Gospel Story Finder

Long ago there lived a stonecutter who every morning took his mallet and chisel to hew slabs of rock from the mountainside. When he had hauled them home, he would polish the rocks and sell them. He was very good at his work, and so there was always plenty for him to do, and he was contented.
One day when he carried a finely polished block of stone to the house of a rich man, he saw all sorts of beautiful things that he had never seen before.
“Oh!” he cried. “I wish I might have a beautiful home like this one and sleep in a bed as soft as down.” Discontented, he picked up his tools and started home.
The spirit of the mountain heard the stonecutter’s wish. When he arrived home, instead of the poor little hut he had left in the morning, there stood a wonderful palace. Inside, it was as full of beautiful furniture as the rich man’s house. The stonecutter slept that night on a bed as soft as down.
When he awoke, he decided not to work anymore, and he looked out his window to see who was going by. As he watched, a fine carriage drawn by snow-white horses rolled along. There were servants running in front and behind, and a prince sat inside with a golden canopy over his head. The stonecutter was discontented again.
“Oh!” he declared. “I wish I were a prince with a carriage such as that and could ride under a golden canopy.”
No sooner had he made the wish than it came to pass! He was a prince, he had servants dressed in purple and gold, and he drove through the streets in a carriage with a golden canopy.
For a while he was happy. Then one day he noticed that the sun was wilting his grass and flowers, even though he had watered them. “The sun is mightier than I am,” he said. “I wish to be the sun.”
The spirit heard him, and the stonecutter was changed into the sun. He felt proud and mighty to be so great and bright in the sky. He burned the fields of rich and poor alike. Then one day a cloud covered his face, and he was again filled with discontent.
“The cloud is mightier than I. I would be the cloud!” he cried angrily.
So the mountain spirit changed him into a cloud, and he lay content for a while between the sun and the earth. He caught the sunbeams and would not let them go. He began pouring down rain until the rivers overflowed and the crops were spoiled. Whole towns were washed away. But he could not move the mountain.
“Is the mountain stronger than I am?” he asked the spirit. “If so, I will be the mountain.”
At once the spirit changed him into a rocky mountain. For years he proudly stood, raising his head high above the other cliffs. Neither the sun nor the rain harmed him. Then one day he heard a sharp tap-tapping, and he saw a stonecutter working with his sharp tools, cutting into the mountainside. He felt a trembling inside him.
“Who is this cutting into me? I would be that man,” he wished.
And he became a man once more, the same poor stonecutter he was before. Once again he lived in a hut and worked from morning to night. Yet he had never felt more content, for he had learned that it’s the steady tap-tapping that moves mountains.

A Young Women teacher had a blind girl in her class whose participation was limited because she could not study in the usual way. The teacher would go to the girl’s home and read out loud while the girl translated her Personal Progress book into braille. The work took two years. The teacher also encouraged the other girls in the class to help. Under her direction, they went to the blind girl’s home and read to her from the manual until it was translated into braille.
The Master’s touch through that teacher reached out and blessed not only this girl but many others who are blind, because the braille translation was made available at the general offices of the Young Women organization.

“Before I was eight years old, I sometimes walked in my sleep. I would get up at night without knowing it and do strange things. One night I went to a neighbor’s home and told them that my parents weren’t home. Another time, I walked into a neighbors’ home in the middle of the night and gave them a bunch of daisies because they had just had a new baby. When I learned about what I had done, I became very frightened and couldn’t sleep at night. My mother suggested that I pray about my problem. She prayed with me that I would be able to sleep without sleepwalking. From then on, I was able to sleep without fear. Praying and receiving that help was a personal, spiritual experience for me.”

As he plows his farm today, Paulo still tries to plant gospel seeds by singing hymns for his neighbors, and he still travels 40 kilometers to church in Guarapuava. But now he travels with Rita and their son, Saulo, at his side, and rather than leave early Sunday morning, they take the last bus of the week late Friday night. After spending the weekend associating with the Saints and attending Sunday meetings, they return by bus to the farm on Monday morning—happy to have gone where the Lord would have them go.

