Gospel Story Finder

A true story from Zimbabwe.
“Momma, wake up,” whispered Kupa.
“The sun isn’t up yet.” Momma yawned. “Can’t you sleep just a little longer?”
“I’m too excited,” said Kupa. “It’s Sunday, and we can go to church!”
“OK. You win,” said Momma. “But I’ll need your help to get your sisters ready.”
Kupa liked to help Momma. She started by boiling cornmeal to make sadza for her little sisters, Agnes and Sheila. After they ate, Kupa helped clean up.
Kupa put on her favorite dress and chose clothes for her sisters. The room was filled with giggles as she helped them get dressed. She was so excited!
“You are a good helper, Kupa,” said Momma.
“Thanks!” said Kupa.
As they started out the door, Momma tied Sheila onto her back with a cloth wrap. “I am so glad you two are big enough to walk,” she said to Kupa and Agnes.
Momma took Kupa’s hand, and they started to walk down the dirt road. Far away, Kupa could see the temple that was being built in Harare. “I love seeing the temple,” said Kupa.
“Me too,” said Momma. “We are blessed to live where we can see it being built.”
They took a shortcut through the fields of corn. Sometimes, they stopped to rest and let Sheila wiggle and stretch. They talked, sang songs, and listened to the birds. After walking for an hour and a half, Kupa was so happy to see the church.
Kupa read the sign: “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“We made it,” said Momma. She untied the wrap around Sheila.
“And we are early again!” said Kupa excitedly.
Soon Kupa and Momma were cheerfully greeting the others entering the building. Kupa liked being with the people at church. She felt loved there.
Kupa and her family found a place to sit. Resting her legs felt good. When she took the sacrament, she thought about Jesus Christ. Then she listened carefully as the bishop explained it was fast Sunday and invited people to share their testimonies.
Kupa watched and listened as others came to the front of the chapel to share what they believed. She wanted them all to know she had a testimony too. Kupa walked to the front of the room. She felt a little nervous, but she knew what she wanted to say.
She breathed deeply, stood tall, and said, “I love to see the temple. I know it is a special place to learn about Heavenly Father’s plan. Our life is a special gift from Him. I know the scriptures are true. I know Heavenly Father and Jesus love me. I am trying to be kind and helpful like Jesus. I know the Church is true. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Kupa looked at the people in the room. They were smiling at her. Kupa smiled big and walked back to her seat. Momma hugged her when she sat down. Kupa was glad that she had the courage to share her testimony. Kupa loved Sundays.
Illustrations by Fotini Tikkou

I returned home from my first day at Primary in shock. My only hope came from the disturbed looks I saw on some of the other teachers’ faces who had had a similar experience. Maybe all the students had a hard time settling down after vacation. I returned home the second week in total depression. Not once had I felt in control of my class. My homemade visual aids had not survived the rough handling; the boys had stood on chairs and tried to climb through the window; the girls had quarreled among themselves and with the boys.
My first impulse was to quit—no person could take eleven months of facing those eight-year-olds. But I had too much pride to give in. I had taught all my adult life—Sunday School, Relief Society, MIA, Seminary, college English—and I had never had a teaching failure. When my bishop asked me to take this assignment, he had said, “I feel that this work in Primary will open up new avenues of growth and development for you.” Well, it had done more than that! It was the most humbling, frustrating assignment I had ever had.
I slept little that night, and was irritable with my children the next day. I finally told my worries to my husband. He listened sympathetically and offered a very practical solution: that I should notify the parents about the behavior problem and send report cards home with the students each week. At first I didn’t want to do it because of pride. I didn’t mind the school class atmosphere as much as I did admitting my failure to others. I was desperate though; but as I made copies of some “class behavior” cards and tactfully talked to each mother, I realized that this would not be enough.
The unusualness of the reporting system did diminish in about a month, but during this “be quiet or else” period I had a chance to present my lessons, bear my testimony, plan a class party, and organize a service project for a widow. One of the previously noisy boys in the class told his neighbor: “Quit bothering me. Mother gives me a treat if I bring home a good report card.”
The weeks continued, some better than others, but none as disastrous as the first two. I found that constant variety—games, contests, films, and puppet stories in class, visits out of class, and frequent personal letters mailed to the students’ homes—all helped. By mid-year they had learned to respect me; and more important, I had learned to love them.

