Gospel Story Finder

Last summer I was in Germany with 59 other American teens. I became extremely close with a Mormon girl from Utah. We had very little in common, considering I’m Jewish and from Virginia, but those differences brought us closer.
I was fascinated with her religion, and I asked more and more questions. She was thrilled to find such an interested audience and was eager to share her New Era with me. When I read the June 1990 issue I was so impressed. I’ve never come across a magazine that makes me feel so good about myself.
Even though most parts are Mormon related (and I’m not considering converting), I can appreciate the inspiring, touching articles. To my surprise, my friend gave me a subscription as a gift. Now I know whenever I’m feeling down or just need some good reading I’ll turn to the New Era. You’re a great source of inspiration for non-Mormons, too!
L. R.Virginia

I used to call our seven-year-old daughter my secret weapon. While I was serving as a bishop, I wanted to involve my children in my service. Bringing her with me to visit ward members not only allowed me to spend more time with her but also often opened doors that had been closed before. It’s hard to turn the bishop away when his adorable seven-year-old daughter is smiling at you. And as good as it was for our ward members, I believe it was also good for my little girl. Not only did she watch her dad love and serve others, but she learned at a young age that she could love and serve others as well—blessing her with joy at the same time.

The next day, she and Jennie accompanied President McMurrin and other missionaries to Oldham, a manufacturing town east of Liverpool. In the evening, they formed a circle on a busy street corner, offered a prayer, and sang hymns until a large crowd formed around them. President McMurrin announced that a special meeting would be held the following day, and he invited everyone to come and hear preaching from “real live Mormon women.”
As he said this, a sick feeling crept over Inez. She was nervous about speaking to a large crowd. Still, as she stood among the missionaries in their silk hats and black suits, she had never been prouder to be a Latter-day Saint.4
The next evening, Inez trembled as she waited for her turn to speak. Having heard terrible lies about Latter-day Saint women, people were curious about her and the other women speaking at the meeting. Sarah Noall and Caroline Smith, the wife and sister-in-law of one of the missionaries, addressed the congregation first. Inez then spoke, despite her fear, and surprised herself by how well she did.
Inez and Jennie were soon assigned to labor in Cheltenham. They went door to door and frequently testified at street meetings. They also accepted invitations to meet with people in their homes. Listeners usually treated them well, although occasionally someone would mock them or accuse them of lying.
Inez and Jennie hoped to see more women serving missions. “We feel that the Lord is blessing us in our attempts to allay prejudice and spread the truth,” they reported to mission leaders. “We trust that many of the worthy young women in Zion will be permitted to enjoy the same privilege we now have, for we feel that they can do much good.”5

When I turned in my missionary papers, my bishop challenged me to not listen to any music at all until my call came. After about a week, the music was gone, but the bad lyrics were still there. Needless to say, my taste in music has changed. I was also able to feel the Spirit more often without the music blaring all the time. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that you are immune to the traps of Satan.
Nicholas Uerkvitz, 19Hereford, Arizona

Cham Nap’s schooling, before he came to the United States four years ago, was very limited. As a child he attended kindergarten, but political unrest in Cambodia prevented him from attending any more school. In 1979, he went to Thailand with his aunt, uncle, and cousin to escape the war. There they lived in a refugee camp. Cham Nap has not seen or heard from his mother or brothers and sisters since then.

“In Thailand I went to school for about one month and learned to read and write a little Cambodian,” he explains. That’s also where his friends first told him about Jesus Christ and the LDS church.

Before coming to America, he and his relatives were sent to Indonesia for seven months to learn English. “I just learned the first words—‘hello,’ ‘how are you,’ and a few to use in the home.”

They arrived in the United States in 1981 and settled down in Salt Lake City. Cham Nap attended school with many other Southeast Asians at South High School. He had an LDS school teacher who invited him to go to church, and then she sent the missionaries to his home.

His friends in Thailand had told him the LDS church was a good church. “I heard that Mormons didn’t drink, and they went without food and water the first Sunday every month,” he says. “The missionaries taught me about the gospel. It made me excited because it’s so good. I wanted to clean my sins and be a good person.”