When Heber J. Grant was a new Apostle, he traveled with a group of brethren to Arizona to visit the Native Americans there.
Heber: Look, the path splits in two. Is the other one safe?
Companion: A rider can travel it, but it’s too muddy for wagons.
Heber: Why don’t the rest of you drive on while I take this path? I’ll meet up with you soon.
Heber wanted to be alone. He felt discouraged and unworthy.
Heber: I shouldn’t testify of the Savior. I’m not fit to be an Apostle.
As he pondered, a vision of heaven appeared in his mind. The Savior, the Prophet Joseph Smith, his own father, and other men he knew were deciding who the new Apostles should be. Heber was one of those decided on.
After that, he could bear testimony with confidence.
Heber: I know that Jesus lives.
President Grant spoke of this experience years later.
Heber: I have never doubted my testimony since. I have had only joy in bearing it. I know that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that Joseph Smith is a prophet of the living God.

“This is going to be great!” Sterling said as he looked out the truck window. The sun was just rising over the horizon. The range stretched as far as he could see, full of sagebrush, a few twisted cedar trees, and one lonely cabin.
“Yeah!” his friend Glen said back. “I can’t wait to ride the range with Marcus.”
“And eat his famous sourdough biscuits,” Sterling said.
Sterling’s dad drove up to the cabin and parked the truck. He was dropping them off to help Marcus with their families’ cattle. The boys ran to the cabin as the 70-year-old cowherder walked out, smiling big. A cowboy hat covered his head.
“Here are my cowhands!” Marcus said. “I was starting to think you wouldn’t make it. I’m sure glad to see you.” Marcus spoke a few minutes with Sterling’s dad, then waved as the dust settled behind the truck.
Marcus fed them breakfast—delicious sourdough biscuits, eggs, and bacon. Then they saddled their horses and began riding the range, looking for cattle who were wandering. They set out big blocks of salt for the cattle to lick so they would be healthy.
After lunch they rode under the cloudless sky to a far corner of the range. It was hot and dusty, so Marcus led them to a spring of water to have a drink and cool off. Soon they were ready to get back to work.
But as Marcus swung his leg over his horse, his sharp spurs accidentally hit the horse under the tail. The horse bucked and threw Marcus to the ground on top of a big rock. Marcus screamed in pain.
“Marcus!” yelled Glen.
“Are you OK?” said Sterling.
“I can’t move,” Marcus moaned. Then his eyes closed. He had passed out!
The boys looked at each other, eyes wide. “What should we do?” said Sterling.
“We need to find someone to help us,” said Glen. “He needs a doctor.”
Sterling and Glen were scared. They were miles away from other people and didn’t have phones to call for help. They didn’t even know exactly where they were.
“I’ll be right back,” Sterling said. He walked around a pile of rocks, knelt in the dirt, and bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, Marcus is really hurt, and we don’t know how to help. Please let me know what to do.”
Sterling heard a clear voice in his head. Ride north.
He hurried back to Glen and Marcus. “I’m going to find help,” he said to Glen. “You stay here with Marcus.” Glen looked relieved.
Sterling climbed on his horse and started riding north. After about an hour of nothing but sky and sagebrush, he saw a cloud of dust in the distance. A truck was coming slowly across the range. Sterling galloped to the truck and waved it down. It was two sheepherders looking for their lost sheep!
Sterling told them about Marcus. The sheepherders knew where the spring was and drove right to Marcus and Glen. They carefully lifted Marcus into the back of the truck and drove him to the hospital. Sterling and Glen took the horses back to Marcus’s cabin and waited for their parents to pick them up.
“Thank you, Heavenly Father,” Sterling prayed quietly. “Thank you for helping us help Marcus.”
A few months later, Sterling saw Marcus after his broken bones had healed. “There’s my brave, smart cowhand!” Marcus said. “Thanks for saving my life with your quick thinking.”
Sterling smiled. He was glad Marcus was OK. “It wasn’t me,” he said. “I was just following Heavenly Father’s directions.”

