Gospel Story Finder

Compared with prices in the 1980s, food and merchandise were very inexpensive. Low prices were a blessing to the Saints, yet there were a significant number who lacked even pennies to purchase their needs. Hundreds fleeing from persecution in Missouri had lost all of their possessions, and many new converts came from backgrounds of poverty. Such people were often touched by the Prophet’s kindness and generosity, as he drew upon the resources of the store in their behalf. For example, Jane Elizabeth Manning, a freeborn black convert from Wilton, Connecticut, came to Nauvoo in the late fall of 1843 with her mother, Eliza, four brothers and sisters, a brother-in-law and sister-in-law, and Jane’s small son, Sylvester. They had walked nearly 800 miles: “We lay in bushes, and in barns and outdoors, and traveled until there was a frost just like a snow, and we had to walk on that frost. … I wanted to go to Brother Joseph.”
When the family arrived in Nauvoo, the Prophet and his wife Emma hosted them in the Mansion House until they could find homes in which to live.
“When I [came to Nauvoo] I only had two things on me, no shoes nor stockings, wore them all out on the road. I had a trunk full of beautiful clothes, which I had sent around by [boat], and I was thinking of having them when I got to Nauvoo, and they stole them at St. Louis, and I did not have a rag of them. … One morning, before [Joseph] came in, I had been up to the landing and found all my clothes were gone. Well, I sat there crying. He came in and looked around. … To Sister Emma, he said, ‘go and clothe her up, go down to the store and clothe her up.’ Sister Emma did.” (“Joseph Smith, the Prophet,” Young Woman’s Journal, December 1905, pp. 551–52).

As the family spent time together, the children could see not just how their parents worked but how they lived. And when the opportunity arose, their parents made the gospel a topic of conversation while they worked.

As their children grew, Brother and Sister Ordoñez often wondered if their children would listen. Would they obey? Would they want to know, like Nephi? Would they pass the gospel on to their children?

It may be too early to tell. But Brother and Sister Ordoñez have reason to hope.

Their older children are starting to pass gospel truths on. And the younger children are recognizing the importance of passing the gospel on too. “It’s hard sometimes to take counsel from your parents,” Juan says. “But I’m grateful for their help.”

“They didn’t just teach me how to cook beans and make tortillas,” Mayra says. “They have taught me the right path—to follow God.”

I did like seeing my friends at church. And every Sunday after church, my dad and I would talk about the gospel. One Sunday we talked about prayer. I said I felt like I was talking to the air. My dad helped me understand more about prayer. We talked about how I was afraid of being called a goody-goody or being known as too “churchy.” My dad helped me realize I didn’t have to let negative labels keep me from doing what’s right.

We bowed our heads as Travis said the closing prayer in our Sunday School class.
I had only lived in the ward for a few months, so I did not know much about Travis. I eventually became aware of his slurred speech and slightly awkward walk. From what I understood, he had been hit by a car when he was a small child. As a result, he had suffered some permanent brain damage.
From my first day in the ward, Travis had always been kind to me. He was happy, outgoing, and sincere. He never hesitated to strike up a conversation with me. Because his speech was sometimes slurred, I found it difficult to understand him at first. But gradually I became a better listener, and conversation became easier. However, every once in a while, Travis’s speech was nearly impossible to understand.
This was the case one day as he began to say the prayer. His words were garbled and incomprehensible. I felt a giggle swell up inside me. I sensed a chorus of laughter about to erupt from my classmates. It seemed hilarious that we couldn’t understand the prayer.
But the inclination to laugh suddenly ceased. Instead I felt tears pushing on my closed eyelids. I still could not understand Travis’s prayer, but I realized Heavenly Father did. Heavenly Father heard each word with perfect clarity. Travis knew this. He knew Heavenly Father understood his prayer. Travis prayed with sincerity and, I believe, a knowledge that he was in communication with God. Then I knew I could not understand Travis’s prayer with my ears, but I could with my heart.

Emma met Joseph when he came to her town for work in 1825. The two developed a close friendship, and she readily believed his accounts of visions and revelations. Following Moroni’s instructions, Joseph returned to New York each year to the Hill Cumorah, hoping to obtain the golden plates containing another testament of Jesus Christ. According to one account, on September 22, 1826, Moroni told Joseph he had one more chance to bring the right person with him the following year. Joseph prayed faithfully and received revelation that the right person was Emma Hale.3 They were married on January 18, 1827. God had chosen Emma to aid Joseph in bringing forth the Book of Mormon.

After midnight on September 22, 1827, Emma and Joseph left the Smith home in Manchester, New York, USA, to drive to the hill. Emma waited in the carriage while Joseph received the plates from Moroni.4 One account states that she knelt to pray while Joseph obtained the plates.5 Joseph’s mother, Lucy, also prayed—all night—waiting for the two of them to return. Joseph and Emma returned in time for breakfast, having successfully obtained the plates.6

When I was a boy in Primary, I believed whatever my Primary teacher told me. One summer day she taught us about prayer: “Remember, if you need Heavenly Father’s help, just ask Him. He’ll always answer.” I skipped home thinking of nothing more than playing ball with my brothers. I didn’t know that the next day I would test my teacher’s words.
The following morning began with the sun scorching the sandstone cliffs and rocky hills that circled my town. Into the warmth of that perfect day my friend Eva and I started off on one of our adventures. Clutching a bag of small, sharp fish-hooks, two spools of thread, and our lunches, we hurried toward the fish-pond.
At last we arrived. We paused and looked at the pond and the willow trees surrounding it, feeling as though some great ocean lay before us and that we had come to bury stolen treasure.
We sat down, slipped off our shoes, and dangled our dusty feet lazily in the cool water. Tying our thread to the hooks, we dreamed of catching a big fish. Then we realized that we had brought nothing to use for bait! It was unthinkable to use any part of our lunches, so the homemade lines just hung loosely in the water, our excitement sinking as rapidly as the bare hooks.
We soon found something new to occupy the morning. Close to the pond was a sand hill. One side of the hill was a smooth slope, but the other side dropped off steeply, forming a cliff as high as a house. At the bottom of the cliff was a pile of jagged sandstone rocks. We started up the smooth side of the hill, pretending to be the world’s greatest mountain climbers, courageously tackling the tallest mountain.
As we climbed, we could see an old wooden post on top of the hill.
“I’ll race you to the post!” I shouted to Eva.
We ran up the hill, sinking at times into the soft, warm sand. Small avalanches trailed behind us and could be heard falling on the rocks beneath the cliff. Soon I was crawling, hurrying toward the post as fast as I could—but I didn’t realize that I was climbing by myself. I reached the top, pleased with my victory, and turned around with a smile to speak to Eva. But she wasn’t near me! As she had climbed, she hadn’t been watching where she was going, and she had run into deep sand. Unable to lift her feet, she had panicked and started swinging her arms wildly—sliding sideways and backward toward the edge of the cliff.
Eva was very frightened, and tears streamed down her cheeks. I shouted to her to turn around and go down the hill on the safe side. But her only answer was a sobbing, “Help me!” We both knew that if I went straight down to her, the sand moving before me would push her over the edge. Desperate, she cried out again, “Help me!”
Suddenly, I remembered my Primary teacher’s words from the day before, and I prayed with all my strength. Eva stopped sliding. Something beneath her small feet was holding firm. I carefully went down a different way to where she was, and helped her turn around. Once she was on safe ground, I reached down to where she had stopped sliding and picked up a rock no larger than the palm of my hand! Somehow that hard bit of sandstone had kept Eva from falling. I put the rock into my pocket, and we went home. We had had enough adventure for one day.
When I got home, I put the rock on a shelf in my room to remind me of my wise Primary teacher’s words: “If you need Heavenly Father’s help, just ask Him. He’ll always answer.”

Being touched by and seeking after this light of Christ opened up many doors to my future. At the time the gospel came into my life I felt as though I was being ministered to by angles of light. Very special people came into my life to tell me about this message of hope and good news and that there was greater meaning and fulfillment to be learned and enjoyed while in this mortal life. I could see and feel this light of Christ reflected through these special people. Their light touched my being and I knew that something very important was happening within me. I didn’t feel as uncertain, alone, or weary of the future anymore. Instead I felt a protective power embracing me and I felt the greatest sense of hope I had ever known.

