Gospel Story Finder

—“My dad runs a welding shop,” said Blaine Hill, 19, who hails from Burley, Idaho. “He was always building swing sets and monkey bars for the family, doing repairs and making things for people. I grew up with welding.”
But he had no idea that it was the sort of thing he could get a degree in.
“I imagined that when you went to college you’d have to major in something big, like being a doctor or a lawyer or something to make money. I thought welding was something you did in your spare time.”
Then in high school, he heard about a welding contest sponsored by Ricks. He entered it, and it changed his life.
“I won a scholarship, so I came here just to get a feel of what it would be like.”
Not only did he discover that “welding is what I’d like to do for the rest of my life,” he also found out that it’s a topic of study and research at a number of major universities.
Blaine is currently serving in the Oregon Portland Mission. When he returns, he’ll “probably go on to Arizona State University for a master’s degree in welding engineering and technology.” That program, like the associate degree program at Ricks, has a job placement approaching 100 percent.

Julie Loper, the Mia Maid adviser in the Sunnyside Ward, Yakima Washington Stake, shared this story: “My husband and I concentrated one of our family home evenings on what to do in case of an emergency. Since our children were so young, we felt the most important thing to tell them was to get help as fast as they could. We made up several situations, acted them out, and tested our children to see if they understood.
“Little did we know that the following Wednesday our efforts would pay off. Our daughter, Erin, 15 months old, fell into a four-foot-deep irrigation box that had a great deal of water rushing through it. Three-year-old Ryan was just coming out of the house when he heard her cries.
“All Ryan could see was her fingertips holding onto the cement. He did not take time to investigate further, but immediately called me for help as we had discussed the week before in home evening. Those valuable seconds saved made the difference. I was able to reach her before she was forced down into the pipe which carries water onto other farms.
“Had Ryan waited before going for help, Erin’s strength would have gone before help arrived. If he had attempted to pull her up himself, probably both of them would have fallen in. Ryan said, ‘Family night helped me know what to do.’”

A home teaching visit is also more likely to be successful if an appointment is made in advance. To illustrate this point, let me share with you an experience I had some years ago. At that time the Missionary Executive Committee was comprised of Spencer W. Kimball, Gordon B. Hinckley, and Thomas S. Monson. One evening Brother and Sister Hinckley hosted a dinner in their home for the committee members and our wives. We had just finished a lovely meal when there was a knock at the door. President Hinckley opened the door and found one of his home teachers standing there. The home teacher said, “I know I didn’t make an appointment to come, and I don’t have with me my companion, but I felt I should come tonight. I didn’t know you would be entertaining company.”

President Hinckley graciously invited the home teacher to come in and sit down and to instruct three Apostles and our wives concerning our duty as members. With a bit of trepidation, the home teacher did his best. President Hinckley thanked him for coming, after which he made a hurried exit.

My father seldom went to church, even though his family had been members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for seven generations. He and my grandfather worked together to build roads in the Mojave Desert, so my father was away from home much of the time. When I was eight months old, my mother died, and I went to live with my mother’s parents, Grandpa and Grandma Baird.
Then my father remarried, and when I was seven, we moved from California to Manti, Utah. There we lived on a big dairy farm. Most important, my Grandma and Grandpa Giles (my new mother’s parents) and several aunts and uncles and their families lived there, too. They were active in the Church, and for the first time in my life, I saw people praying and studying the scriptures in their homes.
One of the people who influenced me most was my Uncle Jimmy. He was 13, just six years older than I was, and he became like my older brother. Uncle Jimmy was lots of fun. He’d hook up a sled to our big dog, Tony, and take me for a ride over the ice and snow.
At Christmastime, we often went together to hunt for a Christmas tree. After finding the right tree, we cut it down and brought it home. Grandmother popped lots of popcorn for us to string and gave us colored paper to make into ornaments.
One of my jobs was to help Uncle Jimmy on his delivery rounds in the milk truck. One of my older uncles drove, and we would run to the doorstep of each house, pick up the empty milk bottles, and leave full bottles in their place.
Wherever Uncle Jimmy went, I went. And since Uncle Jimmy went to church, so did I. Sundays started awfully early. First I went out to help feed and milk the cows. Then I came home, cleaned up, and dressed for church. I didn’t own a suit, but my mom and dad made sure my best clothes were clean. When I turned eight, I was baptized by my Uncle Grant.
After Grandpa Giles died, there was arguing about how to operate the farm. Eventually the family business fell apart, and my family moved to Kaysville, Utah.
When I was 14, our family moved back to Manti. I had a bedroom upstairs, and my only window faced the Manti Temple. I spent a lot of nights looking at the temple, wondering what my future would hold.
When I was in my late teens, I began to think about serving a mission. By then, my father had died and my mother didn’t have very much money. I felt a lot of pressure to stay home and help my mother. Then one night I went up into the hayloft to think and pray. There I had a clear and strong impression: I needed to serve a mission.
That was the best decision I had ever made. It changed my life. Doctrine and Covenants 31:5 became a guide: “Therefore, thrust in your sickle with all your soul, and your sins are forgiven you, and … your family shall live.” I decided to trust that the Lord would take care of my family while I worked hard on my mission. And the Lord was faithful to His promise. My mother was well taken care of while I was away.
While I was on my mission, I traveled for a few days with Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. I was his temporary driver and companion. It was the first time I had been so close to an Apostle of the Lord. I heard him pray and testify. I saw what he focused on, what he talked about, and what he was like when he was not in public. I saw how he treated other people and how thoughtful he was of their needs. I decided that this was the kind of man I wanted to become.
Boys and girls, if you do good things on your own, your parents will eventually praise you for it. In part because of my mission, my mother became active in the Church. Honoring your parents doesn’t always mean doing exactly what they do. It means doing what Heavenly Father wants you to do. Even if your mom and dad don’t go to church, you still can. Even if they don’t keep the Word of Wisdom, you still can. If you will stand on your own two feet and be good, you will bring great honor to your parents’ name.