He had attended other churches, but he felt strongly that what the LDS missionaries taught him was true. He was baptized on October 23, 1982, in Salt Lake City. About that time he became friends with Delaures and Harold Harkness. Brother Harkness was a counselor in the presidency of the Cambodian Branch of the Salt Lake Park Stake. Cham Nap occasionally ate dinner with them, and they often gave him a ride to church.

During the summer, he would go to their home every Tuesday, and for half an hour to an hour he would struggle to read one chapter in the Book of Mormon. “We didn’t read a lot every time because it just seemed awfully hard for him,” Sister Harkness says. “I tried to explain what the words meant as we went along. Then we’d talk about what we read. It was hard for him to grasp at times.”

When Cham Nap first started going to church, he didn’t understand anything except for sacrament meeting, which was translated into Cambodian. But he kept on going because it made him happy. “Even though I didn’t understand in the classes, I felt the Spirit and I liked to go. Afterward I’d go to Sister Harkness and ask her questions and she would teach me.”

Cham Nap now lives with a foster family in Farr West, Utah. He is an eager eighth grader who wants to perfect his English, so he takes two English classes. It is still difficult for him to read, but he studies the scriptures regularly, usually for an hour on Sundays and frequently after school. “The words I don’t understand I look up in the dictionary,” he notes.

He has three church books in Cambodian, including Book of Mormon Selections, which he studies along with the scriptures in English.

Cham Nap says he likes to study and learn more about the gospel. “I want to be a missionary and teach people and make them happy. I want to share what I have learned.” Just like Ammon, the Book of Mormon prophet he’s reading about right now.

True ministering is illustrated by an older sister in Africa who was assigned to seek out a sister who had not attended Church meetings for a long time. When she went to the sister’s home, she found that the woman had been beaten and robbed, had very little to eat, and possessed no clothes that she felt were appropriate for Sunday Church meetings. The woman assigned to minister to her brought a listening ear, produce from her garden, scriptures to read, and friendship. The “missing” sister soon came back to church and now holds a calling because she knows she is loved and valued.

“My dad was a farmer at heart. He had eighty acres that he farmed, although we lived in town. Dad and I used to spend a lot of time together, and we understood each other very well. He was very, very strong on obedience and felt that it was the most important principle. He never questioned any instruction or guidance that was given by Church leaders. He obeyed any directive they gave, and he instilled that desire to obey in his family. I remember Dad as being a strong disciplinarian, but he always tempered his discipline with love and concern. Once when he spanked me, he cried. But he felt that he had to execute the discipline in order to teach me obedience. I remember thinking then that it hurt him worse than it hurt me.”

I have always struggled to fit in. One night this particular struggle was hitting me really hard. It pushed me to the point of tears. When it came time for bed, I was feeling really drained and didn’t want to think about this struggle anymore. I decided I wouldn’t pray about it. I would just say my regular prayers and then go to sleep.
But as soon as I started praying, the Holy Ghost began to work on me, telling me that my Savior loved me, that He wanted to help me, and that I wasn’t alone. I was actually having a conversation with my Heavenly Father through the Holy Ghost. I was able to express how much I hurt, and He listened.
The Spirit was so strong that I knew in that moment that Heavenly Father and my Savior would never really leave me alone. They would always be there for me. I felt strengthened and uplifted and knew that I would be able to get through this trial. I know that Heavenly and Jesus Christ love me. Never again will I forget that. They are waiting to help us. All we have to do is reach out.
David M., Idaho, USA

As the tears wet her nightgown, she remembered once when she saw the Prophet cry. It had happened the year before, when Mary Ann’s family was returning from England. Many converts came with them on the boat, and they were anxious to see Joseph Smith.

“I’ll know him immediately,” one man said. Others agreed that they, too, would be able to pick him out, even in a multitude.

Mary Ann told the converts how noble and grand the Prophet looked on his horse at the head of the Nauvoo Legion. She told them how she had watched him preach to the people in the Kirtland Temple, and to the Indians in the grove at Nauvoo.

Mary Ann still remembered how the steamboat pushed through large, floating blocks of ice on the Mississippi River as it approached the city of Nauvoo. At the landing there was a large group of people waiting to welcome the company of travelers. Right away, Mary Ann noticed the Prophet. He came on the boat, into their cabin, and embraced Parley Pratt. Then he welcomed each family member in turn.

