Gospel Story Finder

A recent experience illustrates the importance of each of these little children. One Saturday morning I was preparing for an activity with one of my grandsons. But before we could make our exit out the door, I heard another small voice inquiring, “Can I go too, Grandpa?” Did you ever try to say no to such a request? That activity would not have been the same without that someone else who really wanted to “go too.” Just as surely, heaven will not be heaven if some of our children who want to “go too” are left behind.

I’ll bet I can jump that bush without touching one branch!” Rob shouted to Joey as the two boys raced home from school on Friday afternoon.
“Ha! I’ll bet you can’t!” cried Joey as he stopped to watch.
Rob’s jacket hood flapped in the breeze as he sailed high over a forsythia bush on the corner.
“Hey, not bad!” admitted Joey. “Now it’s my turn.” He tore off in another direction, searching for a bush to jump.
This jumping game had gone on before and after school since Rob had moved to Joey’s neighborhood the year before. Every shrub and small tree had come to know the boys’ skimming feet and laughing voices.
Joey Carter was tall for his eleven years and a little awkward when trying to manage his long legs, while Rob Foster, a year younger, was short and chunky with a tangle of red hair.
“Come on. Mom promised brownies and milk if we came right home!” exclaimed Rob. “Remember, you’re staying for supper.”
“Brownies!” Joey smacked his lips. “Boy, oh boy! I’ll even get there first.” He tore off with Rob right at his heels. They leaped bushes and hedges and reeled, out of breath, across the yard next to Rob’s toward the Foster driveway. Laughing and pushing, each trying to lead, the boys reached a big syringa bush at the same time. They jumped together, landing in scrambling confusion on the walk. Tumbling across the grass, they failed to see a young birch tree in their way. With a loud snap, the lovely tree bent and broke before their combined weight and fell to the ground. Both boys stopped short in dismay.
“Oh, man,” Rob groaned. “We’re in for it now! That’s Mrs. McGinnis’s favorite tree.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Joey whispered, glancing around. “Nobody saw it happen. If we just leave, no one will know.” He shoved Rob roughly, and they dashed for the Foster porch.
As they paused there to catch their breaths, Rob said uncertainly. “Maybe we’d better tell—”
“Are you nuts?” Joey gasped. “We’d have to pay for it. This way she can just call her insurance company. My dad says that damage like that is covered by most insurance policies.”
Rob hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want any trouble.”
“Hey,” Joey insisted, “isn’t my dad an insurance salesman? He knows. Let it go. I’m ready for those brownies.”
Rob opened the front door, and the two boys went into the house. Brownies and milk soon made them forget the broken tree, and they spent the rest of the afternoon reading some recent additions to Rob’s comic book collection. When the call for supper came, they found the brownies had not dented their appetites.
Pot roast and mashed potatoes helped stay the pangs of hunger, and the boys listened while Mr. Foster told of his day’s work. Mrs. Foster was so quiet that Rob’s father asked, “What’s the matter, dear?”
“I’m just thinking about Mrs. McGinnis, poor lady. While I was getting supper,” Rob’s mother explained, “I saw Mrs. McGinnis trying to tie up her birch tree. The wind must have broken it off.”
“What wind?” asked Mr. Foster. “It hasn’t been windy all day. That birch tree was OK when I left this morning.”
The boys glanced at each other and quickly back at their plates. Rob was red-faced, and Joey looked worried. Nothing more was said, and, when the table had been cleared and the dishwasher loaded, the boys went back to Rob’s room.
“Say, Joey,” began Rob, “I think we ought—”
“I know what you’re going to say, pal,” interrupted Joey, “and I say no way am I going to do anything about that tree. Anyhow, Mom and Dad’ll be home by now, and I have to be going.” His voice trailed off as he closed Rob’s door and headed downstairs.
At breakfast the next morning Rob was very quiet, and when his father came down, Rob looked at him and slowly said, “Dad … I’d like to talk to you and Mom for a minute.”
“What’s the problem, Son?” asked Mr. Foster, laying down his newspaper. “Tell us about it, and we’ll see if we can help.”
The story of Mrs. McGinnis’s tree poured out. Rob kept Joey’s part in the accident to himself and took all the blame for it. “I just didn’t look where I was going, and I fell on it. Then I got scared and ran home.”
Mr. and Mrs. Foster looked at their scarlet-faced son sympathetically.
“What do you think should be done, Rob?” his mother asked gently.
“Well, I’m going to have to go over and tell Mrs. McGinnis what happened, I guess,” said Rob unhappily. “And I suppose I’ll have to buy a new tree. Do they cost much, Dad?”
“I’m not sure how much one would cost, Son,” Mr. Foster said kindly, “but we’ll work something out. When do you want to go over?”
“Right now, Dad,” Rob said. “Will you come with me—just for moral support? I’ll do the talking.”
Mrs. McGinnis was smiling when she answered Rob’s knock, but they could see that she had been crying. Rob hoped it wasn’t about the tree.
“Mrs. McGinnis, I came to tell you that I’m the one who broke your tree. I’m really sorry, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. Dad says we can replace it, and I’m going to pay for it out of my allowance.” As the words tumbled out, Rob saw that she had started to cry again. He was startled when he saw her smile through the tears.
“Thank you, Rob,” she said. “I appreciate your coming over to explain. Come on in a minute, both of you. I’ve just baked some sweet rolls.”
Rob had already noticed the spicy fragrance from the kitchen, and he and his father quickly accepted the invitation. In less than a minute they both were enjoying sweet rolls and milk in the cozy kitchen.
“Rob,” Mrs. McGinnis said unevenly, “I want to tell you why that tree was so special. This isn’t the first time it has been broken off. The very same thing happened four years ago, when my son Bill was still alive.”
Rob and his dad exchanged surprised looks. They hadn’t known that there were any McGinnis children.
“Bill and a friend broke it off, wrestling in the yard,” she continued. “They worked for weeks collecting newspapers so that they could replace it. That was a year before Bill was killed in an automobile accident. Rob, you remind me of Bill. You’re a lot like him.”
“Mrs. McGinnis,” Rob said, “I’m sorry to make you think of such a sad thing.”
“It’s all right, Rob,” she said. “I’ve learned to forget the bad things and remember the good ones. I’ve even been cleaning out Bill’s room, and I found some things I think you might like to have. Bill was mighty proud of his comic book collection. Would you like to look at it?”
It took Rob and Mr. Foster three trips to transfer Bill McGinnis’s comic books to the shelves in Rob’s room. Rob gazed thoughtfully at the piles.
“You know, Dad,” he said slowly, “I think maybe I’ll buy two birch trees. I’ll put one in our yard to help me remember a neat kid and a terrific lady.”