I was reared as a Quaker, in the Society of Friends. Some branches of my family had been in the Society from its very beginnings in the mid-seventeenth century. Some suffered years of imprisonment for their faith. (Incidentally, I had to join the Mormon Church and do genealogy to find that out.)
As a Quaker, my father had a testimony against war, and so during the first world war he became a farmhand and we lived for a while in a little village that felt resentment against us because their men of military age were at the war. The boys used to torment my younger sister and me, and because of this I could not go to the village school—my mother and father taught me at home.
We were taught to be against dancing, the cinema, alcohol, and betting and gambling (including speculating on the stock exchange). As a result I learned that we were not of the world, and that we had enjoyments other than the world’s enjoyments. I interpreted that, as a child might well do, as looking down on people (I must have been a prig).
But Quaker meetings also taught me something of the Holy Spirit. Quakers believe in the inner light, and in my early teens I learned how it felt to be compelled from within to get up and speak, no matter how much one struggled against it.
However, I became dissatisfied with Quakerism. My family was poor, and I felt the condescension of members who were prosperous tradespeople and professionals. There were few working-class members of the Society of Friends. I was especially sensitive because the Society supported my widowed mother. I felt that there were class distinctions among the Friends.
Quakers shared a spirit, but to me it seemed too vague a spirit. It led to humane action, but the action seemed to me not vigorous enough. Their God had no body, parts, and passions. They lacked dogma, something firm I could depend on to help answer my own and others’ questionings. When I went to Cambridge in 1928, I found a generation trying to make the experience of literature and the other arts a substitute for religion. The text was Arnold’s statement that “religion has attached itself to the fact, and now the fact is failing it; but for poetry the idea is everything.” The little book that most characteristically enshrines this view is I. A. Richards’s Science and Poetry. The view was, however, an essentially individualistic one; it lacked the force to make a group cohere. There was a group—around Leavis’s periodical Scrutiny—that had a good deal of influence and effectively enforced the relationship of art and morality; but we were at sea, and though we could learn about winds and tides, there was no anchor aboard, and we had no destination.
At this point, I should like to say a few words about three important writers and their attitudes toward religion: William Butler Yeats, D. H. Lawrence, and T. S. Eliot.
Yeats used myths and images as a box of magical toys, and we cannot take his use seriously. However, he did show us a way of seeing the whole world and the whole of history in terms of images; and though he was not serious about it, we can be for our own serious purposes.
Lawrence had a disturbed life. He was restless because he could never find what he wanted, and he would not face his illness until the last. But he taught something of the sanctity and tenderness of the right relationship between man and woman in marriage, idealized from his own not very satisfactory experience. And he had a profound instinct about the need for a patriarchal community (his own family was very matriarchal) and for the priesthood. There are strong but dark shadowings of this in Aaron’s Rod, Kangaroo, and The Plumed Serpent.
Eliot was a sensitive and truthful seeker. He taught the value of exactitude in religious experience: “The spirit killeth, but the letter giveth life,” meaning that dogma is better than vague, liberal goodwill. And he well understood the step to conversion: “The awful daring of a moment’s surrender … costing not less than everything.” But his Christianity, with its royalism and Anglo-Catholicism, was a kind of seventeenth-century pastiche. His social outlook was limited and led him into snobbery (see Notes Towards a Definition of Culture). And his conversion liberated him in some ways and desiccated him in others.
At one time I investigated the Anglican Church. I attended a village church for some years. While I appreciated the hymns and the ritual, I could not join; there was nothing to join—no community of the church, no true social group, no force. The upper class tended to go to morning service and the lower class to evening service.
Like Eliot, they were pretending in a mock world, with—like him—some seventeenth-century pastiche as well as some Victorian pastiche dear to their own hearts.
After I had left Cambridge, there came to that university, as to others, the wave of Marxist thought characteristic of the thirties. Marxists deny God, but devout Communists—among whom were some of my friends—taught me something of faith: that faith must issue in energy, force, determination, organization. Faith is not content to leave things as they are, but wishes to change them for the better, both inside and outside oneself.
The quality of my friends’ faith may have been very good, but its object was deception. The Stalin trials, the Russo-German Pact of 1939, and the suppression of Hungary in 1956 were fatal blows to faith. Nothing was left but disillusion—or else self-deception—for idealistic Marxists. They found themselves in a wasteland; they knew the kind of bitter disappointment that Wordsworth experienced in the French Revolution. “Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive”; but it was just being alive and young, the excitement of animal spirits, no more. History has only savage answers to those who do not believe it to be a process of incarnation.
In the fifties, I lived for seven years in Islamic countries in Persia and Pakistan. Islam resembles Mormonism and Judaism in legislating for the organization of the whole community. The original social function of polygamy in Islam—that of providing status for spinsters and widows—helps an outsider to understand, sympathize with, and ultimately, as a member, accept the historical and eternal function of polygamy in the Latter-day Saint Church.
But Allah is remote, arbitrary, and all spirit to the Muslims. His ways are not to be understood by man, but are accepted with resignation. That he could have a body is blasphemy. History is not a process of incarnation to the Mohammedan, good historians though some of them once were. And the drive has irretrievably gone out of Islam.
I have had some experience with other religions: Hinduism, with its admirable regard for the family but its vague superstitions and continued social prejudice; and Buddhism, which in its proper form is a matter of intense spiritual discipline, has no place for a personal God, and advocates the absorption of human personality into the infinite, not its intensification through eternity. Each world religion has fatal flaws; each has in it something that points us toward and prepares us for acceptance of our Church.
So I was ready for the truth when, in 1966, my second cousin—now my wife—stopped at my door in the course of a genealogical hunt, introduced herself, and within a day or so had borne her testimony. She and the ever-ready missionaries told me what I was prepared to hear, though I had heard none of it before.
I had my difficulties as I began to relate the gospel to the world around us. But the more I learned of the gospel, the more I realized that it was wholly true, whereas much learned explanation was partial and uncertain. Facts we must accept, and know that our faith is never ultimately incompatible with them; interpretations remain a matter of continued discussion—a good scientist will always agree, too, that science does not promulgate immutable laws, but presents temporary explanations. The immutable laws remain those revealed for governing conduct, not the transient explanations of physical fact.
But all difficulties of this kind are resolved by the determination to enter the Church and accept it as a whole—all of it. It belongs together, and conversion is a matter not of choosing what you like and ignoring the rest, but of wholehearted, whole-minded acceptance.
Once we have been converted and have laid down at Christ’s feet whatever talents and tools we may possess, we find ourselves able to take them up again and use them for the Church in his name and in the light of his countenance.
I know that God lives. I have always known it. But I now know that he has a body, parts, and passions, for we are made in his image, and we may become like him. He lives in and through history. His Son was incarnate man and has now the flesh and bone that we too shall inherit after the resurrection. This is profoundly satisfying dogma.
I know that the Church is true. Its social organization and utter indifference to class distinctions vouch for this at the superficial level. But this organization could not be maintained were it not for the urge behind, the religious drive. I do not believe with Jonathan Swift that religion is just a good means of keeping society in order.
I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. He speaks to me, a stylistician, in his own prose as a transparently sincere and matter-of-fact writer.
I know, therefore, that the Book of Mormon is an inspired translation and that the Doctrine and Covenants is revelation. They are quite different from Joseph Smith’s prose and significantly different from the Bible and from each other. They are unique. They could not have been invented by a man of Joseph Smith’s knowledge and training.
I know that there is a prophet upon the earth today, for there has to be succession and continuity. If Joseph Smith was a true prophet, then he had to be succeeded to maintain the revelation. As our prophet is sustained by our Father, so is he sustained by ourselves. Our Father blesses him, and through him the whole of the Church; and therefore we continue to accept and sustain him.
I believe in the work for the dead. The hearts of the fathers and the children may and must be turned to one another. The family goes back through history. It is not simply our nearest and dearest that are our concern, but our furthest and dearest. We want to learn as much as we can about them. I therefore believe in temple work. And only through regular temple work can a marriage be sanctified and become an eternal partnership on this earth.
I have come from the outside wilderness home. I carry with me throughout the day the sense of prayer. The whole world is sanctified unto the Most High, and “everything that lives is holy.”