The Prophet was a very big man. Six foot, her father had said. Mary Ann’s head came just above his belt buckle, but he leaned over so he could look into her eyes and shake her hand. Then he sat down and took her little brother on his knees.

“Well, well, Brother Parley, you have returned, bringing your sheaves with you.” He hugged little Parley and Nathan, and the tears filled his clear blue eyes and streamed down his cheeks. Mary Ann had discovered that grown folk sometimes cry when they’re filled with joy, so she knew it was just his happiness spilling over.

Mary Ann recalled how Father had teased the Prophet when he saw the tears.

“Brother Smith, if you feel so bad about our coming home, I guess we’ll have to go back again.”

After that, everyone laughed, the Prophet most of all. Then he said, “Brother Parley, bring your folks up to my house.” Mary Ann remembered how as they walked up the hill with the Prophet, she had tried to match her step with his.

In the warm glow of an early spring twilight, they climbed to the second floor of the Ben E. Rich building for their final testimony meeting. It was a meeting they had looked forward to for eight weeks, but now they had mixed feelings. Tomorrow they would fly away to a land where bananas and oranges really grew. They were eager and ready, but a little solemn as well.
They file into the room. Elder Anthony and Elder Eckhart, his companion. Elder Eckhart loved surfing. They have great surf in Peru. Elder Eckhart won’t be trying it out. Elder Kirby and Elder Sakavitch. For the first few weeks they didn’t like each other. Now they’re the best of friends. Another small miracle. Elder Gibson and Elder Hancock. Elder Gibson feels that he has been granted the gift of charity in the MTC. Elder Hancock didn’t plan on a mission, until an inspired returned missionary led him by example. Sister Dunn and Sister Carree. Sister Dunn has had experience teaching children. She says it helps her help the elders. Sister Carree is from Reims, France. She came speaking no Spanish or English. Now she speaks Spanish beautifully. Sister Steele and Sister Ellis. Sister Steele is a nurse. She says open-heart surgery doesn’t change hearts nearly so much as the MTC does. Sister Ellis likes to watch people grow. She’s had an eyeful here. Elder Bishop and Sister Smithson come too. They are as much a part of the district as the missionaries. There’s even an interpreter for Sister Carree so that she can speak in French.
The elders from the district are all going to the Peru Lima North Mission. Sisters Ellis and Steel are going to Honduras. Sister Carree is going to Ecuador. Sister Dunn is going to the Dominican Republic. The sisters all have an additional assignment in welfare services and are looking forward to strengthening the members as well as bringing new converts to the truth.
Sister Smithson speaks first. “I want each of you to know that I really do love you. I’m proud of you. … Dedicate yourselves to the Lord. Turn your lives over to him. … Remember what you’re teaching. It’s not the discussions. You’re teaching people. You’re teaching souls. You’re teaching your Father in Heaven’s children. … I hope if I’ve taught you anything it’s how to teach with the Spirit.”
They all nod their heads. This is the one thing they have all learned at the MTC. With the Spirit of the Lord they can do anything. Time after time they have achieved the impossible with his guidance. Other times, when they tried to do it alone, they have all fallen flat on their faces. They have learned to recognize the influence of the Holy Ghost, because they have needed it almost every moment of every day. They know now that they really didn’t come here to learn Spanish. That was important, but not all-important. They came here to learn the language of the Spirit. Words alone, however eloquent, could not contain everything that was in their hearts to share with those they would teach. They had to get beyond words to the one language that could express all truth.
They begin bearing their testimonies, and a strange thing happens. They are speaking in their native tongues for a change, but words somehow come hard. Still, the room echoes warmly with their new language, their real language, the real language of all mankind. They are speaking fluently in the language of the Spirit. One by one, they bear testimony of the Father and the Son, of the rich outpouring they have experienced of the gift of the Holy Ghost, of their love for one another and their sureness that they have been called of God. The MTC months have been a joyful time of unprecedented growth. They are not boys and girls now but men and women, and there is strength in them. Earlier, in sacrament meeting, they had given their farewell addresses. They spoke in Spanish, and they spoke with fluent authority on gospel principles. The Spanish may not have been flawless, but it was powerful. No one who heard them could doubt that he was listening to servants of God and messengers of truth. They are going to teach a people they love with all their hearts. It is a people they have never met, but for the last two months they have worked and prayed and struggled and sometimes even cried for the sake of that people. Love, the fruit of service, has been their harvest.
The next morning they carried their luggage out the same doors they had first entered two months since. This time it wasn’t quite such a struggle. Like the pioneers before them, they had found it necessary to lighten their load. Many a precious, unnecessary possession had already been shipped home.
The hills were green with spring, but the Jauja district was flying away beyond the equator to where fall was just beginning. In 16 months when spring paints the slopes of the Andes, they will return to greet another autumn at home. If a record of such things is kept in heaven, it will show that the great district of Jauja has sacrificed one precious summer to go and answer the Lord’s call. But the thought has probably not even occurred to them. And if it did they would only laugh. They are not counting costs. They carry with them in their hearts a light brighter than the sunshine of many summers.
So if you’re driving by Provo on a Thursday morning and see a carful of moms and dads and sisters and brothers and one white-knuckled young man in a conservative suit, you might just want to pull in behind and follow him. He’s headed in the right direction.