“One Personal Progress project I did was with a couple of friends. We were in school, and our teacher told us about one of her family members who was in Afghanistan and how he was writing letters that described the horrible circumstances he and the other soldiers were in. She asked us to write a letter to one of the soldiers. My friends and I wanted to do more, so we organized a bake sale to raise money. With the money, we bought small items like pens and paper. Then we boxed them up and sent them to the soldiers.
“I felt so good. The Personal Progress program has helped me become more like Jesus Christ.
“After I earned my medallion, I kept working on goals and helped a Beehive in my ward work on her Personal Progress. She has been able to get a lot done. I would encourage every young woman to finish the program and help others along.”Rebelle Haws, 16Amity Ward, Eagar Arizona Stake

In a small country town lived a boy named Willard. Willard collected everything imaginable. In fact, his room looked like a junkyard. But Willard knew that one day he would build something truly magnificent with all the junk he’d collected.
Willard started keeping all his junk in his room after his parents told him that he couldn’t leave it scattered throughout the house.
In one corner of his room Willard had an assortment of cardboard boxes. The smaller ones were stuffed inside the bigger ones to save space. Dangling from his doorknob were old shoelaces and pieces of string and yarn. Willard had shoe boxes full of different-size wheels from broken toys. Old wagon wheels were propped against the wall. Piled here and there were old inner tubes, Popsicle sticks, bottle caps, milk cartons, stacks of pictures from magazines, crayons, pencils, and all kinds of tape. And on his dresser he had soda cracker boxes piled to the ceiling.
One evening when Willard’s mother tried to get into his room to say good night, she could barely squeeze through the doorway. “Willard,” she said, “this mess is getting to me.”
When his father pushed into the room, he ordered, “Willard! This stuff has to go. You have until the weekend to get your room cleaned out. That’s it!”
Willard didn’t sleep much that night. He couldn’t possibly throw out all his magnificent junk. He knew that the time had come for him to build something truly magnificent.
It took Willard two days to carry all the junk from his room to the backyard. On the third day he started building. First Willard threaded some heavy wire through an old bicycle inner tube and nailed it to a tree. “A truly magnificent basketball hoop,” he said, pleased with himself.
Then he cut shorter pieces of heavy wire and shaped them into small hoops. “A truly magnificent ringtoss,” he murmured.
Next he built a pushcart, using some discarded wagon wheels. He made a seat for it and oiled the wheels. “Truly magnificent,” he said, beaming.
Willard took the tops and bottoms off all his cardboard boxes. He laid them end to end, forming a maze. He crawled through the boxes and pasted his collection of pictures on the inside walls. A truly magnificent fun house, thought Willard.
Willard stacked some milk cartons on a crate, then called it a day.
On the fourth day Willard still had lots to do. He made airplanes and little houses out of his piles of Popsicle sticks. He made kites out of newspapers and used his yarn collection for tails. Finally he built lots of his favorite toy—cracker-box trucks. He cut down one end of each box a little, folded down the flaps to make the cab, and taped the folds in place. He punched holes in the sides of the box, pushed dowels through for axles, snapped on wheels.
On the fifth day Willard put up a sign in his front yard:
WILLARD’S MAGNIFICENT CARNIVAL
ANY GAME OR RIDE—ONLY 5 PRETTY ROCKS
MAGNIFICENT PRIZES
Curious, all the children in the little town came to his carnival. They played ringtoss and basketball and knocked down milk cartons with balls. There was always a line of kids waiting to ride the pushcart.
One girl came out of the fun house and said, “Willard, this is the best fun house I’ve ever been in—it’s not even scary.” One boy said, “Willard, this is great. I have enough rocks to spend the whole day here.”
Willard gave prizes to the game winners. They could choose an airplane, a house, a kite, or a cracker-box truck. Like Willard, their favorite was the cracker-box trucks. “These are really nifty,” they said. Everyone wanted one, even the girls.
After two days of fun and games, Willard was out of prizes. So he asked for everyone’s attention. “Thank you all for coming to my carnival. You may take home anything that you see here.”
Some children took bottle caps, some took boxes, others took wheels and odds and ends until everything was gone. Soon Willard’s backyard was clean and quiet and back to normal.
All during the carnival, Willard’s parents had looked on in amazement. Now his father said, “I’m really proud of Willard for having this carnival. He got rid of all his junk and provided a great time for all the kids in town.”
“He certainly did!” said his mother.
But when they walked into Willard’s room to tell him how proud they were of him, they were stunned. All over the floor, and in every nook and cranny, were boxes and sacks filled to the top with pretty rocks!

