Gospel Story Finder

I was in the Navy at the end of World War II when I was a very young man. My training took place near San Diego, California. Everyone in the Navy had to know how to swim, or they wouldn’t let him out of boot camp (training camp). I had learned to swim as a boy and could do it quite well.

One day an officer said, “All of you who can swim get to go to San Diego for the day. Those who can’t must have a full day of swimming lessons. So those of you who can swim, line up over here, and we’ll put you on a bus and take you into town.” I lined up with the swimmers—there were about 30 or 40 of us. But instead of having my group get on a bus, the officer marched us into the gym, where the swimming pool was.

I thought, You’re mixed up, fellow. We’re the ones who can swim. But, of course, I said nothing. We prepared for swimming and were ordered to jump into the deep end of the pool.

Most of us obeyed, but about 10 men in our group didn’t know how to swim. They had thought that they could go to San Diego without measuring up. The officer didn’t let them just stand there—he pushed them into the water. He let them go under the water, come up gasping for air, and then go down again. When they came up for the second time, a big bamboo pole was held out to them, and they were pulled to safety. Then the officer said sternly, “Don’t you ever lie to me again!” I tell you, I was glad I hadn’t tried that! The experience taught me the value of being honest and true to yourself at all times.

Readers
Anger is an emotion everyone is subject to at one time or another. The difference is that some people learn to control their anger while others don’t. If you lose your temper, then you’re not in control. Satan is.
Something that helped me was to watch other people to see what they looked like when they lost their tempers. When I saw how foolish other people looked, I made a promise to myself to practice self-control and not lose my temper. I am learning patience.
Kurtis Hyde, 19Lovelock, Nevada
We all get mad for one thing or another. That’s normal. But blowing up at someone doesn’t solve anything. It only worsens the situation. Think before you burst. Stupid or silly acts are committed by those who don’t think. Some people try to make you mad. Disappoint them and respond nicely. You may need to count from one to ten and back again to gain composure before you say anything, but don’t give in to thoughtless action. In time, you’ll master your temper, and you’ll learn a lot about patience. “A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger” (Prov. 15:1).
Tonya Stock, 20Sandy, Utah
I’ve had many problems with my temper. I used to yell at people because I thought they were such idiots. My temper had a very short fuse. The way I overcame my “short fuse” was by reading the Book of Mormon, writing my feelings down on paper, and making a conscious effort to change. After about a week, I could tell that I wasn’t getting mad at people nearly as often.
Elder John O. Leyer, 19Indianapolis, Indiana
I lose my temper easily. I was told by my mom that when I get angry I should use these statements: When you _____, I feel _____ because I have _____. For example, I might say, “When you interrupt me, I feel hurt because I have something important I’d like to tell you.” Try it; it helps.
Jennifer Snow, 12Veneta, Oregon
I understand where you’re coming from. Anger is a funny thing, and it’s a shame that we are sometimes victimized by our emotions. We each have weaknesses to overcome and grow from. Let me share with you some suggestions that helped me: (1) Delay. When you delay, you “cool it.” Count to ten, leave the scene that caused the feeling before you erupt, or take some deep breaths. (2) Identify the anger. Where is it coming from? How was it caused? And how can it be avoided? (3) Go someplace where you can be alone, get on your knees, and tell the whole thing to Heavenly Father. (4) Ask the Lord for help. Pray that he will take the anger from your heart and replace it with peace and forgiveness. He has promised in Ether 12:27 that if we are humble before him, he will “make weak things become strong.”
Elder Thomas F. Smith, 19Birmingham, Alabama
I’d like to start by saying I have the same problem, but I’ve learned to control my problem. Every once in a while I may burst out and tell the person off, but later I apologize. Honestly, I think you can learn to control it. Until then pray and think about how you are hurting the other person.
Tammy Booth, 14Geneva, Alabama
The actions you take when you are angry can be damaging to others. Instead of yelling and throwing things, you should take time out and think over the problem. Did you overreact? Was that person feeling well, or was there something wrong with them? Were you in a bad mood? Staying angry isn’t good. The best thing to do is talk it out, forgive, and forget.
Vicky M. Brugger, 14Rochester, New York
I’ve got a real bad temper, too. People used to irritate me with the littlest things. Sometimes it got so bad that I’d yell at someone just for touching me. The worst part about it was that it was usually my family. But I found that I have a vitamin deficiency that was causing me to be irritable. I also realized I needed to learn to love. The Savior loved everyone, even those who betrayed him.
Believe me, my little brother gets so irritating I want to kick him.
But I asked my Father in Heaven, not to make him be nice to me, but to help me be nice to him. And it really works. He’s not less irritating, but I’m less touchy about it.
Sheila Webb, 17Sunnyvale, California

