Gospel Story Finder

In verse 16 of Ephesians, Paul states that we should take up the shield of faith, wherewith we may be able to quench the fiery darts of the wicked. I learned another valuable lesson on faith as a young missionary in Valencia, Spain. My companion and I were proselyting on the streets of the city of Valencia when a taxi sped up alongside of us and the driver exited the vehicle in an absolute panic. We were not sure what we had done, we were frozen with fear for just a moment. The Taxi driver asked if we were Elders in the Mormon Church; now we were really concerned, but having faith, we responded in the affirmative. The taxi driver said that he had frantically been driving the city looking for us and then he quickly explained that he had a daughter in the intensive care unit at the hospital. He said the baby was two months premature and wasn’t expected to live. He further explained that he had once been a Mormon and he knew that if Elders of the church blessed this baby, surely she would live.

I had just recently been made a senior companion and knowing that I had never given a lifesaving blessing, I hesitated for a moment surmising, that this was too serious of a blessing for a senior companion to perform. He saw the concern on my face and reassured me that I could do it. We climbed into his cab and he sped to the hospital on the other side of the city. Upon entering the room, we were met with suspicious looks from the doctors and nurses. The church was relatively new in Spain and at the time, Mormons were not held in high regard. His wife was there, as well, and she looked weak from childbirth and what appeared to be a continuous flow of tears for the small infant who was lying in the incubator with tubes in her chest and throat. We approached the little glass case where the baby lay. She was no bigger than my hand and her breaths were long and inconsistent. Not knowing for sure what I was supposed to do, I asked the doctor if we could put oil on the baby’s head. In disgust, he exclaimed that I must be crazy as there was nothing that was supposed to touch the baby’s skin. The doctor then tried to convince the father that the blessing was useless, as the baby would not last the night. He told the father that his time would be better spent by summoning a catholic priest to come to the hospital to administer the last rights for the baby.

In spite of this pressure, the father insisted that my companion and I were Disciples of Jesus Christ and we had come to save the child. Nervously, we approached this small incubator and with each of us standing on opposite sides of the glass, we reached into the rubber gloves that extended into the incubator and put one finger each on the tiny head of the infant. We bypassed the anointing, as we were forbidden to put the oil on the head. Then, mustering all of the courage I had, I began to utter a blessing.

Brothers and sisters, I have prayed many times in my life and have given many blessings, but in this instance it was different. For one of the few times in my life up to that point, I began to speak to God. I pronounced our priesthood and I began to bless the baby. These were not my words and as they flowed from my mouth; I remember being shocked at what I was saying. I blessed the baby that she would live, not for the night, but that she would live a full life; that she would be a testimony to her father and mother of the healing power of the priesthood. I realized that I was crying as I spoke and could not control the emotions that filled my soul. I blessed the baby that because of the great faith that her father had, she would be whole. There were many things that were said in that blessing, most of which I have forgotten over time. I will never forget, however, the way that I felt.

When we were finished with the blessing, I opened my eyes. There were six of us in that room, and the tears flowed from the eyes of every one of us. Even the skeptical doctor walked over and put his hand on my shoulder. He didn’t say a word, just squeezed my shoulder and walked out of the room for his emotions had also overcome him. That experience has stayed with me from that moment until this day. The baby did live. When I last saw her, years ago, she was about 13 years old; she was full of life; a beautiful and miraculous example of the healing power of faith, faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and faith in his healing power through the Priesthood.

While my husband and I were eating lunch at a local sandwich shop, a man walked in looking disheveled, lost, and confused. When he walked toward our table, I was surprised he didn’t ask for money. He only asked for directions to Flagstaff, Arizona. My husband and I gave him directions. He thanked us and left.
After lunch we started for home. Soon I saw the man walking toward a gas station. I had a strong impression to help him and asked my husband to pull into the gas station. I found the man and introduced myself. He had sad and tired eyes. His face seemed etched with deep lines from a hard life.
I asked how he planned to get to Flagstaff. He said he was going to walk. I knew that would be impossible since Flagstaff was more than 120 miles (193 km) away. I gave him some money and told him he could go to a nearby fast food restaurant to get some food and that I would return to take him to the bus depot and buy him a ticket to Flagstaff.
I returned to the truck and told my husband what had happened. Because of his health issues, I called a friend and asked her to go back with me. She agreed. We gathered some supplies, food, and water. Then we drove to the restaurant and picked the man up.
As we headed to the bus depot, this poor man began repeating, “I want to go home.” I asked if Flagstaff was his home. It wasn’t, but his daughter, whom he hadn’t spoken to for several years, lived there. He explained that he had been released from prison two weeks earlier. He and another released prisoner had been dropped off at the bus depot and each given a ticket. The other prisoner had stolen his ticket and what little money he had. He had been wandering the streets since. Nobody would help him.
“I want to go home,” he said again.
We arrived at the bus depot. I purchased his ticket and gave him some money and the supplies we had gathered. He thanked us and sat down. As we drove away, this man’s words repeated in my mind: “I want to go home.”