Anna sat quietly in the backseat of the van next to her older sister, Sara. It was taking a long time to get to the family reunion. Anna watched the canyon trees fly by, and every now and then she spotted a silvery mountain stream snaking its way down the hill. The sky was as blue as Anna’s eyes, and the clouds looked like white puffs of popcorn.
“Are we almost there?” she said, knowing it hadn’t been long since the last time she had asked.
Mom shook her head and pointed out the window. “We have to go over this mountain, and then you’ll see the lake. About another hour, I’d guess.”
Anna sighed. It was hard to sit still and wait when they’d been planning for months to come to the reunion. All her favorite cousins would be there, and so would dozens of others whom she didn’t know at all. Mom said there were relatives coming from New York, California, and even Hawaii! Suddenly Anna’s three-hour drive didn’t seem so long.
“There’s the lake!” Sara shouted. Anna strained her neck to look. Beautiful Bear Lake stretched out before them like a bright blue carpet. From the mountaintop, sailboats and motorboats looked like tiny toys on the surface.
“When your great-great-grandparents got married in the Logan Temple,” Dad said, “they came down this same road in a wagon. Great-Great-Grandpa looked out at Bear Lake and said, ‘Let’s take a swim before we go home.’ And even though it was early June and the water was freezing cold, they waded in at the north beach and had a nice brisk swim!”
Anna loved that story, even though Dad told it every time they came over this hill. Mom said one of the aunts was bringing 95-year-old Great-Great-Grandma to the reunion and that this might be the last time they were all together.
Finally the houses and farms started looking familiar, and Anna didn’t have to ask if they were almost there. Just past Great-Great-Grandma’s white frame farmhouse, Dad turned onto a dirt road and drove to the community center. It had once been an old church with hardwood floors and wooden benches, but now it was just a place for large groups to gather.
Anna spied Aunt Laura’s car and wriggled out of her seatbelt to go find her cousins. People were spilling out of the doors on all sides of the old church, and there were games set up on the lawn outside. Mom and Dad were already hugging people and talking excitedly. Even Sara had spotted one of her pen-pal cousins and was running to meet her.
It wasn’t long before Mom and Dad were calling Anna and Sara to “come meet someone.” Anna tried her best to smile and be polite. One after another, she shook hands with and hugged cousins, uncles, and aunts until their faces and names were a blur. Over and over again, she heard, “Why, Anna, you look just like Great-Great-Grandma! You two could be twins!”
What? Anna couldn’t believe it. Even Mom and Dad were nodding their heads in agreement. She glanced over at a shady spot under a cottonwood tree where an old, feeble, white-haired lady sat in a lawn chair—it was Great-Great-Grandma! Twins? No way!
Someone came out on the steps of the old building and began loudly ringing a handbell. “Calling all the family of Heber and Lizzie Nelson! Time for lunch! Come on in!”
Long tables and folding chairs were set up inside, along with rows and rows of food. Anna slid onto a chair beside Sara. “Sara,” she whispered, “why does everyone say I look like Great-Great-Grandma?”
Sara shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably because you look like Mom, and Mom looks like her mom, and she looks like her mom. …”
It was true. Anna did have big blue eyes and reddish-brown hair, just like Mom. But they certainly weren’t twins!
Great-Great-Grandma was walking slowly to her seat at the head of one of the tables. Mom was helping her, and Anna stared again at the old, wrinkled face and snow-white hair. “I do not look like her,” she whispered as she folded her arms for the prayer and blessing on the food.
The man who prayed thanked Heavenly Father for the wonderful legacy of Heber and Lizzie Nelson, and the blessing of having dear, sweet, Great-Great-Grandma with them at the reunion. He gave thanks for her testimony, her gentle nature, her willingness to be an example to everyone she met, and for her beautiful spirit. By the end of the prayer, most of the adults were crying. It was clear that Great-Great-Grandma was well loved in this big family.
As Anna munched her chicken and potato salad, she again heard someone say, “Did you see little Anna? She’s the mirror-image of Great-Great-Grandma!”
Mom saw Anna frown. She stood up and held out her hand. “Come here, Anna. I want to show you something special.”
Anna slowly put down her fork and followed Mom over to a large display table by the wall. On it were an old saddle and branding iron that had belonged to Great-Great-Grandpa, the lunch bell that had come across the ocean with the first Nelsons, heirloom quilts, and lots and lots of family pictures. Mom pointed to one picture in a pretty silver frame. The photo had originally been black and white, but it had been colored by a professional photographer. Anna looked at it with wide eyes. “Why is my picture here, Mom?”
Mom smiled and hugged Anna. “That’s not you, honey. That’s Great-Great-Grandma. She’s seven years old in that picture, just like you.”
Anna’s mouth dropped open. There were Anna’s blue eyes, Anna’s reddish-brown curls, even Anna’s dimples. The little girl was even missing a front tooth, just like Anna!
“Wow!” Anna exclaimed. “She really does look like me!”
Mom laughed, leaned down, and whispered, “I hope you grow up to be like her inside, too.”
Anna turned around and saw Great-Great-Grandma. She hurried past aunts, uncles, and cousins until she was standing in front of the little white-haired lady. Great-Great-Grandma smiled, and Anna saw the dimples so much like her own. “I’m glad I came to the reunion, Anna,” the lady said in a soft, gentle voice, “just so I could see you.”
“Me, too, Great-Great-Grandma,” Anna said, hugging her tightly. “Me, too.”

As a young man, Heber attended a meeting and heard an appeal for donations. After the meeting he handed his bishop $50. The bishop returned $45 to him and said that $5 was his fair share. Heber J. Grant gave the bishop the entire $50 and said, “‘Bishop Woolley, didn’t you preach here today that the Lord would reward fourfold? My mother is a widow and she needs two hundred dollars.’ He said: ‘My boy, do you believe that if I take this other forty-five dollars you will get your two hundred dollars quicker?’ I said: ‘Certainly.’ Well, he took it.” As Heber walked from the meeting, he got an idea. He wired a man he didn’t know and completed a business transaction. Heber J. Grant’s profit was $218.50. The next day he went to his bishop and said: “Bishop, I have made two hundred eighteen dollars and fifty cents, after paying that fifty dollars donation the other day, and so I owe twenty-one dollars and eighty-five cents in tithing. I will have to dig up the difference between twenty-one dollars eighty-five cents and eighteen dollars fifty cents. The Lord did not quite give me the tithing in addition to his ‘four to one’ income.”

Not that long ago, while Melinda was attending Samoa College before she transferred to the Church College, she barely knew Justina. “I knew her from church, but she wasn’t one of my really good friends. Back then I didn’t go to seminary that often, and I didn’t understand the importance of the gospel. My parents aren’t members, and I wasn’t really strong at church,” Melinda says. “Tina’s really helped me with church. She’s been a good influence for me. She’s a really good friend.”
Justina adds, “Yeah, we do practically everything together. It’s nice to have someone who has the same standards as you. We have a lot in common.”

Sixteen! What a time of life! “Nobody should have to go through this alone,” I thought.
My wise parents were kind and always gave me good counsel. My older sister had just gotten married and moved out of state. My little brother was involved with his 11-year-old concerns. I had great friends, and I knew my Church leaders sincerely cared about me.
But my older brother, Gary, was my confidant. I looked up to him in all things as a teenager. “Whenever I talk to him, things make more sense,” I said to myself. “I wish he could be here right now.”
But he wasn’t. He was far away in Japan, serving a full-time mission.
Despite missing Gary, I did have a fun birthday. My mom made me our traditional birthday breakfast, and I received a few gifts before going to school. That night, my family and I went out for a pizza dinner and ended with birthday cake. I even let myself daydream about dating, driving, and other exciting things I would do as a 16-year-old.
However, the best present I received that day was a letter in the mail. Gary hadn’t forgotten my super special day! This was before the days of email, so a letter took a long time to travel from Japan to Cache Valley, Utah, USA. I was amazed that his letter arrived right on my birthday! The letter was handwritten, which made it more like having my brother present with me as I read:
“Dear Merilee:
“Well, you have got the big birthday coming up, don’t you? I guess when you get this letter it will already be past. I can’t believe it—you are 16 years old. It seems like only a few years ago when you used to [wear your little red cowboy hat].
“Stay sweet and pure, and always let everyone know that the Church means a lot to you. If you do that, you won’t ever get into a situation where you have to make a decision with all the peer pressure weighing on you. Example: In high school, everyone knew that I didn’t want to drink or smoke, not at all, so I never got invited to a party where that sort of thing went on. My friends knew I didn’t do that. …
“If you let people know your standards, then people with your standards are attracted to you. I don’t mean you have to tell everyone, but actions speak loud. Your spirit is really sweet, and you do fit your name. And you have a good sense of humor. Happy ‘Sweet 16’ Birthday!” The last sentence was underlined in red. No other birthday present could’ve been better! I read it over and over again, until he was back home from Japan and we could finally talk to each other face to face.
It has been years since I received that letter, but I still have it. Many things have changed since then, but not my love for my brother. Today I sustain him not only as my brother and friend, but as Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. The counsel he offers as a special witness of Christ to all the world is an added strength in my life, just like the letter he sent me on my 16th birthday.

