Gospel Story Finder

Those friends included the son of a minister who was opposing him and the editor of The Cape Breton Island News who interviewed him and wrote favorably of him and the Latter-day Saint history and teachings in his paper. But despite an occasional good meeting in such places as the Temperance Hall, opposition increased, and finally a Reverend McLeod came directly to the home of Mr. Archibald McArthy, where Elder Millett was staying, and confronted him:

“Are you that imposter that has come to lead the people astray?” “No sir, I am a servant of the Living God and I am preaching His Gospel.” Says he, “Brother McArthy, what does the scriptures say? Though we or an angel from Heaven preach any other gospel than that we have preached, let him be accursed.” Says Brother McArthy, “This young man has preached the same gospel that Paul did. But you are preaching another gospel.” (10)

The dinner was just ready. … As he went to sit down he said, “There is a sick woman in the other room and you people profess to do miracles. Heal that woman; then I will believe in your doctrine.” Just then the door opened and the woman came out and said, “I am healed.” He said, “Yes, the devil can do miracles.”

As you might imagine, after that the minister “tried to eat but shook so bad he could not” and left, telling Mr. McArthy he should drive the missionary from his home.

It was Elliott’s first day at a new school, and he was nervous.
Mom, I’m going to miss my old friends.
I know you will, but you can make new friends.
After arriving at school, Elliott sat down in a new classroom. A lot of the children already knew each other. They were talking and laughing. Elliott sat quietly.
At recess Elliott couldn’t find anyone to play with. He didn’t know whom to ask. A couple of the boys on the playground said something unkind to him. Elliott was not happy.
Elliott returned home from school feeling sad.
What’s wrong?
I had a hard day at school. You said I would make new friends, but I didn’t. Some boys were mean to me, and I didn’t even do anything to them.
I’m sorry you had a bad day. If you keep trying, things will get better. Maybe we should pray about this. What do you think?
OK. I really want to have a good time at school.
Day after day Elliott prayed for help so he could have good days at school. Some days were a little rough, but he slowly started to find friends to play with.
Elliott kept praying for help. After a few weeks, Elliott was playing with new friends every day. Even though some kids were not always nice, he wasn’t bothered by them as much. Elliott knew Heavenly Father blessed him so he could be happy at his new school.

