Gospel Story Finder

Last March, University of Utah forward Britton Johnsen was making a huge impact in Texas, helping to propel his team on its incredible cruise through the NCAA finals all the way to the championship game in San Antonio. There he played in an arena packed with some 41,000 screaming fans and was watched by a worldwide television audience of several hundred million. Britton’s impressive play under pressure wasn’t surprising considering the titles and descriptions he’d earned: McDonald’s all-American, Utah’s Mr. Basketball, top-20 recruit, “a star in the making,” “breathtakingly talented,” and “able to jump out of a gym.”
This March, Britton continues to make an impact in Texas. Only now he has traded his blazing red jersey for a white shirt and tie, his audiences seldom exceed a handful of people, and his only title is “Elder” as he serves in the Texas Houston Mission.
Shortly after the NCAA finals, Britton announced his decision to serve a mission. The decision came at no small sacrifice. Many people, including Utah head coach Rick Majerus, say Britton has tremendous NBA potential, but leaving the game for two years may jeopardize his pro chances. “Coach was saying everything he could to get me to stay,” recalls Britton. “I’ve been told that if I stay for all four years in a row, I’d definitely go pro.”
Still, when asked how he’d feel if serving a mission meant giving up the NBA or even his college career, Britton quickly replies, “It would be worth it.
“I could join the things-of-the-world team, maybe go to the NBA, make it big, make a lot of money. Or I can play on the things-of-the-Spirit team. Basketball will someday end. But the Spirit is always there—if you do what’s right, it will never leave you.”
Britton is quick to shrug off praise he receives for being willing to give up so much, pointing out that everyone who serves a mission does so at some sacrifice. “Just leaving your mom and dad is sacrifice enough!” He says that for his twin brother, Brandon (serving in the Canada Calgary Mission), going on a mission was every bit as significant and every bit as difficult.
Coming out of high school, Britton was heavily recruited by several top programs. He signed with Utah so he could eventually play with his older brother, Jeff, who had played one year for Utah before leaving for his mission.
Britton began the season with great expectations—sports magazines listed him as a top-20 recruit and compared him to Keith Van Horn, the Utah all-American who had been a number-two NBA draft pick in 1997. But hopes for Britton came crashing down when he sustained a knee injury early on.
“I planned on having a great year, going on a mission, then coming back for three more years,” he says. But as the season progressed, Britton’s injury kept him on the sidelines. “The season was turning into a disaster.”
For the first time in his life, Britton began to question whether he should go on a mission. Majerus told the press that if Britton were to go after being benched all year, “his pro chances are null and void and his chance for a college career is really in peril. He can’t sit three years.”
Dejected and struggling, Britton turned to a man he looks up to more than any other—his father. “He was such a boost. He would just sit me down and help me open my eyes and realize the right thing to do. But there was no pressure. I knew he would have supported me either way.”
Still wanting more than anything a chance to play before the season ended, Britton also turned to his Heavenly Father. “I prayed nonstop that my knee would improve and that I’d have a chance to prove myself.”
In what seemed like a small miracle, just three games before the end of the season Britton began to get playing time. “Coach said I’d been working so hard that whether he won with me or lost with me, he was going to put me in.”
After being benched all season, Britton was out of sync at first. But with each game, his performance improved and his playing time increased. Astonishingly, by the time the NCAA tournament started, he was playing remarkably well. He was a big factor in the underdog Utes’ upset victories over third-ranked North Carolina and defending NCAA champion Arizona.
“This is what I got from the Lord—the chance to prove what I could do,” says Britton. In the end Britton got his dream come true: an opportunity to play—and play well—in the NCAA championship game.
Britton’s older brother Jeff, who continues to serve in the California Fresno mission, helped Britton keep the whole thing in perspective. “Jeff told me that through all this attention Satan would try to get me not to go. But he bore his testimony to me and let me know that a mission is still so much better than playing basketball.”
Another answer to Britton’s prayers also came during the NCAA tournament—surprisingly, from a competitor. Mark Madsen is a Stanford starting forward who led his team to the Final Four last year. He also happens to be a returned missionary.
Like Britton, Mark knew the thrill of playing in a Final Four game, although his team lost. The day after the loss, Mark shared his testimony at a ward in San Antonio. “I heard that Mark bore his testimony, saying that it had been one of the best weeks of his life, but that it still didn’t compare to his feelings of being on a mission,” says Britton. “Hearing this made my decision easier.”
“That was the greatest dream of my life.” When Britton says this, he’s not talking about playing in the biggest game of college basketball. He’s not describing how he felt knowing millions of sports fans were watching him. Rather, he is talking about a brief, unexpected encounter he had with the First Presidency shortly after the finals.
Back in Salt Lake City, Ute players were presenting a signed basketball to the First Presidency when an assistant coach suggested Britton discuss with them his decision to serve a mission. Before Britton knew what was happening, he found himself alone with the First Presidency in President Hinckley’s office.
“I was totally stuttering,” says Britton. “I said, ‘Going on a mission has been a tough decision, and I guess I already know what the right thing to do is, but it would be nice to hear what you’d say.’ Then President Hinckley smiled at me and said, ‘Well, what do you think I’m going to say?’”
“President Monson explained that I had been a highly touted freshman, that I had been pressured to stay, and that some people were saying I could represent the Church in other ways. Then right away President Hinckley stood up, took my hand, looked me in the eye, and said very clearly, ‘You go on a mission and the Lord will bless you.’ It was an awesome feeling.”
Not long after, Britton had a final talk with his father and his coach, then announced his decision to serve. “It just felt right; I just felt good about the decision,” Britton explains.
In the end, Britton’s coach supported his decision. “It is with regret and sadness from a basketball standpoint that Britton departs, but I am pleased because he seems to be so at peace and happy about the decision,” said Majerus. “I’m proud to be a coach of so many young men who felt so good about a religious experience that they would want to sacrifice their basketball.”
This year, Elder Britton Johnsen won’t be participating in March Madness. But he says that’s okay with him. “I get the same goose-bumpy feeling just reading my scriptures as I do playing in front of 40,000 people,” he says. “Besides, the things I’ll gain on my mission and the things other people will hopefully gain because I go will make it all worth it.”

