Gospel Story Finder

Emma ran into the living room. It was time for family home evening.
“Kyle is going to a new school,” Daddy said. “So I am going to give him a father’s blessing. I will give you a blessing too, Emma.”
“A blessing is a way for Heavenly Father to tell you things He wants you to hear,” Mommy said.
First it was Kyle’s turn. He sat in a chair. He folded his arms and closed his eyes. Daddy put his hands on Kyle’s head. Emma folded her arms too.
Daddy said Kyle’s full name. He said he was blessing him by the power of the priesthood. Then he said, “I bless you that you’ll be able to do well at school.”
What will Heavenly Father tell me? Emma wondered as she listened to the rest of the blessing.
Soon Daddy said, “OK, Emma, it’s your turn.”
He helped her climb onto the chair. She folded her arms. She closed her eyes tight. Daddy put his hands on her head. He said lots of happy things in the blessing. Emma felt like she was getting a big, warm hug.
“In the name of Jesus Christ, amen,” Daddy said. He took his hands off her head.
“What do you remember from your blessing?” Mommy asked.
Question for You
When have you felt Heavenly Father’s love?
“Daddy said that Heavenly Father thinks I’m special!” Emma said. She felt warm in her heart. She knew it was true.
Mommy smiled. “You are special,” she said. “And Heavenly Father loves you.”

When we graduated from high school, I had to make another decision: should I leave for my mission now, or should I go to a year of college first? It was a huge question for me. I had already been accepted to BYU, and I didn’t know which timing would be better for me. After a lot of prayer, I felt like I should go to school first.
It was hard not going on my mission at the same time all my friends were. No one judged me too harshly, even though people definitely commented on the fact that I was “still here.” But I know that waiting was the right decision for me and that I was inspired to do it.
I saw a lot of blessings in my life because I felt so much more prepared to go on a mission after a year of college. For instance, I wasn’t afraid of the long study schedule in the missionary training center because in college, I was studying all day anyway. It was a great experience having faith in God and in the promptings I got that it was the right thing to do, and then seeing the fruits of it.

For a few months before my mission, I lived with my brother and his family in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. After moving in with them, I found a job working with a crew framing houses.
My first day on the job, my boss dropped me off at the work site and introduced me to my supervisor. Soon I was on the roof of the garage learning how to “sheet” that part of the roof. As I looked on, I noticed that my supervisor might be in danger. He had placed a piece of sheeting down on the framework and had fastened one side. The other side was to be cut off with a Skil saw so the sheeting would fit in place.
As he was cutting, I noticed he was standing on the side that wasn’t fastened. If he continued to cut, he would end up “surfing” off the roof on a piece of sheeting. I kept silent, rationalizing to myself. Since this was my first day, what did I know? He probably knew what he was doing.
It turned out that my supervisor did slide off the roof on the piece of loose sheeting. I watched him, with the saw, fly through the air, landing on the ground on both feet. He looked back up to where he had been with a funny look on his face. I managed to control my laughter when it became clear he wasn’t hurt.
Since that time, I’ve thought more about that experience. Although it seemed funny, I’ve realized how dangerous that situation was. I’ve thought about how I would have felt if my supervisor had been badly hurt, crippled, or killed. I would have felt responsible. I knew something that could have helped him avoid a dangerous situation. I was afraid of what his reaction might be if I told him what he was doing wrong. I felt I didn’t have enough knowledge. But, in truth, I had the knowledge, the power to help save him, and I failed to use it.

I roped one of my older brothers into going with me so I wouldn’t have to sit alone. I don’t remember the meeting at all. I just remember thinking, “Everybody must be looking at me and saying, ‘Look, Gretchen is at church. I wonder why.’ ” I was so uncomfortable by the end of the meeting that I planned a quick escape as soon as the closing prayer ended.
That’s when something happened that changed my life forever. Four girls I remembered from Primary ran up and surrounded me. They were so happy to see me at church, and I felt their sincerity. They asked if I would come back later that night to a youth fireside. I agreed and then left for home.
I talked my brother into going with me again. At the fireside, a man stood to speak and said he felt impressed not to give his prepared talk but to share his testimony and then let us do the same. All of a sudden, my whole being felt on fire. I don’t know how long it took me to get up, but I stood and bore my testimony that now I knew why I had been feeling unhappy and lost. It was the gospel that was missing in my life. I knew I needed to make some changes.
Now, almost 30 years later, I am still grateful to those young women who didn’t let me escape the chapel that day. I later met and married a returned missionary in the Idaho Falls Temple. We have four children, three of whom have married in the temple. Our oldest son served a mission, and our last is now planning to go on his. I have served in the Young Women program of the Church. Each time I teach a lesson on service, I share my life-changing experience in hopes that the same will be done for others as was done for me.
I believe my simple prayer was answered on that mountaintop. Heavenly Father does hear and answer our prayers. And my prayer was answered because four girls chose the right. They put their arms around a lost soul and invited her back. There are Gretchens out there who need to be brought back. You never know whose life can and will be changed forever if you will just reach out and be a loving, caring friend.