The first of these angels that came into my life clearly had a testimony of the Savior and was not afraid to share this testimony with me. This special individual was close enough to the Spirit to know that I would accept the gospel.

The other sweet angels who touched my life at this time, were an elderly couple who invited me into their home to begin my first discussions of the gospel with the missionaries. The wife of the couple had been a member all her life, but the husband had been baptized just three months before I walked into their home. They were beautiful. Their light radiated and filled their home and I immediately felt consumed by their love and warmth. There was nothing uneasy about the next several weeks that I enjoyed being taught by the missionaries in their home.

At this time I did not have the gift of the Holy Ghost, but I did have the light of Christ working within me and around me. The feelings of joy and hope that I was experiencing encouraged me to seek after more light and more truth. I wanted to know more and feel more. I was discovering the light of Christ within me and recognizing this light in others as something that seemed familiar to me.

The evening before I was baptized and received the Holy Ghost, I was kept awake by a powerful struggle of the adversary. I was about to go to sleep when this darker force was able to find a way to eat at me in an attempt to weaken my heart and confuse my understanding about being baptized. Up to that point throughout my study with the missionaries, I had had an unwavering conviction that this gospel was more true than anything I had known and that being baptized was the one thing in my life I hadn’t any uncertainty about. Now all of a sudden these feelings of light, love, and joy seemed under attack. This was my first experience in seeing how clever, how deceptive, and how powerful the work of the adversary can be, especially when he realizes he is about to lose as great an influence over another of Heavenly Father’s children. I had such comfort and peace knowing that I was making a good decision and yet I was blind sighted by this distressing force of darkness. This was a great lesson to me that the work of Satan is very real and can be very powerful, and in a cunning manner. He knows how to get at the deepest and most tender parts of our heart to hurt us if we let him. This is why it is so important to be truly faithful in our discipleship and to continually strive to draw closer to the love of God.

The following day I was blessed with a great gift. I received the Holy Ghost to be a protector, a comforter, and a teacher of light and truth.

“Hey, Shelly!” Shelly looked up from tying her old running shoes to see Rosa waving from the starting line. “Come on,” Rosa called out. “Today we’re going to beat our best time!”
Shelly grinned. Rosa said that every practice.
Shelly liked two things about her new middle school. The first thing was being on the track team. When she ran, she felt light inside, like she didn’t need to worry about anything.
The second thing she liked was that nobody here knew that her parents had just gotten divorced.
Shelly gave her shoelace one last tug and took off to join the other girls on the relay team. Ouch! She winced as her toes jammed into the end of her running shoes. How was she going to tell Dad she needed new shoes again?
After the race, Shelly, Rosa, Becca, and Tiana were celebrating their new best relay time. “I told you we were going to do it today!” Rosa said.
Shelly laughed. She handed the baton to their track teacher and bent to loosen her laces.
“Good work, girls,” Ms. Goldmann said. “You work really well together. Don’t forget to pay your track fee tomorrow.”
Shelley’s smile faded. She had totally forgotten about that!
On the bus ride home, all Shelly could think about was the shoes and the track fee. She didn’t want to give Mom one more thing to worry about. And the last time she had called to ask Dad for extra money, he had sounded annoyed. Lately it seemed like there was no one who could give her the help she needed.
When she got home, Shelly went straight to her room. At dinner her brothers and sisters talked and joked, but she just pushed her food around her plate.
After dinner Mom helped Shelly clear the table. “I’m meeting with Bishop Parker tonight,” Mom said. “Would you like to come and get a priesthood blessing?”
Shelly nodded. She really missed the blessings Dad used to give her when she was worried or sick.
A little later, as Bishop Parker gave her a blessing, Shelly felt something deep inside her relax. “Shelly, your dad isn’t in your home to help you now,” he said in the blessing. “But your Heavenly Father is always there. I bless you that you will be able to talk to Him just as you would to your dad, and Heavenly Father will always help you.”
Shelly felt lighter than she had for a long time. She had a warm feeling inside that told her the bishop’s words were true. Heavenly Father loved her and would listen to her. With His help, maybe she could even have the courage to talk to her parents.
On the way home, she told Mom about the shoes and the track fee. That night she knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help her have the courage to talk to her dad. She prayed about it again on the bus to school the next morning. By the time she got home from school, she felt brave enough to call her dad. This time he didn’t seem impatient or annoyed when she told him what she needed. Her prayers had been answered.
A few weeks later, Shelly laced up her new running shoes and ran to join Rosa and the other girls. It felt good to know she had a great team supporting her. She didn’t need to run her race alone.

I grew up in Northern California with a brother who is just a year older than me. We got along the way brothers do except for one major disturbing difference between us: he is a genius. He really is. He grew up to become a Ph.D. physicist. He has helped build scientific devices that are today doing experiments on the planet Mars, but even as a child, he was brilliant and curious.

One day, when we were about 12 and 13, he came home from a used bookstore very excited about a dusty old book he had found. I wasn’t all that excited about dusty old books until he explained, “This is a ‘Formulary.”

I had no reaction.

“I was flipping through the index, and there is a formula in here for rocket fuel.”

“Ok?”

“Steve, I’ve got all this stuff. We can make a rocket.”

So, he had me. We went off and measured and stirred the ingredients together, but the final step was to use a mortar and pestle to grind the chemicals into a perfectly fine powder so the blended chemicals would react with each other when we lit it on fire. We didn’t have a mortar or a pestle. We were 12, and it’s not like we were going to ask our parents for help—building explosives.

Incidentally, there were warnings in the book about how volatile, and how toxic, and how these combinations of chemicals needed ventilation… all written for lesser mortals. We had this.

So, he took the powder to the back porch and pounded it with a brick and with a hammer but could never get the right consistency for it to actually burn. We would try to light some of it, and it would just smolder and sputter, so I gave up and walked away.

But Mark was a genius. It occurred to him that all of those ingredients were water-soluble. If he dissolved them together, the chemical molecules would become perfectly inter-mixed. He got a glass mason jar and filled it halfway full with water, stirred in the powder, and put it on a shelf in our room, reasoning that in a few days the water would evaporate away, and he would be left with a perfectly blended pellet of rocket fuel.

A few nights later, I was slumped on a couch in our family room watching Star Trek on television. My parents were not home. I was pretty absorbed in the program. The lights were off. The Klingons were threatening somehow, and Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock were engaging the dilithium crystals or whatever. I was vaguely aware that Mark had stepped into the room and fallen into a chair near the door and was watching, too. The Enterprise was taking enemy fire, losing its shields. I was concerned.

Suddenly, a tremendous sound erupted from the kitchen for which I could find no explanation in the natural world. It was a deep menacing, rumble. My muddled teenage mind wondered for a moment, “Really? Klingons?—but in our kitchen?” I jumped up and ran toward the noise, crashing into Mark as we tried to squeeze through the doorway together. As I rushed into the kitchen, I was astonished at what was going on.

The sound was deafening. I could see nothing but dense smoke. I followed the sound, and there was a brilliant red column of flame over the stove, blasting upward out of a steel soup can. It was like a welding torch that had already burned a hole through the stove’s steel cooking-exhaust hood and was working on the ceiling.

I gasped, “What is that?”

Mark knocked me out of the way, grabbing the edge of the glowing can with a pair of pliers, and then he ran and flung it through the front door onto the lawn where it blasted and smoked and spun and sputtered like Chinese New Year.

I was slack jawed. “What was that?”

“That,” he said, “was… rocket fuel.”

“Rocket fuel?!!! Are you nuts? You put rocket fuel on a hot stove?”

Now, remember, my brother’s a genius, right? In the most condescending way, he said, “Don’t be ridiculous. It was perfectly safe. The water in the jar wasn’t evaporating, so, I decided to boil some of it off.”

“On a stove?”

