Gospel Story Finder

We sat huddled on the wet lawn in front of the Joseph Smith Monument in Sharon, Vermont—the birthplace of the Prophet. Draped in ponchos in a vain attempt to keep dry, we strained to hear our leader over the sound of the rain. Shortly, we would finish our final activity—a few moments alone in the woods, meditating and doing some self-evaluation.
The idea really excited me. Earlier, a speaker had related to us a story about President David O. McKay receiving his patriarchal blessing. Thirteen-year-old David was, at the time, a champion marble player. After the blessing, the patriarch told David that he had more important things to do than play marbles. I felt that now, too, was the time for me to “put away my marbles” and decide what to do with my life. A big part of that decision depended on knowing if the Church was true. I decided to ask our Heavenly Father.
The world seemed to fall silent as I entered the woods. With my poncho pulled around me to protect me from the rain, I found a secluded spot and sang some hymns to myself. Then I read the scriptures for a while. When I felt ready, I knelt to pray.
I was excited to pray, but I was also nervous. I had felt the Spirit before—in fast and testimony meetings and when I had received a testimony of the Book of Mormon—but I couldn’t honestly say that I knew the Church was true. What if I prayed and there was just nothing? What if, out here in the woods, kneeling and praying aloud got me nothing but wet?
But I decided that I had to try. So I knelt on the soggy leaves and bowed my head in prayer. I spoke in a whisper, fearful that someone might eavesdrop, and asked very simply to know if I really belonged to God’s true church. I finished my prayer and remained kneeling, awaiting an answer.
At first, I received an impression that I already knew the Church was true. But I figured that must have been my own thoughts, so I prayed again.
“You already know,” came the answer again, along with the warm and calm feeling of the Spirit enveloping me with peace and joy.
My heart quickened, and I couldn’t hold back the smile that covered my face. I realized that through seminary and my personal study, I had built my testimony step by step, precept upon precept, so slowly that I hadn’t even realized I had it.
I had a testimony of the Church, and I could now put aside the less important things in my life and get on with my spiritual growth. I felt so relieved, so content, and so grateful that I knew personally that the Church was true. Still kneeling, I bowed my head again and gave a prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father for his witness that, although I hadn’t recognized it before, I already knew.

I would like to tell you just two more short stories. Each year at general conference time the President of the Church invites the General Authorities to meet with him and the other members of the First Presidency in the upper room of the temple. There he talks to us about the conference and other things, bears us again his magnificent testimony, and calls on some other people to speak to the group, and we have a delightful period of worship and association there together. At the last of these meetings attended by President McKay, we were all dressed and waiting in the room when they wheeled in two wheel chairs; one had in it Thorpe Isaacson, and the other had in it David O. McKay.

I had known Brother Isaacson for a long time, and he was a good friend of mine. I tried to shake hands with him, but he was paralyzed on the right side, so he shook with his left hand; and then, in response to my greeting, he made some sounds which sounded like “Ah” or “Uh” which were not understandable to me.

I sat about six feet away from President McKay. He did not attempt to rise out of his chair as he usually did, with all of his vigor and power; instead, he sat in his chair, and everything was deathly silent. Though I was only a short distance away, I could hear probably only one word out of every five or six spoken, but I knew from past association with him what he was trying to say.

I thought of these two great men, who had in their day both been powerful athletes; now, neither one of them could stand up and neither one of them could speak. What a thrill it would be for them to run up and down the street, jump over fences, knock on doors, bear their testimonies, do home teaching, and do the genealogical work and missionary work and all the other things the Lord would like to have us do! But in their cases, the time for that had passed.

That may be a little more impressive to me than it is for you because I have been around a little longer and may be a little closer to the end of the journey. Jeremiah pointed out that for each of us the summer would someday be past and the harvest ended, and maybe we would not have done all the things that we should have done (see Jeremiah 8:20). Because I have so many things left that I would like to get done, I feel a greater sense of urgency than most people do. I am in something of a hurry because there are so many things left to be done that I would like to do. I am not ready to be informed that this glorious second estate of mine has come to an end. There are a great number of things that I must get done before that time arrives. However, I would like to leave the idea with you that even though some of you are much younger, the time will surely arrive when you are at the end of your life. The time is going to come in every person’s case when this magnificent experience of a second estate will reach the finish mark.