“Don’t forget Bullet’s hot dogs, Mom,” Janey called upstairs as she picked up her books. Bullet sat by the front door, waiting to say good-bye to Janey. She stooped over and gave the dog a big hug. “You do your best today, Bullet. The kids are counting on you.” Her arms just barely reached around the big dog’s bulky frame. He had a fold of loose skin around his neck like a collar. The black-on-tan markings that distinguish a German shepherd were streaked with gray, and his eyes were watery and a little droopy. He was nine years old. While Bullet rested his head on Janey’s shoulder, she gave him another squeeze, then ran out the front door into the May sunshine and down the street to the bus stop.
Dawn Marie, Janey’s best friend, was waiting for her at the corner. Several other kids stood around waiting for the bus.
“Is your mother bringing Bullet over?” Dawn Marie asked.
“Yes, about two o’clock. I hope he does all right. He’s getting so tired.”
“He’ll do fine,” Dawn Marie said encouragingly. “He always does.”
Nearby a big sixth grader named Jeremy laughed. “Don’t tell me that you’re bringing that dumb old dog to school again this year.”
Janey turned away and looked at Dawn Marie, ignoring Jeremy. She heard him say loudly to his friend Cecil, “Can you believe that she’s bringing that dog again? We’ve seen all his dumb tricks a hundred times.”
“He’s so fat that I don’t think he can even roll over this year,” another boy chimed in.
Dawn Marie touched Janey’s arm. “Don’t listen to them,” she said. “Everybody else loves to see Bullet’s tricks.”
Janey felt miserable. Maybe she had brought Bullet to school too many times. Before she even went to school, her big sister, Caroline, had taken him every year.
“The school year wouldn’t seem complete without Bullet,” Dawn Marie said. Janey smiled at her. She was faithful, just like Bullet. They had both played with the dog since they were little girls. They used to put an Indian blanket around him and pretend that he was Chief Sitting Bull. Sometimes they had tied him to their wagon and he pulled them. Not only the school year wouldn’t seem complete without Bullet, life wouldn’t either.
At two o’clock Janey’s mother knocked softly on her classroom door. Mrs. Hadley opened it, and Janey rushed up to take Bullet on his leash, along with the plastic bag full of hot dog chunks.
The old dog waddled obediently along by Janey’s side, undisturbed by the fourth graders’ cheers, and settled down by Janey’s desk.
When their history lesson was finished, Mrs. Hadley asked Janey to come up front with Bullet. Janey put a chunk of hot dog on the floor in front of the big dog. As he lowered his head and sniffed it, she said, “Wait! We have to have the blessing.” Bullet lowered his head even more and waited. After a minute Janey said, “OK, you can eat.” Bullet snatched up the piece of hot dog, chomped twice, and swallowed it. After that he rolled over, sat up and barked, and played dead, with his big old paws up in the air. The children roared their approval. When he had finished his tricks—each time being rewarded with a chunk of hot dog—he went up and down the aisles and solemnly shook hands with each child.
“You and Dawn Marie may take him to the other classrooms,” Mrs. Hadley said.
“Thank you,” Janey said. “I’m not going to take him into sixth grade this year, so we won’t be gone as long.”
Mrs. Hadley raised her eyebrows. “It’s up to you,” she said, “but I think that they’ll be disappointed.”
The kindergartners squealed with delight and clapped after Bullet did each of his tricks. In the resource class, children didn’t just shake hands with Bullet; some hugged him, and others planted kisses on his big old head. One girl didn’t want to let go of him, and the teacher finally had to gently release the girl’s arms from around his neck. Bullet stood patiently, enjoying all the attention.
The first and second graders enjoyed him just about as much, clapping and yelling, “Hurray for Bullet!”
When they were through, Janey and Dawn Marie returned to their classroom. They were finishing up some artwork when Mr. Linstrom, the sixth grade teacher, poked his head into their classroom. He looked around and spotted Janey, with Bullet sleeping by her desk.
“Hey,” he said, “you forgot us. My kids won’t settle down. They’re waiting for Bullet.”
Mrs. Hadley looked at her questioningly.
“All right,” Janey said. “I have some hot dogs left.”
To Janey’s surprise, the sixth graders cheered too. Even Jeremy strained his neck to see Bullet wait for permission to eat his hot dog. Actually he wasn’t very hungry by now, so it wasn’t hard for him to wait. When Janey gave him permission, though, he ate it with gusto.
As Janey left the sixth grade room with Bullet, she heard Jeremy whisper to a classmate, “He won’t last another year,” and a cold fear gripped her heart. Bullet plodded slowly down the hall. It was only when he was performing for the kids that he seemed to be his old self.
That night after dinner Dawn Marie came over, and she and Janey lay out on the front lawn on an old blanket. Bullet came over, crowded himself between the two girls, and soon fell asleep. The late spring day had been warm and summery, but now as the sun sank to the horizon, Bullet’s warmth was pleasant and welcome.
“He sure sleeps a lot these days,” Dawn Marie commented. Janey felt again that tightening feeling of fear.
“Do you think that Bullet will die soon?” Janey asked slowly. It helped a little just to finally say it out loud.
Dawn Marie looked thoughtfully at the old dog. He twitched occasionally in his sleep and made sort of snuffly, growly noises.
“I guess he could, Janey. Not many German shepherds live much longer than he has.”
Janey was glad that her friend was honest and hadn’t said something just to make her feel better. She lay her head on Bullet’s side. He raised his head, then fell back to sleep.
“What will I do if he dies?” she asked.
Dawn Marie thought again. “You could have a funeral. All the kids in town would come. My mother said that that’s about all you can do to comfort yourself when someone dies. I remember that she said that when her older sister died.”
A funeral would be nice, Janey thought. That way everyone could kind of say good-bye.
Janey looked at Dawn Marie. “I’m glad that people live longer,” she said. “I hope that we can be friends our whole lives.”
“So do I. And I think that we will be.”
The girls heard footsteps on the sidewalk and looked up to see Jeremy coming by. Janey sat up, tense, wondering if he would say something mean. Jeremy stopped on the walk. He looked behind him and all around. Then he looked at Bullet.
“He’s not a bad old mutt,” he said. “I’ve always wanted a big dog like that.” He turned quickly and went on walking.
Dawn Marie and Janey looked at each other and smiled.
“Let’s go in and get warm,” Janey said. “Bullet can sleep out here on the blanket.”
When the girls got up, Bullet lifted his head to look at them, then lowered it and slept again. When Janey pulled a corner of the blanket up over his back, he left it there.