One night for family home evening our parents gave us a lesson on how we should treat our bodies as temples. We learned about not letting unkind words leave our mouths. We also learned about how to take care of our bodies by eating nutritious foods as well as how to dress modestly.
At the end of the lesson, our parents helped us build models of temples out of sugar cubes, construction paper, straws, cotton, and glue. We used the pictures of the temples in the Friend to get ideas for our own temples. We had a fun night together as a family.Dillon and April Robertson, ages 8 and 5Los Banos, California

I suffered a tremendous collapse in my own life. Before my eyes, my beautiful, funny, full-of-life eight-year-old son was killed in an automobile-pedestrian accident. I held his body as his blood spilled out on the roadway and his spirit slipped away and returned to his heavenly home. I pleaded with my Heavenly Father to let him stay, but that wasn’t in my son’s life plan.
I was lost in the dark, overwhelmed with the burden of my grief. I was weary, unable to rest, as the problem of mortality clouded my eyes. I came to know that a broken heart is a true physical feeling. Where once I had a heart, there was now only a dark hole that was raw and painful.
I believed that I should just be strong enough to get over it. Many people had suffered more. But like the miners, trapped by the unmovable rock that held them captive, I could not lift the burden of my grief.
My rescue came when I was on my knees in the depths of grief over my son’s death. Like the miners as they entered the capsule, I was at a pivotal point: should I try to overcome my challenges with my own strength and knowledge, or should I reach out to my Heavenly Father and ask for help?
Oppressed by the weight of my grief, I decided to turn to God. As I appealed to my Father in Heaven, I told Him how weary I was and asked Him to please lift the burden of my grief. Before I stood again, the weight of my sorrows was lifted from my shoulders. I still had to work through the pain and loss, but the unbearable load was gone.
It was there that I came to know that the Savior stands by our side, waiting to lift us, waiting only for us to ask Him, waiting for us to lay our burdens upon His shoulders, waiting for us to put our hand in His so that He can rescue us.

After the martyrdom of the prophet, the Lord took the Church to a new frontier almost as immediately as he had introduced the Restoration itself. A new prophet was called, with a new voice and different gifts. And just like in Kirtland, the Saints were again asked to leave behind what had only just become familiar and comfortable. Newly constructed homes, meetinghouses and businesses would soon be left abandoned. I marvel at the words of pioneer sister Bathsheba Smith who described what she left behind in Nauvoo: My last act in that precious spot was to tidy the rooms, sweep up the floor, set the broom in its accustomed place behind the door. And then with the emotions in my heart . . . I gently closed the door and faced the unknown future.

“I miss everyone in our branch,” Olga said sadly. She and her family were the only ones in Sunday School again.
Olga’s sister, Wilma, closed her scriptures. “I miss them too.” Mom and Grandma nodded.
Olga wanted to cry. When she was baptized, 60 people came to church each week! But then World War II started. Because of the war, all of the missionaries in Brazil had to go home. Without them, there weren’t enough priesthood holders to have regular Church meetings. They couldn’t bless the sacrament or baptize people.
The branch stopped renting the church building. Church members met in people’s houses to study the scriptures instead. And one by one, they all started going to other churches.
When the war ended, Olga thought the branch would have church meetings again. But there weren’t enough people. So Olga and her family kept meeting alone on Sunday.
“I miss singing with everyone,” Olga said. “And I miss the children who used to come to church.”
“Me too,” said Grandma.
Over the next few days, Olga thought hard about what to do. She prayed for help. “Heavenly Father, please help us know how to make our branch strong again.”
One day Olga had an idea. She went outside. Two girls were playing under a tree.
“Olá!” Olga said. “Would you like to come to my church’s class for children tonight? We’ll learn about Jesus, sing songs, and have fun.”
The girls looked at each other. “Sure,” one of them said.
“Great! If your parents say you can come, meet me here later. We can walk to the class together.”
Olga waved goodbye and walked down the street. She found more children playing futebol (soccer). Olga invited them all.
Some of the children had come to church before. They were excited to come again! Other kids didn’t want to come. But Olga let them all know they were welcome.
Later that night, Olga gathered the children who said they would come, along with their parents. They all walked together to her house.
Mom and Grandma taught the parents in one room. Olga and Wilma taught the children in another. Olga sang songs with them. Wilma told scripture stories.
Olga felt happy as she walked the children home. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “See you next week!”
Their branch was small, but Olga knew it would grow again. And she wanted to plan next week’s lesson right away!

One afternoon while my mom was reading the Church News, I saw a picture of a child who looked sick. I asked my mom why he looked that way. My mom told me that it was a picture of a child in Ethiopia, and that he did not have enough to eat. He was starving. I asked my mom if we could go to the grocery store and buy some food for him. My mom explained that children who are starving need to eat special food that we could not buy at the grocery store. But she told me that we could give money to the bishop at church, and he would make sure that it would help people in need, including the children in Ethiopia. I ran to my room and brought back a bag full of money from my piggy bank.
When we arrived at church on Sunday, my mom took me to get a tithing envelope. Together my mom and I filled out the donation slip. We listed the amount of money I had brought in the “humanitarian aid” line of the donation slip. I couldn’t wait to give my envelope to the bishop. It made me feel good to share what I have with others.

I hope you can print my letter because I feel it may help a brother or sister who is struggling to find faith. As our Sunday School class discussed “The Currant Bush” by Elder Hugh B. Brown [January issue], I realized that I have had the same kind of experience. Last fall I was working on Sunday, but I thought nothing of it because I needed the money. I got involved in school too and began to become inactive in church. Then I got an important part in our school play—the best part I ever had. I was thrilled. Rehearsals began and conflicts arose. I knew I would have to quit my job and let my schoolwork suffer because of the play. This did not really bother me because I had a great desire to be in the theater at any cost. Well, just then I got mononucleosis and had to withdraw from the play. I was out of school for months and also lost my job. At first I felt very bitter because I had wanted this part in the play. I felt much the same as Elder Brown. I am a junior, and I had worked for this good part since I was a freshman. I also had plans of being the star in my senior play.

My dreams were shattered, my life’s activity stopped. I had to stay home in bed. For a long time I felt bitter. But then one day as I was watching the sun, I knew this was not a curse but a blessing in disguise. I had more than eleven weeks to think and pray. It finally came to me that the Church was the most important thing in my life, not the theater or my job. Now I am well again and am back at church. Every day I thank Heavenly Father for pruning me so that I was able to start over. I realize now the importance of attending church. Perhaps others can learn this lesson less painfully, but I would not change a thing that happened.
Robynann McfarlandKeene, New Hampshire