Atsede Demissie Arega had dreams 20 years ago that brought her to the Church. Before joining, she used to regularly ask herself, “where is God?”
She found God in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She said that before April 2024, she used to only be able to see general conference sessions weeks later at her branch meetinghouse, now she can watch general conference live in her home. “I am so grateful,” she said, “I feel that God is looking after Ethiopia.”
She invited the full-time missionaries in her branch to come to her home to watch general conference. She also invited all her neighbors to come and watch or to watch it in their own homes.
“I feel that God is looking after Ethiopia,” remarked Atsede Demissie Arega, when talking about the historic broadcast of general conference in Ethiopia.

During my second college year on December 7, 1941, the United States was attacked at Pearl Harbor. The entire nation was aroused. Patriotism swelled to great heights. Every person was deeply affected. War was declared by Congress.
Many students at Weber State, myself included, elected to join the military service at once. I decided to join the Navy with the object of becoming a naval officer. An entire day was spent in the Naval Recruiting Office filling out forms for consideration. Little did I know that I would soon face one of the most serious character tests of my entire life. It pertained to my resolution to keep the Lord’s commandments, particularly that of being honest.
One of the last questions on the naval physical fitness questionnaire startled me. It simply asked whether I had ever had “hay fever.” I remember staring at this question for a long time. Why would hay fever be of any consequence at sea? How could pollen affect anyone on a ship? Why was I being asked such a question? It was evident that my answer could affect my being accepted or rejected as a candidate for officer consideration.
The simple truth was that I had experienced hay fever all of my life and sneezed very often. It would be so easy to mark no to this question since it would probably never come up again. However, marking no would be dishonest. It was a little thing, and yet a principle was at stake. With reluctance, I marked the space for yes and handed the paper back.
As suspected, the answer to that question became troublesome. The medical officer, upon seeing my answer, looked up and exclaimed, “Don’t you know that naval officers can’t have hay fever? You will have to take a special allergy test.”
When the results of my allergy test came back, the officer studied the form intently. The test showed that I suffered a considerable number of allergies. He then took my application forms, calmly tore them up, and threw them into a waste basket. I was astonished. I stuttered, stammered, and finally asked, “What shall I do now?” The officer calmly replied that the “draft” would take care of me and not to worry. Sick at heart, I went back to school, transferring to the University of Utah for the winter quarter. My sophomore preparation classes were completed while awaiting to be drafted into one of the services. That summer I began my junior year in the school of mechanical engineering. Then an announcement was released from Washington, D.C., indicating that all upper division engineering students were to be deferred from the draft until graduation. My graduation with a Bachelor of Science in mechanical engineering occurred in December of 1943, two years following Pearl Harbor.
The day following my graduation, I again presented myself to the naval procurement office in Salt Lake City and indicated that I had just graduated from the school of mechanical engineering at the University of Utah and showed them my degree. When they learned I was interested in becoming a naval officer, I experienced “red carpet” treatment. The officer in charge told me that there were naval ships in dry dock because of the lack of engineering officers and technically trained personnel. A direct commission as an ensign was offered that day. This would be followed by a two-month indoctrination school.
Before accepting this commission, I told the officer that something had to be made clear. He was surprised. He asked me what was on my mind. I flatly stated, “Sir, I suffer severe hay fever. What do you think of that?” The officer laughed. He said that at one time it was a consideration, but not anymore. He told me to forget it, and to please sign my acceptance of a commission as an ensign. This I did.
The ship to which I was later assigned with four other officers and 50 enlisted men was the USS LSM 558. It was our understanding that this ship was destined for the invasion of Japan. We prepared ourselves for departure, but orders never came. Instead, we were given orders to patrol on the Atlantic Coast from Boston to Florida. We later learned why. Two atomic bombs were dropped on cities in Japan. The war was soon over. I left the Navy in 1946 to pursue my career, first in engineering and then in architecture.

I have had very few of these cherished moments. But one such moment occurred as I knelt around an altar in the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple with my family on the morning of November 15, 2008. This was the day that Taya was sealed to our family for eternity! [A photo was shown of the Hafen family all dressed in white.]

Now we definitely have much work to do in achieving this eternal goal—particularly the father of this family—but I am ever grateful for this experience that provided me with a glimpse, no matter how small, of what exaltation might be like. I can only imagine how amazing eternal life with family and loved ones will be.