One day I was talking to a friend, who is not a member of our church, and we almost got to the point where we started putting each other’s churches down, but I didn’t want it to get to that point, so I just bore my testimony and stopped. A few weeks later I got some pamphlets and magazines in the mail from her. I could have kept them so that I would know what some writers think about our church, but I didn’t. This experience made me want to be more prepared when things like this happen.Alexandria M., 15, Oregon

Johanna was only eight when war came to her village in Holland and everything changed. When Johanna was ten, conditions were so bad that her only chance for life was to escape with an older sister and hide in a farmhouse many miles away from their home.
The two girls live with the Oosterveld family, who keep them hidden in an upstairs room—hidden from prying neighbors and from German soldiers who set up an office in the room just below them. Johanna and Sini spend days quietly in bed, bored and lonely and longing for exercise and fresh air. They spend years hidden away from the world.
This unforgettable book touches the heart and holds the reader breathless with excitement, wondering what will happen next. It was named a Newbery honor book for 1973.

I can still remember my mother speaking softly to me one Saturday afternoon when, as a little boy, I asked her for permission to do something I thought was perfectly reasonable and which she knew was dangerous. I still am amazed at the power she was granted, I believe from the Lord, to turn me around with so few words. As I remember them, they were: “Oh, I suppose you could do that. But the choice is yours.” The only warning was in the emphasis she put on the words could and choice. Yet that was enough for me.

Her power to warn with so few words sprang from three things I knew about her. First, I knew she loved me. Second, I knew she had already done what she wanted me to do and been blessed by it. And third, she had conveyed to me her sure testimony that the choice I had to make was so important that the Lord would tell me what to do if I asked Him. Love, example, and testimony: those were keys that day, and they have been whenever I have been blessed to hear and then heed the warning of a servant of the Lord.