About half-way through the Book of Mormon, it became obvious that we need to “quicken our pace and lengthen our stride” if the children were to have the Book of Mormon read before they left home for college, marriage, or missions. We had long since progressed to reading both columns on a page. Now we started reading two pages a night. By October 1986 we set a goal. We would have the book finished by Christmas!
It was a special night when we read the last page. We planned it so that Jill, who was five, could read the last verse. We didn’t say much, but the prayer that night was one of special thanks for our eight-year journey through the Book of Mormon.
We thought of having a celebration, but in the end we realized that this was only the end of the Book of Mormon part of our effort; it was not the end of our daily scripture reading. So we celebrated by going to the store for ice cream. Our real reward was the quiet satisfaction we each felt. We had read the Book of Mormon, and we had done it together.

Hello! I’m Maggie from Joplin, Missouri. One night my mom saw storm warnings on the news, and we all went to the basement. The loud whistling wind scared me. I was worried about my friends and our animals. After the storm, I was grateful my family was safe and our house didn’t have much damage.
Lots of other homes and businesses were destroyed by the tornado that came through town. I felt sad for people who lost loved ones. My parents and older brother and sister decided to help clean up our town. It made me think of the scripture, “When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).
I wanted to help clean too, but my mom said it wasn’t safe for a child. Then I felt the Holy Ghost share a great idea to make people feel happy. I made 20 thank-you notes to give to volunteers. I spent lots of time making each card special so that people could feel the Spirit and know they were very important to our town.
I learned that even if you can’t do certain things to serve, you can always think of other ways to serve. Heavenly Father will bless you for serving Him and your fellow man.