Father wasn’t interested in a “new” religion, and if James Reed hadn’t had bloody feet, Father wouldn’t have let him in that cold, snowy night. When Brother Reed told the family about the Book of Mormon, Father issued him a challenge: “If it’s true, we’ll listen to all that you have to tell us.” If upon reading it, Father believed Brother Reed to be a liar, however, he would be thrown out of the house. Father started to read it that very night. …
Early the next morning, Mary Ann awoke when she heard an ax behind their cabin. Sleepily she snuggled back under the covers. The cabin would soon be warm. Father was building a fire. Then, hearing her father’s voice downstairs, she sat straight up. Father wasn’t chopping wood! Who was? Wrapping a shawl around her, she hurried down the ladder.
The front door opened as Brother Reed came in with an armful of wood. On top was a pile of kindling to help get the fire going. “Good morning to you all,” he said cheerfully. “The snow’s stopped, and the air is clear. It’s a beautiful day.”
“You shouldn’t be up and about on those feet,” Mother said.
He winked at Mary Ann. “Warm woolen socks do wonders for a pair of sore feet.”
Mary Ann winked back. She looked at her father. Although he didn’t say anything, she could tell that he was pleased that the stranger would help with the chores.
When Anna began to fuss in her cradle, Brother Reed gently picked her up so that Mother could continue to cook breakfast. Father opened the book the stranger had brought and began to read more of it.
Mary Ann crossed over to Brother Reed. He looked like he knew how to hold babies. “Do you have any children?”
He nodded and looked sad for a moment. “I have a wife and two tiny boys in Kirtland, Ohio.”
Mother stopped stirring the porridge. “You left them to preach the gospel?”
He nodded as he continued to gently jounce the baby. “My wife, Alice, believes the gospel as strongly as I do. She waits patiently for me to return. The Lord will provide for her.”
When breakfast was ready, they all sat down around the rough table. Father turned to Brother Reed. “Would you like to offer a word of prayer?”
“Surely, but may I quote a scripture first?” At Father’s nod, Brother Reed said: “‘And behold, the third time they did understand the voice which they heard; and it said unto them:
‘Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him.
‘And it came to pass, as they understood they cast their eyes up again towards heaven; and behold, they saw a Man descending out of heaven; and he was clothed in a white robe; and he came down and stood in the midst of them.’”*
Then he gave a blessing on the food and all those that lived in the house.
“That scripture you quoted,” Mother said. “I don’t remember hearing it before.”
“It’s from the Book of Mormon. It’s about Jesus Christ’s appearance to the people here in the Americas after His resurrection.”
Mary Ann felt that warm feeling wash all over her again. She felt good at church when Parson Grimes taught, but this was different. It seemed to fill her whole soul. While they were eating, she shyly asked, “Is this Apostle you talked about close by? I’ve never seen an Apostle of the Lord before. Could we hear him preach?”
Brother Reed smiled at her. “Tomorrow is the Sabbath, and we have received permission to preach in Pastor Grimes’s church. If you come with me at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, you’ll get to meet a true Apostle of the living God.” He looked around the table. “You’re all invited. Will you come?”
Mother looked at Father. He nodded.
Mary Ann’s family always observed the Sabbath, so all their work had to be finished on Saturday. Never had she worked so eagerly! The next day she would actually see an Apostle of the Lord!
At ten o’clock the little log chapel bulged with people gathered to hear the Mormon preachers. Mary Ann and her family sat next to her best friend, Betsy, and her family.
As Mary Ann looked up at the face of Brigham Young, she thought That is an Apostle of Jesus Christ! She listened carefully to all he said, and again she felt that warm feeling telling her that he spoke the truth. She whispered to Betsy, “Can you believe you’re actually seeing one of the Lord’s Apostles?”
Betsy glared at her. “You’re crazy! My father says these men are imposters. God stopped speaking to men on earth years ago. We don’t need Apostles—we have the Bible.”
Suddenly anger welled up inside Mary Ann. How could her best friend be so blind. Tears flowed down her cheeks, she rushed outside. Betsy followed her.
“I suppose you believe them,” Betsy sneered. “I suppose you’re going to be baptized.”
Mary Ann felt hate in her heart just then. She glared at her friend. “Yes, I am! And you’ll be sorry someday that you didn’t. You’re just too stupid to understand.”
“No, I’m not,” Betsy answered. “And I won’t be sorry, because I’m not fooled by them.”
Mary Ann ran around the corner of the church and leaned against a tree. How can Betsy be so blind? she wondered. How can she be so mean to me?
Mother walked toward her. “I saw you run out of the meeting. Is something wrong?”
“Betsy thinks they’re fakes. I hate her! How can she be so stupid. Doesn’t she feel anything?”
Mother gave her a hug. “Do you remember what the Savior did when someone didn’t believe Him? What He did when they hurt Him?”
Mary Ann hung her head. “He forgave them.”
“Yes, and He prayed for them. Even on the cross, He prayed for them.” She hugged Mary Ann again. “When you feel better, come back to the meeting. Brother Young will not be here forever.”
After she left, Mary Ann still felt angry. But it was cold outside, so she went home. Climbing to the loft, she knelt by her bed and prayed that she could forgive Betsy. Then she prayed that Betsy would listen to the message of these men.
When she finished, she felt better. Maybe Betsy would never listen, but it was Mary Ann’s job to be a friend and to understand. She climbed down from the loft and started back to the meeting. If Betsy was still there, Mary Ann would apologize for getting angry. Maybe later Betsy would listen to the message of the true gospel.

Illustrations by Mina Price
When Ian woke up, he heard his mother singing. It was “I Feel My Savior’s Love.” That was Ian’s favorite Primary song. He started singing along with her.
“You’re awake!” she said. She was smiling and had tears in her eyes. Ian saw his dad sitting next to her. He looked happy too.
“I’ve been singing your favorite songs to you every day,” Mom said.
Ian smiled back—but his head hurt. Actually, his whole body hurt, especially his leg.
He slowly looked around. He wasn’t at home. He was lying on a metal bed in a strange room. Then he saw a nurse and lots of other beds nearby. This must be a hospital, he thought.
“What happened to me?” he asked.
Mom’s face turned sad. “You were in a bad accident. A metal gate fell on you. You’ve been in the hospital for two weeks, but you are going to be OK.”
Two weeks! Wow, that’s a long time to be asleep, Ian thought. The last thing he could remember was being at the church building, practicing for the Primary program …
Oh no! The program!
“Did I miss the Primary program?” Ian asked. He had been looking forward to it for so long! He loved singing with his friends.
Mom smiled and shook her head. “No, you didn’t miss it. The ward decided to postpone it until you woke up so you could be part of it.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Dad said. “All the Primary kids asked the bishop to wait. They wanted you to be there. They knew how excited you were for it.”
Ian was happy he could still be in the Primary program. But he had to get better first. And that took a long time. He had to stay in the hospital for a while longer. When he finally got to come home, he still couldn’t walk or play.
But his friends got to come visit him. Ian would ask them about school and church. And they would ask him when he was coming back.
“Not until my leg is better,” he would tell them. “I still can’t walk.”
October turned into November, and Ian slowly got better. One day his friends invited him to come over and watch a movie with them. Ian’s mom and dad helped get him there.
“Does your leg still hurt?” his friend Chaís asked him.
“Yes,” Ian said. “But it’s getting better little by little.”
“Can you walk yet?” Chaís asked.
“I haven’t tried today,” Ian said.
“Here, let’s try right now,” Chaís said. She helped him stand up. Carefully, Ian put his foot down. He moved his body forward. He was still standing! It was his first step in over a month! Everyone clapped.
“Maybe this means you can come back to church soon!” Chaís said.
She was right. In a few more weeks, Ian’s leg finally stopped hurting. The doctors took the cast off his leg and put on a brace instead. When Sunday came, it was time for the Primary program.
During sacrament meeting, Ian walked to the front of the chapel with his friends. He stood up straight and smiled at his mom and dad. He sang the songs as loud as he could. When it was his turn, he stood at the microphone and shared his testimony. He was grateful for his Primary friends. And he was glad he could be part of the Primary program after all.
Ian lives in the Dominican Republic. Go to pages 12–13 to learn about this country and see a picture of Ian!

