Gospel Story Finder

The Y on the mountain has its own inauspicious origins. Its roots trace back to a rivalry between two classes of students only three years after Brigham Young Academy became a full-fledged university—a time when both Brigham Young University and Brigham Young High School shared the same space.

It was not unusual in those days for a class to mark its graduation by leaving symbols on the landscape. In the spring of 1906, the junior class at the high school decided to get a jump on the process and at the same time demonstrate its superiority to the senior class by etching a large ’07 on the mountainside, referring to the year in which they would graduate in the future.

Not surprisingly, upon awakening to that sight, the senior class objected. One contemporary account described the reaction with dramatic flair:

The Student Body . . . sprang to its feet in angry ­amazement; the whites of its eyes gleamed like lightning. Its generals . . . ran to the four winds with flaming banners, and crying: “Assemble, ye hosts, prepared to fight!”9

There then ensued “an all-day mountainside altercation,”10 with punches exchanged on both sides.

BYU president George H. Brimhall and BY High principal Edwin S. Hinckley assembled a group, and a decision was made to have all the classes join together to put the letters B, Y, and U on the mountainside.11 The project began with the letter Y to ensure that all the letters would be properly centered on the mountain.12

Measurements and calculations were made both on the mountain and at the old Academy Building (which is now the Provo City Library) to make sure the letter would appear centered and proportioned from the perspective of those in the valley. On an appointed day, the work began to construct the Y with lime, rock, and sand. As one participant described it:

The students stood in a zig zag line about 8 feet apart stretching from the bottom of the hill to the site of the Y. The first [person] took the bag of lime, sand, or rocks and carried it 8 feet and handed it to the second [person]. The second carried it another 8 feet and handed [it] to the third [person], and thus the bag went up the hill.13

The group started in the early morning with the expectation that the job would be completed by 10 a.m.14 But the task proved much bigger than the group had thought. By midafternoon some students had fainted and had to be carried off the hill, and it was 4 p.m. before the Y was finally thinly covered.15 The effort was so exhausting that, in the words of one involved, “no attempt was made to cover the other two letters,”16 and the Y was left standing by itself.

My brother, Greg, and I participated in the Hill Cumorah Pageant in New York for two summers. One summer, when I was about sixteen years old, I was really searching for a personal testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. I thought that this would be the perfect time to get it. One night after the performance, I decided to go to the Sacred Grove alone. It was a beautiful, clear summer night. I thought, This is it—the place, the time. What more ideal setting could I have? I prayed for a long, long time—well over an hour. Nothing happened. I finally gave up and walked back to Palmyra, wondering, What did I do wrong or what didn’t I do right? What was missing?
I’ve since thought a lot about that experience. One of the lessons I learned from it was that you shouldn’t try to dictate to God the timing or the content of revelation. It was later that summer—when I was home by myself in a little basement bedroom, reading the Book of Mormon—that a witness came very powerfully. It just overwhelmed me. I know from that experience the truth of what Joseph Smith witnessed and the truth of the Book of Mormon and the reality of the Savior. That hasn’t been my only witness, but it was a great strengthening of my testimony.
I found that you don’t have to be in a special place to receive that witness. You will receive answers to your prayers if you are earnest and keep asking and searching. I’m glad now that my answer didn’t come to me when I first asked. I might have thought that you have to go to the Holy Land for a testimony of Jesus or to the Sacred Grove for a testimony of Joseph Smith. Anywhere in the world, the Lord will speak to you.

In the mission presidents’ seminar last June, Elder Thomas S. Monson told of the great faith and trust in the Lord of Randall Ellsworth, a missionary who, in Brother Monson’s words, “was crushed under that devastating earthquake in Guatemala, pinned for, I think, twelve hours. Found himself totally paralyzed from the waist down. Kidney functions, not present. No hope to ever walk again. …

“He was flown to … Maryland and … interviewed in the hospital by a television reporter. The television reporter said to him, ‘The doctors say you will not walk again. What do you think, Elder Ellsworth?’ He said, ‘I’ll not only walk again, but I have a call from a prophet to serve a mission in Guatemala, and I shall go back to Guatemala and finish that mission.’ …

“He exercised twice the [requirement] outlined by the doctors. He exerted his faith. He received a blessing from the priesthood and his recovery was miraculous. It astounded the physicians and the specialists. He began to be able to stand on his feet. Then he could walk with crutches, and then the doctors said to him, ‘You may return to the mission field if the Church will permit you to go.’ He went. We sent him to Guatemala. He returned to the land to which he had been called, to the people whom he dearly loved.

“While there he was walking, proselyting a full schedule with a cane in each hand. [His mission president] looked at him and said, ‘Elder Ellsworth, with the faith that you have, why don’t you throw those canes away and walk?’ And Elder Ellsworth said, ‘If you have that kind of faith in me [take the canes].’” He put down the canes and has never used them since. (Mission Presidents’ Training Seminar, June 1977, tape recording, Missionary Department.)

I had a great chance to qualify for the London Olympics in 2012, but in the most important competition, I fell off the apparatus. My chance at the Olympics was gone. I was halfway around the world, and my dreams were shattered.

Shortly after that failure, I decided I wanted to go on a mission. I might not have gone if I had made it into the Olympics, but my mission was one miracle after another. I was so grateful for that opportunity.

The gospel has helped me make right decisions, especially at times when it’s difficult to keep my standards. It shapes who I am and all the values that I have.