Excited voices rise and fall in a jumbled cadence that resembles a symphony tuning up. There’s a vibrant current flowing, and the ground almost rumbles underfoot. Everyone waits with nervous anticipation as another Texas well is about to burst forth.
All who are involved with the well will immediately strike it rich, but not in a monetary sense. Instead of the black gold Texas is so famous for, this well is spewing talent—talent in all shapes and forms, drilled from the young women of the Richardson Stake in Dallas Texas.
Nearly 100 girls are waiting for the concert portion of the day-long Young Women conference to begin. And this is no ordinary Young Women conference. It’s one that advisers and girls have been working on for two years.
The theme of the conference is “Follow Your Dreams … and Pay the Price,” and the advisers have come up with an interesting way to develop that topic. The conference is divided into two parts. One part is educational—the adults in the stake teach the girls just what price they’ll have to pay to realize their dreams.
Mothers, of course, are invited to share the day, so they can better help their daughters reach their goals.
During the other half of the conference, the girls give something back to the adults of the stake by putting on a talent “concert,” in which each girl has the chance to demonstrate some of the skills she’s working on.
Right now, just as the concert is about to begin, the young women are anxiously tying white ribbons and straightening white skirts. Everyone is decked out in sparkling white, but the color of their clothes is where the similarity ends. The styles, lengths, and details of the dresses are as individual as the girls who wear them. The symbolism is obvious; the whiteness stands for the purity that they all possess, and although they share the same virtues, they are anything but carbon copies of each other.
They’re a lively group. The same energy that pulses through downtown Dallas sparks from these girls. They’re quick with their laughter, yet quicker with concern for each other. Some speak with heavy Texan drawls, and others sound like they just came from Ohio. Dallas, after all, is a city that draws people from all over the country.
At last the cue is given, and they explode on stage singing the lyrics “Someday just began.” They sing with conviction because they know that someday is now. Instead of waiting to “someday” refine their talents, when they have the time; and to “someday” share them with others, when they’re good enough; or to “someday” use their talents to help those in need, when they have the inclination—the young women of the Richardson Stake are using their talents now.
The talent concert gave them the perfect opportunity to prove that. Take Amy Ravsten, a 17-year-old from Garland Third Ward, for example. When she heard that the young women in her stake would be performing, she offered to teach the girls in her ward a jazz routine she’d learned at cheerleading camp. A real sense of camaraderie developed as six girls of varying aptitudes worked together to perfect the dance.
For gymnast Kim McCauley, a 14-year-old from the Rockwall Ward, “someday” began when she was a toddler. She was walking at six months, running at eight months, and by the time she hit three, her parents decided they’d better find a way to channel her energy, or they’d be exhausted in the chase. They enrolled her in gymnastics classes, and today, she not only is a top competitor on her high school team, but she also uses her talent in her spare time to teach gymnastics classes for small children.
Instead of waiting for “someday” to take time to really get to know and enjoy the rest of her family, 12-year-old Stephanie Smith of the Dallas Fourth Ward learned a family talent that would send them touring the state and the country. The family took up clogging, a misleading term for a high-energy form of tap dance. Through it, she learned all about keeping in step with the rest of the family. “It’s really helped us with our unity,” she says. “Although it’s sometimes hard to get everyone together to practice, we feel a real closeness when we perform.”
“Someday I’ll be a great piano player … when I have time to practice,” is a foreign phrase to Susanna Olsen, who proved that she already has mastered the instrument. She dashed off a Rachmaninoff opus as if she’d written it herself. Members of the Richardson First Ward know that they can come to Susanna whenever they need an accompanist. She’s more than willing to oblige them.
Sherry Blanpied, a 13-year-old from the Richardson Second Ward, had no intention of waiting for “someday, when I’m good enough,” to display her dramatic talents. She performed a monologue right after winning first place with the same piece in a school competition held earlier that day.
These girls and many more were able to shower the stake with their talents. And for those who had talents that were not easily displayed on stage, such as soccer finesse or computer programming, their “someday” in the limelight came when they performed in one of three song and dance routines choreographed to include every girl who wanted to join in.
The conference theme came to life as the girls prepared for the concert. The price they paid to realize their dream of a successful show was a lot of time and effort. They passed up parties and various other school activities to meet a grueling rehearsal schedule, and some even missed going to their high school football games. That’s practically unheard of in Texas, where school spirit is as high as a lone star in the sky.
The girls in Dallas are just like most young women everywhere. In their spare time, they like to get together to talk and watch video movies, they like to go to dances, eat Mexican food, and go horseback riding. They’re especially proud of their new temple, and they go to the visitors’ center frequently. But in preparation for the conference, they put most of their other activities on the back burner and concentrated on “paying the price” to make it a dream come true.
Michelle DeMarco, 13, of the Richardson First Ward, even gave up a part in a school play to participate in the conference. Michelle, who lives and breathes theater, insisted “it was worth missing the school play to come to this. I’ve really enjoyed being together with everyone here.”
Michelle’s mother was right there supporting her from the rehearsals through to the actual production. “My mom has helped me with everything,” said Michelle. “She’s always making me feel good about what I’m doing, and she’s always there to lift me up.” That’s the way it is with many of the mothers in the Richardson Stake.
“We just can’t stand by on the side of the river and watch these young women try to maneuver the rapids by themselves,” said Linda McCauley, who spearheaded the conference. Sister McCauley had three daughters involved in the day and feels that she needs to “jump on the raft with them … to share their experiences so they don’t float so far away and become strangers.”
Some mothers and daughters in the stake are so close it’s even hard to tell them apart. They share jokes, clothes, and friendships. They were more than willing to help with the other parts of the conference by spending long hours decorating for the elaborate luncheon and pulling together the programs, speakers, and handouts for the educational part of the day.
The informative portion’s purpose, according to Sister McCauley, was to “provide the girls with a positive, uplifting experience where they learned about their responsibilities to Heavenly Father, to themselves, and to others.”
These responsibilities were brought home to the girls during a multimedia presentation starring many familiar faces. Advisers had taken the time to interview some of the girls and discuss how they could pump the most from their talents.
A video clip was shown of Rebecca Duehring, a 15-year-old from the Rockwall Ward, gliding across the ice during one of her many intense ice skating competitions. Rebecca’s struggle to be a competitive skater hasn’t been easy. She was born with brain damage that limited her coordination and space perception. She could barely walk, was constantly falling, and had broken nearly every bone in her body. Then she took up ice skating, which, for some reason she can’t explain, helped her gain her coordination.
Although it takes more time and concentration for Rebecca to perfect her routines, she’s right up there with the best in town and dreams of one day going to the Olympics. “Sometimes I can feel that Heavenly Father is behind me, and I go for the top,” says Rebecca.
The girls were also treated to talks, workshops, and presentations by people who had paid the price to reach excellence. “Commitment is more than desire,” stake president Larry Gibbons told them in his speech. “Commitment implies action.” And in other workshops, the girls learned just what kind of actions they’d have to take to be successful in different aspects of their lives.
They were shown the literal prices they’ll have to pay when the time comes to support themselves. They shuddered as they saw just how far an average, 40-hour a week job paying $5 an hour would take them. After paying tithing, taxes, rent, food, gas, transportation, insurance, and utility bills, they’d be in the hole about $2,000 per year.
“This has really started me thinking about what I want to do,” said Ruth Vigil, 16, of the Richardson Third Ward. “I hadn’t really set any goals for my future occupation, but now I realize that I’ll have to.” Ruth is musically talented. She sings and plays the piano and is now thinking about ways to incorporate those talents in a future occupation.
“We wanted to help the girls change their lives and get moving into some sort of direction,” said Connie Riska, stake Young Women president. “They need to make some of their decisions now and not wait until they graduate from high school.”
The girls realize that not all of them will go on to become working women. “My ambition is to have ten kids. six cats, and five gerbils,” jokes 16-year-old Tami McCauley of the Rockwall Ward. Just in case her dream comes true, the conference helped her to realize that the experience she’s gaining now by helping her mother take care of her nine brothers and sisters is invaluable.
Tracy Rico, 17, of the Garland Third Ward, had her feeling reaffirmed that if she’s going to meet her goal of entering into the medical profession, it can’t hurt to start learning now. That’s why she’s working as a “sports medicine trainer” at her high school.
The girls were encouraged to think about their future goals in preparation for a very special fashion show that was also part of the conference. Each young woman either made or coordinated an outfit to wear, and as they were escorted down the runway, their achievements and dreams were capsulized by the emcee.
Amanda Wilson, 15, of the Richardson First Ward, was right in her element during this part of the day. Her mother began teaching her to sew when she was seven years old, and now you might wonder who is teaching whom. Not only did Amanda sew several outfits for the fashion show, but she designed them as well, making her own patterns.
Amanda is refining her talents now so that one day she can major in fashion merchandising and hopefully have her own designing business. But in the meantime, she uses her abilities by sewing for ward members.
Short-term goals were also met via the fashion show. “It was great because my mom and I worked together on my outfit,” said Jennifer Beckham, 15, of the Rockwall Ward. “We took a whole day to go pick out the material, and as we cut it out and worked on it, we just talked about all sorts of things. It was really nice.”
That feeling of unity and understanding seemed to characterize the day. Most people were a bit surprised when Melissa Lane, 13, modeled her outfit as it was announced that one of her major goals was to become a member of the Church.
Melissa later explained, “My aunt is a member of the Church and I live with her now. She lets me go to church, and it really makes me feel good. I’m starting to read the Book of Mormon, and my aunt is letting me subscribe to the New Era. My special friends here have helped me with my testimony, and this conference has too.”
Most of the girls agreed that the friendship they cultivated by sharing their talents with each other was one of the best parts of the conference. Many of the girls go to different schools and don’t have the opportunity to get together often. “I’ve grown so close to the people here,” said Tova Carter, 14, of the Garland Fourth Ward. “We learned that if we put our minds to something, we really can accomplish it.”
An elaborate luncheon, a fashion show presented by a local designer, and minimusical concerts performed by local professionals and local Suzuki violin students all added to the day as the young women struck it rich in Dallas.
The girls might not be able to buy expensive sports cars and luxurious wardrobes with the wealth they gained by tapping the well at their conference, but deep in the hearts of the young women in Texas, they know they struck something far more valuable.