But the strongest spiritual feelings came for many at the Garden Tomb.
“The choir was placed in an area in front of the Garden Tomb to do the filming,” says choir member Fay Mason. “I was standing directly in front of the empty tomb. The music had been prerecorded, but on the last run-through, Jerold Ottley allowed us to sing `When I Survey the Wondrous Cross’ in full voice. During this song, I felt the Spirit of the Lord very near. For a moment I felt that if I reached out, he would put his hand in mine.”
“I have gained a much greater understanding of and love for my Savior,” says choir member Tom Porter. “He lives! For, as another song tells, ‘I walked today where Jesus walked, and felt his presence there.’ We were all overwhelmed by the last few lines of the song [ “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross”] as we faced the empty tomb. ‘Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all!’ My hope is that I can continue with this change in my life, for I am truly a different person for coming to this land.”

A Relief Society presidency in Pleasant Grove, Utah, met with their bishop to discuss ward goals before planning Relief Society classes. Based on those goals, Relief Society leaders planned a meeting where a sister in the ward shared how she uses Preach My Gospel for family home evening. They also arranged several gardening workshops, including how to store food from one’s garden. Of the presidency’s meetings with the bishop, the Relief Society president says, “We feel our bishop’s love, knowing he is praying to the Lord in our behalf.”

Kim Dohm was comfortable at her grandparents’ house in Fort Worth, Texas, 500 miles from her home and parents. Her father and mother were helping with relief efforts in Slidell. But when she heard the news that evacuees wouldn’t be allowed back home for weeks or possibly months, it was more than she could bear. “One day at school, I just started to sob,” Kim says. “Everyone told me things would be okay, but I couldn’t stop crying.” Anxious and uncertain, she prayed. “I felt the most overwhelming peace in my heart,” she says. “I remembered how the Savior calmed the storm and reassured the disciples on the Sea of Galilee. My heart was raging, but His example calmed and reassured me.”

As time passed, I inclined more towards God. I was diligent in reading the scriptures, attending church, and doing prayers. However, my fiancé, who was a recent convert, requested that I visit the Mormon Church. With lots of struggles in my life as well as being a longtime investigator, I finally became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Later, we got married in the Hong Kong China Temple. Today, I am blessed with a happy family with a wife and two beautiful children.
We always try our best to follow the teachings of the Church. My parents used to observe us. After a while, I invited my parents to come to church with us. Following many discussions, my mother became a member of the Church.