Will Strickland flipped switches, turned dials, and moved levers on the lighted control panel: the metal robot sitting at the far end of the living room stood up and walked ponderously toward him. Will’s fingers moved rapidly among the controls as he piloted the robot in a slow circle about the room.
At last!
He finally had the robot perfected to the point where it could walk more than six steps without falling on its chrome steel skull.
He spoke into the microphone, and his voice echoed back to him from the small speaker inside the robot’s mouth. “Testing—testing—I’m a jolly good fellow today; I’ve decided to be a good robot and cooperate with the poor mortal who worked so hard to put me together.”
He switched the control panel off and walked over to the robot, pushing gently against it to test its balance in a standing position. Pretty solid. it was exactly his own height, five feet ten, but it outweighed him by six pounds; it had a little more metal in its system than he had.
He left the robot standing there and turned to the cubical metal frame that towered nearly to the ceiling, dominating the small living room. A steel skeleton, the same height as both Will and the robot but weighing only 127 pounds, hung suspended from the top of the frame by vertical bars that socketed into its shoulders, leaving its feet dangling six inches above the floor.
The “skeleton” was actually a new control unit he had designed to replace the conventional control panel. Even though the control panel worked, it was so complicated that the operator needed the skill and coordination of a jet pilot to evoke the most elementary motions in the robot. A small child could walk or pick up something in his hand without having to understand how his muscles worked in opposition to one another to provide balance and control. With the control skeleton, a man could operate a robot as easily as he could operate his own body, simply by strapping himself to the skeleton and doing whatever he wanted the robot to do; the robot would copy his motions, “reading” them electronically through the motions of the skeleton.
Since the only way he could make the robot walk was to walk himself, and since it would be next to useless to have a robot if he had to follow along behind it wherever it went, he had suspended the skeleton in the air so its feet wouldn’t touch the floor. This way the man and the skeleton would do their walking in the air, and leave the traveling to the robot. The robot could walk all over town while the man and the skeleton remained in this room, suspended from the overhead frame.
He had visions of a future filled with robots working on the surface of the moon, other planets, and interplanetary space, doing dangerous work that needed to be done, while the operators of the robots remained in safer areas.
But before all this could happen, he had to make the first one work.
He stepped inside the frame and pushed the button that lowered the skeleton until its feet touched the floor. Then he backed up to the skeleton and stepped on top of its flat feet, strapping them to his own as though he were putting on a pair of roller skates. He worked his way up his ankles, calves, and upper legs, fastening the straps; the right leg of the skeleton fit snugly against the right side of his own right leg, and the left leg fit similarly on the other side of his body. The shoulders of the skeleton rested on top of his own, and its arms came down just to the outside of his own. He slipped his hands into the metallic gauntlets at the ends of the arms and finished strapping in.
He pressed the suspension button and the vertical bars lifted him until his feet cleared the floor by six inches; then he switched on the power to the skeleton control unit and raised his right arm to shoulder height. The robot raised its right arm halfway to shoulder height and stopped.
He made a careful walking motion; the robot lurched forward and fell with a shattering crash.
“Blast!” Will growled.
“Blast!” the robot agreed.
He listened for a moment but heard no footsteps pounding up the stairwelt; that was one thing he could be thankful for. The tenants in the apartment just below his used to come scrambling up the stairs every time the robot fell.
They had not been very understanding about the cause of science; they were devout proponents of peace and quiet. They’d told him so several times, at the tops of their lungs.
Then one day he’d had the robot answer the door.
They hadn’t been back since.
He switched off the power, lowered his feet to the floor, and unstrapped from the skeleton. This was enough for one day’s work; the robot had walked consistently well under the control of the panel, and this was the most success he’d tasted since he’d begun this project. Now he knew that the remaining trouble had to be somewhere in the motion-translation unit of the control skeleton.
But that could wait till tomorrow. Friday night was no time to be working on a robot, especially when he had a date with Carol.
He picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello.” It was Carol’s voice.
“Hi, Carol; this is Will. What time shall I come by tonight?”
“Oh, it’s you. … Sorry, but I won’t be able to make it to the dance tonight. Something came up.”
He hesitated. “But Carol—we’ve had this date for three weeks.”
“Well, I just can’t go.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Something just came up.”
He swallowed, and his throat hurt. “As I recall, something came up last time, too.”
She laughed. “Did it? Shame on me. Well, I don’t really have time to talk to you now, Will; I have things to do. See you around campus sometime.”
The phone clicked in his ear.
He slammed it into the cradle.
This was the fifth time she’d done this to him!
“And by George, it’s the last!” He stalked into the bedroom and whipped his shirt off, ripping off the bottom button, which he had neglected to unbutton.
“I’m going to that dance stag! And as for Carol,” he slung his pants at the bed and missed, “She’s seen the last of me!”
He jerked on a clean pair of pants and a new shirt; he cinched his necktie ferociously, strangling himself, and coughed a couple of times before he could loosen it.
As he wrenched open the door of his apartment, he cast one last glance back at the robot, which was now sitting quietly in its usual chair, then he slammed the door splinteringly shut behind him.
There were several nice girls at the dance, but most of them had dates. He danced a few dances but didn’t meet any staglet girls who particularly impressed him.
In spite of every gram of will power he could muster, he always caught himself comparing them to Carol.
Then he saw a girl at the far end of the dance floor who, at first glance, compared favorably with Carol. He looked more closely.
Great Scott! It was Carol!
She was dancing with a tall, handsome fellow who looked sophisticated but stupid.
And she was enjoying herself.
When the music stopped, he strolled over to them, controlling himself every second. “May I have the next one?” he asked politely.
Carol turned a little pink.
The tall fellow stiffened. “Why don’t you get with it and go hustle your own date?”
Will stepped forward dangerously. “I thought I had one,” he explained, “until about an hour ago.” He glanced at Carol. “But something came up.”
“You’ll have to excuse us now, Will,” Carol said smoothly, “they’re starting to dance again. And you really shouldn’t be in the middle of the dance floor if you’re not going to dance.”
She danced away with her tall, dark hero.
Will stormed off the floor. “I’ll get even with you, baby, if it takes twenty years!”
He bolted out the exit and headed for home.
He thundered into his apartment and punched the door shut with a frustrated fist. He began to pace to and fro in front of the quietly seated robot.
Carol would break a date with him whenever, wherever, and however she felt like it. And that was usually whenever some good-looking goon came along and gave her the eye. If he were a handsome animal, it seemed to make no difference to Carol if he didn’t have the wits to tie his shoes.
Carol didn’t care. To her an empty head was as good as a full one, as long as it had a flashy covering. She was the flightiest girl he’d ever known.
Also the most beautiful. And certainly the most intelligent, except for her little mental problem concerning men.
In the beginning she’d given him the rush and totally overwhelmed him. Six weeks later she was finished with him and on to the next conquest, wastebasketting him like a used kleenex.
He discovered later, by personal observation, that three weeks was her usual toleration limit for any one fellow. Unfortunately, she was nice-looking enough that she never had any difficulty at all in snagging replacements for her rejects. Whenever she had a new one in the net, she just started breaking dates with her latest victim until he got the message and gave up.
But Will wouldn’t give up. He didn’t have much trouble getting the message, but giving up was not a part of his psychology, at least not after having come to know the real Carol. He was in love with that girl.
“I hate her!” he growled.
The robot sat silently in front of him, like a metal Mona Lisa. Uncontrollably he began to try to explain Carol to his mute companion.
“Inside I know she’s a wonderful, sensitive person. She’s just afraid of commitment. And she’s brilliant,” he added in ultimate defense. He’d discovered that almost by accident when he’d seen the grade point average on her semester report one day before she had hastily stuffed it into her purse. She seemed to consider her intelligence a deficit. And it was with most of the guys she dated.
Suddenly he stared at the robot as if he really saw him for the first time. He approached the uncooperative control unit with the pure light of fanaticism shining in his eyes.
“Now, sister, we’re going to see who’s boss! Now I’m really motivated!”
He worked all night. At six-thirty Saturday morning he strapped himself to the control skeleton for the fourth time and raised his right arm to shoulder height.
The robot’s right arm lifted to shoulder height!
He took one careful step forward. The robot did likewise!
He threw his fists to the heavens and shouted jubilantly!
The robot raised steel fists to the skies and cheered earnestly.
He walked the robot cautiously about the room, making sure of its balance with each stride. What a strange sensation, hanging from the frame and making walking motions but going nowhere, while a robot on the other side of the room did his walking for him.
Physically, he felt as though he were actually walking. The skeleton transmitted the force of his muscles to the robot, and the robot transmitted the forces acting on it back to the skeleton.
He sat the robot down on the davenport. His own legs actually moved upward, so that he appeared to be sitting on air, but he was really sitting supported by the legs of the control skeleton, which, in turn, were held up by the forces transmitted to them by the legs of the seated robot.
The skeleton had a system of wire muscles that duplicated the functions of the muscles in the human body, and these muscles were actually applying the forces necessary to hold up his legs. But they received their instructions electronically from the legs of the robot.
As long as no one shut off his electricity, he could sit there in the air until he starved to death. Which reminded him, he’d better not forget to pay his light bill before Tuesday.
He made the robot lie down on the davenport. His body stretched out horizontally in the air, lifted by the wire muscles of the vertical bars like a giant forearm being lifted by a flexing bicep.
When he closed his eyes, his body told him he was lying securely on the davenport—all of his body, all that is except his stomach, which remained stoutly unconvinced.
He brought himself and the robot to a standing position again, lowered the skeleton’s feet to the floor, and turned off the power.
“Whew!” He unstrapped. “Your body tells you one thing, and your eyes accuse your body of perjury. That’s what you’d call cognitive dissonance.”
It was now time to install the robot’s eyes and ears so he could pilot it at a distance. He hadn’t installed them before because he hadn’t wanted to take needless chances of smashing them in one of the robot’s crash landings.
By a quarter to eleven he had the miniaturized TV cameras placed inside the eye sockets and the little radio transmitters inside the ears. He strapped himself to the control skeleton and pulled the audio-visual helmet down over his head. The transistorized TVs in the inside of the helmet, one in front of each eye, gave him not only clear vision, but also three-dimensional depth of field. The twin radio receivers next to his ears gave him a normal sense of hearing from the robot.
When he turned on the power, the first thing he saw was Will Strickland dangling from the great frame like a living puppet. With the steel skeleton strapped to his body and the audio-visual helmet over his head, he looked like nothing the planet Earth could possibly have produced.
He laughed. “Will Strickland, Puppet-Man from Planet X.”
He walked around the frame, fascinated by seeing himself as he really was, from all angles. “O wad some pow’r the giftie gie us, to see oursil’s as ithers see us.”
He walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out a volume of Thoreau. He opened it and, with some persistence, succeeded in turning the pages one at a time. He had the sensation of wearing thick gloves.
He put the book back on the shelf. Now that he was confident in his ability to control the robot in every way, he had only one need left to fulfill.
Sleep.
He parked the robot in its chair, switched off the power, and lowered himself to the floor. He unstrapped, walked wearily into the bedroom, and flopped onto the bed without undressing.
The next thing he knew, it was a little past four o’clock and he was hungry. He crawled out of bed, cooked and ate two hamburgers, and drank half a quart of milk.
