Gospel Story Finder

I remember going to a conference in the city of Annaberg. There, a sweet, older sister came forward and asked, “Are you an Apostle?”
When I answered, “Yes,” she reached in her purse and brought forth a picture of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. She asked, “Which one are you?”
I looked at the picture. The junior member of the Quorum of the Twelve in that picture was Elder John A. Widtsoe. She had not seen a member of the Twelve for a very long time!
Soon a member mission organization was established, the first high priest ordained, and district councils organized. In Freiberg there was created a stake of Zion and then another stake in Leipzig. Each member of the Church in the German Democratic Republic now belonged to a stake of the Church. One branch president whom I interviewed had served in this capacity for twenty-one years. He was only forty-two years of age. Half his life he had been a branch president, yet he was willing to carry on in any assignment. The members eagerly accepted their calls.
These remarkable events were preceded by a special dedication of the land.
On a Sunday morning, April 27, 1975, I stood on an outcropping of rock situated between the cities of Dresden and Meissen, high above the Elbe River, and offered a prayer on the land and its people. That prayer noted the faith of the members. It emphasized the tender feelings of many hearts filled with an overwhelming desire to obtain temple blessings. A plea for peace was expressed. Divine help was requested. I spoke the words: “Dear Father, let this be the beginning of a new day for the members of Thy Church in this land.”
Suddenly, from far below in the valley, a bell in a church steeple began to chime and the shrill crow of a rooster broke the morning silence, each heralding the commencement of a new day. Though my eyes were closed, I felt a warmth from the sun’s rays reaching my face, my hands, my arms. How could this be? An incessant rain had been falling all morning.
At the conclusion of the prayer, I gazed heavenward. I noted a ray of sunshine which streamed from an opening in the heavy clouds, a ray which engulfed the spot where our small group stood. From that moment I knew divine help was at hand.
The work moved forward. The paramount blessing needed was the privilege of our worthy members to receive their endowments and their sealings.
We explored every possibility. A trip once in a lifetime to the temple in Switzerland? Not approved by the government. Perhaps mother and father could come to Switzerland, leaving the children behind. Not right. How do you seal children to parents when they cannot kneel at an altar? It was a tragic situation. Then, through the fasting and the prayers of many members, and in a most natural manner, government leaders proposed: Rather than having your people go to Switzerland to visit a temple, why don’t you build a temple here in the German Democratic Republic? The proposal was accepted, a choice parcel of property obtained in Freiberg, and ground broken for a beautiful temple of God.
The day of dedication was an historic occasion. President Gordon B. Hinckley offered the dedicatory prayer. Heaven was close that day.
For its size, this temple is one of the busiest temples in the Church. It is the only temple where one makes an appointment to participate in an endowment session. It is the only temple I know of where stake presidents say, “What can we do? Our home teaching is somewhat down because everyone is in the temple!” When I heard that comment, I thought, “Not bad—not bad at all!”
A miracle of miracles had taken place. One more was needed. How can the Church grow without missionaries? How can our numbers increase despite an aging population? Beautiful new buildings grace the land: stake centers at Leipzig and Dresden, and chapels in Freiberg and Zwickau, with others to follow, such as a chapel under construction in the city of Plauen. A faithful brother from Plauen wrote me this poignant letter: “My parents and grandparents have served before us in this branch, but never thus far has it been possible to have our own meetinghouse. Now a long-cherished wish is being fulfilled.” After reading this touching account, the thought crossed my mind, “But what use are buildings if there are not sufficient members to occupy them?”
Such was the dilemma uppermost on my mind as my plane landed in Berlin that October afternoon. We went forward with the vital assignment to visit with the leaders of the German Democratic Republic. Our ultimate goal was to seek permission for the doorway of missionary work to open. Elder Russell M. Nelson, Elder Hans B. Ringger, and I, along with our local German Democratic Republic Church leaders, headed by President Henry Burkhardt, President Frank Apel, and President Manfred Schutze, initially met with State Secretary for Religious Affairs Kurt Löffler as he hosted a lovely luncheon in our honor. He addressed our group by saying, “We want to be helpful to you. We’ve observed you and your people for twenty years. We know you are what you profess to be: honest men and women.”
Government leaders and their wives attended the dedication of a stake center at Dresden and a chapel at Zwickau. As the Saints sang “God be with you till we meet again”—“Auf Wiedersehen, Auf Wiedersehen”—we remembered Him, the Prince of Peace, who died on the cross at Calvary. I contemplated our Lord and Savior, when He walked the path of pain, the trail of tears, even the road of righteousness. His penetrating declaration came to mind: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” (John 14:27.)
Then it was back to Berlin for the crucial meetings with the head of the nation, even Chairman Erich Honecker.
That special morning the sunlight bathed the city of Berlin. It had been raining all night, but now beauty prevailed. We were driven to the chambers of the chief representatives of the government.
Beyond the exquisite entry to the building, we were greeted by Chairman Honecker. We presented to him the statuette First Step, depicting a mother helping her child take its first step toward its father. He was highly pleased with the gift. He then escorted us into his private council room. There, around a large round table, we were seated. Others at the table included Chairman Honecker and his deputies of government.
Chairman Honecker began, “We know members of your Church believe in work; you’ve proven that. We know you believe in the family; you’ve demonstrated that. We know you are good citizens in whatever country you claim as home; we have observed that. The floor is yours. Make your desires known.”
