Gospel Story Finder

This lesson I learned anew some years ago as I received a rather unique and frightening assignment. Folkman D. Brown, then the Director of Mormon Relationships for the Boy Scouts of America, came to my office, having learned that I was about to depart for a lengthy assignment to New Zealand. He told me of his widowed sister, Belva Jones, who had been stricken with terminal cancer, who knew not how to tell her only son—a missionary in that far away country. Her wish, even her plea, was that he remain in the mission field and serve faithfully. She worried about his reaction; for the missionary, Elder Ryan Jones, had lost his father just a year earlier to the same dread disease.
I accepted the responsibility. Following a missionary meeting held adjacent to the majestically beautiful New Zealand Temple, I met privately with Elder Jones and, as gently as I could, explained the situation of his mother. Naturally there were tears—not all his—but then the handclasp of assurance and the pledge: “Tell my mother I will serve, I will pray, and I will see her again.”
I returned to Salt Lake City just in time to attend a conference of the Lost River Stake at Moore, Idaho. As I sat on the stand with the stake president, my attention was drawn almost instinctively to the east side of the chapel, where the morning sunlight bathed the lone occupant of a front bench. I said to the stake president, “Who is the sister upon whom the sunlight is resting? I feel I must speak to her today.” He replied, “Her name is Belva Jones. She has a missionary son in New Zealand. She is very ill and has requested a blessing.”
Prior to that moment, I had not known where Belva Jones lived. My assignment that weekend could have been to any one of fifty stakes. Yet the Lord, in His own way, had answered the prayer of faith of a concerned mother. We had a wonderful visit together. I reported word-for-word the reaction and the resolve of her son, Ryan. A blessing was provided, a prayer offered, a witness received. Belva Jones would live to see her son complete his mission. This privilege she enjoyed. Just one month prior to her passing, his mission completed, Ryan returned home.

When I was very young, I loved to play ball, any kind of ball. As I grew older, it became obvious that the Lord had given me a special talent in athletics, and of all the sports in which I participated, I was most attracted to basketball. I came from a family of meager financial means, so when I was old enough to throw a ball through a hoop, my folks couldn’t afford the hoop or the ball. I found an old tin band from a wooden barrel and nailed it on the garage. Then I got some rags and tied them together until I had a good-sized rag ball. Every night after school I would go outside and shoot that rag ball through the hoop. Many times, I would have to climb up on the garage to straighten the band because it would bend from the rag ball hitting it so often. I could hardly wait to get home in the evenings so I could start shooting my rag ball through the hoop.
It was during my 13th year when Dad took me aside one day and said, “Bobby, how would you like to have a real basketball hoop?” He had made one out of a rod of iron, had made a backboard, and had attached the hoop to it. I could hardly believe my eyes! Dad and I mounted it on the back of the garage. He then gave me my first rubber basketball. Boy, was I excited! Night after night, as soon as I got home from school, I was out in back shooting my ball. I loved to shoot long shots and practiced them by the hour.
In my mind I would always picture myself as one of the great ball players of the day. If I were having that experience at this time, I would probably be Magic Johnson or Larry Bird. I always pretended I was in the national basketball finals with just a few seconds left. I had the ball and the score was tied. I would come down along the fence line and let go with a long shot, and as it went through the hoop, I would sense the feeling of being a hero. I won more national titles than you can ever imagine. I could see it in my mind’s eye. I thought about it a lot. I knew I could do it. I practiced and practiced. I also dreamed of one day playing in Madison Square Garden. It was the most famous basketball arena in the world at that time. There was no other place like it.
When I graduated from high school, I accepted a basketball scholarship to Utah State University in Logan. During my junior year, we were invited to Madison Square Garden to play in the first holiday festival tournament ever held there. My dream had come true! I had seen it! I had worked hard for it. Along with Utah State and other teams from the United States, the two top teams in the nation had been invited to the tournament. Our team played the number two-rated team the first night, and it was really close. The game went down to the wire, but we won. I was high-point man and played one of my best games ever. The next night Utah State played another great team, and again it was a close game. We won, and once more I was high-point man.
The Aggies from Logan were now in the finals against Manhattan University (New York City), the number one team in the nation. It was a tough and close game. We were never separated by more than four points. As we approached the final two minutes of the game, Utah State was leading by four points. We had the ball and had planned to stall it out, but we lost it. One of the Manhattan players stole a pass and went down and scored. Now Utah State had only a two-point lead with about a minute and a half to go. We came down the floor again and worked around the key until an open shot came. One of our players drove in and missed it. Manhattan got the ball again and scored. Now the score was tied with a minute or less to go. We had the ball, came down the court, and missed our shot. The rebound went to Manhattan, and now they had the ball with about 35 seconds to go. We didn’t dare foul them. What a terrible position to be in! At times like that, you wonder why you ever took up the sport. Manhattan worked the ball around until there were about 10 seconds left, and then the player who had been hitting all night faked out in front, drove to the bucket, and laid it up. I can still see that ball as it rolled around the rim but finally fell off. One of our players pulled down the rebound and threw it to me. I came down the side of the court and let the ball fly from about 30 feet out. It split the net! The final buzzer rang, and we had won the national holiday festival tournament! As that buzzer went off, I thought to myself, “I’ve done this before.” I had. In my mind’s eye and in the backyard, I had done it hundreds and hundreds of times. I had practiced and practiced. I had worked for it. Because of my faith and work, the Lord blessed me.

Dan’s missions fulfilled Joseph Smith’s last recorded prophecy. The night before the Prophet Joseph Smith was killed, he heard gunfire outside the window of Carthage Jail, so he chose to sleep on the floor. Near him was Dan Jones. The Prophet asked Dan if he was afraid to die. He replied, “Has that time come, think you? Engaged in such a cause I do not think that death would have many terrors.” Then Joseph prophesied, “You will yet see Wales, and fulfill the mission appointed you before you die.”2
The Prophet’s promise was fulfilled in 1845, when Dan and his wife, Jane, were called to serve in Wales. Dan used his talent for speaking to teach the gospel with great conviction. He was fluent in Welsh and English, and witnesses recorded that he spoke so captivatingly that he could hold his audience’s attention in either language for hours.
While in Wales, Dan published Latter-day Saint periodicals, tracts, and books in Welsh. Under Dan Jones’s direction, missionaries in Wales established 29 branches and baptized nearly 1,000 people each year of his first mission. He was called on a second mission to Wales in 1852, and despite growing persecution of the Church, some 2,000 people were baptized in four years.
Upon his return to Utah, Dan helped bring many Welsh converts to Utah. When he died at age 51, he had helped bring an estimated 5,000 people to the western United States.