Then he went to the supply closet and pulled out a box containing fleshy plastic. He began to form a face for the robot, a very handsome face, one that would catch Carol in mid-flight and cause her to abandon this week’s infatuation and teach her a lesson she’d never forget.
At a quarter after three Thursday afternoon he finished his work on the robot’s face. He was no sculptor, but he was a good design engineer, and he made the plastic face by taking careful measurements of faces in photographs and reproducing a nose from one, a mouth from another, and so on. The finished product was diabolically handsome.
Then he adjusted the voice box in the robot’s throat so that its voice was altered significantly from his own. If Carol recognized his voice, the game would be over fast.
He dressed the robot in his newest suit and tie, and inspected him for human credibility. He looked a great deal more human than some of the guys he’d seen hanging around on campus.
Twenty minutes later he piloted his cybernetic Cyrano through the door of the library. He noticed, with a mixture of pride and disgust, that the girls were paying much more attention to him than usual.
He was sure that Carol would be in the library, but he couldn’t see her anywhere. She usually sat at the table nearest the door, where she could keep her speculative eyes on all the males entering and where no male could possibly avoid being exposed to a full-length view of Carol Carter.
Carol believed in prime viewing areas.
Sometimes he wondered how he’d ever gotten mixed up with such a girl in the first place. And whenever he did, it never took him long to remember. She’d swooped down on him like a Golden Eagle, capturing him in something under four minutes.
He’d never had a chance. Somewhere in the third week of their whirlwind romance she had allowed him to catch a glimpse of her deeper thoughts, though most of the time she kept herself camouflaged behind the irrationality inherent to being a beautiful woman. But why he still loved her after all—
Splat!
Out of the stacks a blur of femininity had flashed, impacting solidly against his chest.
The robot toppled backwards!
He fought wildly for balance; a fall might knock out the audiovisual, maybe even the control unit—
He grasped desperately with both hands. His right hand caught the edge of the stacks and held; his left arm girdled the girl’s waist, bearing her several inches into the air.
She squeeled shrilly, breathlessly, in his left ear.
It was Carol!
It would be Carol. This was just another of her clever little tricks to meet a man. Hiding in the stacks and springing out on him like a leopard when he passed by.
The little ambusher …
He set her down gently.
“Ohhhh!” she gasped. “Excuse me.” She was still a little breathless, whether by nature or by design he couldn’t tell, and she stood very close to him, shining her sapphire eyes up into his.
That one never failed her; even as a robot he felt limp all over. He knew that if he had built an olfactory sense into the robot, he would now be mesmerized by her perfume, as well as all the rest.
And Carol didn’t need perfume, as long as she had all the rest.
She looked at him in rapt admiration. “My, but you’re strong.” She felt the arm that had so lately been locked about her waist. “Why, your arm is just like steel! Unbelievable!”
“I—uhhhh—lift weights.”
“You must!” She paused. “My name’s Carol. Carol Carter. What’s yours?”
“Cy,” he said, searching frantically for a last name. “Cy Burnett.”
“Cy Burnett,” she repeated. “How masculine. It fits you.” She appraised him for a few more seconds. Subconsciously she thought, Cybernet? How interesting. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yes, fairly new.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever seen you before. If I had, I surely would have remembered.” She flashed her eyes up into his and smiled. “Say, have you ever been to the sundial?”
“No.” Not as Cy, he hadn’t. As Will, he’d been there several times with Carol; it was her favorite setting for romance, and she always lured her prey there as soon as it was at all feasible. But her speed today, as far as he knew, broke all her previous records.
“Come on, then,” she urged. “It’s time you had the experience. It’s beautiful there in the late afternoon.”
“Do you go there often?”
She looked at him as though she weren’t sure whether to be embarrassed or not. She decided not to be. “Yes, it’s lovely there. Come on and I’ll show you.”
He followed her from the library.
Will was dismayed at his failure as a man and his success as a robot. There was one consolation; Carol Carter was going to be the one who got hurt this time.
The sundial was surrounded by flowers, trees, and bushes, with a little pond nearby. Carol sat down in the grass and motioned him down beside her.
It was a relief to sit down and rest; he’d been walking his robot now for forty-five minutes, nonstop.
“Mmmmmm,” breathed Carol. “Smell those flowers.”
He sniffed, smelled nothing, and remembered the robot wasn’t equipped to smell. “Yes,” he agreed. “Very nice.”
She chatted on and on for nearly an hour. Will wasn’t used to such long discussion periods with her; of late, they had been very brief and very no-nonsense. Remembering that he abruptly stood up. “Sorry to end this, but I’ve got to get some studying done.”
“That’s too bad,” she said in surprise, “just when we were getting so well acquainted.”
She lowered her lashes at him in a way that stopped his heart, lungs, and brain from their normal duties. “There’s a darling movie playing on campus” she purred. “Why don’t we go to it together Friday night, and we can continue getting better acquainted?”
First his pulse came back, then his breath, and finally about half the reasoning power of his brain. “That sounds interesting,” he said and glanced at his watch. “Ten till five. I’d really better get back to the library.” He was being an emotional man of iron.
She sighed. “I suppose so.”
“So long,” he tossed back over his shoulder. “See you around.”
“See you Friday night,” she reminded him. “Do you still have my phone number and address?” she called after him more urgently. “I put it in your left shirt pocket; it’s a little pink slip of paper.”
“It’s still there,” he assured her, patting his chrome steel chest, “right next to my heart.”
They had to walk to the movie Friday night. He didn’t trust Cy with the car yet. Besides, he couldn’t have Cy Burnett show up for a date driving Will Strickland’s car. He told Carol he couldn’t use the car because of technical problems.
She didn’t mind walking; she said the fresh air and exercise would be good for her. And before the evening was over, they had a date for the ballet on Saturday night.
They had a great Saturday night. When he took her home, she kissed him and made sure he remembered that they had a definite date for the following Friday night. He didn’t actually remember making the date with her, but he certainly remembered some broad hints she’d been throwing him throughout the evening.
He was gratified to see just how thoroughly infatuated she had become with Cy Burnett.
This meant that the time was now ripe for Phase Two.
The following Friday evening, Will had his speech well-rehearsed. At twenty minutes till seven, which was the time he was supposed to be at Carol’s house, he activated the robot’s speaker control and called her.
She picked up the phone in four seconds flat; he was timing her. “Hello.” Her voice was especially musical tonight; he almost relented in his plan.
Almost, but not quite. He’d made a definite commitment to himself.
“Hi, Carol; this is Cy.”
“I know,” she purred, “I’m ready now, so any time you come will be fine with me.”
He hated himself. “Sorry about this, Carol, but I won’t be able to make it tonight.”
“Ohhhh.” The disappointment in her voice gave him a sadistic thrill. “What happened, Cy?”
“Something came up.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Something just—came up? But—we had a date, Cy.” Her voice was shaky, as though she were about to cry.
He didn’t feel heroic.
But he forced himself to remember all the times she’d done this to him. “Well, something just came up.” This was an exact quotation from the last time she’d jilted him. He wondered if it would strike a familiar chord in her conscience.
He hoped so.
There was another long interval. “All right, Cy,” she said meekly. “Cy? There’s a wonderful play tomorrow night, Picnic in the Park. I’ve wanted to see it for ever so long. Would you like to … well, what I mean is, if you can’t make it tonight, and since we did have a date …”
Her voice trailed off pathetically.
“Sounds okay.” He was glad of a chance to relent a little without breaking his solemn vow. “See you tomorrow night, then.”
“Wonderful. Good night, Cy.”
“Good night, Carol.”
He spent the rest of the evening alone in his apartment, wishing he were with her.
All day Saturday he felt like a brute. A triumphant male brute, to be sure, but still a brute. His feelings alternated between righteous satisfaction and guilty anguish.
Well, she’d done it to him often enough; now they were even.
No, not exactly even.
He’d have to jilt her five or six more times to come anywhere close to being even. But once was enough to prove the point.
Or was it?
As the time drew near for their date that evening, he began to have second thoughts. Maybe two vigorous drops, back to back, would drive the point home a little deeper.
No, she’d suffered enough. She’d sounded almost ready to cry last night and had probably spent a pretty miserable night of it.
It reminded him of the night he’d gone through the time she’d stood him up on a theater date to go bowling with someone she’d met only that afternoon. He’d wandered through the darkest streets he could find, just walking and brooding until four in the morning, thinking thoughts of despair and hopelessness.
The hopelessness …
He stalked across the room to the phone. He owed her one more time.
He activated the robot’s speaker and dialed the phone.
“Hello? Cy?” She sounded several degrees less sure of herself tonight.
“Hi, Carol. Cy again. Look, I’m going to have to cancel out again tonight. I can’t go with you.”
“But, Cy!” Her voice was close to a wail. “We had a date! What’s the matter, Cy? Why do you keep breaking our dates like this?”
“Things just keep coming up.” His voice was cold and flat. “Well, I don’t have time to talk now; I have things to do. See you on campus sometime.”
She was crying when he hung up on her.
He deactivated the robotic voice, stood up, and threw the theater tickets into the wastebasket. “Now, Carol Carter, how funny do you think a broken date is when you’re the one left holding the broken pieces?”
He left the apartment and wandered aimlessly around the block a few times. He stopped on the corner to pet a big brown dog that came up to him, seeming to sense his forlornness. As he rubbed the dog gently behind the ears, he said, “I wonder why so many people have to be hurt themselves before they have any idea what it’s like?”
He wearily climbed the steps to his apartment and went inside.
What now?
The robot was a success, the control unit was a success, and his plan to hurt Carol was a success. But he didn’t feel like a success.
He just didn’t enjoy hurting people.
Sunday afternoon he made his decision. He would go to see Carol, apologize, and then drop out of her life for good. It was pointless to continue a useless charade.
He activated the robot’s voice and dialed her number.
“Hello …” Her voice was soft and subdued.
“Hello, Carol.”
“Cy!”
“I just wanted to apologize; is it all right if I come over for a little while? What I have to say won’t take long.”
“Sure, come on over, Cy.”
He was confident enough now in his handling of the robot that he didn’t hesitate to drive his car over to Carol’s. He parked two blocks away from her house, around the corner; he still couldn’t let her see Cy Burnett driving Will Strickland’s car.
Carol was sitting on the porch swing, waiting for him. She was wearing her summery blue blouse that matched her eyes and her feminine pink skirt that matched her lips.
It was going to be hard to forget her.
“Would you like to go for a walk, Cy? Or would you rather stay here.”
“This is fine.”
She took his hand. “Let’s go out in the back and see the flowers.” She led him around the corner of the house, and they sat in the grass under a big tree. There were flowers growing under all the trees, and a little green birdhouse hung from a limb overhead.
She leaned against him, and he put his arm around her.
“Cy … I really like you …”
Even after I stood you up two nights in a row? I wonder what you really like about me, besides my handsome steel-and-plastic face?
“What do you like about me?” he asked.
She looked shocked. “Why, I just like you. I don’t know why. Why do I like steak and hate lamb chops? It’s just the way I am.”
A good answer. Probably an honest one. And it’s my luck that Cy Burnett looks like steak to you, and Will Strickland looks like lamb chops.
“I really wish I knew what to do about you, Carol.”
She smiled, snuggling a little closer. “It shouldn’t be that hard to solve, Cy. Am I so much of a problem to you?”
If you only knew.
He held her hand gently, careful that his plastic-coated steel fingers caressed without crushing.
At ten-thirty in the evening Will walked home in a daze. Rather, Cy walked home, with Will piloting in a daze. At this point he hardly knew who he was.
He preferred being Cy.
It wasn’t until he was more than halfway home that he remembered he had driven his car to Carol’s place. He didn’t go back for it. He was in no condition to drive, either as a man or as a robot.
He tripped over a hump and nearly fell.
He wasn’t even in condition to walk.
He thoughtfully climbed the steps to his apartment, entered, and paced the floor for half an hour. Finally he went to bed without taking his clothes off.