When I was five, my mother had a problem with her back and she could not stand up for very long. One afternoon after lunch she and my two-year-old sister, Dafne, fell asleep.
I was playing a video game—my favorite thing to do. When I was playing the best part of the game, I thought about my mom. She always has to keep the house clean. Now her back was hurting her a lot. I thought I should help her and surprise her when she woke up.
I stopped playing my game. I went into the kitchen, stood on a chair, and started to wash the dishes. There were lots of dishes, but I thought Mom could sleep some more if I did this for her.
I was still washing dishes when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Mom, asking what I was doing. I told her I was helping her back get better, and she started to cry. Then she said she was very happy because I wanted to help her. She hugged me and said that Jesus was happy about what I was doing.
I learned in Primary that we should be like Jesus. I never understood very well what I should do to be like Him. But because I helped Mom, I learned that the Holy Ghost helped me get the idea to help my mother when she needed it. The Holy Ghost helped me be like Jesus.

Years ago we took our then-teenage daughters to the temple for the first time. My oldest daughter had then the privilege of participating in the baptism of her deceased great-grandmother. Days later we held our family home evening and invited the children to bear their testimonies about the experience in the house of the Lord. As our oldest daughter started to express her feelings, tears came down her face when she mentioned her great-grandmother’s name and tried to describe how and what she felt during the ordinance. We all realized that she was recognizing right then that a “swelling motion” moment was taking place. That strong impression has been an anchor for her testimony and conviction of the gospel.

Some people never realize just how important friendshipping can be, but Ray Ebler of Londonderry, Northern Ireland, does. “The main contribution to my testimony was the love that radiated from each member,” he says.

Ray started attending with his girlfriend and her family. He enjoyed church, but he says, “It was only when she went away to school that I realized how important the Church and the people in it were to me. I was touched by the Spirit and gained a testimony.”

Ray started attending with his girlfriend and her family. He enjoyed church, but he says, “It was only when she went away to school that I realized how important the Church and the people in it were to me.”

Ray was taught the discussions and was baptized on July 4, 1991. He wants to express his gratitude to the family that helped him, the ward members, and everyone else involved.