One cold, wintry morning the Miske family was awakened early by their neighbors. The neighbors, sixteen elderly patients from a nearby nursing home, were without water because their water pump had broken. The Miskes shared the water from their well all day—until the well went dry that evening. Sister Miske then purchased eighteen four-liter containers of purified water and asked other Latter-day Saint neighbors to help. They gathered sixteen large water containers and filled them at the local meetinghouse. Three sisters did the patients’ necessary laundry; one sister spent nine hours washing and drying sheets.
For three days, Sister Miske transported more than a ton of water in snowy weather, with temperatures often near the freezing mark. After three and a half days, a new pump was installed at the nursing home, and things there returned to normal.
But things were not normal for the Miske family; their own well remained dry. Members of the nursing home’s staff were more than happy to help the Miskes. The nursing home provided the family with water until spring, when the well began to flow again.

My missionary companion and I were eating a quick dinner at a member’s house one Sunday evening in December when we heard a knock on the door. There were the youth from the branch singing. We were serving in the Joliet Illinois Second (Spanish) Branch. It was nice to see the youth serving and to hear them singing familiar Christmas carols.
Later that evening we were visiting with one of our investigator families when we heard a knock on the door. To our surprise, there stood the same group of youth singing Christmas carols for our investigators.
I was impressed that they would think not only to visit people they knew from the branch, but also to visit the people the missionaries were teaching. I thought it was a wonderful way for the youth to get involved in missionary work.
Our investigators were impressed for a very different reason, however. After the youth left, they told us how amazed they were that a group of teenagers would give up their Sunday evening to bring others some Christmas cheer. They commented on how many youth today seem selfish and would not do such a thing but that the youth in our Church were different. They wanted their children to be like these young men and women.
Soon after Christmas this wonderful family decided to be baptized, and I know one of the influences on their decision to join the Church was the members’ testimonies and examples. They could also see the light in the members’ faces. I know they saw it that night when those youth gave of their time to spread the spirit of Christmas.

One day I went to the store with my mom. I was wearing my patent leather shoes that I call my “church shoes” because I usually wear them only on Sunday. I was very proud of my shiny shoes. The lady who was helping my mom noticed me wiggling my feet and asked me about my shoes. When I told her they were my church shoes, she asked me which church I attended. I looked at my mom because I wasn’t sure I could remember the full name of the Church, and I wanted to make sure I said it right. My mom reminded me of my favorite Primary song. I sang, “I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” (Children’s Songbook, 77). The lady smiled and told me that was great. I’m glad the song helped me to remember the Church’s name.

Many years later, in 1873, Kitty, the wife of this great man, Jonathon Napela, contracted leprosy. She was a beautiful and noble woman in the early days of the Church in Hawaii. Today modern medical knowledge has advanced so that this disease is no longer fatal, but at that time, there was no cure for this dreadful disease. In order to prevent the spreading of this disease, once you contracted it you were forced to live on one of the seashores in the leper colony on Molokai. The lepers were taken there by boat. The sailors were so afraid of this disease that they pushed the patients into the sea, forcing them to swim to shore.

Because his wife had to go to Kalaupapa, the leper colony, Jonathon, too, wanted to go. He took her hand and they went there together. Why would he do this? Because he loved her so much! He knew that life is eternal and love is eternal, even through days of “sickness and health.”

History records that this valiant and giant man of God worked in the leper colony and fought to obtain government assistance for the lepers to have a more comfortable place to live. He was a giant in the pure love of Christ for his own people. Oh, I can almost hear the words of Paul to the Corinthians when he said, “Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal” (1 Cor. 13:1).

This good brother later contracted that same disease and died even before his wife passed away. She followed him two years later.

I know that the healing power is in the Church and that numerous people are healed or improved or restored through the blessings of the Lord, sometimes with and without the skill of men.

We should do all we can for ourselves first: dieting, resting, taking simple herbs known to be effective, and applying common sense, especially to minor trouble. Then we could send for the elders, the home teachers, the neighbors or friends in whom we have confidence. Frequently this is all that is required, and numerous healings can be effected. In serious cases where the problem is not solved, we turn to our skilled and helpful men who can help so wonderfully. One young woman who was sent to the hospital for serious surgery, and who was very nervous and afraid, stated that when the doctor came to see her the night before the early morning surgery, he indicated he had been to the temple. She relaxed and felt at peace, realizing that she was in the hands of a righteous, skilled man of faith and the Lord was watching.

Anthony was surprised when he woke up. This was his third time having the same dream! In his dream, a tall man had shown him a beautiful building. What could it possibly mean?
As a schoolteacher, Anthony had visited many places outside his village in Nigeria. The building from his dream didn’t look like anything he had seen before. Maybe it didn’t actually exist. But there was just something special about it.
As years passed, Anthony still thought about his dream, but he was worried about other things. A war started in Nigeria. It wasn’t safe for Anthony and his wife and children to leave their house. But it was hard being inside all day. Anthony missed seeing his friends and students.
One day Anthony found an old magazine in his house. When he opened it, he saw something that looked familiar. It was the beautiful building from his dream! It was real.
The building belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’ve never heard of that church before, Anthony thought. He wanted to learn more about it, but because of the war, he still couldn’t leave his house. He would have to wait.
When the war finally ended, Anthony sent a letter to the Church’s headquarters in Salt Lake City. He asked if they would send missionaries to teach him and his family. “Can you build your church in my town?” Anthony wrote. “Please send me scriptures so I can teach the other villagers.”
Anthony was sad when he received a letter from Church headquarters: “Right now we don’t have any missionaries in your country.” Back then, most black men couldn’t hold the priesthood. And the Church wasn’t organized in much of Africa.
But Anthony was good at waiting on the Lord’s timing. Even though he couldn’t get baptized yet, he kept his faith strong.
The Church sent Anthony and his family the Book of Mormon and other Church books. Anthony studied the books and taught what he learned to the other villagers.
So many people were interested in the gospel that Anthony wanted a place for everyone to meet.
On a road lined with banana trees, Anthony built a little chapel with a blue door and shutters. The front of the building read, “Nigerian Latter-Day Saints.”
Years went by. Then one day Anthony heard wonderful news. God told the prophet that all worthy men could have the priesthood. The Church was sending missionaries to Anthony’s village!
The missionaries were surprised to find a church building and so many people ready to be baptized. They were amazed at the faith of Anthony and the other villagers.
“It has been a long, difficult wait,” Anthony told the missionaries, “but that doesn’t matter now. You have come at last.”
Anthony was the first person baptized in the Ekeonumiri River in Nigeria. When the new branch was organized, he was called to be the branch president. His wife, Fidelia, was the Relief Society president. They were sealed together in the temple years later.
Anthony continued sharing his faith with others. He often told people that the seed of the gospel planted in Nigeria would grow into a great tree. The world would be surprised by its growth.
Anthony was right. Today there are more than 170,000 members of the Church in Nigeria—and a beautiful temple! The gospel seed Anthony helped plant continues to grow around the world today.