Photographs by Christina Smith
I thought I was going for a short weekend trip to visit my family during a brother’s wedding. But when my wife, Etelani, dropped me off at the airport, handed me a packed suitcase, and told me to stay with my parents until I was ready to be a husband, I knew things had become serious. I would have to make drastic changes in my life.
As I watched her drive away, little did I know how much she hurt. She told me later that she then drove to a safe place to park along the road, where she sobbed. I hadn’t realized how much my behavior—drinking and doing drugs—was hurting her, and I didn’t realize how much it was hurting me.
We both grew up in Samoa, where we met. My family joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I was in high school. But the commandments got in the way of my lifestyle and the parties I liked to attend. By the time the other members of my family were sealed in the temple, I was not active in the Church and made every excuse to stay away from Church activities.
After Etelani and I got married, we moved to Seattle, Washington, where my family lived. Then we moved away from them to Utah. There, Etelani tried desperately to help me change my ways.
Often, I would be gone for a week or two at a time drinking and partying while she remained at home, not knowing where I was. She hurt deeply, realizing she could not change me. These were dark and painful days for her. She became despondent, riddled with pangs of insecurity. She wondered if my unruly actions stemmed from her inability to bear children.
“If we are meant to stay together,” she prayed to Heavenly Father, “then please help me know what to do.”
The Spirit prompted her to act when my parents called to announce that one of my brothers was getting married. The day Etelani dropped me off at the airport, she said, “I think this is a good time for us to be separated.” As it turned out, it was 10 months before we got back together.
My parents and siblings were active members of the Church. My mother was strong in her testimony and was aware of my situation. During the 10 months I lived with my parents, she gave me kind and gentle invitations to join the family at church and church activities, and she reminded me of the importance of being sealed to Etelani in the temple. Those simple invitations, and being surrounded by my family’s love, helped me return to church.
While Etelani was in Utah, working overtime hours to distract her from her sadness, I was undergoing a transformation brought about by my mother’s love and the Savior’s atoning grace.
I had tried many times over the years to kick my bad habits, but I never could. In the past, I had used every excuse to stay away from church, but now as I confronted the loss of my wife, I knew I had to change.
Change wasn’t easy. “Who am I to be saved?” I wondered. In the past, I had tried to change by myself. Alone, I couldn’t beat my habits, but with help from Heavenly Father and His Son, along with the scriptures, fasting and prayer, the sacrament, and repentance, I knew I could change. Becoming involved in the Church and exercising faith in Jesus Christ changed my heart and my way of thinking (see Mosiah 5:7; Alma 5:12–13). I soon found that I could do things I couldn’t do before.
With steadiness, over time I came to feel the Savior’s mercy. He was aware of Etelani and me. I felt that He loved us. His love changed my appetites. I no longer obsessed over past indulgences. When I finally had a testimony of the gospel, I wanted to be with Etelani again.
When she saw that I held a steady job and had saved money for a place to live, she joined me in Seattle. She still wanted us. After I had demonstrated that my devotion to her and the gospel was real, we adopted a daughter. Having a child helped me commit to the changes I had made. I knew I had to be a good father for her. I liked where I was heading, and I wanted to take my family with me. I was sealed to my parents. Etelani and I adopted a son. And we have been sealed in the temple as a family. God has been good to us.
Tony with his son, Tony Jr.
Having gone through the refiner’s fire, I know from firsthand experience that the Savior can change us. But first, we must get close to Him. You’ll be amazed at what He can do. Feeling His divine love can lead to sincere repentance, and that can change you—no matter how far you have fallen.
I’m grateful for a second chance. I’m grateful for the gospel. I’m grateful the Savior brought me back. And I’m grateful He helped me become a better husband to my wife and father to my children.
If we have faith in the Savior and trust in Him, we will be surprised at the changes He can make in us.
Tony remains grateful the Lord helped him become a better husband to his wife, Etelani, and father to his children, Tony Jr. and Prelain.

Several years ago I picked up the desk pen in my office at Brigham Young University to sign a paper that had been prepared for my signature, something I did at least a dozen times each day. That document committed the University to a particular course of action we had decided to follow. All the staff work had been done, and all appeared to be in order. But as I went to sign the document, I was filled with such negative thoughts and forebodings that I put it to one side and asked for the entire matter to be reviewed again. It was, and within a few days additional facts came to light which showed that the proposed course of action would have caused the University serious problems in the future.

The answer has to be in that room. Maybe I missed a false wall.
“How do you spell kiwi, Jackson?”
“Uh, what, Miss Grouder?”
“Kiwi. How do you spell it? We’ve been talking about the spelling test for the past ten minutes. Where have you been?”
“Trying to rescue the princess of Mendoza,” Chester whispered from his seat behind Jackson.
Jackson felt his face getting hot. “K-e-e-w-e-e.”
Miss Grouder sighed as she placed Jackson’s spelling test on his desk. A big, red D stared up at him.
On the way home, Jackson folded the spelling test into a square wad and stuffed it into the corner of his backpack. Chester ran up behind him. “Sorry about your spelling test. Hey, do you want to come over to my house and try out my new soccer ball?”
“No,” Jackson replied. “I think I’ve figured out how to rescue the princess. Do you want to come watch?”
“You mean just sit there and watch you play? No thanks!”
“Maybe tomorrow then?”
“You’re starting to sound like a broken record.” Chester sighed and turned the corner toward his own house.
At home, Jackson headed downstairs to the family room, turned on the TV, and activated the video game. I’ll just play one game, and then I’ll get going on my homework.
Two hours later his mom called, “Come on, Jackson, we have to eat and get going or we’ll miss the start of the movie.”
“Coming, Mendoz—uh, Mom.” If I can just get past this guard. His hand deftly moved the joystick back and forth. Too late. The figure on the screen toppled over. No fair! I’ll play just one more. I know I can do it.
Suddenly the house seemed awfully quiet. Jackson grabbed his jacket and flew up the stairs two at a time. Silence greeted him. There was a note on the table: “Gone to the movie. Wish you could’ve come. Sandwich in fridge. Home by eight. Call Gramps if you need anything.”
It’s all the guard’s fault! Jackson stomped to his bedroom. On the table was his unfinished homework. Beside it lay his scriptures. He hadn’t taken time to read them all week. Then there was the unopened family home evening manual. He was supposed to give the lesson Monday night. But he didn’t feel like doing any of those things tonight.
Good thing it’s Friday. Jackson thought as he turned around and headed back to the TV. I’ll catch up on everything tomorrow.
Zap! Zing! “Take that!” The sounds of the piano being played rather badly interrupted Jackson’s concentration. It was his sister playing the opening hymn to call the family together for family home evening.
Family home evening! He had meant to do the lesson on Sunday, but he’d gotten closer to rescuing the princess than ever before. Now it was too late.
Jackson grabbed his scriptures and ran upstairs. He’d fake it. After all, sometimes they read a scripture and talked about it so much that they never got to the lesson, anyway. He’d make sure that they did that tonight.
“And help us apply the lesson to our own lives,” his little brother said as he finished the opening prayer.
Jackson opened his scriptures to where he had last read, “Dad, could you read some scriptures for us? How about here in Ether, chapter 12, verse 27.”
“‘And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.’”
“What do you think that means?” Jackson asked.
“Well, that we are given weakness to help us be humble. If we acknowledge that and ask for Heavenly Father’s help in overcoming a weakness, it will become a strength to us.”
Mom raised her hand.
“Soap operas. That was my weakness. Some days I didn’t do anything but watch my shows. No laundry, no grocery shopping, no scripture reading. The TV was like a magnet, drawing me to it. It wasn’t until I admitted that I had a problem that I figured out a solution.”
Jackson squirmed in his chair. This wasn’t going quite like he wanted it to.
“When I worked at the candy shop,” his older sister began, “I practically ate my paycheck each week in candy. I couldn’t help myself, it tasted so good. Finally after praying about it, I decided to set a candy quota for each day. If I stuck to my quota, I rewarded myself by taking the money I would have spent on candy and putting it toward a new pair of jeans. Some days I didn’t make it, but gradually I ate less candy. And I got the jeans!”
Jackson thanked everyone for their participation and ended the lesson. As soon as the closing prayer was finished, he excused himself and went downstairs. Maybe if he could play a video game, it would help him forget the growing uneasiness inside him.
But with each step, the anxiety spread. Finally he stopped. Did he really have a problem with video games? Chester didn’t seem to be his friend anymore. He’d gotten a D for the first time on a spelling test. He hadn’t read the scriptures all week, and he’d missed the family movie. Perhaps it was time to apply his lesson tonight to his own life.
Jackson turned around and headed for his bedroom. He flopped down on his bed and opened the scriptures to Ether. The princess would have to wait. Right now he had some reading and a lot of thinking to do.