At three in the morning he woke up and went to the bathroom to get a drink. He lifted the glass to his lips and poured the water into his mouth, but it didn’t go down; it was like drinking in a dream and still being thirsty. He looked into the mirror.
Great Scott! Cy!
“I’m still a robot!”
He went into the living room and found his mortal self still suspended from the great frame, dutifully operating the control skeleton. This meant that he’d sent the robot to bed and left himself hanging prone in that harness half the night.
Such was Carol Carter’s power over men and robots.
It was an exciting week. He spent his mornings and early afternoons as Will, and his late afternoons as Cy; he met Carol every afternoon at the sundial.
He couldn’t stop himself from making dates with her when he was with her; he couldn’t bring himself to break the dates once they were made; and he certainly couldn’t force himself to forget her, though he spent hours in the attempt.
He enjoyed their sundial dates as much as their evening dates; there was really more of an opportunity to talk to one another at the sundial than at a movie or play.
He enjoyed knowing Carol, and he knew her now better than he ever had before. And, almost unwillingly at first, he began confiding more and more of his own feelings to her. Somehow, in the guise of the robot, he wasn’t so afraid of being criticized. After all, Carol would never know when this was over that he, Will, had confided in her, so she couldn’t hurt him.
But after the week was over, in the stark light of a Monday morning, the world looked a little tarnished. Monday morning was a time for analysis.
Carol was extremely sweet to Cy. At present anyway. But what about next week, or the week after that; what would happen the first time another man came along?
The most logical solution was to send in the robot with a new face to take her away from Cy before someone else beat him to it. It was inevitable that she should scrap Cy in a week or two, and this way he would still have the pleasure of her companionship, even if under another identity.
If you can’t beat them, create them!
Wednesday afternoon he piloted his robot onto campus wearing a new face. He went straight to the library. He walked past her customary table near the door, but there was no sign of her.
He forged deeper into the library. Beyond the furthest reaches of the stacks he came upon her, sitting at a little table piled with books.
She was reading Thoreau.
He adjusted his tie and sat down beside her. She glanced up at him quickly, then went back to Thoreau.
He couldn’t believe it! This new face was even handsomer than Cy’s; at least he had thought so. He’d expected her to go out of her mind when she saw it. Maybe she hadn’t gotten a good look at it yet.
“Excuse me,” he said. “What’s that you’re reading?”
She looked up, taking a longer look this time. “Thoreau.” She went back to reading.
Amazing!
She sat reading studiously until nearly four o’clock, and then sprang up and headed for the door, carrying her books with her. He knew where she was going; she had a date with Cy at the sundial at a quarter after four.
He gave her half a minute’s head start and then followed her.
She was sitting in the grass by the sundial when he approached; she was still reading Thoreau. She looked up when he came near, probably expecting Cy, and when she saw he wasn’t, went back to her book.
“May I sit down?” he asked politely.
She looked up again, startled. “Well … I really don’t know what to say. To tell you the truth, I’m expecting a date in just a few minutes.”
“Oh. At the sundial? Unusual. Is this really a definite date, or just a tentative one? If it’s just tentative, maybe you’d like to join me at the cafeteria for a malt and hamburger.”
“Thank you for the offer. But this date is definite.”
His pulse did strange things. “He’s a lucky guy.”
She laughed. “Cy’s not lucky. He’s wonderful.”
He studied her face. “If he has a girl like you, maybe he is, at that. Tell me, are you going steady, or is there a chance of someone else getting a date in with you now and then?”
She looked more serious now. “You look like a very nice person, and I’ll tell you the truth. I’m in love with him. I can’t go out with someone else while I’m in love with him.”
“I see.” He stood up. “I appreciate your honesty. If all girls were as truthful as you’ve just been, there’d be fewer miserable men in this world.”
Before their next date, he painted his car, changing the color from white to blue, and put on new seat covers. He needn’t have worried. When Friday night came, he found that Carol paid a great deal more attention to Cy than to the car he was driving.
The weeks went by. Every week he put a new face on the robot and sent it out to take Carol away from Cy. And every week the new face failed.
Carol refused to move one degree from her chosen course. She was in love with Cy.
Together they created an enchanted courtship. They read Thoreau and Emerson together; they saw plays, musicals, and ballets together; they went to dances and good movies together. They spent hours studying together, either in the library, by the sundial, or at her house. They even climbed mountains together, a feat of real coordination for a cybernetic man-robot team like Will and Cy.
They did all the things together that Will had always dreamed of doing with Carol but had never succeeded in doing.
And now a robot was doing them with her.
The day before graduation Cy climbed the hill to the sundial to keep his last rendezvous with Carol. Tomorrow she graduated, and she wasn’t coming back next year; her parents would be coming in the morning to see her graduate and take her home with them for the summer.
And he was stuck here one more year for his master’s.
He could think of three possible ways the romance could end. If he revealed himself as Will, she’d have to accept him or reject him. If he didn’t, only the third alternative was left. He’d have to let her go without ever giving her a chance to make her choice.
If he could have believed that he had even the smallest chance with her, he’d have risked everything for it. But he just didn’t.
She had proven that to him too many times, in too many ways, for there to be any hope left now.
So he would just let her go quietly, remembering him only as Cy. He wanted to at least leave her that much; it was the only good she had ever accepted from him.
He reached the top of the hill and saw her waiting for him, sitting in the grass by the sundial. She waved and smiled when she saw him coming. “You’re early today.”
He smiled back. “You’re even earlier.”
“I didn’t have anything else to do. At least,” she added, “nothing I wanted to do as much.”
He sat down beside her. “Me too.” He put his arm around her and she leaned against him; they were content to be quiet together.
“Carol,” he said finally, “what do you really think of me?”
She looked up at him and stroked his hand. “What a question. I love you, Cy.”
He squeezed her shoulder gently. “I love you too, Carol.”
She looked at him earnestly. “Don’t you know this is my last day here, Cy? Don’t you know my parents are going to take me back with them tomorrow? Unless you want to give me a reason not to go …”
He looked deeply into her eyes. Is there any chance at all for me as Will? I’d give everything I have for just one chance, if it were really a chance at all.
But there’s nothing. Not a single ray of light.
Nevertheless …
He smashed his fist into the ground.
I love her.
He stood up. I didn’t design this robot to fail! And I wasn’t designed to fail either! Not even if she rejects me. Being rejected by another person isn’t failure; failure is not giving another person the chance to reject you—or accept you …
It’s her future too. I owe her this decision a lot more than I owe her a set of dead memories about a man she loved who didn’t love her enough to marry her. Rejecting Will won’t be as hard on her as thinking for the rest of her life that Cy rejected her. At least she’ll know she was the one who had the power to make the final choice.
And she’ll know who it really was who loved her.
He lifted her to her feet. “Come home with me, Carol. There’s something I have to show you.”
He opened the door of his apartment and let her in. The huge control frame was hidden in the bedroom now; he had dismantled it months ago and reassembled it in there in preparation for a visit from Carol, but this was the first time she had ever come.
They sat down on the davenport in the living room. She looked around at the electronics equipment on the shelves and tables. “Why, this is a regular little laboratory, Cy. What all do you do in here?”
“Electronics experiments mainly.”
“Really? I used to be interested in things like that when I was in high school. Show me one of your experiments, Cy.”
“That’s why I brought you here. To show you one of them.”
He paused. Then he put his arms around her and kissed her tenderly, as though it were their last.
She sensed it. “What’s wrong, Cy? You don’t have to leave me because of whatever it is that’s bothering you.”
“I won’t,” he promised. “I’ll marry you tomorrow if you still want me after tonight.” He sat quietly for a moment, gathering courage. How do you tell a girl she’s in love with a man who never was?
He couldn’t. All he could do was show her. He unbuttoned his shirt and exposed his chest. He tore away a broad strip of plastic flesh, revealing the steel underneath.
“What are you doing?” she cried.
He opened the plate in his chest and displayed the electronic circuitry inside.
She gasped. “Cy!” Her body trembled, and her eyes brimmed with tears. “You’re a robot?”
He nodded, unable to speak.
The tears streamed down her cheeks. “But you have a soul, Cy. You could never be what you’ve been to me if you didn’t have a soul.” She sobbed once, and caught her breath, hard. “Your mind … is it … electronic?”
He shook his head. “I have a human mind.”
“And all the rest is mechanical? Electrical?”
“Yes.”
She looked up at him for a moment, her eyes glittering with tears. “Cy, Do you really love me? Or was that just another part of the experiment? To see if you could make a girl fall in love with a robot?”
He laid his hand over hers. “I love you, Carol. Very much.”
She closed the plate in his chest and leaned her cheek against the cold steel. “I love you too, Cy. And I’m going to marry you.”
His mind staggered in disbelief! “You’d marry a robot? A chunk of steel and plastic?”
She locked her arms around his chest. “You’re the best man I’ve ever known. I want to marry you, Cy. Whatever you are. I’m in love with you, Cy.”
He was silent for a time. “Would you still love me if my mind were in another body? A human body?”
She kissed him. “I love you, Cy. Whether you’re a mind, a man, or a robot. I want to marry you.”
“Carol … Whatever happens in the next few minutes … always remember that I’ll go on loving you no matter what you may do or what your final choice may be. Because what happens now is up to you.”
He stood up and walked to the bedroom door. “My mind is in there.”
She caught her breath. “Is it … disembodied?”
“Would it make a difference?”
She was shaken but didn’t hesitate. “No.”
“It isn’t. I’m a man, Carol. And human enough to fall in love with you.”
“Who are you?” she gasped.
He looked at her keenly. “Does that make a difference?”
“No.” She came off the davenport. “But I have to know. Now!” She raced past him and flung open the bedroom door.
She started in amazement when she saw the gigantic control frame and the occupant suspended from it. But the audio-visual helmet hid the face.
She strode boldly forward and lifted the helmet.
The world jerked from here to there for Will. One instant he was seeing and hearing from Cy’s point of view; the next he was Will again, hanging in his harness. He turned off the control unit and lowered himself to the floor. Released from his control, the robot thundered to the floor.
“Will!”
She stood stunned, speechless.
She faltered backward a step, screaming hysterically. “Will Strickland! You phony! I never want to see you again!”
She stormed from the room, crying bitterly.
Will ripped himself loose from his bindings and plunged after her. “Carol! Wait!”
When he reached the door, he saw Carol kneeling beside Cy’s lifeless form, sobbing uncontrollably and stroking his metal fingers.
Will stood over her. “But Carol, I am Cy.”
She glared up at him. “No, you’re not! You’re nothing like him! Cy was kind and good and honest. He had the greatest soul I’ve ever known. And he was the only man I’ve ever loved. You were always so quiet, so hard to communicate with. Everything I said you seemed to be analyzing and criticizing. How could you be Cy?”
“I’m his soul, Carol. Everything he ever did or said—I was the soul of him.”
She raised a tearful face to him. “But you were just playing a role! You were only pretending to be someone you could never really be.”
He knelt beside her. “The name, the face, and the robot were deceptions. Everything else was real. I’m the same person as Will that I was as Cy. You just never bothered to know me as Will, and I never dared let you know me. That’s all. Everything Cy said to you was what I wanted to say to you. Everything Cy did with you was what I wanted to do with you—but you never gave me the chance.”
She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes brimming with tears. “Will, oh, Will, I was the deceiver. You wore a different face, but you were the same person inside. I wore the same face, but I was a different person to you than I was to Cy.”
Her voice broke. “I’m not worthy of you, Will. Now that I know enough about you to love you, I can see that I’m just not worthy of you.”
He took her by the shoulders. “Did you say you love me?”
She nodded tearfully. “Of course I love you, Will. Is it too late now to tell you that I love you?”
He hugged her to his chest, rocking her gently to and fro. “It’s never too late to tell someone you love him. Not when I’m the one you’re telling.”
She kissed him then, for the first time, still kneeling there beside the fallen Cyrano de Cybernet.