Pray. When Chad, our new baby, started taking more and more of my wife’s time, I sensed a feeling of resentment. With Chad came new financial responsibilities, and the pressures on me mounted. Often I felt my wife did not understand me. The need to feel understood left me wanting to look outside our marriage for friendship and emotional support. Then I remembered the feeling I had when I took my sweet wife by the hand in the sealing room of the Boise Idaho Temple. There the Spirit of the Lord bore pure testimony to me of the sanctity of our marriage. I will never forget that moment.
I was asked once if we pray for a successful marriage. We do now. At the end of each day we kneel with our son and have family prayer. The gospel is full of tools to help a marriage. Having a strong relationship with our Heavenly Father has become the backbone of our marriage.—Scott A. Carlson

Often our family counseled together in family home evening. On one occasion, we were concerned about some of the music our children were playing. We opened the scriptures and also read the words from our prophet from conference. We wrote down on paper some of the words in their songs and asked how they felt about them. One said he had not heard the words. Another said the words felt really bad. We then asked what we should do? Without any help from us, they decided to throw the music away. But one said, "We paid a lot of money for these tapes." However they quickly came together deciding this music should not be in our home.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Trevan woke up and turned off his alarm clock. Eight days until my baptism, he thought. That meant his interview with the bishop would be soon. But what if I’m not ready?
That night the missionaries came over for dinner. Taco night was Trevan’s favorite, but it was always more fun with the missionaries. They could even play a game of scripture charades after dinner—as long as Trevan and his sister listened to the lesson first.
“Tonight we have a message about baptism,” Sister Carlisle said.
Trevan jumped in his seat. “I’m getting baptized next week!”
“That’s great!” Sister Carlisle gave him a high five. “Are you excited?”
“I guess so, but I’m kind of worried about talking to the bishop,” Trevan said. “What if I don’t know the answers?”
“It’s OK to be nervous,” Sister Kemp said. “But I bet you know more than you think. Why do you think it’s important to be baptized?”
Trevan wasn’t sure. “To be obedient?”
“Right!” said Sister Kemp. She held up a picture of Jesus. “Baptism is so important that Jesus was baptized, even though He never sinned. When we’re baptized, we make covenants, or promises, with Heavenly Father.”
“Do you know what promises you’ll be making?” asked Sister Carlisle.
“I think so!” said Trevan. “We learned this at home evening last week, right Mom?”
Mom nodded. “We can remember our covenants by remembering the word ‘take.’ Can you remember what the letters stand for?”
Trevan looked at his sister Cassidy for help. “T stands for taking His name upon us,” she said. “A, always remembering Him.”
“I know the next one!” said Trevan. “K is for keeping the commandments.”
“You got it,” said Mom. “And E is for enduring to the end.”
“That means following Jesus my whole life. And repenting when I make mistakes,” Trevan said.
“Awesome!” said Sister Carlisle. “And when we keep those promises, do you know what Heavenly Father promises to give us in return?”
“Uh, blessings?” Trevan asked.
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Heavenly Father promises to forgive us when we repent. He also promises that the Holy Ghost will guide us.”
Trevan nodded. It was starting to make more sense.
Sister Carlisle pulled out a notebook. “If you’re nervous about the questions the bishop will ask you, we can go over them together.” She turned a few pages and read the first question. “Do you have faith in and a testimony of the Savior Jesus Christ?”
“Yeah,” said Trevan. He relaxed as Sister Carlisle read the other questions. “Those are easy,” he said when she finished.
“They are,” Sister Carlisle said. “But it’s still important for the bishop to ask them. He wants to make sure you feel ready to make covenants with Heavenly Father.”
At the end of the lesson, Sister Kemp shared her testimony. “I know Heavenly Father loves us because He hears and answers our prayers.”
“I know that too!” said Trevan. “This morning I prayed that Heavenly Father would help me know if I’m ready to be baptized.”
“And how do you feel now?” Sister Kemp asked.
“I don’t feel so worried anymore,” Trevan said. “I feel ready!”