My grandpa has a big white truck that is really old. He says that it was new when my dad was still a boy. Whenever our family goes to visit Grandpa and Grandma, my brother, Justin, and I like to play in it. Grandma laughs and says we only come to visit Grandpa and his truck.
Some days we have to wait for Grandpa to come home from work before we can play in it. As soon as he opens the kitchen door, out we race to the big white truck.
The first one to reach the truck wins—that’s the rule.
I push my brother up into the truck, and then I climb in behind the wheel. Once inside the truck, we put on hats that Grandpa leaves in the truck—baseball caps or big straw hats or cowboy hats with turned-up brims. Grandpa always leaves hats there for us.
Justin and I take turns making roaring engine noises as we pretend to race with screeching tires and squealing brakes to catch the robbers just around the corner or to finish the big race in first place.
When we are tired of racing, we climb out through the open windows into the bed of the truck. There we hide from the ugly wild things we imagine are lurking behind the trees, or we build big forts with some old blankets Grandpa leaves in his truck.
Sometimes we take turns jumping off the truck’s tailgate. I always jump the farthest.
When Grandpa sits in the truck with us, we put the hats on him in funny ways, and he laughs with us a lot. Whenever he brings us cookies from Grandma, we sit and eat them in the truck. He doesn’t even care if we drop crumbs.
Sometimes Grandpa takes us to the park in his big white truck. We ride high above the cars and look down on them moving along beside us. Justin sits next to Grandpa and reminds him where to turn. I sit close to the door and wave and shout hello to people who pass by.
Once in a while Grandpa takes us to the ice-cream store in his big white truck. Grandma, who says the truck is too old, comes out to see us off. She asks Grandpa if he would rather take the car, but Grandpa says no and tells her not to worry. Then off we go in the big white truck.
We are always sad when it’s time to leave. Grandpa hugs us and tells us to come back soon. Grandma kisses us and tells us to be good.
I think the big white truck might be a little sad to see us go. I think it likes to race and chase and go with us. I’m glad Grandpa has his big white truck.

One thing that I learnt from my mission experience is, “one’s life cannot be both faith-filled and stress-free.”2 During my mission I was so happy to have so many families who love me. On the other hand, I was getting weak as I had health issues which affected me a lot. I was expecting the Lord to give me a stress-free and faith-filled life.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell said, “How can you and I really expect to glide naively through life, as if to say, ‘Lord give me experience, but not grief, not sorrow, not pain, not opposition, not betrayal, and certainly not to be forsaken. Keep from me, Lord, all those experiences which made Thee what Thou art!’”3
When I read this quote, I felt peace in my heart even when I’m suffering physically. It has given me a strong assurance that if we want to be Christ’s disciple, we need to go through challenges as He did. Challenges can appear to be things we can’t bear.
It was a great challenge for me to get a mission call, to serve, for only 14 months, not 18 months which made me sad. But through God’s grace I can still feel the peace and happiness.
Sometimes we choose good and expect God to bless us in a way we want. But a true disciple of Christ needs to accept the God’s will rather than our desires.
I know that as we serve Him in the time given to us, whether it’s 18 months or 2 years, with all our heart, might, mind and strength, we will be blessed according to His will and His timing. I know that Jesus is the Christ and He atoned for us. I know he loves us unconditionally. And all he asks us to do is to keep His commandments.

As a high school student, I determined that I would act on this advice and try to obtain my own testimony of the gospel. I wanted to know that it was true. So I carefully read the Book of Mormon, underlining as I went, making notes about memorable passages. When I finished I felt a great sense of anticipation about Moroni’s promise. I knelt down and prayed, trying to learn for myself whether this book was true or not. Although I prayed off and on for several weeks with what I thought was “real intent” and determination, I failed to recognize an answer. When my friends stood in fast meeting to express their testimonies, my parents were disappointed that I did not. I told them that I was trying, but that a testimony had just not come to me yet. I could not be dishonest. I worried and wondered what I was doing wrong. Perhaps my life was not good enough for the Lord to recognize my question—or maybe there was something wrong with the way I was praying—or perhaps I just didn’t know how to recognize an answer when it came.
The prayer and study went on for two more years, during which I read the Book of Mormon a second time, and then my bishop asked me to go on a mission. On one hand, I was elated, because I had always wanted to serve a mission; but on the other hand, I was very worried, because my testimony had not been granted. How would I convince others if I could not speak with conviction? My brother was going on a mission at the same time, and my parents, who were of very modest means, pledged themselves to our financial support.
When I went for my interview with the stake president, he surprised me by suggesting that I remain at home until my older brother returned—to lessen the financial burden on my parents. Greatly disappointed, I returned home to relay this sad advice to my father, normally a quiet, soft-spoken man. My father was distressed. He expressed strongly held feelings that I should go at the same time as my brother, and that the Lord would help us to meet the financial obligation. He put on his coat and announced that he was going to talk with the stake president. “You are going on a mission—and you are going now!” he said with conviction I had never seen in him before. Before he left, he wanted us all to kneel in family prayer. My father uttered a simple, short prayer, expressing thanks for blessings, and asking for help in his talk with the stake president and for help for his sons as they prepared to leave for the mission field.
As I listened with faith to that prayer and tried to look into the future, I was spiritually moved beyond anything I can describe. At that instant, I received a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. I was overcome with a feeling of happiness and excitement, as if to say that my father would be successful in his own little mission, which he was. But I also knew absolutely that I would be able to go on a mission (as I did to New Zealand) and testify with honesty and certainty to anyone who would listen to me. It was an enormously satisfying experience. My previous anxieties about being a missionary without the conviction of a testimony were gone. The Lord had answered my prayers—although in a way that I had not expected. As for my parents—they successfully supported their two sons as missionaries for two years and prospered financially as they had never done before.

April got to class just in time to see Miss Edwards hang the last car on the bulletin board.
“Good morning, April,” Miss Edwards said. “Are you ready for our next reading race?”
“Yes! I already have books picked out,” April said.
Reading races were one of April’s favorite things about third grade. In the last race, her paper frog had hopped to second place. This time she hoped her car would cross the finish line first.
That evening, April was reading when her older sister Annie sat down by her. “Want to play a game?” Annie asked.
“No, thanks,” April said. “I need to finish this chapter for the reading race.”
After a while, April took her reading record to Annie. “Will you sign me off for 10 pages?” she asked.
“Sure,” Annie said. “That’s a good start.”
The next day, April was surprised to see that more than half the class was ahead of her in the race. As she sat down at her desk, she noticed a thin book on Craig’s desk.
“Are you reading that for the race?” she asked.
“Yep. I’m in eighth place now,” Craig said.
April sighed. “I’ll never catch up when I’m reading books with so many more words on a page,” she thought.
“Wow, 15 pages!” Annie said as she signed April’s reading record that night. “Good job, Sis.”
But April didn’t feel very good. She had only read 11 pages. The next day there were still six cars in front of April’s. But she knew that wasn’t the reason her heart felt so heavy in her chest—it was because she was four spaces farther ahead than she should be.
That night she added two extra pages to her sign-off sheet.
“Thirteen tonight,” Annie said. She smiled at April. “Aren’t you almost done with that book?”
April’s eyes filled with tears. “Well, I haven’t really read that many pages. But the other kids are reading easy books with fewer words on a page. I’m still reading more than they are.”
“So you feel OK lying about it?”
April shook her head. She knew it wasn’t right to record extra pages.
Annie smiled kindly and handed April her sheet, unsigned. “I think you know what to do,” she said.
The next morning April pulled her car off the board and moved it backward.
“April?” Miss Edwards asked.
April took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Miss Edwards. I wasn’t truthful about how many pages I’ve read.”
“I see,” Miss Edwards said.
“I shouldn’t have cheated,” April said.
“April, you’ve given me an idea,” Miss Edwards said. “I know some students are choosing easier books so they can read more pages. I think we’ll start the race over today, and we’ll move forward by time spent reading instead of pages. How does that sound?”
April smiled.
“Thank you for being truthful, April,” Miss Edwards said. “You’ve helped me see that what’s important is that you are spending time reading books you enjoy, not how much you’re reading.”
April was glad she had told the truth. She felt even better that night when she found a note from Annie on her pillow:
Dear April,
I knew you’d do the right thing. Thanks for being such a great example!
Love, Annie