I once learned a valuable lesson from a mission Relief Society president. In a conference, she announced some tightening up of procedures. A sister stood up and defiantly said, “Those rules can’t apply to us! You don’t understand us! We are an exception.”
That wonderful Relief Society president replied, “Dear sister, we’d like not to take care of the exception first. We will establish the rule first, and then we’ll see to the exception.” Many times I have borrowed from her wisdom, grateful for what she taught me.

The wind rattled the windows, and the rain sounded like hundreds of pebbles falling on the house. Billie was glad that she didn’t have to go to school that day.
Mother was baking in the kitchen, and sweet, spicy smells filled the house. Billie decided to stay by the stove and play with her special toy, an old wooden stool. She turned it upside down and climbed inside.
“Where are you going?” Mother asked.
“Up into space,” Billie answered. Suddenly there was a noise like a roaring engine, the wooden “rocket” shook, and Billie zoomed away. She flew past the moon, circled the planets, and headed for the twinkling stars. She waved to other spaceships and laughed at funny faces in the clouds below. After a while she steered her rocket back to earth.
“Did you have a good trip?” Father asked.
“Yes, but I have to leave again,” Billie answered.
“Where are you going this time?”
“Out to sea.” Billie took an old broom handle and tied it to one of the legs of the stool. After she hung a big towel at the top, she waved good-bye and sailed away.
For a long time her ship moved through gentle waters.
Then a fierce storm arose. Winds howled, and giant waves rolled and rocked the ship. Billie was tossed from side to side and almost fell into the sea, where huge whales, hungry sharks, and strange fish with bright, flashing tails darted to and fro. The sea was wild, but Billie was strong and finally steered the ship back to port.
“Was the ocean rough?” Mother asked.
“It sure was!” Billie answered.
“Maybe you need a cookie and some milk after your long trip.”
Mother has some good ideas! Billie thought.
“One of these days,” Father said, “we’ll have to take that old stool apart and make you a real toy.”
A worried look crossed Billie’s face. “But I like my stool just the way it is, thanks,” she said.
Mother and Father looked at each other and smiled. “And we love you just the way you are,” they told her.
Billie finished her milk and climbed back into the upturned stool. “Goodbye,” she called. Then a mighty whistle blew, and a silver train sped along an invisible track. It climbed a mountain where eagles nest, roared through a long, dark tunnel, and raced the wind on another magic journey.