Perhaps no one in my reading has portrayed this teaching of the Master quite so memorably or so beautifully as Henry Van Dyke in his never-to-be-forgotten “The Mansion.” In this classic is featured one John Weightman, a man of means, a dispenser of political power, a successful citizen. His philosophy toward giving can be gained from his own statement: “Of course you have to be careful how you give, in order to secure the best results—no indiscriminate giving—no pennies in beggars’ hats! … Try to put your gifts where they can be identified and do good all around.” (See “The Mansion,” Unknown Quantity: A Book of Romance and Some Half-told Tales, New York: Scribner’s, 1918, pp. 337, 339.)
One evening, John Weightman sat in his comfortable chair at his library table and perused the papers before him spread. There were descriptions and pictures of the Weightman wing of the hospital and the Weightman Chair of Political Jurisprudence, as well as an account of the opening of the Weightman Grammar School. John Weightman felt satisfied.
He picked up the family Bible which lay on the table, turned to a passage and read to himself the words: “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
“But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven.” (Matt. 6:19–20.)
The book seemed to float away from him. He leaned forward upon the table, his head resting on his folded hands. He slipped into a deep sleep.
In his dream, John Weightman was transported to the Heavenly City. A guide met him and others whom he had known in life and advised that he would conduct them to their heavenly homes.
The group paused before a beautiful mansion and heard the guide say, “This is the home for you, Dr. McLean. Go in; there is no more sickness here, no more death, nor sorrow, nor pain; for your old enemies are all conquered. But all the good that you have done for others, all the help that you have given, all the comfort that you have brought, all the strength and love that you bestowed upon the suffering, are here; for we have built them all into this mansion for you.” (“The Mansion,” pp. 361–62.)
A devoted husband of an invalid wife was shown a lovely mansion, as were a mother, early widowed, who reared an outstanding family, and a paralyzed young woman who had lain for thirty years upon her bed—helpless but not hopeless—succeeding by a miracle of courage in her single aim: never to complain, but always to impart a bit of her joy and peace to everyone who came near her.
By this time, John Weightman was impatient to see what mansion awaited him. As he and the Keeper of the Gate walked on, the homes became smaller—then smaller. At last they stood in the middle of a dreary field and beheld a hut, hardly big enough for a shepherd’s shelter. Said the guide, “This is your mansion, John Weightman.”
In desperation, John Weightman argued, “Have you not heard that I have built a schoolhouse; a wing of a hospital; … three … churches?”
“Wait,” the guide cautioned. “… They were not ill done. But they were all marked and used as foundations for the name and mansion of John Weightman in the world. … Verily, you have had your reward for them. Would you be paid twice?”
A sadder but wiser John Weightman spoke more lowly: “What is it that counts here?”
Came the reply, “Only that which is truly given. Only that good which is done for the love of doing it. Only those plans in which the welfare of others is the master thought. Only those labors in which the sacrifice is greater than the reward. Only those gifts in which the giver forgets himself.” (“The Mansion,” pp. 364–68.)
John Weightman was awakened by the sound of the clock chiming the hour of seven. He had slept the night through. As it turned out, he yet had a life to live, love to share, and gifts to give.