Susan Hardy, California, USA
When I was 11 years old, my Sunday School teacher, Brother Deets, told our class that if we would memorize the Articles of Faith and explain to him what they meant, he would buy us our own set of scriptures.
Brother and Sister Deets were a young couple, just starting out. I wasn’t sure Brother Deets could afford to buy a gift for anyone. But I decided that if he thought the Articles of Faith were important enough to memorize, I would take the challenge.
After I finished all 13, time went by and I forgot about his promise.
Then, on Christmas Day, I received a package with my name on it. I opened it to find a set of scriptures just for me, with a card encouraging me to read them regularly. That was in 1972, and to this day I still have those scriptures. They are precious to me.
It wasn’t the cost of the gift but the kindness he showed to me and the sacrifice he was willing to make for me that left me with a deep desire to study the word of God. I try to follow Brother Deets’s example of ministering by giving meaningful gifts to those around me, hoping that I can bless others’ lives as he has blessed mine.

When Barbara Jinx Boquecosa, 18, of Mandaue, Philippines, and the rest of her family became less active, she noticed the difference in her life immediately. “When we stopped going to church, there was no peace in our home, and I really missed it,” she says. “I felt I was responsible to get us back active again, so I encouraged my family to go back.” That was more than a year ago, and since then, Barbara, her parents, and her two brothers and one sister have returned to full activity in the Mandaue Fourth Branch, Mandaue Stake. “It’s really a different feeling to be active in the Church. I can’t describe the happiness that I feel.”

Claudiana: At the height of my illness, my faith began to weaken. I thought Heavenly Father wasn’t listening to my prayers, and I wondered what I’d done to deserve this suffering. During one hospital exam, I was in so much pain that I thought I was going to die. In this moment I feared for my life and my future, but Gustavo grabbed me and reminded me of the things I used to teach him back when he was investigating the Church.
“Now is the time to put those teachings into practice,” he said. “You need to have faith.”
I thought of Ether 12:12: “For if there be no faith among the children of men God can do no miracle among them; wherefore, he showed not himself until after their faith.” Gustavo helped me believe in a miracle—without him, I may have lost hope. He reminded me of the eternal love and enabling power of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and that I was not beyond their promised blessings. I am forever grateful that he helped keep the fire of faith alive in me.
Gustavo not only supported (and continues to support) me spiritually, but he also supported me emotionally. When I was sick, people pitied me and felt sorry for me, but Gustavo didn’t. Of course, he listened to my worries and held me when I cried, but he also encouraged me, joked with me, and got me out of the house when I was depressed. Gustavo was a light to me during this dark time and helped instill a confidence in me that my illness had taken away.
If your significant other is struggling, do things that will lift them up. Show them that you care about them. Support them when they are happy and when they are sad. Help them to strengthen their relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Gustavo does these things. His optimism and love helped us build a relationship that withstood my illness.

“Step on red, and you love Tami Cobb,” Travis whispered as we filed down the hall behind our teacher, headed for the cafeteria. Twenty-five pairs of shoes, including my own sandals, zigged, zagged, and leaped to miss the red-tiled squares.
Mrs. Simon stopped and faced us. “Where’s my nice straight line?” she asked, not smiling.
We straightened up. All but Tami, whose head hung down. Her stringy red hair looked as if she hadn’t washed it for weeks. No doubt she had that ugly, mean look on her freckled face—the one it always had. I tucked my own red hair behind my ears, glad it wasn’t as bright as Tami’s—and my freckles not quite as dark. Mrs. Simon turned back around, and we continued to the cafeteria. Shoes still skipped over red tiles, but more quietly this time.
“You’re Tami Cobb’s twin sister,” Zachary said to me as we ate our lunches.
Tami looked up at me as she nibbled on the corner of her sandwich. Her dark eyes looked afraid—and hopeful.
“Am not!” I protested.
Tami looked back down at her crumpled brown lunch bag. I felt bad, but it wasn’t my fault. Maybe if she washed her hair once in a while, and stuck up for herself instead of making ugly faces all the time, people wouldn’t pick on her so much!
At recess a bunch of us played tetherball. Tami stood alone by the fence, watching. I didn’t dare ask her to join us, or Zachary would call me “Tami Cobb’s sister” again, for sure. Besides, no one would touch the ball after Tami touched it. Everything Tami touched was automatically considered to have cooties. “Touch Tami’s paper, and you’ll get cooties,” someone always whispered when we passed our papers to the front of the class to be graded.
That night the missionaries came to dinner. It was nice outside, so Dad barbecued hamburgers and hot dogs on the back porch.
“Becca, I think you know one of the investigators we’re baptizing this Saturday,” Elder Ryan said, bouncing my little brothers on his knees while we waited. “She says she’s in your class at school.”
“Who?” I asked, surprised and excited. Maybe it was Brittany. She was so pretty, and everyone liked her. Or maybe Heidi. Yes, I hoped it was Heidi. We always got the giggles together during music class when Mrs. Bradley’s voice quavered on the high notes. Then there was Alix and Kira and Emily. “Who is it?” I begged, bouncing on the edge of my lawn chair.
“Tami Cobb. We’re baptizing her whole family.”
“That’s great!” Mom said. “Isn’t that great, Becca? You’ve always wanted to have a friend at school who’s a member of the Church.”
“Yeah, great,” I mumbled. I knew that I should be happy, but I wasn’t.
The next day at school, I caught Tami watching me. Every time I glanced in her direction, she was looking at me. I wanted to say something to her, but I didn’t dare. Anyone who talked to her was teased all day long.
That night the phone rang. My dad answered, then covered the receiver with his hand. “Becca, it’s the missionaries. They want to know if you’ll sing a Primary song at Tami Cobb’s baptism on Saturday. Tami requested you.”
I didn’t know what to say. Tami knew I liked to sing, because I always volunteered to lead the class in “America the Beautiful” each morning. And just last week I sang a solo in music class for extra credit. Tami had me trapped. There was no good reason why I shouldn’t sing at her baptism—except one.
I looked at Mom. She was smiling and nodding her head. “I’ll play for you,” she volunteered.
I was doubly trapped. “Oh, all right,” I agreed reluctantly. At least no one else from school would be there to see.
At the baptism on Saturday, Elder Ryan spoke about the baptismal covenant as explained in the Book of Mormon. “When you are baptized, you promise Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ that you will bear one another’s burdens,” he explained, “and stand as a witness of God at all times, even until death.”
I remembered my dad reading those words* at my own baptism last year, but they didn’t bother me then.
“We are all children of the same Heavenly Father,” Elder Ryan continued. “That’s why we call each other ‘brother’ and ‘sister.’ When we are baptized, we also take upon us the name of Jesus Christ, which makes us brothers and sisters in the gospel, as well.”
As I sang my song, I sneaked a peek at Tami. She smiled at me. She was pretty when she smiled! It made me all warm inside, just looking at her.
I knew what I had to do.
At school Monday morning, Mrs. Simon picked us up from the gym as usual, and we began our single-file trek to our classroom to start the day. Travis whispered his usual line about Tami, and everyone began hopping over the red tiles. Except me. “Knock it off, you guys,” I said. “It isn’t funny.”
Mrs. Simon stopped and faced us. She raised her eyebrows at me and waited.
“Becca is Tami’s sister,” I heard Zachary whisper, followed by several snickers.
My face grew warm. Tami looked back at me, her eyes afraid—and hopeful.
“Would you like to repeat what you said so the whole class can hear you, Zachary?” Mrs. Simon asked.
Zachary shook his head.
My heart thumped as I raised my hand. I was going to keep my baptismal covenant and help bear Tami’s burden, even if it killed me. After all, red hair wasn’t the only thing we had in common. We were sisters.
“Yes, Becca?” Mrs. Simon said.
I swallowed hard. “Zachary said that I’m Tami Cobb’s sister.” I smiled at Tami. “And it’s true.”