By the end of May 1829, the same kind of persecution Joseph had experienced in Manchester began occurring in Harmony, and Joseph realized he would need to move again to complete the translation. Along with his wife, Emma, and his scribe, Oliver Cowdery, Joseph was taken into the household of some acquaintances: Peter and Mary Whitmer of Fayette Township, New York.

Mary Whitmer was shown the plates by a heavenly messenger. As far as we know, she never committed her experience to writing. But Mary shared her experience with her children and grandchildren, who later shared it with others. Her grandson John C. Whitmer related, “I have heard my grandmother (Mary M. Whitmer) say on several occasions that she was shown the plates of the Book of Mormon by an holy angel.”15

Mary Whitmer was shown the plates by a heavenly messenger.

Mary Whitmer and Moroni, by Robert Pack

Her son David said that “she was met out near the yard by [an] old man.” Grandson John said this man was “carrying something on his back that looked like a knapsack” and that “at first she was a little afraid of him.” However, “when he spoke to her in a kind, friendly tone and began to explain to her the nature of the work which was going on in her house, she was filled with unexpressible joy and satisfaction.”

John provided further detail on the wonderful witness of the sacred record that Mary received at that time: “He then untied his knapsack and showed her a bundle of plates. … This strange person turned the leaves of the book of plates over, leaf after leaf, and also showed her the engravings upon them; the personage then suddenly vanished with the plates, and where he went, she could not tell.”

John stated: “I knew my grandmother to be a good, noble and truthful woman, and I have not the least doubt of her statement in regard to seeing the plates being strictly true. She was a strong believer in the Book of Mormon until the day of her death.”16

Mary’s son David would become one of the Three Witnesses, who were shown the plates by an angel when the translation was complete. Moreover, Mary’s other sons would be among the Eight Witnesses to whom Joseph Smith showed the plates, who got to heft and handle the plates uncovered and to turn the plates and observe their ancient engravings.17

It took a lot of time and sincere effort to break bad habits. Eventually I was judged by my priesthood leader as worthy to serve a mission. The best feeling in the world was to go to the temple and know I am clean. The Spirit I wanted to feel during all those teenage years came flooding into my heart and life. I am so thankful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
The adversary still works on me, trying to get me to backslide. But I have learned to put on the armor of God every day. I know Jesus Christ loves me, and I love Him.

When we arrived at Point Lake, it was covered with ice floes. Shifting ice floes in a bad wind would crush a small canoe like an egg shell. We made camp, and I asked Bob to pray that night. He exhibited a faith rarely seen. He said, simply, “Father, stop the wind.”
The next day when we got up, it was perfectly still. The lake was smooth as a mirror. But we had 20 miles to cross. Even the slightest breeze once we were on the lake and we would be destroyed. For 20 miles we pushed through the floes. Twice the canoe froze in the ice as we got hemmed in, and we had to jump and pry and push to work our way free. Finally, after 7 1/2 hours, we broke into open waters. No sooner had we cleared the ice floes than the wind began to blow again. It had been a daily companion except for those 7 1/2 hours. We prayed again, this time a prayer of thanks.

One school year I began to feel weighed down from the stress of life. During one of these stressful days, I prayed and read the Book of Mormon for 10 minutes. As I read, I felt an incredible warmth fill my heart. I felt loved, uplifted, and happy despite my trials. I felt an incredible peace I had never felt before. From this experience I finally understood what the Savior meant when He said, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you” (John 14:27). The next few weeks, I had this experience multiple times, and it propelled me to move forward through my struggles.
Chloe K., age 18, Wisconsin, USA

Before another of my older brothers was baptized at the age of 27, he had no idea how to live. He was troubled and would drink and party. He caused his family and the people around him much grief. When this brother learned about the purpose of life through the gospel, he was baptized and confirmed and eventually married a wonderful woman in the Church. He found joy in life and began feeling a purpose in being alive. He shared the gospel with friends and was a good influence to many. My brothers who were on missions could hardly believe it when they heard that this brother had joined the Church.