Did you ever have to take care of a grown-up? I’ve done it many times. Every Saturday my sister and I take turns going to my grandmother’s house. Grandma has dementia, which means she forgets a lot. Because her condition has been getting worse, she can’t be left alone. A few years ago, she was taking me to the store. Now I take her. But I don’t mind. I love Grandma, and we still have a lot of fun together.
Today was my turn to be with Grandma. She shuffled into the living room. “How do I look?” she asked. “You didn’t have to help me get dressed today.”
Grandma’s red jacket didn’t really match her bright pink blouse and brown pants, but I was happy she had been able to dress herself. “You always look good to me, Grandma.”
Grandma smiled. “So, where are we walking today?”
“The shoe store. Mom said you need new walking shoes.”
“Oh,” she said. “Can we go to the doughnut store too?”
“Sure,” I said, smiling. Going to the doughnut store was the one thing Grandma never forgot to do.
Half an hour later, Grandma sat patiently as the shoe salesman helped her try on her new shoes. When the salesman went to find a different size, Grandma whispered, “You know, Noreen, I think these shoes are ugly.”
“You’ve never complained about them before, Grandma.”
“Well, they’re not as pretty as those,” she insisted, pointing to a pair of high-heeled shoes on display.
“We are supposed to buy walking shoes,” I reminded her. “You can’t wear high heels to go walking.”
Grandma lowered her eyebrows and scrunched her nose, but she didn’t say anything else.
When the salesman returned, Grandma tried on the shoes, stood up, and walked around. “Ah,” she sighed. “My feet feel wonderful in these shoes.”
“So you like them?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. “Don’t I always like these shoes?”
Sometimes Grandma contradicts herself. But it doesn’t upset me. I know she can’t help it.
After the salesman boxed up the new shoes, he walked to the cash register. I opened my wallet to find the money Mom had given me. “I’ll go pay now, Grandma. I’ll be right back,” I said.
The salesman was very busy, and I had to wait several minutes before I could pay. When I walked back to Grandma’s seat, she was gone. Her old shoes were still lying on the floor. I quickly scanned the store, but I couldn’t see her. I started feeling very nervous. “Has anyone seen my grandmother?” I yelled.
“A woman with a red jacket walked out the door a few minutes ago,” someone said.
I darted out the door. I hoped I’d find Grandma looking at the pretty shoes in the store window, but she wasn’t there. Just then I saw Grandma walking toward me.
“Grandma!” I cried. “Why didn’t you wait for me? I was so worried!”
“I’m sorry, Noreen. You know, I did the silliest thing! Please don’t be angry, dear.”
“I’m not angry,” I said. “I was just scared.” I sat down on a nearby bench.
Grandma looked off in the distance. “After I got outside, I realized I didn’t have any shoes on,” she explained.
“I’m just glad I found you,” I said.
We went back inside for her shoes. As we walked home, I noticed Grandma’s shoulders were slumped and her head was down. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Everything! I hate all this forgetting business,” she said. “But I just can’t help it.”
“You’re doing all right,” I said. “Everybody forgets now and then.”
“Not like this! Forgetting my shoes, forgetting this, forgetting that!”
“You could be doing much worse, you know. For instance, what do you always put on first, your blouse or your jacket?”
Grandma glanced at me with her bright eyes twinkling. “You’re being silly.”
“No, I’m not! Can you imagine if you put your blouse on top of your jacket?”
“Then I’d really be in bad shape, I guess,” Grandma said as she gave my arm a playful nudge.
“Would you like to go for a walk in the park today?” I asked.
“Sure, but can we go to the doughnut store too?”
“Of course.” I held her hand to cross the street. “Don’t we always?”
Like I said, I don’t mind taking care of Grandma. Sometimes it can get a little interesting. But most of the time, we just enjoy each other’s company.

I had just started my first job, and I loved it. On a particular day, not long after I started, a co-worker and I heard the bell telling us a customer had come in the door. It was a man, about 50 years old, who looked just like anyone else. The man walked about half the distance to our counter from the door before he pulled out a knife. He then walked very quickly to us and demanded money from the till.
Fortunately, he just took the money and ran. Even before he was out the door, I began to call the police. After hours of questions we finally left the police station. I thought about what had just happened as I drove home. I had been scared, but all I could think was, What happened in this man’s life that made him resort to breaking the law and putting innocent lives in danger? I wondered what his life was like.
The strangest part was that I kept wishing I could help this man. I kept asking myself if there was someone who could have helped him, who could have led him to think more about his choices in life. Then I began to think about all the people I knew. I wondered if there might have been someone who needed me, but I had not listened to the Spirit long enough to know it.
As all this was going through my mind, I had an overwhelming feeling. I prayed, first to thank my Heavenly Father for protecting me, but then to ask Him to bless the man who robbed our store. I asked Him to help the man find the happiness I have in my life. I knew Heavenly Father was the only one who knew how to help this man.
At that moment I realized how truly blessed I was to have the gospel. No matter what happens, I know I can turn to my Father in Heaven and He will help me. The gospel was a very special gift I had been taking for granted all my life.
I wanted to find the man who robbed the store and tell him about prayer and about the gospel. I wanted to tell him of the Atonement and of God’s plan for us. But I especially wanted to share my testimony of God’s love for all His children.
Even though this man put my life in danger, he is a precious child in Heavenly Father’s sight. He is one of His lost sheep. I felt then, and even now feel, a love for this man I do not know.

