Gospel Story Finder

As a sophomore in high school, I felt like I was starting to understand who I was and who I wanted to be. I felt pretty good about myself. I had friends and participated in several activities. Even in gym—a class I usually dreaded—we were playing volleyball, something I wasn’t half bad at.
One day we were playing an intense game of volleyball. My team was doing OK, but sometimes my teammates would run into each other because no one called for the ball. I tried to encourage them by saying, “Call it!”
One girl on my team got annoyed and told me to stop. I told her I was just trying to help the team, but she still wasn’t happy. And she started finding ways to make me miserable.
She spent the next several months openly criticizing me, saying mean things, and bumping into me in the hallway. My emerging self-esteem quickly took a tumble. And because this young woman didn’t hang out with a good crowd, I was scared of what she and her friends might do to me. I didn’t know what to do except to avoid her when possible.
One night I was in my room alone, crying and praying about what to do. I felt like I should read my scriptures. I opened up to Matthew 5:44: “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” That night I prayed for the strength to be kind and that her heart would be softened.
After my prayer, I noticed the Valentine’s Day candies I’d purchased to give to my friends. I immediately knew what to do.
The next day, I went to class with my bag of valentines. I handed a few to my friends and then walked over to the young woman, placed one on her desk, said, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” and walked away. My heart was racing as I sat down at my desk.
She never did say thank you, and we did not become best friends. But the teasing stopped. With the help of the scriptures, my prayer had been answered.
I know that as we strive to love, serve, and pray for our enemies, the Lord will bless us.

During my first year as an early-morning seminary teacher, I taught the freshman class and felt a need to show interest in the students by attending as many school activities as I could. If my students were involved with sports, music, or drama, I tried to be there to see them perform. A number of the young men in my class were members of the freshman football team. My job allowed me the freedom to attend their games on Thursday afternoons, and I looked forward to this because I love to watch football.
As is the case with most football teams, there are standout players that have that special something that sets them apart from the rest of the team. I hadn’t watched very many games before I noticed one such player, number 23. He was a running back who could break at least one big run per game. He didn’t appear to be fast or flashy. In fact, he ran with a sloppy kind of gait, arms and legs going every which way. But when this deceiving runner would break loose on a long gainer, he would slowly pull away from defenders no matter how perfect their running form might be. His main function on the team was that of a workhorse. Through sheer determination and will power, he would grind out a yard or two at a time. Inevitably he would shake loose from a tackle and get a step or two into the secondary. When this happened, he was good for at least 30 yards or more.
The father of number 23 was at every game. He would walk up and down behind the small crowd on the sideline and offer bits of encouragement. He had an extremely deep, raspy, commanding voice. He wore the clothes of a working man, soiled by working with the land. He wore boots, jeans, and an old cowboy hat pulled down over his eyes. He was a big, strong man with a full moustache that drooped just slightly over each side of his mouth. Rumor had it that he had played football and had been drafted by the pros years ago. His comments were always directed toward the team as if it were a single entity. He never singled out any one player or players. His actions never gave a hint that this giant of a man was the father of number 23. Somehow you knew he felt the disappointments and the hardships of the entire team as they struggled during difficult games. And he, too, shared the feeling of triumph gained from a hard-fought drive that would result in a touchdown. All of this he did with a restrained dignity.
The team played well through the season and toward the end were excited that they could finish the year with a winning record if they could pull out the last two games. Our next game was a defensive struggle with very little yardage gained by either team. Toward the end of the fourth quarter, the other team scored a touchdown and extra point to go ahead 7 to 3. Time continued to tick away. Our team, with the ball on their own 25-yard line, had only a short time left in the game. The situation looked hopeless. I had to leave and reluctantly I started slowly walking around the track toward the gate on the other side of the field. I stopped to watch each play as the team attempted to move the ball. Each attempt was as frustrating as the rest of the game had been. They tried a long pass that was incomplete. Then a running play that was stopped. I reached the gate and was about to leave and turned to watch one more play. The quarterback dropped back and threw a short swing pass to number 23. Immediately four players converged on him, and I turned to leave thinking to myself, “They’ll have to punt and that’s the old ball game.” Suddenly a roar erupted, and I wheeled around just in time to see number 23 shaking off the last tackle. He was heading for the goal line. He broke to the outside and was running along the sideline closest to his team’s side of the field. He was outrunning everyone, everyone except his father, who was matching him step for step out on the track. With his cowboy hat in his hand, he was making giant circles above his head and yelling war whoops that could be heard over the roar of the crowd. The sight of those two running together sent chills of joy down my spine.
Our team won 10 to 7, not an earth-shattering event. It was an obscure football game played by high school freshmen; a short span of time on a Thursday afternoon; a small event but one that produced a moment of “lump-in-the-throat” excitement. But I realized that I had seen something outstanding. I witnessed the flash of joy that the father felt, or for that matter any parent feels, when seeing the success of a child. Sometimes when I see a young person break free from the entanglements of sin or discouragement, I wonder if our Heavenly Father feels that same joy and pride.