Jennifer stared at the door. Soon it would open and her baptismal interview would start. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. How could she tell Bishop Anderson that she didn’t want to get baptized? She’d tried to tell Mom, but Mom got that disappointed look on her face.
The lump in Jennifer’s throat grew larger. Bishop Anderson was going to be disappointed in her. She looked away from the door and stared at her dress. The material faded before her eyes. If only this interview was over!
“Jennifer, are you ready?” Bishop Anderson asked, smiling at her.
She darted a quick glance at him, then looked down. Staring at the carpet, she followed him into his office and slid onto the chair next to his desk. Under the desk was a little dust ball. Her eyes focused on it. Normally she loved talking to Bishop Anderson; he was always kind and smiled at her. But today the lump in her throat was too big.
“What’s wrong, Jennifer?”
Bishop Anderson’s loving face gave Jennifer courage. She lifted her head. The warmth in his face brought sudden tears to her eyes. “Everyone else in my Primary class is being baptized by their father, but Dad can’t baptize me because he isn’t a member. It isn’t fair!” Her voice trembled, and she stared down at the dust ball.
“It doesn’t seem fair, Jennifer,” Bishop Anderson said in a kind voice. “But let’s look at the reasons for this special ordinance. Do you know why we get baptized?”
“Because it’s a commandment?”
“That’s right. In 2 Nephi 9:23, Jacob tells us that we are all commanded to be baptized. Baptism is the ‘door’ that lets us into the kingdom of God. Now, what happens if you try to unlock a door with the wrong key?”
Her finger’s crumpled the edge of her dress. “The door won’t open?”
“Exactly. But the right key opens the door. Baptism is the door, but the priesthood is the key. Only one who holds the priesthood worthily holds the right key. Someone who baptizes without the priesthood doesn’t have the authority to perform this sacred ordinance. It is like trying to use the wrong key to unlock the door. It doesn’t work, and the door stays shut.”
The lump in Jennifer’s throat grew bigger. “But my dad is a good person,” she whispered.
Bishop Anderson nodded his head. “I know he is, and I feel that someday he will accept the gospel and receive the priesthood. In the meantime, he deserves your love and respect and obedience.”
Jennifer tried to smile, but a tear ran down her cheek.
Bishop Anderson reached for his scriptures. He opened the black leather cover and carefully turned the pages. “You see, even Jesus had to be baptized by someone holding the right key. Here, Jennifer, read verses thirteen to fifteen in Matthew, chapter three.”
Jennifer took the heavy book from the bishop. “‘Then cometh Jesus from Galilee to Jordan unto John, to be baptized of him.
“‘But John forbad him, saying, I have need to be baptized of thee, and comest thou to me?
“‘And Jesus answering said unto him, Suffer it to be so now: for thus it becometh us to fulfil all righteousness. Then he suffered him.’”
Jennifer looked at the bishop, who asked her, “Why did Jesus go to John the Baptist?”
Jennifer smoothed her dress across her knees. “Because John had the authority.”
“Exactly. Now I want you to think of something else. Was Jesus baptized by Joseph, His father while He was on the earth?”
Jennifer caught her breath. The lump in her throat started to dissolve. “No, He wasn’t.”
“He wasn’t,” agreed Bishop Anderson. “But His baptism was still special. It isn’t important who baptizes you as long as that person has the right key to do so. If he does, Heavenly Father will accept your baptism and He will be as pleased with you as He was with Jesus.”
For the first time in days, the big lump in Jennifer’s throat was gone. A smile broke through. She still wished her dad could baptize her, but it was going to be OK. “Bishop Anderson, would you baptize me?”
The bishop gave Jennifer a big smile. “I’d love to, Jennifer.”
Jennifer’s smile grew. She was eager now to get baptized. She would show Heavenly Father that she wanted to go through the door the right way, just like Jesus did, by being baptized by someone holding the right key.

I was not a very impressive teenager and spent little time serving others. During this time my mother invited me to come with her to visit my great-aunt at a nursing home.

My cousin and her daughter Stephanie accompanied us on this visit. Stephanie was seven or eight years old. As we walked into the nursing home, she waved at everyone she saw. They lit up as if she were handing out sunshine and rainbows. I, on the other hand, avoided eye contact.

When we entered the room that my great-aunt shared with another elderly woman, I did my best to disappear into the background. Stephanie, however, jumped onto my aunt’s bed and began to regale her with stories.

I noticed something about this room. On my aunt’s side were signs of love and family. Pictures and crayon drawings hung on the wall, and flowers adorned a nightstand. The other side of the room was sterile and bare. There were no signs of any visitors; no cards or pictures hung on the wall.

My aunt’s roommate sat alone in a wheelchair and did not acknowledge our presence. She was humming a tune and tapping the arms of her wheelchair, which made me uncomfortable.

Stephanie tugged on her mother’s arm and asked, “Mommy, what’s the matter with that lady?” Stephanie’s mother leaned down and whispered, “She needs love.” I was not prepared for what happened next.

Without hesitation, Stephanie ran over and jumped into the woman’s lap. She then began to tell her stories and ask all kinds of questions. The woman did not answer. Instead, tears ran down her face as she embraced Stephanie. For the next several minutes, Stephanie sat in her lap, stroking her hair and kissing her cheek.

I had never witnessed this type of unselfish love before, and I tried to hide my tears. Later, as we drove away from the nursing home, I marveled at how young Stephanie could be so selfless and so full of love and compassion for a complete stranger.

My quorum means a lot to me, but I don’t tell people this very often. I like doing things for the quorum, like the time we went camping at Three Mile Lake and I was in charge of the food. Everything went okay except the corn bread. I thought if chocolate was good and corn bread was good, they’d be terrific together. They weren’t. The quorum hasn’t quite forgotten that little episode, and I’ve been banned for some time from all cooking. Oh, well. Then about two weeks ago the quorum president called to ask me to visit the deacon who’d moved into our ward. “Sure,” I said, “what’s his name?”
“Jerry Snook.”
“The Jerry Snook at Chief Joseph? The Jerry Snook who is the terror of the classroom?”
“You got it.”
“But I’m sure he’s not a member.”
“Sorry. He’s just moved in from the Third Ward. He’s been inactive most of his life, I guess.”
I wasn’t surprised. Jerry wasn’t the kind of kid you’d expect to meet at church. “Do I have to do this alone?”
“Nope, we’ve asked Paul David to help you.”
“Thanks, he’ll be a big help.” I mean Paul’s a nice kid, but he’s a little different. Most of his classes at school are for students who don’t learn very fast. Still, he’s a deacon, passes the sacrament with us, and participates in the lessons. And he likes to tease me about the chocolate corn bread. But for Jerry Snook I wanted somebody strong.
“And don’t worry,” said the quorum president. “He’s already agreed to work with you.”
“Wonderful,” I said. And then I spoke very rapidly. “I can’t go see Jerry. He hates me. It’s true. Once when I said in English that I’d like to race a stock car, Jerry said real loud, ‘Dwayne, you could be the stock car.’ Even my teacher, Mr. Robertson, laughed.”
“You’ll do great. Just try to see him soon. Invite him to church.”
“You’re sure he’s a member?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Good luck.”

I hung up the phone. At first I planned to call and see when Paul would want to go out. But I decided to wait until that evening because I wanted to be sure to catch him. I told my dad about the phone call, and he said he’d be glad to help in any way. That night he helped by asking if I’d been able to reach Paul. It was a little after nine, and I didn’t want to wake him. He might have been asleep. So I decided to wait until Monday. Jerry wasn’t in my English class, which was a relief. And I didn’t see Paul. I didn’t call him that night either because I didn’t want to interrupt his family home evening. My dad must have asked about ten times if I’d set up a time with Paul. Each time I promised I’d try real soon.

Tuesday I concluded it was time to give Paul a ring, but when I wasn’t sure which David family to call, I thought I’d wait a day or so. When my dad found out I didn’t know the correct phone number, he looked it up. “Paul’s father is named Emory,” he said, “and the number is 754–3961.”

The next day in English I found out why I hadn’t seen Jerry for a few days. Evidently, he had broken his leg playing touch football. I didn’t feel very bad about it, but at least I kept my feelings to myself. I also figured I’d wait a week before visiting him so he’d have time to recuperate.

That night I was surprised when Paul called me on the phone. “Dwayne,” he said slowly.
“Yes?”
“We need to see Jerry.”
“I know. I’ve been trying to call, but your phone is always busy.”
“Oh.”
“Listen, he’s got a broken leg, and I think we ought to let him get up and about before we go see him. Don’t you agree?”
“I think we ought to go see him tomorrow.”
“Well, Paul,” I explained, “we can’t do that because we’ve got to let him know we’re coming, and it’s too late to do that now.”
“I know.”
“Great. Well, I’ll call him tomorrow or so and set up a day.”
“I already talked to him.”
“You what?”
“I called him, and he said to come on over.”
“Did you say I was coming?”
“I just said that a friend and I would be over tomorrow.”
“Hmm, tomorrow. You know, I’m pretty busy most days, and I’ve got things to do tomorrow.”
“I told him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow after school?”
“Yeah.”
“All right, all right. We’ll go tomorrow.” I paused for a second. “Hey, Paul, we don’t know where he lives.”
“I do. You come here, and we’ll walk over together.”
“Fine, fine.” I told my dad that we had an appointment with Jerry, and he seemed happy.