For a final profile, I mention the mother of one noble missionary son. The family lived in the harsh climate of Star Valley, Wyoming. Summer there is brief and warm, while winter is long and cold. When a fine son of nineteen said farewell to home and family, he knew on whom the burden of work would fall. Father was ill and limited. To mother came the task of milking by hand the small dairy herd which sustained the family.
While serving as a mission president, I attended a seminar for all presidents held in Salt Lake City. My wife and I were privileged to devote an evening to meeting the parents of those missionaries who served with us. Some parents were wealthy and handsomely attired. They spoke in a gracious manner. Their faith was strong. Others were less affluent, of modest means and rather shy. They, too, were proud of their special missionary and prayed and sacrificed for his welfare.
Of all the parents whom I met that evening, the best remembered was that mother from Star Valley. As she took my hand in hers I felt the large calluses which revealed the manual labor she daily performed. Almost apologetically, she attempted to excuse her rough hands, her wind-whipped face. She whispered, “Tell our son Spencer that we love him, that we’re proud of him, and that we pray daily for him.”
Until that night I had never seen an angel nor heard an angel speak. I never again could make that statement, for that angel mother carried with her the Spirit of Christ. She, who with that same hand clasped in the hand of God had walked bravely into the valley of the shadow of death to bring to this mortal life her son, had indelibly impressed my life.