Thomas B. Marsh ran away from home in New Hampshire at age 14. He worked as a farm laborer in Vermont; as a waiter in Albany, New York; at a hotel in New York City; then as a servant on Long Island. His circumstances were unstable until he met and married Elizabeth Godkin.
He and Elizabeth were eventually led by the Spirit to western New York. There, they heard about the Book of Mormon. Thomas saw copies of the first 16 pages as they came off the press, and the printer allowed him to read the proof sheet. Believing the book to be of God, Thomas chose to join the Church. He was baptized on September 3, 1830.3
Thomas preached the gospel in various areas. He endured tribulation when the Saints were ejected from Jackson County, Missouri, in November 1833. He was an original member of the Missouri high council when it was organized in July 1834. After his calling as an Apostle at age 34, he served as President of the Quorum of the Twelve. Though he had earnestly defended Joseph Smith against dissenters in the past, Thomas himself eventually became disillusioned. In 1838 he chose to leave the Church.4
From Thomas Marsh we can learn that unstable circumstances don’t need to keep us from the blessings of the gospel—or from blessing the lives of others.

Following Joseph’s death, the Saints were driven from their homes to become exiles—almost refugees—stripped of almost all they had. But under the leadership of the Lord, and with the testimonies of the Spirit burning deep in their hearts, they crossed the almost trackless plains to a desert place no one else would have—there to do their part in the Lord’s strange act, to set up a kingdom where the principles of his gospel could have place in the lives of men and women until his Church could become strong enough to do its part in his strange act.

When Henry V was the King of England, France was one of his subject nations, and Henry had a little trouble with some of these Frenchmen. He therefore took an army and sailed across the Channel to put these Frenchmen in their place. But the job was a little bigger than he had expected. An early winter cut off their retreat and they were forced to spend the winter near the little French village of Agincourt. It was a heavy winter; many of them died, and they did not have supplies, and they were in hostile territory. The next spring, when they might have expected to get on their way, they found themselves surrounded by a great army of 60,000 well-fed, well-trained, well-horsed, well-armored Frenchmen, intent on wiping out the British and getting their freedom.

Now what would you do if you were met with a circumstance like that? What do you do when things get a little tough, the lessons get harder, the finances get low? What do you do? One thing you can do is to quit. You can just give it all up. But that is not what Henry did. He was not that kind of a person. He got his people together to talk it over with them, and we might say that he gave them a pep talk.

After his speech, one of Henry’s backwardlooking soldiers came up to him and said, “Look, King, we’ve got a million Englishmen over across the channel that are asleep in bed right now. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we had them over here to help us with these sixty thousand Frenchmen?”

Henry got after him and said, “That would dilute our honor. What honor would there be in a million Englishmen whipping sixty thousand Frenchmen? If twelve thousand weak, sick footsoldiers can whip sixty thousand well-horsed, well-trained, well-armored cavalrymen, that is honor!” He indicated that if a million men should come across the channel to help them, he would send them back. He gave his soldiers the spirit of wanting to win the victory on their own power.

Then said this negative-thinking soldier, “God’s will! my liege, would you and I alone,/Without more help, could fight this royal battle: (act 4, scene 3). That is, he said the two of them alone could whip those sixty thousand Frenchmen. That may not be very good judgement, but that is courage, and that is what most of us need more than about any other thing.

It just happened that the battle of Agincourt was fought on Saint Crispian’s Day. Crispian was a Christian martyr. He was a shoemaker who had given his life for the church a few hundred years before, and they celebrated the feast of Saint Crispian on his birthday. Henry said to his soldiers:
This day is call’d the feast of Crispian: He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is name’d, . . . And gentlemen in England now a-bed Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here . . . [To fight] with us upon Saint Crispin’s [sic] day. [act 4, scene 3]
I imagine that those British soldiers who fought the battle of Agincourt would feel very grateful that they were not among those poor, unfortunate people over in England who were asleep in bed and who were deprived of the privilege of giving their lives for their country in this famous battle. When any soldier or anyone else can learn to think like that, then he will not have very much difficulty in winning the victory.