Old Mr. Kelligrew stood in the middle of the street as Scott Anders and Larry Martin approached the curb.
“Come on, boys!” Mr. Kelligrew shouted in his raspy voice. His red, white, and blue crossing guard cap looked faded and ragged, but the red stop sign he held up still did the job; and cars waited just beyond the crosswalk.
“We better hurry!” Scott exclaimed.
“We can cross the street without a guard,” Larry replied. “We aren’t little kids anymore!”
“Hello, Mr. Kelligrew,” Scott said as they passed him.
“Hello, Scott, Larry,” the old man answered.
“Hi,” Larry mumbled.
Mr. Kelligrew hurried to catch up with the two boys who had reached the other side.
A few impatient drivers honked at him, but he just smiled and waved.
“Don’t move as fast as I used to,” Mr. Kelligrew told the boys. “But I do the best I can.”
Larry had stopped to tie his shoelace. “How old are you?” he asked, looking up.
Scott nudged him. “You aren’t supposed to ask questions like that,” he whispered.
Mr. Kelligrew laughed. “I don’t mind. I’ll be eighty next Tuesday!”
“Wow!” Larry exclaimed. “I didn’t think you were that old!”
“Is your family having a big birthday party for you?” Scott asked, smiling.
The crossing guard shook his head. “No, I don’t have a family. My wife died many years ago, and we didn’t have any children.”
Larry frowned. “But I’ve heard you talk about your children lots of times.”
The old man nodded. “You are my children. You and all the boys and girls who attend this school are my children,” Mr. Kelligrew explained.
“I wonder what it would be like to celebrate a birthday all by yourself,” Scott said to Larry, glancing back at Mr. Kelligrew and waving just before the boys turned the corner and headed for home.
“He didn’t say he’d be by himself,” Larry answered. “He just said he wouldn’t be with his family. Do you want to play basketball over at my house for a while?”
“OK,” Scott agreed. “I’ll have to change my clothes first, though. I wonder how long Mr. Kelligrew has been a crossing guard at our school.”
Larry shrugged. “I don’t know. What difference does it make?”
“None, I guess,” Scott answered. “I just like him a lot, that’s all. I can’t ever remember a day when he hasn’t been out there stopping the cars even when it’s raining.”
“Come over as soon as you can,” Larry said when they reached his house. “I’ll get the basketball warmed up.”
“OK,” Scott agreed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He thought about Mr. Kelligrew while he was changing his clothes. Almost eighty and still working! My grandfather is a lot younger and hardly does anything since he retired.
“My, what a thoughtful face,” Scott’s mother teased as he was leaving the house. “Problems at school?”
“No, I was just thinking about Mr. Kelligrew,” Scott explained. “He’s the crossing guard at school.”
“Mr. Kelligrew?” she questioned. “I didn’t realize he was still there. Why, he was the crossing guard when your sister started kindergarten, and that was nearly twelve years ago! It can’t be the same Mr. Kelligrew.”
“It has to be,” Scott replied.
“But Scott, he wasn’t a young man then,” his mother went on. “By now he’d be—”
“He’ll be eighty next Tuesday,” Scott interrupted. “And he probably won’t have a cake or candles or anything.” Then he told her what Mr. Kelligrew had said about not having a family.
“What a shame,” Mother said. “He deserves something just for reaching eighty, not to mention working as a crossing guard all these years. Next Tuesday why don’t I put a cupcake in your lunch for Mr. Kelligrew!”
Scott liked the suggestion. “Thanks,” he told his mother. “That’ll be a good surprise. Maybe we could even put a candle on it!” But somehow he couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Kelligrew. One cupcake didn’t seem to be enough. Wouldn’t it be neat, he thought, if seventy-nine other people would give him a cupcake too!
The next morning Scott told his teacher about Mr. Kelligrew’s birthday and asked her if she could help him figure out how to arrange for seventy-nine cupcakes.
“Seventy-nine cupcakes!” the teacher echoed in disbelief. “I think you’d better talk to the principal about a project that big.”
Soon Scott found himself sitting in the principal’s office. He quickly explained about Mr. Kelligrew and why he would like to give him a surprise for his birthday.
“Mr. Kelligrew is a fine man,” the principal told Scott. “From my office window I often see him at the crosswalk. I’m sure he has prevented hundreds of accidents and injuries during the past fourteen years.”
“Then you’ll help me find seventy-nine other children who will bring cupcakes on Tuesday?” Scott asked eagerly.
“Whoa,” the principal answered good-naturedly. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t work out very well.”
Scott frowned. “It wouldn’t?”
“No,” the principal said. “Can you imagine eighty children standing in the crosswalk with eighty lighted candles on their cupcakes? There could be a traffic jam and someone might be hurt. Besides, what would Mr. Kelligrew do with eighty cupcakes?”
Scott swallowed. “I never thought of that. I’m sorry I suggested it.”
“Oh, I’m glad you did,” the principal encouraged. “It’s a great idea and I’m happy you thought of it.”
“You are?” Scott said. “But—”
“I didn’t know Mr. Kelligrew’s birthday was next Tuesday,” the principal explained. “If it hadn’t been for you, we’d have let it slip right by unnoticed. It would be great to do something special to show our appreciation for all the years Mr. Kelligrew has served us so faithfully. Will you be on the birthday committee, Scott?”
“I’ll be glad to,” Scott agreed quickly.
“But remember, not a word to Mr. Kelligrew,” the principal added.
“Not a word,” Scott promised.
On Tuesday morning Mr. Kelligrew was on duty, the same as always, escorting the children across the street.
“Have a nice day!” he called his usual farewell to them.
“You too,” some of them called back.
“Good morning, Mr. Kelligrew,” Scott said as he and Larry walked across the street.
“Good morning, boys,” Mr. Kelligrew replied.
“We’re in a hurry this morning, Mr. Kelligrew,” Scott added. “See you later.”
“Do you think he suspects anything?” Larry whispered when they were out of earshot.
“No,” Scott replied. “He probably thinks we forgot that he told us about his birthday.”
Mr. Kelligrew always arrived at least a half hour before school was dismissed in the afternoon, in case someone had to leave early. Scott was in the principal’s office, watching from the window when he saw him. Scott hurried out of the office and down the sidewalk to the street.
“Mr. Kelligrew, the principal wants to see you right now in the auditorium!” he exclaimed.
“Humf? Well, OK,” the crossing guard agreed, glancing at his big gold watch. “But I hope he won’t take much time. The first- and second-graders will be out before long.”
“Then you better hurry,” Scott urged and he turned and ran back to the school.
A few minutes later when Mr. Kelligrew climbed up the stairs and opened the auditorium door, the room seemed dark and empty. “Who’s there?” he called in his raspy voice. “What’s going on?”
At the sound of his voice the room was flooded with light and everyone began to sing, “Happy Birthday.” Scott, Larry and several other students hurried to escort Mr. Kelligrew to the front of the auditorium where a huge cake with eighty blazing candles waited for him.
“I—don’t know what to say,” the old man began haltingly when the song was finished.
“This is to say thank you for all the times you’ve taken us safely across the street,” Scott explained.
“We have something else for you too,” Larry added, handing Mr. Kelligrew a fancy package with a big bow on top.
“Open it!” the children shouted.
“I certainly will!” Mr. Kelligrew agreed with a smile. “My, this is the best birthday I’ve had in a long, long time!”
That afternoon Mr. Kelligrew wore a spanking new red, white, and blue cap and a bright new jacket. “Birthday presents!” he called to those who commented—and to many who didn’t. “From all my children!”

