Gospel Story Finder

Young Latter-day Saints on the outer islands of French Polynesia wanted to hold a youth conference. But they faced some challenges.
Challenge 1: Location. The islands are far apart, with no regular lines of communication or transportation between them.
Challenge 2: Law. The government requires any youth gathering to comply with approved standards, including supervision by a state-certified director.
Challenge 3: Food. Little edible food grows in the crushed coral soil of the atolls. The diet is based on fish, coconuts, and whatever is shipped from Tahiti.
Challenge 4: Water. There are no rivers or lakes. Rain provides the only source of drinking water.
Challenge 5: Lodging. There are no dormitories, barracks, or even hotels on the outer islands. Where would people stay?
Faced with so many obstacles, it might have been tempting to give up. But the Saints here knew that if they had faith, God would help them find answers. They continued planning their conference. And soon, solutions were found.
Solution 1: Stay close to home. Conference planners decided to hold several small conferences at local levels. This would allow youth groups to gather without lengthy travel or a lot of expense. The first conference was held on Takaroa, one of seventy-seven islands in the Tuamotu Archipelago. Takaroa is a stronghold for the Church in the area—270 of its 396 inhabitants are Latter-day Saints.
Solution 2: Find a willing supervisor. Brother Stanley Brodien, executive secretary in the Paea Tahiti Stake, was the answer. A school psychologist, he spends summer vacations organizing youth gatherings, summer camps, and outings. He already had the proper government certification and was happy to supervise the conference.
Solutions 3, 4, and 5: Use local resources. Takaroa had been blessed with an abundance of rain. Storage tanks were full and could supply needed water. Some food had to be brought along in coolers, but a baker from the nearby island of Manihi, branch president Pitori Faura, provided bread, and local members helped the youth catch fish and gather coconuts as needed. As for lodging, most of the youth stayed in homes with members. Some of the young men brought tents and camped on the beach.
And now, the conference! Most of the seventy LDS youth from the three islands attending the Tuamotu North Youth Conference are involved either directly or indirectly in the pearl industry. The youth are highly skilled in tasks like skin diving and scuba diving, which are required for pearl cultivation.
But besides the pearl farms, the focal point of the island of Takaroa is the century-old LDS chapel, built from coral, with its hand-painted moldings, red tin roof, and bell tower stretching ninety feet above bedrock. It is larger and taller than any other building on the island, symbolic of the Church’s importance in the small community, and a perfect place for the youth to gather.
After their arrival, some aboard a fishing vessel, some by speed boat, the youth were divided into four groups, each with a mixture of participants from various age levels and from the three islands of Takaroa, Manihi, and Takapoto. The youth chose Book of Mormon names for their groups: Ether, Nephi, Mormon—and a popular hero in these islands, Hagoth.
Cynthia Tufariua of Takaroa said, “At first I wasn’t excited about not being with my friends, but after the first day, I thought it was great to get to know kids from the other islands.”
Eric Hio of Manihi said, “I’ve never seen this many Mormons together in one spot.”
Set an example of service. The shining moment of the conference came in the form of service. Except for one very rainy morning, the youth spent several hours each day cleaning different areas of the island—picking up trash, cutting weeds and bushes, removing rocks, hauling away garbage. During the conference, they cleaned beaches along the dock area and tidied up the village cemetery, the church grounds and building, and the local soccer field, which had become little more than a garbage dump and an eyesore.
Mani Terooatea is a Laurel from Takaroa home on vacation from Japan, where she has been studying the technique of pearl grafting (placing tiny pieces of mussel shells inside oysters in order to cultivate pearls). Mani said, “It was super to clean up the field, to see everyone working side by side. It didn’t take long, and I’m glad we could leave the place cleaner than we found it.” Mani brought along a friend who is a member of another faith. The friend, Hina Dexter, developed a new appreciation for Latter-day Saints, as did several other non-LDS participants.
Start with the scriptures. Each morning started with individual scripture study, followed by breakfast and a devotional. Then came the service projects, followed by sports and group activities, including island games such as “The Crab and the Coconut Trees,” “The Dog and the Thongs,” and “The Thief and the Pearl.” To cool off after a hard day of work and play, the youth found that a dip in the pristine lagoon waters among some of the most beautiful coral gardens in the world, myriads of brightly colored tropical fish, and curious but harmless reef sharks, provided a refreshing change of pace.
Besides morning scripture study and devotionals, two firesides and a home evening emphasized spiritual topics such as faith, standards, scripture study, goal setting, enduring to the end, striving for excellence, mission preparation, and seminary attendance. One speaker gave a brief history of the Church in French Polynesia, speaking of sacrifices made by early missionaries and members and challenging the youth to be willing to make similar sacrifices to share the gospel.
End with a testimony meeting. As the conference closed, young people expressed gratitude for new bonds of friendship, strengthened testimonies, and their renewed desire to know and serve the Savior. One young man who had not been very active in the Church expressed his newly gained desire to serve a mission: “I want to get my life in order so I can share with other people the testimony I felt growing during this conference. I want to spread the joy the gospel brings.”
Like a pearl. The youth conference taught the outer islanders another thing as well. They saw that with patience, challenges can be turned into blessings. It reminded them of the black pearls they grow in their lagoons. A little bit of mussel shell is an irritant. But with time and care, the oyster transforms it into a thing of beauty.

Then one day, about a year later, one of Olivio’s American teammates said, “Hey—you’re Mormon. Don’t Mormons go on missions? Are you going to quit the team and go too?”
That got Olivio thinking. “The things I learned made sense to me, and I said, ‘Well, if these things come from God, I have to explain them to other people.’”
But leaving basketball—that would be tough. Olivio had just made the Portuguese national team, and they had offered him a very lucrative contract—lots of money, a car, and a luxurious apartment.
“It was a difficult decision to leave basketball, so I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. There it said that I was going to serve the Lord, so I decided to do it. God prepared me to come here and find the gospel by giving me these talents to play basketball. I don’t have a problem leaving it to serve him. I think I can help many people.”
And now, Elder Olivio Gomes Manuel, who left northern Portugal almost two years ago to serve in southern Portugal, is helping many people. He’s well known throughout the mission for his good nature and easy smile, his hard work, and his gentle rapport with the people he towers over.
That isn’t the kind of fame that makes you a star on national television—it’s more the kind of fame that makes you a star in the eternities. And while he won’t make millions from gigantic contracts and endorsements, he knows that his eternal reward will be far greater.