A true story from the USA.
“Can we go draw with chalk?” Quinn asked Mom.
“Sure!” Mom said. “Let’s go.”
Quinn and his little brother and sister ran outside.
“I want blue!” yelled Quinn.
Kade and Chloe grabbed chalk too. They sat down and started drawing on the sidewalk. Mom picked up some red chalk and started writing.
“What are you doing?” asked Quinn.
“I’m writing happy words for the school kids when they walk home today,” Mom said.
Quinn could see the school from his front window. He liked waving to the kids as they walked by.
“What messages can we write to make them smile?” asked Mom.
Quinn read over Mom’s shoulder. “You’re …”
“Awesome!” Mom finished.
Quinn smiled and kept reading. “You rock. You can do it!”
Then Quinn got an idea. He started drawing a long line at one of Mom’s messages. He drew a line to the next one. Then he looped over to another.
“What are you doing?” Mom asked.
“I’m making a line for the kids to walk on,” Quinn said. He started running on the line. “See? I’m showing them where to find all the happy words.”
“I think that’s a great way to make everyone smile,” Mom said. And that made Quinn smile even bigger.
Illustrations by Asya Aizenstein

“I was twenty-eight years old when I joined the Church, and I wanted to have my father’s permission. I went to him and asked for his blessing, and he said, ‘Let me think about it.’ The next morning, he said, ‘I have two questions for you. Number one: Have you really investigated this church?’

“‘Yes sir.’ I answered.

“‘Question number two: Are you really convinced that it’s true?’

“I said, ‘Yes.’

“‘Then you have to be baptized,’ he replied. ‘If you are convinced that something is right, you must do it.’

“His integrity was a strong influence in my life. I personally believe that everything has its roots in honesty.

In 2017, I became pregnant with our first child. My husband, Lucas, and I were excited but scared for the arrival of little Juan Lionel.
Late one night at the beginning of February 2018, I began having contractions. I was only eight months along, but it looked like our baby would come earlier than expected. We grabbed a few things and quickly left for the clinic. I didn’t feel ready to go into labor, but I prayed, asking God that His will be done despite our fears.
When we arrived at the clinic, my gynecologist was notified but said he would not arrive until later. My husband called and texted messages to our parents and siblings, but none of them were awake. He continued calling and texting throughout the night, but no one responded. That made me feel very lonely.
As the pain from my contractions increased, I felt more and more alone. Suddenly, however, something wonderful happened. I began to think of my ancestors—especially my maternal grandmother, Rosa Mercado, and her mother, Javiera Balmaceda.
As I remembered them, I felt in my heart and mind that they were both with me at that moment. I felt their presence in such a strong and sweet way that I cannot fully express in words what I experienced. I did not see them, but I felt them nearby, giving me courage, support, and love as my mothers and as part of my family. I felt that they were angels ministering to me in my time of need.
Years before in the temple, my mother, father, siblings, husband, and I did their vicarious work and the vicarious work of other ancestors. I feel that the courage I received and the feeling I had that my ancestors were near was a gift through the power and authority of God.
Since then, I have felt the spirit of my ancestors on other occasions, helping me and guiding me as a mother and a wife and in other important aspects of my life.
I testify that God will never leave us alone on the path of our lives. If we do His work, we will be given help from the other side of the veil. We will receive love, knowledge, strength, and the peace “which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).

I grew up in Norway. The nearest temple was in Stockholm, Sweden, an 8- to 10-hour drive away. Needless to say, any trip to the temple took careful planning and deliberation. Our stake planned two visits to the temple for the youth each year; several wards would rent a bus and go to the temple for a weekend. It was fun to go with other youth, but my family and I wanted to go to the temple together sometime.

So one year we decided to go to Stockholm during our summer vacation. It was a great experience, and it soon became a pattern for our summers. We would camp at a campground close to the temple. Each morning we would get up early for a baptismal session with other families from Norway who had come to the temple. Afterward we would play football and go swimming at the campground.

These summers are sacred memories for me now. Although we didn’t live close enough to the temple to go there each month, it was always a special occasion when we could go. And even though the car ride was long and tedious, the Lord blessed us for our sacrifice. The spiritual experiences I had at the temple helped me develop my love for the temple and its ordinances. They also brought us closer together as a family.