In September 1948, two friends told 16-year-old Jirí about hearing a lecture given by Mormon missionaries. He went with them to the next meeting. “The missionaries were young, friendly, and full of optimism,” he says. “I felt an immediate desire to know more about the Church. Reassured by the lectures I heard at the meeting, I decided to study diligently in my mind and heart the doctrines they were preaching.”

Seven months later, early on the morning of his 17th birthday, Sunday, 24 April 1949, Jirí and his two friends—along with four missionaries and two local members—took a streetcar to the end of the line in Lochotín and then walked for 45 minutes to Kamenicky Pond.

“It was several degrees below freezing,” he remembers, “and the grass and trees were covered with frost. We walked bravely to the pond, surrounded by magnificent nature, to enter into covenants with the Lord.” They were baptized, then confirmed at the waters’ edge. “It was for all of us one of the most beautiful moments in our lives.”

Christmas was a happy and sad occasion because Mama was too wrapped up in herself to pay much attention to holidays. And Daddy was often overwhelmed with the responsibilities of a home, us children, our sick mother, and his job. Yet even though he didn’t have enough money to buy us presents, he always brought us a nice tree the day before Christmas, and he made sure that on Christmas morning we had the biggest oranges and apples and the best candy and nuts in town in our stockings. Our uncles and aunts made sure that we had toys until we got into junior high school. I remember how excited I was when I was seven to find a beautiful walking doll and a carriage for me under the tree. In my excitement, I didn’t notice that my older brothers had received only one basketball between them to share.
One time just before Easter, my Primary teacher brought a large box to class. We were only eight, and we were very curious to see its contents. When class was over, the teacher reached into the box and gave each of us a tiny Easter basket filled with jelly beans and candy eggs. In my eyes, the beautiful basket was also filled with love. This same kind teacher gave me an angel figurine when I graduated from seminary. I still get a warm feeling whenever I see that little angel inside my china closet. It represented to me the hugs that I so desperately needed but seldom received.
My grandmother, a spiritual giant to me, taught me how to pray. She spent her winters with a daughter who lived a hundred miles away, so I saw her only in the summers. Sometimes I got to stay with her. I loved to climb between her sparkling white sheets and lay my head on her freshly ironed pillowcases. Her home was a house of order and love. And her homemade bread and Potawatomi plum jam was like a king’s dinner to me. She always kept a tin box of lemon drops and mints.
After biking to her house one day, I couldn’t find her in the kitchen, so I went into her bedroom. Through the window I noticed her out in her garden. Passing her dresser, I saw a new box of chocolates that someone had given her for Mother’s Day. The temptation was too great. I opened the box, picked out several pieces, and shoved them into my pocket before running outside to see Grandma.
The next day Grandma called and asked me to come over to her house. When I arrived, we visited for a while, then she offered me a chocolate. I cried and she cried, then we talked about what it means to be honest and about how disappointed Heavenly Father is when we steal. Grandma taught me other lessons that afternoon that helped strengthen my spirituality. She was the first one I called when I received my mission call. She died while I was in the mission home, and she was buried the day I arrived in New Zealand. I will always cherish the comfort and strength that she was to me.
When people are mentally ill, they sometimes have religious delusions, or strange ideas. Mama was either very religious—we said family prayers together three times a day—or she wouldn’t have anything at all to do with the Church. Because half of our small rural ward were relatives, the whole congregation knew about Mama’s illness. She never went to Church, but it was important to her that Daddy and the rest of us attend.
One year a girl moved into our ward whose parents smoked and drank. We became friends, and went everywhere together. Her name was Elaine, and she became active in the Church. Although her parents were inactive, they were very kind to me and welcomed me into their home. When we were in junior high school, Elaine became very popular. Some of the girls wanted to crowd me out of Elaine’s circle of friends, but she wouldn’t let them. Then one day our friendship crashed. I was without my best friend for two horrible years. It was especially hard for me because Mama was very ill then.
Mama’s family had taught me to love music, and two songs were very special to me: “I’ll Walk with God” and “You’ll Never Walk Alone.” When the loneliness at school and the rejection at home got to be too much for me, I would go walking in the wheat fields and sing them. As I sang, I was filled with hope and courage, and I could feel the Spirit of the Lord giving me guidance and comfort.
At the end of ninth grade, Mama started taking a medication that helped her to feel better. By the time I graduated from high school, she started getting out into the community a little, and life was easier for all of us.
I feel that the Lord helped me develop a compassion for other people’s feelings because of the experiences that I had because of my mother. I grew up to love the Lord and depend on Him. And I never felt that I was alone, because I knew that He was always there when I needed Him.