I began, “Chairman Honecker, at the dedication and open house for the temple in Freiberg, 89,890 of your countrymen stood in line, at times up to four hours, frequently in the rain, that they might see a house of God. In the city of Leipzig, at the dedication of the stake center, 12,000 people attended the open house. In the city of Dresden there were 29,000 visitors; in the city of Zwickau, 5,300. And every week of the year 1,500 to 1,800 people visit the temple grounds in the city of Freiberg. They want to know what we believe. We would like to tell them that we believe in honoring and obeying and sustaining the law of the land. We would like to explain our desire to achieve strong family units. These are but two of our beliefs. We cannot answer questions, and we cannot convey our feelings, because we have no missionary representatives here as we do in other countries. The young men and young women whom we would like to have come to your country as missionary representatives would love your nation and your people. More particularly, they would leave an influence with your people which would be ennobling. Then we would like to see young men and young women from your nation who are members of our Church serve as missionary representatives in many nations, such as in America, in Canada, and in a host of others. They will return better prepared to assume positions of responsibility in your land.”
Chairman Honecker then spoke for perhaps thirty minutes, describing his objectives and viewpoints and detailing the progress made by his nation. At length, he smiled and addressed me and the group, saying, “We know you. We trust you. We have had experience with you. Your missionary request is approved.”
My spirit literally soared out of the room. The meeting was concluded. As we left the beautiful government chambers, Elder Russell Nelson turned to me and said, “Notice how the sunshine is penetrating this hall. It’s almost as though our Heavenly Father is saying, ‘I am pleased.’”
The black darkness of night had ended. The bright light of day had dawned. The gospel of Jesus Christ would now be carried to the millions of people in that nation. Their questions concerning the Church will be answered, and the Kingdom of God will go forth.
As I reflect on these events, my thoughts turn to the Master’s words, “In nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things.” (D&C 59:21.) I confess the hand of God in the miraculous events pertaining to the Church in the German Democratic Republic.
The faith and devotion of our members in that nation have not gone unnoticed by God. The excellent service of other General Authorities, Regional Representatives, and mission presidents has been of inestimable help. The understanding cooperation of government leaders is most appreciated. Assignments have been made to the first ten missionaries from the German Democratic Republic to serve abroad; and just three days ago, on Thursday, March 30, the first full-time missionary representatives in exactly fifty years entered the German Democratic Republic. Their mission president was there to greet them. The long period of preparation is past. The future of the Church unfolds. Thanks be to God.
From the heavens we hear anew the Lord’s declaration:
“Hear, O ye heavens, and give ear, O earth, and rejoice ye inhabitants thereof, for the Lord is God, and beside him there is no Savior.
“Great is his wisdom, marvelous are his ways, and the extent of his doings none can find out.
“His purposes fail not, neither are there any who can stay his hand. …
“For thus saith the Lord—I, the Lord, am merciful and gracious unto those who fear me, and delight to honor those who serve me in righteousness and in truth unto the end.
“Great shall be their reward and eternal shall be their glory.” (D&C 76:1–3, 5–6.)
May this be our universal blessing, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Very recently I had another experience that represents something of a counterpoint to the episode with the young man. I was visiting a stake conference and, following the Saturday evening session, I was greeted by a woman who asked, “Do you remember me?” The face was vaguely familiar, but I needed help. The sister reminded me that she had been one of my students in a high school English class many years ago. I immediately remembered her as I had known her 32 years before. She was one of the student leaders, a good scholar, a cheerleader. We reminisced for a time on the experiences we had shared. She was pleased to introduce me to her family. Some of her children were married, and one son was serving as a missionary. There were several grandchildren. This was obviously a solid family, making a significant contribution to the community and the Church.
During our visit this good sister suddenly confronted me with the question, “Do you remember the day you asked me to leave your English class?” I was surprised by the question and could not remember such an event. I wondered if she might be confused in her recollection because I could recall nothing but good experiences with her as a student. “No,” she insisted, “there was the one day when we had a reckoning. I had been talking more than I should have done, and when you attempted to correct me, I made some remarks that I shouldn’t have made. You then asked me to leave the room. I was startled. No other teacher had ever disciplined me in that way. I refused to leave, and you assisted me to the hallway outside the classroom, telling me that I could return when I had learned to behave like a lady.
“I was incensed and embarrassed. I thought of the things I could do to get retribution. My father had influence in the community, and he would not tolerate this.
“Later in the day I began to reflect on what had happened. I realized that you were right and I was wrong. I knew then that teachers and classmates had too often tolerated that kind of behavior from me and that it was not good. I confronted a quality in myself that I had never been required to confront before, and I decided that I would change. That’s why I came back and apologized to you for my conduct in the class. It was a turning point in my life in an important way, and I will always be grateful to you.”
Here was a case where a young woman sensed her responsibility in an unfortunate situation and took responsible action to make things right. It has provided me with some interesting food for thought. What accounted for the difference between the reaction of this young woman and that of the young man who walked away from the seminary class? And what differences have come into their lives over the intervening years as a result of the way they responded to these situations and others like them?