A relative asked Elder Spencer W. Kimball for a blessing to combat a crippling disease. For some time Elder Kimball prepared himself spiritually; then, fasting, he was prompted to bless her to be healed. Some weeks later she returned, angry and complaining that she was “fed up” with waiting for the Lord to give the promised relief.
He responded: “Now I understand why you have not been blessed. You must be patient, do your part, and express gratitude for the smallest improvement noted.”
She repented, followed scrupulously his counsel, and eventually was made well.

I had this principle vividly impressed upon me one day a long time ago. I was living back in Virginia at the time, and one beautiful fall day I drove out into the country to pick up some walnuts. There were sixteen Stop signs between my home and the very, very heavily wooded lane where I turned in to get those walnuts. I stopped fifteen times. The last Stop sign was way out in the country. I could see in both directions. There were no other cars in sight. I thought to myself: “Why should I stop? Stop signs are to protect people, but I am the only one around. So why stop?” So I didn’t! I wasn’t speeding. I just went through at the speed limit. When I reached the heavily wooded lane, I found I couldn’t see around the corner. It’s that way back there in Virginia. So I slowed down and turned in. Just as I did, there was another car coming out of the lane, and because we couldn’t see each other, we ran together at about five miles per hour. It wasn’t a hard impact and the cars weren’t severely damaged. As I recall, it only cost me $168 to replace my grill and headlights.
Now, that accident had to be perfectly timed. Of course, if I had stopped at the last Stop sign, it would never have happened. I said, “Lord, I get the message. You really didn’t have to go this far, but I do understand.” In fact, I stopped sixteen times on the way home with the front end of my car beat up.

It takes hard work to bring about success. You are furthering your education and preparing for your life’s work. You are developing good habits that will have great power in your life. Nephi suggested that sowing seeds, reaping in abundance, and the raising of animals of every kind brought joy into his people’s lives. Our 11-year-old son Ala is learning this lesson well. In the spring, he was contacting people via Craigslist in hopes of starting his own chicken farm. He purchased a dozen Rhode Island Red chicks, built them a home and nesting boxes, and has diligently cared for them for many months. When they started laying eggs a few weeks ago, he was overjoyed with his contributions to the breakfast table. I’m hopeful that these lessons and responsibilities early in his life are paving the way for him to develop good work habits that will bless his life. I believe that developing these kinds of characteristics help us be better disciples of Jesus Christ.

Students who attend this university are part of that plan to extend love to all the world in the form of service. Can we be the kind of individual in the story told of the World War I soldier who asked his officer if he might go out into the no-man’s-land between the trenches to bring in one of his comrades, who lay wounded.

“You can go,” said the officer, “but it’s not worth it. Your friend is probably dead, and you will throw your own life away trying to see him.”

But the man went anyway. Miraculously he managed to reach his friend, hoist him onto his shoulders, and bring him back to their company’s trench. As the two of them tumbled in together to the bottom of the trench, the officer checked the wounded soldier, then looked kindly at his friend.

“I told you it wouldn’t be worth it,” he said. “Your friend is dead, and you are wounded.”

“It was worth it, sir,” said the rescuer.

“How do you mean, worth it? I tell you, your friend is dead,” said the officer.

“Yes, sir,” the boy answered, “but it was worth it because when I got to him, he said, ‘I knew you’d come.’”

The Lord is also giving the Saints information and comfort through miraculous means. For instance, a sister, who was having marital problems because of her husband’s authoritative attitude, told of a dream she had that helped her resolve her bad feelings. “This sweet gentle lady came to me and told me to be patient and loving, that Arnold was a good man, and that he would change his ways. The dream stayed with me for days; I couldn’t get it off my mind. I wondered who the lady was, and how she could say what she had. Then one day, not long after, we received some long-awaited photos of Arnold’s progenitors that we had sent for to put with our genealogy. Among the photos was one of Arnold’s mother. He had never really known her, since she had died when he was only seven. But apparently she knew him well. The woman who came to me in that dream was his mother.”