In a general conference in 1973, President Harold B. Lee told of receiving blessings from an unseen heavenly messenger:
“I was suffering from an ulcer condition that was becoming worse and worse. We had been touring a mission; my wife, Joan, and I were impressed the next morning that we should get home as quickly as possible. …
“On the way across the country, we were sitting in the forward section of the airplane. Some of our Church members were in the next section. As we approached a certain point en route, someone laid his hand upon my head. I looked up; I could see no one. That happened again before we arrived home, again with the same experience. Who it was, by what means or what medium, I may never know, except I knew that I was receiving a blessing that I came a few hours later to know I needed most desperately.
“As soon as we arrived home, my wife very anxiously called the doctor. … He called me to come to the telephone, and he asked me how I was; and I said, ‘Well, I am very tired. I think I will be all right.’ But shortly thereafter, there came massive hemorrhages which, had they occurred while we were in flight, I wouldn’t be alive to be here today talking about it.” (General Conference, April, 1973.)

In the summer of 1921, at age twenty-one, Ezra received a letter from President Heber J. Grant calling him on a mission to Great Britain. July 14, 1921, he went through the Logan Temple with his parents, and two days later, he said good-bye to his parents and girlfriend and started on his way to England (see Ezra Taft Benson, p. 50). Elder Benson studied and worked hard but didn’t feel like he was doing too well and wrote in his journal that he was disgusted with his “‘frail attempt at speaking.’” But as he matured spiritually, he was invited to speak at the South Shields Branch. He was assigned to speak on the Apostasy, but instead he “‘gave a strong and impressive discourse of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon.’” He later said, “‘I spoke with a freedom I had never experienced. Afterwards, I couldn’t recall what I had said, but several nonmembers surrounded me and said, “Tonight, we received a witness that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, and we are ready for baptism.” It was the experience of a lifetime. … It was the first experience of that kind I’d had, where I knew that the Lord was with me’” (Ezra Taft Benson, p. 55).