The love between David and Daniel is real—a love anyone in their presence can feel. They met in the fall of 1988 when David was assigned as a peer tutor to Daniel. David joined the peer tutoring program at Viewmont High School because he likes to help people. “We were instant best friends the first time we met,” says David. “Yep,” adds Daniel, “best friends, just like that.” And he snaps his fingers.
Most teens want to do all the “cool” things to be accepted by their peer group. David is obviously “cool.” He’s very popular—after all, he was elected student-body president. He’s handsome, outgoing, a good student, and a triathlete. And yet he befriends a youth who is mentally handicapped and even asks him to be his campaign manager in the school elections. Didn’t he wonder what the other kids would think? He answers, “People get too caught up in what others think. I only worry about what one person thinks. What the Lord thinks of me is most important.”
He continues, “I wanted Daniel to be my campaign manager because he’s so friendly and will talk to everybody. I wanted people to know that handicapped people have feelings just like everyone else and they want to be accepted. That’s exactly what I got.”

Remarkable events are relived as I flip the remote control of observation and memory. One of the most touching involves a young lady convert to the Church who found in the home of a Latter-day Saint fellow student a spirit and a caring relationship she had never before known.

She said that since her baptism, things had not really changed in her own home; there were still abuse and argument and alcohol and foul language. “But,” she said, “there is one room at my house where I can shut the door and read the scriptures and listen to good music and pray and feel the Spirit of the Lord. In my little room I can have that blessing. One day, if the Lord will help me, I will marry a man and live in a home where we can have the Spirit of the Lord always.”

When I was in my late teens, I received a telephone call that would change my life—my eternal life.
A good sister from my ward called to invite me to perform a dance floor show number at a Mutual activity evening that was being held in a couple of weeks. Dancing was a hobby of mine, and I was studying ballroom dancing at a studio in Salt Lake City. I had never been to a youth MIA (Mutual Improvement Association) dance before, and I was excited to accept the invitation to perform.
My partner and I arrived on the appointed evening and were greeted enthusiastically. I was surprised to find that we were the only ones on the program. It was an exciting experience, and I thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
The following Sunday morning, I decided to go to church in our ward for the first time since I was ordained a deacon. At that time, none of my family was active. I found people who welcomed me warmly, and they demonstrated a genuine friendship and caring. These experiences started me on the road to activity and service in the Church that has been a joy to me throughout the years.
A group of brethren took me under their wings, and we became good friends. A wonderful returned missionary taught me the basics of the gospel and helped prepare me to serve a mission. During this same time I was asked to help teach dancing in the ward, which gave me a feeling of being needed, and it also gave me a responsibility.
The next 15 months flew by, filled with growth and happiness as I progressed. I soon received a call to serve a mission in Mexico. I quickly grew to love the language, the country, and its people. Sharing the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ gave me a foundation upon which to build the rest of my life.
That evening so long ago when I was invited to share my talent, the door opened to a wonderful new world of friends and activity in the Church. I am grateful for those who reached out with a warm hand of fellowship, invited me in, nurtured me, and blessed my life.

Years ago, in search of adventure, my two sons and I accompanied a Young Men group to the Moaning Cavern, so named for a sound that at one time echoed out of its mouth. The cavern is a chimney cave which opens into a 180-foot-deep (55 m) vertical chamber, the largest single-cave chamber in California.
There are only two ways down: the safe circular staircase or rappelling to the cavern’s floor; my sons and I chose to rappel. My older son went first, while my younger son and I purposely went last so that we would descend together.
After our guides instructed and secured us with harness and belay gear to a strong rope, we inched backward until we stood on a small ledge and gathered our confidence, as this was the last place to turn around and the last place we could see any sunlight from the mouth of the cave.
Our next step backwards plunged us into a cathedral cavern so tall and wide that it could swallow the Statue of Liberty. There we dangled in a slow spin as our eyes adjusted to the relative darkness. As we continued our descent, the glow of electric lights illuminated an amazing wall of glistening stalagmites and stalactites.
Without warning, the lights suddenly went completely out. Suspended above the abyss, we were engulfed in a darkness so profound that we could not even see our hands on the ropes in front of us. A voice instantly called out, “Dad, Dad, are you there?”
“I’m here, Son; I’m right here,” I responded.
The unexpected loss of light was designed to show that without electricity, the darkness of the cavern was impenetrable. It succeeded; we “felt” the darkness. When the lights did return, the darkness instantly surrendered, as darkness must always surrender, to even the faintest light. My sons and I have been left with a memory of a darkness we had never known, a greater appreciation for light we will never forget, and the assurance that we are never all alone in the dark.