In the book The Star Thrower, Loren Eiseley writes of the beaches of Costabel and tells how the tourists and professional shell collectors, with a kind of greedy madness, begin early in the morning in their attempts to outrun their less-aggressive neighbors as they gather, collect, and compete. After a storm, people are seen hurrying along with bundles, gathering starfish in their sacks. Following one such episode, the writer says:

I met the star thrower. . . .
. . . He was gazing fixedly at something in the sand.
Eventually he stooped and flung the object beyond the breaking surf. . . .
. . . “Do you collect?” [I asked.]
“Only like this,” he said softly. . . . “And only for the living.” He stooped again, oblivious of my curiosity, and skipped another star neatly across the water.
“The stars,” he said, “throw well. One can help them.” . . .
. . . For a moment, in the changing light, the sower appeared magnified, as though casting larger stars upon some greater sea. He had, at any rate, the posture of a god. . . .
I picked [up] and flung [a] star. . . .
. . . I could have thrown in a frenzy of joy, but I set my shoulders and cast, as the thrower in the rainbow cast, slowly, deliberately, and well. The task was not to be assumed lightly, for it was men as well as starfish that we sought to save. [Loren Eiseley, The Star Thrower (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1978), pp. 171–72, 184]

I knew I needed to go to the temple. I lived only a short car ride away from the nearest temple, yet I hadn’t been in months.
One night, I was reading Elder Neil L. Andersen’s talk from the October 2022 general conference. A sentence stood out to me: “As we enter the temple, we are freed for a time from the worldly influences crowding against us as we learn of our purpose in life and the eternal gifts offered us through our Savior, Jesus Christ.”1
I wanted to feel free from the world. Struck with a burst of determination, I scheduled an appointment to do proxy initiatories.
On the day of the appointment, I came home from work feeling tired and grumpy for no reason. I wasn’t in the mood to go to the temple.
But I remembered my past desire, even if I didn’t feel it in the moment. I went back out to my car and started driving.
Twenty minutes later, the temple came into view.
Tears sprang to my eyes. In that moment, my desire returned. The temple was the place I needed to be that night. I had to hold back more tears so I wouldn’t lose sight of the road.
The temple is a place of refuge from worldly influences and the struggles in our lives. President Russell M. Nelson has asked us to “establish a pattern of regular temple attendance.”2 As we do, we’ll enjoy the blessings of returning again and again to the house of the Lord.
Here are just a few of the blessings I noticed from attending the temple that day:
When I attended the temple that day, my bad mood was lifted. It was replaced by “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).
The peace we find in the temple comes directly from God. We can connect to God anywhere through His Spirit, but the temple is set apart for us to commune directly with the Lord.
President Nelson taught: “[The temple] is His house. It is filled with His power. … I promise that increased time in the temple will bless your life in ways nothing else can.”3 Attending the temple allows us to feel God’s power. That power can come as revelation, as clarity of mind, or as a feeling of comfort.
Beyond feeling peace, I also remembered the covenants I had previously made. As I acted as proxy in the initiatory, I focused on the words of the ordinance. Those words reminded me that God would give me strength and would help me persevere through my trials.
When we return to the temple, we remember the promises we make to God and the eternal promises He makes to us.
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “We do not build or enter holy temples solely to have a memorable individual or family experience. Rather, the covenants received and the ordinances performed in temples are essential to the sanctifying of our hearts and for the ultimate exaltation of God’s sons and daughters.”4
While we receive personal blessings in the temple, we should also remember the work we do for the dead. When we perform proxy ordinances, they are for the salvation of those beyond the veil.
The names of the people I helped were provided to me by the temple. I didn’t know any of the women I stood as proxy for that day. But I felt the sacred power given to them through the initiatory ordinance.
Our temple attendance helps further God’s plan for His children. In our own small way, we are participating in the work “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39). Elder Bednar taught, “As we become anxiously engaged in this sacred work, we are obeying the commandments to love and serve God and our neighbors [see Matthew 22:34–40].”5
For those of us who live near a temple, it may be easy to forget the blessings that come from temple attendance. As President Russell M. Nelson has promised, “Increased time in the temple will bless your life in ways nothing else can.”6 For those who live far from a temple, it may be hard to fit temple visits in our schedules. But the power of temple attendance is constant, and the blessings are real.
As we spend more time in the temple, we can find rest from our challenges and our hurt. We can commune with God and be part of His great work—for our own souls and the souls of all His children.