About five years ago, two missionaries came to my home in Ecuador. I was impressed with their appearance and kindness and agreed to listen to their message. I found their message interesting, but I had some doubts about it. However, I completed the reading assignments from the Book of Mormon for each of our meetings and accepted the challenge to pray.
When they finished the six lessons, the missionaries invited me to be baptized. Although I prayed constantly to know if these things were true, I didn’t believe I had received an answer. I expected to see an angel, the gold plates, or some other heavenly manifestation.
One night I was reading something about Ezra Taft Benson, who was then the President of the Church. I felt a strong desire to know if he was a prophet. I no longer aspired to see a vision—I simply wanted a witness of the truth. After praying for some time, I heard a quiet, penetrating voice testify to me that Ezra Taft Benson was a prophet, and I felt a burning sensation in my chest.
I had obtained my testimony—not through an angelic visitation, but through the still, small voice. It was with great joy and gratitude that I accepted the invitation to be baptized.

“Since we can’t do anything on the house until the Evanses move,” he said, “we’d better start building the barn. It will be winter before long, and we need a place for the animals.” He walked off the approximate dimensions, and we looked around for some rocks to mark the corners. There were no rocks in that New Mexico soil so he drew a line in the sand with a stick.
...
After we got back with the lumber, Ed and I lifted and held the boards while Papa nailed them in place. Soon we had a good start on the barn.
One morning we woke up to find the ground covered with snow—in New Mexico, imagine! Enough to make angels, or play fox and geese, but not enough to stop work on the barn. The snow melted during the day, and that night when we got home Mama showed us where the water was running down inside the dugout. The next day Papa went to town for something to seal the leak.
Before the next storm came the barn was nearly finished and the animals were cozy inside. We had some hay in the loft and Ed and I coaxed to sleep there.
“Not until we move into the house,” Papa said. “It’s too far away from the family now.”
The barn was built like a shed, with a steep roof slanting to one side only. The day Papa was hanging the door, Mr. Lenstrom, who had come over to help, was busy on the roof. I climbed up to see what he was doing and saw he was working with a plane, scraping up curls of wood.
“Why are you doing that?” I wanted to know.
“I’m making this board smooth.”
“What for?”
“So you can slide down it without getting slivers in your backside.”
I wondered if he’d tried it once. “That’s a good idea,” I told him. “I’ll help you.”
We worked until we had the board so slick that Ed and I could shoot down it like a slippery slide, with a scary sail into the air before we hit the ground.

The sunny skies of Cape Town were dark with rain clouds. Why, oh why, the children thought, would it rain today?
The special afternoon the boys and girls had been working and waiting for had finally come, and now it seemed as if their bake sale would be ruined by the storm. But they knew that Ouma (Grandmother) Fourie would expect them regardless of the weather, so they all splashed through the rain to be at the chapel at the hour she had set.
Sister Ouma greeted them in her usual loving way and then explained that the sale must be held that day since the baked goods could not be kept over. She also said the sale must be held outside so people would stop to buy.
“We’ll all pray for the rain to stop,” she directed, “and we know it will, for we need the money to continue holding our Primary. This is what our Father in heaven wants, so of course He will help us.”
There was so much assurance in Sister Ouma’s voice that as each child bowed his head and she prayed for the rain to stop, everyone just knew it would.
And it did!
The rain that had pelted unceasingly for several days stopped almost at once. The sun smiled on the children as they carried tables outside and placed on them the baked goods they had brought. After a most successful sale, the empty tables were carried back into the chapel, and the rain began again and continued steadily during the next three days.
“But what would you have done, Sister Fourie,” asked a Primary worker later, “if it hadn’t stopped raining?”
This woman, who for thirty-four continuous years loved and taught the boys and girls of South Africa, answered very softly, “But we all knew that it would!”

It is Sunday evening, and the home of Abilio and María Elena Samaniego in Asunción, Paraguay, is alive with the sounds of family. The three unmarried children are there, along with the three married children and their families. Now dinner is over, and the adults visit while the grandchildren play. This morning was the homecoming of a missionary son, so this evening is a time of reminiscing, laughing, teasing.
It’s no surprise that the focus of the conversation tonight is on Church and family, because it was the Church’s emphasis on families that attracted Brother Samaniego nearly twenty years ago. “I saw how much the missionaries loved my family,” he recalls. “They showed me how to love my children. My heart was softened, and I accepted their message.” The family was baptized in 1974. Brother Samaniego learned to be a patriarch in his home. Now, he is also a stake patriarch.
Family members reminisce about how the Church has blessed their lives. As they talk, a blanket of love descends upon them. Tears and testimony flow freely.
They recall the years when they lived five kilometers from the nearest branch. “Since there were eight of us, it cost too much for bus fare,” remembers their oldest daughter, Yenny, who is now the mother of four children and the wife of stake president Gregorio Figueredo. “So we all had to walk—two hours each way. We made that trip every Saturday for Primary and Mutual. And since Sunday meetings were held both morning and afternoon, we would make the round trip twice—a total of twenty kilometers. When it was really hot, we would sometimes take our lunch and sit under a tree between meetings. From the day we were baptized, I don’t remember that we ever missed a meeting.” Now, all six children and their families are faithful and active in the Church.
The boys remember getting dressed in white shirts and ties when they were as young as seven or eight and going out to teach with the full-time missionaries. Several family members, including fifteen-year-old Carolín, have served stake missions. Now, all three Samaniego sons have completed full-time missions.
The girls recall their mother encouraging them to date members of the Church, even though there didn’t seem to be many young LDS men around. “Surely there is a mother somewhere who is preparing a special young man for you,” their mother would tell them. Now, all three of the children who are married were married in the temple.
Sister Samaniego reflects upon her years teaching early-morning seminary. “We would get up each morning at 5:00. While I was teaching the class, my husband prepared breakfast for the family and all the students. Then everyone would leave in time to get to school by 7:00 A.M.” Before Sister Samaniego was released as seminary teacher, she had taught all six of her own children. She also taught them all in Primary, Sunday School, and Mutual. Currently, she is ward Relief Society president.
Someone pulls out a scrapbook with photographs showing the Samaniegos and other “pioneer families” building their chapel. And they talk about how the Church in Paraguay has become more respected because of the examples of members.
The hour is late, but no one wants to leave. Memories lead to more memories, and now several conversations are going on at once. “I am very fortunate,” says Brother Samaniego quietly. “My heart rejoices tonight as I see and listen to my children and their families. ‘Man is that he might have joy.’ That is what I feel today!”