I met Paul the next day at his house, kind of a small place with two big trees in the front. “It’s not far,” Paul said. “We can walk.” It wasn’t that close either, and I was puffing a bit when we stopped in front of a brand-new house in a recently developed area.

“This is Jerry’s address,” Paul said. My hands felt clammy, and my stomach twisted as it always does before I have to climb a rope in PE or give a talk at church or tell my folks I failed a test. We walked up the steps, and Paul knocked on the door.

A thin, tall woman with blond hair opened the door. “Yes?” she said, looking at Paul and me as if she had caught us trying to steal the cement steps we were standing on. “Can I help you?” she added.

“We came to see Jerry,” I said, “that is if he’s not asleep or busy or eating or anything, because we can always come back.” The woman leaned forward a bit, raised her eyebrows, and slightly pursed her lips.

Paul cleared his throat a little and said, “We’re friends of his. I called yesterday.”

“Oh yes, from the Church.” She continued to look at me. “You know, we don’t go to church very often. In fact I can’t remember the last time.” She looked at Paul. “Well, come in, come in.” She ushered us into the living room, where we sat on some hard, wooden chairs. “Jerry, oh Jerry,” she called down the hall, “the boys that called yesterday are here.”

“Okay,” he said, sounding bored. After a moment I could hear a thump, thump, thump that grew louder.

“He’s not used to the crutches yet,” his mother said. “His accident has got him down, I think.”

At that moment a cast-covered leg poked through the hallway door, followed by a very redfaced Jerry who struggled with his crutches. He stared at me a moment. “What are you doing here?” he said.

“Oh,” said his mother, “you really do know each other.”

“A little,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah. At school,” Jerry added with a hint of a smirk.

“Well, I’ll leave you boys for now,” said his mother as she went into the kitchen.

Jerry backed up to a chair and flopped down. “So you’re a Mormon,” he said.

“Yes,” I answered, my voice cracking a little. “Both of us are.” I looked quickly at Paul.

“Yeah, we’re Mormons, and we came by to invite you to come to church,” he said.

Slow down, I thought. Now he’ll really lay into us.

“To church?” Jerry said.

“Yes, to church. It’s a good place to go, and we have a good time.”

Jerry shifted his crutches to the side of his chair. “You guys want me to come to church, huh?” He glanced at me. “You want me to come even if I call you fatso and chubby?” He was smiling.

“Well,” I said, my eyes a little out of focus, “sure, we both do.”

“That’s kind of funny, you know,” Jerry said. “You guys want me to come to church. I haven’t been to church for a long, long time.”

“There’s always a first time,” Paul said.

“Yeah, there’s always a first time,” Jerry laughed for a second.

We were all quiet a moment.

“How’d you hurt your leg?” I asked.

“I was playing football and tripped.” He looked a little embarrassed. “I feel like a jerk.”

“I know what you mean,” I said, and he looked at me sharply. “That is, I’m clumsy all the time.”

“You mean like when you dropped your tray in the cafeteria?”

“Yeah, and it had everything on it.” Even I could laugh about that incident.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad. You should have seen me when I tripped. What a klutz.”

“When are you coming back to school?” Paul asked.

“I don’t know. Probably in a few more days. The doctor said it was a pretty bad break and that I ought to take it easy.”

“That’s too bad. We’re working on predicate nominatives in English. Believe me, they aren’t any fun. And Mr. Robertson is as hard to understand as ever.”

“I’ll probably have to work hard to catch up.”

We all started talking about our different classes, the ones we liked and didn’t like, the easy and hard ones. Jerry’s mom brought out some punch. When we finished, Paul and I said that we had to go. We thanked Sister Snook for giving us something to drink. Jerry came with us to the door, not an easy feat when you’re not used to crutches. “You know,” he said, “nobody ever asked me to go to church. I mean just me.”

“You should come.”

“Maybe. Maybe I will.” Jerry looked out into the street. “Is the church far?”

“No,” answered Paul, “just down the street a couple of blocks. We could come by and get you.”

“Give me a call, okay?”

Paul and I stepped outside. “Maybe we’ll come by one of these days,” Paul said.

“Sure,” said Jerry. “Why don’t both of you come?”

It was getting dark, so we waved good-bye and headed home.

After a moment or two Paul said, “Well, we made a start.”

I left Paul at his house and walked home. When I got there, I told my dad how things had gone. He seemed pretty pleased. I felt pretty good myself. And then I had to settle down and study my predicate nominatives. They still weren’t any fun.

“Our first location there was in a log stable belonging to a widow White. Some blocks east of what was known as the Temple block. This hovel was made of a small class of crooked poles, between which I often crept instead of raising the quilt hung over the doorway. This part … at that time was thickly covered with blackberry bushes mixed with oak and hazel brush. Our family were all sick with chills and fever (familiarly known as the shakes) except my mother.
“From this Mormon home … Brother George A. [Smith] started as an Apostle on his mission to England, he having to be lifted into the wagon, as he was too weak to walk. This was in September, 1839. Before leaving he placed in my hand his last quarter of a dollar with a request to get mother some tea. The next day the Prophet Joseph and his brother Hyrum visited us and administered to us all, father being delirious from the effects of the fever. Their words comforted us greatly, as they said in the name of the Lord you all shall be well again. Upon leaving the hovel Joseph placed his slippers upon my mother’s feet and sprang upon his horse from the doorway and rode home barefoot. The next day Joseph removed father to his own house and nursed him until he recovered.”3
“A few days after her [Oliver’s mother’s] death, which was the third in Nauvoo [then called Commerce], Brother Joseph seeing that we still grew worse, told William that we would all die if we stayed there, and that he must take the team and bring us down to his own house. So he took us all into his own family, but me, he sent to Hiram Clarks, about twenty rods distant, yes forty rods. Here I spent an awful summer, the most dreadful I ever experienced, or ever expect to, in that way. My ague was attended with the Cortivical Rheumatics the most painful of all afflictions wherewith I was ever afflicted. Every other day I had the ague, and the days between, the rheumatics raged. Thus I passed days and almost weeks. …”4