During my first semester of law school, my contracts class was taught by a distinguished professor who was very kind and gracious—when he was not in the classroom. In class, he was a master at teaching using the Socratic method—a method of teaching that involves asking probing questions in a way intended to develop critical thinking.
For most class periods we were assigned to read three legal decisions or cases. During class, a student was called upon to summarize the facts of the case and then describe the legal principles of contract law that the cases established. The unfortunate student was then subject to the professor’s probing, twisting questions that followed. This was almost always a humbling experience.
The first time I was called upon, the cases dealt with a principle of contract law known as unilateral acceptance. As a result, I have never forgotten that principle.

“So what about our rowing team—is it history?” the upperclassman was passionate as he put the question, obviously a rhetorical one, to the first-year students. “No way! It’s a tradition!”
I was one of those new students beginning medical school at the University of São Paulo, which had long been famous for its victories in rowing competitions. Team members had asked our professor for a few minutes to recruit for the team. We would be replacing those who had graduated.
As a result of the enthusiastic pitch, about 30 of us decided to try out. None of us had any rowing experience. We were all out of shape, as our coach constantly reminded us. He had been in the military and made no effort to hide his disgust at our sorry physical condition. He had lots of jokes, too, about the irony of poor muscle tone in students of medicine.
Training was grueling—held at 5:00 A.M., six days a week. We had to set our alarms for 4:15 to catch the bus to the training area. The less disciplined did not show up for long. Those of us who stayed noted that the coach gave all his attention to the team veterans. Meanwhile, we recruits were ordered to run around the campus perimeter.
The University of São Paulo campus covers a large area, so the run was about 6 miles (10 kilometers) and required enormous effort from men in our condition. We were exhausted when we finished, and the coach ordered us to the showers without comment.
This routine continued for several weeks. In time, a few ingenious souls discovered that they could cut their running time by taking a shortcut. Instead of making a full circle around campus, they detoured through the woods. Of course, they thought themselves very clever when they beat us to the showers. They even gave their shortcut a name: the easy return.
In time, the coach announced that he was ready to name those who would join the official team. To their surprise, not one of the men who took the easy return was selected. I still don’t know how the coach knew.
Each of us has a race to run in life. The course may become difficult at times, but we have a Coach who knows us well. He has promised us, “He that is faithful and endureth shall overcome the world” (D&C 63:47). Some people may seem to profit by breaking the rules, but in reality, no effort to keep the commandments will go unrewarded.
I always feel grateful when I think back to the rowing team. I still have the gold medal I was awarded for our victories. But more importantly, I have the determination I developed then never to take the easy return.

Only nine months ago I was totally blind to Mormonism. I knew absolutely nothing about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. That all changed on June 16, 1980, when two sister missionaries came to my home. They were so nice and polite that I was ready to be friends with them when they stepped through the front door. I never thought that people could be as happy and cheerful as they were each time they came to my home. I’m glad I met them.
Both were transferred on July 15. They visited me one last time on that day. I became excited when they told me I would be receiving a year’s subscription to the New Era, a gift from them to me. I was touched.
Now to the point. The New Era is wonderful! It keeps me up to date on the Church since I’m not allowed to attend services. Please keep up the fantastic work so that my faith can stand strong.
Lee GibsonDexter, Missouri

During a visiting teaching visit, Martha, a member of our ward, told my wife and her companion never to come back again. She had decided to stop coming to church. One of the visiting teachers asked Martha if they could sing a hymn together this one last time, and she agreed. As they sang, something special happened. Little by little, the Spirit began to fill the room. Each of them felt it. Martha’s heart began to soften. With her eyes filled with tears, she expressed to her visiting teachers the feelings of her heart. At that moment, she realized that she knew that the gospel was true. She now thanked her visiting teachers and expressed a desire for them to return. From that day forward, she received them with joy.
Martha began to attend church with her young daughter. For years they attended regularly, with Martha never losing hope that her husband might eventually choose to join them. At last the day came when the Lord touched his heart, and he began to attend with them, as did their other daughter soon thereafter. This family began to feel the true joy that comes from having gospel blessings in their home. Martha has since served faithfully as our ward Relief Society president, and her husband has served well in several callings within the stake. All this began with the singing of a hymn, a small and simple thing that touched Martha’s heart.

I recall an occasion when we went as a family to downtown Mexico City to buy clothing for our two children. They were very young. Our older son was just barely two years old, and the younger son was a year old. The street was crowded with people. While we were shopping, leading our children by the hand, we stopped for a moment to look at something, and without realizing it, we lost our older son! We did not know how, but he was not with us. Without a moment’s delay, we took off running to look for him. We searched and called out for him, feeling great anguish, thinking that we might lose him forever. In our minds we were pleading for Heavenly Father to help us find him.