I remember vividly an experience I had near the end of my mission: A small eight-year-old boy and his mother taught me the importance of paying tithing.
At that time I was working in the mission home with the president of the Mexico and Central America Mission. He called my companion and me into his office one day and told us that he was sending us to Oaxaca. He handed us a list of the names of all the people who had joined the Church during the brief time missionaries had served there; they had been withdrawn some months previously. Our assignment was to look up everyone on the list, see how they were getting along, and, if possible, arrange for a sacrament meeting so that the members could meet together and partake of the sacrament. Then we were to bring back a report.
We made the overnight trip on the little narrow railway, arriving very early the next morning. As soon as we got off the train, we began tracking down addresses.
The first place we went to was a street lined with long adobe walls with doorways in them. When we found the address we were looking for and walked through the doorway, we found a whole group of homes inside. Tucked back in one corner was the home of the woman we were seeking. She lived there with her eight-year-old son and infant daughter.
As she came out of her small house, she recognized us by the way we were dressed, and rushed to give us a warm Mexican greeting. Then, without saying another word, she turned around and went back into her home.
Moments later she returned, carrying a small clay jar. She reached into the jar and pulled out some pesos and centavos (Mexican money). She told us that her family had saved ten percent of what they had earned. Most of that tithing had come from her son, who worked at the plaza in the center of the city, shining shoes. When he returned each day, he immediately put his tithing into the little jar so that the money could be turned in to the missionaries whenever they returned.
I can remember my feelings as that woman handed me the money. She was standing there in threadbare clothes and no shoes, and her children were in the same circumstances. I knew that there were things she would have loved to buy her children. I knew that there were many things that they desperately needed money for.
At first I wanted to give the money back to her and to encourage her to spend it where it was most needed. But then I realized that that was not my right. She and her son had saved that money carefully, knowing that it belonged to the Lord and wanting Him to have it. I realized, too, that they would be blessed for it.
I learned a great lesson that day about the importance of paying tithing and the blessings it can bring. I also learned a lesson about faith. That little boy and his mother had not known if missionaries would ever return to their home, but they were committed to the gospel principles, and they had faith that, if they were obedient, the Lord would bless them.

Luke loved playing foursquare with his new friends from kindergarten.
Britton bounced the red ball to him.
“Hey guys, listen to this,” Britton said. Then he said a word Luke had never heard. It sounded ugly. Luke didn’t feel good when he heard it.
“Say it, Luke,” Britton said. “It will be funny!”
Luke stood there holding the ball. He didn’t know what to do.
“Come on,” said Sean. “My brother and his friends say that word. They all think it’s funny. Say it!”
Luke looked at Tiffany. What could he do? Luke knew it would be wrong to say the word.
Then he had an idea. He could use words to make people feel good inside instead of bad. His grinned. He thought of the silliest word he could.
“Zugga-bugga-zoo!” Luke said. It worked! His friends laughed so hard they sat right down on the ground.
“That other word doesn’t sound funny,” Luke said. “Let’s make up silly words instead!”
“Flazzle-razzle!” Tiffany said. Luke laughed. They all made up funny words until recess ended.
After school Luke walked home with Mom and told her about recess.
“How did you know it was a bad word?” Mom asked.
“I didn’t feel happy when I heard it.”
“I’m so proud of you!” Mom said. “You listened to the Holy Ghost tell you not to say that word. Then you used your talent of making people laugh to help you choose the right!”
Luke hadn’t thought about that. He smiled.
“Hey, I have a good word for you,” Mom said. “It starts with L.”
“Luke!”
“That’s good, but I’m thinking of someone who shows other people the way. Like the game, Follow the …”
“Leader!”
“Right! You were a leader with your good example. You were a leader with laughter.”
Luke hugged Mom. Then they raced back home. They laughed the whole way.