But there was a boy in my home ward—his name was BBIIIIIGGGG MIKE. He was called Big Mike for a reason. He was a very, very, big guy. Big Mike was a friend and we would talk now and then, but certainly nothing that would warrant “dating”. He wasn’t my type. Then one day, one of the girls in the ward told me that she heard Big Mike was going to ask me to his junior prom.
“What? No way . . . there is no way I would go with him so he better not ask,” I said. Big Mike was a nice guy, but definitely not someone I wanted to go out with, let alone go to a prom with where everyone would see us together.
I really don’t remember if I told my mother or not, but she found out anyway (mothers are like that) and asked me if I was going to the prom with Michael. “Of course not,” I said. “Are you kidding me? I hope he doesn’t ask me because I don’t want to have to hurt his feelings.”
I remember my mother looked at me and said: “Who do you think you are? Why, there are boys out there who would think the same thing of you!”
“What? Really? There is someone out there who wouldn’t want to go out with me?” That was an eye opener. How vain and shallow was I?
I still hoped he wouldn’t ask me to his prom, but silly boy, he did. And even sillier, with my mom’s words still ringing loudly in my mind, I went with him to his high school prom. Although he wasn’t my Prince Charming, I thought to myself that everyone would look at him and say, “Wow, he is such a lucky guy! How did he get her for a date?” Did I mention I was vain and shallow at that age?
But you know what? We had a great time—more fun than I ever expected. He had a really nice car (which didn’t hurt); and he had very good taste in flower leis (pikake, my favorite), and he took me to a very nice place for dinner. We had so much fun at the prom—meeting up with lots of my former classmates, and even went mini-golfing afterwards still all dressed up in our prom clothes. We laughed a lot that night and I thought, “whew, that wasn’t so bad after all”.
Years later, Big Mike and I had occasion to visit with each other. At the end of our conversation, he said to me, “You know, you’ll never know how much that meant to me, that you would say yes when I asked you to my prom. Everyone said don’t ask her, she won’t go with YOU. But you said yes and you made me so happy. Thank you for that.” I remember thinking right after we talked: thank you Mom and thank you Heavenly Father. About a year later, Big Mike was killed in a car accident. I am incredibly grateful that, instead of following my shallow and vain thoughts I followed my mom’s advice. Instead of being a disappointment and a regret for me, I got to be a positive and happy memory for Big Mike in his short life.

It took one year to build concrete steps down a volcanic cliffside to the swimming hole and the beautiful waterfall below. Four boys worked on this project. They had two picks, two crowbars, and one sledgehammer, and they worked every night after school and every Saturday for six months. Little by little they chipped the rock away until they had a pathway wide enough to support some concrete clear to the bottom of the waterfall. It took them another six months of backbreaking labor to make the steps. They hauled sand from the beach in an old pickup truck. They added cement and took gravel from the river and mixed the concrete by hand in a shallow pocket hollowed out of a large stone. Then they shoveled the wet concrete into buckets and lowered them down the cliff with ropes attached to a long bamboo pole. One step at a time they worked until the trail was completed.

I went into a hospital in New Zealand one day to bless a woman who didn’t belong to the Church. She was dying. We all knew she was dying. The doctors had even said so. She was having her farewell party.

That’s one thing I like about the natives. When you go, they give you a farewell party. They all gather around. They send messages over to the other side: “When you get over there, tell my mother I’m trying to do my best; I’m not so good, but I’m trying. Tell her to have a good room fixed for me when I get over there and plenty of fish, good meal.”

My, it’s wonderful how they send you off. There they were, all gathered around this poor sister. She was about to be confined, and the doctor told her it would kill her. She was tubercular from head to foot.

I had with me an old native, almost ninety. She was his niece. He stood up at the head of the bed, and he said: “Vera, you’re dead. You’re dead because the doctor says you’re dead. You’re on your way out. I’ve been to you, your home, and your people—my relatives. I’m the only one that joined the Church. None of you has ever listened to me. You’re dead now, but you’re going to live.”

He turned to me and said, “Is it all right if we kneel down and pray?”

I said, “Yes.”

We knelt down. Everybody around there knelt down, and after the prayer we blessed her. The last time I was in New Zealand, she was physically well from head to foot and had had her fifth child. She has not joined the Church yet. That’s the next miracle I’m waiting for there.