Not long ago I received a note from a daughter who was leaving home to attend college. After a sweet message of thanks and appreciation, came an expression of concern about the responsibilities she would now encounter being on her own. Up until now she felt she had lived a sheltered life and had relied on her family to give her direction and strength. She was beginning to realize life is hard!
My daughter’s note made me think of the encounters I’ve had during the past several months with many people of the Church who seem to be asking, “How do I deal with the difficult challenges of life?”
Life is hard. It is a challenge. At every age life presents trials to bear and difficulties to overcome. Growing up is hard. There are often the heartaches of feeling wronged or rejected. Pursuing an education can press us to our financial, emotional, and intellectual limits. Serving a mission is not easy. It requires total dedication, spiritually and physically. The problems accompanying marriage, rearing a family, earning a living, or coping with illness, old age, and death are realities of life which we are required to meet, but with which we may be unprepared or unwilling to deal.
We will be able to face and solve these challenges more willingly and courageously when we understand that such obstacles are encountered as a natural part of living.
C. S. Lewis wrote: “The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one’s ‘own,’ or ‘real’ life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one’s real life—the life God is sending one day by day.” (They Stand Together: The Letters of C. S. Lewis to Arthur Greeves, ed. Walter Hooper, London: Collins, 1979, p. 499.)
An old Asian tale describes a prince who was reared in a castle and kept sheltered from the hardships of life. He never saw anyone who was ill. He never saw anyone who was aged. He never saw anyone die.
When the prince grew to be a young man, he desired to go out into the kingdom he ruled. As he was being carried along on a litter, he saw for the first time an old man, toothless, wrinkled, and bent with age.
The prince said to his bearers, “Stop! Wait! What is this?”
The chief bearer replied, “This is a man who is bent with age. Though you are young and strong, the time will come when you too must be bent with age.”
This disheartened the prince. His confrontation with aging was more than he could bear. He asked to be taken back to the castle.
After a few days in familiar surroundings he felt rejuvenated. He decided to venture forth again. This time as he passed by a group of men he noticed that one of them was on the ground, overcome with fever and convulsing in pain.
“What is this?” the prince asked.
“This is a man who is ill,” said the porter. “Though you are now young and strong, you too will have to suffer the problems of sickness.”
The prince was again saddened and returned immediately to the palace. But again in a few days, he wanted to visit his kingdom once more.
They hadn’t gone far from the castle when the prince saw a coffin being carried to its place of burial.
“What is this?” he asked.
When the meaning of death was explained to the inquiring young prince, he became depressed by the inevitable vision of the future. As he returned to the immediate comfort of his palace, he vowed he would never come out again.
The prince interpreted life to be an evil trick because no matter what a man did or what a man was, he had to suffer sickness, aging, and death.
Perhaps some of us feel about life the way the young prince in this fable did. We may feel that life is cruel and unfair to us, that we would like to retreat into our own shelter and never have to venture forth into the world. To do so, however, would be to deny ourselves the opportunities for growth which life and its experiences are designed to bring to us.
The Lord has made available to us a power which will turn these challenges into opportunities, a power which will enable us to understand the Apostle Peter’s declaration that such trials of our faith are indeed more precious than gold. (See 1 Pet. 1:7.)
When I was teaching an early-morning seminary class a number of years ago, we paused at the end of the year to review some principles we had learned from our study of the Book of Mormon. One young lady held up an illustration in her Book of Mormon, painted by Arnold Friberg. It depicted the two thousand sons of Helaman known as the “stripling soldiers.” (See Alma 53:22.) Then in all seriousness she asked, “Tell me, Brother Pinegar, why aren’t our young men built like this today?”
Now, I don’t know that the young men in the days of the Book of Mormon were built the way Arnold Friberg depicts them, but her question gave me the opportunity to ask, “Where did the strength of these young men come from?”
Those of you who have read the Book of Mormon are familiar with the story of the sons of Helaman. (See Alma 53; 56–58.) When their fathers were converted to the gospel, the fathers covenanted with the Lord that they would never again take up arms. But eventually their homes were threatened by hostile armies to the extent that the fathers would have to choose to fight or die. It was then that the two thousand young men, not bound by the same covenant, volunteered to defend their parents and their homes.
A prophet-general described these young men by saying, “They were exceedingly valiant for courage, and also for strength and activity; but behold, this was not all—they were men who were true at all times in whatsoever thing they were entrusted. …
“Yea, they had been taught by their mothers, that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them. …
“And they … fought as if with the strength of God; yea, never were men known to have fought with such miraculous strength; and with such mighty power.” (Alma 53:20; 56:47, 56; italics added.)
What gave the sons of Helaman their strength? Their faith in God was their “miraculous strength” and “mighty power.”
Leo Tolstoy, the famous Russian writer, declared, “Faith is the force of life.” Tolstoy had spent the major portion of his life seeking to understand life’s purpose. He found fame, position, fortune. He married well and had a family. He had experienced success by nearly every measure the world uses.
He sought answers to the meaning of life from his studies of science, philosophy, and other fields of knowledge. However, all the knowledge he acquired, honors he received, and personal accomplishments he achieved brought no lasting satisfaction. Life still seemed to him meaningless. At this point of deepest despair, Tolstoy asked the question, “How am I to live?” The answer came, “By the Law of God.”
Tolstoy was then compelled to admit that “besides the reasoning knowledge” there is “in every living man another kind of knowledge, an unreasoning one, but which gives a possibility of living—faith. … Faith is the force of life.” (How I Came to Believe, Christchurch, New Zealand: The Free Age Press, 1901, p. 40.)
Tolstoy found that one can possess about all one could desire of worldly pleasure and acclaim; but without faith in God, life will burden the heart, the mind, and even the soul.
It sometimes seems that the problems others face are not quite as hard as our own. Some of us may feel that life would not be so hard if we only had more wealth, or if we had a higher social station or better acceptance among our peers. Some may feel that if only they were married they could be truly happy. Others are seeking to be free from the responsibilities of marriage, thinking that would ease their challenges of life.
Not all challenges are related to the presence of a physical or material need. Yet the source of strength to meet all challenges remains the same: faith in God and remaining true at all times. Believing in God and seeking to live His law provides the power to successfully overcome the testing such challenges bring.
A friend of mine from South Carolina has demonstrated that even multiple problems can be overcome when one is true to his faith in God.
Laurie Polk is a dwarf. From the time of his birth, life has been a challenge. When he became old enough to go to school, he pedaled himself on a tricycle in order to move about and keep up with the other children. When his short legs kept him from playing games and participating in athletics, he busied himself in preparing for a vocation in the business world. To obtain employment, he found it necessary to persist and to prove himself. When a job opportunity finally came to him, he found joy in life through his love for his work.
Then another challenge arose. Laurie Polk, already extremely limited in his physical mobility, lost the sight in one eye. Nearly complete loss of the use of his crippled, dwarfed legs followed shortly thereafter. Then, as if that were not enough of a trial for any man, the retina of Laurie’s other eye became detached and complete blindness encompassed him.
Where did Laurie Polk gain his strength to overcome such darkness and despair? Through the power of faith in God, Laurie Polk has learned the meaning of life. In his thirty-four inch frame, he possesses a strength not unlike the sons of Helaman, through which he not only overcomes the personal challenges he encounters—he actually finds joy in living. He knows he can solve any problem by putting his life in harmony with God and serving his fellowman. He says, “With the help of the Lord there are no problems, only challenges.” Laurie Polk is now a high priest group leader in the Charleston South Carolina Stake.
From my own experience with life’s hardships I have learned that faith in God develops a personal love for Him which is reciprocated through his blessings to us in times of need. To my daughter and to all others who are meeting new or challenging times, I say: Do not fear the challenges of life, but approach them patiently, with faith in God. He will reward your faith with power not only to endure, but also to overcome hardships, disappointments, trials, and struggles of daily living. Through diligently striving to live the law of God and with faith in Him, we will not be diverted from our eternal course either by the ways or the praise of the world.
May each of us develop faith in God sufficient to fight the battles of life victoriously “with the strength of God; yea, … with [His] miraculous strength; and … mighty power.” (Alma 56:56.) We will then find the happiness we so much desire in our lives. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Three weeks after my return, my sister Shawna and her daughter came with a cousin from Brigham City to spend a few days. Bob, her husband, drove down in the Lincoln and spent an afternoon. Michele, their five-year-old, said, “You’re a General Authority now, aren’t you, Rick?” I tousled my niece’s blonde hair and smiled. I hadn’t seen Shawna for three years because before my mission she was at the University of Arizona. She and Michele wore designer clothes, and Shawna had her hair swept back, with curls on one side, kind of unnatural. Mother brought out the Harris family histories, and we sat around the living room; but Shawna, who had majored in interior design, daydreamed and looked at Mom’s furnishings and made faces at some of the color arrangements. When Bob came he lounged on the sofa and talked about the demise of the Dallas Cowboys, not my favorite early summer subject. He had played linebacker at BYU. About all he could stop now was a bowl of chocolate pudding. At dinner he ate thirds of both casserole and salad. He was full of good cheer about his younger brother’s prospects in the Deseret News Marathon. Of course Bob didn’t run anymore. After they left I asked Mom what had happened to my sister and her family.