On a typical afternoon in the later part of his life, Elder Richards was showing some youth of the Church through the Church Administration Building. They had come to a room lined with beautiful onyx marble. As he spoke to them, his speech became more rapid and his eyes brightened. He recalled the story of a nationally prominent man who had visited the building many years before. Elder Richards had been assigned to accompany the man and make him feel welcome. When they reached the onyx room, the visitor looked around at the craftsmanship, the obvious care, and the resultant splendor with which the early Saints had endowed that room in their headquarters. According to Elder Richards, the man said, “My, my, you Mormons seem to be a going concern.” And then Elder Richards answered, “Yes, sir, and would you like to know more?”

In August 1986, at 19 years of age, I joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In August 1987, a year later, I was called to serve as a missionary assigned to the Alabama Birmingham Mission. I did not know a lot about the Church or the scriptures when I left on my mission, so I was catching up as best I could.

As I learned about our Church history, I was surprised about some of the things I learned. At times, I was confused and did not understand some of the past policies and practices of the Church. This lack of understanding led to self-doubts and worries. As a result, I was resisting to become the kind of missionary the Lord needed in Alabama because I was struggling to understand my place in the gospel plan.

It was as if the Spirit of the Lord had left me, and I felt alone. Each night during the midst of my frustration, my companion ministered to me. He did not try to answer any of my questions or concerns but said at the end of each night, “Elder Johnson, I love you.” He repeated these words every night until finally my heart softened, and I began to feel that my companion truly did love me.

With a softened heart and in a quiet place, I knelt down to pray out loud to God. As I prayed, a scripture came to my mind that before this moment I had never read or studied. It is Doctrine and Covenants 6:21–23, which reads, “Behold, I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I am the same that came unto mine own, and mine own received me not. I am the light which shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not. Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things. Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?”[1]

I remembered. I cast my mind upon that night during my own conversion a year earlier when I simply asked, “Heavenly Father, is the Book of Mormon true, and is Joseph Smith a prophet?” On that day, feelings of love and joy filled my heart, and I gained a personal witness that the Book of Mormon is indeed another testament of Jesus Christ and that Joseph Smith is indeed a prophet of God.

“We can show love for others by doing kind things. Do something nice for somebody you love, and leave a heart where they will find it,” Cassi’s teacher told them as she handed three red hearts to each class member.
Cassi took her hearts home. Mommy hadn’t had time to make her bed before church. Cassi made Mommy’s bed and put a heart on the pillow.
“Thank you!” Mommy hugged Cassi. “When you make my bed, I feel happy.” Cassi felt happy too.
Cassi’s dog, Floppy, was whining. He was thirsty. Cassi filled his dish and put a heart beside it. Floppy’s tail wagged back and forth as he drank. He was happy.
Cassie had one heart left. Who else did she love? Daddy, of course, but he was out of town for two whole weeks, and she wanted to do something else nice for someone sooner than that. She thought hard all week. She loved Heavenly Father, but how could she do something nice for Him?
On Sunday, Cassi knew what to do! She took her last heart to church to remind her of her plan. She listened to her teacher. She was reverent during sacrament meeting. And when she went home, she drew pictures of her favorite story in the Book of Mormon, put the last red heart with them, and gave them to Mommy to send to a missionary.

Susan: “By the time Church policy had changed to allow worthy women who have nonmember husbands to attend the temple, I had been a member for six years—long enough to know how eternally significant the covenants are, and also long enough to know the difficulties in keeping those covenants.

“Time passed, and I was still making excuses. Then a friend asked, ‘Susan, when are you going to the temple?’ Something within me responded positively to that question. Soon some of my close friends and I went to the temple, where I received my endowment.

“One of the reasons I had hesitated about the temple was that I feared that my increased knowledge and commitment would widen the gap between my husband and me. But as I prayed about it, I came to feel that following the counsel of the Lord and his prophets—in short, practicing obedience—could only help me become a better Latter-day Saint and, therefore, a better person, a better spouse.

“The hard part is to remember that the covenants I’ve made in the temple are mine, not my husband’s. I try not to expect him to live according to covenants he has not made.”