Imagine with me the following story. Two brothers, Pete and Sam, go camping with their family at Zions National Park in southern Utah. They set up camp at the bottom of a very tall cliff with plans to go hiking throughout the next day. The next morning, these two brothers sleep in while their parents go on an early morning warm-up hike up to Angel’s Landing, a hike too dangerous for the young boys. After a while the boys wake up and start entertaining themselves around camp as they wait for their mom and dad to return. Both find some sharp rocks that they think are cool, and they start using them to make drawings on the base of the cliff wall. They're just having fun.

Then the younger brother, Sam, gets the idea to see how high of a mark he can make on the cliff. He jumps up and scratches the wall at about six feet high. Pete thinks this looks fun and he does the same, scratching the wall a few inches higher than Sam. Wishing not to be outdone, Sam tries again, with a running start this time, and marks the wall an inch higher than Pete. "Ha!", he boasts to Pete. Well, Pete now gives it his all, and wouldn't you know it, gets even higher, out-marking Sam's second height by another marginal degree. From their vantage point, looking up, his mark is by far the closest to the top of the cliff. Pete is number 1, and he flaunts it to his brother, while Sam feels frustrated that he can never quite seem to measure up.

Now, further imagine, at the very time that Pete and Sam wake up, the boys' parents have just reached the summit of their hike, hundreds of feet above the valley floor. Just before the boys begin their drawings on the cliff wall their dad pulls out the family binoculars to look down at the camp to see what his sons are up to. He's able to see the boys, and he watches them jumping and making their "high" marks. First he laughs, but then he pities them. He feels sorry for Sam, and he feels sorry for Pete, too, because as he pulls away the binoculars he sees the full size of the cliff and wonders how it could be that either of his sons think that they have reached any height worth bragging about, or any difference in skill levels worth feeling ashamed of. Their marks are both at the very bottom of the cliff, and from his vantage point the two marks seem to be at the exact same height.

As the time to leave Nauvoo drew near, the Brethren redoubled their efforts to help as many Saints as possible receive their endowments. Brigham Young wrote, “Such has been the anxiety manifested by the saints to receive the ordinances (of the Temple), and such the anxiety on our part to administer to them, that I have given myself up entirely to the work of the Lord in the Temple night and day, not taking more than four hours sleep, upon an average, per day, and going home but once a week.”

But it was not just the Apostles who were working hard. Many faithful Saints gave freely of their time by washing the temple clothing each night so the temple work could continue the next morning.

The Brethren planned to stop the ordinance work on 3 February 1846. President Young left the temple to make final preparations to leave Nauvoo, but upon seeing a large crowd gathered to receive their endowments, he returned. This delayed his departure for another two weeks, but it meant that 5,615 Saints were endowed before they left Nauvoo.

There is a little village called Mistolar on the Paraguayan desert. All of its residents are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Despite their distance from the Church’s Paraguayan headquarters in the capital city of Asunción, these humble people of Indian ancestry follow the programs and principles of the restored gospel and are an example of faithfulness to the world.
Mistolar had its beginnings in 1977. At that time, the Paraguayan mission president, Merle Bair, saw Walter Flores, a man from the deserts of the Chico in Paraguay, on a television program in Asunción. President Bair felt impressed to find the man and share the gospel with him. In 1980, the missionaries located Flores. He was very receptive to the gospel message, and was soon baptized. Brother Flores’ testimony was so profound and clear, he knew he had to share the gospel with his fellow Indians. Several hundred joined the Church.
One group of some 214 Nivaclé Saints (formerly Chulupi), wanted to be free from worldly influences and settled a large piece of land in an uninhabited, remote area of Paraguay. They named their settlement Mistolar. At first, they were totally self-sufficient in their gardening, hunting and fishing, and had little communication with other people.
But the massive Pilcomayo River, between Mistolar and the northern border of Argentina, challenged their self-sufficiency and their faith.
One year, as the snows of the Andes Mountains melted, the swollen Pilcomayo overflowed its banks and flooded Mistolar. The Saints were forced to move and they relocated ten kilometers away from the river’s edge. But even there, they were not safe. Another disastrous flood left their land more than knee-deep in water for a month. They lost the beautiful chapel they had built, their homes, their gardens, their clothing—almost everything they owned. But, as I was to discover, they still had their faith.