The world today is dangerous and filled with temptations. After reading President Hinckley’s talk, I felt more strongly than ever that I must obey the teachings of the Church. The B that is especially important for me right now is “Be true.”
When school started this year, I made some new friends. One day I had the opportunity to talk about the gospel. I remembered the video I saw at church about the six B’s. While watching that video I was filled with a spirit of peace that assured me, “You can talk about the Church with confidence.” When the opportunity came, I was able to do so. I am thankful for that chance.
Reading the talk in the Liahona (Japanese) later, I noticed the well-known phrase “To thine own self be true.” When some sort of big decision needs to be made, these words lead me to the correct path. The other B’s are also important, but most of all I want to be true to myself.
Sakura Kajihara, age 15,Izumi Ward, Sendai Japan Stake

A mother was busily preparing dinner when her little boy burst into the kitchen. “Mother, will you play darts with me?” “Just-a-minutes” didn’t seem to satisfy the little boy, so the mother followed him down the basement stairs. As they came into the playroom, she said, “I don’t know the rules or how to play.” “Oh, it’s not hard at all,” he beamed confidently. “I just stand right here and throw the darts, and you stand over there and say, ‘Wonderful! Wonderful!’” Pretty easy rules to remember, aren’t they?

At the finish line Paula Hurtado, 14, helped her special friend, Jamie, to hold the crepe paper ribbon across the road. Jamie has cerebral palsy, is retarded, and has always been confined to a wheelchair. She was unable to enter any of the races, but cheered her brother on to a gold medal.
“She is really special,” said Paula. “I think she is having a lot of fun. I brought her cookies last week. I was kind of scared, but this is fun,” she added.
The other end of the ribbon was held by Amber. Her three buddies for the day were Cindy Hunt, 12, Nicole Hardin, 17, and Jennifer Hurtado, 15. Amber, too, has cerebral palsy. Although she has no use of her limbs, she is learning to walk with a special walker which surrounds her. She understands those who talk to her, but cannot respond without the aid of a special communications board.
“She points to pictures on the board to talk to us. Sometimes we answer, but sometimes we point back to her board,” said Cindy Hunt.
Amber is so handicapped that she will never qualify to enter the real Special Olympics. But on this day she was helped into her walker and heard a hundred kids cheer as she made her way, alone, down the race track after the others had finished. It is the only race she will ever run, the only medal she will ever earn.

When Julie accepted an assignment to spend a morning serving in a Church-operated food processing plant, she decided to invite Shawna to go with her. Shawna had only come to church a few times in the years since she had moved into the neighborhood. Julie and Shawna had a great time serving together at the plant. Not long after, Julie and Carl planned a game night for home evening. They decided to invite Shawna’s family to join them. Because Julie had thought to include Shawna in these activities that she was already planning, the two developed a deeper relationship. Later, when Shawna faced some challenges, she reached out to Julie’s husband, Carl, for a priesthood blessing.

Meaningful ministering can happen when we find simple ways to show our love, share our faith in Jesus Christ, and invite others to come to Him and join us—even in things we were going to do anyway.

I don’t remember not having a testimony; I’ve always believed the gospel to be true. But I recall a very stormy day in Utica, New York, in 1946 when I was on my mission. It was so bitterly cold and windy that we couldn’t tract.
Utica is in the area of the birthplace of the Church, and many there have heard ugly tales that are sometimes circulated about early Church leaders. My companion and I heard them frequently as we were tracting. Some of them upset me—not that I believed them, but I didn’t know enough to combat them. And so I got a copy of A New Witness for Christ in America, by Francis Kirkham.
I began to study that book with the Book of Mormon with particular respect to the beginnings of the Church in my mission area. As I read, it seemed as if I could almost place myself in those earlier settings, with Joseph and the men who loved him.
One stormy day while I was studying, I began to ponder and worry again about the stories I had heard. The sweetest Spirit came over me, just as though someone had poured warm oil over me. I sat there for several minutes. My companion, an older man, was sitting in the corner of the room, and I secretly prayed that he wouldn’t speak to me while I still felt that wonderful spirit. It lasted for several minutes. There was a deep, wonderful conviction that the Book of Mormon and the things I was teaching were true.
Now, years later, I understand the gospel much better and my love for the Savior is even stronger—but I won’t know any better when I die than I knew at that moment that the gospel is true. I guess I had grown up just assuming that it was, but until then my testimony had never been tested. I’m grateful that the Lord gave me that wonderful experience, which told me that all those things that I had believed and accepted since my youth are true.