“When I was a new bride, … I was invited to a lunch for all of the Relief Society sisters in my ward who had read either the Book of Mormon or a short Church history book. I had become casual in my scripture reading, so I qualified to attend the luncheon by reading the short book because it was easier and took less time. As I was eating my lunch, I had a powerful feeling that though the history book was a good one, I should have read the Book of Mormon. The Holy Ghost was prompting me to change my scripture reading habits. That very day I began to read the Book of Mormon, and I have never stopped. … Because I started reading the scriptures daily, I have learned about my Heavenly Father, His Son Jesus Christ, and what I need to do to be like Them. …

Julia’s step-sisters sat up front in the green station wagon with their father. Julia sat alone in the back.
The two sisters were much younger than Julia, noisy girls with straight brown hair, thicker than her own. And fair skin, no freckles.
“You want to guess what it is?” Elsie said over her shoulder, and Tina, the older sister, giggled. Julia ignored them. Elsie had asked the same question all morning. It was a game of suspense. During breakfast the girls had said they wanted to show Julia something. She wasn’t going to go but her mom said she had to. The whole thing was humiliating.
The car moved slowly through the warm air of the New Mexico morning. It pulled out of a suburb of white stucco homes and onto a highway that ran into the desert.
Julia’s step-father adjusted his rearview mirror. He wore a neatly ironed blue shirt that was open at the collar. “Cool enough back there?” he asked, smiling with a silly grin at Julia in the mirror. Julia didn’t break her grim expression. She nodded her head once.
“Fine,” he said. “Fine.”
The step-father was not an overly nervous man, but he was afraid to offend Julia when she was doing something with the girls. Julia took offense easily. She got mad when the girls came into her room or her parents didn’t let her do what she wanted. She got mad when her new father imposed curfews and rules around the house or when any of them asked her too many questions. She got mad a lot.
Once, she had overheard her mother on the phone to her aunt. “Julia’s 15,” her mother had said. “You remember that age. It’s just a stage.” And that made Julia even madder.
She wanted to tell her mother how wrong she was. This new family was her problem. The two step-sisters—Elsie was eight and Tina was ten. They were always trying to hang around her. Always getting into her stuff.
And the step-father. He had no right to control her life. She could take care of herself.
The car stopped by the edge of the desert. “It’s here, isn’t it?” their father asked, looking over at the girls.
“Yeah, close enough,” said Tina quickly. “Thanks.” She grabbed her bag close and pulled Elsie out of the car. Julia climbed out after them, bending her head down against a huge sun.
The dad rolled down his window. “Sure you don’t need me?” he asked. Tina shook her head and waved. “I’ll wait for you,” he called. But the girls were gone.
“How do you like them?” Elsie said. She turned to Julia who was looking down a hill, squinting. The bottom was barren, a dirty yellow expanse covered with specks of gray and blue. Further into the valley the larger forms of sagebrush and cactus were clear.
“Like what?” Julia snapped. They were wasting her time.
“You don’t see?” Tina said. The girls giggled and began to run down the hillside, lifting their feet with high strides. Julia watched the dust they kicked up and flinched. They were wearing white T-shirts. “You’d better follow us,” Tina called, halfway down. Julia followed.
Elsie reached the bottom and the tiny dark gray shapes parted in waves as she ran through. Near the base of the hill Julia stopped, frozen.
“Lizards!” she screamed, but she couldn’t move.
“Yes,” said Elsie, running with both arms raised amid hundreds of tiny, squirming reptiles. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Julia edged back up the embankment, placing each foot carefully, until she came to a rock high enough to stand on. She took a long look around.
The reptiles were clumped in groups over every part of the small valley, from the break of the embankment to the rise on the far side of a red stone bluff. The ground was always different, in a new arrangement. In the middle, the light figures of Elsie and Tina were dancing. Their voices high, birdlike, echoing across the valley. After a while they ran back to Julia.
“This has to be the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen,” Julia said, staring intently at the moving ground below. Her toes twitched in her shoes. “How could there be so many?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Elsie. She picked up a gray lizard tail. “These just fall off,” she added with amusement, holding it up for Julia’s approval. “You know, when you pick them up.”
“You two are so disgusting!” Julia snapped. “I’m going back to the car.” But she didn’t. The ground beneath her swarmed with life, and for some odd reason it was a thing of immense interest. The girls had already discovered that. Along with the fact that the multitude of lizards, sunning themselves in the warmth of the morning, were completely harmless.
Tina pushed her bag over her shoulder and stared up at Julia. “Why are you always so mad at us?” Tina asked. “And Dad and your mom?” Elsie stopped searching for tails.
Julia looked slowly away from the valley floor into Tina’s eyes. Tina had intelligent, green eyes. Julia hadn’t even noticed. “Well, why do you guys have to bug me?” she said, but she didn’t mean it. Tina had caught her off guard and she didn’t know what to say.
“We don’t mean to bug you,” Elsie said.
“I do, sometimes,” said Tina. “Sometimes I don’t think you treat any of us very fair so I try to bug you. We don’t do anything to you.”
The father came to the top of the hill and called down. He had heard a scream. Julia smiled and said she had seen a lizard and the girls laughed. Then he wiped his forehead and started down the hill.
“Why did you bring me here?” Julia asked.
Elsie and Tina looked at each other, their eyes sparkling. Elsie whispered, “This place must be magical.” Her father had made his way to Julia’s rock, but would go no further.
“But why would you bring me?” Julia asked. The girls didn’t know what to say. “Did you think I’d like it?”
Elsie nodded.
“You have to admit, this is—unusual,” said the girls’ father. “They just wanted you to see it. Include you in their secret.”
After a moment he left, walked up the hill, and for a while Julia didn’t say anything. She felt her conscience. They had lived as a family for four months and she had never stopped thinking of herself long enough to talk with Elsie or Tina, ask them about anything. Through all Julia’s anger they still wanted to accept her—love her. Their love wasn’t about being perfect, just about being together, that’s all.
Eventually she stepped down from the rock. “They don’t mind if you pick them up?” she asked, looking at the blue-bellies in Tina’s hand.
“Nah, I guess not. Just don’t grab them by their tails.”
Julia picked her way slowly down the hill and into the moving mass of reptiles. Tina and Elsie stood still, watching her. Julia thought of the girls; that they had brought her there because they wanted to be close, like real sisters. And for a time she played with them, among the lizards.
“I guess this is a magical place,” said Julia.
Elsie was scrambling about on the ground, rounding up lizards like a sheep dog. Julia and Tina laughed. Up the hill the world had ceased to exist. They were young. Friends. Sisters.