“Yes. It should have been safe. The boiling of the water won’t let it get hotter than 212 degrees–you should know this. Everything was under control, but it boiled dry… and got too hot. Now, dad’s going to kill us.”

He was a genius.

Stuff like rocket fuel is pretty exciting. It is powerful—it can push us into space—but it requires judgment because it also has the power to destroy our homes, our lives, and everything that matters to us.

During his second day of freedom, while he was walking down a street, he was interrupted by someone tapping him on his shoulder. Turning, he faced John Klusak, his chief accuser. “He was much frightened and begged me to forgive him as he did not know at that time what he was doing.” Klusak was convinced that “the Lord had punished him very severely,” said the elder, because the man’s only son was dying of smallpox and his mother had become gravely ill. The elder forgave him but said that the troubled man would have to ask God for His forgiveness. The son died two days later.
Because newspapers carried his picture and said such evil things about Mormons, Elder Biesinger could not do effective missionary work anymore in Bohemia. While waiting for money from mission headquarters in Bern to pay for transportation out of Prague, he sent Church literature to all of the friends he had made while in prison. Then, on June 21, 1884, before leaving the city by evening train, he baptized and confirmed Anthon Just, his other accuser, in a nearby river.

The minute Robert woke up he knew the weather was still stormy. He was glad. Maybe I can stay home from school today, he thought.
Ever since he and his parents had moved to Pinehills in late summer, Robert had been unhappy. Each school morning when he awoke he felt a nagging dread in his stomach.
Robert dressed and went into the kitchen where his mother and father stood in the doorway, looking out at the dark day. He was still clinging to the hope that his mother would let him stay home, but all she said was, “Be sure and wear your warm shirt, Robert.” There was not a word about staying home.
A horse’s hooves sounded outside. A man called, “Ready, Mr. Shaft?”
Robert’s father answered, “Be right with you,” as he put on his yellow slicker and hat.
“Are you going to help build up the dam on Indian River?” Robert asked his father.
“Yes. Every man in town is needed there, Robert. After a week of rain Pinehills’ reservoir is in danger of spilling over.”
Robert’s mother looked worried. “Indian River runs right beside the schoolhouse,” she said. “What if the dam should break?”
Robert’s father tried to ease her concern. “Don’t worry, Mother,” he said. “We’ll be there to watch it all day.”
After his father had gone Robert sat down at the table. He wasn’t hungry and he wanted to say, “I don’t feel well, Mother,” or, “Maybe I should stay home to be with you,” but she would know he was only making excuses.
“Eat your breakfast or you’ll be late for school,” Mother insisted, so Robert choked down a few mouthfuls and then, with dragging footsteps, he set out under gray clouds that sagged nearly to the tops of the trees. Down the hill he trudged, his feet swishing through the wet leaves. He sniffed the brown smell of mud. I wish I could walk to some faraway, enchanted place and never have to go to school again, he thought.
But Robert soon reached the clearing where the one-room schoolhouse stood.
Two girls immediately ran up to meet him. Freckled Rebecca skipped on one side of Robert, and Patricia walked on the other side of him. Together they chanted, “Bobby Shafto’s gone to sea, Silver buckles on his knee. He’ll come back and marry me. Pretty Bobby Shafto.”
Then both girls giggled and Robert continued on to school, feeling miserable and lonely. He couldn’t remember who first used the nursery rhyme to tease him, but soon every child in school began chanting, “Pretty Bobby Shafto!” whenever they saw him. Robert felt he didn’t have a single friend.
When he reached the schoolhouse, Robert slumped in his seat in the back row where he was the only sixth-grader. He watched the teacher write words on the chalkboard. Robert thought Miss Parker was the one pleasant thing about school.
Turning around she asked, “Has the rain started again, Robert?”
“No, Ma’am, but the clouds are full,” he answered.
“Oh, dear,” Miss Parker said, looking worriedly out the window. “Maybe I should send the children home. Indian River runs so near the school.”
“My father said every man in town is watching the dam,” Robert told her.
“Well, then I’ll begin school,” she said. “Will you please ring the bell for me?”
Students hurried past Robert as he stood beside the door clanging the brass bell. No one spoke to him except to whisper, “Pretty Bobby Shafto!” or tease, “Where’s the silver buckles for your knee?”
Slumped in his seat, Robert watched Miss Parker as she listened to the first-graders read. He couldn’t help smiling when Amy Andrews read aloud. She looked too tiny to be in school.
A rumble of thunder and a crackle of lightning made Robert and the other children jump. Just as Miss Parker said, “Don’t be frightened!” another rumbling noise shook the schoolhouse. It was the loudest sound Robert had ever heard, a heavy shuddering rumble very different from thunder.
Everyone in the room except Robert sat so still they appeared frozen. He rushed to the door and shouted, “The dam broke! Here comes the water!”
The boys and girls began to cry as Miss Parker ran to the door and stood beside Robert. They looked out at the water swirling and roaring only a few feet away from where they stood. No longer held by the dam, the water leaped from the riverbed, rushing toward the schoolhouse. Water was coming inside the schoolroom now and Robert’s feet were wet.
“Robert, help me push my desk under the attic trapdoor,” Miss Parker directed. “Then lift the children up to me if you can.”
Robert and the teacher shoved the desk beneath the little opening in the ceiling. He put a chair on the table, then climbed up to push the door aside and helped her into the attic.
“Get in line by grades,” she called down. “Youngest first. Robert will lift you up to me.”
One by one, as the water rose higher in the room, the children climbed onto the desk. Straining, Robert lifted each child high enough for Miss Parker to grab his wrists and pull him into the dim, dry attic.
When the last child in line was safely inside Robert started to climb up himself. “Amy? Where’s Amy Andrews?” Miss Parker called.
The other children cried, “She isn’t here! Where’s Amy?”
Robert jumped off the desk into the still-rising water and began to search the schoolroom. He finally found Amy clinging to a chair that had floated into a corner.
“Put your arms around my neck, Amy,” Robert told her. “Hold tight so I can lift you into the attic.”
But Robert’s legs weren’t strong enough to carry both of them through the swirling water. No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn’t reach the desk.
Up in the attic the children kept calling, “Come on, Robert!” He saw Miss Parker’s anxious expression just as the rushing water swept him off his feet and through the open door.
Robert never knew exactly what happened next. He only remembered swimming as hard as he could with Amy’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Then they were on a log that swept them swiftly downstream.
Robert couldn’t tell where they were. Sometimes it seemed he and Amy stayed in one place while trees and houses rushed by. Other times he looked down at the racing water and grew so dizzy he was afraid he would fall off the log. Then he’d shut his eyes and tell Amy softly, “Don’t let go!”
At a place where the river curved, the log slammed into a high bank and stuck there, but Robert knew he couldn’t climb the steep, muddy bank. His legs felt like soaked wood and it was almost more than he could do to hang onto the log with his weary arms. Amy was crying and Robert held her close as he prayed, “Heavenly Father, please send someone to find us.”
The long hours seemed to creep slowly by. At last the most welcome sound Robert had ever heard came from the bank above them. It was his father’s voice. “Here they are!” he shouted. “I’ve found Robert and Amy and they’re alive!”
It was two weeks before the flood damage was cleaned up and the school could reopen. And as Robert set out through the early morning sunshine he wondered how it would seem to be back in the schoolroom again. He was glad he had been able to help Miss Parker but he dreaded the teasing of the children as much as ever.
Walking slowly, Robert was nearly to the schoolhouse when he heard someone shout, “Here he comes!” Then someone else called, “It’s our Bobby Shaft who went to sea!”
Suddenly Robert was surrounded by all the boys and girls in the little school. Everyone was happy to see him. And even the old nursery rhyme sounded good when Amy Andrews ran up, slipped her small hand inside of Robert’s big one and said, “My pretty Bobby Shafto!”