It’s amazing how the Lord works. I had been going through a phase in my life where I had no self-worth, thought I was ugly, and didn’t think I had any talent. When the April New Era came, I sat down to have lunch and decided to read it while I ate. I flipped through the pages to Q&A, because that is the first thing I read. There was my answer. The Lord had sent it to me through the New Era, because He knew I always read it. Thank you for doing such a good job on the New Era. It is surely an inspired work of the Church.Name withheld

Although I serve in the Asia Area Presidency now, my first assignment as a General Authority was to serve in the Asia North Area Presidency. We lived in Tokyo and traveled often to Korea and the islands of the Guam Micronesia Mission.

During those years, there were, perhaps, hundreds of meetings that I attended in Korea. Some of them were in small branches, and others were in the largest stakes. I had many feelings and impressions as I participated in teaching the gospel and in bearing testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ. For me, one of the most important meetings did not happen at a church or in the temple. Rather, the meeting that may have had the greatest impact on my understanding of how the Lord desired to grow and more firmly establish His Church in Asia and other parts of the world happened in a busy restaurant with only four of us present.

I had been assigned to preside at a Stake Conference in Korea. I asked Elder Choi Yoon Hwan, who was then an Area Seventy, to arrange a dinner appointment with the stake president. That evening, the Stake President, one of his counselors in the stake presidency, Elder Choi and I sat down to dinner and just talked.

I asked the stake president whether he had known Elder Choi as they were growing up as young men in Korea. The stake president told me that he, Elder Choi and his counselor had all served missions together as young men. After their missions, they each had a variety of experiences that created opportunities for education and employment. In Elder Choi’s case, he left Korea and first came here to BYU Hawaii and then to Utah State University for his education. He and his wife, Bon, then chose to return to Korea, raise a family and serve the Lord. In each of the others’ lives, they had had educational and professional opportunities, but through their individual choices, they had chosen to stay in or return to Korea, marry, be sealed in the temple, and have children. They worked to build up the Church in Korea, the country that had given them the gospel as well as parents, family, birth, life, language and culture. Each had served as a bishop and as a member of a stake presidency, and each had made a significant contribution to the building up of the Lord’s church in that country. As many of you know, Elder Choi now serves as one of the General Authorities of the Church and is a member of the Asia North Area Presidency.

That evening, we talked about young men and women serving together and choosing to follow the Lord’s counsel to return to their country and work to build and strengthen the Church where they had been born. It was during this conversation that I first had come into my heart a spiritual understanding that the Lord would build up and more firmly establish His Church in each country, culture, language and people by having the rising generation accept His doctrine, and gather back to their own country. There they would work together to build up and strengthen the Church in that place. There they would establish multigenerational families who will be the spiritual strength of that country and place. That night, I not only heard the stories of these three men and their families, but I could also see so many others choosing to follow the Lord’s will in this matter, raising their families in spiritual security and happiness, and making contributions to His Church in their own country. These contributions can never be made, and this spiritual security can never be had, without accepting the Lord’s counsel and following His will in one’s life.

For example, when we were leaving Zimbabwe, the plan was for my dad to go to Afghanistan for a year. The rest of my family would live with my mom’s parents. However, right before my dad left, we found out they weren’t sending anyone into Afghanistan for a while. That meant we wouldn’t be moving to live with family. As happy as I was to have my dad, this abrupt change was really hard for all of us.
I was mad, and unfortunately I took my anger out on Heavenly Father for a while. I remember praying one night and basically just yelling about why I was mad. But despite my anger, He helped me eventually humble myself and feel peace. It was like He was saying, “Whatever happens, good can come of it. Just trust me. I know it’s hard right now, but it’s all going to work out in the end.” I was able to calm down and think about things. I needed to learn to trust Heavenly Father and be OK with things not going according to my plan, because His plan is always better.

Bishop Frías and his wife have been members since their youth. But for others, baptized later in life, Church service quickly becomes a concentrated course in leadership.
Ernesto Merchán, a member of the Church since 1988, is a counselor in the bishopric of his ward and previously served as elders quorum president. He tries very hard to keep his baptismal covenants because “the Lord told us, in the scriptures, to be a light to others.” (See Matt. 5:16.) Brother Merchán hopes that some of his relatives will see the light of the gospel.
His wife saw it, after two years of watching his growth in the Church and feeling the love Church members extended to her. Just one year after her own baptism, Carmen Merchán was called as ward Relief Society president. Her lack of experience and the poverty among members in her area are not daunting, she says, so long as she can feel the Lord’s help in her calling. If nothing else, she adds, “I can love them” as the Savior taught.
“Here in Ecuador, as in other countries, the Lord is the same,” Ernesto Merchán says. “The gospel is the same. We are one family.”