Cindy giggled in delight as the Mr. Thirsty gadget drained the last of the water from her mouth, tickling her tongue.
Dr. Winters smiled back and picked up a tiny, long-handled silver mirror. “Your teeth look great, Cindy. You’re doing a fine job of brushing them. One last peek, and you’ll be ready for the treasure chest.”
Cindy closed her eyes, opened her mouth real wide, and wriggled her toes happily. She couldn’t wait to see what surprise was in the treasure chest today. Last time there had been dinosaur stickers with goggly eyes, and once there had been tiny books.
“OK, Cindy, I’m all done,” said Dr. Winters, unclipping the napkin from Cindy’s neck. Grasping Cindy’s hand, he pulled her up and out of the chair. “Why, Cindy, what a pretty ring you’re wearing! But ‘CTR’ aren’t your initials, are they?”
“Oh, no, Dr. Winters,” said Cindy, smiling. “‘CTR’ means ‘choose the right.’ My teacher at church gave it to me as a reminder to always do the right thing.”
“That’s a really nice idea,” said Dr. Winters. “Now, you run along to the treasure chest and pick out your surprise.”
Skipping down the hallway and into the middle room, Cindy stopped in front of a small pirate chest, took a deep breath, then raised the lid.
“Ooooh! Wow!”
Nestled on trays of rich, purple velvet were sparkling rings in all the colors of the rainbow.
“Aren’t they pretty, Cindy?” asked Dr. Winters, pausing in the doorway on his way down the hall. “Please pick only one—I’m expecting a lot of children this week.”
Nodding her head, Cindy studied the rings one by one. Rosy pink, sky blue, ruby red, grassy green—the colors seemed to go on forever.
How am I ever going to choose just one? she wondered. What I’d really like is one of each! There are so many rings, surely it wouldn’t hurt if I took one of each color, just this once.
With a frown on her face and a funny knot beginning to grow in her stomach, Cindy reached her hand slowly towards the glittering display of rings.
Overhead, the bright lights in the room picked up and reflected a twinkling object on her hand. Cindy’s eyes were drawn to the familiar green and silver ring.
The CTR ring! She’d almost forgotten she was wearing it. She remembered what her teacher at Primary had said as she handed them out: “When you’re baptized, boys and girls, you’ll be expected to do what’s right. It won’t be up to your family or anyone else. It will be up to you and your conscience to do what Jesus would like you to do. This ring will help remind you to choose the right.”
Cindy smiled, remembering how happy and proud she had been to get her CTR ring. Her teacher was right—a little reminder once in a while was just what a person needed.
Closing her eyes tight, Cindy reached into the chest and pulled out a ring. Hot pink! Her favorite color. Now she had a ring for each hand.
I must show Mama, she thought. After carefully closing the treasure chest lid, Cindy skipped happily down the hall toward the waiting room.

Over the years, our Heavenly Father has continued to bless us in miraculous ways. In 1947 our daughter was called to serve a mission. Although we had very little money, and our family would greatly miss the income from her job, we agreed to support her. Never was our family so blessed as during our daughter’s mission. Occasionally someone would tell me that they wished their child could serve a mission, but that they didn’t have the money. I always told them that we didn’t have the money either, but that the Lord blessed us so that somehow we were able to support her each month.

Emily sat listening. She liked the Andersons. Joe and his family weren’t members of the Church, but he was often doing something good for others. The kids in the neighborhood all liked him and called him Uncle Joe. He always had time to listen to troubles and never made light of an individual’s problem, no matter how small. In spite of how busy he was, Uncle Joe would often stop and play a game of softball if an extra player was needed, and Emily especially liked the way he could tell a story. His imaginative tales fascinated not only small children but teenagers as well. But one of the things that claimed priority in importance in Emily’s thoughts was how Uncle Joe had helped her and David and Lora make a tie rack for papa’s birthday after he had hired the three to pull weeds in his garden so they could purchase lumber for the gift.
After the Landins left, Emily closed the catalog, mumbled something about deciding to wait for a day or two before ordering the coat, and then hurried to the bedroom before anyone could question her further.
The next day Joe Anderson’s health was constantly on Emily’s mind. She caught snatches of conversation at school from his daughter who was two years younger than Emily. “People have been good. So many have given what they could, but there is not quite enough money. He is getting worse—his lungs …”
Papa and the neighbors helped with the Andersons’ chores and offered words of cheer, but few could contribute financially.
A few days later, when the Jamestons were gathered around the pump organ singing, Emily slipped unnoticed into the bedroom. For a long time she stood quietly thinking.
“Yes,” she whispered to herself, “if my papa were ill, I would want everyone who could to help him get well.” Then she took the small jar of coins from the drawer of the dresser and joined her family in the front room.
Going to mama and papa, Emily held out her hard-earned savings. “I’ve thought about it for a long time, and I’ve decided that I want you to give this money to the Andersons,” she said.
Lora pressed her hand quickly over her mouth to smother the cry of disbelief that sprang to her lips. She looked around. Wasn’t anyone going to stop Emily from giving her money away? Mama was just sitting there, sitting there smiling, and papa, what was papa doing? Was something the matter with his eyes? Why was he brushing his hand across them so vigorously?
Finally, Lora could stand the silence no longer. “Are you sure, Emily?” she burst out. “What about your coat? You’ve waited so long and worked so hard.”
“I’m sure,” Emily said. “At least I’m sure that it isn’t as important for me to have a new coat as it is for Uncle Joe to get well.”
Papa placed his hand on Emily’s shoulder. For a few seconds he was silent When he spoke, the tone of his voice was low and unnatural for he was touched by the courage his 14-year-old daughter had shown in deciding to part with her savings.
“You are very unselfish, Emily, and you are filled with sweet compassion for others.” He stopped and swallowed hard before he went on. “And since you have given this considerable thought and this is what you want to do, then I think it would be nice if you gave the Andersons the money yourself.”
The next morning mama brought in Aunt Hattie’s coat that she had been altering as a surprise and gave it to her daughter. Emily’s eyes portrayed a quick preview of a smile that was coming. If she couldn’t have a new coat, this was next best, and her happy expression mingled gratitude with admiration at mama’s insight.
Emily wore the coat that night to a special school program. She arrived a little early, and the prelude music was being played softly when two classmates, Nadine and Lucille, neared the bench that she was sitting on. Emily heard their voices as they approached, but she wasn’t prepared for the shock she received when she looked up to speak to them, for Lucille had on a new wrap. Emily caught her breath sharply as she recognized it as being the beautiful blue coat from the sale catalog.
The program became a blur as Emily kept looking at the coat she had wanted so much, and after the closing song, she slipped quickly out of the building and stood for a moment, her hand pressed tightly on the jar of coins concealed in her large patch pocket. As Nadine and Lucille came out they were laughing and whispering. They didn’t see Emily hidden by the shadows.
“Did you see Emily’s made-over coat?” Lucille asked her cousin in a low tone.
“Did I ever!” Nadine giggled. “I have never seen such an ugly mess in my entire life.”
“Did you see how it bagged and how it sagged?” Lucille pulled at the hem of her coat in an exaggerated gesture to emphasize her meaning.
The two girls burst out laughing as they walked away. Emily waited until they were out of sight; then she turned and ran toward home, her tears keeping fast tempo to her running steps. She kept her hand tightly gripped on the small jar in her pocket while the decision to give her money away stood on rocky ground.
When she came to the Andersons’ residence, she stopped abruptly. Joe was propped in a chair in front of the window, and he looked pale, even at a distance. She saw him cough harshly, and his wife hurry to his side. Emily thought of Sam and how Uncle Joe had come immediately to the rescue when he had been needed. After the coughing subsided, Emily opened the gate and went up the walk to the door.
As she left the Andersons’ home, the piercing stab of hurt that had come from Lucille and Nadine’s cruel words began to fade from her memory. Instead she recalled the mist that had come to Uncle Joe’s eyes when she had handed him the money and his raspy voice thanking her again and again.
The crisp December air was near freezing, but Emily stopped for a moment in the darkness before she reached the cabin and looked at her secondhand wrap. Then a soft smile touched her lips, for in a sense, the coins were serving their purpose after all. True they hadn’t been used to purchase a new coat, yet because of the giving, Emily was aware that something new and beautiful was hers, and it was wrapping her in a feeling of warmth she had never experienced before.
Her smile broadened, and she hugged her made-over coat closer around her as she hurried on.