I love sports. In grade school and junior high school, I dreamed of completing a pass with time running out and winning the state football championship. I had similar fantasies regarding a last-second shot in basketball and a home run in the bottom of the ninth.
As a sophomore in high school, because I had a small frame, I decided basketball was my game. I was quick and had a good two-handed set shot (ask your father or grandfather what that was). Tryouts were held in October. I played hard, stole the ball on several occasions, and made a few long outside set shots; however, when the coach posted the names of the team members, mine was not on the list. I was crushed. My dream of having the cheerleaders swarm all over me after my game-winning shot was lost forever.
I regrouped by summer and decided maybe football was my game after all. At tryouts I put on the helmet, shoulder pads, and other gear. On my way out to the practice field, I remember looking in the mirror and thinking to myself, “Hey, you look taller! And when you turn sideways, you don’t disappear!” But then I noticed the big guys looked bigger too.
In the first few drills, I felt fine. My speed allowed me to come in near the first in the sprints, and my confidence soared. Then came scrimmage. I was given the ball and told to run straight up the middle. As I got to the line, I was met by the biggest defensive lineman on the team. He planted his helmet in the pit of my stomach, wrapped his arms around my thighs, picked me up, threw me on the ground, and jumped on top of me. The only reason I didn’t fumble is that the ball was implanted permanently in my rib cage. As my friends carried my limp, breathless body off the field, I heard the coach say to the tackle, “Ooh! Wow! Nice hit, Kimber!”
Once again, my dreams were shattered—not to mention my ribs and ego. In the weeks that followed, I began to look around to see what else life had to offer. It took a while, but I made a marvelous discovery: there is a lot more to life than sports.
I looked at my classmates in a different light. In addition to the respect I already had for good athletes, I began to appreciate the individual talents of each person. I marveled at those gifted with artistic ability. I looked at their paintings and thrilled at their talent. Others had developed their talents in music. I watched in amazement as a pianist played classical music. A dancer fascinated me with her grace and creativity. I read things written by a poetic pen. I laughed and cried as I watched our thespians perform. They actually made me forget who they were and convinced me they had become the characters on the stage. Some of my friends excelled in academics.
In short, a whole new world began to appear. I remember thinking how sad it was that these talents didn’t receive the publicity and glory afforded our athletic heroes. I thought of the hours, days, weeks, months, and years of practice, study, and meditation it took to develop these talents without having the encouragement of a cheering crowd or being elected homecoming queen.
I wish I could propel each of you into the 25th reunion of your high school class; for those of you who are seniors, that will be in the year 2013. You would gain a perspective which would prove invaluable. You would find yourself much more interested in what your classmates were than in what they wore. If you could observe your classmates 25 years from now, and then return with that knowledge to your present situation, there would be quite an adjustment in your thinking.
With this perspective you would realize that the shy boy sitting behind you is to become a medical doctor and, besides, that his acne will clear up. You would realize that the bookworm blonde to the left of you will become a journalist, and with contact lenses she is quite attractive at that.
You would be able to look inside your classmates and see their spiritual qualities, the qualities they will take with them into the next life and throughout eternity. You would be proud of their accomplishments and rejoice in each other’s successes.
One of my favorite examples of this genuine appreciation we can have for others was recorded by Alma. He had been on a mission and was separated from Ammon and his brethren, who were on a mission of their own. When they finally got back together after many years, Alma said, “God hath called me by a holy calling, to preach the word unto this people, and hath given me much success, in the which my joy is full.
“But I do not joy in my own success alone, but my joy is more full because of the success of my brethren. …
“Now, when I think of the success of these my brethren my soul is carried away, even to the separation of it from the body, as it were, so great is my joy” (Alma 29:13–14, 16).
Our Father in Heaven blessed us with variety. He gave us water and dry land, he gave us various forms of plant and animal life, and he gave us individual personalities and talents. Life is more interesting because we have variety. We will have more joy and be more successful as individuals if we are aware of the people around us, our family, and our friends, as individuals and appreciate them for who and what they are. You will have won a great personal battle when the successes of your classmates become a joy in your life rather than a jealousy.
Our quest for exaltation is our own. Entrance into the celestial kingdom isn’t determined by competition or popularity; we don’t have to “beat anyone out” to get there. And when we greet each other in the celestial kingdom, we will know what Alma meant by “my joy is more full because of the success of my brethren.”

In fleeing with Joseph from a mob, a young man reported, “sickness and fright had robbed me of my strength. Joseph had to decide whether to leave me to be captured by the mob, or endanger himself by rendering aid. Choosing the latter course, he lifted me upon his broad shoulders and bore me with occasional rest through the swamp and darkness. Several hours later we emerged upon the only road and soon reached safety. Joseph’s herculean strength permitted him to [save] my life.” (New Era, Dec. 1973, p. 19.)

Years ago I was admitted to a graduate program for which I was poorly prepared. The competition was fierce. On the first day the professor said, “Look at the person on your left and on your right. One of the three of you will not be here at the end.” The schedule of classes filled the five weekdays from early until late. Preparations for the next day’s classes lasted until nearly midnight, often beyond. And then late on Friday a major paper was assigned, with no way to prepare until the assignment was given and with the paper due at nine o’clock on Saturday night.
I can still remember the hours of frantic study and writing on those Saturdays. And as the nine o’clock deadline approached, crowds of students would stand around the slot in the wall of the library to cheer as the last desperate student would dash up to throw in his completed paper, just before the box inside the building was pulled away. Then the students would go back to their homes and to their rooms for a few hours of celebration before starting preparations for Monday classes. Most of them would study all day on Sunday and late into the night.
For me, there was no party on Saturday and no studying on Sunday. The Lord gave me an opportunity to test His promise. Early in that year He called me, through a humble district president, to Church service that took me across the hills of New England from the early hours of Sunday to late in the evening, visiting the tiny branches and the scattered Latter-day Saints in the area. I found joy in going to those places, loving the Lord, and trusting that somehow He would keep His promise. He always did. In the few minutes I could give to preparation on Monday morning before classes, ideas and understanding came to more than match what others gained from a Sunday of study.

My mother passed away last November. For the last six years of her life she needed full time caregivers due to her cognitive decline. In her earlier years she was a middle school earth science teacher. It was hard to watch her struggle with memory loss and the inability sometimes to express herself or to even make simple daily living decisions. It was very hard for me, her daughter, to switch roles with her. It was hard for her too. I knew she was not going to get better. Sometimes our mortal bodies have done their work and they experience what they are meant to experience in mortality.

At my father's graveside service, six years before my mother's death, a friend brought about 20 homing pigeons whose wings had been dyed beautiful colors of the rainbow. They were released at the end of the service and we marveled at the beautiful ribbon of color they made as they flew in a beautiful pattern on their way home.

My mother remarked to me, "At my funeral, forget the flowers, I want those birds." So when it came time for my mother's graveside service we made arrangements for the birds. After the dedication of the grave, the birds were released. We watched them fly together against the dark green backdrop of the beautiful Koolau Mountains and then were shocked to see the birds form the shape of a heart. The funeral director was standing next to me and she said in a hushed voice, "Did you see that! The birds made a heart!" I wasn't quite sure I had seen it myself, but when she said that I knew that I had seen it. For me this was a message of renewal from my mother and my Heavenly Father. My mother was renewed. She was free.

At the beginning of my next school year, I got “peer-pressured” into going to my first school dance. I asked a girl who I had sort of talked to before in a class. She probably barely knew who I was, but she said she would go with me. This forced me to talk to her. I actually enjoyed the group date and became good friends with the girl I went with.
After that, I realized that girls are just normal people too. Everyone who is different from me is just another person, same as I am. We’re all children of God, so why would I avoid someone because of their different looks, personalities, or interests?
Now, some of my closest friends are girls, and a lot of my guy friends are completely different from anyone I thought I would spend time with two years ago.