This time things were different. President Spencer W. Kimball asked the members of the church to fast and pray about the weather situation, the bitter cold and snow in some areas and the drought in others. It was an inspiring feeling to know that I was joining hundreds of thousands of people in doing what a prophet of God asked, and that feeling motivated me to succeed.
But even though I did not eat or drink for twenty-four hours, I was not really satisfied with my effort. The day hadn’t been much different from most Sundays, and it seemed to me that if fasting were important, it should make a difference. I knew that it was important, so I concluded that I must not be doing it right.
I decided to study the scriptures concerning the principles and practices of fasting.
Then, to supplement my scripture reading, I read some fasting guidelines given us by modern-day prophets. They were clear in saying that a proper observance of fast day means abstaining from food and drink for two consecutive meals, attending fast and testimony meeting, and paying a generous fast offering.
With this information and an intense desire to really do what was right, I was ready to experiment upon the words I had studied. I knew the law of the fast, and I knew that I could observe the outward letter of the law. But it is the spirit of the law that can really change our lives. I decided to concentrate on the following five areas in trying to obtain the spirit of fasting:
1. A spirit of love for God and for my fellow beings. These two most important goals need constant work and attention. Not only is it difficult for me to love some people some of the time, but it is also sometimes difficult to want to love them. And when I think of loving God, I am overwhelmed to know that even my best love at this point is a weak and meager gift.
2. A spirit of sacrifice and service. Fast offerings are one sign of this spirit. Another is a willingness to share my testimony with others. I must also diligently seek other opportunities to give and to share my abundance of blessings with others. Sometimes I feel that I don’t even begin to understand what real sacrifice is.
3. A spirit of brotherhood and fellowship with the Saints. It gives me a wonderful feeling of joy to realize, when I fast, that I am joining the rest of the Church membership in this opportunity, and that we can gain power through unity.
4. A spirit of communion with God. For one day in each month I have an opportunity to put aside all distractions (except my three children, who cannot yet fully support me in my effort) and with “simplicity of intention” try to purify my heart to be one with God as I purify my body temple.
5. A spirit of self-control. To me, the exercise of my will in fasting is a sign of humility, that I submit my will to the Lord’s will, that I desire to strengthen my spiritual power and bodily discipline, and that I am willing to repent of wanting to do or doing other than what the Lord would desire.
With all of this in mind, I fasted. The first time, I fasted and prayed that I might withstand a particular temptation that had been bothering me. The results were miraculous. Not only did I withstand the temptation, but it ceased to be a temptation! Not only did I resist the sin, but I did not want to sin. And so I was immediately blessed.
I decided that it was important to my growth to fast again soon, and not wait for a whole month. This time I fasted and prayed about a decision I was having difficulty making. The pros and cons of the major alternatives seemed nearly equal, and I had been puzzling about it for several weeks. After fasting and praying about it, I suddenly knew what to do, and there was never another moment of wondering if it was the best choice.
After fasting I was intensely aware of what food I put into my mouth. Somehow my body seemed more sacred to me, and I did not want to eat anything that was impure or unnecessary. It almost seems as if fasting can help us sense what foods are really nourishing to us, and which ones pollute our physical system.
I seemed to be able to think more clearly and concisely. I was more able to concentrate with singleness of purpose when I went to the temple. Although I felt physically weak when fasting, it seemed that I was able to accomplish more and work with greater endurance afterwards.
I also felt an increased tenderness toward my husband and children, an overflowing of love and appreciation. And it seemed like I cried more during sacrament meeting, and appreciated it more. I’m sure that the meetings had not changed; instead, I was more emotionally and spiritually receptive.
Another important blessing I have received as a result of fasting is an increased ability to recognize evil influences and temptations—and to dismiss them without consideration.
As I have renewed my efforts to fast as the Lord would have me do, I have discovered some practical aids to help me. The following list contains some of these ideas.
1. Be united in fasting as a family. Take strength and motivation from the priesthood example and support each other in the effort. Those who are not yet old enough to abstain from eating and drinking can still participate in the spirit: praying, learning scripture stories, singing, counting blessings, planning service to others.
2. Plan specific service and sacrifice for others. Always give a generous fast offering and seek inspiration concerning other service the Lord desires.
3. Prepare carefully so that physical work can be held to a minimum. For me this means planning in advance what the children will wear and what they will eat. I also try to prepare appropriate Sunday activities for them before my fast begins on Saturday.
4. Prepare carefully so that my patience is not strained. Allow plenty of time to get ready for church meetings so that we don’t need to hurry.
5. Plan time for intense prayer. This is especially difficult for me now, with my three little girls always wanting to be involved in everything. Sometimes we can pray as a family; sometimes my husband and I can pray together while they are napping or sleeping; sometimes one of us can concentrate on them while the other prays alone. My best time for intense private prayer is in the middle of the night.
6. Fast and pray for a specific purpose or blessing. This might be a personal need, a family problem, a blessing for someone else, or something involving the whole Church or country, such as fasting for a change in the weather conditions.
7. Repent of sins. Seek strength to change and inspiration on how to change. Seek ways to make restitution and to receive forgiveness from those I have wronged.
8. Read, study, and ponder the scriptures. Seek to understand depths I have not yet understood. Use my husband’s resources to help answer my questions. Read topically as well as consecutively. Try to develop ways of teaching my children to know the scriptures and to love them.
9. Praise God. Show gratitude for his blessings. Sing hymns of praise to him. Rejoice in my relationship to him. Bear testimony of him and his goodness to others.
10. Avoid social conflicts and distractions. Saturday night wedding receptions, parties, dinners, sports, and Sunday dinners may not contribute to fasting and spiritual communion.
11. Record my experiences in my journal. Include praise to God, what I repent of and my plans for change, commentary on the scriptures I have read, service I plan to do, the purpose for which I fast each month, and my testimony. If we regularly make such entries in a journal, it can be a powerful tool in keeping our testimonies strong, providing direction and motivation for change, and inspiring our children and our children’s children. The miracles in our lives are quickly dimmed in our memories, but our journal entries can bring them clearly back and make us hunger for eternal life, a life of constant miracle.
Even though my fasting still cannot perfectly be called “rejoicing and prayer,” I feel much closer to that ideal than I did a year ago. I am grateful that I know that God lives, that we are his children, and that he desires that we find joy. And now I’m convinced that fasting is an integral part of that joy. It is a crucial element in our effort to eliminate every weakness, strengthen every talent, become perfect so that we can rejoin our Father in heaven. I am thankful to him for revealing fasting as a powerful tool that can help us find our way back to him.