As a teenager, David was the only consistently active member of the Church in his family. He has an older brother and sister and a younger brother. “Having to stay active alone can either push you away or pull you in. I guess it pulled me in.”
David said, “I looked up to several people in my ward. I wanted to be around people who understood the gospel. To me the Book of Mormon is so obviously good and right. It just exudes this goodness. When you read it you feel like the Lord is right there and nodding his head. I’ve had to do a lot of soul searching, but I felt like I had the testimony to see me through.”
His interest in the gospel also led to his college major. He wanted to learn more about the ancient land of the prophets, but during his stay in Jerusalem he became more interested in the modern Middle East. “I get very emotionally involved when I hear reports from the Middle East. It’s a powerful place, and it has its own beauty. I find the Arabic language an incredible challenge,” said David.
That challenge might be the thing that leads David away from cartooning. He presently works for a computer firm specializing in Arabic software. And he would love to continue his Near Eastern studies into graduate school.
But right now there’s this slope-shouldered, big-nosed, bemused fellow with no forehead that keeps popping up in the strangest places. And he’s making a lot of people laugh.

As a boy, I loved to run. When I was eleven years old, I won an Oregon state cross-country race and I vowed to become a national champion before I graduated from high school. Full of boldness, determined to be better than anyone else, I began a training routine that was to last for years. Every day I ran from five to sixteen kilometers. I loved training. Neither mud, rain, sweat, nor pain were to keep me from my goal. “You only get out of it what you put into it” became my motto.
I began to look ahead to running in the Junior Olympics. My plan was to prepare to race in the 1985 competition, when I would be fourteen years old, and again in 1987, when I would be sixteen. I calculated that these would be in my best years and I would be in my top running condition. What I didn’t calculate was that by 1985 I would grow from a skinny, lightweight boy, to a taller and heavier young man. My whole system had to catch up with the added dimensions of my growing body. My knees ached constantly; my feet and hips almost cried out in pain as I ran; and it was all I could do to win a state championship by a fraction of a second. I knew 1985 wasn’t the year to enter the Junior Olympics, but I would have two years to prepare myself for the 1987 event.
By the spring of 1987 I was running well. I was undefeated in the 1,500-meter run and praised by a local newspaper as the fastest high school freshman in the state of Oregon. My aches and pains had gone. I felt good and I knew I was ready for the Junior Olympics.
Meanwhile, three teammates and I had been invited to participate in a prestigious regional track meet. Full of confidence and in high spirits, we got into the team van with our coach for the ride to the meet.
As we drove onto the main highway, I noticed how congested the traffic was and subconsciously fastened my seat belt. We were all laughing and joking when I casually looked up and noticed a speeding car coming our way. Completely out of control, it began swerving back and forth in our traffic lane, barely avoiding several cars ahead. Stunned into silence, we helplessly watched the car head straight for us.
I awoke to the sounds of screaming sirens, two-way radios crackling, and shouting policemen. We had been hit head-on by a car driven by a wanted man in a stolen car who was being pursued by police in a high-speed chase. My teammate and good friend, Lenny, who was in the seat behind me without his seat belt on, had been thrown across my seat. I had been propelled forward and pinned under the weight of his unconscious body and my doubled-up seat.
I managed to move just enough to see out of the window. The other car looked like a crumpled piece of paper. Two ambulances drove in beside our crushed van, and I was quickly, but very carefully, lifted out of our wrecked vehicle. “I think this one has a broken back!” I heard one ambulance man say as he looked at me with pity and concern.
As miracles go, my back wasn’t broken—just my nose! However, serious back strain, several pulled muscles, and joint displacement prevented me from walking for a few days and kept me from running normally for several months. This had not been in my plan. I became discouraged as my training schedule for being in top condition was once again interrupted.
I continued to train, both with the high school team and with a running club my brothers and sisters and I belong to. As I watched my ten-year-old brother, Tyler, run, I began to feel more frustration and irritation. He ran strong and well. He could keep up with several of the high school runners and was getting better every week. As much as I loved him, I resented how easy it all seemed for him.
I watched Tyler win in a state track and field championship, defeating his nearest competition by 500 meters. A crowd of excited supporters gathered around him as I stood back. An incredible sense of pride built up inside me, and as Tyler looked past all the well-wishers, seeking my approval, the feeling of love was so intense between us that I felt we were the only two in the noisy stadium. As I sensed his deep need for my approval my resentment of his success totally left me. At that moment, I vowed that my little brother would go to the national championships prepared with all the knowledge I could share and with the assurance of my support.
We ran together after that. I talked about form and strategy, how to pass other runners and maintain a lead. We ran up hills to build his endurance, sprinted on the track to build his speed, and made up all sorts of exercises to improve his reflexes. We talked about racing as we did chores around the house, as we ate breakfast, as we drove into town, and as we watched sports news on television. We ran in pouring rain and sweltering heat.
Tyler and I both placed first in our age categories in the Northwest Regional Championships, and that gave us the chance to compete in the national championships. Because of the accident and the interruption of my training, I thought I might only place in the top twenty-five runners. My race was first, and I was twenty-first out of 300 and gained a national ranking.