The class bell rang, and a few stragglers darted quickly into their classrooms, leaving Jed Fischer stranded in a new school with a locker that wouldn’t open. For the fifth time he slowly turned through the numbers written on a slip of paper, but it wouldn’t open.
“What are you doing in the hall during class time?” a voice sternly barked behind him.
He turned, expecting to face an angry teacher, but instead found a girl his age sporting an impish grin.
“Scared you, didn’t I?” Her face was freckled and she had short, tossled, reddish-brown hair. Plopping her books in his arms, she took the paper giving his combination. After dialing the three numbers, she slammed the locker with her foot. The locker flew open.
“It sticks. You have to hit it.” She opened her own locker, next to his, and took her books from him.
“Thanks,” he said. “I just transferred here from Idaho.”
“Welcome to New York. I’m Pam Burgess.”
“My name is Jed Fischer.”
“I know. I work in the office in the afternoon. My family is very big for volunteer work,” she said, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice. “I looked at your records when they came here. I found out that you’re a junior, that your dad is a nuclear engineer transferred from Idaho to Brookhaven Lab, and that you’re a football player. Are you a Mormon?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re the only one in this school.”
“My sister goes here too. She’s a sophomore. So there’re two Mormons.”
“What’s her name?”
“Brenda.”
“Does she have curly hair like her brother?” Pam asked.
“No. That’s the curse of our family. The girls have straight hair.”
“Do you want to walk around, and I’ll give you the tour?” Pam asked, closing her locker.
“What about you?” he asked as they leisurely strolled the halls.
“My mom and dad both work in the city. Mom is in advertising. Dad’s a stockbroker. I see him about twice a month.”
They passed the cafeteria. The smell of tuna fish casserole invaded the hall.
“Nobody eats there,” she said.
“Somebody must.”
“Oh, sure, the losers.”
“Who are the losers?” he asked.
“There are just two kinds of people in the world, the winners and the losers. Didn’t you know that? You look to me like a winner.”
“Where do the winners eat?” he asked.
“We go to a little pizza place a couple of blocks from here. I’ll meet you at noon and show you.”
He met Pam at noon. They were joined by one other boy, Doug Cabot, who spent his time complaining about how rotten everything was.
The pizza shop was old. Two large fans resembling airplane propellers stuck from the ceiling. At noon the place was crowded with kids from school. All the booths were being used, and several people were jammed around the stand-up counter. After they had ordered, they stood and waited.
“I think we can sit down over there,” Doug said, looking at a small booth near the corner.
They walked over to the booth. There was just one boy in the booth. He was overweight and wore a pair of thick glasses that seemed to magnify his eyes to an observer. He ate his pizza without looking up, avoiding eye contact with any person in the room.
“Ernie, how’s it going?” Doug asked, his voice conveying a mood of cruelty.
The boy looked up with a weak smile.
“We saw you sitting all alone in this big booth, and we thought you might be nearly through.”
Ernie understood the threat. “You can sit here. I’m almost finished.”
Ernie stood up, grabbing his cardboard platter with pizza still on it, and started to leave the booth. Doug stood in his way.
“You sure gorge yourself, Ernie,” Doug said. “What’s it like to be fat? Since you have such a weight problem, would you mind if we borrowed a couple of slices to nibble on until our order is done?” Doug reached out and took a slice.
“Give him back his pizza, Doug,” Jed said firmly.
“Why? He’s letting me have it.”
“Leave him alone.”
“Are you a friend of his?” Doug asked. “Because if you are, you’re the only one he’s got.”
Pam broke the mounting tension. “Lay off, Doug. Our pizza is done.”
Doug stepped aside for Ernie to pass. About halfway to the door, somebody deliberately bumped Ernie’s arm and his pizza fell on the floor. Ernie knelt down, scraped up the mess, and threw it in the garbage can on his way out.
During lunch, Doug talked about the injustices committed against a group of people in South America.
Jed found out when he went to class that Pam was in his chemistry class. On that day they were having a lab. Each group was given a test tube with an unknown solution in it. The purpose of the lab was to determine what the unknown was by performing a series of chemical tests.
Pam invited Jed to work with her. “Nothing to it,” she smiled. She walked to the checkout counter in the back of the room and started talking to the lab assistant. The others in the class were testing for the unknown.
In a few minutes Pam came back with a slip of paper. “I found out what our unknown is. Just copy this down on your lab notebook.”
“What about the tests we’re supposed to perform?” Jed asked.
“All the reactions are negative except numbers 3 and 11.”
“Aren’t we going to do it?”
“What for? This is how I do all the experiments. If you want to be a hero and smell like hydrochloric acid, be my guest.”
Jed sheepishly signed his name to the report and turned it in.
As they walked downstairs to their lockers, she suggested driving to Montauk Point on the tip of Long Island.
She let him drive her car, a late model sports car. When they arrived, the wind was whipping up white caps on the incoming waves. The turbulent waves smashed against huge boulders, sending up geysers of spray.
They walked along a path that climbed up to a rocky precipice. Near the top they found a place where they could sit and watch the endless water.
“Most people come here in the summer,” she said, her arms wrapped around her legs. “Sometimes it seems like there are a million, and every one of them has a bag of potato chips and a bottle of suntan lotion. They gobble the chips, throw the bag on the beach, douse themselves with oil, and fry.”
They watched the clouds changing shapes as they swept across the sky.
“I like to come in the winter,” she continued, “after the wind and the breakers have ripped away all the debris, leaving it clean.”
She pointed out to him the silhouette of a freighter on the horizon.
“Hard to believe all this is an accident,” she said, observing the harsh beauty of the ocean.
“It didn’t just happen.”
“You seem sure of yourself.”
“I am,” he replied.
“Back in school or at home, I really get so I don’t care about God. But sometimes, when I walk here, there’s a feeling I get. It’s hard to explain, but a feeling that He’s there somewhere. But by the time I’m back in my car and stuck in traffic on the freeway, the feeling is gone.”