I learned a long time ago that it is hard to know how you are doing in being born again and why it is not easy. Once, as a bishop of a ward, I worked with a young man not much older than many of you. He’d made great mistakes and had been moved by faith in the Lord Jesus Christ to make long and painful repentance. We were down to the weeks before he was to be married in the temple. I had long before forgiven him in the name of the Church and had given him his temple recommend. Yet he remembered that I had said, “The Lord will forgive you in his own time and in his own way.” But now he was deeply concerned. He came to my office and he said: “You told me that the Lord would someday let me know that I was forgiven. But I am going to the temple to marry a wonderful girl. I want to be the best I can be for her. I need to know that I am forgiven. And I need to know now. Tell me how to find out.” I said I would try.

He gave me a deadline. My memory is that it was within less than two weeks. Fortunately, I already had a trip scheduled. During that period of time I went to Salt Lake City, and there I found myself seeing Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, at a social function. It was crowded, and yet he somehow found me. He walked up to me in that crowd and said, “Hal, I understand that you are now a bishop. Do you have anything you would like to ask me?”

I said that I did, but I didn’t think that was the place to talk about it. He thought it was. It was an outdoor party. My memory is that we went behind a shrub and there had our interview. Without breaking confidences, as I have not with you, I outlined the concerns and the question of this young man in my ward. Then I asked Elder Kimball, “How can he get that revelation? How can he know whether his sins are remitted?”

I thought Elder Kimball would talk to me about fasting or prayer or listening for the still small voice. But he surprised me. Instead he said, “Tell me something about the young man.”

I said, “What would you like to know?”

And then he began a series of the most simple questions. Some of the ones I remember were:

“Does he come to his priesthood meetings?”

I said, after a moment of thought, “Yes.”

“Does he come early?”

“Yes.”

“Does he sit down front?”

I thought for a moment and then realized, to my amazement, that he did.

“Does he home teach?”

“Yes.”

“Does he go early in the month?”

“Yes, he does.”

“Does he go more than once?”

“Yes.”

I can’t remember the other questions. But they were all like that—little things, simple acts of obedience, of submission. And for each question I was surprised that my answer was always yes. Yes, he wasn’t just at all his meetings: he was early; he was smiling; he was there not only with his whole heart, but with the broken heart of a little child, as he was every time the Lord asked anything of him. And after I had said yes to each of his questions, Elder Kimball looked at me, paused, and then very quietly said, “There is your revelation.”

Sufficiently humble. Stripped of pride. Stripped of envy. Never making a mock of his brother.

When I went back to the young man and told him what I then knew, he accepted it. But he may have simply had to take my word for it. You see, it’s hard to feel that you are sufficiently humble. If you did, you might not be. He went forward with his marriage. I’ve seen him since. To me he still looks as he did on the front bench before a priesthood meeting.

My guess is that he has retained a remission of his sins. I don’t know if he knew then or if he knows now with the certainty he wanted, but I am sure of something. When that change of heart comes to me and to you, when we are cleansed and blameless before God, it will be because we have been made pure by the blood of Christ.

Our friend Zuleika comes from Alegrete, Brazil. Although her family was not religious, at age 12, Zuleika began to read the Bible and visit local churches, searching to know more about God. With her parents’ reluctant permission, she studied with the missionaries, gained a testimony, and was baptized. Zuleika told me: “During the discussions, I was shown a picture of the Salt Lake Temple and told about the sealing ordinances. From that moment, I had the desire of one day entering into the house of the Lord and having an eternal family.”

Not all decisions are anticipated the way choosing what to study or whom to date might be. We aren’t necessarily given a road map of the hard choices that we will encounter. Margaret and I came upon just such a decision a few years ago—one that required great trust in the Lord and great faith in responding to the directions of His Spirit.

Before leaving to preside over the England London Mission in the summer of 2000, we prayerfully decided to sell our family home and retire from my career. However, three years later, near the end of our mission, we felt strong promptings to change our plans and return to Boston. Due to our earlier decision, we needed to find a place to live.

After an extensive search we purchased a small home that was just right for the two of us located about a mile from where we had lived for over 20 years. We moved in and immediately went to work renovating and improving it like we had done to prior homes several times before. For the next eight months we lived there comfortably.

Then, one Sunday afternoon, I received a strong impression from the Spirit that we needed to move. I was shocked by this prompting. Another move was not in our plans, and it made absolutely no sense. Yet I knew I had been told that we needed to move.

Later that day I drove down the street we had lived on for so many years before our mission. I hadn’t been on that street in nearly four years—not since we had sold our home there. But as I followed the gentle guidance of the Spirit, I noticed a nice home across the street from the home we had raised our family in. It had a “for sale” sign out in front. The thought quickly crossed my mind, “I wonder if that is the house the Lord wants us to buy.”

For two weeks I pondered the clear impression I’d had, wondering why we needed to move. Unable to make sense of it, but trusting in the Lord with humility, gratitude, and faith, I concluded I just needed to act upon the prompting, and so I finally told Margaret what had happened. She, too, was shocked, but we both felt we should do as the Spirit had prompted, so we put our home on the market and prepared to move.

After a few days of house hunting, we knew that the house across the street from our previous home was indeed the one we should buy. Now, if you knew the Boston housing market, especially at that time, you would have known as I did that this was not likely to be a wise financial decision! We had been in our other home for less than a year, and now we were selling it and buying a home larger than we needed, but we felt strongly prompted that it was what the Lord wanted us to do. We were grateful for the Lord’s guidance, even though we did not understand it.

The day after we moved, Margaret walked next door to visit Barbara, the elderly neighbor she had been acquainted with when we had lived on this street before. She knew Barbara had been raised in the Church but had become inactive when she went away to college. She hadn’t been back to church in over 60 years, and in all the years we had been neighbors previously, Barbara had seemed uninterested in the gospel. When Margaret entered Barbara’s kitchen that morning, Barbara threw her arms around Margaret and immediately began telling her about her 40-year-old daughter, Karen. Karen was dying of stomach cancer, and she and her husband were now living with Barbara so Barbara could help with Karen’s care. Before Margaret could even think, the words came out of her mouth: “Barbara, do you think that Karen would like a priesthood blessing?” Without hesitating Barbara said, “Yes, I know that she would.”

The next day a close friend from the ward joined me, and we gave Karen a priesthood blessing. It was then that Margaret and I began to understand why the Lord needed us to buy the house next door to Barbara and her daughter, Karen. Living a mile away would not have been sufficient for what the Lord needed us to do. Our trust in the Lord had created an amazing opportunity and blessing for us.

Within a week, we started sharing the gospel with Karen. We visited with her almost daily, teaching her and comforting her and her mother in any way we could. Karen started attending Church with us and loved the people in the ward and everything she was learning. She felt like she was coming home! Within a couple of months she was baptized.