I introduce next a gentle, faith-filled man who epitomized the peace and joy which the gospel of Jesus Christ can bring into one’s life.
Late one evening on a Pacific isle, a small boat slipped silently to its berth at the crude pier. Two Polynesian women helped Meli Mulipola from the boat and guided him to the well-worn pathway leading to the village road. The women marveled at the bright stars, which twinkled in the midnight sky. The moonlight guided them along their way. However, Meli Mulipola could not appreciate these delights of nature—the moon, the stars, the sky—for he was blind.
Brother Mulipola’s vision had been normal until a fateful day when, while working on a pineapple plantation, light turned suddenly to darkness and day became perpetual night. He was depressed and despondent until he learned the good news of the gospel of Jesus Christ. His life was brought into compliance with the teachings of the Church, and he once again felt hope and joy.
Brother Mulipola and his loved ones had made a long voyage, having learned that one who held the priesthood of God was visiting among the islands of the Pacific. He sought a blessing, and it was my privilege, along with another who held the Melchizedek Priesthood, to provide that blessing to him. As we finished, I noted that tears were streaming from his sightless eyes, coursing down his brown cheeks, and tumbling finally upon his native dress. He dropped to his knees and prayed: “O God, Thou knowest I am blind. Thy servants have blessed me that my sight might return. Whether in Thy wisdom I see light or whether I see darkness all the days of my life, I will be eternally grateful for the truth of Thy gospel, which I now see and which provides the light of my life.”
He rose to his feet and, smiling, thanked us for providing the blessing. He then disappeared into the still of the night. Silently he came; silently he departed. But his presence I shall never forget. I reflected upon the message of the Master: “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”