It must have been the feeling of rhythm and strength in my stride that comforted me as I ran along the beach of Puget Sound. Troy, my big retriever, caught my sense of abandon and bounded first ahead, then back, stopping to investigate a shell or seaweed along his way. Out of breath now, I threw a stick out into the swells past the breaking waves and stopped to watch Troy leap after it. I threw the stick again and again as I continued down the beach. Each time Troy would find it in the waves and bring it to me with an expectant look. Finally the sun made work of the game, and I flopped down on the sand.
“Stay away from me,” I warned as the big dog shook salt water all over me. I grabbed his wet head and held it tightly. “You’re still my friend, old boy, even if I don’t spend much time with you anymore either,” I said half to him and half to myself. I needed to sort things out. My interview with Bishop Jenkins the day before had turned my recent vague uneasiness into a knot in my stomach.
“I feel like being able to dance is a gift from God, a talent I must express. I can’t explain it, but I cannot ignore it,” I told the bishop. “I really do want to come to church, but my practices for Young Entertainers are all day Sunday.”
“And you felt that a chance to tour and perform all summer was worth the price of your church meetings,” Bishop Jenkins guessed.
“Yes, I was so sure it was right,” I answered, “and that my dancing is more important. I love the energy on stage. I feel special and important. But, bishop, I feel confused.”
I sat back and tried to organize my fragmented thoughts. “I am compromising so much for my dancing. I feel engulfed in it. I’m too busy for old friends and my family. My new friends in the group think my faith is narrow-minded and naive. Their dancing is their religion. I don’t know what to do. To be a Young Entertainer is a dream come true. Do we dream our dreams and then let them go before they can be realized?”
Bishop Jenkins paused thoughtfully. “Let me share an idea from a talk by Elder Boyd K. Packer,” he finally said.
“‘There are many who struggle and climb and finally reach the top of the ladder, only to find that it is leaning against the wrong wall’” (Ensign, Aug. 1976, p. 61).
Thinking about it now, he didn’t really answer my question, but certainly the part about the person climbing the ladder applied to me.
“Heavenly Father, am I climbing the wrong wall?” I asked silently. “Is that why my life is so out of balance?”
Stirring from my introspection, I looked around for Troy but saw no sign of him. I stood up and searched up and down the beach. Still no dog. Shading my eyes from the glare on the water I thought I saw Troy’s head bob, then disappear under the water. Yes, there it was again. I dashed down to the chilling waves and dove in. The cold water took my breath away, but my concern was for my obviously drowning dog.
As I neared him, he was so exhausted his head barely broke the surface as he struggled. “What is holding onto him?” I swam almost to him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Troy’s jaws were tightly clenched on a bulb of seaweed! It was evidently still attached to the rocks below the water. He was paddling back and forth trying to free it and bring it to shore. I grabbed his jaws and forced him off the bulb. I half dragged him to shore and we both plopped down totally spent, gasping for breath.
My thoughts were tumbling. Why would Troy hold on to that seaweed until he nearly drowned? Why didn’t he let go and swim to shore if he was in danger?
Suddenly I stopped. How like my own struggle. My dog was working so hard to get something, he didn’t realize the danger he was in. My situation began to appear much clearer. I had been so caught up with my dancing that I hadn’t realized that I was in danger of losing the other things that mattered in my life.
With this revelation came a new agony—what to do. Could I put my ladder against the right wall, keep balance in my life, and still participate in the dance group, or did I need to “let go” and swim for safety now. Mentally tallying the list of compromises I needed to make for the dance group, I determined that my answer was to let it go. A sense of peace and comfort helped soothe the wrenching feeling in my heart and helped me to realize that it was the right decision.
“I can still dream my dreams,” I told Troy, “and perform and prepare so that my climb up the ladder will be on the right wall. Come on, Troy, let’s go home.”