“What do you mean?”
“They seem different.”
“You’re the one who’s changed, Rick.”
“I have?”
“Yes, you’re a lot more serious now.”
“Really?”
Two months now. Michele and Shawna were gone, Dad was in Houston on business, Mom was playing golf in Provo—and I sat under the locust taking in the dance of monarch butterflies along the hedge. So peaceful, so quiet, so dull. I amused myself by considering that the Savior was never a “returned missionary.” I had come to distrust the phrase. His mission was a mere three years, and he never went back home with nothing to do. Returning from a mission was a personal loss. You had to go on from there—become a goshawk and keep flapping your wings. I decided to make myself useful by helping Dad. He wanted the locust limbs trimmed away from the chimney before summer school.
On the roof I caught my breath after tossing off limbs. Gracious, I was thin! Wiping my forehead I saw Sister Hunter, two backyards away, bent over a rototiller—just as I had seen her husband do. Oh—it struck me: Brother Hunter had died of a heart attack a few weeks into my mission. How could I—I hated to even think the word—forget? Certainly he still hoed his beets and flooded his yard. Had he and Sister Hunter made it to the temple? Since my little medical problem I saw the temple as the abode of Deity, the place where, whatever the need, one found solace. Mom and Dad had worked with them after Brother Hunter joined the Church. But I hadn’t heard the results. As I grew up Sister Hunter offered me candy and nursed a bruised knee. She used to give me ice cream bars and a hug.
I climbed down from the roof and walked quickly down the block and into the driveway leading to her fence. After catching my breath, I said, “It’s the carburetor.”
“This pesky machine,” she said, “I want to kick it.” She was not old, only about 65, a small woman with hair the color of a fresh Oregon waterfall. She liked to wear a white cardigan sweater in cooler weather. Her eyes were green. She had a small, doll-like mouth that gave an appearance of youth. She loved to make vegetables and flowers grow.
With a screwdriver I adjusted the carburetor. But the short, frayed cord came taut under my jerked pulls. Nothing happened. I checked the oil—nothing wrong. Sister Hunter hovered above me like a mother eagle, watching first here and then there. Finally I got a spark plug out of our own lawn mower and, after more tinkering, the rototiller started. She said, “You’re a wonder. I never could have done that.”
After tilling her garden, which was deftly situated between the bank of grapes and the gray shed in the back, I helped her hand weed the corn against the side fences. I hadn’t had this much fun with dirt since the preparation day in Salem when I helped Brother Goss tie up his tomatoes. After a few mornings weeding by hand, we stood by her prospering garden as water filled the rows. She smiled and said, “Wouldn’t Henry be proud?”
Several “situations”—she refused to call them problems—plagued Sister Hunter. The grimy red pickup gathered heat in the driveway, and the water pump had quit in her washing machine on the back porch. I asked Mike Nelson, a young acquaintance at church, to help me, and within a few days we had installed a new fuel line in her ancient pickup. We road tested it through town with Jack, Sister Hunter’s faded-blond retriever. He wasn’t much help when I stalled at the Suprette Market. All he did was hang his head and loll his tongue. We ended up at the back of the store giving him water out of a discarded paper cup. Back at Sister Hunter’s we guzzled lemonade while taking breaks from her washing machine. I bought some frozen cans of lemonade to replenish her supply—and threw in a small pot roast for good measure. Mike thought I was nuts, but I wanted to do it. I found out she hadn’t had a special Sunday dinner since her husband died. Sure enough, at church she invited us over, and I graciously declined, not wanting to negate my good deeds. But she insisted. The next Sunday we arrived, and I discovered the table set with stunning china and sparkling silverware, a bouquet of peonies, and the steaming roast. Afterward I teased her about such a nice meal. Then we listened to a tape of a general conference talk by Elder James E. Faust on temple work while Mike fell asleep on the couch.
The next Tuesday I cornered Mike in an aisle of Pay Mart with a brilliant idea.
“Clean every one of her windows?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
“Inside and out?”
“Sure. It’s a small house.”
“You’re out of your tree.”
“So?”
So we armed ourselves with squeegees, clean rags, and spray bottles of glass cleaner and assaulted Sister Hunter’s windows, Mike outside, me inside. Her place sparkled, not a book out of place, not a dog hair on the couch, the islands of throw rugs floating on the polished hardwood floors. I spied on a lamp table a photograph of her husband, taken years ago. It stood behind an opened Bible which had on it a red pencil and glasses and which lay on an intricate doily. A hallowed feeling lingered in the house.
Both Mike and I figured our small act of kindness was finished. But one afternoon as I drowsed under the locust and thought about Sister Hunter, a strong feeling came over me that we hadn’t done enough. Her pickup ran, her washing machine purred, her windows shone, and her garden was a showpiece, the cool upturned earth mellowing in the furrows. What more could we do?
By now summer school was heating up, and I was busy as an instructor in the elders quorum. For diversion I hiked a few miles above Strawberry Reservoir, until I was too tired to go on and had to return. In the solemn hours I picked out lonely love songs on my guitar. Then late one evening as Mom and I endured our brewer’s yeast milk shakes I asked her about the Hunters’ temple sealing. Mom shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. Since her husband died she has stayed pretty much to herself.”
That night, in the privacy of my room, I poured out my heart to the Lord for courage to finish our task.
On a Friday after class at the Y, without Mike, who was shopping for a quick-action .22, I found myself enjoying the pungent aroma of cut apples in Sister Hunter’s blue kitchen.
“I appreciate you and Mike so much,” she said over her apples. “I’m an old sourpuss, I know. I’m too set in my ways. Won’t even talk to Bishop Thompson that much, but the home teachers are a blessing. Those young rascals think I can’t do for myself. But I can.” She glanced up at me. “Since Henry passed away, I’ve had to.” She went back to slicing apples, their whiteness glistening under her knife. Then she stopped and looked up at me again. “I never had a more trying time than when I waited for Henry to join the Church. I thought he never would, and I kind of gave up. But through it all I had to stay true—true to what I felt. You know, you’re the first one to take a real interest. And I don’t know how to say thanks.”
Like the goshawk, Sister Hunter had fierce eyes. They were light like a hawk’s, but green. She had learned to take care of herself—to keep her eyes alive by the spirit of life. She had flown into the cold recesses of fear and come back. She had fought harsh winds and long boreal hours of loneliness. The contempt I had read in the goshawk’s eyes, as in Sister Hunter’s, was a disdain for giving up—for anything vulgar or hurtful—a disdain for anything that kept him from flying freely through his northern forests.
I told her thanks were not necessary, and then I said good-bye, without having asked her about going to the temple. In Grants Pass, Oregon, I had strenuously challenged a hardened truck driver to quit smoking and he did, but I had not yet brought up the matter of the temple with Sister Hunter because I hadn’t found the words. We had talked about the temple, and we had listened to the words of an Apostle, but just what I should say had not come to me, short of simply asking, “Why haven’t you gone to the temple?” Tomorrow I would ask her.
On the back porch she stopped me. “You wait here. I want to show you something.”
She came from the house with a flat, white box, tattered and crushed, but still with its lid. She sat down beside me and opened it. She lifted out a lace veil from the box.
“This was my mother’s temple veil.” The veil, pure and white, held a sacred aura.
Sister Hunter’s eyes were intense, sparkling. For some time we sat on the back porch steps. Quietly, still composing herself, she asked, “Would you—and your folks—come with me to the temple some day? If I am worthy? Would you stand in for Henry?”
“Need you ask?” I replied, in hushed voice. “Of course.”
For days I thought about Sister Hunter’s temple veil. I had spent too much time worrying about myself. I too wanted to attend the temple and consecrate my service. The goshawk, Dad said, had to keep flying, and it too, after long hours, must have wondered about going on, wondered how it might finish what it had started. Sister Hunter had somehow shown me the continuity I sought between my mission and my present life—simply by being available to serve.
A few days later, in the Provo Temple, I experienced an extraordinary event. As I participated in the ordinances of salvation a powerful thought came: covenant, covenant—the word echoed deeply. Covenant grows out of the faith that we can keep on going by serving others. I could fly out of the woods. The sensation I lived with before I spotted Sister Hunter from our roof was one of being lost in a dark woods, with no clear path for certainty, only the shadows of tall trees, and the sunny meadows behind me. I clearly envisioned my father’s goshawk, poised, eager, attentive, ready.
It was a special afternoon. I wanted to share the spirit of the temple with my parents—and especially Sister Hunter.
Outside the temple the air was fresh but warm. A couple, hand in hand, the man carrying a suitcase, strolled into the sunlight from under the white portico. I shouldered my blue canvas pack and walked down the hill. Utah Lake sparkled in the sunlight. The lake was incandescent. The mountains beyond shone faintly, hazed by a lingering mist. All of Provo became a green sea converted for a passage to the holy hills. Looking over this domain, I wished the goshawk might find, in his wanderings, such a place to light.