At Christmas time Cynthia, Richard, Gerald, Mom, and Dad went to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. The children helped set up the stable like the one where Baby Jesus was born, sang Christmas carols, and opened presents.
A few days after Christmas Dad said, “It’s time to go home.”
Grandpa and Grandma looked sad.
“Mommy,” Cynthia said, “why are Grandma and Grandpa so sad?”
“Because they will miss us when we go home.”
Cynthia went to find Grandma, who was helping Gerald pack his clothes.
“Grandma,” Cynthia said, “will you be happy if I leave some of my toys? You can play with them till we come back.”
“Thank you, honey,” said Grandma, “I will miss you, not your toys.” She gave Cynthia a big hug.
Cynthia wondered how she could help Grandma and Grandpa be happy. Suddenly she remembered how happy Dad was when Mom put notes in his lunch sack. She ran and whispered to Gerald and Richard and gave them each some pieces of paper. Richard sat on the floor and wrote and wrote and wrote. Gerald drew pictures because he was too little to write.
“Mommy,” said Cynthia, “how do you spell love?”
“L-o-v-e,” Mom told her.
When Cynthia finished writing, she tiptoed into the living room. She hid one of her notes on Grandpa’s chair. She put another note in the piano bench. She even put two in Grandma’s slippers under the couch. Then she tiptoed quietly out.
Richard waited in the hall until Grandpa left the kitchen. Then he scurried in and put one note in the cracker box, one on top of the forks, and one in an apron pocket. He also put notes in the refrigerator and the pantry.
Meanwhile, Gerald was in Grandma and Grandpa’s bedroom. He put all his picture-notes under their pillows for them to find when they went to bed.
Soon Dad and Mom were bundling them into their coats. “Kiss Grandma and Grandpa good-bye and get in the car!” said Dad.
Grandpa kept saying, “I’m going to miss all of you. I’m really going to miss you!” He looked like he was already missing them, and they hadn’t even gone yet!
Grandma kissed all the kids and Mom and Dad too. “Remember to write me,” she told them.
Cynthia, Richard, and Gerald started to giggle.
“What’s so funny?” asked Grandma.
“You’ll see,” Cynthia told her, grinning from ear to ear. “We left love notes for you all over the house.”

I have been upset for so long about how much “cooler” my friends are. I know they’re more in style than I am. But one day I was looking through some old Mormonads and I found “Be Your Own Kind of Beautiful” (July 1986). I thought for a moment then realized I don’t have to be like them to be beautiful or cool. I can be a neat person anyway, in my own special way.
Rebecca Terese WarthenSão Paulo, Brazil

I believe I can truthfully say that my sincere prayers are always answered. As I mentioned earlier, that does not mean I have always liked the answer. For example, when I was about 17 or 18 years old, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. She was given many blessings, and many prayers were offered. I prayed often that she would be healed. She fought the cancer valiantly and survived for about five years. One day, after I had returned from my mission, I was visiting with her and questioned why God had not answered our prayers—particularly since her patriarchal blessing had promised her a lifetime of good health. She did not hesitate in her response. She told me that God had given her a lifetime of good health. She had rarely been sick until now. She felt that our prayers had been answered, for her life had been extended for several years when she might easily have passed away sooner. This was not the answer I wanted. But as I prayed again and pondered over what she had said, the Spirit confirmed to me that this was true. The problem was that I had not wanted an answer; I had wanted myanswer!

“Why don’t you ever come with us?” the girl shouted. “Don’t you want to be a part of our group?”
It was the end of spring, and school was almost out. During breaks we played football outside, and I was the goalkeeper. As goalkeeper I was used to dodging and blocking oncoming attacks from the field. However, this game was different because I had to dodge and block attacks coming from the sidelines too.
In between the offensive assaults of the other team, I was being interrogated by a couple of girls in my class who were standing on the side of the field. To avoid their questioning, I would have welcomed the other team over for a free shooting contest, but I was not having much luck that day.
“So why don’t you ever come to our parties?” she continued. “Don’t you want to have a little fun?”
“A little fun!” I thought. Being at a party with my classmates, playing silly games, and feeling forced into uncomfortable situations was not my idea of fun. I’d rather stay at home.
“We’re all trying to get to know one another, and you are never there,” came another attack from the sideline.
“That’s right!” I said. And I would have explained why if I felt she and the others really wanted to understand. But I doubted it. How could they? I was the only Latter-day Saint in my school, and none of them understood much about the Church or its standards.
“Don’t you like any of the girls in our class?” she asked.
“It’s not about not liking them,” I said. “I’d just feel uncomfortable.”
“But why?” she poked.
My team had just lost the ball, and all the guys were now running in my direction.
“Why would you feel uncomfortable?” she poked again.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as my eyes focused on the approaching ball. Her voice was the only thing I heard, and the constant “why,” “why” kept echoing in my head. My opponent was clear for the shot, and I could see that the ball was going to hit me hard. But I was ready. He kicked the ball, which bounced off my hands with a loud slap. “Yes! Another assault successfully frustrated,” I thought, grinning. I grabbed the ball and threw it down the field to my teammates and then turned to face my other opponents.
“So?” she said.
My heart was still racing from the excitement of the game. “The reason I’m not coming to your parties is …” I started, then paused, thinking for a moment.
“Is?” she repeated a little anxiously.
I looked down the field again to see the opposition approaching fast. My heart picked up a couple of beats, and I knew I had to finish what I started to say. “Is because I am saving myself for someone special!” I blurted out.
“What!” she exclaimed.
My opponents were upon me, and my attention was again fixed on the game. The ball whistled through the air, penetrating my defenses. The other team cheered, while the girls stood there laughing.
“Saving yourself for someone,” she said, giggling. “So what is her name?”
I felt embarrassed. Although I didn’t have anyone special in mind, I still knew that one day I would meet my future wife, and I needed to be worthy to take her to the temple. That’s why I didn’t go to their parties.
My hands still tingled and my heart continued to race as I walked home later, yet there was a slight grin on my face. I might have suffered humiliation on the field that day; however, I walked away feeling victorious.