Bryan stared at his cereal and twirled his spoon around. “I can’t eat, Mom. My stomach hurts.”
“Bryan,” said Mom. “I know that it’s hard to move and go to a new school, but you’ll do just as well here as you did before.”
“But, Mom,” said Bryan, “all my friends are in my old school. I won’t know anyone here.”
“You’ll make new friends,” Mom reassured him.
“But the school year’s half over,” Bryan complained. “The kids know each other and have chosen their friends. They won’t have room for me to fit in.”
Mom put her arm around Bryan’s shoulders. “Remember last week in family home evening when we talked about how we can find answers to many of our problems by reading the scriptures?”
“I remember,” Bryan answered. “But I don’t remember any scriptures about kids having to make new friends in a new school.”
Mom smiled. “Maybe not,” she agreed, “but I can think of a scripture that will help here.”
“What scripture?”
“It’s about the Savior. John wrote, ‘We love him, because he first loved us.’ * In other words, Jesus didn’t wait for people to be friendly to Him. He just loved them and was a friend first. It’s like the song in the Children’s Songbook, ‘Kindness Begins with Me.’ If you take the first step, I promise you that you’ll soon have lots of friends.”
“I’ll try, Mom,” Bryan told her. “But it’s not easy when you’re new.”
“I know,” Mom answered, “but by lunchtime you should feel better. I packed your favorite lunch.”
“Thanks, Mom,” said Bryan. “I’ll see you later,” he added as he kissed her good-bye.
Mrs. Bishop, the teacher, was expecting him. As soon as the bell rang, she said, “Class, we have a new boy this morning. This is Bryan Wright. Bryan, we’re glad to have you with us.”
Although the children smiled, as the morning went on, Bryan could tell that they had already settled into groups. Then, after recess, he found a note stuck in his desk! Bryan was surprised. Who would write a note to him? Bryan unfolded it and read:
DEAR BRYAN,
I WANT TO BE YOUR FRIEND. BUT FIRST YOU HAVE TO FIGURE OUT WHO I AM. I’LL GIVE YOU A CLUE EACH DAY TO HELP YOU. HERE IS YOUR FIRST CLUE: I AM A BOY.
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
The children were working on an assignment, and no one was looking at Bryan. As Mrs. Bishop called on children that afternoon, Bryan listened carefully, trying to learn each child’s name. On the way home, he caught up with a group of boys, and as he walked with them, he wondered, Could it be Jason? Larry? Maybe it’s Tony? Or Jeff?
The next morning, Bryan gobbled down his breakfast.
“Slow down, Bryan,” Mom laughed. “Yesterday you couldn’t eat a bite, and now I’m afraid you’ll swallow the spoon!”
But Bryan couldn’t wait to get to school. As soon as he arrived, he checked his desk. Sure enough, there was a folded piece of paper. He opened it and read:
DEAR BRYAN,
ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR NEXT CLUE? HERE IT IS: I HAVE BLOND HAIR AND BLUE EYES. GOOD LUCK!
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
Bryan looked around the room carefully. About half the boys had blond hair. During the day, Bryan tried to talk to as many of them as he could so that he could see what color eyes they had. He learned more names and discovered that there were many friendly children in the class. But he still did not know who his mystery friend was.
The next day was Friday. Bryan was anxious to solve the mystery so that he would not have to wonder about it the whole weekend. But Friday’s clue was more mysterious than ever:
DEAR BRYAN,
YOUR CLUE FOR TODAY IS: I LOVE TO PLAY BASEBALL. IF YOU CAN’T SOLVE THE MYSTERY TODAY, DON’T WORRY. HERE’S AN EXTRA CLUE FOR YOU TO THINK ABOUT OVER THE WEEKEND: SHOELACES.
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
Shoelaces? Bryan was confused. Not only did he still have a mystery—nearly every boy in his class loved baseball—but now he had to figure out what shoelaces had to do with it. Again he talked to as many children as he could, including the girls, hoping that someone would give the Mystery Friend away. But in spite of getting to know many children better, Bryan still did not solve the shoelace mystery.
The weekend seemed long. Mom and Dad were really happy that Bryan was excited to go back to school, and they did their best to keep him busy. Finally Monday came, and Bryan found another note stuck in his desk:
DEAR BRYAN,
THIS IS THE LAST DAY OF THE MYSTERY. REMEMBER THE FINAL CLUE: SHOELACES. SEE YOU SOON!
YOUR MYSTERY FRIEND
Bryan thought about shoelaces so much that when Mrs. Bishop asked him what five times nine was, Bryan answered, “Shoelaces.”
During art, when everyone was supposed to draw some type of transportation, Bryan drew a train riding along shoelace tracks. When lunchtime came, he walked down the line of waiting children, looking at their feet. He saw white shoelaces, black shoelaces, and blue-and-white-striped shoelaces. He saw brown shoelaces, pink shoelaces, and even purple polka-dot shoelaces.
And then he saw them—yellow shoelaces covered with black question marks! Question marks are for things you don’t know, he thought. And things you don’t know are mysteries, so these are the mystery shoelaces! He looked up to see a smiling face with blue eyes and curly blond hair. “So you’re my Mystery Friend, Jim,” he said.
“Yep. You figured me out. Now we can be friends!”
“I think we already are,” Bryan told him. “And you did me a real favor too.”
“What favor?” asked Jim.
“I was so busy trying to figure out who you were that I forgot to be shy and I got to know everybody in the class. My mom was right. By being a friend first, now I have a whole classroom full of friends—and one very best one, besides!”