Second, your mission president is the Lord’s representative. Do not criticize or demean him, privately or publicly. If you will respect his authority, be obedient, humble, teachable, and follow the mission rules, you will be a successful missionary. For instance, one of the hardest rules to follow is to get up in the morning when your mission president directs. Many young men think the best time to sleep is in the morning. I’m grateful to my obedient senior companion, Elder William Grant Bangerter, who would set the alarm clock to get up early. When the alarm went off, it would jangle my nerves. In the winter it was dark, damp, and cold, and we never had any hot water for bathing or showering. He would cheerfully shower in that cold water; I would start to shiver as soon as he got out of the shower. I could not do anything but follow his example, but I have to confess that I was not quite as cheerful because my teeth were chattering.

“Not again!” Howard gasped, sick at heart, as he peeked from behind the bushes in his neighbor’s yard. But no one heard his quiet plea, and the neighborhood boys again stuffed the soaked, terrified kitten back into the sack. One boy gave the sack a hefty toss, and again it flew into the canal.
This time, however, the kitten could barely struggle free. As the sack and kitten floated down the canal, the boys finally lost interest.
As soon as the boys turned their backs, Howard dashed from behind the bushes, jumped the neighbor’s fence, and raced to the kitten’s aid. The poor animal could barely meow, and Howard had no trouble fishing it out of the canal and wrapping it gently in his shirttail. As Howard hurried home, tears filled his eyes. He prayed that the kitten would somehow survive.
“Howard William Hunter, what have you got there?” Dorothy, Howard’s younger sister, asked him. She stood on the front porch, hands on hips, trying to look as stern as she thought her mother would.
“Howard William Hunter,” his mother echoed, coming up behind Dorothy. “What have you got there?” She placed her hands on her hips as the screen door banged shut behind her. Both mother and daughter looked at him expectantly.
Howard was still too upset to speak. Instead, he carefully unwrapped the kitten.
“Oh my goodness!” Mother exclaimed, covering her mouth in surprise. Shaking her head, she gently placed a hand on Howard’s shoulder. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she explained to her tenderhearted son, “I know how much you love animals, Howard, but I’m afraid we can’t save this poor kitten.”
“Mother, we have to try!” Howard wailed. “We have to!”
Mother thought for a moment. “Come on, Howard. I think I know what to do.” She turned and hurried into the house.
Inside the hall closet, Mother found an old quilt and a small wooden box and placed them on the kitchen table. Howard and Dorothy watched as their mother lined the box with the quilt. “Now, give me the kitten,” she told Howard. He quietly placed the animal in her gentle hands, and she wrapped it in the quilt. “We’ll put the box where it’s warm,” she said, sliding it carefully under the stove.
“Now what should we do?” Dorothy asked.
“Be very quiet,” Mother said, putting her finger to her lips. “Play outside, and don’t be noisy in the house. We’ll let the kitten rest and see if it’s better in the morning.”
“How will we know if it’s all right?” Howard wondered.
“Don’t worry.” Mother smiled and patted him on the back. “We’ll know.”
Howard didn’t sleep well that night. He dreamed that the neighborhood boys had found the kitten under the stove and were trying to steal it.
Before the sun came up the next morning, Howard heard meowing. He sat straight up in bed and rubbed his eyes. When the kitten meowed again, he raced to the kitchen.
The kitten had climbed out of the box and was meowing for its mother as it wandered around the kitchen. Howard dropped onto the floor beside the kitten, who looked up hopefully into Howard’s eyes. He gently patted the kitten’s soft, warm fur. “I’ll get you some milk,” Howard said, taking a saucer from the cupboard. He poured some milk from the tin can in his mother’s cool pantry, and set the saucer in front of the hungry kitten.
“It’s going to be just fine now,” Mother said as she came into the kitchen and saw the kitten hungrily lapping up the milk. “That was a wonderful thing you did, Howard.”
Howard smiled up at his mother. He felt warm inside as he watched the kitten drink.