He studied her face as she talked. She was beautiful even with the wind scattering her hair. He felt as if he cared for her, not really like being her boyfriend, but more like a brother. It was a good, clean feeling, and he thought that she felt it too.
“Pam, I want to tell you about my church.”
They made a date for her to attend his ward on Sunday. When they returned to the car, the feeling was gone.
“Well, that turned into a real prayer group, didn’t it?” she said, embarrassed.
They made it back to his home at 7:30. Luckily his parents had gone out that night to have dinner with his father’s new boss. While Jed got out of the car, Pam slid over to the driver’s side, smiled, and drove away. When he walked in the house, his sister Brenda was standing at the window.
“Well, I don’t have to ask you how your first day of school went,” she teased. She was tall and graceful, looking like she could be a ballet dancer. Yet at home she preferred levis and an old long-sleeved shirt of Jed’s. The hardest thing about the move for her had been the sale of her quarter horse.
“Her name is Pam, and I think she’s interested in the Church.”
“Where have you been?”
“We went to Montauk Point. How was your day?”
“Not too bad, considering I don’t know anybody in the school.”
The next day after English class, Ernie walked over to Jed and said, “Thanks for trying to help me yesterday.” His eyes darted up to Jed’s face and then down again, uncertain of his standing.
“Sure.”
“They say you’re a Mormon. I’ve got an uncle who’s a Mormon. He joined a year ago. Is there a Mormon church on the island?”
“Several.”
“Can people who aren’t members go to it?”
“Yes.” Jed inwardly cringed at the thought of Pam seeing Ernie at church.
“I’d like to go this Sunday. My uncle keeps telling me how friendly the people are.”
“You can’t smoke on church property,” Jed said coolly.
“I know. I have a jacket with these pants. Is that okay to wear?”
Jed looked at the wrinkled, gray dress slacks with tiny cuffs. They must be ten years old, he thought to himself. “I guess so,” he said dryly.
It was only the second time that Jed had been to church in New York. After priesthood meeting he was in the hall putting on his jacket so that he could drive out to pick up Pam. Ernie walked in. His forehead was sweating, and he was puffing.
Elder Baker, one of the missionaries assigned to the ward, rushed Ernie shortly after he walked in, shaking his hand and welcoming him to church.
Jed reluctantly came out from the coat rack area and said hello to Ernie, “I see you made it,” he said. Ernie rambled on about missing an exit and going three miles out of his way. Jed looked nervously at his watch and excused himself.
Pam’s home was a three-story brick house set on a hill overlooking Long Island Sound. A maid answered Jed’s ring and showed him to the den. He sat and studied the wall of bookshelves; in the middle of the room was a large, natural-stone fireplace.
In a few minutes Pam appeared. It was the first time he had ever seen her dressed up. She looked beautiful and rich.
“What’s it going to be like?” she asked on the way. “Will you help me so I’ll know when to kneel or what to say?”
“It’s not like that. It’s very simple. More like a big family than anything. In fact, we teach that we’re all brothers and sisters. So if anyone calls you Sister Burgess, don’t faint.”
He took the exit from the freeway. “Oh, Pam, there’s one other thing. That fat kid, Ernie, cornered me in class, and well, he’s going to be in church too.”
She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Ernie?”
They got there late. Jed saw the elders taking Ernie to the investigator’s class, and so he decided to take Pam to the class for high school students.
Sacrament meeting was held immediately after Sunday School. It seemed extra long to Jed. The high council visitor was there. He talked about welfare and explained how he used to hoe sugar beets on a welfare farm in Utah as a boy. Jed counted him using poor grammar ten times during the talk. A young mother in front of them struggled with her two-year-old boy, feeding him soda crackers one at a time. Jed felt embarrassed about church for the first time in his life.
On the way home Pam talked enthusiastically about their summer home in Maine and how she’d like him to see it sometime when her folks took her there.
“Thanks,” she said as they pulled up in her driveway.
“I guess it seemed a little different from the church you usually go to,” he said.
“Yes, it did.”
“I’m sorry about the noise.”
“That’s okay. I guess it’s what you get used to.”
“Will you let the missionaries explain about our beliefs?”
She grinned. “I’m more interested in you than I am in your church.”
“It means a lot to me.”
“I’ll see,” she answered.
When Jed got home, Elder Baker and his companion were there.
“Ernie’s really ready for the gospel!” Elder Baker announced. “He wants to have the discussions. It’d be great if we could have them here so he could be fellowshipped.”
Jed’s mother agreed, and they arranged the first discussion for Tuesday evening.
“How about inviting that girl you brought to church to hear the lessons at the same time?”
“No, not with Ernie.”
The discussion on Tuesday was a success as far as the missionaries were concerned. After Ernie had left, Elder Baker said, “He’ll be baptized. Jed, you can really help him by fellowshipping. Eat lunch with him, take him to activity night, get to be friends with him.”
“A guy like that will never join the Church,” Jed said grimly.
“What do you mean by that?” his father challenged.
“Nothing,” Jed said, unwilling to get into an argument.
The next week Jed started on the next chemistry lab experiment, determined to quit his reliance on Pam’s friendship with the student lab assistant. He was still reading the complicated directions when Pam came back to where he was working.
“Sodium hydroxide,” she whispered in his ear.
“Go away. I’m busy.”
“The unknown is sodium hydroxide. But now that I’ve told you, it’s not unknown, is it? I’ve saved you two hours of work. Will you come home with me and help me fix my ten-speed?”
After they’d looked at the bike, she gave him a piece of cake. They sat and ate in the kitchen. The kitchen floor looked like it could have been used for a commercial about floor wax.
“My dad says he knew a Mormon in the service; he respects them.”
“Did you ask him about taking the missionary lessons?”
“I never ask him anything unless it costs money,” she answered.
“Well, are you going to take them?”
“I don’t know. Is it all that important?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Is good old Ernie going to be a Mormon?” she teased.
“No.”
“If he did, you’d have to call him Brother Ernie, wouldn’t you? And if I joined too, he’d call me Sister Pam. That’d be great,” she said cynically. “He’s a loser, Jed. Face it.”