Elder Allen had been assigned to our ward for less than two weeks when he and his companion appeared in the front office of the Daily Press at the worst possible moment on the busiest day of the week. “There are a couple of young men here to see you,” the receptionist said over the intercom. That had to mean the missionaries.
I was frantically trying to meet the deadlines of two newspapers, but I tried to slow down to a glide as I flew into the reception area. Elder Allen towered six-feet-three-inches tall. His companion, Elder Shaum, peered out from behind him. With a firm handshake and a broad smile, Elder Allen pulled me from behind the counter and greeted me simultaneously:
“Hi, Brother Reddick. I just can’t wait to see the headlines when we get done with what we’re going to do in Paso Robles,” he bubbled nonstop.
My mind was already muttering, “Okay, Elder, what have you got in mind?” The word we appeared particularly ominous, but I was too preoccupied with all those deadlines to worry seriously about interrogating him. “How am I going to explain to him in two minutes that the story the paper did last week about his transfer into the city is all that the nonmembers will want to know about Mormons for the next three months?” I asked myself.
He obviously wasn’t listening in on my thoughts at all. He rambled on about displays, speakers, programs, and activities (always inserting that foreboding we everywhere) so rapidly and with such assurance that I wondered if he thought he would convert and baptize my entire office staff on the spot!
“And the mayor is going to proclaim ‘Mormon Days,’” he finished at last. “Aha!” I thought. “Now I see the pitch and I know the way out.” I tossed right back to him the project he had just hurled at me. “You get the mayor to proclaim ‘Mormon Days,’ and I’ll see to it that you get some coverage,” I promised, confident that I had issued an impossible challenge. In a town with 30 different congregations, I figured no politician would commit himself to any undertaking quite so bold and partisan. Besides, the city council would have to ratify the proclamation.
“How do we do it?” Elder Allen asked. (I should have known by now that I was somehow a part of that infamous we.)
“Draw up your proclamation, get an appointment with the mayor, pray a lot, go in, tell him what you plan to do, and ask him to sign the proclamation,” I rattled off like machine-gun fire.
“Okay. We’ll do that then,” Elder Allen affirmed. “Thank you, Brother Reddick, and have a good day.”
I was already back to my desk and deadlines as his cheery good-day bounced out onto the sidewalk. I knew the issue was settled; at least, I’d left him holding the ball.
Sunday. Not fast Sunday, but between racing to one meeting and another, solving a home teaching family’s problem, sprinting to choir practice, and listening to the fireside speaker, I hadn’t had time to eat. And was I ever hungry! Finally the fireside ended and I arrived home to greet my wife and children and relax with a lovingly reheated supper. It was dark outside, and peaceful.
I cut the enchilada eagerly and was just about to take the first delicious bite when, like the Cheshire cat in Through the Looking Glass, Elder Allen grinned at the window. “Hi, Sister Reddick!” he chimed to my wife; then he swung over to the front door and hammered on it.
I swallowed hard as my daughter let the missionaries in. Our seventies president, Larry Adams, was with them. “Go on eating,” he urged. “We’ll watch you.” I chewed on some salad.
“We’re here for some help with the proclamation,” he continued. I was still slow to catch on that that we included me, and that Elder Allen was just trying to magnify his calling. But I couldn’t ignore Elder Allen’s enthusiasm and determination, especially when he looked right at me and said, “Since you’re so good with words, and we don’t know much about proclamations,” and took a pen and piece of paper out of his pocket, ready to jot down notes.
“So, you want my help,” I said, setting down my fork. “Do you want me to write it?”
“That’s it!” all three cheered triumphantly. So we drew up a proclamation, with all the appropriate whereases in it, leading up to a “now therefore be it resolved” that such-and-such a series of days be proclaimed “Mormon Days” in Paso Robles. By the time we were done, it was almost curfew time for the elders. My half-eaten supper was stone cold. My salad was limp, my appetite gone. And I had to be at the office early in the morning.
Monday is supposed to be the elders’ preparation day. But first thing Monday morning Elders Allen and Shaum were in City Hall, setting up an appointment to see the mayor on Tuesday. I still don’t know exactly what went on in the mayor’s office. Not only did he agree to sign the proclamation, but he was enthusiastic about it! (“You Mormons do great things,” he told the elders.)
I had been humbled. These two young men had responded to the promptings of the Spirit in the face of odds that had seemed overwhelming to me. I worked with them on this project and others in the weeks to come, and I learned that they were not fearless. Rather, they subjected their fears to faith. And they moved mountains.
By the time “Mormon Days” actually got through planning and approval by stake authorities, it had become “Family Days,” and the proclamation had been altered slightly. More time had also been allowed for putting together the three-day “show.”
Elders Allen and Shaum assembled displays on boards and tables, and secured permission from the most patronized supermarket in town to set up their displays there for three days and to distribute handbills and tracts.
The highlight of the days was a Thursday evening presentation in a local school. We had a movie on family communications, and we had two families from our ward conduct a special family home evening. The missionaries had their displays out, and, yes, there was publicity—not only in the paper, but on the radio as well. Later, we put on the same program in Shandon, a small town east of Paso Robles. Through the two programs and the displays at the supermarket, more than 200 people came into a direct, one-on-one contact with the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Who knows what fruit those seeds will bear?

There can be certain perils whenever anyone provides a service. The occupational hazard for Jennifer Wang and Chen En Ger was changing diapers. “That wasn’t very much fun,” Jennifer said. Other than diaper duty, though, there were no other complaints from Jennifer, 17, and Chen, 18, who organized a small nursery inside their wardhouse where children could be dropped off while their parents went to the temple. “I felt really happy that I could learn more about service and also about little children,” said Chen (below). For Jennifer and Chen, both members of the Tao Yuan Second Branch of the Tao Yuan District in Taipei, Taiwan, the baby-sitting was a new experience—one they’re glad they had and that they hope becomes a tradition.
Church members in Taiwan have had a temple in their country since 1984. However, with work and family commitments in this island country, it’s not always easy for the members to attend. That’s where Jennifer and Chen came in. After getting other Church members to volunteer to baby-sit, the project was a go.
“As youth, we decided we would do baptisms for the dead in the morning, and then go next door to the ward and baby-sit members’ children while their parents went to the temple,” explained Jennifer, a Laurel and seminary class president.
Since children all the way to ten-year-olds were dropped off at the nursery, Jennifer and Chen decided to divide the children into groups by age. Instead of just letting them play with toys and goof off for the four-hour period, they decided to make their nursery a little more educational. Besides showing Church videos and having playtime, Jennifer, Chen, and the rest of the baby-sitters also told Book of Mormon stories and talked about the importance of the temple. Afterward, they had the older children draw pictures of the temple. In the process, they also gained an appreciation for the temple themselves.
“We wanted it to be a learning experience. We could have watched them for four hours and let them do what they wanted, but we wanted to do something more,” said Chen, who has been a member for about two-and-a-half years. “I knew a lot of the kids by face already, but when we baby-sat them it was the first time I had the chance to interact with them.
“I was impressed with the children,” he continued. “So many of the older children were such good examples toward the younger ones. They would take care of them and help us as we watched them. Two brothers really stood out to me. One was three and the other was two. They really had unique personalities, and it helped me realize that all these kids are special children from Heavenly Father.”
The chance to serve is what Jennifer remembered most about her experience. She realized that in a lot of cases, without their baby-sitting service, only one parent could go to the temple while the other would stay home with the children. “I saw a lot of parents who were very happy they didn’t have to be concerned about their children. They could go to the temple without worrying, and I think that was important to them,” she said. “Maybe when I get married and I want to go to the temple with my husband, young men and young women from my ward can baby-sit my kids.”
Could happen. Both Jennifer and Chen have proved it can work.