After a little while we found him. There he was, innocently looking at toys through a store window. We hugged and kissed him, and we made the commitment to watch over our children diligently so that we would never lose one again. We learned that in order to go to our son’s rescue, we did not need planning meetings. We simply acted, going out in search of the one who had been lost. We also learned that our son never even realized that he was lost.

Carrie put her finger on her zoo-animal calendar and once more counted the days before she would be baptized. Today was Sunday, and in just seven more days she would be eight years old—old enough for baptism.
Today was really important, too, and maybe just a little bit scary, because today she would have her baptism interview with the branch president. President Stevenson wasn’t unfriendly, but Carrie was worried that he would give her a test about the Articles of Faith or the Ten Commandments or something.
“Carrie,” Mom called, “it’s time to get up. Remember, your interview is right after sacrament meeting.”
Carrie slipped out of bed and onto her knees. During her prayer, a warm feeling came over her, and she knew that everything would be all right. She remembered that it was the sort of calm feeling that Sister Cowan, her CTR-A teacher, had taught her could come to her through the Holy Ghost.
“Get out of my way,” Nathan growled later as he shoved past Carrie into the bathroom.
Wow! she thought. I hope he’s not going to be a real grouch all day.
But Nathan was still scowling as he, Carrie, and Mom and Dad left for church.
“Good morning, Carrie. Your big day is coming up next week, right?” Carrie felt a familiar arm around her shoulder as Sister Cowan gave her a hug. “Your interview with President Stevenson is today, isn’t it? You’re really ready for baptism—I know you are.”
Sister Cowan always made Carrie feel special. But that warm feeling disappeared as Nathan came toward her—he still had a frown on his face.
Just then President Stevenson came out of the chapel. “I’ll be seeing you right after church, won’t I, Carrie?” he said with a big, warm smile.
Carrie nodded and smiled back. Maybe our visit will be OK, she thought.
Then President Stevenson smiled at Nathan. But Nathan didn’t smile back—he was being a dedicated grouch today. The branch president simply said, “Nathan, remember?”
Miracles really do happen, Carrie thought as Nathan started to grin, then gave President Stevenson a great big smile!
“I remember.” Nathan’s smile grew and lasted as he ambled down the hall.
Did I see a miracle? Carrie wondered. And what did Nathan remember?
During sacrament meeting, Carrie glanced over at Judy. Carrie thought that she always looked sort of sad. But now, as Judy looked up from her hymnbook, she broke into a smile! Following Judy’s gaze, Carrie saw President Stevenson smiling at Judy from the stand.
How can he make Nathan and Judy smile when nobody else can? Carrie asked herself.
Soon, the meeting was over, and the branch members were visiting in the foyer.
“Carrie.” She felt a light touch on her shoulder. “Are you ready for our interview?”
Nodding, she followed the branch president to his office.
“I’m really glad we can visit today about your baptism,” President Stevenson told her. “Would it be OK if we started with a prayer?”
When he finished the prayer, he opened his scriptures and asked, “Do you remember when the Prophet Abinadi tried to teach King Noah about God? The only one in the king’s court who believed Abinadi was Alma. After Alma was converted, he gathered others and taught them the gospel. He said that for people to be ready for baptism, they should ‘mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places’” (Mosiah 18:9).
As they talked about what Alma had written, Carrie was glad that Sister Cowan had discussed it all in her class.
When President Stevenson asked Carrie if she would be willing to do all that Alma said, she answered yes and really meant it.
“The next verses talk about a covenant between the people being baptized and God. Do you know what a covenant is?” President Stevenson asked.
Covenant? Oh no! This is the test, and I can’t remember what it is! “Well, uh, not really,” was all she could mumble.
“That’s all right, Carrie. Lots of people don’t really know. A covenant is an agreement, or promise, between two people. They agree, or covenant, that as long as one of them does what has been agreed upon, the other is bound to do what he promised. Alma spoke of baptism as a covenant between us and God. If we agree to be baptized and always remember the Savior and keep his commandments, he agrees to send his Spirit to always be with us. Do you understand this?”
“I guess so, sort of.”
The branch president smiled. “Maybe it’ll be easier to understand if you and I make a simple agreement, OK? Here’s our agreement: Whenever I see you, whether it’s here at church or someplace else, I promise that I will smile at you, even if I’m not feeling happy. But if I do that, then you have to promise that you’ll smile back at me, even if you don’t feel like smiling. Do you think we can make that agreement?”
“OK. I can do that.”
“Good. Now, as a symbol of our agreement to smile, let’s shake hands.” Her small hand was smothered by his, but it felt warm and firm, not scary.
“Now, just as our handshake was a symbol of our agreement, your baptism will be a symbol of the covenant—a very sacred agreement—that you are making with God. He’ll send you his Spirit if you take the name of Jesus Christ upon you by being baptized and remembering him and obeying his commandments. The sacrament prayers will help you remember this sacred covenant that you are making with Heavenly Father. Do you understand better now?”
“Yes, President Stevenson.” Carrie smiled.
“I think that you are prepared for your baptism, Carrie. Tell your parents I’d like to talk with them about arrangements for your baptismal service.”
She got up to leave, then turned back with a grin. “President Stevenson, have you made the smile agreement with the other kids who have been baptized?”
“Yes, I have. Everyone—even adults—who has been baptized in our branch since I’ve been branch president has made the same agreement with me. I think it helps everyone understand better what a covenant is, and every time we smile at each other, we remember just how sacred our baptism covenant is. Their smiles show that they are happy to have made their covenants with Heavenly Father. Don’t you think so?”
Remembering Nathan and Judy, Carrie thought so too. She smiled as she hurried to find her parents.

