessings because she’s acting like the Grinch.”
“All right!” Mom’s stern voice cut in. “That’s enough you guys. I’ll help you Tom. Your sister’s carrying a grudge against Christmas this year.”
“I think her shoes are too tight, or her head’s not screwed on just right, or maybe her heart is two sizes too small,” Tom said as my mom dragged him to the other side of the table.
It was hard to concentrate on my homework because the ugliness inside me was growing. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling worse instead of better. After all, I wasn’t being a Christmas hypocrite, pretending to be jolly when people the world over were starving and suffering.
Just then the doorbell rang. Mom looked at me then quietly walked to the door. Her surprised gasp brought the rest of the family to her side, including me.
There stood our home teachers dressed as shepherds. They waited until everyone had gathered around, probably waiting for some of the shock to dissolve too. “We’re on our way to Bethlehem, and we thought we’d stop by and tell you what’s happened. You see, we were watching over our flocks when suddenly an angel appeared to us. At first we were terribly afraid, but the angel said, ‘Fear not, for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord’” (Luke 2:10–11).
There was something about the simplicity and sincerity of their message that got to me. My lip started quivering and I quickly bit it to keep it under control. I didn’t hear any more. I was too busy remembering how awful I’d been, all because I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. Tom was right. I had been the worst kind of Grinch, griping about how horrible everyone is, when I wasn’t willing to change myself for the better. At least the people I complained about were generous and kind part of the year. I certainly wasn’t.
“We’re going to see this miracle which has come to pass,” one of the shepherds said. With that they disappeared into the night, leaving us stunned into silence, meditating on their wonderful message.
Then it hit me. They were going to share this marvelous event with others, to help them feel the true spirit of Christmas.
I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat. “I’ve got some Christmas messages of my own to deliver,” I said. “I’ll start with you.” Turning to Mom I gave her the biggest hug I could manage. “I’m sorry for all I put you through. I know I can be a real pain sometimes.”
Mom smiled. “I guess part of being a mother is learning to take a lot of frustration.”
I looked at Tom who was grinning triumphantly.
“Probably the hardest thing I have to do is apologize to you, Tom,” I began. “But if I didn’t, you wouldn’t believe me when I tell you that my heart has really grown tonight.” He shrugged his shoulders and brushed past me. I noticed the reddening of his ears, a sure sign he was embarrassed.
I followed him to the kitchen table and sat down. “Tom,” I asked, “can I help you with your algebra?”
Tom looked up at me, and a slow smile spread across his face. “Sure,” he said. “And maybe you can help me wrap some presents too.”
I smiled back. “I’d like that.”
And for the first time that Christmas, I meant it.

Every year my parents took me to visit Aunt Ruby and Uncle George, who lived on a farm. I enjoyed visiting them because there were so many things to see and do. I played in the barn, helped feed the animals, rode on the tractor, and explored their big red shed.
One time when I was nine years old, I was helping Uncle George feed the animals in the barn. “You sure are quiet this morning, Justin,” he said.
“I was thinking about what my Primary teacher said last week,” I told him.
“What did she say?” Uncle George asked as he threw some hay to one of the cows.
“She said making right choices will help me keep the promises I made to Heavenly Father when I was baptized. But it’s hard to always make the right choice.”
Uncle George nodded. “It is hard to always make correct choices. But when we live the gospel standards and follow the ‘strait and narrow path’ like the scriptures tell us to, the Lord will help us.”
I thought about the “strait and narrow path” for the rest of the morning. When we finished feeding the animals, Uncle George said, “Thanks for your help, Justin. What would you like to do now?”
“I’d like to go over to my friend Jeff’s, but Mom and Dad usually take me there.”
Tilting his hat back on his head, Uncle George said, “They’ve gone into town with Ruby. I can’t take you either, because I have to fix the tractor.”
He put his arm around my shoulders and led me to a big dry ditch. “If you get in this ditch,” he said, “you can follow it all the way to Jeff’s house. Can you do that?”
I told him I was sure I could. Before I left, he gave me two warnings. One, I was to stay in the ditch. If I got out, I could get hurt or lost. Two, I was to keep going, even if I got tired. Then he promised me that if I followed his instructions, I would have no trouble reaching my friend’s house.