The day after returning from his mission, Ben Jansen remembered a promise made to his last companion. Rummaging through his wallet, he found the scribbled number and dialed.
“Hello, is this Sue Hopkins?” he asked after she answered.
“This is Susan Hopkins.”
“I’m Ben Jansen.”
After a long pause, she asked, “Should that be important to me?”
“Until yesterday I was Elder Wallace’s companion.”
“You were David’s companion?” she squealed with delight. “How is he?”
“Just fine. He asked me to call and say hello, except he said your name was Sue.”
“Since he’s been gone, I’ve decided I like Susan better. How long were you with him?”
“Six months four days and eight and a half hours.”
“So you must have gotten really close to him.”
“Oh yes, he was a wonderful companion. So neat and clean. We painted the kitchen four times while I was with him—couldn’t get the right shade at first.”
“Did he tell you about me?” she asked.
“You like catsup on your scrambled egg sandwiches.”
“He told you that?” she asked.
“We were discussing odd eating habits. He couldn’t understand the way I ate.”
“Oh,” she said politely. “Why? Do you eat funny?”
“I had a few stomach problems while I was with him and ate a lot of yogurt. I was afraid of getting an ulcer.”
After a long pause, she asked, “Didn’t you get along as companions?”
“Oh, did I give you that impression?” Ben chuckled. “We got along just fine. Oh sure, there were problems at first, but with the help of our mission president, we worked them out.”
“What problems?” she timidly asked.
“Nothing really. I grew to love the guy.”
She gave a sigh of relief. “That makes two of us. After he’s released, we plan on getting married.”
“You can be proud of him. He’s a wonderful missionary.”
“I know.”
“One thing you should know—he snores like crazy.”
“Very bad?” she asked uneasily.
“Unbelievable. It shook the entire apartment, but I adjusted to it.”
“You did?” she asked, her voice betraying her concern. “How?”
“I slept on the porch. Of course, in the winter it was cold, but they say it’s healthy.”
After another long pause, she asked, “What else did he say about me?”
“He talked about how you two were a team, and how you’d bake bread and raise a garden and sew his clothes and raise chickens and milk cows and work as an auto mechanic and a secretary while he finished college.”
“Oh,” she said, clearing her throat. “Of all the companions you had, how would you rate David?”
“For cleanliness,” he said emphatically, “I’d rate him the very highest.”
“But as far as being able to get along with others, how would you rate him?”
Seconds slipped by as he desperately tried to find a diplomatic answer.
“Hello?” she said. “Are you still there?”
“Just thinking.”
“Was it that bad living with him?” she asked.
“No, really. It was fine.”
“Would you have wanted to spend more time with him?”
“Gee,” he stammered, “I learned so much from him. I don’t think I could have learned another thing.”
“Please, will you tell me the problems you had with him?” she pleaded.
Suddenly his fight for diplomacy was lost. “Have you ever painted a stupid kitchen four times in six months?” he exploded. “Other elders played basketball on diversion days, but not us. No, we went to paint stores and compared color swatches!”
He realized his sudden outburst had stunned her, and he felt rotten. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I love him like a brother, and I wish you both every happiness. Good-bye.”
“Don’t hang up! I have more questions.”
“I’ve been unfair to him. We had good times, too. It was just a little personality conflict, but I’m sure you’ll get along with him just fine. One word of advice though—decide on the color of your apartment before you marry him.”
“Can you come over to my dorm so we can talk?” she asked.
It was an hour’s drive from his home to her dorm. When she answered the door, he had a hard time recognizing her from David’s description. Instead of a timid clinging vine, he was met by a confident, athletic-looking girl. They said their hellos and sat down on the couch in the dorm living room.
“You’re a lot different than I pictured you,” he said.
“How did you picture me?”
“Shy and dependent, always leaning on David for protection. But you don’t look like a leaner to me.”
Her warm smile made him feel very comfortable.
“I was only 17 when I met David my first semester here. Being from a small farming community, I guess I was scared, and he helped me so much. He even helped me pick classes to take.”
“Like what?”
“Just before he left, he had me taking typing, auto repair, and midwifery. He wanted me to learn practical skills to bring in money after we were married and he was in college.”
“Auto repair?” Ben asked. “Could you look at my car? It’s got a little pinging sound.”
“I didn’t take any more courses like that after he left,” she said. “I switched to physical education. I’m on the swim team.”
“You look like a swimmer—very sleek, like you’d slide through the water easily.”
“Do you play sports?” she asked.
“Football. I’m going out in the fall.”
“You look like a football player—very powerful, like you’d slide through the other team easily.”
Ben returned her smile and realized he was out of practice at flirting.
“Tell me about the problems you had with David,” she asked.
“You must think we were at each other’s throats, but missionary work is too important to let personality conflicts slow it down. Actually we hardly argued at all. I just learned to adjust. I’m sure the experience will make me a better husband. In fact, every potential husband should have a chance to live with him for a while to learn to adjust.”
“Give me an example,” she asked.
He gave her an embarrassed look and said, “You’ll think it’s such a little thing.”
“If it was important to you, I’d like to hear about it.”
“Well, one time I made a special dessert, a plum pudding. It took half our diversion day, but it turned out great.”
“I’d like to get your recipe,” she said.
“David just wolfed it down, didn’t say a word, and then left the table for me to clean up.”
“And that made you feel unappreciated, right?”
“He could’ve said something,” Ben grumbled. He noticed the worry on her face and added, “But I’m sure he’ll compliment you on your cooking. You’re probably a very good cook.”
“I don’t know how to make plum pudding,” she confessed.
“Take my advice—don’t bother to learn.”
“What else did he say about me?”
“He kept saying he was the sunshine of your life, like in the song, and how much you needed him. It sounds nice, but to tell you the truth, it’s not my ideal. I want my wife to be a partner.”
“Oh, I agree,” she said quickly.
They found themselves looking at each other with a puzzled expression.
“Did you have someone waiting for you during your mission?” she asked.
“Yes, she’s married now.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Have you dated much while David’s been gone?” he asked as innocently as he could.
“Not up to now, but …”
“Yes?”
“Maybe I should, just in case.”
“Oh, but I wouldn’t want you to date just anyone. You know how returned missionaries are on this campus. No sir, for David’s sake, I’d better take you out a few times—just until he gets back, of course.”
“That’d be nice,” she purred.
And so they dated. Their common interests in sports led them to go skiing and play racquetball and swim and go dancing. And that was just on their first date.
It didn’t take more than a month before he realized he was in trouble. The social standing of a returned missionary who goes home and falls in love with his companion’s girl is just above that of a snake—except snakes are held in much higher regard among missionaries.
The night before David returned, they took a long walk.
“I guess I won’t be seeing you much after tomorrow,” he said.
“Maybe not.”
“He’s a lucky guy.”
“You’ve been a real friend to me,” she said.
“Susan, I’ve never told you how I feel about you. I promised myself that until David got back and you decided about him, I’d just be a friend. The last thing I wanted to do was take his girl away from him.”
“I can’t be transferred like the title to a car. You can’t take me away from him, can you? It’s a decision I make myself, but I owe him a certain loyalty, at least until tomorrow.”
The plan for David’s return was that his family and Susan would meet him at the airport. Unfortunately, three hours before the plane was to arrive, his family called her to say they had all come down with the flu. They asked if Ben and Susan could pick him up.
The plane was on time. As David came into the terminal from the plane, he saw them, rushed forward, and was buried in their hugs.
As they left the airport, David suggested they drop by Temple Square. They walked around for an hour and then decided to have something to eat at the coffee shop of the Hotel Utah.
“Hey, Elder Jansen,” David said, giving the waitress the menu after they’d ordered, “this is just like old times, isn’t it—us eating together again?”
“Yes,” Ben said, wondering if he should order some yogurt.
“Ben and I had some great times as companions, Sue.”
“Her name is Susan,” Ben said.
“He worked hard when he was with me. I made sure about that.”
“I always worked hard,” Ben added, anxious that Susan not think he had been lazy on his mission.
“Yeah, but you let down once in a while,” David said, grinning smugly.
“When?” Ben challenged.
“When I suggested we paint the living room.”
Ben took a long drink of water before he trusted himself to speak again.
“I never complained, elder. I even held my tongue when you said you developed an allergy to washing dishes.”
“Please,” Susan said, “don’t argue.”
“We’re not arguing,” Ben said. “We’re discussing; that’s all. While I was with him on my mission, we concentrated on working together, but there were always a couple of things I wanted to discuss, and now we can. I just want to say one thing, David. I slaved all day making you a nice plum pudding and what thanks did I get?”
“Plum pudding?” David asked. “What plum pudding?”
“Oh yeah, and I suppose you forgot the nice lemon sauce on top of it too?”
“David,” Susan suggested, “I think you should thank Ben for his pudding.”
“I don’t remember any pudding.”
Ben realized his face was beet red. Susan placed her hand on David’s shoulder and pleaded, “I’m sure it was a wonderful pudding. What harm is there in thanking him?”
“It must not have been that great if I can’t remember it, right?”
Susan turned next to Ben. “Aren’t you forgetting something? You haven’t thanked David for all he did for you. I bet he must’ve cooked some yummy dishes for you.”
“That’s just it,” Ben grumbled, “he never cooked anything. He said he was allergic to the kitchen. I cooked everything, I washed everything, and what thanks do I get?”
Susan nervously wiped her forehead and sighed, “Good grief! I feel like a marriage counselor. Look, let’s just drop the subject of puddings, okay?”
At that point the soup and crackers arrived. They all were relieved to be able to concentrate on the food. Once Ben looked up to see David grabbing half a dozen crackers and crumbling them into his soup, leaving one cracker for Susan and himself to share.
He didn’t even look up as David slurped his soup.
After the meal was over, they walked around the lobby of the hotel.
“Sue, you really deserve an award for waiting for me,” David said, looking at a five hundred dollar necklace in one of the hotel shops, then moving on.
“Her name is Susan.”
“Typing up all my notes and sending cookies once a month.”
“Cookies?” Ben asked. “What cookies? I never saw any cookies while I was with you.”
“Oh, well …” David stammered.
“You held out on cookies?” Ben asked, shocked and disappointed.
“Well, I …”
“Is that what kept coming in those packages? When did you eat ’em?”
“Well, I may have nibbled on one or two in the morning while you were in the shower.”
“How could you hold out on cookies?” Ben asked.
“I didn’t want you to get cavities,” David lamely explained.
“Well, what about your cavities?”
“I was raised in an area with natural fluoride. I don’t get cavities.”
Ben looked forlornly at Susan and muttered quietly, “He ate cookies without me. That’s the lowest thing a companion can do.”
“No, it isn’t,” David said. “We talked about that once after a zone conference, and we decided the lowest thing an elder can do is go home and fall in love with his companion’s girl.”
Ben started to cough. When he could finally speak again, he looked at Susan and said, “He ate your cookies without giving me a single one.”
“Look, if you want,” she said, “I’ll make some just for you.”
“I hardly think that’d be appropriate,” David objected.
“Why not?” Susan asked.
“It’s not right for a girl who’s engaged to bake cookies for another guy.”
Susan touched David’s hand gently. “I think we need to talk about that some more.”
David pursed his lips thoughtfully and gave in. “Okay, one batch of cookies.”
“That’s not what we need to talk about,” Susan said.
“We’ll talk about cookies later,” David said. “Right now I want you to remember back two years when we were here for supper. It was the night before I entered the mission home. Remember, my neighbor, the one who used to work here, gave us a tour of one of the bridal suites because he knew we were planning on marriage after my mission. Do you remember that, Sue?”
“Her name is Susan,” Ben glumly said.
Before Susan could object, David was at the desk making arrangements for the manager to show them the bridal suite.
On the way up in the elevator, Ben stood close to her on one side, with David next to her on the other side.
“Planning a wedding, huh?” the manager asked.
“Sure are,” David grinned.
The confused manager looked at the three of them and asked, “Which one is the groom?”
“That’s funny!” David roared. “Sue, he thinks Ben’d marry you. No, I’m the groom, and Ben here is just an old missionary companion.”
The manager let them into the vacant suite.
“Will you look at that?” David said, looking at the walls. “Sue, look, they’ve painted the room since we looked at it two years ago.”
“It was painted last spring,” the manager explained.
“What’s the name of the color?” David asked.
“I’m not sure,” the manager said.
“It could be honey butter … but it might be toasted coconut too,” David said.
“Nobody’s ever asked about the color before,” the manager said.
“Hey, Sue, what do you think if, after our honeymoon, we paint our bedroom this same color?”
“Oh, no,” Ben moaned, shaking his head.
“Of course, we’d want to get it the same exact shade.”
“You poor girl,” Ben said, patting her on the back.
“Hey, this’d be a super time to make it official, to announce our engagement,” David said cheerfully.
“David,” Ben said, “you’ve only been home from your mission for an hour. Wouldn’t you like to go home and at least unpack before you get engaged? You need to get to know her again.”
“Sue and I know each other.”
“If you knew her, you wouldn’t call her Sue.”
“Sue, Susan, what’s the difference?”
“David,” Susan said gently, “you’re not the sunshine of my life anymore in the way you used to be.”
“I’m not? Who is?”
“Me.”
“Boy, talk about conceited.”
“With you I was always little Sue, the shy girl you helped sign up for auto repair and typing. But I’ve grown up and overcome my fears. I can’t go back to being Sue again.”
“You’re not my little Sue?”
“I’m afraid not.”
David whipped out his handkerchief and energetically blew his nose. “Excuse me,” he blurted out, “I’ll be waiting in the car. I need some time to think.” Then he rushed out of the room.
“Well, that’s it,” Susan said, shrugging her shoulders. “Two years to the day, and now it’s over.”
“You waited for him. You sent him cookies. Nobody could’ve done any better.”
“I’d like to close up the room and get back to the desk,” the manager announced.
“Susan,” Ben said, wiping away a tear from her cheek, “I told you I wouldn’t say anything until you made up your mind, and now you have.”
The manager looked at his watch. “I really must get back.”
“Could we see the view of the temple from the window?” Ben asked, trying to set the stage.
Reluctantly the manager opened the drapes. “I love you, Susan. Let’s get married in the temple and reserve the room for a month from now.”
Susan sat down quickly on the couch. “I’ve heard of people being fast on the rebound after breaking up, but this is ridiculous.”
“Will you marry me?” Ben asked.
“What about the other one?” the confused manager asked, “the one who said he was going to marry her?”
“The reservation will be just for her and me,” Ben said.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Susan said, shaking her head. “Give me a little time to think.”
Down at the car, David sat and brooded as they traveled along the interstate. Finally he said, “Sue, I have something to say. I know you waited for me, but I don’t think this is going to work out. I think we should break up. Now I know this is a shock for you, but I’m sure it’s for the best.”
“Okay, David,” she said, “if that’s what you think.”
David spent several minutes consoling her for losing him.
Finally Ben interrupted. “I have a little something to say too. After you left, I asked her to marry me.”
“You asked Sue to marry you?” David gasped.
“In the five minutes I was waiting in the car?”
“That’s right,” Ben said.
There was a long pause. Finally David snapped, “You’re just trying to get back at me because of the cookies, aren’t you?”
“That’s not it. I love her.” Nobody spoke for five minutes.
“Are you going to marry him, Sue?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Don’t do it, Sue! Look, I lived with him for six months, and the most sickening sight I ever saw on my mission was watching him use dental floss. And his dirty socks—he just throws ’em on the floor and expects me to pick ’em up.”
“But at least he knows me the way I am now,” Susan said.
“So you might end up marrying him?”
“Yes, David, I might.”
“This is the lowest thing a companion can do!” David said, turning to accuse Ben.
Another five minutes of silence.
“Well, let me tell you something!” David barked. “While I was waiting in the car, I had a chance to remember back. And you know what?”
“What?”
“THE PLUM PUDDING WAS AWFUL!”
They rode several more miles in silence. Finally David turned to Sue and said, “It’s not too early to begin thinking about the color for your kitchen.”
“I made up my mind!” Susan cried out.
“All right!” Ben shouted. “I’ll make the hotel reservation as soon as I get home, and we’ll need to get temple recommends.”
“Rats!” David complained.
“I’m going to do what I always wanted to do, and that’s go to BYU in Hawaii next semester. It’ll give me time to decide about marriage. Besides, I may never get another chance to go there. Ben, will you take me home first?”
They all sat in silence until they reached her dorm.
“I’ll write every day,” Ben said, as she entered the dorm.
“I will too,” David added.
Then Ben continued south to David’s house.
“You ought to have Sue look at your motor to see what that funny noise is,” David suggested.
“I already asked. She says she doesn’t know anything.”
“Are you going to college?” David asked, breaking the silence again.
“Yeah.”
“Living at home?”
“No, I decided to live in Provo. It’s an off-campus apartment.”
“Any vacancies in your apartment?” David asked.
“One,” Ben said, biting off the word.
“One vacancy,” David said. “Mind if I move in next semester?”
“I don’t think it would work out,” Ben said glumly.
“There are laws against discrimination,” David said.
“It’s not discrimination! I just don’t think it would work out!”
Two minutes of silence.
“Why not?”
“Because I love Susan and so do you. That’s why.”
A minute of silence.
“Well, then we have something in common, don’t we?”
“We don’t have anything in common!” Ben roared.
Another minute of silence.
“Well, what about the time we fasted and prayed for the Sorenson couple? And what about the Johnson family we taught and baptized? We have that in common, don’t we?”
Ben remembered back to the times they had shared which were spiritual, when they had felt the influence of the Holy Ghost. That influence had united them in spite of their individual differences.
Several minutes later, Ben quietly said, “All right, you can move in.”
“Thanks.”
“On one condition. If you mention, even mention painting a room, you’re out. Do you understand that?”
“Clear as a bell,” David said.
After letting David out at his home, Ben drove back to Provo. On his way, he stopped by a grocery store to pick up some yogurt. He wondered if he’d be using it on a regular basis now.