Incidentally, the British won the battle of Agincourt. You may have seen in the movies how they drove stakes into the ground to stop the horses, and then the footsoldiers stood behind and from their English longbows shot arrows over among the French and knocked their horses down. They got the heavily-armored Frenchmen down in the mud where they could not get up, and then they went around with their spears and gave them some individual attention while they were lying there on the ground. But anyway, the English won the battle of Agincourt.

Before I received my patriarchal blessing, my stake patriarch asked me to bear my testimony. When I did it, I cried, which made me feel weak and unimportant. But the patriarch told me that I was crying because I felt the Spirit. There was no need to be embarrassed.
Then when I received my blessing, I felt like God was also telling me that I was not weak. God knows me and loves me.
My patriarchal blessing has been a huge help in my life. When I get very emotional and feel like I’m not important and that no one understands me, I can read my blessing and realize I have worth and a purpose. I am reminded that I can become that amazing person I’ve always wanted to be.

Our family has a set of leather couches in our living room. They are nothing special, but as the one who has to replace things that wear out, I probably show more concern for them than I should. One day I noticed that someone had scratched a work of art into one of the seat cushions on the couch.
After a little deductive reasoning, I called my youngest son, Dallin, who was four at the time, to come and discuss this damage to the furniture with me. Our conversation went something like this:
Me: "Who did this to the couch?" Dallin: "What will happen to the person who did it?" Me: "I will love them even more." Dallin: (very quickly) "It was me!"
Sometimes my students stray outside the boundaries of the Honor Code in their coursework. Sometimes they are not even aware that what they are doing is dishonest. They may even believe they are helping each other. Some have helped each other on take-home exams. Others have shared work with their friends, who then submitted it as their own or "tweaked" it to help themselves feel better about turning it in. Some of the most treasured moments in my teaching here have come during the conversations with these students after they have cheated in my classes.

1. Kourtney’s parents told her that their family was going to a temple open house. She was so excited. She liked to sing “I Love to See the Temple,” and she couldn’t wait for the chance to go inside someday.
2. When the day for the open house arrived, Kourtney and her sisters combed their hair neatly and put on Sunday dresses.
3. As they drove, Kourtney and her family talked about how families are sealed together forever in temples. When the temple came into view, Kourtney couldn’t wait to go inside.
4. When Kourtney walked into the temple, she felt a warm, peaceful feeling.
5. Kourtney walked reverently by the temple baptismal font, the sealing rooms, and other beautiful rooms of the temple.
6. Finally, she walked into the celestial room. Everything was clean and beautiful. She felt calm.
7. When Kourtney and her family finished walking through the temple, she felt so happy. She loved the temple more than ever.
8. As her family began to drive away from the temple, Kourtney turned around and pointed. “Look, Daddy! I went there someday!”

During my growing-up years in the small farming community of Spring City, Utah, an opportunity afforded itself each summer to be with my father alone for two weeks herding sheep in the mountain range of the Manti-La Sal. On one occasion the fog rested heavily in the area to the extent that you could not see your outstretched hand in front of you, and the evening was drawing nigh.
My father suggested that I return to camp, and he would soon follow. I remember questioning how I would be able to find the camp amidst the fog. My father simply said to me, “Give the horse the reins, and he will get you to camp.” Following this counsel, I loosened my grip on the reins, and with encouragement to the horse, the journey began. At times I would be struck in the face by a low-hanging limb I couldn’t see or have my leg brush close to a tree. Eventually, the horse came to a complete stop, and the silhouette of the camp was in view.
Sometimes we may not always be able to immediately find the desired way before us, but the wisdom of those who have gone before, coupled with the wisdom of those who are with us still, will be our guide if we let them have the reins.

I loved being with her, whether it was sailing, playing tennis or teaching her how to drive a stick shift car - all of which we did during our first month of dating. Then as time progressed, we found ourselves spending more time talking, getting to know each other's dreams and desires, and just wanting to be together. I was in the habit of studying in the quiet room of the University's library so we soon found ourselves studying together there. And I must confess that on more than one occasion, another student had to ask us to be quiet. We would go back to studying, but within a few minutes would be again whispering to each other. We also got to know each other's class schedules so we could bump into each other several times a day. Life was exciting.