One day two full-time missionaries who were working in my village felt prompted to take a detour to go home. On their way home, they met my mother. She stopped them and made an appointment for me to meet them. I wasn’t happy about that. I didn’t want to talk to them. I thought they would say, “You must listen to us. You must believe what we are going to tell you.”

When the missionaries arrived for our meeting, I told them, “Don’t waste your time. I have my own beliefs. What you are doing is good, but I believe that family is very important. I believe that church leaders should be married. I believe that a church should have twelve Apostles. I believe that God will save as many of His children as He can. And I don’t believe in smoking and drinking.”

I was surprised to learn that their teachings matched my beliefs. They gave me a Book of Mormon and asked me to pray about it. I felt the Spirit when I read the book, and I felt the Spirit with the missionaries. But I thought, “Maybe I’m just creating these positive feelings.”

I prayed and got an answer in a dream. In my dream, I opened the Bible. Inside the Bible were tabs with the different books of the Bible. The last tab said “Mormon.” This message helped me understand that the Bible and the Book of Mormon contained the same gospel (see Ezekiel 37:15–19).

My testimony was further strengthened through other experiences reading and studying the Book of Mormon. When the missionaries invited me to be baptized, I accepted with joy. I was baptized exactly one year after my girlfriend left me. My baptism marked a big change in my life. I lost some friends when I joined the Church, but I found new ones in the branch I attended.

“The gospel brought me a lot of light and happiness,” says Nicolas. “God blessed me. I met a good woman, and we have three good daughters.”

The gospel brought me a lot of light and happiness. I was filled with the Spirit and with joy. I thought, “All that I have suffered before has brought me here.”

God blessed me. I met a good woman, and we have three good daughters. Two of them have served missions, helping others understand what I came to understand years ago: “The family is central to the Creator’s plan for the eternal destiny of His children,” “the dead who repent will be redeemed, through obedience to the ordinances of the house of God” (Doctrine and Covenants 138:58), and the Lord calls apostles and prophets in our day to lead His Church (see Ephesians 2:20).

Shortly after our son Matthew graduated from college he was trying to secure his first job. Things were not coming easily and he and his wife Rachel went to the temple often seeking direction about his career. At one of these temple sessions, he received (in his words) “the clearest direction I have ever received in my life.”

The direction was “You should have a baby.” Imagine how this answer must have sounded to Mattie. He was seeking help to find a job to support his family and instead received direction to make his family bigger!

I have always been very proud of Mattie and Rachel for having the faith and courage to follow this direction, especially when his career and ability to support a family were so uncertain. Not only did God bless them with a delightful little boy that our entire family loves, but later Matt had the inspiration to start a company that has enabled him to provide well for this son and the two other children that have since joined their family.

Mattie did not get what he asked for, but he certainly did get an answer. Just because we don’t get the answer we want when we want it, doesn’t mean that God is not answering our prayer.

In fact, President McKay married my wife and I, performed the ceremony in the temple. In fact, it interests me when you come here and see the colors of Brigham Young University-Hawaii. I graduated from BYU and my wife graduated from University of Utah the very same year. University of Utah's colors are red. So this creates a problem in our family when basketball games are played and such. So just to compromise, we wear the color purple.

He came and performed the wedding ceremony for Shirley and me over 55 years ago and as was the custom, we invited him to come to our wedding reception held in the Institute of Religion on the University of Utah campus. He being president of the church, we just assumed that he'd be to busy to come. My wife was very active as a student with activities on the University of Utah campus, thereby, a lot of her friends came. We learned that after this reception was over that the waiting line was one hour long. Uncle Dade, President McKay, and his wife, Aunt Ray, came to the reception when my mission president spied him waiting in the line. Sovoid J. Boyer went back and said, "President, you're too busy. You can't do this waiting. Come with me," intending to bring them up to the front of the line. President McKay said, "No, thank you. We will take our turn." These last 55 years, he has haunted me. Every time I've been tempted to step in the front of a line, this vision of Uncle Dade standing in that line for an hour comes by. These prophets not only taught us good things; they exemplified the kind of behavior that we ought to emulate, to be the children of God and His followers.