Merrell: Yes, and there’s kind of a funny story involved in one case. Betsy and I were driving back from dinner one evening trying to decide whether I should do Three Warriors. We were on the freeway, and I started hearing music I thought would be perfect for the theme song. The next morning I got up and wrote it down, and Kieth came over and I played it for him. Halfway through he got up to leave, and I said, “Kieth, where are you going?” He said, “The music is fine. I trust you.” We recorded it, and after a screening with the distributors, the producer told me he loved the music. Kieth came over to me then and said, “You know, when you played the theme song for me that day and were telling me what the French horns would sound like, and the strings, and everything else, all I could hear was your terrible voice and your out-of-tune piano. I was really worried, but I’ll never doubt your judgment again!”

Moses’s son Lewis stepped into those boots, although he was not a left-footer. He played for the East Ardsley High School team and later played soccer, rugby, and cricket for the West Riding Auto Company. In 1940 he was called into the army. Serving in the Duke of Wellington Regiment, he rose to the rank of master sergeant in the infantry. He fought in France and Germany and along the way played on army soccer teams. He won’t talk much now about the fighting, but he speaks with relish about the soccer. He rose from his company team to the division team and then to the regiment team, the top of the heap. After the war his team toured Germany playing other army teams. They beat the Grenadier Guards in Dusseldorf Stadium in the semifinals of the army-wide championship and finally lost to the Royal Engineers in overtime in the championship match. Most of England’s finest young soccer players were in the military, so Lewis, an amateur, held his own with the elite of professional soccer until being demobbed (discharged) in 1946.

You can also be an influence for good so that the gospel message will shine through your countenance. I recently heard of a young woman who invited a group of her friends to bring their dates to her home after a dance. One couple stopped on the way to pick up a videotape to watch. As they played it, the group realized it was an R-rated movie. This young woman became disturbed and excused herself to talk to her parents. They reminded her that R-rated movies are not shown in their home and suggested that someone should turn it off. The young woman said she would do it, and she did. Everyone seemed relieved. This is a simple incident, but it illustrates a point. A young woman who wanted to be good acted on her desires, and a whole group of youth were spared a little bit of evil. Repeated many times over, until they become a pattern, such actions can be an influence that will spread through the Church and through society.

I think of my friend Elizabeth, whose life-style and habits took her away from the Church. After more than ten years, she had a desire to return and “see.” As she drove by a chapel one Sunday morning she felt impressed to come in. She joined our ward that same day. Her dress and her experiences made her obviously different from the rest of us, and she worried that she would never fit in. But her new friends met her far more than halfway, included her in their activities and found ways to use her artistic talents in building the kingdom. Her visiting teachers were 100 percent faithful; they loved Elizabeth, rather than their assignment. Now in different cities, they still keep in touch to bless her life.
The time came when Elizabeth was accepted back into full fellowship in the Church and called to teach Relief Society. The evening she was sustained in her new calling, I noticed she left the chapel quickly. I called her, worried that perhaps she was uncomfortable with the calling.
“No,” she said. “I had to run home to tell my mother. When I told her the good news, we danced around the kitchen together. My mother kept repeating, over and over, ‘I knew one day you would teach Relief Society.’”