A story is told of a group of smoke jumpers. These brave men and women fight forest fires by parachuting onto the ground above a fire and fighting it from the top down, while others fight it from below.
During one particularly large forest fire, an elite team of smoke jumpers assembled for a briefing before taking off in their airplane. The dispatcher—a wise and experienced firefighter—told the smoke jumpers that things were very volatile and that he could not give them precise instructions. Rather, the dispatcher instructed, the smoke jumpers should contact him by radio once they had parachuted onto the ridge above the fire. Then he would give them instructions as to the course they should take to begin to fight.
Quickly the smoke jumpers took off in their plane, parachuted onto the ridge above the raging fire, and assembled themselves for action. As they viewed the fire from above, they could see half a dozen possible paths they could take to begin their work.
In keeping with their agreement with the dispatcher, the leader of the team took out a handheld radio, found the proper frequency, and called the dispatcher to request instructions as to which path to take. But only static came back from the radio; they could not hear the dispatcher at all.
Presuming that the dispatcher was busy with other tasks, the smoke jumpers decided to wait 10 minutes and try again. But when they tried the dispatcher the second time, they received the same result—dead air and static and no instructions.
The smoke jumpers conferred with each other. They could still see several paths down the mountain that would put them in a good position to fight the fire. But they were concerned that they didn’t have any direction from the dispatcher. They worried that if they started moving down the path that looked best to them, they might actually be moving counter to the course the dispatcher wanted them to take and they would be forced to retrace their steps.
So they decided to wait on top of the ridge. Fifteen minutes later they tried the dispatcher again. Nothing. They took off their backpacks and found a place to sit down. Thirty minutes became an hour; an hour became two hours. They regularly tried to contact the dispatcher. But as before, they received only static in return.
The smoke jumpers decided to eat lunch. After that, when they still couldn’t contact the dispatcher, they reclined on their backpacks and took a nap. They were frustrated. If the dispatcher would just pay some attention to them and tell them which way to go, they would happily follow that course and begin their firefighting efforts. But the dispatcher seemed to be ignoring them, probably preoccupied with others. And they had decided that they weren’t going to move without the dispatcher’s directions. After all, those directions had been promised to them before they parachuted onto the ridge.
Seven hours after the smoke jumpers arrived at the top of the ridge, a weary crew chief from the group fighting the fire farther down the mountain came up the trail and found the smoke jumpers. He was flabbergasted. Approaching their leader, he asked, “What are you doing lounging around on the ridge? We really needed your help. The fire almost got away from us because we didn’t have help to contain it. And all this time you’ve just been relaxing up here on the ridge?”
The lead smoke jumper explained their predicament to the crew chief. They had been promised instructions from the dispatcher. They had been vigilant in trying to obtain those instructions. But the dispatcher had ignored them, never responding to their calls. True, they could see several paths down to the fire. But they were afraid they would take the wrong one. So they decided to wait until they had the promised instructions from the dispatcher.
The crew chief held out his hand and took the small radio the smoke jumpers had been using. He then walked about 50 yards (45 m) down one of the paths that led toward the fire. He stopped and tried the radio. The dispatcher’s voice came through loud and clear. The crew chief then walked back to the top of the ridge and traveled about 50 yards farther down another path. He stopped and called the dispatcher. Again the dispatcher’s voice came back immediately.
The crew chief hiked back to the smoke jumpers and tossed the radio to the leader, saying, “You are in a dead spot. All you had to do was start moving down one of the trails, and the dispatcher could have easily given you course corrections and brought you right into the spot where we needed you. Instead you lounged up here, and you were totally worthless to us.”

Saturday, February 7, 2004, found my wife and me in a hotel in Gijón in northern Spain, where I was serving as president of the Spain Bilbao Mission. As we finished our evening meal, I checked my cellular phone for any messages I had not heard. It did indeed indicate that a missionary had called. I noted who it was and pushed the appropriate button to call him back.
The missionary answered the phone, and after a brief greeting, I asked him what he needed. He was surprised and replied that he had not called me. I insisted that my phone had registered a call from him, but he repeated that he had not called.
We ended our conversation, but five minutes later he called me back and said, “President, I have a problem that is really making me feel uncomfortable, and I’m beside myself over it. I prayed and asked the Lord for help to know what I should do. I didn’t feel like calling you, but while I was asking the Lord what to do, you called. I was surprised because I had not called you. I knew the Lord was telling me I needed to talk to you immediately.”
We talked for a time, and his problem was solved.
When I spoke with him two days later, I asked the elder again if he had called me. “No, President,” he replied, “that was the work of the Lord.” He verified that his telephone showed he had not dialed my number, even by accident.
The Lord said, “Be thou humble; and the Lord thy God shall lead thee by the hand, and give thee answer to thy prayers” (D&C 112:10). Alma, teaching his son Helaman, said, “Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good” (Alma 37:37). We must do what our Heavenly Father desires in order to feel the peace we constantly need. That unexplainable call was undoubtedly an answer to a young missionary’s prayer.