I quickly concluded that Margaret made me a better person and there was no one I'd rather be with. Soon we were talking about getting married. Some who know me well might be surprised, but at this stage I didn't have a financial plan. I didn't even have a budget. All I knew was that we loved each other and I had faith that the Lord would bless us if we proceeded. I can remember one particular evening after I had dropped Margaret off, it struck me that I didn't have a detailed plan - I simply had a strong sense of direction, a feeling of peace that we were on the path a loving Heavenly Father approved of, and I had faith that together, with the Lord's help, we would be fine. I still remember the focus of my prayers that night. Basically, I told the Lord that I loved Margaret; I felt the train (that is, our lives together) was picking up speed and leaving the station, and unless He instructed me otherwise, I was getting on the train. Given the sense of peace I felt, I knew the Lord approved, and thus we moved forward.

I should add that we did have a budget by the day of our wedding, but it was simple and short. It was based on both of us working part-time, me completing my undergraduate degree as quickly as possible, and not spending any money other than the minimum needed for rent, school, food and essential travel. I remember thinking on the day of our temple marriage in December of 1965 that life was grand. But I can honestly say that it has only gotten better and better, and my love for my wife has only grown stronger through the years.

After I joined the Church, my brother talked about missionary work almost every day. He always encouraged me to go on a mission. With his help, I filled out my mission application. I will never forget how happy my older brother and I were then.
One evening my brother called me to come and meet with him after work. He wanted to talk with me about some things relating to my mission. We set a time to meet at the central square.
Around this time parliamentary elections were happening in Mongolia. When we met at the central square, citizens were holding a demonstration because of the election. Police were there, but the demonstration was getting violent and scary, escalating into a riot. A big building and several cars were on fire, and people were screaming. It was frightening.
My brother and I had met far away from the demonstration, but he was worried. He gave me money for a taxi and told me to go straight home. He told me that I would see him the next day. He planned to go back to his home, which was close to where he worked. The taxi arrived, and we said a quick good-bye before I drove away.
I soon found out that the government had closed all the roads because of the rioting. Unable to get to my home, which was in the outskirts of the city, I spent the night at work instead. Armored cars and armed soldiers were everywhere. The fighting worsened, and that night a state of emergency was called. It lasted for four days.
When the state of emergency ended, my brother-in-law came to pick me up. We got to his home to find all our relatives waiting there. They were all crying. I learned that my older brother had been shot as he was walking home.
My heart felt like it was going to burst. My brother died when he was 24 because of that demonstration. The days following my brother’s death were among the most horrible of my life.
It was during this difficult time that I received my mission call. After having been through my conversion, baptism, and mission paper preparation with my brother, I was left to open my mission call alone. To my surprise, I was called to serve in my own country.
Since I was alone, I knelt down right there and thanked my Heavenly Father in prayer. And I prayed for my brother. I cried and cried while I prayed. At this time, when there was so much hurt and loneliness in my heart, I felt the Spirit witness of the plan of salvation more deeply to me, and my faith was strengthened.
Left to right: Amarsanaa and his brothers, Dorjsuren and Amarsaikhan
Even though my brother was not there to open my mission call with me, I will always be grateful to him. I am also very grateful that God has given us the plan of salvation through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It is the most amazing plan. If we follow this plan, we will feel peace in our hearts.
The scriptures tell us: “O how great the plan of our God! For … the paradise of God must deliver up the spirits of the righteous, and the grave deliver up the body of the righteous; and the spirit and the body is restored to itself again, and all men become incorruptible, and immortal, and they are living souls” (2 Nephi 9:13).
I know that my brother is alive in the spirit world. This knowledge gives me the confidence I need to do well on my mission. I know he will be with me during the difficult times—and so will the Lord.