Once upon a time in a small village there lived an old tailor and his three sons, Judah, Yarin, and Isaac. One day the old man called his boys together. “My sons,” he said. “I have worked hard. Now I wish to spend my days resting in the shade of the olive trees. I am giving the shop to you.”
Judah stepped forward. “Thank you, Papa. We hope that we can live up to your teachings.”
The old man smiled. “How splendid it will be to see my sons working together.”
Yarin picked up some cloth. “I can design the garments,” he said enthusiastically.
“I will cut the patterns,” added Isaac happily.
“And I will sew the pieces of cloth together,” said Judah eagerly.
“Good!” said the old man, beaming. “You have made my heart sing.”
A moment later, there was a knock on the door. Judah opened it. A messenger handed him a letter for his father. “It is news from the Rabbi’s wife,” he said. Then he bowed and left.
Judah gave the letter to his father. The old man quickly opened it and read aloud:
On the first day of next week my daughter will marry Ganseh the gabbai [synagogue trustee], cousin of the hazan’s [cantor’s] daughter. A prize of fifty shekels will go to the tailor who makes the most beautiful dress in Jerusalem before sunset this Friday. The Rebbetzin.
“Our fortune will be made!” said Yarin.
“We will become known throughout the Holy Land!” exclaimed Isaac.
“Everyone will buy our finery!” rejoiced Judah. “Let’s get busy and make the dress. We have only two days’ time.”
The old man stepped forward. “I am going to the marketplace to buy more cloth. I will return tomorrow. Good luck, my sons. I know you will do well together.”
And he left.
As Yarin picked up some paper and a quill, he thought, I should win the prize because I will make the pattern. He quickly drew some sketches.
“Show us what you have drawn,” said Judah.
Yarin hid the paper behind his back. “No,” he replied. “Not unless you both agree that the prize shall be mine!”
“That’s not fair!” cried Isaac. “If anyone should have a prize, I should, because I shall cut the pattern with great precision.”
“Wait!” protested Judah. “I shall sew the fine white linen with delicate stitches, so the prize should be mine!”
The brothers argued all day and night and into the next morning. When the old man returned, he heard their angry voices and hurried inside. “What is the trouble?” he asked them.
Enraged, the sons told him that each of them felt that he deserved the prize. The old man sadly shook his head. “As of this moment, I do not even see the beginning of a dress, yet you all expect to be rewarded.”
The old man fetched a broom from the doorway and removed three twigs. “Yarin,” he asked, “can you break this twig?’
“Of course, Papa,” he said, and he did.
“What about you, Judah?” asked the old man. “Can you break a twig too?”
“Easily,” replied Judah, and he did.
“Can you do the same, Isaac?” asked the old man.
“Certainly,” replied Isaac as he snapped the twig in two, “but what does this prove?”
The old man smiled and picked up the broom. “Now,” he said, “break the twigs that are bound together.”
Each son took a turn, but not one of them could do it.
The old man held the three broken twigs in his hand.
“Surely you can see that there seems to be more glory and riches in standing alone,” he said, kindly. “But like these bound twigs, working together brings strength.”
The sons looked at each other shamefacedly.
“We have wasted precious time being greedy,” said Isaac. “Now it’s too late, Papa.”
“Nonsense!” countered the old man. “Yarin, place the pattern on the table so that Isaac can cut the cloth so that Judah can sew it. Together you will make a fine gown.”
The brothers worked together all night and most of the next day to finish the gown before the Friday deadline.
When the rabbi’s wife saw the dress, she was very pleased with it. However, she liked another gown better, and she awarded the fifty shekels to someone else.
On their way home, the sons remained silent.
“I know that you are disappointed,” said the old man, “but together you made a very fine gown. Because it is so fine, others will buy the garments you make.”
The next day, many people came to the tailor shop.
One of them was the hazan’s daughter.
“Oh,” she said, admiring the dress, “what a beautiful design! Such delicate stitches! And it is cut so beautifully that I’m sure it will fit me.”
She was so delighted with the dress that she bought it and ordered several more. So did her friends and others, until the three brothers had earned fifty shekels many times over.

Every home has times when a peacemaker is needed. President and Sister Eyring have four sons and two daughters. Once when their children were young, President Eyring was teaching a family home evening lesson about peace. While he was teaching, he noticed that two of his little boys were kicking each other! But as those two boys grew older, they learned how to be peacemakers and became each other’s greatest friends and helpers.