It was Friday. Payday! A day we all looked forward to like Christmas, twice a month. Most of us would go out at lunchtime to cash our checks, pay some bills, maybe do a little shopping and take a break from boring sack lunches.
As the checks were brought around, I happened to be passing the desk of one of the secretaries. Shauna was a single woman in her late twenties. She lived with her parents, and apparently they still provided a lot for her. Because when she opened her pay envelope she stopped and looked thoughtful for a minute.
“You know,” she said to no one in particular, “now I can’t remember if I cashed my last check or not.”
The rest of us looked at each other with amusement and maybe a little disbelief. Then Shauna went on to tell us how she had come across several uncashed checks in a drawer at home about six months before. That really blew us away. Those of us who had gathered at Shauna’s desk just walked away, shaking our heads.
Now, if you have trouble relating to Shauna’s attitude, just imagine this: For two weeks you have worked hard. Now you are cashing your paycheck. But when the teller puts the money on the counter, you just take some of it and leave the rest behind. That doesn’t make much more sense than Shauna’s attitude, does it?
So how about this scenario? You go to your church meetings even when you are tired or when you have too much homework or the Super Bowl is on TV. You go to seminary (early-morning, even), you pay your tithing, work on service projects, keep the Word of Wisdom, and stay morally clean despite temptations. You plug along, trying to do what’s right, keeping your parents and your bishop and your teachers happy.
But, are you happy? What are you getting out of it? Yes, you are getting blessings. But some of your less active LDS friends, and even your nonmember friends, seem to be enjoying many of those same blessings. They have loving families, good health, food and clothing, etc. So what are the blessings you are enjoying as a result of “doing the right things”? Do you think they are future blessings that will come when you get married or when you die and are judged?
If you are not happy now because you are trying to do what is right, you may be missing the full paycheck. Because living the gospel should be more than gritting your teeth and abstaining, more than doing your duty with grim determination. There’s joy and happiness to be found in it right now, at this time of your life.
How can you be happy living the gospel now? Here are some important keys.
Develop your testimony now. If you don’t feel that you have one, work at it. Study and fast and pray. Read the Book of Mormon. If you have a testimony or the beginnings of one, continue to develop it.
When you have a testimony, you have the Lord’s personal witness that the gospel principles you try to live are true. Then you are not just doing them for others. And when you open the line of communication with the Spirit, the Lord can bless you with the feelings of satisfaction and self-worth and joy that he alone can give.
If there is something you need to repent of, do it now! True repentance is unbelievably sweet. Your whole soul opens up to the joyous influence of the Spirit when you repent. When you delay repentance, you delay the joy that you could otherwise be experiencing right now.
Think about what you are doing. When you pay your tithing, do it with a prayer in your heart that says you are grateful to offer it to the Lord. When you go to sacrament meeting, think about what you are doing when you take the sacrament. When you work on a service project, remember the Lord’s commandments to love and serve others.
Don’t try to be two people—one person on Sunday and someone else the other six days of the week. Don’t walk the edge, toying with temptation, seeing how close you can come to the brink without falling off the edge. For example, it is difficult enough to remain pure. If you watch the wrong movies and read the wrong books, if you look with longing at what others are doing in the world while you wish and imagine, then the Spirit cannot give you the rewarding feelings of peace and joy and approval that could be yours through controlling your desires. There will not be room in your heart and mind.
Above all, remember that “men are, that they might have joy” (2 Ne. 2:25)—joy in this life as well as the life to come, and this is the best pay of all. Your Father in Heaven loves you. And as you keep his commandments willingly, and thoughtfully, and prayerfully, he stands ready to bless you now with the sweet, joyful reassurance of the Spirit. You will still experience the sorrows that are part of life, but you will also discover the joys that are equally a part of life.

I think you will enjoy this example of inviting all to receive the gospel. Seventeen-year-old Cleiton of Cape Verde had no idea what would happen as a result of walking into his ward’s seminary class one day. But his life and the lives of others would be forever changed because he did.

Cleiton, along with his mother and older brother, had been baptized into the Church some time earlier, and yet the family stopped attending. His single act of attending seminary would prove to be a hinge point for the family.

The other youth in the seminary class were warm and welcoming. They made Cleiton feel at home and encouraged him to attend another activity. He did so and soon began attending his other Church meetings. A wise bishop saw spiritual potential in Cleiton and invited him to be his assistant. “From that moment on,” says Bishop Cruz, “Cleiton became an example and an influence to other young people.”

The first person Cleiton invited back to church was his mother, then his older brother. He then widened his circle to friends. One of those friends was a young man his own age, Wilson. Upon his very first meeting with the missionaries, Wilson expressed his desire to be baptized. The missionaries were impressed and amazed at how much Cleiton had already shared with Wilson.