A young boy and his parents are on the Brooklyn with other Latter-day Saints going to California in 1846. A storm came up so terrible that the captain of the ship told them to prepare to die. But they had faith that they would be all right, and the storm finally ended.
Once the hatches were unbattened, the children rushed up on deck like buckshot exploding out of a shotgun. There seemed to be magic in the breeze as the ship sailed quickly along. How good it was to see the sun and to breathe fresh air again! We forgot all about the bumps and bruises from being banged about like marbles in a leather pouch.

In the summer of 1975 I was 25, and my father had just died. He had been involved in the Canadian oil and gas industry with business interests in other parts of the world. I traveled to Europe and spent a considerable amount of time settling his business dealings there for my mother.

After hours of business meetings each day, my colleagues would take me downtown to relax at a famous shopping and promenade area on one of the busiest streets in the city.

With one of the hottest summers on record, it seemed that all the tourists in Europe were on that street. You could see people of various nationalities strolling by, sometimes in native costume or scantily dressed because of the heat.

The street was lined with exclusive stores selling expensive products, but some of the sordid side of life was obvious there as well—pornographic theaters, so-called adult bookstores, and taverns. And, in direct contrast to everything around them, four Latter-day Saint missionaries with a missionary street display.

Their presence seemed amazing, even to a nonmember like me. On this street, where much of what is bad in society was represented, the missionaries were an island of spirituality.

Because I was still discussing business, I was unable to go talk with the missionaries, but I watched them. I noticed that none of the young men looked at the young ladies walking down the street no matter how scantily dressed the girls were. I was quite impressed with that. I decided that I would go back and meet them in the evening when I was free of work, but every time I went to find them, they were gone. I could never seem to find them.

I had to leave the city for a few days, but shortly after my return, I saw two missionaries walking down that same street. I later discovered it would have been their preparation day.

As they walked, they would look in the shop windows. I decided to follow and look in the windows that they looked into to see what interested them. I discovered that they were looking at shoes or coats, and when they did look into a bookstore, it was one that sold only text books. They did not stare into the wine shops or other shops that offered immoral literature or art.

I planned to meet the missionaries at their street display within the next day or two, but suddenly the business deal was completed, and I was on my way back to Canada.

When I got home, I forgot some of the feelings I had experienced watching the missionaries. However, through a friend’s referral, some missionaries made an appointment with me.

As I let the two young men into my apartment, I had the same feelings I felt on the street in Europe when I saw the missionaries there. I sat down and listened to the first discussion. I looked into the eyes of the elders, conscious of the sincerity of their testimonies, and felt that I had known them all my life. After several weeks of missionary discussions, I joined the Church.

I have often thought about the missionaries I saw in Europe. If the two missionaries I followed had stopped in front of a tavern and had been laughing and joking about beer, or if they had gone into some of the stores that you might expect young people to be curious about, the impact of their example on me would have been lost.

The world walked by those missionaries that summer. They never knew I was watching and that their presence bore testimony to me. They never knew that their example was what affected me and made me receptive to the gospel message. Although they never spoke to many of the people on that street, I wonder how many others were influenced as I was just by their example.

After I finished my military service as a young man, I returned to my parents’ home in central Utah, about 40 miles (65 kilometers) from the town of Manti. Not long before, plans had been announced for a small addition to the temple in Manti, and Church leaders were asking for volunteers to come help with that project. I signed up for a two-week shift, and soon I found myself swinging a pickaxe, breaking up boulders, and clearing rocks outside of the temple. The hot summer sun shone down on us all day long, and the work was physically harsh and mentally boring. A few times as I struggled to remove another rock, I wondered if perhaps I had been a little too hasty in responding to the call for volunteers.
As the days went by, though, I had a remarkable spiritual experience. Several times in the midst of that backbreaking labor, I heard and felt the Holy Ghost tell me that sometime in the future I would be involved in building other temples also. It was a very quiet but very clear feeling. At the time I was preparing to return to work on a cattle ranch, so it was not at all obvious to me how I might be involved in building temples, but I accepted that feeling as inspiration. Over the years I occasionally wondered about it, still uncertain about how it might come to pass, but very certain that the still, small voice had spoken those words to me.
For the past several years I have had the privilege of seeing that promise fulfilled in ways I never imagined as I have had the opportunity to work in the Temple Department during this exciting period of growth. I have seen firsthand President Gordon B. Hinckley’s commitment to bringing temples closer to more of the people of the world, and I share in his enthusiasm for the blessings that can come from the temple ordinances. President Hinckley said, “I urge our people everywhere, with all of the persuasiveness of which I am capable, to live worthy to hold a temple recommend, to secure one and regard it as a precious asset, and to make a greater effort to go to the house of the Lord and partake of the spirit and the blessings to be had therein.” In this, President Hinckley is echoing prophets before him. For example, the Prophet Joseph Smith warned of the consequences when we fail to use the temples available to us: “Those Saints who neglect [temple work] in behalf of their deceased relatives, do it at the peril of their own salvation.”
An obvious example might be the difference between attending the temple as an ordinance worker versus as a patron. When working in the temple, an ordinance worker finds it really is work; from memorization to procedure, there is much to do. The result of this effort is that ordinance workers gain familiarity with the ordinances and have an opportunity to learn and grow even more. And as I discovered during my physical labors on the Manti temple as a young man, a willingness to work and serve can prepare our hearts to receive spiritual insights.