That Friday night Pam’s parents took Jed and Pam to dinner with them in Manhattan. They ate at a Japanese restaurant where they removed their shoes and ate on bamboo mats in a small enclosed room. Afterwards they went to a Broadway play. They talked during intermission about inviting him up to see their summer cabin in Maine.
The next week the elders persuaded Jed to pick up Ernie for activity night. He and his mother lived in a housing development built for low-income people. Ernie’s mother was a tired-looking woman with a deep, hacking smoker’s cough.
They played volleyball that night. At first Ernie was just going to watch, but Brenda talked him into playing on her side. She stood next to him and instructed him about how to set up the ball for players in the front row to spike. When he missed, which he did frequently, she’d say, “That’s okay, Ernie,” or, “Nice try.” By the end of the first game, he was returning most of the serves hit to him. By the end of the second game, he was excited about the game, encouraging other players, and shouting when they gained a point.
Jed and Brenda drove him home after it was over. He joked with Brenda about his poor eyesight, telling how he stepped on his glasses once while he was looking for them. Jed was silent.
After they had let Ernie out at his home, Brenda started in with Jed. “The only time you paid any attention to Ernie was when you spiked the ball toward him.”
“He was the weakest member of your team. It was just good strategy.”
“You aren’t helping him any.”
“You’re wasting your time, Brenda. He’ll never join the Church.”
“But your precious Pam will?”
“Yes, in time she will.”
“My big brother is a dummy.”
“My little sister can’t face reality.”
“Jed, why do you ignore him?”
“How can anybody ignore him? He’s got bad breath.”
“Do you think you’re better than he is?” she asked.
“That’s not the point. If I can get Pam interested in the Church, the Church will be made stronger. She knows a lot of people. But she’ll never even look at the Church if Ernie is baptized.”
“So you’re just going to let Ernie go. His only chance, maybe, to hear the truth.”
“I picked him up tonight. Isn’t that enough?”
She was quiet for several minutes, and then, quietly, she asked, “What would the Savior do?”
“You’re not going to trap me,” Jed answered brusquely.
“Just tell me what He would do.”
“It’s more complicated than that. You don’t understand. If I get tied up with Ernie, I won’t have a friend in that whole school.”
“Because he’s fat.”
“Yes, and sloppy and clumsy.”
“Jed, you’re my big brother. I used to be proud of you, but I’m not sure that I like you very much anymore. You’ve changed. Pam’s changing you. Did you know that?”
“Tough,” Jed said angrily.
The next Monday when Pam and Jed met at their lockers, she invited him to come with her and her family for the weekend while they did some work on the cabin in Maine. The plans called for them to fly up Friday and return on Monday afternoon.
His parents were not happy about the plan. “You’re going to be missing two days of school. You’re already behind,” his mother said.
“What will you do about church on Sunday?” his dad asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll have to miss one time. It won’t kill me.”
“That’s not the point. Where are your priorities?” his dad asked.
After an hour’s discussion his dad finally said that Jed was getting old enough to make his own decisions, that he’d been taught what was right, and that he would be allowed to make his own decision.
Jed went to his room, knowing what he should decide, knowing what he was going to decide. After an hour of listening to his tapes, he walked downstairs and announced simply, “I’m going this weekend.”
The next night Elder Baker and his companion came over and announced that Ernie was to be baptized Saturday. “And he wants you to baptize him, Jed.”
There was an uneasy silence in the room. “I can’t,” Jed said. “I’m going with Pam and her parents to Maine for the weekend.”
“Oh,” Elder Baker said, looking at Jed’s parents.
The next day at school Jed decided the least he could do was to explain to Ernie why he wouldn’t be able to baptize him on Saturday.
“I’m sorry I can’t go to your baptism. Pam’s parents asked me up to their summer home in Maine.”
“Do you think you might be falling in love with her?” Ernie asked.
“What’s that to you?” Jed shot back.
“Nothing, I guess. Are you falling in love with her way of life?”
“Why?”
“I’ve got a friend in chemistry who says you and Pam are cheating.”
“Just on the labs,” Jed defended.
“Oh, just on the labs. I’ll be sure to tell him. I’m sure he’ll be much more interested in learning about the Church when I tell him you’re only cheating on the labs.”
“I’m going to make it up.”
“I don’t know if he’ll believe that, but I’ll tell him.”
Jed felt his face flush with embarrassment. “Anything else? I’m in a hurry.”
“Yes, one other thing,” Ernie replied, looking straight at Jed. “I guess you’re upset about my joining the Church, aren’t you?”
“No,” Jed said. “The Church is for everyone.”
“But you’d like to choose which of those everyones joins, wouldn’t you? A rich man, or a beautiful girl, an athlete, a talented artist, an influential politician. I’m not any of those things, am I? Do you think there’s room in your church for me?”
Jed felt stunned as if he’d been hit.
“For the first time in my life, I now have a reason to live. But you’ve always had that, haven’t you? It was very comfortable, wasn’t it? Having the truth while the rest of us stumbled in the dark. I’d like to know how you feel, Jed. Not that it matters, I guess, because I’m going to be baptized. Not because of your example, but in spite of it.”
Jed walked away. His face felt as if it were on fire.
He walked to a park, sat on a deserted park swing, and thought.
He went back at noon, ate in the cafeteria with Brenda, and for the first time they were able to talk again. After his last class, he met Pam at her locker.
“Pam, something has come up. I won’t be able to go with your family this weekend.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I’m going to baptize Ernie Saturday.”
“That’s more important than being with us in Maine?”
“Tell your parents I’m sorry.”
“I can’t believe you’d back out of this trip just so you can baptize that clown Ernie.”
“He’s my brother.”
“Then you’re a loser too,” she snapped, slamming her locker and walking away.
“Pam?” he called, when she was no more than 20 feet away.
She turned around, tearful yet defiant.
“Nobody’s born a loser. We make the losers, you and me, by the way we treat them. We carefully mold them each day of their lives. But to the Savior, nobody’s a loser.”
She shook her head, turned away, and walked quickly down the long hall.
Jed watched her go and then slowly walked up the stairs for what became a long conversation with his chemistry teacher.