When the news of Bruce’s death reached his hometown of Ukiah, California, it struck a nerve in the community. Bruce was well known and loved. Grace Jones, whose Church assignment is to work with the media in Ukiah, received many of the questions about what had happened. She decided to let people really know what Bruce was doing in Bolivia—preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ.
“We had so many inquiries from newspapers and radio stations about Bruce, that we decided it would be a good idea to let others know what he had been teaching,” said Sister Jones. “Why not give out copies of the Book of Mormon in his memory during the remaining 18 months he would have been serving as a missionary? I discussed the idea with the stake presidency, and they approved it. And Bruce’s family accepted the idea wholeheartedly.”
Many wards in the Ukiah Stake asked if they could participate in the Book of Mormon project. Posters were made and put in the foyers of participating wards. When a referral card was filled out and returned to the stake or full-time missionaries, the name of the requesting person was embossed in gold on the hardback cover of a Book of Mormon for that person, with Bruce’s testimony and photo included. Over 500 copies of Bruce’s testimony were printed the first time, and more were later printed.
“It was overwhelming! We were printing names on books like you couldn’t believe!” said Bruce Bates, Ukiah stake mission president. The books were either given to the recipient by the person making the referral or by the missionaries.

Throughout the years, I have known countless individuals who have been particularly faithful and obedient. I have been blessed and inspired by them. May I share with you an account of two such individuals.
Walter Krause was a steadfast member of the Church who, with his family, lived in what became known as East Germany following the Second World War. Despite the hardships he faced because of the lack of freedom in that area of the world at the time, Brother Krause was a man who loved and served the Lord. He faithfully and conscientiously fulfilled each assignment given to him.
The other man, Johann Denndorfer, a native of Hungary, was converted to the Church in Germany and was baptized there in 1911 at the age of 17. Not too long afterward he returned to Hungary. Following the Second World War, he found himself virtually a prisoner in his native land, in the city of Debrecen. Freedom had also been taken from the people of Hungary.
Brother Walter Krause, who did not know Brother Denndorfer, received the assignment to be his home teacher and to visit him on a regular basis. Brother Krause called his home teaching companion and said to him, “We have received an assignment to visit Brother Johann Denndorfer. Would you be available to go with me this week to see him and give him a gospel message?” And then he added, “Brother Denndorfer lives in Hungary.”
His startled companion asked, “When will we leave?”
“Tomorrow,” came the reply from Brother Krause.
“When will we return home?” asked the companion.
Brother Krause responded, “Oh, in about a week—if we get back.”
Away the two home teaching companions went to visit Brother Denndorfer, traveling by train and bus from the northeastern area of Germany to Debrecen, Hungary—a substantial journey. Brother Denndorfer had not had home teachers since before the war. Now, when he saw these servants of the Lord, he was overwhelmed with gratitude that they had come. At first he declined to shake hands with them. Rather, he went to his bedroom and took from a small cabinet a box containing his tithing that he had saved for years. He presented the tithing to his home teachers and said, “Now I am current with the Lord. Now I feel worthy to shake the hands of servants of the Lord!” Brother Krause told me later that he had been touched beyond words to think that this faithful brother, who had no contact with the Church for many years, had obediently and consistently taken from his meager earnings 10 percent with which to pay his tithing. He had saved it not knowing when or if he might have the privilege of paying it.
Brother Walter Krause passed away nine years ago at the age of 94. He served faithfully and obediently throughout his life and was an inspiration to me and to all who knew him. When asked to fulfill assignments, he never questioned, he never murmured, and he never made excuses.