Tyler loved tomatoes. He loved their bright red color and smooth skin. He loved the way their seeds spurted out when he bit into them. He loved to dip tiny tomatoes into salt, and he loved the big ones sliced thin in sandwiches.
“Let’s grow some tomatoes in our yard,” Tyler’s dad suggested one day.
“Could we?” Tyler was surprised. He’d never thought of growing tomatoes at home. He thought it would be wonderful to have his very own supply of tasty tomatoes ready to pick whenever he felt like it.
Tyler and his dad chose a sunny spot to plant the tomatoes. Then they dug and prepared the soil until it was loose and fine. While they were working, Mr. Bradley leaned over the back fence. “Going to have some pretty flowers?” he asked.
“Oh, no, Mr. Bradley. This is for my tomatoes,” Tyler told him.
“Humph!” Mr. Bradley growled, frowning. “I’ve never had any luck growing tomatoes here.”
“Dad says we can,” Tyler answered, and he kept raking the ground to make it smooth.
The next morning Tyler and his dad planted six tiny green tomato plants. Tyler watered them carefully. In just a few days they looked bigger. “See, Mr. Bradley,” Tyler said, pointing proudly to his plants, “they’re growing.”
“Just wait, Tyler, just wait,” Mr. Bradley replied smugly.
In several weeks Tyler’s tomato plants blossomed with dozens of star-shaped yellow flowers. “I’m going to have hundreds of tomatoes,” he predicted.
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” Mr. Bradley told him.
Soon tiny, hard green tomatoes replaced the yellow blossoms. Tyler’s mouth watered as he watched them grow into large tomatoes. Morning and night he checked the plants, hoping to find a ripe tomato. One morning he thought one of the plants seemed smaller. The next day he was sure it had lost some leaves. And the following day it looked scraggly and thin. Tyler noticed some small black droppings under the plant too.
He knelt on the ground and examined all of his plants, leaf by leaf. He studied the shriveled one very carefully. Suddenly he jumped up and hollered, “Wow! Dad, Dad, come quick! There’s a dragon out here.”
A large green worm the size of a thick, round pea pod was greedily munching the leaves of Tyler’s wilted tomato plant. It really did look like a miniature dragon as it inched its fat, segmented body along the stem of the plant, waving the little “horns” on the top of its head from side to side as it moved. It seemed to eat as much as a dragon, too, devouring every leaf in its path.
“How did you ever find it, Tyler?” Dad asked. “That worm is so well camouflaged that it looks just like part of the stem. Only really sharp eyes could have seen it.”
Mr. Bradley leaned over the fence to see what all the excitement was about. “Better spray,” he advised. “The pests get all the prizes, I always say. Give ’em a shot of bug spray—that’s what they deserve.”
“I think we’ll try the old-fashioned method first,” Dad said. He carefully picked the worm off the tomato plant. “Now, Tyler, you check the plants every day, and if you notice any other worms, take them off and kill them. They should be easier to spot now that you know what to look for. Be careful, though—their bite might not be dangerous, but it could sure hurt.”
“Found any more dragons?” Mr. Bradley asked the next time Tyler was out watering.
“Nope,” Tyler answered, “but the tomatoes are finally turning red. Look!” The plants sagged under the weight of the plump tomatoes—some still green, some pale yellow, and some a promising orange.
Finally the day came. “This one is ready, isn’t it, Dad?” Tyler asked as they inspected a big red tomato.
“You bet, and it’s all yours. You grew it, and you get to eat it.”
Tyler gently twisted the tomato from its stem and washed it carefully with water from the hose. Then he sat down on the lawn and took a big bite. Still warm from the sun, the tomato burst in his mouth, spurting juice and seeds down his chin and onto his jeans. Tyler grinned with pleasure.
“Ummm! It’s so good!” he exclaimed, wiping his chin between bites. “Next week, after I eat a few more myself, I’ll pick some for Mr. Bradley. Maybe next year he’ll want to grow tomatoes too.”

My friend, Corwin Sutherin, was a pole vaulter in high school. He had never achieved a height beyond the 12-foot mark. Not in a meet, nor in practice. One day in practice after several failed attempts at 11 feet, 11 inches, his coach told him he was lowering the standard to 11 feet 6 inches. Knowing his ability to clear this height, Corwin easily cleared the adjusted bar. His coach then called him over, and asked him to look at the measurement. It was set at 12 feet six inches. By his coach setting the standard, higher than Corwin’s own expectation for himself, he achieved a level beyond his expectation. Corwin went on to surpass that level by another foot, earning a meet championship.

Early in 2002, my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer. A few days later, my husband was also diagnosed with cancer. These were some dark, difficult days for us as we tried to handle the challenges we faced. It would have been easy to do what Job was encouraged to do: curse God and die—ignoring our commitments to the Lord and others and wallowing in despair. However, even when our circumstances change, our commitment to the Lord must not change. There is no sliding scale. We cannot get a rain check or opt out from our commitments, even for a time. We must stay on track and be lifted up by Jesus’ example. Putting our trust in the Lord and following His example is the best way to endure the trials of life and keep our commitments.