Karen said that the day she was baptized was the happiest day of her life. Even though she only lived three months after her baptism, she felt such great joy and happiness and peace from the Lord. Even in her pain and misery, she felt the Lord’s arms around her as she neared the end of mortality. Those last few months of her life were truly a gift from the Lord.

We felt a little like Joseph of Egypt, trusting in the Lord though we didn’t completely understand His plan. We didn’t save an entire region from physical starvation, but, with His help, we did help feed a small family struggling with spiritual hunger at a critical time in their lives. That experience provided a capstone to all we had previously learned of trusting in the Lord.

Rob: You usually don’t realize you have a problem until you are in so deep you can no longer see the light. That’s what happened with me. I was curious and justified my involvement with pornography by reminding myself that guys at school were involved with it too, and it didn’t seem like a big problem for them.
Pornography first appeals to curiosity. Somehow, just looking doesn’t seem all that dangerous. Every one of us has gone into a store just to look—not to buy. But this is a huge store, with almost unlimited merchandise. Once we are in the store, the invitations to satisfy our curiosity are endless. And so curiosity is never satisfied.
There are lots of things in life—like rattlesnakes or abandoned mine shafts or drugs—that we may be curious about. But knowing how dangerous they are, we walk away or leave the party or turn off the computer.
Actually, with pornography, there is no such thing as “just looking.” Looking is the problem. Viewing pornography triggers sexual feelings. We can easily get hooked on those pleasurable feelings, especially if they seem to relieve stress or anxiety—and we can start a cycle of addiction just as difficult to break as an addiction to drugs or alcohol.
Rob: Curiosity turned to interest, and interest developed into a strong habit. Soon I was addicted. I would get home from school, go straight to the computer, and be there for hours. My social life suffered. So did my schoolwork, family ties, and—most important—my spirituality.
At the very time I most needed the promptings of the Spirit in my life, I was less and less able to feel anything. Life became a constant struggle against depression.
My soul hungered, and the only thing I fed it offered no nourishment. I would get discouraged with myself, so I would delve into pornography to feel better. But the pornography would upset me even more.
Guilt, fear, and depression are common emotions for those involved with pornography—guilt, because they know what they are doing is wrong; fear, because they are terrified their secret will be found out; and depression, because they no longer feel the Spirit. Relationships with family, friends, Church leaders, and the Lord are damaged.
Blair: My self-confidence dwindled in church, school, and everywhere. Many times I felt very alone, awkward, and unworthy. If a girl liked me, I would think, “She wouldn’t like me if she really knew me.” I would shy away from being social.
Rob: Through all those years I attended church, but I was mentally inactive. I kept going to church so I wouldn’t upset my parents. But I knew the lifestyle I was caught up in was wrong. I noticed a change in my own countenance day by day, year by year. I became calloused and hardened. I found myself lying to my parents, my bishop, everyone around me. Inside I was going through personal turmoil and spiritual torment.
As these young men struggled with their addiction to pornography, each tried to overcome it on his own. But like a hiker trapped in a dangerous crevice, each needed help. Talking to the bishop became the key to changing the direction of their lives.
Blair: I prayed for strength to leave these temptations alone. I made a list of things such as prayer, scriptures, and clean thoughts that would help me draw close to God. But although I worked hard, it didn’t solve my problems.
The thought of confessing to the bishop made me cringe. I felt it would be better to tell the bishop about the problem when it was in the past. But I finally realized it wasn’t ever going to be in the past if I did not confess. If God already knew my struggles and I felt comfortable talking about them in prayer, why not talk face to face with God’s servant? Once I finally decided to confess, I felt a reassuring peace that it was the right thing to do.
If you are using pornography, you are not morally clean, even if you haven’t done anything else immoral. Rob talks about realizing he wasn’t worthy to go to the temple or on a mission.
Rob: I humbly bowed before the Lord in tears and pleaded for strength beyond my own. Night after night I prayed, and finally I knew I had to talk to my bishop about it. That was the hardest part—admitting to someone else that I had a problem. I kept thinking I could handle it myself and no one would ever have to know. I wanted it to be something just between God and me. But I finally matured to a point where I realized that was impossible. I approached my bishop and began a long and difficult repentance process.
Repentance may be difficult, but it is also comforting and filled with hope.
Speaking of those who struggle with pornography, one bishop says: “Help is available. The repentance process is just that—a process. It takes time to break negative patterns, and each small victory must be acknowledged, reinforced, and celebrated along the way. Sometimes those I have worked with still struggle, but at least they are not hiding anymore. They have begun to build a support system. They have realized they don’t have to face this challenge alone.”
A former bishop explains: “Besides my own family, I don’t think I loved anyone in my ward quite as much as I loved those who came to me with broken hearts, seeking forgiveness and peace. They cared more about what the Lord thought of them than what any person thought. I respected their courage and desire to make things right. I shed tears over them. I rejoiced when they were clean and whole again. And afterward I never looked at them as former sinners—only as beloved brothers and sisters.”
“Trust in the Lord,” counseled Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “He knows what He is doing. He already knows of your problems. And He is waiting for you to ask for help” (“Trust in the Lord,” Ensign, May 1989, 36).
I felt relief when I stopped pretending. Sharing the burden with my bishop and my family meant I no longer had to deal with this addiction alone. Now I hold on to this support system.
A problem that dominated my youth could not be overcome overnight. This road has been long and hard—and it continues. It isn’t enough anymore to look happy. I want to be happy. I am coming to know Christ and to understand the Atonement. The Savior gives me the strength I need so my self-confidence and self-respect grow each day.
I was honest with my bishop. And when my dad talked to me, I was honest with him too. We worked on the problem together. We decided not to have the Internet in our home for a while. That was a big help.
I’m turning 16 soon, and I’m glad I decided not to let pornography control my life. I feel better about myself, and I think about young women differently than I did before. With my bishop’s help, I’m preparing now for the temple, a mission, and a great marriage one day.
It took a lot of time and sincere effort to break bad habits. Eventually I was judged by my priesthood leader as worthy to serve a mission. The best feeling in the world was to go to the temple and know I am clean. The Spirit I wanted to feel during all those teenage years came flooding into my heart and life. I am so thankful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
The adversary still works on me, trying to get me to backslide. But I have learned to put on the armor of God every day. I know Jesus Christ loves me, and I love Him.