At first I was nervous. The grass on both sides of the ditch was so tall I couldn’t see over it. But soon I began to see interesting things all around me, and I wasn’t afraid of being in the ditch. I found a small white snail shell and a lot of interesting plants. Then I found a pebble and put it in my pocket.
After a while, though, it wasn’t interesting anymore, and my legs were getting tired. My faith in Uncle George’s words began to waver. Maybe I had already passed Jeff’s house. Maybe I wasn’t even going in the right direction. My uncle’s warnings were still clear in my mind, but I carefully climbed to the top of the ditch so I could see over the tall grass and find out where I was.
Happily, I saw that only a fence and a large pasture stood between me and Jeff’s house. All I had to do was walk through the pasture, and I would be there. With my goal in sight, I forgot my uncle’s warnings.
I slipped through a hole in the fence and started across the pasture. All I thought about was the fun Jeff and I were going to have. I paid no attention to what was going on around me until I heard a loud snort and the snapping of breaking sticks. I turned around and saw a large bull charging toward me from the edge of the pasture.
Now I had a new goal—to reach the fence before the bull reached me. I knew the shortest distance between two points was a straight line, so I ran straight toward the hole in the fence I had climbed through earlier. I ran so fast I could hear the air whistling around my ears. All the time, I was silently praying that Heavenly Father would bless me to run faster than the bull.
The fence was getting closer, but so was the bull. I was sure I felt his hot breath on my neck as I dived through the fence to safety. He snorted loudly as he pushed his nose through the hole and realized he couldn’t reach me.
My life had been spared. Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. My heart was full of gratitude to Him.
Now all I wanted to do was return to the “strait and narrow path” and follow my uncle’s instructions. I knew there were no bulls in the ditch. It was a safe place.
I had learned that my Primary teacher and Uncle George were right. There is great safety in choosing the right and following the correct path. I realized Heavenly Father would always help me stay on the “strait and narrow path” if I would listen and obey.

At our local grade school the vast majority of our childrens' teachers have been at the A and B-level. However, in two different years, two of our children were placed in classes with D-level teachers. The D-nature of each teacher manifested itself quite quickly. It was clear that these teachers did not like teaching and did not like children, often doing cruel things to them. My wife is intolerant of "C" and "D" level teachers assigned to our children. When the principal would not or could not move our children to another classroom and teacher, my wife pulled the children out of the school and placed them in a distant school less convenient to our family. The inconvenience of driving them to the other school was a small price to pay for the life-impacting benefits gained from the better teachers that our children received, in those instances.

Four years ago, my husband and I were called to be over our ward trek, held in Wyoming at Martin's Cove. We have a large number of youth in our ward; when we made the reservations, the missionaries in charge of scheduling actually thought we were a stake. Even though our youth in the ward were extraordinary, our bishop realized the value of experiencing hard things for understanding and learning the gospel principles. We really wanted the youth to understand, if only minimally, a portion of the hardship that the pioneers faced.?As we planned the activities, we tried to add challenges—not to discourage but to encourage our youth to increase their faith to know they could do hard things.
We departed early from our Harvest Hills ward house at around 4:30 in the morning. We traveled 12 hours east through Western Wyoming until we landed with three buses and 120 youth at Martin's Cove.
Though wearied from travel, a meal and square dance were on the schedule. Around 7:00 p.m., the youth gathered with their assigned families and were instructed to prepare to start the trek.
There was a lot of energy and high spirits as each family loaded up their handcarts and lined up for our trek in the wilderness. By design, the youth didn't know how far our camp was when we took to the trail. There was laughter and singing of pioneer songs, but after the first hour, things started to quiet down. I'm sure the youth were all wondering at this point, "Are we there yet?" We trekked on for yet another hour. The shadows had grown past being distinguished from the light and had melted into dusk when we pulled up to an overlook of the Sweetwater River. There, a short devotional was given from 1 Nephi 17:13: "And I will also be your light in the wilderness; and I will prepare the way before you, if it so be that ye shall keep my commandments; wherefore, inasmuch as ye shall keep my commandments ye shall be led towards the promised land; and ye shall know that it is by me that ye are led."
The light from the dusk was all but gone.