Satisfied and happy with my performance, I then turned my attention to Tyler. I had already taken him through the cross-country course, showing him how to approach and hurdle a deep ditch, when to stride out, where to save his strength, what to avoid, and how to stay mentally tough. He wa ready! As we looked for his starting place among the other 265 runners on the starting line, I felt as nervous as when I had lined up for my own race. Tyler was tense, and I just kept assuring him that he was the best. I could sense his apprehension as if it were my own. How I wished I could transform his pain to joy! “Be tough, Tyler. Just remember, no one is better than you. No one can beat you,” I said. My arm slipped around his slumping shoulder, and I felt like I was deserting a desperate man when I walked away and noticed the tears in his eyes.
I watched him run a perfect race as I ran from place to place on the course to cheer him on, hoping he could feel my support reaching out to him. Could he hear? Could he sense my strength reaching out to him? He came toward the last stretch of the race in second place. “Keep going, Tyler!” I yelled. “Use your arms! Breathe deeply!” If he could just feel what I felt for him in that crowd of 5,000 wildly screaming spectators.
He was turning the corner for the last 100 meters—a part of the course we had run over and over together as we planned this moment. “Now Tyler! Give it all you’ve got left! Come on!” I pleaded. My voice choked as I thrilled at the sight of my little brother, a picture of perfect health, striding down the homestretch to a spectacular finish to become the national champion I had planned to be.
My pride in him told me that I had won something too. I realized I had given part of myself away to help Tyler succeed, and it created a feeling within me far richer and more powerful than I could have ever imagined. As an exhausted Tyler broke away from the crowd and came to me, he gasped out the words which taught me the lesson of my life.
“Jason, I felt terrible—but I could hear you cheering the whole way, over the noise of all the people, and I knew I could win. I knew I had to win!”
What other lessons would this little champion learn from me—good or bad?
What about all our other brothers and sisters in the family of men. What messages do they hear above the crowd? Just as Tyler could hear and respond to that call to win, how many others need that voice in the crowd? How often do we get caught up in our own plans and fail to call out our encouragement, fail to cheer others on to victory?
As Tyler and I embraced, I truly knew the meaning of the words, “He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is none occasion of stumbling in him” (1 Jn. 2:10).

With Danielle and Michelle Hancock of the Lakeside First Ward, Show Low Arizona Stake, you might think you’re seeing double since they are identical twins, but the sisters are ace spellers trading off taking first and second in their district competition for the past three years.
In the past, Michelle won the county spelling bee and went on to win the Arizona State Spelling Bee. She represented the state in the national contest.
This year, Danielle won the county spelling bee and went on to the state competition. She took second place but only after setting a state record for spelling bee rounds. She participated in 82 rounds with the final 61 rounds just between her and the eventual state champ.
Both girls are honor students, and both were awarded All Sports Awards from their schools for making all the sports teams this past year.

I was raised on a small farm near the town of Cleveland, a rural area in southeastern Utah. In the region there were many stories of Butch Cassidy, a cowboy outlaw, that remained in the conversations of the older generation. As a 12-year-old boy, I, along with seven of my buddies, became intrigued by the stories and planned an adventure. We wanted to ride the trail of Butch Cassidy and explore his hiding places in Cedar Mountain.
After much persuasion, we talked our parents into letting us ride our horses to Cedar Mountain. Two adults would join us—one to ride with us, the other to drive a truck to a designated camping area carrying our bed rolls, food, and hay for the horses.
We arrived at our campsite at dusk and started to prepare for the night. I remembered the instructions given to me by my parents. They had taught me how to tie up my horse to a strong live tree; how to leave the rope just loose enough for him to feed from the ground, but not so loose that the horse might step over the rope. I also remembered them telling me, “Never eat your dinner until your animals have been fed.”
Everyone took care of his own horse before turning his attention to his own needs—everyone, that is, except one. In haste to fix his dinner, my friend Billy tied his horse to a small dead tree and hurried off to the campfire. By the time we finished our duties, it was dark. Billy finished his dinner and then turned his attention to his horse. When he approached his horse in the dark, the horse spooked. Billy then made the fatal mistake of striking a match too close to the horse’s face. The horse reared back and pulled the dead tree from the ground. The tree, attached to the rope, hit the horse, which sent him off on a dead run. I will never forget the sound of that horse running into the darkness and the crashing of the tree he dragged behind him. The noise continued for 10 to 15 seconds, and then there was silence … followed by a loud crash.
One of the adults had run after the horse and was first to reach him. We grabbed our flashlights and followed. After searching in the dark, we found the horse at the bottom of a 50-foot cliff. As long as I live, I will clearly remember watching that horse die.
We were a group of solemn boys as we worked our way up the cliff and returned to camp that night. Each one quickly and quietly bedded down. All that could be heard throughout the night was Billy’s sobbing and the rustling of nervous horses that seemed to sense what had happened. It was a very long night.
That experience became a life-changing moment. As I lay in my bed gazing at the millions of stars in the heavens, the events of the day passed through my mind. I began thinking about the advice my parents had given me as I was growing up. Suddenly it all began to make sense. I had come to a point in my life where I was responsible for my actions. The decisions I was making now not only affected me but those around me. I began to see that the results of my disobedience could be disastrous, especially to those who depended on me. My mother had entrusted me with her treasured horse. How grateful I was that I had been obedient to her instructions.