Among those who Joseph, 15, and his 19-year-old sister, Alexandra, helped bring to the gospel are their mother and father.
Or maybe it was the parents who brought the children. They’re the ones who first met the missionaries in the city center and brought them home to lunch. The Szamosfalvis had been raised under a regime where Christianity, or any other religion, was discouraged. The gospel message was quite foreign to them. Still, they were interested.
“The missionaries’ message rang true to me,” says Joseph. “I had a great desire to know about the purpose of life.”
“The missionaries weren’t like the other young people we knew,” says Alexandra. “I was impressed because they had goals in life and they were confident. The scriptures gave them direction. They had someone to turn to. So many other people around try to dull their senses with drink and have no point to their lives.”
Although their parents thought they were too busy to take the discussions at that time, Joseph and Alexandra continued on. By the third discussion and a few visits to church meetings, they knew the Church was true and wanted to be baptized.
“The first time we came to church, there was a wonderful feeling there,” says Alexandra. “It was April, and the sun was shining through the windows. Everyone was friendly and warm. When we went to other churches, there was a cold feeling. We felt the Spirit in this church and knew we must return.”
When Joseph and Alexandra asked for permission to be baptized, their parents were surprised that their children could be so sure of something in such a short time. They understood, however, that the Church taught good principles and high morals, the same things they were trying to teach them at home. They gave their consent, and Joseph and Alexandra became the 13th and 14th members of the branch.
“Our parents came to our baptism,” Joseph said. “It was outside, in a swimming pool. The birds and crickets were singing in the background. The Spirit was so strong, and our parents became more interested. The next day, in sacrament meeting, we were asked to bear our testimonies. Dad had to work, but Mom was there.”
Joseph and Alexandra quickly became active and energetic members. They both play musical instruments, the recorder and the guitar; and they love to sing, both hymns and folk music. In the branch, their love of music is infectious. So is their love of the gospel. They frequently help the missionaries and are great aids in integrating investigators. They were especially attentive to their parents.
“We would share our church activities with our parents at dinner,” says Joseph. “We would invite them to come to church with us, and they often came.”
It was really only a matter of time before the senior Szamosfalvis were baptized—by their son, Joseph, of course. And once they joined, Church membership drastically changed their lives. Not only did Joseph Sr. change jobs so he could attend church on Sundays, but he also sold the family vineyard and the family bar. The Szamosfalvis feel the Lord has opened all sorts of doors for them and look forward to a bright future.

I had a fun experience not so long ago with our youngest daughter. We were picking up leaves in our backyard and I noticed she was only using one hand to do so. Needless to say, I was picking up most of the leaves. Upon closer inspection, I could see her phone was clasped tightly in her hand. I suggested the job would go far more quickly if she put away her phone and picked the leaves up with both hands. But even more quickly, she explained that that wasn’t possible because she was in the middle of a text conversation with her friend.

With my patience now a tad thinner, I responded her friend could wait a few minutes and to put the phone away. She refused. Our conversation then went something like this “Phoebe, put the phone away.” “No Dad.” “Phoebe, put the phone away, right now.” “Aww Dad.” “Phoebe, I am going to count to three, if you don’t put the phone away by the time I’m done, you are going to lose it for the next month.” She barely put it away in time.

This experience reminds me of movies when the police officer tells the bad guy to “put the gun down” or “move away from the gun.” Needless to say, with my daughter using both hands and her full attention, the job was soon finished and there was still time to text her friend.

Courage counts. This truth came to me in a most vivid and dramatic manner many years ago. I was serving as a bishop at the time. The general session of our stake conference was being held in the Assembly Hall on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. Our stake presidency was to be reorganized. The Aaronic Priesthood, including members of bishoprics, were providing the music for the conference. As we concluded singing our first selection, President Joseph Fielding Smith, our conference visitor, stepped to the pulpit and read for sustaining approval the names of the new stake presidency. He then mentioned that Percy Fetzer, who became our new stake president, and John Burt, who became the first counselor—each of whom had been counselors in the previous presidency—had been made aware of their new callings before the conference began. However, he indicated that I, who had been called to be second counselor in the new presidency, had no previous knowledge of the calling and was hearing of it for the first time as my name was read for sustaining vote. He then announced, “If Brother Monson is willing to respond to this call, we will be pleased to hear from him now.”

As I stood at the pulpit and gazed out on that sea of faces, I remembered the song we had just sung. It pertained to the Word of Wisdom and was titled “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say No.” That day I selected as my acceptance theme “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say Yes.” The call for courage comes constantly to each of us—the courage to stand firm for our convictions, the courage to fulfill our responsibilities, the courage to honor our priesthood.

When I heard about his passing, though, I couldn’t help but be sad and frustrated that my grandfather hadn’t been baptized in this life. So when my sister suggested a year later that we go to the temple and do ordinances for my grandfather, I had mixed feelings. Why would it matter now if he hadn’t accepted it when it was right here for him?
But I prayed about doing my grandfather’s work in the temple, and my heart softened. I knew I needed to do it. When I went to the temple and was baptized for him, something happened to me in that font: I felt the Spirit come into my heart along with a sense of forgiveness and love that I didn’t know I had for my grandfather. My heart was truly turned to him. I felt the truth of the promise that “he shall plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers” (Doctrine and Covenants 2:2). It was real.

You may remember the sweet experience shared by President Romney, who had been reading the Book of Mormon with his son. He related: “I remember reading it with one of my lads when he was very young. … We were each reading aloud alternate paragraphs of those last three marvelous chapters of Second Nephi. I heard his voice breaking and thought he had a cold, but we went on to the end of the three chapters. As we finished he said to me, ‘Daddy, do you ever cry when you read the Book of Mormon?’