Twelve-year-old David gripped his video game controller. He was going to do it! He was finally going to beat this level!
And then it all came crashing down. He missed the last tricky turn on the racetrack. His car fell behind. He lost. Again.
"Nooo!" he said. The opening screen of the video game flashed in front of him. He’d been so close! And all his friends said the next level was the coolest in the whole game too.
I bet I could do it. Just a few more tries. He reached for the start button on his controller.
Then he glanced out the window. Did he really want to spend his whole Saturday morning playing video games?
Not really. But he just knew he could beat the level.
He reached again for the controller. And then David remembered the pile of boards waiting in the backyard. He glanced back at the sun shining through the window. Today would be the perfect day to start on the tree fort he and his friends had planned.
He turned off the game and walked outside. A soft breeze blew through his hair. Sunlight warmed his face.
He filled the red wagon with spare boards Dad had given him. He told Mom where he was going and then tossed a hammer and nails into the wagon before heading to Sam’s house.
"What’s up?" Sam said, opening the door. He noticed the wagon and tools. "Great idea!"
Sam and David stopped by Ty’s house. Soon the three of them were taking turns hauling the wagon up the steep hill in the woods behind their neighborhood.
"This is heavy!" Sam said.
"And it’s hot today," Ty said.
David nodded. Pulling those boards up the dirt trail wasn’t easy. Every so often the wagon wheels caught on a big rock or fell into a crack.
"But it’s gonna be awesome," Sam said as he yanked the wagon out of a deep crack.
David pushed from behind. "Yup. Our very own tree fort."
"With a rope swing," Ty added. "And a lookout tower!"
Talking about their plans got them excited again. Before long they finished the steep climb to the tree they’d already chosen. It had the perfect tangle of big limbs and smaller branches.
"First we need to build the ladder," Ty said. David and Sam nodded. They had already drawn plans. They would nail some short two-by-four pieces of wood sideways onto the tree for the ladder.
The only problem was, building a ladder was harder than they’d thought. The nails kept bending. One board split in half. Their arms got tired.
After they had nailed only three steps in place, David checked his watch. They’d been there over two hours! It was already time to go home and help pull weeds in the garden.
They looked at the big pile of boards remaining.
"This is going to take a long time," Ty said.
David thought about how long it might take. But he wasn’t worried. And then he realized he hadn’t thought about his video game at all while they’d worked. He hadn’t even missed it! This fort might be a lot of work, but those ladder steps were going to last forever.
"Yeah," David agreed. "But I’ll bet we’ll be able to see all the way to the river once we finish the lookout tower."
The three friends headed home. They talked about how great their fort would be and decided to get an earlier start next Saturday.
The video games could wait.

I’d like to tell you of a man that I knew well when I was in the government. He was head of one of the largest drilling companies in Canada. He began social drinking and continued until his friends were telling him he was an alcoholic and encouraging him to leave it alone. I was talking to him one day (I knew him well) after he had greater control of himself. He said, “I wouldn’t believe that I was an alcoholic until I found myself in the gutter. And then I went to Alcoholics Anonymous.”
I said, “Would you come and talk to my M-Men and Gleaner group?”
He said, “I’ll be glad to tell anybody if I can help them.”
As he talked to them, he told them how he had become an alcoholic, and then he said, “No man, no matter how well-to-do he is, can afford to take the first drink of alcohol.” He was fortunate in that Alcoholics Anonymous made it possible for him to cure himself.

Even though I was at school, I asked for my call to be sent to my parents’ home in Tempe, Arizona. When the envelope arrived, my dad set up a conference call, so there was my family in Tempe, Tucson, and Mesa. We all sang the hymn “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go,” and I was definitely wondering where that would be. But as soon as my mom read I was going to Asunción, Paraguay, I felt an overwhelming peace and comfort. I haven’t had a moment’s worry since. I know that’s where the Lord wants me to go, 100 percent. And this time as I go to serve, I don’t have to worry—I can talk about the gospel with everyone I meet.

When I was a young man, before I was even ordained a deacon, I went to one of our ward meetings, and two missionaries reported their missions in the Southern States. When I left that meeting, I felt like I could have walked to any mission field in the world, if I just had a call.
And I went home, went into my bedroom, and got down on my knees, and I asked the Lord to help me to live worthy so that when I was old enough I could go on a mission. And when the train finally left the station in Salt Lake and I was headed for the land of Holland, the last thing I said to my loved ones was, “This is the happiest day of my life.”