I’m a convert to the Church. I didn’t join until I was about 25 years old. I investigated the Church off and on for about two years before I was baptized. I ended up getting baptized right at the end of my master’s program. At this time, I was feeling good about the Church, but I still had a ton of questions about it and wasn’t 100% committed to it. However, one Sunday the missionaries told me that the next fast and testimony Sunday all the missionaries in Ohio were going to fast for my conversion. I was so embarrassed, but they were so sincere and kind about it that I decided to get baptized. I thought I’d give it a try, what could happen? I’ll be moving across the country at the end of the month to start my Ph.D. program. If this whole LDS thing doesn’t work out no one will ever know… I’ll just try… Well, I learned a couple of important lessons that month. Fasting and earnest prayer can change hearts as proven in my baptism, and it’s not so easy to disappear into the woodwork when you have a determined bishop. The elders helped me pack up my moving truck and 37 hours later when I pulled up to my new apartment in Louisiana the Relief Society was there waiting for me to help me unpack it. How they knew which apartment was mine and somehow managed to know right when I’d arrive, I’ve never figured out. Needless to say, I was grateful for the help unpacking and for their fellowship that day. Since they figured out after the first 10 minutes of meeting me that I didn’t play the piano, I spent the rest of my time in Louisiana either in Primary or nursery. So, while I feel confident in the fundamentals of the Church -say your prayers, read your scriptures, go to church, popcorn pops on apricot trees, and that once there was a snowman – I don’t feel adequate in ministering to adults. I do know that because of my brave step to “just try…” has led me to amazing things. To find and be sealed to an eternal family and to this amazing job and opportunity. To know in my soul the Lord’s love, and to have a passion to share what I have learned while on this blessed journey of becoming a follower of Christ.

But as they say, never say never—especially when the Lord has work for you to do. Twenty-five years later I retired after an enriching career with a large global tech company. Another company recruited me to Arizona, where Dana and I began to build our retirement home. Everything was falling into place as we worked through the transition. But for some reason the Lord had something else in mind for me.

Our family had been in Arizona for just over a year, and something about our “perfect” plan felt off. That year I also was diagnosed with cancer. Reflecting on that time, I see the Lord was preparing me for a significant change in the direction of my life. As I was going through this challenging period, I met a friend of my mother-in-law who had worked at the University of Arizona. She asked if I had ever considered working in higher education. That idea had never crossed my mind, but I felt prompted to explore job opportunities at BYU and found an exciting position in the BYU Marriott School of Business. I was still recovering from cancer surgery but felt directed to travel to Provo and meet with Dean Lee T. Perry in person. As soon as I met with Lee, I knew I needed to be at BYU. Fortunately, he felt the same and took a chance on me. Lee was another special person who the Lord put in my life to help me return to BYU.

It was not the first time I had met Lee. I had had the opportunity to take a class from then-Professor Perry as an undergraduate student. He was a new, young faculty member at BYU and brought great energy and passion to his class. Who would have known that this inspiring young professor would one day play a significant role in my life? Lee ended up being a great mentor to me as I began this new second career that offered me an opportunity to give back and to learn the important role BYU plays in developing disciples of Jesus Christ.

It was a major transition to BYU after years at a big corporation where the primary focus was driving business results; the pace and purpose were very different. Starting meetings with prayer, openly bearing testimony, and discussing the gospel while at work was unique, exciting, and refreshing. Over the past 12 years, I have also cherished the opportunity to mentor and work with amazing young people, watching them grow and develop.

With perspective I lacked as a young person, I now understand that the Lord led me back to BYU not only to recognize the important role of this sacred university but also to assist in the great work of developing disciples of Jesus Christ.

When an LDS classmate invited Horváth Attila, 16, to sacrament meeting, Attila liked what he saw. “Then, when my friend told me that the Church was very family-centered, I became even more interested.” Within weeks, Attila was baptized.
Three months later, his father asked to hear the discussions. “I knew enough about the Church by that time,” says Attila, “that I could help my father learn about it. The knowledge I had received in seminary helped me explain the scriptures to him. But since he smoked and drank coffee a lot, I didn’t have the faith that he would be baptized. I was amazed when I saw how—with the help of our Heavenly Father—he was able to rid those things from his life. Two months later, I baptized my father!
“Then, when my mother saw how happy my father and I were in the Church, she also started to be interested. I baptized her three months after baptizing my father! The next day, my whole family came to Church and bore their testimonies. It’s not possible to say what kind of feeling it was for me.”

I remember my beloved grandmother, Mary Caroline Roper Finlinson, making homemade soap on the farm. Her recipe included rendered animal fat, a small portion of lye as a cleansing agent, and wood ashes as an abrasive. The soap had a very pungent aroma and was almost as hard as a brick. There was no money to buy soft, sweet-smelling soap.
On the farm, there were many dusty, sweat-laden clothes to be washed and many bodies that needed desperately a Saturday night bath. Bathing with homemade soap, you could become wonderfully clean, but you smelled worse after bathing than before. Since I use soap more now than I did then, I have developed a daily appreciation for mild, sweet-scented soap.