A Good Monday Night Model
It was Monday night, and seven-year-old María Fernanda Fernández of the Loma Nueve Ward, San Miguelito Panamá Stake, was in charge of her family’s home evening. María Fernanda (Marifer to her friends and family) had chosen the topic of prayer.
After leading the singing and asking her two-year-old brother, Roberto, to say the prayer with a little help from their mother, Marifer told a story her mother had helped her memorize from the Family Home Evening Resource Book, using pictures from the Gospel Art Picture Kit. Then she related a personal experience: “At the beginning of the school year, a classmate always fought with me. One day, I went to the bathroom crying after a fight and prayed that she wouldn’t fight with me anymore.”
Marifer said after that prayer, their relationship changed. “We invited her to my house and gave her mom a couple of issues of the Liahona. My friend liked them so much that she asked for more.” Marifer said she and her friend have talked a lot about the Church.
She ended with her testimony: “I know that Jesus Christ lives, that the Book of Mormon and the Bible are true, and that Jesus lived and died for us.”
Her mother, Marisol, and her father, Luis, bishop of the Loma Nueve Ward, shared their testimonies about prayer as well. Then Bishop Fernández offered the closing prayer, and it was time for treats.

Anna’s husband had died and she had a desire to take her little daughter Albertina to be with the Saints in America. Rasmus had gone already, and a number of their friends were preparing to leave too. Anna borrowed enough money for both their fares. And after a journey by sea and by rail to Hamburg, Germany, Anna and Albertina boarded the sailing ship Humbolt for the trip across the ocean.
For more than six weeks they lived aboard ship in crowded quarters, where food was scarce and storms were plentiful. Finally, the company arrived in New York harbor. Anna was grateful for their safe arrival but her little girl was crying for food and there was no money left to purchase any. In despair she took Albertina into a nearby warehouse where they both knelt behind some large barrels and asked God to supply their needs. Stepping outside they met the man who had been in charge of the company of emigrants. He explained that he had charged too much for Albertina’s fare and refunded part of the money—enough to provide food for the remainder of their journey!

A prospective elder in Utah was afraid to go to church because he didn’t want to be called on to pray or answer questions. After two months of being taught the gospel in their home, he and his wife accepted an invitation to attend the temple preparation seminar. Shortly afterward, they made church attendance their goal, despite the man’s fears. It was their decision, arising out of their progress in learning the gospel. He’s now been ordained an elder, and he and his wife have been sealed in the temple.

As we have attended the baptismal services for our grandchildren, we’ve shared their happiness in becoming members of the Church. After her baptism, Amy innocently wrote in her journal: “When I was baptized, it was fun because I became a member of the Church … Now it is all over and I don’t have any more sins and I don’t have to worry.” Seeing these precious children reach out to take their fathers’ hands in complete faith and trust as they enter the baptismal font has been one of the most beautiful sights I have witnessed. Then, joining with others in placing my hands on their heads as they have been confirmed and having their fathers give them the gift of the Holy Ghost and a father’s blessing have been experiences I shall never forget.

Twenty-four out of twenty-five! They had tied! In a five-shot free throw playoff, Ray Swanson, a deacon from the 18th Ward, Pocatello Idaho West Stake, edged out his Indiana opponent to be declared the national winner in the 12–13 year-old division of the Elks Hoop Shoot contest. (He received a 2 1/2-foot-high trophy for his efforts and was greeted at the airport by schoolmates, city officials, and a pep band when he returned home.) To become eligible for the basketball free throw competition held in Kansas City, Missouri, Ray also won local, district, state, and Northwest Region titles. Since he began competing four years ago, he has won every local and district title in his age group and three state titles also. Ray is the teachers quorum secretary in his ward.

A number of years ago Morgan High School played Millard High for the Utah state football championship. From his wheelchair, to which he was confined, Morgan coach Jan Smith said to his team: “This is the most important game of your lives. You lose, and you will regret it forever. You win, and you will remember it forever. Make every play as though it were all-important.”
Behind the door, his wife, to whom he tenderly referred as his chief assistant, overheard her husband say: “I love you guys. I don’t care about the ball game. I love you and want the game victory for you.” Underdog Morgan High won the football game and the state championship.

In 1947 the Navajo Indians on the reservation needed help desperately. Many had little to eat and nothing warm to wear. Elder Kimball spoke to the Church Welfare Committee, and truckloads of food and warm clothing were sent. Then he called a newspaper. A reporter and a photographer were sent to check the situation. When the article they wrote was printed, an Indian Aid Caravan was organized. Elder Kimball wrote to a senator in Washington, D.C., as well. He wrote to service clubs and mailed out pamphlets asking for aid.
His friends were helped, and they were grateful. One said, “Thank you. I will not freeze now.”