The state of New Mexico has a dot-to-dot line called Highway 66. This line comes across the state boundary near the northeastern corner and connects dots Gallup, Bluewater, Grants, and Albuquerque. Although Bluewater is the smallest of these dots, to me it is the most important. Here I was born and raised. It was my world. Here I learned many lessons, not the least of which was one taught by the episode of the “gentile cow.”
In Bluewater, nature is not a soft, sweet, green Mother who gives of her bounty. Here she is a rugged individual who demands the utmost of man’s endeavor for the yield she lets him have. She does have a strong beauty here, however. Mt. Taylor stands to the east and the range of Rocky Mountains to the west. North, toward Gallup, are red sandstone bluffs and black jagged malpais (volcanic ridges). Much of the level valley floor is covered with red soil. When it is dry, which is nearly always, this sandy loam is sifted around fence posts in miniature mountains by the ever-present wind. It used to be a delightful experience to walk barefooted through the sand, but the Russian thistles that thrive here made walking pleasant only for the wary. It was a status symbol to have feet tough enough to walk barefoot over thistles.
An arroya (deep gully) begins from the northwest hills and zig-zags diagonally across the valley. This arroya is usually dry, but in rainy seasons it holds a red, raging torrent. Near the head of the arroya where there is a runoff from the hills, some cottonwood trees have managed to send their roots down deep enough to be sustained by underground water. They are so firmly situated that they are not affected by wind or drought. As a child I had hoped my testimony of the gospel would become as deep-rooted and as unbendable as those cottonwood trees.
Bluewater was really a community divided between the Mormons and the gentiles. Northward lived the rich (we thought) gentiles. They owned the General Merchandise Store and the garage with a gas pump. There also was a small Union Pacific Depot and the United States Post Office. Southward, the Mormons had a little concrete church house and a red brick, four-room schoolhouse. There was not much socializing between the groups. The Mormons went up to the store to get produce and to fill their gas tanks at the garage and get their mail at the Post Office. Few trains ever stopped at the depot, so few people went there. The gentile children came down to school, and the gentile adults came occasionally to Church socials or dances.
During the depression of the 1930s, we lived mostly on potatoes and pinto beans. The ultimatum was, “If you don’t raise it, you don’t eat it.” Momma could make potatoes and beans taste like gourmet food, but she couldn’t make them into milk for the children. In this little town there were no telephones, sidewalks, electric lights, or paved streets—and no dairies. There wasn’t even any money to buy canned milk. A milking cow was a necessity for a family. Our cows were all dry. My parents worried about their eight children. As the oldest child, I worried too.
One day as I helped Momma with the dishes, I asked, “Are we going to starve?” She countered, “We haven’t starved yet, have we?” I knew we hadn’t starved, but we had hungered for variety, and now we needed milk. She continued as much for herself as for me: “So long as we pay our tithing, I can’t think the Lord will let us starve. He has always looked after us.” I knew this was true, and I knew that my parents always paid an honest and cheerful tithe on every cent they received. Every tenth calf went for tithing. I saw Momma write on the calendar each night the number of eggs she had gathered that day, and each month a tenth went to the Lord. I was reassured. Besides, it was spring and new crops were being planted.
One day not long after this, I hurried home from the school bus. As I came up the path to the house, I saw my two little brothers and my sister looking at something by the gate. It was a smoldering cigar butt. I could not think how a fat cigar butt could have gotten inside our gate. The only smoking Mormon I knew smoked thin cigarettes.
“Where did it come from?” I asked.
The answer could only make more questions. “Mr. Thigpen threw it there.” Mr. Thigpen was the arch-gentile. He owned the General Merchandise Store.
“Why was he here?”
Their next answer did nothing to solve the mystery: “He’s going to give Daddy a cow.”
My sister reached out her foot and kicked the cigar butt. We stood aghast. But lightning didn’t strike, and the earth didn’t swallow her up, so my brother took the shovel and covered the remains with sand.
Daddy came out of the house and put a bridle on the horse that was in the corral. Momma came out and said, “Are you going now?”
“Yes. Mr. Thigpen said to come get a cow. He’ll change his mind when he sobers up, but we’ll milk her tonight anyway.”
He threw the saddle on the horse’s back and fastened the cinch. “I’ll be back in a little while.” He got on the horse and trotted off to the north. I was too mystified to ask if I could go too.
While Momma got supper, I worked on my lessons. I had to get them done before dark because we were out of coal oil for the lamp. Momma put wood in the stove. She stirred the food in the kettles, then pushed the kettles to the back of the stove where they would keep warm but not burn. She took the bread from the oven and turned it out of the pans onto the sideboard by the stove. Then she set the table.
By this time the children who had been watching at the gate came running through the house. “Daddy’s home! The cow’s here!” They ran out of the kitchen door. I ran out too. Momma followed with a milk pail. My brother quickly opened the corral gate. We all watched as the beautiful little Jersey cow with the big milk bag stepped daintily inside. She stood waiting to be milked. No prima donna ever had a more appreciative audience.
Daddy milked the cow. We stood there listening to the sharp zing of the stream of milk as it hit the pail, beating itself into a standing foam that soon muffled the zing to a mellow swish. We all filed into the house behind Daddy who carried the milk pail. He opened the stove door to light the darkened room. He strained the milk and set the pitcher on the table. Momma broke a warm loaf of bread and set the beans, potatoes, and bread on the table. We all sat down, and Daddy said the blessing on the food and thanked the Lord for his kindness to us that day.
Mr. Thigpen did come back a few days later. He was a bit chagrined by his generous offer. However, he saved face by offering Daddy a job to pay for the cow and also to draw “store pay.”
“Well,” said Momma, “we don’t know in what way the Lord will help us. I never thought a drunk gentile could answer a prayer.” The roots of my testimony anchored about ten feet deep.
It has been many years since we sat around that table eating our supper by firelight, but the scene is as bright to me as an unshaded light bulb. I have traveled many fine lines on the map and eaten many remarkable meals. I have sampled milk that has been pasteurized, homogenized, pulverized, refined, and vitalized, but no milk has ever surpassed, or even equaled, the soul-satisfying milk that the Lord sent to us by that gentle “gentile cow.”