“‘Yes, son,’ I answered. ‘Sometimes the spirit of the Lord so witnesses to my soul that the Book of Mormon is true that I do cry.’

“‘Well,’ he said, ‘that is what happened to me tonight.’” (In Conference Report, Apr. 1949, p. 41.)

But suicidal thoughts continued to enter my mind when I least expected them. The temptation to end my excruciating pain was very strong. But I wanted to be healed. Though I didn’t understand then that I was suffering from an acute illness (an illness that is severe and sudden), I knew I could be healed. So I asked for a priesthood blessing.
My husband, unaware of my struggles, said many things during the blessing that told me Heavenly Father was aware of me. He promised me that I would handle my challenges. Immediate healing was not the solution, but I accepted that Heavenly Father would help me overcome my struggle.

Randy Herrman terrified me.
It wasn’t that he was bigger than I was. He was kind of puny for his age. And he certainly wasn’t smarter, or funnier, or more creative. Nope. What intimidated me about Randy Herrman was his attitude. He wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything.
Like a villain in a melodrama, Randy appeared at school while we were all registering for the seventh grade. There were about a hundred of us in line outside the principal’s office when Randy walked up wearing a black motorcycle T-shirt. He stopped for some reason beside Travis Duncan. Then, with a little sneer, Randy reached into Travis’s open backpack—that was still on Travis’s back—fished around and pulled out a Ding Dong. Without a pause Randy bit the chocolate cake clean in half, wrapper and all.
Travis stood there for a second, in complete shock, then started yelling—a high-pitched wailing that was way too-over-the-top for a bitten Ding Dong. Finally, Mr. Squires came out of his office to see what all the commotion was about. Then the principal grabbed Randy by the shirt collar and led him down the row of kids to the detention room. As he passed, Randy looked at me with his gray eyes and smiled. It was an unspeakably cold smile that sent a shiver up my spine.
I couldn’t sleep for a week.
I steered well clear of Randy that year and probably would have avoided him for the rest of my school life had I not been transferred in eight grade to a new English class midway through the school year. When I got to Mrs. Snyder’s class, I was assigned a seat almost in the back, next to a diorama of The Red Badge of Courage, and right in front of Randy Herrman.
I shuddered and took my seat.
The trouble started a couple of days later—just after Mrs. Snyder passed out a homework quiz.
“Hey, what’s the answer to number one?” Randy whispered to the back of my head.
I spun around. He had his face scrunched up and his eyes narrowed, like he was trying to look like Popeye, or worse, a psycho. I turned back to the front of the class and saw Mrs. Snyder take a quick glance around the room and then return to the pile of papers on her desk.
I didn’t know what to do. Any idiot knew that cheating was wrong. But Randy had bitten a Ding Dong in half, with the wrapper still on. I didn’t want to find out what he could do to me.
“A pronoun,” I whispered back without searching my conscience any further.
“How do you spell that?” he asked.
“P-R-O-N …”
And that’s how it went for the next few months. I’d provide answers to quizzes and tests with the unspoken understanding that Randy would not bite me in half. I’d never been so happy as when the bell sounded to end that school year.
Randy was in my math class in ninth grade, but on the first day I waited for him to pick a desk and then I sat on the opposite side of the room. Darren McCoy, a tall red-headed kid, sat in front of him, and I watched to see what would develop.
After Mr. Washington passed out the first exam, and we all bowed our heads to our papers, I saw Randy mouth the familiar words to the back of Darren’s head.
“Hey, what’s the answer to number one?”
I knew Darren heard Randy, because his pencil stopped moving, but he didn’t turn or acknowledge the voice behind him.
Randy leaned closer and whispered again. This time Darren turned quickly and gave him a haughty look; then he put his pencil back on his exam and defiantly began to add numbers.
Randy tried one more time, this time he flicked one of Darren’s ears with his finger. Darren made an annoyed, contemptuous grunt and shuffled his desk forward. About that time Mr. Washington stood up and began walking around the room. Randy reluctantly gave up and hunched over his own paper.
Darren came to class the next day with a big black eye, but when the midterm exam came up, Darren stonewalled Randy again. I’m sure ninth grade was the longest nine months of Darren McCoy’s life, but he didn’t break. He said nothing to Randy, who was forced to make it through the class on his own merits.
I don’t know how Randy made it into the 10th grade, but there he was the next year when we registered.
Sam Boushelle had moved to town that summer. I’d met him at church the Sunday before classes started, and we’d talked about the ward and girls and sports. But I completely forgot to warn him about Randy Herrman. Sure enough, when I got to English class on Monday morning, there was Sam, and right behind him was Randy, looking smug with a fresh year and a fresh victim in front of him.
I flopped into the desk in front of Sam and tried to explain the predicament he was in. Sam looked at me with a suspicious frown, and then turned around to face Randy. Sam nodded slightly and looked back at me.
“Seems like a nice enough guy,” Sam said.
“Just wait.”
And sure enough, I heard Randy’s whisper during the first pop quiz about a week later.
For a minute, Sam ignored the voice behind him. Then he tore a sheet of paper out of his notebook and began writing furiously. Randy waited for a second and then tried the ear-flipping thing, but Sam just shook his head and laughed and kept scribbling. Finally Sam stopped writing, folded the paper up and handed it back to Randy. Then he went back to his work.
Randy read the note and his faced turned the color of a thundercloud. He crumpled the note up, thought about throwing it, but then stuffed it into his shirt pocket. It was obvious that Randy was mad, but he didn’t pester Sam anymore.
After class I pulled my backpack on and stood up.
“You coming?” I asked my friend.
“No, you go on. I need to talk to Randy.”
I looked back at the little, dark figure of Randy Herrman, leaning back in his desk and resting his head on the back of his chair. He had his eyes closed, like he was having a nice dream and didn’t want to wake up. He was probably wondering where he could dispose of Sam’s body.
“Your funeral,” I said softly.
I didn’t see Sam again until lunch. We met near the pop machines and then went through the cafeteria line, piling our plates high with rubbery spaghetti and red sauce. We paid and found seats as close to the cool kids as we dared.
“So, you’re still alive,” I asked finally. I was dying to know what had happened.
“Yep,” said Sam. He started twirling his fork in the spaghetti.
“Well?”
Sam smiled and moved his fork to a new spot on the plate. “I think he just needs a little help.”
“I’d say.”
“No, I mean he needs a little help with schoolwork.”
I was skeptical. “So what did your note say?”
“Nothing much. I just told him I couldn’t help him during a test. But I did offer to work with him after school.”
I laughed. “He’ll work you over after school.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. I told him that if we studied together a couple of times a week, he could most likely get good grades on his own.”
“I bet he jumped at that,” I said, with a good dose of sarcasm.
Sam pinched his chin. “Ah, he complained for a while. But eventually he agreed to give it a try. He says nobody’s ever offered to help him before.”
I swallowed with guilt.
“You’re putting me on,” I said. I was incredulous.
“No, he’s actually interested,” added Sam. “We’re meeting tonight at my place to study.”
Sam twirled his fork until he had a mass of pasta the size of a pool ball. Then he forced it in his mouth. “He wants to,” he said, between chews, “get into the Air Force,” another chew, “after school.”
“Huh?”
“And he can’t get in without good grades.”
I was floored. All the time I’d been afraid and avoiding Randy Herrman, he’d been searching for help. I’d helped him cheat. Darren had ignored him. But Sam had taken a chance and found a way to serve his brother.
“I feel like a … I feel like a,” I couldn’t find the word.
“Why? You didn’t know what Randy needed?” said Sam.
“No, and I didn’t bother to find out.”
Sam smiled and shrugged. “It’s no big deal. Come over tonight and we’ll both get to know Randy.”
After lunch, I walked back to class with a weird mix of feelings running through me. For the first time in years I wasn’t afraid of running into Randy. That was a relief, I reasoned. But I couldn’t believe how blind I’d been. It’d taken Sam only seconds to do what I should have done years ago.
I closed my locker and told myself I wasn’t going to let that happen again.
I walked to biology. Under the glowing fluorescent lamps and amid the moving mass of 10th-grade students, I told myself I was ready to begin again.
I can do well here, I thought.
I just need to find a way.