Cleiton’s efforts didn’t stop there. He helped other less-active members return, in addition to sharing the gospel with friends of other faiths. Today the ward has 35 active youth, with a thriving seminary program, thanks in large part to Cleiton’s efforts to love, share, and invite. Cleiton and his older brother, Cléber, are both preparing to serve full-time missions.

“I had a good time as a youngster,” Elder Glen L. Rudd said. “We had a fine, big shepherd dog. My brothers and I would harness him to our wagon in the summer, and we would let him pull us around the block. In winter we would harness him to a sled, and he would pull us all over the neighborhood. I liked all kinds of sports, especially tennis, and I played basketball as long as I could. Even as a bishop, I played on the ward basketball team.
“When I was growing up, I had a great bishop, Bishop William F. Perschon of the Fourth Ward, one of the oldest wards in Salt Lake City. My twelfth birthday fell on a Sunday, and Bishop Perschon called me to the stand during sacrament meeting and told the congregation that I had been interviewed and was worthy to be ordained a deacon. After I was sustained, he announced, ‘We’d like to ordain him right now.’ He got a chair, and the stake president, who was there, ordained me a deacon in front of the whole ward!
“When I was sixteen, Bishop Perschon called me into his office after Sunday School and talked to me for forty-five minutes. He told me things that I needed to know and convinced me that I should change a few things in my life, such as not playing tennis on Sunday. I needed that talk, and it changed my life.
“He had spent another forty-five minutes that day talking to my friend Arthur Sperry, and ten years later, when I was in that same office as bishop, Arthur was serving as my counselor. He became the bishop when I was released, and he became a mission president and a temple president about the same times that I did. I have counted twenty-nine bishops, eleven mission presidents, and three temple presidents who grew up in the Fourth Ward while Bishop Perschon served there as bishop. Elder Theodore M. Burton, whose life was also influenced positively by Bishop Perschon, grew up in that ward too.”

As a boy I made a startling discovery in Sunday School one Mother’s Day which has remained with me all through the years. Melvin, a sightless brother in the ward, a talented vocalist, would stand and face the congregation as though he were seeing one and all. He would then sing “That Wonderful Mother of Mine.” The bright, glowing embers of memory penetrated human hearts. Men reached for their handkerchiefs; women’s eyes brimmed with tears.

We deacons would go among the congregation carrying a small geranium in a clay pot for presentation to each mother. Some of the mothers were young, some were middle-aged, some were barely hanging on to life in their old age. I became aware that the eyes of each mother were kind eyes. The words of each mother were “Thank you.” I felt the spirit of the statement “When someone gives another person a flower, the fragrance of the flower lingers on the hands of the giver.” I have not forgotten the lesson learned, nor shall I ever forget it.

I feel that I have been inspired to share with New Era readers an experience that has made a great impression on my mind and my heart. After I had turned on the radio that we had borrowed from one of our investigators, we, a group of elders, sat motionless, waiting for the broadcast to come on. We had some difficulty finding the station, but after a short but sincere prayer we heard the message we had all been waiting for. We listened to the words being spoken, and as the interpreter paused, we heard, loud and distinct, the voice of the living prophet of God speaking in the background. As I looked at the smiles on the faces of the elders and the warm glow in their eyes, I couldn’t help but feel the love and companionship of our Lord Jesus Christ. To hear the words of God through his mouthpiece, President Spencer W. Kimball, has been a great strength to my testimony. I’m very grateful for the opportunity I have to be a member of this Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Elder Hal V. ProbstBrazil Porto Allegre Mission

One day Daniel’s cousin Tyler came over to play …
Don’t go near the thorn patch!
OK!
Hey, Tyler! Let’s kick the soccer ball around.
Oh, no! We’re not supposed to go near there.
I think I can reach it.
Ouch!
Hang on! I’m going to get some help!
Are you OK?
Yeah, but I wish I didn’t fall into the thorn patch!
Mom warned you about the thorn patch because we care about you and want you to be safe.
I know. Thanks for helping me.
What do you want to do now?
Let’s play in the treehouse—and stay away from the thorns!

On a Sunday morning a few years ago, Donald Pinnell, now president of the Amarillo Texas Stake, was attending church in his branch in Tucumcari when suddenly someone brought him the alarming news, “Brother Pinnell, your home is on fire!”
President Pinnell quickly found his two sons, ages twelve and sixteen, and headed toward his ranch. His first thoughts were of his wife who had stayed home that day recuperating from recent surgery. He had no word about her until the driver of a returning fire truck stopped along the way to tell him she was safe.
Brother and Sister Pinnell had just built their dream home, a Spanish-style house on their ranch fifty miles out in the country. It was a very nice home and a source of great pleasure to their family.
As he and his boys approached the top of the terrain, they could see in the distance the smoke coming from their burning home. Donald Pinnell said of that moment, “We could tell that our home was completely engulfed in flames; and I just stopped the car at the top of the hill for a few minutes. I said to my sons, ‘Now look, you can spend all your life storing up treasures of the earth, and you can sit on a hill and watch them go up in flames, or you can store up the right kind of treasures and take them with you through eternity.’”
The right kind of treasures are our families and those divine attributes and qualities of character that are taught and learned in gospel-centered homes.
May we make the necessary individual and family course corrections which will put the Lord and our families first and fill our homes with these eternal treasures, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.