I remember when I went to a daddy-daughter date with him. We sang a song together, and everyone there square danced. He was the life of the party. I was so proud. Then there was the time I was going on a pioneer trek with handcarts for a week. He gave me a blessing that I would have strength enough to do it. I got sick, but not so sick that I couldn’t finish. Again I was glad my dad held the priesthood.

I know how you feel. In my school, the children think that I am strange and that I am “too” good because I never swear or do inappropriate things. I felt very much alone, but I made friends with some girls who have good hearts, although they are not members of the Church. Today, whenever students need help with something, they come to me because they know that I am a member of the Church, that I would never lie, and that they can trust me.Ester K., 11, Itatiba, Brazil

Sometimes we need strength because life is hard for us. Christy wanted to memorize the Articles of Faith and earn her Gospel in Action award. It was extra hard for her because she has a disease called cerebral palsy. But Christy had faith the Lord would help her. She listened to the tapes of the Articles of Faith songs over and over. She practiced hard, learned to sing all the songs, and earned her award. Her family and friends were blessed by her good example.

“Hey, Carmen, are you ready yet?”
That’s my brother calling. Even though he’s two years older than I am, I’m taller by a ponytail. I can see him through the window, sitting on our apartment steps, squirting marbles out of his pouch. Mom sewed it especially for him, with his initials in gold thread.
Peewee may be the smallest player in the neighborhood, but he has the biggest marble collection for blocks around. He even has names for his favorite marbles, like Thunderbird and Crusher. Then there’s Rocket and Eyeball (yuck!) and the striped one, Bonkers.
I used to think that Peewee was bonkers the way that he talked to those marbles. He ignored everyone around him, including me; he said that his marbles were better listeners. But that was before Laser-Beam and the Blueberries and everything . …
It all started right before the National Marbles Tournament last year. Back then Peewee wouldn’t play a game without his prize marble, Laser-Beam. He was counting on it to pull him through the championships.
With the tournament so close, Peewee decided to get in some last-minute practice around the neighborhood. “Carmen,” he groused, “do you have to tag along?”
He always said that. But I wasn’t going to miss any of the action. Only nobody was around for him to play with. “How about you and me playing a game?” I figured that he’d say no.
“Go ahead,” he said, tugging my ponytail, “ante up.”
“You mean it?”
“Yeah, you shoot OK … for a girl.”
“What do you mean?” I could feel my face getting hot. “I can shoot as good as any guy.” I gripped my shooter, a glittery one that I called Twinkle. Knuckles down, ready, and …
Somebody was blocking my light. I stared up into eyes as steely blue as ball-bearing shooters. I’d never seen this kid before. He was big! He had red freckles sprayed all over his face, and he had a mop of hair to match. He squinted over at Peewee.
“Monroe’s the name—marbles my game.”
Uh-oh, I thought.
“Word is that you’re the top player around here, but that without your shooter, Laser-what’s-its-name, you’re nothing.”
This Monroe sounded like trouble to me, but Peewee was talking to Thunderbird and ignoring him. Finally Monroe left, and I was ready to win some marbles with my famous backspin. A quick flick, and Twinkle zoomed across the concrete, missed, and landed in the weeds.