During the Christmas season last year, I found myself praying for a lot of things for myself. But as I prayed on the night of 23 December, I felt something wonderful inside, an indescribable joy. The feeling grew as I continued my prayer. I didn’t say anything about the things I wanted. In fact, my prayer changed completely; I started praying for other people, for all those around me, and I asked Heavenly Father to forgive me for my selfishness. When I finished, I realized that an hour had gone by. I had never felt the Spirit so strongly.
From this experience, I learned that Christmas is a time to give, not to receive. I didn’t give anything material to anyone, but I later realized that my humble prayer had been answered. Almost everyone I had prayed for on that night, when my heart was overflowing with joy, received what I had asked for.

I am old enough now to understand that Devotional messages have had an effect in my life. Early in my career, I wanted to work on cancer or research for a biotech company. I definitely did NOT want to teach at the time. Teaching was not emphasized much in my field 10-15 years ago. I was being groomed, like so many other scientists, for research, and I enjoyed it. Federal funding was plentiful, and the scientific research was growing. During recruitment for graduate school, the one guy who stated that he wanted to teach was the only 1 of 60 recruits who did not get accepted to the PhD program. Everyone was being prepared to research. Many factors have changed the focus on research, though it is still very important. The global downturn rippled through the economy. All of us were affected in many ways. Among many other effects, I was nudged in the direction of teaching, so here I am today and happy to be here I might add. I could be bitter or disappointed for not fulfilling my “dreams,” or I can accept that so much is out of my control. I would encourage you to continue to pursue your dreams, but I was able to recognize that my “dream” was not my dream at all. It was a plan I had made, and I know I could have been successful had it worked out that way, but it did not. I have learned to be flexible because the Lord had a different plan.

In high school, quarters became merely small change. Our attention was drawn to larger sums of money with bigger wagers, usually around big-ticket sporting events. Every week there seemed to be a big game, and betting circles were frequently established. Obviously, the more people there were contributing to a pot, the greater a winner’s takings would be. I remember one student who kept a notebook with the particular bets, the odds, and the individuals involved. Between and sometimes during classes he would approach you, asking if you would like to bet.
Unfortunately, the gambling scene pervaded other high school activities and went beyond school boundaries. While traveling with my baseball team, both on the bus and in the hotel rooms, card games took over much of our spare time. I recall watching a card game where two teammates had $120 on the line, with the luck of a particular card deciding the fate of the game. Someone won that day, but I don’t remember who. What I do remember is the chaos, the screaming and vulgar language, the laughing at someone else’s expense. Most importantly, I remember feeling void of the Spirit. It’s a dirty, ugly feeling.
Near my home was a hotel we often went to that had an arcade, a bowling alley, and a good restaurant. I spent many fun times bowling with my brothers and our friends. To get to the bowling alley, we had to go through the hotel’s casino. There is a distinct image in my mind to this day of the smell of cigarette and cigar smoke and the dropping of coins into the metal basins from the slot machines. The image of countless people sitting in the same place for hours playing cards or pulling levers on slot machines seems to be a constant reminder to me of the shallow habit of gambling.
One day a friend of mine, while leaving the bowling alley, tried his luck at a game of chance they called “Megabucks.” The winnings were well over a million dollars. You had to play several dollars at a time to have a chance at winning. Of course, he lost, and he kept on losing. Within five minutes he lost $60, and the only thing he had to show for it was his contribution to the grand total that would eventually go to someone else. My friend lost $60, yet I gained a greater distaste for the gambling habit and a greater resolve to keep the Lord’s commandments. Like other occasions in my life, this became a defining moment that strengthened my resolve to put my occasional past blemishes behind me and turn to the Lord with full purpose of heart.
Through a loving Heavenly Father and the guidance of exemplary parents who avoided the practice of gambling, I was able to put my lapses with games of chance behind me. Far too many friends and acquaintances didn’t stop at pitching quarters or playing cards. Gambling and the other bad habits it leads to are overtaking far too many of Heavenly Father’s children. With an unresolved determination to avoid it, you can become a victim very quickly. Gratefully, two years before I became “legal” in the eyes of the state of Nevada, I was “about my Father’s business” preaching the gospel in the Washington D.C. South Mission.
You may need courageous fortitude as the world thrusts the acquisition of riches and the madness of materialism upon you before you’ve even graduated from school. Understanding true doctrine and living by the principles taught in the scriptures and by living prophets will strengthen you. With this strength, you can refuse and conquer any behavior offensive to the Spirit.