It was just an old board Kristen and I had found—maybe 10 feet long and just wide enough to sit on. The desert sun had already started to turn the board gray. But, even faded, it was the perfect addition to our makeshift playground. In fact, other than a lot of sand and a few toy trucks, it was the only thing in our playground. Laid across a big rock sticking up in the backyard, that old board became a teeter-totter, kind of like the one at the park by Grandma’s house. Of course, our teeter-totter didn’t go as high as the one at the park. But it was ours.
One day we were teetering and tottering when a couple of men came to visit. I didn’t know what they wanted, but they talked to Mom in the kitchen for a while. Kristen, who was a year older than I was, said they were from church—the new one we had just started going to. One of them was young, and the other had white hair and a white beard. He was the oldest man I’d ever seen. As they were leaving, the old man walked over to us and watched as we went up and down on the teeter-totter.
“That’s a nice looking board you have there,” he said. “Would you mind if I took it with me for a while? I could sure use a board like that.”
We both looked at Mom, who was standing by the kitchen door. She told us to give the man the board. So Kristen and I got off our teeter-totter, and the man put the board in his truck. He and the man with him said good-bye and drove away.
“Mom, what were those men doing here?” I grumbled.
“They’re our home teachers; the church we went to on Sunday sent them to make sure we’re okay.”
“I’m okay, but I was better when I had my teeter-totter.”
Mom ran her fingers through my hair. “I know, honey. It’s almost dinnertime. Go inside and wash up.”
Most kids would have probably put up a fuss when someone took their favorite toy, but we knew if Mom said it, we should do it.
That night, Morn said the old man’s name was Brother Andelin. My four-year-old mouth had to work to get his name right. Mom said Brother Andelin lived on the other side of town but would come and visit again.
A few days later, I was on the porch when Brother Andelin’s truck came rattling up the drive.
“Hello, Bobby. Would you like to see what I built out of that board you gave me?” he said, getting out of his truck.
I ran behind him to the back of his truck. He pulled out the board, now painted green with a seat and handle at each end. In the middle, on either side, were some steel rings. Also in the truck was a big, wooden, pyramid-shaped box, painted the same color as the board.
“Is your sister here?” Brother Andelin asked. “Run and get her while I set this up in the yard.”
I ran into the kitchen and down the hall. “Kristen,” I yelled, gasping for air. “Brother Andelin brought our board. But he, he—come see.”
Mom followed as Kristen and I ran outside. Brother Andelin had fastened the board on top of the box.
“It’s a real teeter-totter,” Kristen whispered to me. “Is it for us?”
“I don’t know. Ask him.”
“You ask him.”
“Brother Andelin,” I said, stepping closer, “is this for us? For keeps?”
“It’s your board, isn’t it?” he said. “Besides, what am I gonna do with a seesaw? My kids have all grown up.”
Kristen and I climbed on the new teeter-totter. It wasn’t like before. When we went up, we went off the ground way up in the air. Brother Andelin laughed as we played, his teeth smiling from behind his long, white beard.
After that, when Brother Andelin visited, Kristen and I didn’t keep playing. We would go inside to listen to his stories about growing up in Utah, about his pioneer grandpa, and about this new church we were going to.

Starting in the middle of the week by cleaning all the salt and pepper shakers in the kitchen, the girls of the San Jose First Ward also washed walls and cleaned the cupboards. Then they joined the boys in digging weeds from a patch of ground near the chapel that is used for an herb garden.

“I didn’t even know we had an herb garden,” Paula Rudy, 18, said as she carried a pile of weeds to a trash can.

The San Jose Second Ward Scouts and Venturers rejuvenated the outside of their chapel by painting the eaves above outside entrances. Laurels and Mia Maids cleaned all the filters and grills for the heating and air-conditioning system. Then they painted the bathrooms and locker rooms, filling in and repairing joints and cracks. Everyone planned to return later in the week to finish the interior painting when the patches had dried.

“Work first, play later is pretty much what it was,” said Mike Black, 16. “That was neat because we worked on the service project first and that was altogether togetherness.”

The San Jose 18th Ward was in charge of the decorations for the dance. Jeanne Meeks, the Laurel adviser, said a month of planning was involved in the decorations. “The kids did it all. That’s one thing that made it so much fun for them,” she said, noting that several nonmembers helped in designing bow ties, eyes, and a hat that were attached to the Volkswagen.

A late-model Beetle had originally been chosen as the car to be brought into the gym. But when the dance committee tried to get it in the door, it was two inches too wide! Someone commented that older cars were smaller. The committee contacted Brother Bert Smith, a science teacher at one of the local schools, and they were able to squeeze his older car through the opening.

The dance committee also asked Brother Smith to use test tubes to set up a “mad scientist” booth at which he brewed root beer. With a wig on his head, surrounded by a cloud of dry ice “steam,” and dressed in a white lab coat, he served thirsty dancers throughout the evening.