The next day the weather was perfect for a championship—right on the beach too. Peewee was looking pretty official in his shorts and kneepads, but I knew that it was only my brother under that sun visor. Mom and Dad were sitting in their second-row seats, while I hung around the ring. I wanted to watch the referees line up the target marbles, little frosty blue ones that I called Blueberries.
Peewee was breezing through the preliminaries. One more shot, and he’d win his best of three matches. A snap of his thumbnail, and craaaack! There went the Blueberry. But something was wrong with Laser-Beam!
Peewee was holding it like it was sick. Mom and Dad stood up, and the referee hurried over. “Laser,” Peewee was mumbling, “you split wide open.”
Peewee’s good-luck charm was broken. The ref declared that Peewee had to substitute a new shooter or be disqualified. What could be worse?
“Worse” was standing across the ring, a big smile plastered across his freckles—Peewee’s next opponent, Monroe!
“You didn’t bring your other shooters with you, Peewee?” I asked. “Not even Eyeball?” He’d be out of the tournament for sure now. “Wait a minute!” I dug down in my jeans pocket and pulled out Twinkle.
Peewee turned kind of pale. “I—I don’t think I can do it without Laser-Beam.”
“Come on, Peewee. You have to try.”
There was no time to argue. Monroe won the first shot and scattered the Blueberries. Five marbles later, he finally missed.
“Don’t let him down, Twinkle,” I whispered as Peewee crouched to shoot.
Whump! The shot was a little wobbly, but one Blueberry was knocked out of the circle. That set up an easy shot at another blueberry, one on the edge of the ring. “Oh, no!” I groaned as Peewee missed it wide.
Monroe sauntered back up. He looked confident now that Laser-Beam was out of the picture—maybe too confident. He put so much pressure on his shooter that it jumped clean over the Blueberries. What a break! But without Laser-Beam, could Peewee do it?
I can still see Peewee circling the ring, looking for his best shot and talking—but not to any marble. This time he was talking to himself. He seemed to stand a little taller. Then he hunkered down and took aim.
Sparks seemed to fly as Twinkle bounced off the edger—knocking it out—and sailed into a pile of Blueberries, smacking out two of them. “Wow!” I murmured appreciatively. “Three marbles out with one shot!” Peewee didn’t need his “good-luck” shooter anymore. It was as though he believed that he could win, no matter what shooter he used. Monroe was certainly believing, because Peewee was shooting out the rest of the Berries right under his nose.
Everyone was applauding. Mom and Dad were sure proud of Peewee, and I had to admit that he played a terrific tournament. He finally lost a close game to a kid from Baltimore, but there would always be next year.
Through the crowd I noticed Monroe edging toward Peewee. He seemed to be explaining some surefire remedy to prevent splitting, something about soaking marbles in grease.
Monroe didn’t strike me as being a great listener, but it looked as though Peewee was starting to talk to someone instead of just to marbles:
“Some kind of shooting.”
“Yeah, you too.”
“Great match.”
“If it wasn’t for my kid sister …”
Who, me?
Then Peewee signaled for me to join them. I couldn’t believe it! They both offered to help me practice for the girls’ tournament next year. I could feel Twinkle, warm in my pocket, as I shuffled along beside them. In fact, I remember that I felt kind of warm all over.
Now here it is next year, and Peewee’s calling me again from the apartment steps out front: “Carmen, are you coming?”
I guess that I’d better grab my marbles and get going. We’re meeting Monroe for a practice session. This year’s championships are almost here, and I need a little work on my famous backspin.