At our multistake youth conference, we all received a Book of Mormon and were invited to give it to someone. I wanted to give mine to my favorite pop singer.
When I found out he was giving a concert in my city, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity. Each of his concerts has a random drawing that selects 15 fans to go backstage and meet him. It’s nearly impossible to be selected, but I entered anyway.
A few weeks before the concert, I wrote my testimony in a Book of Mormon and prayed. I explained to Heavenly Father that the odds were against me and that I needed His help.
As soon as I said “amen,” my cell phone rang with a call from the singer’s office. I had been selected!
Backstage on the day of the concert, I presented the singer with the book. He opened it and read my testimony: “I spent a lot of time thinking of a valuable, useful present for you. I realized that I needed to give you something that was valuable because of what it contained and not because of its price. This is the Book of Mormon; it is the most precious thing I have. It will be for you too if you read it.”
He gave me a hug and said he would read it. I couldn’t hold back my tears!

He said that a granduncle of his, who was an abbot in the Catholic Church, had asked on his deathbed that Derteano gather the family’s genealogical records. Derteano promised to do so, although he thought that the request was only the irrational talk of a dying man. But he had made a promise, and so, after some time had passed, he began to research the Derteano records. He had to spend considerable time, effort, and money to gather the information. Many times he felt like abandoning the project. On one occasion, when he decided to stop the work, he dreamed his uncle came to him and reminded him of the promise.
He carried on the research for thirty years, locating Derteanos in many parts of the world. Apart from fulfilling a promise to a dying man, Derteano never knew why he was gathering the information. He said he was working blindly, hoping that some day he would understand the reason for it all.
I said that I could provide the answer for him. I told him about the Church and the purposes of the vicarious work for the dead in the temples. I read to him 1 Peter 3:18–20 [1 Pet. 3:18–20], which tells of the Savior preaching the gospel in the spirit world. Then I shared with him parts of Doctrine and Covenants 138 [D&C 138], emphasizing the joy the spirits feel when they receive the gospel and their hope that their descendents would remember them since they cannot progress without us.
Derteano was overjoyed at hearing the reason behind his search. Now, sixty-three years old, he finally felt free of his obligation to his granduncle.
He gave me copies of all the birth and marriage records he had and also the names and addresses of other Derteanos in other parts of the world. My joy and feelings overflowed when together we found a common ancestor in the records, and thus I was able to connect my family tree to his.
Derteano gave me one of his books in which he wrote, “To Luis Roberto Derteano and Rosa Liliana, relatives I had been seeking throughout my life. Without a doubt something brought us together. Kepa De Derteano y Basterra.”

The only thing Jenny wanted in the whole wide world was a horse of her very own. Mr. Bonner, whose backyard connected with her own, had a pair of Morgan horses, the very breed Jenny wanted. Jenny visited Mr. Bonner every chance she had, helping him feed and groom the two horses. Their bodies were smooth and glossy after they had been brushed and curried.
Jenny sat on the porch steps, her elbows on her knees, chin cupped in the palm of her hands as she gazed across the yard and fence at the Morgans lazily munching the grass.
The screen door snapped shut behind her, and her mother sat down beside her, still wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Pretty, aren’t they?”
“Mom, can’t I have a horse? I promise I’ll take care of it.”
“Jenny, we’ve been over this a hundred times. You know why you can’t.”
Yes, Jenny knew the reasons. For one thing, they didn’t have a large yard, not to mention a barn or lean-to to shelter a horse against the harsh North Dakota winters. Nor did they have the extra money it would take to feed a horse and care for it.
“I wish you could have a horse, Jenny,” Mother said later, as she returned to the kitchen.
Knowing that it was close to feeding time, Jenny got up, brushed a hand across the seat of her jeans, climbed over the fence, and sauntered over to the Bonner barn.
Mr. Bonner was already at work, scooping grain out of the wooden bin into two separate pails. “I wondered if I was going to see my favorite girl today.”
Jenny grinned. Mr. Bonner always called her his favorite girl. She grabbed a pitchfork and started cleaning a stall.
“So what’s my girl been doing on this gorgeous summer day?”
Jenny shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing much.”
“Anxious for school to start? How many more days left?”
Jenny laughed out loud. It was a game he played with her every year. He knew exactly how many more days were left—he was the school’s principal.
“Fifteen.”
“Is that all?” Mr. Bonner said, appearing shocked. “I guess I’ll have to get busy, or we won’t be able to open the school on time.”
Jenny knew better. She had seen workers at the school painting and cleaning whenever she accompanied her mother to town. School would start on time, as always.
In a more serious voice he said, “Jenny, I have a favor to ask. I’ve already talked to your mother about it, and she said that it was up to you.”
Jenny’s heart thudded wildly in her chest. For Mr. Bonner to get her mother’s permission, it must be something big.
“I have to go away for ten days on school business. I leave tomorrow. Would you take care of the Morgans while I’m gone?”
“Really? Honest? All by myself? With no one helping me? Wow! Oh yes! When do I start?”
Mr. Bonner laughed. “Tomorrow—if you’re sure you can handle the job.”
“Oh, I know I can. I’ve helped you feed them, brush them, clean the barn, put them out to pasture for … for … well, for years!”
Mr. Bonner nodded. “I know. That’s why I’m asking you now. I think that you love these two old horses as much as I do.”
“Oh, I do!”
“OK then. It’s a deal,” he said, sticking out his hand.
Early the next morning Jenny stood in Mr. Bonner’s driveway and waved as Mr. Bonner drove away. Then she turned toward the barn to start her first day of chores all by herself.
She had fun the first few days, spending much of her time tending the horses. By the fifth day, however, the charm had worn off. Taking care of these horses is hard work, Jenny decided. The hay was heavy to move and scratched her legs when she wore shorts. Cleaning the stalls was dirty, smelly work, especially on those two days when the temperature rose to ninety-five degrees.
The sixth day Jenny had to turn down an invitation to see a movie with her friend Rebecca because the outing interfered with her stable chores.
On the seventh day she overslept. One of the horses, unhappy with his late breakfast, stepped on her foot. Jenny was sure that he did it on purpose. Limping home, she wondered why she had agreed to do the work.
It rained on the eighth and ninth days, turning the barnyard into a thick, slimy sea of mud. As she was dumping the wheelbarrow after her chores were done, Jenny slipped and fell into the muck.
The tenth day finally arrived, the day Mr. Bonner was to return home. It was midday, and Jenny was sitting on the steps once again. The Morgans were in the pasture.
All they do is eat, Jenny thought, watching them. If I’m not feeding them, I’m cleaning up after them. And by the time I’m finished, I’m either too tired or too hungry to stop and play with them.
“They’re always pretty to look at, aren’t they?” Mom said, returning from the garden with a basketful of vegetables. “You’ve taken excellent care of them. Their coats look shiny and soft.”
“Yeah,” Jenny mumbled. Her arms ached all over again as she thought about their tall backs and even taller necks and about how difficult it was for her to brush their heads.
“They look well fed, too,” her mother added.
“They should,” Jenny said. “All they do is eat.”
Her mother laughed. “Animals have a way of doing that. So,” she said, a more serious look on her face. “I bet taking care of those two made you want a horse of your own even more.”
“Oh, I do. But not right now,” Jenny said, surprising both her mother and herself.
“Oh?”
“I love horses, and I want to own one someday, but not right now. They take up so much time that I haven’t been able to enjoy them all week. What’s the use in having something if you can’t enjoy it?”
Jenny received a squeeze from her mother and a kiss on the forehead. “You know, I’m really proud of you. It takes courage and honesty to understand things like that.”
Jenny smiled back at her mother. She was proud of herself too. Someday she would have her very own Morgans—but not right now.