Jacob grinned as Mom filled out the permission form. He could finally join the school band. So many instruments to choose from! But he knew which one he wanted to learn.
“I want to play the flute,” he told Mom.
Ever since third grade, Jacob had thought about what instrument to play. But now, saying the words out loud, he felt a little thrill. He had decided!
A few days later Jacob said it again, this time to the band instructor. “I want to play the flute.”
But Mr. Mortensen held out a shiny saxophone instead. “This one’s ready to go,” he said. “It’s rent free. You could begin right away.”
Jacob shook his head. “I’d rather play the flute, please.”
“We already have plenty of flutes in the band,” Mr. Mortensen said. “Try the saxophone. You might like it.”
Marcie giggled. “The flute is a girl’s instrument.”
“But I want to play the flute.” Jacob stood up taller and glanced at Marcie. She whispered something to Haley and rolled her eyes. Haley nodded.
Mr. Mortensen shrugged and put the saxophone back in its case. “Think about it.”
Jacob crossed his arms. What would it be like in the flute section with Marcie and Haley there? How long before Mom and Dad could rent a flute, anyway? Until then he’d have to sit in band doing nothing. He sighed. Band was supposed to be fun.
On the way home from school, Jacob told his friend Ryan how he felt.
To his surprise, Ryan laughed! “Duh!” he said, and friendly-punched Jacob’s shoulder. “Our band is mostly girls anyway! Why bother? You could be hanging with the men!” He spun on his toes and pretended to throw a football over Jacob’s head.
Jacob’s shoulders slumped. Even his best friend thought playing the flute was dumb. Maybe it was.
When Jacob got home, Mom told him Mr. Mortensen had called. “There’s a saxophone available for free,” she said.
Jacob felt like everyone was ganging up on him. He nodded and went to his room without saying anything. He said a quick prayer. Heavenly Father, please help me know what to do.
Pretty soon Mom knocked on his open door. “What’s up?” she asked.
“Do just girls play the flute?”
Mom seemed surprised. “No. Some of the best flute players in the world are men. Heavenly Father gives different gifts and talents to every person.” She sat on his bed beside him. “Jacob, what do you want to do?”
Jacob took a deep breath. “I want to play the flute.” It felt good to say it. “Mom, I just want to play the flute! Can we afford it?”
“If you promise to practice, Dad and I will rent you a flute.” Mom gave him a quick hug.
“It’s a deal,” he said. “Thanks!” They shook hands on it.
Ready or not, Marcie, Jacob thought, here I come!
By December the band was preparing for their first concert. Jacob asked Ryan if he was going to come. “I’m trying out to play a solo!”
“Probably.” Ryan looked sideways at Jacob. “I’m thinking of joining band next semester,” he said.
Jacob gave Ryan a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Great! What would you play?”
“Well, Mr. Mortensen said he has a spare saxophone …”

The life of Ann Rowley, a pioneer woman in the early days of the Church, demonstrates how exercising faith impacts our lives for good. A widow from England, Sister Rowley exercised her faith to answer the prophet’s call to gather to Zion. She was a member of the Willie handcart company, which encountered deep snowdrifts along the trail in the fall of 1856. They had reached a point in the trek where her seven children were literally starving. She wrote: “It hurt me to see my children go hungry. … Night was coming and there was no food for the evening meal. I asked God’s help as I always did. I got on my knees, remembering two hard sea biscuits that … had been left over from the sea voyage. They were not large, and were so hard they couldn’t be broken. Surely, that was not enough to feed 8 people, but 5 loaves and 2 fishes were not enough to feed 5,000 people either, but through a miracle, Jesus had done it. So, with God’s help, nothing is impossible. I found the biscuits and put them in a dutch oven and covered them with water and asked for God’s blessing. Then I put the lid on the pan and set it on the coals. When I took off the lid a little later, I found the pan filled with food. I kneeled with my family and thanked God for his goodness. That night my family had sufficient food.”

Ann Rowley was living the gospel at great personal sacrifice. She needed help and asked for it in prayer. Because of her faith, she was filled with hope and miraculously provided with food for her family. The Lord also blessed her with the eternally significant ability to “endure in faith to the end.” Despite an uncertain future, she did not demand to know how she was going to feed her children the next day; instead, she patiently “wait[ed] upon the Lord” and pressed forward with hope—just as the beautiful hymn expresses:
Lead, kindly Light, amid th’encircling gloom; Lead thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home; Lead thou me on!
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene—one step enough for me.