When I did construction work in Oman from 1979 to 1986, I worked for the ministry of defense. The ministry gave me projects located in the most inaccessible section of the country, and most of the time I was the only supervisor looking after the projects. I was also the only member of the Church working for the ministry.
One day at our company headquarters, I ran into an electrical engineer who, as he had in the past, made negative comments about the Church. I tolerated his comments because I was usually at headquarters for only a short time before I was away on another project.
Later, however, this man was assigned to inspect electrical work at projects being constructed along Oman’s border with Yemen. We were scheduled to spend about an hour together before he flew back to headquarters.
When he arrived, he inspected the work and found everything to his satisfaction. During our time together, I centered our conversation on work and then drove him to the landing strip to see him off.
It was monsoon season, and the landing strip, located on a mountain plateau 6,000 feet (1,830 m) above the Indian Ocean, was covered with clouds. My co-worker’s flight would be delayed.
My heart was pounding as I realized that I would have to wait in the car with this man. After I said a silent prayer, a thought came into my mind to ask the man about his family, especially his wife.
I did so, and the engineer suddenly burst into tears, saying that he had just received word that his wife was seeking a divorce. The word love immediately came into my mind, and for the next two hours we talked about the love we should have for others and the love the Lord Jesus Christ has for all of us. Before I knew it, we had become friends. As we ended our conversation, the clouds cleared and the engineer boarded his flight. Soon I heard that he had resigned his position and returned home.
A few years later while on an outing with Aaronic Priesthood young men in Plymouth, a city on England’s southern coast, I noticed a man making his way toward me. As he approached, he said, “I thought it was you, Neil.”
It was the electrical engineer from Oman. The next words he spoke have remained in my heart: “Thank you for talking to me about love that day on the mountain. You saved my marriage, and I will be forever grateful.”
We shared a few more words, and he left. I haven’t seen him since.
I will always be grateful for the inspiration I received in Oman. It blessed the engineer and gave me strength to maintain my Church beliefs when I was alone and far from home.

One fine morning I was strolling on a country road encompassed by every kind of greenery that filled my soul with well-being of the highest degree. I was full of expectancy of the best when I beheld, nearby a slaughter house, two apparently hungry dogs engaged in a bloody fight over what I later discovered to be a meatless piece of bone. I wondered why they had to quarrel over a worthless portion of animal skeleton. I was amazed especially when I saw the slaughter house which undoubtedly was the source of such a bone. It should not have offered any difficulty for one of them to look and find another piece of bone with abounding flesh from the slaughter house.
One consoling thought that struck me immediately while watching with fun these two unintelligent animals was that they were not human. Without any faculty of intellect, they could not exercise self-control nor feel any compunction or shame for my presence.
Thenceforth, I continued to walk leisurely, convinced that only dogs would act they way I had just witnessed. I was certainly saddened, in spite of my surroundings, when at a distance before me I saw two men locked in physical combat. I intervened, and they stopped at a point when one of them pulled a long knife. My presence was properly timed to prevent the certain death of the other who was apparently without any defensive weapon except his hands. I inquired what was wrong, and they began accusing each other. As a lawyer, I advised them that whoever won the fight is not a winner in the true sense because not only would he be deprived of peace of mind but that the authorities would see to it that he went to jail to pay for his crime.
The cause of it all, I finally found out, was that one owed the other the measly sum of $10.00 which he could not pay at the moment but promised to do so in an uncertain future. The latter, obviously drunk, became fed up with promises and so decided to settle it his way on the assumption it would solve his problem. Naturally, I remarked that it is the duty of the courts to collect debts otherwise impossible of recovery and that to take somebody’s life is too high a price for such an insignificant amount.
I left these two men shaking hands in renewed friendship, as I volunteered to pay the debt in behalf of the debtor.
The course taken by these two men was surely less forgivable than that of the dogs. Dogs are not expected to exercise self-control. But many of us act like dogs if we don’t.
Just what is this elusive word “self-control”? Webster defines it as “restraint exercised over one’s own impulses, emotions, or desires”. These three: impulses, emotions, and desires must be put in subjection by anyone human if he is to anticipate peace and harmony in his life, if he is to acquire the sterling embodiments of perfection and godship in the eternities.
Such is the law: both immutable and demanding but a law nevertheless. It may be obeyed or broken to the benefit or prejudice of anyone who does.
Latter-day Saints, above all other members of any community, have been regarded here and abroad, in the past and in the present, as a strange people because they have overcome a number of things which non-members engage in freely or with license. We do not touch anyone of those things embraced in the Word of Wisdom; we pay our tithes with the money that non-members otherwise spend in the passing pleasures of the day or night; we avoid any participation in anything worldly that violates the standards of things of beauty and of good report; or we depart from unwholesome companionship or association of anybody or anything that would give the appearance of evil.
To be sure, all these require extreme self-control, which when pursued faithfully ripen into self-mastery which President Spencer W. Kimball in his “Miracle of Forgiveness” says is a continuous program. It is always associated with obedience to law and order. Our Lord Jesus the Christ became the author of eternal salvation because he was made perfect through continued obedience by the things which he suffered throughout his earthly ministry.
In the Book of Doctrines of the Hindus, this one appears:
“That man alone is wise
Who keeps the mastery of himself! If one
Ponders on objects of the sense, there springs
Attraction; from attraction grows desire.
Desire flames to fierce passion, passion breeds
Recklessness; then the memory—all betrayed—
Lets noble purpose go, and saps the mind,
Till purpose, mind, and man are all undone.”
If recklessness saps the mind and the memory forgets the noble purpose of our creation, and when such a purpose, mind and man are all undone, what is left of him? Need we ask? Certainly, the dog in him, the animal in him! And when one day he quarrels with a dog over a worthless piece of human bone, we will not be surprised.
The Chinese philosopher Confucious once said that “Who contains himself goes seldom wrong”. This is logical because the simple implication is that this man is obedient to law and, therefore, commits no wrong. But the Greek philosopher Epectitus also declared that “No man is free who is not master of himself.” This again is plain because he who does not control his impulses, emotions and desires permits himself to be their slave by following them at every turn. A slave, as we know, is one without freedom but does the bidding of his master to satisfy the latter’s every whim which usually leads to destruction and death.
Self-control, whether we like it or not, is an all-embracing and paramount consideration in the life of every Christian. For the ultimate reward for obedience through self-control, and ultimately self-mastery, is kingship over cities, dominions and principalities. No one, absolutely no one, can qualify in the eternal realms to be a king exercising control over others unless he has completely mastered himself. That is why unless we now practice self-control, we cannot hope to be worthy of the reward so high and forbidding yet not a necessarily unreachable, impossible dream. Jesus Christ did it. He said we can do it. So, it can be done.
The great author John Milton once wrote in his “Paradise Regained”:
“Yet he who reigns within himself, and rules
Passions, desires, and fears, is more a king—
Which every wise and virtuous man attains;And who attains not, ill aspires to rule
Cities of man, headstrong multitudes,
Subject himself to anarchy within,
Or lawless passion in him, which he serves.
But to guide nations in the way of truth
By saving doctrine, and error lead
To know, and by knowing worship God aright,
Is yet more kingly. This attracts the soul,
Governs the inner man, the nobler part.”
President Spencer W. Kimball, echoing the sentiments of an unknown author, also said:
“The height of a man’s success is gauged by his self-mastery; the depth of his failure by his self-abandonment. There is no other limitation in either direction and this law is the expression of eternal justice. He who cannot establish a dominion over himself will have no dominion over others; he who masters himself shall be king.