When we talked earlier of in loco parentis, the school assuming some of the burdens and blessings of parenthood, caring about what kind of people young people are, there came to my mind the day when, representing the educational system of the Church, I went to the University of Missouri as a trustee and sat with others across the land who were in a conference. The theme of the conference really was the abandonment of the notion that universities have anything like the relationship of in loco parentis with their students.

I never want to forget the anxiety and fervor expressed by the young student president who came to greet a group of these regents, listened to the latter part of a speech keynoting the demise of in loco parentis, and then came with obvious distress to the podium, where he quickly filled the role of welcoming us and said some words that I, at least, have not forgotten:

If, in fact, you, representing the universities of the land, reject the responsibility to act for us in the role of parents who care about us, then you are entitled to know that that leaves a whole lot of us without any parents at all.

Trials and tests apply to rich and poor alike. Years ago, I was asked to perform an operation upon a very wealthy man. A surgical biopsy confirmed that he had an advanced cancer that had spread throughout his body. As I reported this news, his immediate response was to rely upon his wealth. He would go anywhere or do anything to treat his condition. He thought he could buy his way back to health. But he soon passed away. Someone asked, “How much wealth did he leave?” The answer, of course, was, “All of it!”
His priorities were set upon things of the world. His ladder of success had been leaning against the wrong wall. I think of him when I read this scripture: “Behold, your days of probation are past; ye have procrastinated the day of your salvation until it is … too late.”

The third type of love I want to share is a bit personal and yet needs to be shared. Prior to serving a senior mission, I had not heard much about a unique and wonderful blessing of strengthening that occurs within one’s marriage. In our case, we have been happily married for 42 years, and they have been wonderful and joyful years. However, with children, grandchildren, Church callings, a demanding professional career, and a variety of exciting extracurricular activities, we found that our time together had become limited to a few hours here and there, large family and church gatherings, and not terribly regular date nights. However, as we began serving as full-time senior missionaries, we found ourselves together all the time. Naturally, this required some companionship interviews. The result has been an unexpected and unimaginable blessing, even a rediscovery of why we got married so many years ago. I am reminded of how twitterpated I felt when I first set eyes on the blonde hair, blue eyes, and brilliant smile of Sue Maughan. She has the same spell over me as she did many years ago.

Roberto and Giovanna Marino
Giovanna Marino struggled with some of the things the missionaries taught; could there be men so good in our times, she wondered, as to be true prophets? But she liked the spirit the missionaries brought to her home. And for her, the first time she read the Book of Mormon, enlightenment came almost as healing had come to the blinded Paul, who taught in her part of Italy nearly two thousand years ago; it was as though scales fell from her spiritual eyes, she recalls.
Her husband, Roberto, accepted everything the missionaries taught; the doctrine of eternal marriage seemed especially important to him. Prayer helped him overcome his difficult smoking and coffee consumption habits, and the Marinos were baptized in January of 1975.
It was a year later, as they prepared to go the Swiss Temple, that Sister Marino remembered the prayer she had offered not long before they met the missionaries. She had prayed specifically to know who God was, why Jesus Christ was his son, why Jesus had to die, and why we exist. And she gave thanks for the direct answer to that prayer.
The Marinos live in Siracusa, Sicily. He is currently a counselor to the president of the Italy Catania Mission, and she handles Church public communications efforts in Italy.