Why do I say that? Here’s one reason: I knew a boy who faced an unexpected and challenging decision. He faced it at the end of the summer in the year he turned fifteen. He had just returned home after working all summer on his uncle’s farm in another part of the state.
It was the first sacrament meeting he had attended since returning home. For some reason, he was detained a few minutes after the meeting. When he found his friends, they were standing in a group just outside the church building. As he approached, he noticed that they were concluding some kind of agreement. When he joined them, he was met with a seemingly innocent question: “Are you going in with us on it or not?”
“On what?” was his reply.
“On a half gallon of beer.”
That answer really shook him. He was not ready for it. His group had always been good kids. This question was completely out of character, he thought. But things were not as he remembered them. He had spent his summer away from his pals, and this had kept him more or less as he was. Something, however, had happened to change his friends. They seemed more grown up and worldly. This surprise made him falter before answering their question. It’s strange how many things can go through your mind in a flash: These were his friends. They were not enemies. He knew each one well. He had sat in Primary and Sunday School classes with them. They had sung songs together. Some of them had been ordained deacons the same Sunday. They had passed the sacrament together scores of times. Their school activities had brought them close. With some of them he had built toy airplanes and scooters and played rubber guns. They had hiked and worked and played together. Why should this simple question threaten this choice association?
Pressure from friends and acquaintances our own age is tremendously powerful! There is a desire to want to be “one” with friends. Besides, who wants to be a sissy, afraid to join in the fun. What’s more, if he didn’t join them, he would be one against the crowd.
But even with all of these ideas running through his head, another idea impressed itself even harder on his mind. There was one reason that stood out against all that seemed so appealing: It was not right. From somewhere within him came the courage to say, “No, I don’t think I will.”
The group turned away and strode across the street toward the beer hall, intent on carrying out their plan. My friend was left standing—alone. I’m sure he did not think of the Lord’s statement, “It is not good for man to be alone,” but he certainly understood its meaning in a new and personal way. He came to understand the truth of that statement in the days that followed and to see why all of us need true and loyal friends who believe and live as they should.
Even though he was fifteen—going on sixteen—tears came to his eyes as he walked home. His mother, sensing that something was wrong, asked, “What has happened?”
He blurted out the short experience.
“You’ve done right, my son” she reassured him.
“I wish I were as sure as you are,” he answered.
“You made the right decision,” she repeated, “and you’ll see. You will be blessed.”
The days that followed this incident were not especially happy ones. It took readjustments to establish his equilibrium. There followed a process of establishing new friendships. There was the inevitable heartache at school when conversations would grind to a stop as he joined his former group. There were moments of loneliness as he walked between the high school and the adjacent industrial arts building. What was formerly spontaneous fun and youthful sport changed to a subdued good humor. There were some obvious moments in basketball practice, too, when he would be in the clear and call for the pass, only to be ignored while another person was sought out to receive the ball.
But that all passed as everyone knows it will. Time is the great eraser. It dulls the former sad moments. It smooths hurts and salves wounds.
It was not long until former friendships were reestablished, although on a different basis than before. In a little more than a year, this young man was elected seminary studentbody president. The next year he was elected high school studentbody president by his friends. Two years later he entered the mission field, the only one of his class to do so. One classmate went on a mission the following year, but his other friends never did.
This young man has since fulfilled many calls to service and responsibility in the Church. Other tests of his integrity and moral standards have come into his life—as they come into the lives of us all. But few such tests have been so well-remembered or have made so lasting an impression on his life.
In a rather undramatic situation, he chose the right. And his mother was right, as mothers generally are. Her promise was literally fulfilled: “You’ll see. You will be blessed.”

I recall an event described by a man I met at a stake conference in the Midwest more than a decade ago. The setting was a beautiful campus in central Illinois. My informant, a participant in a summer workshop, saw a crowd of young students seated on the grass in a large semicircle about 20 feet from one of the large hardwood trees that are so common and so beautiful there. They were watching something at the base of the tree. He turned aside from his walk to see what it was.
There was a handsome tree squirrel with a large, bushy tail playing around the base of the tree—now on the ground, now up and down and around the trunk. But why would that beautiful but familiar sight attract a crowd of students?
Stretched out prone on the grass nearby was an Irish setter. He was the object of the students’ interest, and, though he pretended otherwise, the squirrel was the object of his. Each time the squirrel was momentarily out of sight circling the tree or looking in another direction, the setter would quickly creep forward a few inches and then resume his apparent indifferent posture. Each minute or two he crept closer to the squirrel, and the squirrel apparently did not notice. This was the scene that held the students’ interest. They were silent and immobile, attention riveted on the drama—the probable outcome of which was becoming increasingly obvious.
Finally the setter was close enough to bound at the squirrel and catch it in his mouth. A gasp of horror arose, and the crowd of students surged forward and wrested the beautiful little animal away from the hound, but it was too late. The squirrel was dead.
Anyone in that crowd of students could have warned the squirrel at any time by waving their arms or crying out, but none had done so. They just watched while the inevitable consequence got closer and closer. No one asked “Where will this lead?” and no one wished to interfere. When the predictable outcome occurred, they rushed to the defense, but it was too late. Tearful and regretful expressions were all they could offer.