Fritz lived with his parents, four younger brothers, and one sister on a small farm in Cammin, Germany. One spring he was more excited than he had ever been; he was going to America!
Some LDS missionaries who had just been released from their missions were staying at Fritz’s home before leaving Germany for America. They had kindly offered to take one of the children with them, promising to see that the child arrived safely in America and was sent on the train to Rockland, Idaho, the home of the missionary who had baptized the family.
A year earlier a missionary from Rockland and his companion had taught Fritz’s family the gospel, and after careful study and prayer they accepted it and were baptized.
When they became members of the Church, their friends and relatives shunned them. Life in Germany was not as happy or easy without their friendships, so the family decided to go to America. However, there was only enough money now to buy passage for one person. The family prayed and discussed the missionaries’ offer.
It was a difficult decision. Whoever went with the missionaries would be alone in America until Fritz’s father could save enough for the rest of the family to go to the new country. Finally, it was decided that Fritz would go first.
Early in April Fritz and the missionaries left Cammin and traveled by train to Hamburg. There they joined other missionaries and a group of emigrants who were going to America.
On the 16th of April they sailed from Hamburg on the S.S. City of Rome. The water was rough in the North Sea and English Channel, and for three days Fritz was terribly seasick. There were times when he doubted whether he should be making the trip. But he finally developed his sea legs and his doubts vanished.
Later, as the group was traveling westward from New York City by train, the immigrants and missionaries left the train as they reached their various destinations. The last missionary said good-bye to Fritz when they arrived at Cheyenne, Wyoming, leaving Fritz to make the rest of the trip without his friends.
Before the last missionary left, however, he gave Fritz a ticket to Idaho and wrote a note with the young boy’s name and destination on it. Pinning the note to Fritz’s jacket, the missionary put him on the train and bade him good-bye.
Although the missionary had been very helpful, he forgot one important thing; he forgot to tell Fritz that his last train stop would be in American Falls, Idaho, sixteen miles from Rockland.
As the train pulled out of Cheyenne, Fritz examined his ticket anxiously, looking for the only English word he knew—Rockland, but it wasn’t there.
Fritz tried asking his fellow passengers for help, but no one could understand him. After a while he decided that he would stay on the train, although he wasn’t sure where it was going. Maybe it will go to Rockland even if I can’t see that word on my ticket, he reasoned.
Early one morning a few days later, the train came to a stop. Fritz was asleep on a side seat in the railroad coach when the conductor came in and shook him roughly. “Come on! Come on!” he said. Startled, Fritz grabbed his suitcase and paper bag containing half a loaf of bread and a small piece of bologna. Quickly he followed the conductor off the train.
They had no sooner alighted when the conductor stepped quickly aboard and the train chuffed on its way again. Fritz stood silently on the station platform.
Across the tracks in the soft light of dawn, he could see some saloons and grocery stores. And from somewhere close by he could hear the steady roar of a river.
Fritz felt extremely alone. He knew there was only one way he could get help. Walking into the tall sagebrush behind the station, he knelt down and earnestly prayed to his Heavenly Father for guidance.
Upon returning to the station, a man approached Fritz and asked him a question. Fritz answered in German that he could not speak English. And then in fluent German the stranger spoke to the boy and a calm, comforting feeling came over Fritz. Together, he and the man sat down on a bench and talked until the sun rose and people began to fill the streets.
Then the man took Fritz across the tracks and bought him some breakfast. It seemed like a feast after so many meals of bread and bologna. While Fritz ate, the man inquired around for someone who might know the family in Rockland who Fritz was to stay with. Eventually he learned of a Swedish couple who lived near Rockland; they agreed to take Fritz to the home of his friends.
Fritz gladly helped the couple load their supplies into their wagon. When they were about ready to start homeward, Fritz looked around for the stranger who had befriended him so he could express thanks for his help. But the man was gone and no one there knew where he had come from nor which way he had gone.
Reaching Rockland, Fritz surprised his friends who had not expected him that day. Nevertheless, it was an especially happy reunion.
Before climbing into bed that night, Fritz knelt to thank his Heavenly Father for His help. The boy knew that although he was far from his family, Heavenly Father had been very close.

We have a good many people who have been in the ministry join this church. I had a call last week from a minister who lives in Los Angeles, who served, as he told me, for 20 years as a Baptist minister. Then he met the Mormon elders and they taught him the gospel as it has been restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith, and he gave up his ministry and became a member of the Church. He is now working in the temple there, and he called me to thank me for writing the missionary book that helped him to understand what the Lord has done in restoring his truth to the earth in this dispensation.

Toward the end of his talk President Monson gave us all an invitation. He said, "Ask yourselves, ‘Have I rescued anyone recently?' "

A week later I was in a meeting where we discussed President Monson's talk on rescuing, and one Area Seventy related that he had always tried to visit less-active members when he presided at stake conferences. The next day I flew to Portland to conduct an auxiliary training session. I asked Elder Brinkerhoff, the Area Seventy who hosted me in that city, if we might be able to visit a less-active member following the training session. He immediately thought of a couple he had been home teaching. He said, "Last Sunday they came to sacrament meeting in our ward for the first time."

We visited their home. They were a pure-hearted couple who, for some unknown reason, had become less active. The wife looked at me at one point and said, "Brother Osguthorpe, you probably don't know this, but we went to sacrament meeting for the first time last week." I asked her about her impressions of the meeting. I found it important that she did not mention the messages that had been given from the pulpit; she focused on the members and their friendship. She said, "I was surprised at how many friends we had in this ward even though this was our first time at sacrament meeting. So many people came up to us and were so glad to see us." Then she got tears in her eyes. "I just didn't know we had so many friends."