Sixteen-year-old Mattie Hughes was thrilled when she heard about what the prophet had said. Becoming a doctor was her dream. And now President Brigham Young was actually encouraging women to become doctors!
Mattie knew that some medical schools were finally letting women in. Of course, she would have to get a college degree before she could go to medical school. And she would have to save a lot of money. It would take a lot of time and a lot of hard work. She knew that.
But Mattie thought of her little sister, Annie, who had died on the wagon trip to Utah. There had been no doctor to help her when she got sick. Then Mattie’s father had died. Here in Salt Lake City, Mattie knew lots of people who were sick or hurt. If Mattie became a doctor, she could help them.
Mattie decided to have faith. The prophet had said women should train to be doctors, and she wanted to be one of them! God would help her find a way to go to medical school.
Mattie worked hard to save money. She got a job as a typesetter for a newspaper. She had to carefully arrange every letter of every word in the right order so the newspaper could be printed. After work, Mattie went to classes at the university to get ready for medical school.
Between home, work, and school, Mattie walked six miles (10 km) every day! She wore heavy men’s boots because her regular shoes weren’t tough enough to trudge through the mud. She wished she could ride in the mule-drawn streetcar instead of walking, but she was saving every penny for school.
Mattie worried that she wouldn’t be able to save enough money. She knew her mother and stepfather would try to help her, but they had other children to take care of. What else could she do?
Mattie decided to hold a fundraiser and ask friends and ward members to share whatever money they could spare. They were happy to help. Mattie was only the third woman to try to follow President Young’s call to become a doctor, and they wanted her to succeed.
After the fundraisers, Mattie had enough to go to medical school! She traveled across the country to a university and studied hard.
Two years later, Mattie held her head high and marched onto the graduation platform to receive her diploma. She was finally a doctor! She had never felt so excited.
Mattie looked into the cheering crowd of strangers. None of her family or friends from home could be there, but she knew they were proud of her. Soon she would return home to care for them and teach them what she had learned.
After going back to Utah, Mattie worked at the Relief Society’s hospital in Salt Lake City. She loved her job as a doctor. She helped treat diseases, heal injuries, and even teach classes on how to deliver babies.
Becoming a doctor had been hard work. But Heavenly Father had helped her. Now Mattie would spend the rest of her life helping others.