Keaton and Pug were best friends. They did everything together. One summer they decided to build a tree fort in the forest behind Pug’s home. Each Saturday they worked on their fort, using old pieces of wood and a hammer and nails Pug’s dad gave them.
One Saturday as Keaton and Pug worked on their fort, Pug’s mom called to them. They jumped down and went to the house.
“What’s up, Mom?” Pug asked.
“You boys are going to have another friend to play with today,” Mom said, pointing toward the back door.
Just then Jason came out of the house. “Are you my new best friends?” he asked, clapping his hands.
“Mommmm!” Pug protested.
Keaton rolled his eyes. “Oh, great!” he said under his breath. Jason was their age, but he was, well, different.
“Mom,” Pug whispered, “Jason won’t want to work on the fort. He won’t want to do anything but run around.”
Pug’s mom sighed. “Jason will be with us until after lunch when his mom gets back from the doctor. So you need to find something you can all do together. Now run along and play.”
Keaton and Pug walked away, glancing back at Jason as he followed them. “Now what are we going to do? Our day is ruined,” Keaton grumbled.
“Hey, I know,” Pug whispered. “Let’s play hide-and-seek and have Jason be it. We can run into the forest and work on our tree fort, and he’ll never find us.”
“Great idea!” Keaton exclaimed.
When they explained the game to Jason and told him that he got to be it, he waved his hands with excitement. “Now close your eyes and count to 20,” Keaton said. Jason put his hands over his eyes and started counting, saying each number loudly and carefully.
Keaton and Pug crept away. When they were out of sight behind the house, they raced to the edge of the forest, hid behind trees, and looked back to see if Jason was following. But they could still hear him counting—“13 … 14 … 15.”
They ran toward their fort, laughing and dodging trees. But soon Keaton slowed and fell behind. When he looked back and saw Jason searching around the house, he came to a complete stop. “This isn’t what the song says.”
Pug came back through the trees. “What song?”
“You know, that song we sing in Primary. ‘If you don’t walk as most people do, some people walk away from you. But I won’t! I won’t!’*“
“Oh, yeah,” Pug said. “I remember that song. ‘Jesus walked away from none. He gave his love to everyone. So I will! I will!’”
Keaton and Pug both stared at the ground, ashamed. Finally, Keaton looked up. “Why don’t we go back and hide someplace where Jason can find us?”
“Good idea,” said Pug. They ran back to the house and hid behind the swing set in the backyard.
Just then Jason ran around the corner of the house and spotted them. “I found you! I found you!” he yelled, clapping his hands.
“You sure did!” Keaton agreed.
“Way to go, pal!” Pug said happily, giving Jason a high five.
Jason looked back and forth between the two of them, beaming. “Are you my new best friends?” he asked.
Keaton grinned. “We sure are.”
“Why don’t we play again, and I’ll be it,” Pug suggested. Jason jumped up and down and cheered.
Keaton smiled at Jason. “Let’s hide together,” he whispered. “I know a perfect hiding place.” As soon as Pug started counting, he took Jason’s hand, and they walked together toward the tree fort.

In 1973 I was the seminary teacher for our ward. Since we did not live in a heavily church-populated area, we had early morning seminary, beginning at 6:10 A.M. Every morning 35 to 40 choice young people would get up and come to the church in order to attend our New Testament class, and every morning it was like a small miracle to me. To study the gospel that early in the morning took a special dedication, and I admired my students as they daily appeared for more gospel instruction.

For several years it had been the policy of our stake to have a scripture chase tournament in which teams from the eight wards competed, and the two top teams would then go to a regional competition with four other stakes.

That year we had a great team of seven people, five girls and two young men. They had worked hard all year, spending a great deal of their own time outside of class studying for the competition, and the excitement began to increase as the day for the stake play-off approached. Of course, our team had scouted the other wards and knew that the team to beat was our neighboring Fourteenth Ward.

The night of the stake competition came, and after several closely contested matches, we completed the contest in second place, losing to Fourteenth Ward. Our team had done well, and I was satisfied that the real purpose of the competition, to learn the scriptures, had been accomplished. And we had qualified for the regional contest coming up the next weekend.

During that week the team worked even harder studying and reciting the scriptures back to each other. They also set their goal of beating the first-place team from our stake, feeling sure that we would be matched with them during the regionals.

Regional competition was a total day where the ten top teams from the five stakes competed in a double elimination tournament, and as the day progressed, so did the excitement and pressure. As in all competition, elation for one team meant great disappointment for another, and as our team competed, we too experienced high and low moments. We lost our first round, which meant we had only one more chance. However, we rallied and won the next two games, which put us in an excellent position. Four of the ten teams had already been eliminated, and we felt that we could at least take a second or third. Of course, each of us nurtured a hope of first place, although it was never openly talked about.

As we sat and talked about our next game, Steve got up and ambled over to the board to see who our next game would be with. He was back in a minute with an excited look on his face.

“Hey, Fourteenth Ward lost to North Third Ward! It’s their first loss, and guess who they play next!”

Well, here it was. I could feel the excitement go up a notch, and every member of the team was thinking the same thing when Steve voiced it aloud:

“We can beat those guys! If we beat them in regionals, that’ll show we’re really the best in our stake. The pressure’s greater here, but I know we can beat those guys! And that’s really why we came here.”

We had about two minutes before the game, and we hurriedly discussed last-minute strategy. As we were about to get up, I said something I hadn’t said all year, because I knew l didn’t have to. Still, it came out.