Elder Brinkerhoff then let them know how much it had meant to him that they had attended, and I asked the wife, "So why do you think Elder Brinkerhoff cares so much?" And again with tears in her eyes, she responded, "Because he loves us."

Elder Brinkerhoff had been meeting with this couple for some time. He had been extending all three types of invitations--invitations that challenge, invitations that befriend, and invitations that rescue. And the couple had finally begun to respond to the invitations. When Elder Brinkerhoff extended these invitations, perhaps it did not always look like teaching. Maybe the couple didn't always feel like he was presenting formal lessons. But in the truest sense, this was gospel teaching at its very best. They were learning key doctrines. They were responding to invitations to action. And they were experiencing the promised blessings.

Scott sat slumped over in the backseat of the car.
“Are you feeling OK?” Mom asked.
“Yeah, I guess so,” he moaned.
But Scott wasn’t feeling well. In fact, he felt like he’d just been hit in the stomach. And it was all because of what Sister Thomas, the Primary president, had said during Primary that morning:
“Children, next week is the beginning of a new year in Primary. That means you will all advance to the next class and have a new teacher. Isn’t that exciting?”
Scott didn’t think so. He didn’t want a new teacher. He liked his old one just fine. She told the best stories, and she always smelled good. “Mom,” he said now, “I’m not going to Primary next week.”
His parents looked at each other in surprise.
“I thought you loved Primary, Son,” Dad said, keeping his eyes on the road.
“I do! I—I mean, I did,” Scott said sadly.
For family home evening, Dad gave a lesson about how changes are a part of life and how we should welcome them as opportunities for growth. Scott knew that his parents were trying to help, but he didn’t feel much like growing at the moment.
It was easy not to think about Primary during school. And on Tuesday, Scott had violin lessons that kept him so busy practicing that he almost forgot about Primary completely—until Wednesday. That’s when he found a note taped to his front door. It was a small piece of white paper folded in half and with his name written carefully on the front. Scott unfolded it and read:
Dear Scott,
Welcome to our Primary class! I have been watching you each Sunday, and I know that you are a boy who is trying to live the gospel.
I will send you a few clues about myself. Can you figure out who I am before Sunday?
Your Mystery Primary Teacher
P.S. I have black hair.
Puzzled, Scott folded the note and stuffed it into his backpack.
On Thursday, this note was on his door:
Hi Scott!
I saw you playing outside with your friends yesterday. I like the way you get along so well with them. That’s a good quality to have. Do you know who I am yet?
Your Mystery Teacher
P.S. I like to ride bikes, too!
Who could it be? Scott wondered. He thought about the sisters in his ward. He couldn’t think of any black-haired, bike-riding ladies.
Scott raced home from the bus stop on Friday. He was disappointed to not see a note taped to the front door. He dumped his backpack in the hallway and went into the kitchen for a snack.
“It must have blown off the door,” Mom said as she handed him a familiar-looking piece of white paper. She smiled as Scott read it aloud:
Dear Scott,
I’ve heard that you are an excellent reader. That’s great because we will be reading the scriptures all year in class. Would you come prepared to read 2 Timothy 3:14–15 on Sunday?
Thanks!
Y. M. T.
P.S. Sometimes I wear glasses when I read.
When Scott took out the trash on Saturday, he found another note:
Dear Scott,
Tomorrow is the big day! I’m looking forward to having you in my class. Do you know me? I know you!
Love,
Your (Favorite) Mystery Teacher
P.S. I will be wearing something with flowers on it.
On Sunday, Scott was up and dressed before everyone else. “I thought you weren’t going to Primary anymore,” his mom teased.
“Well, I’m only going today.”
The chapel was nearly full when Scott and his family found their seats. Quickly he scanned each row. He couldn’t believe that so many women in the ward had black hair. He noticed Sister Veatch with little glasses perched on her nose, but she wasn’t wearing anything flowered. And Scott tried not to giggle as he imagined Sister Cousins riding a bicycle.
The Primary room buzzed with excitement as the children located their new seats. Scott and his friends settled into the two rows marked for their class. They were surprised to find the teacher’s chair still empty.
Emily leaned over and whispered, “It has to be Sister Hernandez. She has black hair, and when she comes to visit teach my mom, she always wears those funny little glasses.”
“But what about bike riding?” asked Stasha.
“I’ve seen her riding bikes with her kids!” Tyler offered. It was then they heard the sound of chair legs scraping the floor behind them. The children stiffened and held their breaths as “the mystery teacher” slipped quietly into her seat. Together they turned and peeked over their shoulders.
“Dad!” shouted Scott.
“Hey, Brother Weatherford! Nice tie!”
The mystery teacher put a finger to his lips and winked at the class. “Welcome to Primary,” he whispered.
Scott grinned and turned back in his chair. I think I’ll keep coming to Primary, he decided as Sister Thomas stood to welcome the children to the first day in their new Primary classes.

It was October of 1972, a clear and sunny Sunday. I was a freshman at BYU. I rode my bicycle up Provo Canyon to Upper Falls. There I contemplated what in the world I was doing here. You see, I came to BYU as a nonmember. Why? Well, several friends at high school were going to BYU, and they simply invited me along. I applied to BYU, and when my parents and I visited campus, coming from smoggy and dry Southern California, we were sold. I knew very little about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints except that they didn’t smoke or drink.

I had arrived on campus a week or so early to attend a late summer honors program. There I met my first roommate, Rahn Price. After a long day we were ready to go to sleep in our room in Deseret Towers (may they rest in peace). Then something unusual happened. Rahn rolled out of bed, knelt at his bedside, and prayed silently. I didn’t know what to do. I was quite astonished. I finally said my own prayer:

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
Should I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
Amen.

I was done well before he was. Much later, Rahn said that was the most awkward prayer he had ever said. However, I’m grateful that he did say that prayer.

As the semester began, I learned about agency from a Book of Mormon teacher named Bruce Hafen. I learned of the Atonement. Although I had grown up in a Christian church and was raised by “goodly parents” (1 Nephi 1:1), these concepts were certainly deeper than the wading pool of doctrine I had grown up with.

Once the semester began, my friends in Helaman Halls invited me to church, but I respectfully declined. They did not pester me or make me feel out of place. On Sundays I would just do my own activities, limited as they were by a bicycle.