Making the roadshow a success was not an easy task. There were many unusual problems. For example, when 23-year-old director Dave McKay began thinking about writing a script, he encountered the difficulty of writing one that would never be spoken. “We wrote it with our hands,” he said. Once a skeletal plot outline was chosen, directors and cast members worked together from improvised possibilities to a finalized sequence of actions. Long after rehearsals had begun, voice director Kareena Heath decided on words to be read by the unseen voices in the orchestra pit.
Another difficulty was synchronization of music and action. The entr’acte, for example, was an interpretive dance, and the dancers were required to perform to music they could not hear. Brother McKay solved the problem by casting one hearing dancer, who was responsible to keep the others in time with the beat. Once again, this was accomplished by means of hidden signals undetectable to the audience. Scott Duge (Red Delicious) and Birdie Herrick (Mother Apple) were kept on cue by Karen, a hearing interpreter for the deaf who took the role of Yellow Delicious. In other sections, actors and dancers maintained correct timing by memorizing counts and order of appearance.
Staging had to be carefully arranged so that actors could not only be seen, but also so that their hand signals were clearly visible at all times.
And, of course, butterflies in the stomach aren’t limited only to those who hear. Bill Andrews, who played Washington, the oldest of Mother Apple’s children, explained that stage fright manifested itself in an unusual way. “You could literally say we had a case of arthritis,” he said. “Our fingers were frozen. When hearing people get scared, their voices shake, but in our case, it’s our hands. They stiffen up and we can’t make the signs.”
Birdie was supposed to keep everyone backstage quiet. “But the deaf signed to each other anyway,” she remembered, smiling. “I told them to cut it out, because their hands would crack and make noise.”
The Los Angeles Ward for the Deaf is a unique organization. Those in the ward are either deaf themselves or members of a family in which someone is deaf. Although it is under jurisdiction of the Los Angeles California Stake, its members come from a broad geographical area. But the roadshow brought them all together.
Homer Thexton explained how participation in the event strengthened family unity. He is deaf, his wife is hard of hearing, and his children hear normally, yet all participated. “It helped our family,” he explained. “There was more cooperation and communication at home. We really taught and helped each other in our parts.”
That type of reaction extended throughout the stake. For example, members of the University of Southern California Branch roadshow cast (which, incidentally, placed second in the competition) stayed behind after their own performance long enough to provide the voices for the deaf show. Noting that support, President Brady said he felt the roadshow experience had unified the entire stake. Since the performance, a variety of activities have helped to bring members of the ward for the deaf and other wards in the stake into closer contact on a more regular basis. (See FYI for Feb. 1978 and May 1978.)
The roadshow is over. But excitement and pride remain. Already ward members are talking about future productions and looking forward to another roadshow next year.
Editor’s Note: The Los Angeles Ward for the Deaf was recently divided to form two new wards, the San Fernando Valley Ward for the Deaf in the Los Angeles California Chatsworth Stake, and the Torrance North Ward for the Deaf, located in the Torrance California North Stake. The Fullerton Branch for the Deaf of the Fullerton California Stake was created in 1971, and continues to serve the needs of the deaf in that area.