When I was 14, I made a decision that changed everything. I was walking down the street with some friends on a Friday night, and we were having a good time, just as we usually did. But tonight there was a problem, and I knew I had to do something about it. I just wasn’t sure I could.
For the past couple of years, my friends had started experimenting with cigarettes and alcohol. It was slow at first, just a once or twice sort of thing, but by the time this Friday came, they regularly smoked and drank when we were out alone.
I thought that as long as I just kept myself clean, I could still have a good time with my friends. Of course, my parents could tell something wasn’t right with my friends. And my friends could tell that my parents didn’t approve of them. That left me in the uncomfortable middle: I found myself repeatedly defending my friends to my parents and defending my parents to my friends.
So there we were that Friday night, walking down the street. My friends started drinking and smoking, and I finally realized how uncomfortable I was with their behavior. So I made a choice.
I walked to the other side of the road.
My friends laughed at me. They called me a “goody-goody.” And they said that if I stayed over there, I wouldn’t be their friend anymore.
Well, we got to the end of the road. My friends turned left, and I turned right. I was two miles (3 km) from home, and they were the longest two miles I’d ever walked. You might think I would feel good about making such a courageous choice, but in that moment, I felt awful. I woke up the next morning with the terrifying realization that I had lost my friends and that I was now alone. For a 14-year-old, that was devastating.
Not too many days later, I got a phone call from a member of the Church I knew named Dave. He asked if I wanted to come to his house on Saturday night. He also invited me to join his family for dinner the next day. It sounded like a lot more fun than I was currently having with no friends, so I agreed.
Dave and I had a good time together—and, of course, there were no cigarettes or alcohol. As I listened to Dave’s dad say the prayer at dinner, I felt so good. I began to think that maybe—just maybe—things were getting better.
Dave and I became best friends. We played football together, went to school together, helped each other go on missions. When we got back, we were college roommates. We helped each other find the right women to marry and kept each other on the strait and narrow path all the way to the temple and after. All these years later, we’re still good friends. And it all started with a simple phone call, right when I needed it.
At least, that’s how I thought it had all started. Imagine my surprise when, years later, I found out that it was my mom, working behind the scenes, who had orchestrated our friendship! Soon after I lost my old friends, she noticed something was wrong with me, so she called Dave’s mom to see if they could figure out a way to help. Dave’s mom then coaxed Dave into contacting me and inviting me over. Sometimes promptings to help someone in need come from the Holy Ghost; sometimes they come from an angel—such as a mother—who “speak[s] by the power of the Holy Ghost” (2 Nephi 32:3).
I’ve often wondered how life might have been different—for me and for Dave—if my mom hadn’t perceived my struggle and taken action. Doesn’t that remind you of the way Heavenly Father blesses us? He knows about our every need, and He sends “blessings from above thru words and deeds of those who love” (“Each Life That Touches Ours for Good,” Hymns, no. 293).

In 1832, two years after the Church was organized, two young missionaries went out in the state of New York teaching as missionaries. And there was a man by the name of John Tanner who heard that they were coming in to his community and speaking in the schoolhouse that evening. Though he was a cripple, he decided that he would go and see that those Mormon missionaries didn’t teach any false doctrine.
He was a community-minded man and he was a religious man. Though he had been a cripple for several months with a diseased leg, and was in a wheelchair, he determined to go to that meeting. And he had his son wheel him right up to the front of the stand.
As he listened to the first missionary tell about the apostasy and the need for the restoration of the gospel, he listened and said nothing to him. And as the other missionary got up to speak, John Tanner didn’t interrupt him in any way.
Then after the meeting he asked his son to go up and bring the two missionaries down to introduce them to him. He asked those missionaries if they would like to go home and stay with him that evening. They accepted the invitation and went home and discussed religion on into the early hours of the morning.
After they had discussed it for some time, he said, “If I were well enough, I think I would like to be baptized.”
The missionaries asked him if he thought the Lord could heal him. He said, “The Lord could if he wanted to.”
The missionary explained that they were elders and that the Lord had said, if there were any sick among you to let them call in the elders to pray over them and asked him if he would like to be administered to. He said he would. They administered to him. That very day he left his wheelchair never to return to it. And he walked three-quarters of a mile to be baptized.
He knew he would be criticized and ostracized, but when he heard the truth, he had the courage to accept it. I am so glad that those two missionaries went out into the field to preach the gospel; and that when John Tanner heard it, he had the courage to accept it.
And he and his family remained true to the faith. And his son Nathan Tanner remained true to the faith, and then William Tanner and his son Nathan William, who is my father, accepted the gospel and remained true to the faith. And as a result, I am here today.