I found that agency—a topic I had been learning about in my Book of Mormon class—was interesting as presented in the dorms. It was fast Sunday (whatever that meant), and when my floor went off to church, I went down to the Cannon Center for a casual breakfast. But there was no breakfast because it was fast Sunday. I hadn’t planned to fast, but it appeared that I would be fasting even though I hadn’t planned on it. This was in the day when you didn’t have refrigerators and microwave ovens in each dorm room. There was no food there. I was suddenly faced with my own mortality—I knew I was going to die. I figured I had just enough strength left to make it to some local restaurant. Der Wienerschnitzel was the closest. All I needed was a little food to tide me over until the obligatory fast Sunday concluded in the dorms. So I ordered about a dozen hot dogs. I’ve been grateful to Der Weinerschnitzel ever since.

But thankfully I matured. With the help of Rahn, my other friends, Brother Hafen, and my own budding awareness of the beautiful doctrines of the gospel, a seed had been planted. And on that October Sunday morning at Upper Falls, I actually asked Heavenly Father a question—something I was not taught to do growing up. Like most, I was taught that you can ask for blessings. It had never really occurred to me to ask Heavenly Father a question, because that implied you expected an answer—that you expected God to actually hear your prayer and acknowledge it with some sort of communication. It wasn’t even a question about the Church I had at that time. I wasn’t ready for that just yet. It was a question about me: “What wouldst thou have me do?” For the first time in my life I felt what I knew in an instant was the Holy Ghost, that unmistakably distinct and identifiable feeling in my bosom that has since guided me in all matters spiritual and most temporal: a warmth—not alarming or acidic, but peaceful and calm—that gave me clarity and resolve. Like the answer cited by Sister Matsumori in October’s general conference: “It felt like sunshine” (Vicki F. Matsumori, “Helping Others Recognize the Whisperings of the Spirit,” Ensign, November 2009, 10).

What was my answer? That I had a special mission to perform. I had no idea what that meant. It didn’t matter at that time, because what I had found out that day was that God lives, that He knew who I was, and that, whatever He was doing at the time, He had answered my prayer through the Holy Ghost. I’ve been grateful ever since and have tried to demonstrate that gratitude by serving Him. My view of the world had changed: from peering through a keyhole at life to having an eternal panorama opened to my heart and mind’s view.

As a very young child, I had hiked up to a waterfall with my parents. On our way down the mountain, I decided to take a little shortcut to the path down below and surprise my parents. To my surprise, I did not come to the path and after wandering for what seemed to be a long time to me, I became very frightened. I don’t remember specifically being taught to pray but I know that my first thought when I was in trouble was to kneel to the ground and ask the Lord to help me find my parents. No sooner had I stood up than my father came through the brush and said, “Oh there you are you little scamp.” I don’t know if I was seriously lost but I knew that my prayer was answered. It is the first time I really have a memory of praying and it gave me a testimony that Heavenly Father does answer prayers, even those of a little scamp.

As my wife mentioned, I served my mission in the Guatemala City South mission. Like many of you who have served missions, these were 24 months of refinement for me. It wasn’t easy, and as I look back at the experiences I had there in Central America, I really don’t know how I survived. I learned to shoot iguanas with a slingshot and ate them for dinner. I drank water from a well with frogs in it. My companion and I were held at gunpoint in the jungle by some guerillas – not the monkey gorillas but the guerillas holding guns. They hit both my companion and me with their guns and spoke in very swift Spanish the four words that I could understand, which were “we…will..kill…you.” Miraculously, they left us lying there and took off.

Despite these experiences that would make ANY missionary want to throw in the towel, I was a personal witness of miraculous conversions, like thousands of missionaries that serve around the world today. I remember one evening, my companion and I felt impressed to proselyte in a particular area. After walking for a few miles in the dark, we saw a light a little far off. We started to pursue that light. As we got closer, we realized it was a little home across from a river, and we could hear singing coming from that home. So we felt inspired to cross the river and visit this home. We figured the water would be knee-high, so we decided to toss our scriptures and bags over to the other side of the river just to keep it from getting wet. We made our way into the river and very quickly discovered that it was a LOT deeper than we thought. The water came to our necks, and we realized that this was NOT such a great idea. We started to turn back but realized that our scriptures were already on the other side, so there WAS no turning back. We basically swam to the other side and quickly got out of the water. But as we looked down to wring the water out of our clothing, we saw rats clinging to our shirts and our slacks. It was the worst sight EVER!!! We started to kick and scream, and then we dropped to the ground and rolled around, hoping to get these creatures off. Finally, after throwing a complete tantrum, we were rat-free.

Now you can understand why I dislike rats so much. By this time, our commotion had caused everyone in this little home to come running out to meet their visitors. Although completely shaken up and traumatized, we sat, soaking wet, and met with this family--a family who had been prepared for us. As we entered their home, their father shared with us that they had been hungry for several days and that they sang to forget their troubles. “YOU are an answer to our prayers,” he said. We ended up teaching and baptizing EVERYONE in that home, which was about 16 individuals (grandparents, parents, uncle, aunty, and children). The Lord is able to fulfill His purposes when we are ready to be instruments anytime and anywhere.

The roots of Tom’s mastery are sunk in Czechoslovakia where German-born Joseph Rehak moved with his widowed mother when he was only one year old. They were desperately poor, but Joseph was resilient, and as he grew up, he began to learn the fine art of pastry baking. He honed his skills and learned many recipes by going from shop to shop, working at each for a while and absorbing what he could from the finest bakers in Czechoslovakia. When he opened his own shop, he was as good as the best. The business grew rapidly, and when World War II came, he had a large business with many employees.
The war changed all that. He survived the Nazi occupation somehow, but after the war the communists took away everything he had. He fled to Canada and started all over again. With the help of his wife, he opened the bakery in Hamilton, and it prospered.
This experience, passed on to the family, impressed Tom deeply. “It really makes me realize how great it is to be in Canada with the freedoms we have,” he says. “A lot of people take for granted living in a free country, having food on their plate, and owning good clothes to wear. I don’t take those things for granted because my father’s rough childhood is a constant reminder of how good I have it.”

They first met the Prophet as he was chopping wood with his brothers-in-law in the forest behind Newell K. Whitney’s store, where Joseph and Emma were then living. To find a prophet thus employed assured much more than it surprised a hardworking man like Brigham. The visitors were invited to stay for supper and for a gathering of some of the brethren that evening. Heber much later remembered that they “had a glorious time; during which brother Brigham spoke in tongues before brother Joseph, it being the first time he had heard any one speak in tongues. We had a precious season and returned with a blessing in our souls.”4 Brigham himself recalled, “We tarried about one week in Kirtland, held meetings nearly every night, and the blessings of the Lord were extensively upon us. I baptized one man while in Kirtland, by the name of Gibson Smith, the father of Newell K. Whitney’s wife, who had just come from Connecticut to learn the things that were being revealed. Being convinced of the truth of the work, he requested me to go into the waters with him.”5

In 1985 President Gordon B. Hinckley, then second counselor in the First Presidency, shared a devotional message on this campus entitled “The Widow’s Mite.” Let me summarize some of his thoughts from that talk.