“Okay, just one more thing. Whatever happens, remember that the most important thing is to be fair. If the judge makes a bad call, don’t argue. Be honest in everything you do.” I could tell from the seven looks I got back that l had insulted their integrity, and I wished I could stuff the words back in my mouth.

“Seattle Ninth and Seattle Fourteenth Wards, would you please take your places?” Both teams moved into place, and l grabbed an empty seat on the front row of spectator seats. The cultural hall was about three-fourths full, complete with parents and friends to cheer each team.

I slumped in my chair and said funny things to myself like, “Remember, you’re the teacher. Don’t get excited. Present a good image. You’re not supposed to be nervous. It’s only a game. No matter what happens, they’ve done a great job.” Brother Stock reached over and slapped me on the back. “This is it! We’ve got to win this one.” Thanks, I needed that.

In our scripture chase, we had three types of questions. The first was an individual question, where the first person on either team to find the correct scripture from the clue given received a point for his or her team. The second was a team-help question, where all members of the team had to have the same scripture, but they could help each other. The first team to get it received two points. The third type was a team-no-help, where all the team had to have the scripture, but they couldn’t help each other. The first team to get it received three points. There was a total of seven clues given, and the team with the most points won that game. The loser of this match would be eliminated from the tournament.

I don’t remember the sequence of events or questions, but at the end of six questions, the score was tied six to six. I was no longer able to pretend I was not excited but was sitting on the very edge of my chair, cheering for our team with the rest of the parents and friends.

Now! Now was the time for a home run, a hole in one, a 50-yard field goal, a 30-foot jump shot, a 4-minute mile, a whatever is great in any sport—now was the time when a competitor put full dedication into one last supreme effort, knowing there would be no more chances.

“Okay, teams, here we go for the final question. A team-help, worth two points, and everybody on the team must have it. Remember, you can help each other, and the judge for each team will check your Bible to make sure you have it right. When you get the correct scripture, put your finger in the page, close your Bible, and turn on your switch. Ready? Situation: Where does it say that a man cannot take the priesthood upon himself? Chase!”

Hands and books flew, and I knew they were going to have to be fast. Hebrews 5:4—it was so easy; they’ve got to have it by now! There! The lights came on almost at the same time, but our team was first! I could tell from the looks on their faces that they all had the right scripture.

“Okay, Ninth Ward, does everyone have Hebrews 5:4?” [Heb. 5:4] Everybody nodded. “Judge, would you check each Bible to make sure they have the correct page?” Everyone opened their books as the judge passed slowly down the row to make sure everything was right. He looked at the moderator, nodded, and said, “Everybody has it.”

Explosion behind me and all around. Parents and friends were cheering, and the team was grinning from ear to ear—all except Steve. He quietly motioned to the judge and pointed to something in his Bible. After a few seconds of whispering, the judge returned to the moderator and explained the situation. I knew immediately what had happened. In his haste, Steve had gotten one page off when he marked his Bible with his finger. As sometimes happened, the judge didn’t catch it since it was only one page away from the correct answer.

I didn’t need to listen to know that the other team’s members all had the correct scripture and that we had lost. I didn’t care, because all I could think about was an 18-year-old priest who taught me more in less than a minute about honor and integrity than I had ever read or heard. To say nothing would have been the easy thing to do. No one knew, no one questioned, and our team had already been declared the winner. I quickly reviewed in my mind the quiet manner in which Steve had corrected the mistake, with no expectation of recognition or honor, just the sure knowledge that there was only one right thing to do. And through the misty eyes and the lump in my throat, I silently thanked my Father in Heaven for allowing me to associate with spirits as choice as Steve.

Koki, who is serving as a ward missionary, has seen rewards for being diligent off the court as well. He helped organize movie nights, campouts, and sports activities in order to interest two young men in his ward who hadn’t attended church for some time. “At first we’d have to go get them, or they wouldn’t come,” he says. “Now they come on their own. It took a little time and a lot of visits, but they’re coming regularly now.”

I am convinced that families, even young children, can learn to love the scriptures. A few years ago when I was in Colorado Springs for a conference, I called on Mark McConkie, son of Elder and Sister Bruce R. McConkie, to address the question: “How did you develop a love for the scriptures?”

As I recall, he said: “I first developed a love for the scriptures from my mother. I remember she would teach me while she did her ironing. I felt how she loved the scriptures by the way she would speak about the prophets. How much she loved them! As I grew older, I would listen to the recordings of the scriptures. I wanted to know the scriptures like my father. Sometimes he would enter the room while I was listening and it would take him just a moment to identify the exact scripture I was listening to. I wanted to be able to do that.”