Sister Carolyn Wright, the stake Young Women president, said she felt all the stake members involved in the service projects and in the planning of the other activities had learned some important lessons:
—That the young people of the stake were capable of generating ideas and following through on assignments, checking up on themselves to make sure everything was prepared.
—That cooperation between adults and youth is not only necessary, but fun as well.
—That guidelines provided to youth leaders, including suggestions on how to get ideas from bishopric youth committees and from Laurel, Mia Maid, Scout, and priest classes, are indeed helpful.

Sister Wright said, “We just followed the outlines given to us.” She added that youth leaders decided for themselves what activities they would like to have, drew up a list, and then narrowed down the possibilities until they felt they had a reasonable proposal. For example, Frank Taylor, a college student who is stake secretary of the Young Men, originated the chariot race idea.

Many of the service project participants agreed that their time had been well-spent.

“It was fun. I learned a lot from doing it, and I felt good afterwards. I’ve been happy all day,” said Steve Payton, a 16-year-old from the 18th Ward. David Booher, from the 13th Ward, said he felt the service projects were better organized than any he had participated in before.

Judy Nunn, 16, a First Ward member, said holding the service project and the games on the same day was beneficial. “Having it all in one day got a lot more people to come to the service project,” she said.

“I feel good about it,” said Hank Loy, 16, of the 13th Ward. “You feel just as good about a service project as the people you do it for.”

Even as the service projects were continuing, chariot construction was in the polishing stages. In the First Ward, the bishop filled in at the service project in place of Dave Holcomb, who had been working on the chariot since 6:00 A.M. At 1:00 P.M., when the vehicle was finally done, the team rolled it down the street to the high school.

“We put a stereo in it, and Brother Charles McClellan, the priests quorum adviser, helped with the wiring and balanced the weight,” Ron Fowler, a priest in the ward, explained. With the stereo playing the racing theme from the movie Ben Hur, the black chariot with gold trim attracted a lot of attention on its way to the stadium. Some people, when they heard there would be a chariot race, followed along out of curiosity.

One of the chariot builders in another ward gave up his bike for a week so he could use its wheels on the chariot. The 23rd Ward modeled a horse’s head out of aluminum foil to mount on the front of its entry.

Younger brothers and sisters were recruited as riders because of their light weight. In the 13th Ward the chariot construction was a family effort, as Phil Dold and his father designed and built their version of a Roman race car. Throughout the stake, Relief Society sisters sewed capes and fabricated helmets for the riders, including remodeled football helmets.

One ward installed carpeting and a CB radio in its chariot. And the Scouts in another ward spent several activity nights learning to weld as they built their entry.

As the racers, fans, and chariots arrived at the high school, the conversation sounded like one between automotive designers. Amateur engineers extolled the virtues of a low center of gravity, discussed pulling handle alignment, and debated the sturdiness of wheel and axle attachment to the frame.

“I thought nobody would be that interested in building the chariots because it would take a lot of time and effort,” said Dave Davis, 17, of the Second Ward. “But everybody really came through.”

Before the actual chariot race, several hours of games, designed for individual and group participation, offered a chance for recreation following a morning of hard work. To allow all of the young people to participate, adults were asked to be in charge of the different events. Colored tickets were used to limit the number of participants in a given activity at a given time.

The first contest was a balloon toss, with partners facing each other in two long lines down the center of the football field. Water-filled balloons were gently thrown between partners until only one couple remained with an unbroken balloon.

Following the balloon toss, ten other games were offered for individual competition. They included: (1) Duffle bag stuffing. With boxing gloves on, the contestant stuffed foam-rubber strips into a duffle bag, racing against the clock. (2) Spray bottle target practice. With a laundry spray bottle, each participant had to knock off a Ping-Pong ball perched atop a soda bottle. (3) Punch-drinking race. Slurping through a rubber tubing “straw” several feet long, the first person to empty a 32-ounce cup was the winner. (4) A gelatin-eating contest, with hands tied behind the back. (5) Marshmallow munching. Without the use of his hands, each contestant tried to be the one who could get the most marshmallows inside his mouth—and then close his lips. (6) Flying marshmallows. While riding a bicycle, the contestant attempted to catch a marshmallow—hung from the goal post on a piece of string—in his mouth. (7) Tricycle races (limited to those too big to ride a tricycle). (8) Blindfolded cotton-picker. A scarf was tied over the participants’ eyes. The object of the game was to spoon the greatest number of cotton balls into a bowl in 30 seconds. A stiff breeze made this a difficult project. (9) An obstacle course, including old tires, hurdles, and barrels to roll in. (10) Chocolate pudding pals. Teams were composed of three people. Two were blindfolded. One of them fed the other the pudding by following the directions of the third, who was not wearing a blindfold.

Each person was free to compete in as many individual events as he desired. These were followed by group games, which included a tug-of-war; a car-stuffing contest (28 crammed themselves into a Volkswagen); a battle over a huge, canvas ball, which could only be tossed over the goal-post by several people working together; and a contest to see how many people would fit in a four-foot circle.

A final contest before the chariot race also served to clean up the field. Each ward was given a large plastic sack, and the team with the most pieces of garbage in the bag at the end of the day was honored at the dance.

At last, the chariots were wheeled into position at the starting line. Two elimination heats of 220 yards apiece narrowed the field of six down to the three fastest teams.

“On your mark, get set, go!” the starter screamed. The speed was as fast as a 50-yard dash. Noise from the audience was so loud that Little League baseball players and their parents rushed from the other side of the school to see what was going on.

About halfway around the track, the all-girl 23rd Ward team fell behind. The other two teams were in a dead heat coming around the final turn.

On both chariots, the sprinters were nearly exhausted. Some, too tired to continue pulling, released the handles and dropped to the side of the track. The 13th Ward had only two men left, plus the rider, as the low-slung chariot pulled ahead of the First Ward’s team by four feet at the finish line.

A large banner with the number 13 on it was thrown into the air. The winners’ friends and families surrounded them, smiling, shaking hands, hugging each other, and saying, “I knew we could do it!”

Then, through the middle of the throng, President “Caesar” Brockbank pressed forward, bearing the trophy with him. He called for Kendall Hansen and Corian Taylor, who had pulled the winning chariot across the finish line. The crowd parted to let them pass, and the trophy was in their hands.

After the race, the youth of the stake were enthusiastic about the success of the day.

Karen Maury, 16, the 18th Ward Laurel president, said, “I feel the youth of the stake are beginning to gain a testimony of who we are. This whole weekend I’ve spent so much time with the Church that I know it’s going to really build me, to help me to do other things.”

Kathy Ricks, a 16-year-old 13th Warder, said, “I think the best part about it was the closeness everyone felt. I’ve never been to an event like that before, where I’ve made so many friends. You realized how much the youth are able to plan things, that they are capable.”

Mike Standard, 15, of the 13th Ward, added that “a lot of us brought friends who weren’t Mormons, and they really enjoyed it, because they saw what youth, working together, can do. They didn’t know people could just get together and do something and it could work like this did. It was a great missionary tool.”

The Second Ward’s Christan Linebarger, 16, summarized: “I’ve never seen the wards so close before. The spirit that was put across in the enthusiasm was really spectacular. I think that was the most special part of the day. It wasn’t important who won the chariot race or the tug-of-war, but it was important that the whole ward was together in whatever we were doing. That was the most special thing.”

Slowly the stadium emptied. The competitors and the fans went home to clean up and get ready for the dance. On Sunday the lessons learned in the race were emphasized during priesthood and Sunday School. At the fireside, members of the stake presidency drew analogies between pulling together as teams both in church work and in life, as well as stressing the ability of youth to engage in good, clean fun.

The lessons had meaning, because the day had been complete. Service to others was the lesson of the morning, and the need to work with others was evident in the games and in the stampede of chariots Saturday afternoon.

And as for fun, it was a good thing President Brockbank announced the Ben Hur Memorial Traveling Award as a traveling trophy, because it was obvious this would not be the last chariot race in the San Jose California Stake.