President Hinckley began:
Some time back a small, bent, elderly woman came to my office. For the purpose of this talk I shall call her Mary Olsen, although that is not her name and she would not wish her identity disclosed. She said she had just come over from the temple. She took from her purse her checkbook. She said that she had been a widow for many years, that life had not been easy for her. She had a great love for the Lord and his Church. She had faithfully paid her tithing all her life. She felt she would not live much longer. Now, she said, she felt she ought to be doing more to help than she had done. In a hand shaky with age, she wrote a check for $5,000. She handed it to me. I noted the address where she lived. It was in a poor neighborhood. I confess that as I looked at that check tears came into my eyes. I have held many larger checks than that in my hands. But as I held the check of this widow woman, I was almost overcome by her faith and the seriousness of the trust that was mine in the expenditure of her consecrated contribution.
. . . She gives her offering to the Lord, and she is then released from responsibility. The responsibility then becomes mine—and yours!
What might she expect of you [at this institution, which is supported by tithing funds]?

HI!
My name is Cory Kennedy, and I live in Sandy, Utah. My good friends, Stuart Weichers and Mark Jensen, and I had a really neat experience last year. We’re members of Cub Scout Pack 953, and the three of us won first place in the National Cub Scout Physical Fitness Contest.
Each Cub Scout pack participating in the competition had an eight-year-old Cub Scout, a nine-year-old Cub Scout, and a ten-year-old Cub Scout on its team. Teams compete against teams from other packs in five different events: sit-ups, pushups, the broad jump, the softball throw, and the fifty-yard dash. My dad was our Cubmaster, and in our own pack competition Mark was the eight-year-old winner, Stuart was the nine-year-old winner, and I was the ten-year-old winner. We have a lot of really good athletes in our neighborhood, so our pack competition was tough.
The three of us decided to work out together before and after school. We took turns going to each other’s houses for workouts. Sometimes our parents or older brothers coached us, and sometimes we just worked out by ourselves. My dad let me borrow his stopwatch so we could tell how we were doing. Our families really pulled for us to do well.
We knew we had to score as high as we could in every event, but each of us also had a specialty that we kept trying to improve on. Mark has awfully strong legs, and he could broad jump a long way. Stuart could do more push-ups than the rest of us. And sit-ups were my best event.
When we first started working out as a team, we were doing about forty push-ups and forty sit-ups a minute. Then each day we would add one or two more. We pushed each other pretty hard, and we even made a game out of it. Mark and I are University of Utah fans, and Stuart is a Brigham Young University booster, and we pretended that it was the Utes against the Cougars.
After winning in our district competition, we competed against all the district winners from the Great Salt Lake Council. Boy, were we nervous! But our hard training paid off. Each of us gave it everything he had, and we scored well in all of the events. Just as we had hoped, Mark won in the broad jump (sixty-nine inches), Stuart won in the push-ups (eighty-nine in one minute), and I won in the sit-ups (ninety-six in one minute).
We won the council competition, and our scores were sent to Boy Scout headquarters in Irving, Texas. After a few weeks we were notified that we had won the national championship. We were really excited. You should see the huge trophies we received! Our families are really proud of us, and each of us had a super feeling. I think we all learned a very important lesson in the competition: Nothing is impossible, and you can do anything you want to if you are willing to work hard enough.

I gazed at the girl sitting alone at the table across from mine. Her long hair hid her face, but I could sense her loneliness as she idly scooted food around her tray. I couldn’t help but feel selfish watching her eat by herself when I was surrounded by friends.
One of my friends suddenly elbowed me. “Sierra! I’m talking to you. Wake up!” My focus snapped back to the conversation at our lunch table.
“Oh, sorry! I wasn’t paying attention. Hey, do you guys see that girl sitting over there?” I nodded toward the young woman eating alone. “Do you know her name?”
My friends shrugged and returned to their conversation. Their laughter muddled into the noise of the cafeteria while my mind wandered back to the girl at the table. The thought came that I should do something to help her. “But what if she thinks I’m weird or if she’s waiting for her other friends?” I silently objected. But the thought returned, and I knew what I needed to do.
I shuffled nervously toward her, and she glanced up when I reached her table.
“Do you want to sit with us?” I asked.
She half nodded, gathered her belongings, and followed me as my friends scooted over to give her room to sit.
“I have two classes with you,” I said, “but I don’t think I’ve met you before. What’s your name?”
“Kelsey,”* she said. Her reply was barely audible.
For the rest of lunch, my friends and I asked about her interests and school schedule, trying to help her feel welcome. I could tell she was relieved not to be sitting alone. When lunch was over, a warm, light feeling filled my heart.
In the following weeks, Kelsey continued to sit with us at lunch. While her face always made it seem like she was fine, I could see pain in her eyes. She didn’t talk much about her background, but I could sense that there was a lot of stuff she was trying to keep hidden or forget about.
Months flew by, and I grew to love Kelsey. We enjoyed each other’s friendship. I was amazed by her lofty dreams and loving personality.
One day in our computer class, the teacher moved me next to Kelsey, who seemed to be struggling with some of the material. We spent hours working together, and I watched happily as her grade inched up to an A. For one assignment, we created time lines that included 10 major events in our lives. When Kelsey completed hers, she tapped me on the shoulder.
“Do you want to see my time line?” She grinned.
“Yeah, sure!” I looked over at her computer. Stifling a gasp, I read some of the sad events that had filled Kelsey’s life. My surprise reached its peak, however, when I read the final event on her time line: I met Sierra.
Stunned, I hugged her and whispered, “Oh, Kelsey. Thank you.”
Toward the end of the school year, Kelsey suddenly moved to California. About a year after that, Mrs. Cummings,* who worked at my school, told me she wanted to talk with me. She hesitantly explained that Kelsey had passed away over the weekend. Tears started pouring down my cheeks. Mrs. Cummings didn’t know—or at least couldn’t tell me—how it happened, but she did tell me some things about Kelsey that I hadn’t known before. Her life on earth was challenging. I cried for several days, but even through my tears, I was comforted because of the plan of salvation.
Back in that lunchroom, when I saw a girl sitting alone, Heavenly Father knew she was a daughter of His who needed a friend. He knows our needs and knows how we can meet the needs of others. Though it’s easy to ignore the promptings of the Spirit at times, I will forever be glad for the day I listened to the Spirit at lunch.