Chad heard the crack of Rocky’s bat as it connected with the ball. Even before he saw the ball shooting straight to right field where he was, he knew what was going to happen—he was going to duck. He always did.
“Catch it!” shouted Pete, the first baseman, but he didn’t sound very hopeful. The whole sixth grade knew how it was with Chad.
“Raise your left arm,” Chad whispered to himself. “Catch the ball.” But his traitorous body was already crumpling.
He ducked.
The ball zinged past him, and Rocky pounced with a big grin onto first base. And the guy who had been there strolled happily to second while the outfielder chased the ball.
“Pop it to Chad the Chicken!” Rocky yelled to the next batter. “It’s a cinch he’ll miss it.”
The school bell rang, ending the physical education period. Chad took off his mitt and bent down, pretending to retie a shoelace so he wouldn’t have to walk to the gym with the rest of the guys. It’s only a class game, he told himself. It doesn’t matter.
But it did matter. A name like “Chad the Chicken” hurt. Chad the Chicken, he tormented himself silently. Why am I afraid of a softball?
After school Chad walked alone toward home. How do people find the courage to do what they’re afraid of? he wondered. Where does a person look for courage anyway? Wouldn’t it be great if you could find it by eating a chewy candy bar? he thought, probably because he was in front of Mr. Slater’s candy store, where he just automatically seemed to drift these days. Candy didn’t give him courage, but it did make him forget his problems momentarily.
Chad was beginning to put on too much weight. But what does that matter? he asked himself. Maybe if I put on enough weight, I won’t be able to run and can sit on the bench during P.E. period. Wouldn’t it be better to be Chad the Chunk than Chad the Chicken? he reasoned.
There was a man standing in front of Mr. Slater’s store, and Chad could see his reflection in the store window. But behind the man’s reflection there seemed to be another reflection: a huge bird with white feathers and a bright red thing on his head—a chicken!
A fear suddenly gripped Chad. I’ve actually become a chicken, he thought frantically, a real, feathered, winged chicken! In panic he turned to go home. What would his parents say? Would they let a chicken come into their house?
“Chad!” Mr. Slater was calling him. “Come on inside.”
How can Mr. Slater recognize me if I’m a chicken? Chad worried. Do I look different? Then an awful thought struck him. Maybe I’ve been a chicken for a long time. He tried to remember the last time he had looked into a mirror. He usually combed his hair by feel, and he didn’t even glance at the mirror when he brushed his teeth.
“Chad!” Mr. Slater called again, and the boy turned and walked into the store.
“Hi, Chad,” Mr. Slater greeted. “How’s it going today?”
Chad didn’t say anything. He considered asking Mr. Slater how long he, Chad, had been a chicken. He trusted Mr. Slater to tell him the truth. He was always nice to everyone.
He cleared his throat and watched as Mr. Slater scooped into one of his candy bins and held something out to him.
Candy corn!
Chickens eat corn. Is Mr. Slater making fun of me? Chad wondered.
He turned and ran out of the store. It was probably a big joke with everyone, his being a chicken. Well, he’d show them. Mr. Slater and Rocky and all the others. Somewhere he would find courage and prove he wasn’t a chicken.
But where? Can I catch a falling airplane like Superman? Can I fight a raging tiger? Where can I find some courage?
Chad sighed. It was hopeless. He might as well face the fact that he would be a chicken all his life. He might as well go back and peck at Mr. Slater’s candy corn.
He turned around and saw that Rocky and the other guys were heading toward the candy store. He was about to hide somewhere when he saw a commotion inside. It looked as though Mr. Slater were fighting with another man. Chad saw the man hit Mr. Slater on the side of his head, then run away from the store. Mr. Slater staggered after him, shouting, “Help, police! That man robbed my store!”
The man was the same one Chad had seen standing in front of the store earlier. Now he was heading down the street, right in Chad’s direction. In one hand he carried a paper bag, probably full of Mr. Slater’s money.
Chad looked around frantically for help. But there was no one in sight except Rocky and the other guys, and they all jumped into a doorway to hide.
The man was coming straight toward Chad. I’ve got to do something. What can I do? he agonized.
Chad’s knees felt weak as he made his decision. He shifted his feet, planting them firmly on the sidewalk, and watched the big man hurtling toward him.
Chad caught his breath. “I’d better duck,” he murmured. No! he argued with himself. He has Mr. Slater’s money. “Stop!” he shouted, and somehow his voice sounded to him like a loud squawk. But the man kept coming. His bloodshot eyes glared at Chad hatefully. Chad felt as though he would faint.
Suddenly the man dodged to go around Chad. Almost without thinking, Chad threw himself at the man’s big feet. He felt the concrete sidewalk scrape the skin off his arm as the man’s toes struck him in the chest. He rolled away, getting clear of the wildly kicking legs. There was a dull thud as the man hit the ground, then the sound of running feet as Mr. Slater and Rocky and the other guys rushed over. They threw themselves onto the man, pinning him to the ground.
“I’ve called the police,” called another storekeeper. “They’ll be here in a minute.”
Other people came out of stores to help.
“Chad,” Mr. Slater puffed from his place on top of the man, “that was the most courageous thing I’ve ever seen. I don’t know how to thank you.”
The way Chad figured it, the only thanks he needed was the way Rocky and the other guys looked at him when he got to his feet. He knew they wouldn’t see him as a chicken any more. Maybe they never had. Maybe he was the only one who had seen that enormous bird in his mind. It was all right. He knew now that everyone was afraid of something, sometime. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t courage down deep inside, ready to go into action when it counted.
“What I could really use is a Band-Aid,” he said modestly, and joined in with Rocky and the other guys as they rocked with laughter.

I still remember vividly some of the long flights I made during my professional life as an airline captain.
In one of them, I would take off in Germany at 11:00 a.m. and touch down in California at 1:00 p.m. on the same day. Comparing the local departure and arrival times, it might appear that a flight across the Atlantic Ocean and the North American continent took only two hours. The Boeing 747 was fast, but not that fast! In reality, it took us about 11 hours, depending on wind, to travel the 5,600 miles (9,000 km).
Because we were flying west, the sun never set during our flight. We enjoyed broad daylight all the way from Germany to California.
Returning to Germany, however, was a totally different story. Even when we took off in the early afternoon, as we flew east, the sunset came more quickly than it normally would, and before we knew it, night was upon us.
During these long flights, my soul was often filled with awe as I pondered the beauty of this earth and the order of God’s creation. Even while flying at night, in complete darkness, I knew with certainty that the sun would rise again, that bright light would return and bring warmth and life to a new day before our journey’s end. The circumstances of my flight might have made it seem like the sun was setting more slowly or more quickly, but I knew that the sun remained constant, steadfast, and reliable in the heavens.