Celeste hopped into the van and scrunched down so that no one outside it could see her. Tears flooded down her freckled cheeks and splashed on her jumper like a monsoon thunderstorm breaking loose.
“It isn’t fair,” she muttered. She pulled a crumpled tissue out of her pocket and wiped her hazel eyes. “Why doesn’t Eli pick on someone else, for a change?”
“Hey, look who’s talking to herself!” said Peter, her older brother. “Celeste is having a celestial chat!” He started to laugh, then noticed her tear-stained face. “Aw, Celeste, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. What’s wrong?”
“What did you do?” Jimmy, her younger brother, asked Peter. Celeste turned away and stared silently out the window.
Mom gave the boys a meaningful look and said, “Please remember, Sunday is supposed to be a peaceful day of rest, a day free from the cares of the world and,” she added pointedly, “from the teasing of brothers.”
Celeste looked guiltily at Peter and Jimmy. Normally they deserved a lecture like this, but today wasn’t really their fault. It was Elijah Smith’s. The only time Eli had been decent to her was the week Sister Newman had given a lesson on “love your enemies.”
Later, in her room, while Mom sat quietly beside her, the day’s tragic events spilled out.
It had begun when Celeste enthusiastically answered two tough questions in her Valiant B class. Sister Newman had complimented her. “Good job, Celeste! I can always count on you.”
Celeste had flushed with happiness until Eli whispered loudly, “Miss Goody-goody Two Shoes knows all the answers.” The other children had snickered.
Later Eli bumped into her, then flopped on the floor, groaning, “Oh no! I’ve touched Miss Righteous. Help—I’m going to be translated!”
Even Celeste’s best friend, Mary, had laughed.
“Mom,” she asked now, “how could anyone name a boy like that after a great prophet?”
“Two prophets, if you count his last name,” replied Mom. “Don’t let him get to you, Celeste. Eli may not know about Elijah or Joseph Smith. He and his dad just started coming back to church this year. Besides,” Mom encouraged her with a big hug, “you know how to handle teasing. That’s one advantage of having two brothers, right?”
Celeste smiled, then broke into laughter when Mom winked at her, tiptoed to the bedroom door, opened it quickly, and Peter and James tumbled in.
“Eavesdropping, guys?” Mom asked sweetly. They grinned.
The next Sunday, things went from bad to rotten. In class, Eli brushed past her chair and snorted, “Teacher’s pet.” Celeste pasted on a smile and looked right through him.
The real bombshell hit when Sister Newman announced, “Class, we are going to have a prophet-mastery contest like the seminary youth do with scriptures! I’ll divide you into teams of two, and you can study together.
“Mary, you team up with Charles. Celeste, you’re partners with Eli.”
It was hard to tell whose jaw dropped first. Both Celeste and Eli looked like goldfish gasping on dry land.
“Please meet with your partner this week,” said Sister Newman, handing out a list of some prophets.
“Mom,” moaned Celeste during lunch, “how can I work with someone who doesn’t even like me?”
“I could ask Sister Virden to transfer him to my Blazer class,” Peter volunteered.
“No—to my class!” Jimmy clamored. “Sister Florio doesn’t let anyone get away with what she calls shenanigans.”
“See, honey,” Mom told her, “even though they tease you a lot, your brothers are telling you that they love you.”
Celeste sighed. “I guess that leaves me with ‘love my enemy.’”
At school, Eli and Celeste avoided each other all week. Finally, Saturday morning, Celeste called him. To her surprise, Eli agreed to come right over.
“We can’t show up tomorrow and look like dummies,” he explained. “That’s the only reason I’m here.”
They studied for two hours before Mom brought in some almond brownies.
“Food!” shouted Eli.
While he ate two in quick succession, Celeste said shyly, “You know, there is another prophet I think you’d really like. He’s in the Old Testament.”
“Oh, yeah?” Eli mumbled.
“His name was Elijah, like yours.” Eli stopped chewing as she continued. “He was one of the great prophets—in fact, another Old Testament prophet spoke of him, and Jesus told the people in the Book of Mormon about it. Elijah performed many miracles in the Lord’s name, like when he called fire down from heaven and burned up a sacrifice and an altar too.”
“Cool!”
Celeste rushed on, “He sealed up the heavens for three and a half years so it wouldn’t rain. During the famine the drought caused, he blessed a widow’s flour and oil so that she would always have food. And later he even raised her son from the dead. And he did all these things to help people turn to the Lord and to be good.”
“Wow! How do you know all this great stuff?”
Ducking her head modestly, she answered, “Oh, our family reads scriptures together. I do some on my own too.”
Before Eli left, she gave him a piece of paper with “1 Kings 17” [1 Kgs. 17] and “2 Kings 2” [2 Kgs. 2] written on it so that he could read more about Elijah.
The next day, when Eli came into Primary, he whispered, “Celeste, how come you didn’t tell me Elijah was taken up to heaven in a chariot of fire, pulled by flaming horses? He really was a great prophet of the Lord. I’m proud to have his name—and my last name’s the same as the Prophet Joseph’s!”
Mary and Charles won the prophet-mastery game, but Celeste and Eli were just one point behind. When Sister Newman asked the triple bonus question: “Name two prophets who appeared to Joseph Smith in the Kirtland Temple,” Eli surprised everyone by waving his hand.
“Moses and Elijah,” he said proudly. “That’s from Doctrine and Covenants section 110 [D&C 110]. My dad showed me.”
“Wonderful!” said an amazed Sister Newman.
“Better watch it, Eli,” teased Celeste as they filed out of class, “if you get too good, a fiery chariot with your name on it might show up.”
Eli laughed and said, “Know what, Celeste? If it did, I’d let you come too.”