When an earthquake struck Haiti in January 2010, Jean-Elie René raced home to make sure his family was safe. Upon arrival, he spotted one of his three sons crying in the street, and he could hear the screams of another son from beneath the rubble where the family’s home once stood.
The 32-year-old father followed the cries and dug through the rubble until he found his five-year-old son and the body of his pregnant wife, still sheltering their nine-month-old baby from the collapsed roof of their home.
Brother René serves as ward clerk in the Leogane Ward, Port-au-Prince Haiti Stake. Although he lost his wife, his unborn child, and his home, he doesn’t complain or get angry about his situation. Most days following the earthquake, Brother René could be found at the meetinghouse, with the baby on his lap and his two other boys at his side, helping the bishop coordinate relief to ward members and others who made the meetinghouse their temporary home.
The story of Brother René is touching, but it is not unique. Members of the Church throughout Haiti suffered greatly from the magnitude 7.0 earthquake’s destruction, but the calamity served to reveal the strength of Haiti’s growing membership. Like Brother René, many members—both longtime and first-generation members alike—rose to the challenges and found peace and comfort in faithfulness and obedience.
Throughout their trials, members of the Church in Haiti have stood strong in the gospel as they continue to care for and strengthen each other and those in their communities.
“It is true that all we possessed, even our material possessions and our families, disappeared. But our faith in Jesus Christ was not destroyed,” said Yves Pierre-Louis, bishop of the Leogane Ward. “It was a good opportunity for us to evaluate ourselves as disciples of Christ.”
Local priesthood leaders in particular were a great example of faith and testimony as they rose to the challenge, learning to fulfill their callings in difficult times and help others in need, said Elder Francisco J. Viñas of the Seventy, Caribbean Area President.
“They used their priesthood keys to bless the lives of members and nonmembers,” he said. “They worked in council and received guidance from the Spirit to deal with the difficult challenges day by day.”
The aftermath of the earthquake’s destruction created a challenge, particularly for bishops in Haiti, said Prosner Colin, president of the Port-au-Prince Haiti Stake. Bishops and other Church leaders were left responsible for the care and aid of hundreds of ward members, as well as their own families.
“[The bishops] continue to help,” President Colin said. “They understand that they lost many things, but they have the gospel. They encourage [members] to continue to live worthily.”
Bishop Pierre-Louis became a community leader after the earthquake. Through the weeks and months following the devastation in Haiti, he devoted his life to the service of members and nonmembers in Leogane—tending to the needs of hundreds.
“He is the most amazing, humble servant you will ever meet,” said Chad Peterson, a doctor from Arizona who spent time with Bishop Pierre-Louis as a volunteer following the earthquake.
Many stories have been shared of members throughout Haiti whose resilience and faith in the Lord carried them through their trials.
“Though the faithful Haitian Saints have suffered greatly, they are filled with hope for the future,” said Elder Wilford W. Anderson of the Seventy in his April 2010 general conference address. “Like the early pioneers in 1846, their hearts are broken, but their spirits are strong. They too are teaching us that hope and happiness and joy are not products of circumstance but of faith in the Lord.
A demonstration of such obedience and faith was found when, immediately following the earthquake, Church meetings proceeded without interruption.
Regardless of the destruction of their country, members in Haiti arrived at church clothed in their Sunday best, wearing smiles on their faces. The gospel was the lifeline many relied on to pull them from their sorrow and despair.
“Despite losing their homes, jobs, and family members, the people are so loving, trusting, and good-natured. They have amazing faith,” Brother Peterson said.
Today, the Church continues to flourish in Haiti. Attendance in sacrament meeting has increased, President Colin said, and the people in Haiti continue to work to rebuild their communities.
“The members are doing well to serve others,” he said. “They visit them; they are looking for job opportunities for themselves and for the others.”
Berthony Theodor, a native Haitian and the director of welfare in Haiti, says he and other current and future leaders of the Church in Haiti gained valuable experience as a result of the disaster.
“We have the opportunity to serve others, showing them once again how much we love them,” he said. “We have come to learn once again that we are not alone in the world, that we are members of the people of the Lord.”
Brother Theodor said the earthquake—or any other disaster—couldn’t take away the peace or joy of members in Haiti.
“It’s my testimony that the Lord never forgets His children,” he said. “He knows where I am, my situation. He won’t ever leave me alone.”

In December of 1989, the beautiful and long-awaited Las Vegas temple was dedicated in inspiring sessions, which continued for three days. The messages and music in the dedicatory sessions lifted each heart heavenward and prompted the listener to keep the commandments of God and to emulate the example of righteous living taught by Jesus of Nazareth. Thoughts of self yielded to consideration for others. One sermon stressed the injunction of the Lord as recorded in Matthew:
“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, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:
“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also” (Matt. 6:19–21).
After the session during which this passage of scripture had been presented, a handwritten letter, carefully tucked away in a sealed envelope, was handed to me by an usher. May I share with you the contents of this touching letter:
“Dear President Monson:
“My husband and I feel the completion and dedication of this beautiful Las Vegas Nevada Temple is the finest gift we could receive during this sacred season. Temples are such a sweet gift to all the world; and as you spoke of righteous Saints who are worthy to obtain the blessings of the Lord’s house but lack the financial means to attend a temple, our hearts were so touched.
“President Monson, there must be a family somewhere who needs to attend the temple, because as my dear companion and I spoke of our great joy during this special Christmas season, we both commented as to how any store-bought gift would pale in comparison to what we have received in these dedicatory services. Instead of spending our budgeted Christmas funds for some gift from a local store, we would like to give you this $500 to help some family waiting to be endowed and sealed for all eternity. We appreciate your assisting us in our gifts to each other this year.”
The letter was unsigned. The givers remain anonymous. Perhaps today this brother may be viewing this session of general conference. If so, he may be pleased to learn that this gift has made it possible for a worthy family from the Villa Real District of the Portugal Porto Mission to journey to the temple and receive their precious temple blessings. To the unknown givers of this priceless gift I extend my thanks for being your brother’s keeper. I have the inner feeling that your Christmas season was marked by joy and filled with peace.

It was a tough decision for me to confront my parents about the Church, but after my baptism on May 27, 2017, I got to know people who helped me stay on the covenant path despite the difficulties and plagues I faced. However, I was still concerned about my family. On June 3, 2021, I was called to serve the Lord in the Democratic Republic of the Congo Kinshasa East Mission. When I entered the temple on June 12, 2021, for my own endowment, I prayed to our Heavenly Father in these words, “Heavenly Father, I have come to serve Thee, my request is that Thou may assist my family so that someday we may all become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and may enter the temple.”
My mother, my elder and my younger sisters all got baptized when I was on my mission. We lived with my mother for 10 years without my father’s love, and my sisters and I had our mother by our side all the time. I had all the love for my father despite the fact that he had distanced himself from us for 10 years. When I was on a mission, I knew I shouldn’t change the lives of others while my family perished, so I did everything I could to get back in touch with my father.
As I got in touch with my father, I knew I had a huge responsibility to introduce him to the missionaries. I attended his first meeting with the missionaries through a WhatsApp video call, but the first time, the missionaries and I faced a lot of criticism and backbiting. My father didn’t believe that there can be a true church of God in the world today. I asked my mission president for a favor to go to the temple. On my way to the temple, I prayed and fasted for my father.
Two months after I returned from my mission, on August 5 and 6, 2023, I was privileged to baptize and confirm my father and today we are all members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints through prayer, fasting and meditation in the holy house of the Lord. Today all the members of my family are with me, and we share the same faith and the same gospel of Christ.
As we follow the example of Christ, we can bring about the conversion of the whole world.

After reading the questions I posed, one sister reached out to me by email and has allowed me to share this very personal story of an experience that helped her understand the importance of listening to the Spirit when He speaks:
When I was 16 years old, my aunt passed away suddenly. My ward was scheduled to leave for a trip to Nauvoo just a few days after it happened. . . . After several days of spiritual uplifting and stories of the pioneers, I went into the Nauvoo temple to do baptisms for the dead. While waiting, one leader commented how amazing it was that spirits of deceased relatives were able to be there in the temple to witness their baptisms. . . . The first thought that popped into my head was of my aunt. That thought made me feel very strongly, and I immediately repressed it because I did not want to cry. The thought returned a second and third time and then went away.

After doing the baptisms for my family names, I went on to do their confirmations. My bishop was the one performing the ordinances. I waited my turn, and then received the gift of the Holy Ghost on behalf of my family names. As I got up to leave, my bishop stopped me, and told me that he had just felt a very strong prompting that he needed to tell me that my aunt was present there in the room with us. When I wouldn't "open my ears to hear" the third time he tried to tell me she was there, he went to someone who would hear and asked them to tell me to listen.

Immediately after my bishop told me that, I felt so overwhelmed that I had to leave and go somewhere alone. After a few minutes, I stopped. I was still. I listened and I understood. I felt so strongly loved in that moment, far more than I have ever felt in my lifetime. It felt as though I were being given a hug, and I felt real peace for the first time in a long time. I knew that everything would be alright. It never felt fair that she was taken away, and that her two-year-old daughter would never know her mother. But when I listened, I knew that they would be okay, and so would I.