As I have mentioned, many times the relief we need is given through those who are around us. And it doesn’t always look the way we think it should. As we offer our prayers for help, we also need to be open to how He is trying to answer those prayers!

One evening I was trying to put together a message just like this one, and it needed to be delivered soon. But it just wasn’t coming. I had prayed for His help but felt as though I was pushing against something.

Just as I was feeling frustrated, my ministering sister texted and said, “Can I stop by right now?”

I thought, “This is not the time.”

But then another thought quickly came to my mind: “This is the time. Let her come.”

I held up the white flag and surrendered my efficiency mindset of what I thought I had to do and invited her over.

She came over, and we had a very simple but healing and heartfelt conversation as we sat on my porch. The Spirit poured into our hearts. I felt renewed. I felt His peace, love, and relief. And that was what I really needed, wasn’t it? He wanted to calm my heart and, in essence, have a conversation with me. He wanted me to be at peace, be present, feel gratitude, and not worry.

The Lord was trying to answer my prayer by sending this inspired sister to visit me. That was, in a way, a visit from Him, as His Spirit healed my heart. With that relief I was able to receive and write the message that was needed.

There are abundant examples of successful youth leadership occurring minute by minute all over the world. Let me give you just one example.
I met Matt Andersen, a teachers quorum president whose father was serving as a mission president in Mexico. When Matt was set apart as the quorum president, he was the only member of the teachers quorum attending church in his ward. Young president Matt Andersen was learning a new language so he could be an effective missionary. Going forward with faith, courage, and confidence gained at home and in the deacons quorum, he determined to use his keys of presidency to bless the members of his quorum and their families. He immediately asked for a list of quorum members from the ward clerk, practiced his Spanish, and with a prayer in his heart called the one boy who was listed with a telephone number. He said, “¡Omar: Tú, Iglesia, Hoy!” Or in English, “Omar! You, Church, Today!” Just the basic message!
The miracle is that Omar came to church that day, and soon thereafter so did his mother and sister. Our young quorum president, Matt Andersen, then invited the bishop to drive him, translate, and together visit two other boys whose names were on the list but without telephone numbers. His keys of presidency, the ministering of angels, and the powers of heaven combined. The result was that these two boys also came to church and formed the new teachers quorum presidency. Other boys and their families also returned to the blessings of the gospel and the priesthood.

“Oh no! Why did it have to snow?” five-year-old Carl said as he looked out the front window. He frowned as he watched the snowflakes fall. “Mom, does that mean our picnic at the park is canceled?”
“Until another day, I guess,” Mom said from the kitchen. “We can’t really have a picnic in the snow.”
“I wish the sun would come out and melt the snow,” Carl said.
Carl’s frown got bigger when his little brother came into the room holding Carl’s favorite toy car.
“That’s my car, Jared!” Carl said as he grabbed the toy.
Jared started to cry. Carl felt his stomach turn into a knot, and he frowned even more.
He walked into the kitchen, taking his car with him. “Not oatmeal again, Mom. Can’t we have pancakes instead?”
“Not today, Carl. Dad has to hurry or he’ll be late for work,” Mom said.
Carl sat down. His frown sank deeper and deeper.
“Where’s my happy lunch maker?” Dad asked as he walked into the room.
Carl looked up at Dad and frowned.
Dad started singing, “If you chance to meet a frown, do not let it stay. Quickly turn it upside down and smile that frown away.”*
All of a sudden, Carl felt Dad’s strong arms lift him off the chair and gently turn him upside down. Carl felt his frown melt away as he looked at Dad’s upside-down smiling face. He started smiling, and then laughed. Dad started laughing too, and then Mom and Jared did. Before long the whole family was laughing.
“Let’s turn the day right side up again. OK, everybody?” Dad sat Carl back down in the chair.
“OK, Dad,” Carl said.
Dad went to finish getting ready for work. Carl hurried and got an apple and carrots and put them in Dad’s lunch bag. Then he found another toy car in his room and gave it to Jared. He quickly set the table for breakfast and then sat down with a big smile on his face.
Just then Dad walked back into the kitchen. “Looks like everything is right side up again!” he said.
“Mom, can we have a picnic for lunch today inside the house?” Carl asked.
Mom smiled. “Sure. Just as long as we don’t have to eat upside down!”