After the devotional, the exhausted youth were instructed that we had yet further to go. "But the path is so dark," a youth commented. "How are we going to see to find our way?"
Then, on signal, the leaders handed each youth an industrial-strength glow stick to act as their "light in the wilderness"[9] to navigate in the dark and to help see the path as they moved forward into the unknown.
We expected there would be some grumbling and complaining, but it never surfaced. The youth seemed to understand the difficulty and sacredness of sacrifice. It was an amazing sight to see a line of yellow lights silently making their way along in the still, cool Wyoming night. One of our leaders, James Helfrich, reported,
"I was pushing the cart at night with Ben Orchard. We didn't know where the road was going, how long we had been pulling, or even what time it was. We only knew that the trail was leading us forward. Why did we follow the trail rather than go our own way? We didn't know who made the road or even where it would take us! This road was a metaphor for our travels through mortality. Rarely does the Lord give us a roadmap. He gives us instead a glimpse of just a few feet ahead and faithful Saints to follow. If we trudge on with all our strength, if we follow our leaders and try to be an example to those behind us, we will reach the end."
The youth walked an additional two hours in the dark until they came to our campsite. One of the most difficult unsung tasks was completed by the four couples who had gone ahead and set up the tents—in the dark, in a windstorm, with 20-plus variations of tents, and they still prepared scones for when the youth arrived. Both the leaders and the youth did hard things. Although exhausted, the first leg of their journey in the wilderness was completed. It wasn't cut short for any reason, and it was endured well. The youth had accepted the challenge and accomplished this hard thing.

We had gone up the canyon to study, but the mountain air and warm sunshine made it too relaxing to concentrate. So I just lay there in a kind of sleepy intoxication while Sarah continued her story. I rolled over to let the sun warm my face when I noticed two young boys climbing the mountain beside us—a trek that was pretty rough going. As the boys pulled themselves up by grasping branches and roots as anchors, rocks and earth under them slid down into the water. Sometimes the roots they grabbed pulled right out of the dirt, and they would slide down the face until they found something to grab onto. The small avalanche they created continued without them into the water below.
As we watched the boys with mild interest, Sarah proceeded to tell me about her best friend in high school. At least Sarah said this girl was her “best friend.” I didn’t know how that was decided. As the story went, this girl had been spending the weekend at Sarah’s, and one night they were up late talking. She told Sarah that although Sarah was fun for the first day or so, her charm soon wore off. Sarah, who was overweight and insecure, didn’t have many friends, and she had believed what this girl had told her.
I thought about this “best friend” and what her motives could possibly have been. Maybe she was annoyed with Sarah and just wanted to be mean. Maybe she was merely entertaining herself and didn’t realize that five years later, Sarah still believed that her charm quickly wore off like Cinderella’s gown.
Sarah had finished talking, and I looked over and saw the boys had finally made it to the top of the mountain. Self-satisfied, they happily scanned the world from their new vantage point and never noticed the scars they had left on the fragile mountainside.
I couldn’t help but notice the parallel between those boys and Sarah’s “best friend.” One remark had scarred Sarah enough, that years later she still expected to be rejected after people really got to know her.
Some time later, I was dealing with a socially clumsy guy who excelled at making a nuisance of himself. Steve had been wearing on my patience already, and when he made some comment that was obviously out of bounds, I turned and snapped at him. My snide remark brought laughter from the group around us, and I felt satisfied that I had made my point.
That night, I was reading in the Book of Mormon when I came across two scriptures that had profound meaning.
“And again I say unto you, is there one among you that doth make a mock of his brother, or that heapeth upon him persecutions?
“Wo unto such an one, for he is not prepared, and the time is at hand that he must repent or he cannot be saved!” (Alma 5:30–31).
I pondered Alma’s question. I remembered my comment to Steve, and I thought back to Sarah and the mountainside. Even though Steve was hard to deal with, he didn’t know any better. His awkwardness deserved love, not a confirmation of his insecurities. I realized that no matter how annoyed I was—or even how thoughtless—I will be held directly responsible for how I treat each of Heavenly Father’s children. Christ has promised that our interactions with each other are important. He said, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:40).
I know now I would rather have Heavenly Father refer to the service I rendered than to the injuries I compounded.