In closing, I share an experience of a dear friend who served as a stake president of a neighboring stake: One year we had a regional training for stake presidents with Elder Quentin L. Cook. Me and my dear friend both arrived early for the meeting. We were very excited about this training with Elder Cook. As we waited for our meeting to start, somehow, we got into a discussion of how we were called as stake presidents. He told me the Lord revealed to him that he was going to be stake president while he was still serving as a bishop. He told his family about these promptings. Well, eventually there was a reorganization of the stake presidency, but he wasn’t called. He was a bit perplexed and wondered why he had received those promptings. Later on, as he was serving as the ward Young Men president, there was another change in the stake presidency. And again, he had those same promptings that he was going to be stake president. But this time, he reluctantly told his wife about the promptings, and she was the only person he told. A ward Young Men president normally did not get an interview with the General Authority assigned to seek the Lord’s will on who will be the next stake president. But there was a mix up in the paperwork and they accidentally scheduled an interview for my friend. The General Authority told the then stake president that it was okay and that they would still give my friend an interview. Well, this time he was called as stake president. He told me it was a tender mercy from the Lord, because the Lord knew Him. The Lord knew that he needed time. He needed time to digest things. The Lord was mindful of him personally as the Lord prepared this great brother to serve as stake president.

The Lord’s promptings and revelations may not always come in the time or in the way that we expect. But, if we are worthy they always come in the best time and in the best way for us because our Heavenly Father is all knowing and all powerful, but most importantly, His divine love is perfect and pure.

In 1989, when Daniel and Thérèse Kola learned about the restored gospel, much of their income came from sales of coffee, tobacco, and alcohol at their café. After accepting the Word of Wisdom, though, they wondered if it was right to market things they wanted to avoid. They debated what to do until the day of their baptism. They decided to give up their old livelihood, like Christ’s ancient disciples.
“In the morning, the decision was made,” Daniel Kola recalled. They sold their shop and were baptised, confident they had done what the Lord would have them do. “We had that joy in our heart because we felt something.”

Alexander was sitting in his car in American Samoa when we talked over the phone. I was astonished as he told me about how he gave up his full-ride football scholarship to serve a mission. After returning home, he felt guided to help with his family’s business and marry his sweetheart in the temple. Only then did he feel prompted to finish his education, and BYU–Pathway was the perfect solution for him.
When Alexander told me he had enrolled and withdrawn from school twice because of a hurricane and then because of a house fire, I was shocked. He had chosen to serve the Lord for two years before pursuing his education and was then faced with significant adversity—yet he persisted. When I asked him how he kept moving forward, he mentioned the story of Nephi getting the plates from Jerusalem. Even though Nephi did what God asked, it still took him and his brothers three tries to be successful. But Nephi never lost faith, because God had promised to provide a way for Him (see 1 Nephi 3–4).
Alexander taught me that everything in life is subject to change except for our loving Heavenly Father. As President Nelson also taught: “The Lord never slumbers, nor does He sleep [see Psalm 121:4]. He ‘is the same yesterday, today and [tomorrow]’ [Mormon 9:9]. He will not forsake His covenants, His promises, or His love for His people.”2
I truly know now that no matter what changes I face, His commandments, blessings, and love are unwavering and eternal. Alexander taught me that if I set my path toward God and Jesus Christ and rely on Them, I will be able to face the uncertain future with hope and faith.