When Calvin started stuttering just asking for the salt and pepper, I knew something was wrong. Calvin had always had trouble talking. It was cute when he was two or three years old, and endearing when he was five or six. But by the time he was seven or eight and still stuttering, Mom took him to a speech clinic. After that the problem seemed to clear up, except for certain times when Calvin was upset about something.
Calvin is my older brother, and I can tell when he’s scared about something—partly because of the stuttering but also because of little things that he says or does.
He was worried about becoming a priest and blessing the sacrament. It isn’t that he didn’t want to bless the sacrament—he did. That was the whole problem. Calvin takes things like that very seriously. He didn’t want anybody, especially the deacons on the front bench, to have an excuse for giggling during that scared ordinance, even if they were only laughing at the way that Calvin said the prayer.
Calvin reads a lot, and I guess that’s where he got the idea of using marbles. Some Greek man by the name of Demosthenes used to recite aloud while climbing steep hills or put rocks in his mouth and then shout speeches over the roar of the ocean waves so that he could talk more clearly. I thought it was a silly thing to do when Calvin told me about it—he might swallow the rocks or something—but Calvin was desperate, I guess. He knew Morn would be angry if she ever caught him putting rocks in his mouth, so marbles were the closest substitute he could think of.
I collect marbles. I can’t do much with them, but I like to look at the different colors and what light can do when it shines through them. Calvin came downstairs to my room one day and stood in the doorway for a long time, just watching me. My brother has a way of standing sometimes that tells me he has something on his mind, and he was standing that way then. A tall young man, maybe too skinny, with very short, very blond hair. Calvin likes to play ball in the summer and hair gets in his way. There was a strange look on his face while he watched me. I was sitting on my bed, and I had all my marbles spread out in front of me. They looked gorgeous.
“Jenny,” he said finally. I looked up and waited. “Would you sell me five or six of your marbles?” That’s when he turned red—a complete betrayal. My brother always turns red when he talks about something important to him. The speech therapist says that it’s part of the same problem that made Calvin stutter and that it would go away in time. So far that part hadn’t come true.
Then Calvin seemed to change his mind and said, “It’s not important.”
I scooped up a red marble and held it up to the light so that I could see the bubbles inside. “If it isn’t important,” I asked, “then why buy them?”
He didn’t say anything, and I knew that if he tried to talk, the words would come out in a long stream of stuttering. He looked at me though, and there was agony in that expression. Then he turned around and walked out of my room.
Later, of course, I gave some marbles to him. What else could I do? I washed six of them, dried them off, and put them in a box. Then I put the box on his bed. When he came to the supper table, I said, “There’s something for you on your bed, Calvin.”
He didn’t say anything then either, but I could see what was in his eyes.
I didn’t hear anything more about the marbles for a long time. Calvin is very cautious when he doesn’t want people to know about something. But his birthday was coming closer every day. And each Sunday when the sacrament was being prepared, I would find myself looking at my brother. He would be scrunched down in his seat, and I could imagine what he was thinking. Sometimes while the prayer was being said, I almost forgot to close my eyes. He’d listen so intently that it seemed he was listening hard enough for both of us.
The thing that I dreaded was when someone made a mistake in repeating the sacrament prayer. When it happened I looked at Calvin, and I could see him hurting inside, waiting for the time when he would have to kneel and say the prayer. He had such a strong feeling for that prayer that he wanted it to be perfect. It really mattered to him and I knew it!
One day I went downstairs and I could hear mumbling, so I began looking for the source. It was coming from the laundry room. I turned out the downstairs light, walked over to the laundry room door as quietly as I could, and opened it. Calvin was standing by the washing machine with my marbles in his mouth. He was saying something, though I couldn’t understand the words through all the marbles.
I stood there for a long time. But I didn’t want Calvin to know that I had seen him, so I turned around and went out. Then I came back into the room a second time as noisily as I could, on the pretense of getting some soap. The mumbling sound stopped immediately. Calvin nodded and I went out again and up to my room. In a few minutes I heard him come upstairs.
Several weeks later it was Calvin’s birthday. The Sunday after, he was ordained a priest and assigned to give one of the sacrament prayers.
I can still remember sitting there, staring at him and seeing how the light hit his blond hair, making it shine. Boys aren’t supposed to be beautiful—or at least, you’re not supposed to admit that they are—but Calvin was beautiful. I was so scared for him that I thought my heart would stop beating. I was sure his agony was going to make me cry.
Suddenly he looked straight at me, and there was in his eyes an expression that made me know that he knew that he would be all right. Then he got down on his knees, the way the priests do, and started the prayer. Nobody cries during the sacrament except the older ladies, but that Sunday I couldn’t help crying too. Calvin’s voice was soft, but it carried to the back of the chapel. I’ve never heard anybody else give the prayer the way he gave it that Sunday. He began, “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee. …” (D&C 20:77) And he didn’t make a single mistake.
I sat and wept, because it was beautiful, and because I love my brother! And that night when I went upstairs I found the marbles back on my bed.
Someday I guess I’m going to be old, and there’s not much I can do about it. But even if I’m ninety, I’ll never get rid of those marbles, any more than I can get rid of the memory of that first time Calvin blessed the sacrament.