One night my parents and maternal grandparents came to visit for family home evening. Each of my three children loves to participate, and on this night it was my seven-year-old son’s turn to give the lesson. We had prepared a small display, put up pictures about the Creation, and studied and reviewed what he would teach. My son was ready and excited.

During the lesson, we all listened attentively to what my son was explaining. When he finished, Samuel, who was about three, decided that he too wanted to give a lesson. So he took the pictures and the display and set them up again on the table.

In his soft voice and with his sometimes poorly pronounced words, Samuel gave us a family home evening lesson. And even though he hadn’t prepared, he had listened. He explained to us how the earth was created and told us of the love that Jesus Christ has for each of us.

We were astonished to see how easily he taught the lesson—doing so just like his brother had. My parents and grandparents were surprised and happy. We could all see the love these little children have for the gospel—and the love Jesus Christ has for them.

Lizbeth Sánchez Fajardo, Mexico

Several years ago at Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico, the participants were expressing gratitude to the ranch chairman, who happened to be me. They had asked my son, Scott, married with children, to say something. He came up on the stand, dressed in his Scout uniform, stood in front of me, raised his arm to the square in the Scout sign, and said:
“Dad, on my honor I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law; to help other people at all times; and to keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight” (see Boy Scout Handbook, Boy Scouts of America [1998]). He said it with sincerity and as an oath, tears glistening, his voice filled with emotion. I knew he meant it with all his heart and soul.
Before you take an oath, it’s important to know what it means. “On my honor” means that we will keep the oath—that our honor depends upon it. If we fail to keep the Scout Oath, we are violating a solemn promise. It continues, “… to do my duty to God.” This means, from a Church point of view, that we attend Church, pay tithing, accept callings, honor the priesthood, keep God’s commandments, and keep the standards of dress and conduct. Then the oath states, “… and my country.” Wherever we live in the world we should do our duty to our country by obeying the laws, sustaining good leaders, honoring the flag, and being good citizens.
An important part of the oath states, “… to obey the Scout Law.” The Scout Law is a wonderful model for life.
A Scout is trustworthy. Imagine if every Scout practiced this first principle of the Scout Law with all his heart. There are millions of Boy Scouts and leaders around the world. What a dramatic impact we could have on those around us if we all were trustworthy.
Each principle of the Scout Law is a sermon and demands action if we would live and practice the oath we take: a Scout is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent.
A Scout who takes the Scout Oath weekly should remember it is something he is committing his soul to. Imagine what a blessing it is to be loyal to Scouting, family, Church, country, and friends!
We take an oath to be friendly, kind, and courteous. At a national jamboree a 12-year-old Scout got separated from his patrol. He was standing alone in a sea of Scouts and about to break into tears. An older Scout saw him and went over and introduced himself. “I have a gift for you,” the older boy said. “It is a hand-carved bolo tie. A great Scouter, Bill Burch, carved it. He numbers each one. He has carved over 40,000.”
The older Scout presented the tie to the young scared Scout. About that time the patrol found the boy. They gathered around him, and for a few moments he was the center of attention with his new bolo tie. The tears had disappeared; he felt important. The older Scout had truly been friendly.
Not one of the 12 points mentioned in the Scout Law is selfish; the prophets of God in the Book of Mormon and other scriptures have taught each point. I believe the Scout Oath is an inspired oath for all young men.
For example, to be obedient is a great and wonderful blessing. It is a privilege to be obedient. It is not a “have to do” because of the standards; it is a “get to do.” We really are free when we are obedient to God’s commandments and to the Scout Law.
It is a blessing, as well, to be cheerful. I recall Elder Loren C. Dunn (1930–2001) of the Seventy several years ago suggesting in a talk “that a certain man looked like he had been weaned on lemon juice through a dill pickle.” Cheerfulness is contagious and is a strong positive influence for good. People enjoy being around others who are happy. In Proverbs we read, “A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance” (Prov. 15:13). Also it states, “A merry heart doeth good like a medicine” (Prov. 17:22).
If being cheerful is good for the soul, being thrifty is good for our financial well-being. Wastefulness and indulgence are not of God. They are negative influences and have serious consequences on us by and by. When we are thrifty we are self-reliant, able to be free to assist those in need. Scouting instructs us to be wise with our resources.
Profound knowledge and direction come from the Scout Law. A Scout is brave, clean, and reverent. Bravery is usually not sensational, although it may be. Bravery is manifest in many small acts, such as defending a young man against those who would mock or physically abuse him. It is standing up for an ideal and letting your voice be heard.
Bravery is a trait every young man can develop. It is based on love for others more than safety for self. One Venturer Scout who is blind signed up to go on a hike in southern California with his Scout troop. They hiked to Lord Baden Powell Peak over a steep trail. The young man held on to the shirt of a fellow Boy Scout every step of the way. It was a long hike and took two full days. This boy did not complain, did not seek pity, just kept grinding on and on until they came to the trail’s end. Equally as brave was the Scout who volunteered to lead his friend over a steep and challenging trail. He felt honored to help.
The traits of cleanliness and reverence complement each other. To be clean refers to body cleanliness, clean clothing, being well groomed and wearing appropriate attire.
To be reverent demands that we acknowledge God, that by our actions we express our devotion to Him. Reverence for the Lord has a profound impact on our conduct, our language, our personal prayers, and our standards. It is interesting that reverence is the 12th point in the Scout Law. It sums up all the others. Violating any of the other 11 points would be irreverent.
We declare in the Scout Oath that we will “help other people at all times.” A 12-year-old Scout went to troop meeting at Mutual one Tuesday evening. When Mutual was over, he did not show up at home for about an hour and a half. His parents were concerned and were about to go look for him when he came through the door. “Where have you been?” the anxious father asked.
“One of the members of the bishopric was putting up the chairs all alone,” he replied. “You remember my patriarchal blessing states, ‘You were born to serve your fellow men.’ I stayed and helped him put away all the chairs. I sure love him.”
We do love those we serve. Imagine millions of men and boys helping other people at all times.
If we are true to the oath, we will also keep ourselves “physically strong.” We will eat wholesome foods, stay in good physical condition, and not abuse this wonderful body we have. Physical health brings happiness. It increases our capabilities in so many ways.
The Scout Oath includes being “mentally awake.” We must have good health to be mentally awake. Our eyes reflect whether we are awake or not. To be mentally awake we must see what is going on around us. We must be alert and aware.
The oath concludes with being “morally straight,” which means we do not deviate or compromise standards of chastity, virtue, or wholesomeness. We stand on higher ground and remain morally clean. A Scout who makes an oath that he will be morally straight is duty bound to live that way. The Scout Oath prepares us for the priesthood oath and covenant. Virtue is an essential part of our priesthood oath.
Think with me about President Gordon B. Hinckley, President Thomas S. Monson, and President James E. Faust taking the Scout Oath. Can you think of anything in the oath that they are not living daily? Do the other great men you know—your fathers, bishops, stake presidents, seminary teachers, and Scout leaders—live in harmony with the Scout Oath? They do.
Fellow Scouts, remember the sacredness of an oath. It is violated only to the detriment of your character. By living the Scout Oath and preparing for the oath and covenant of the Melchizedek Priesthood, you are truly preparing yourself to serve God, your fellow man, your family, and your community. Taking the Scout Oath is a sacred trust endorsed by the First Presidency. Living the Scout Oath will help you become the kind of man God can use in building His kingdom on earth.