Let me tell you about what small things did for Gary. Gary, which isn't his real name, was a middle-aged participant in one of the weight management classes we used to offer through our department. We had had our lesson on physical activity, and Gary decided that he really wanted to be fit. So, he bought some jogging shoes and sweatpants and set the date for his jogging debut. His plan was to jog around his block a couple of times for the first few days then increase his distance.

The day for jogging arrived, and Gary put on his clothes, laced up his shoes, and started out the door. Excited to begin his jaunt around the block, he was quite surprised and distressed to find that about a quarter of the way around the block he was completely winded and couldn't manage another step. So Gary stopped and weighed his options. He could turn around and go back home, but he decided that would be too embarrassing. So he walked the rest of the way around the block to his home. Rather than give up on the whole jogging idea, the next morning Gary decided that he could jog as far as he had the previous day plus one house, then walk home. The next day he added one house more, and the next day one house more. One house! That's nothing! Well, by adding one house a day over many weeks, Gary found himself jogging a couple of miles easily. He felt better than he had in years, and developed an enjoyable and healthy habit. Tremendous consequences come from little things.

Back in Manchester, a young man named Oliver Cowdery was staying with Joseph’s parents. Oliver was a year younger than Joseph, and in the fall of 1828 he had begun teaching school about a mile south of the Smiths’ farm.
Teachers often boarded with the families of their students, and when Oliver heard rumors about Joseph and the gold plates, he asked if he could stay with the Smiths. At first he gleaned few details from the family. The stolen manuscript and local gossip had made them wary to the point of silence.15
But during the winter of 1828–29, as Oliver taught the Smith children, he earned the trust of his hosts. Around this time, Joseph Sr. had come back from a trip to Harmony with a revelation declaring that the Lord was about to begin a marvelous work.16 By then Oliver had proven to be a sincere seeker of truth, and Joseph’s parents opened up to him about their son’s divine calling.17
What they said captivated Oliver, and he longed to help with the translation. Like Joseph, Oliver was dissatisfied with modern churches and believed in a God of miracles who still revealed His will to people.18 But Joseph and the gold plates were far away, and Oliver did not know how he could help the work if he stayed in Manchester.
One spring day, as rain was falling hard against the Smiths’ roof, Oliver told the family he wanted to go to Harmony to help Joseph when the school term was over. Lucy and Joseph Sr. urged him to ask the Lord if his desires were right.19
Retiring to his bed, Oliver prayed privately to know if what he had heard about the gold plates was true. The Lord showed him a vision of the gold plates and Joseph’s efforts to translate them. A peaceful feeling rested over him, and he knew then that he should volunteer to be Joseph’s scribe.20
Oliver told no one about his prayer. But as soon as the school term ended, he and Joseph’s brother Samuel set out on foot for Harmony, more than 100 miles (160 km) away. The road was cold and muddy from spring rain, and Oliver had a frostbitten toe by the time he and Samuel arrived at Joseph and Emma’s door. Yet he was eager to meet the couple and see for himself how the Lord worked through the young prophet.21

Some books tell us things we should know; others just entertain us. This 1968 Newbery Award book does both—and more. It is one of the most unusual and delightful books you could find to read.
Claudia decides that her family takes her too much for granted. She plans to leave home so they will miss her. She invites her brother Jamie to go with her because he is the miser of the family and can be depended upon to have money. They run away to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, where they become involved in mystery, adventure, and excitement. Their story and the unexpected things Claudia and Jamie find out about themselves are recorded by the wealthy Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler in a long letter to her lawyer.
This book is a must for older readers of the Friend.