SAN FERNANDO, CALIFORNIA—At 6:01 A.M. February 9, an earthquake shook southern California. Within minutes a major population center in North America had been seriously affected. More than one thousand persons were injured, over sixty persons killed—two of them Latter-day Saints—hundreds of homes and business buildings were destroyed and many others greatly damaged. In the following twenty-four hours, more than a hundred tremors were felt. Hundreds of Latter-day Saints spent the next several days with other Latter-day Saint families who had opened their homes to them. Many home teachers immediately went into action. Fifteen-year-old Crystal Berrett of Sylmar Ward, San Fernando Stake, gives a firsthand report of what it was like to be caught in the quake.
I rose from bed at 5:00 A.M. as usual to get ready for seminary. There were no special feelings or fears that morning, only the usual “Hope I’m ready on time,” “I hate this last-minute rushing,” and “Have I studied enough for the test in history?” Just another day.
My ride came and I was ready, although something bothered me. While I had been getting ready, my small poodle had whined and pawed at my leg. I had tried everything to calm her but it was impossible, so I had just left, not knowing what else to do.
We reached the chapel (that’s where we hold seminary). We were quite early. We got our books and were seated. The other kids staggered in with half-opened eyes. I love seminary as I know all my friends do, and we wouldn’t miss it—but it sure is early!
Most of us were seated and just waiting for our teacher, Varge Christensen, to quiet the usual last-minute whispers and begin. Suddenly I heard a great rumbling sound like a wave—only it was ten times greater! My chair began rocking back and forth. I turned to my girl friend, Cindy Kelley, and said, “Wow! This is really outasight!”
I had never felt a real earthquake before. People now and then would talk about them, and I had wanted to experience one. The next thing I knew the lights went off and I was lifted in the air and dropped violently on my back. I felt someone underneath me and attempted to get to my feet. I was tossed toward one wall, then toward the other wall, all the while trying to dodge flying chairs. My one thought was to escape from the building. It wasn’t so outasight anymore!
Our teacher told us later that he had yelled at us to get out onto the lawn, but I don’t recall hearing anything but that great rumbling. It was the most terrifying experience I have ever been through, and I immediately began praying. I was unable to get up off the floor, and I was afraid that any second the walls and ceiling would come down on me.
We all finally made it to the safety of the grass outside the chapel, and we lay there watching the building sway. With the exception of some bruises, no one was hurt or injured. All the kids were great, trying to help and calm each other. Our one thought now was to get back home to our families.
I knew it was an earthquake, a bad one, but I didn’t realize how bad until some of the parents came rushing to the church in tears, saying that their houses were in ruins, that there hadn’t been one thing left on a wall or shelf or one piece of furniture left in its original position. After I heard this I didn’t even think to cry; I just looked into the sky, now filled with smoke from fires, and asked the Lord to please let me get to my family.
As we started out from the chapel and saw the various buildings and shopping centers that were for the most part totaled-out, many thoughts crossed my mind, and I wondered if my family and home would even be there. As I think back, I’m sure Clyde Cowan and Cindy Kelley must have had the same thoughts, because we rode in complete silence.
There were big cracks in the road, and a big light fixture fell from a pole just after we had passed under it. As we turned up my street, I could see that there had been a shake, but the houses appeared to be undamaged—at least I thought they were fine until my mother, half-crying, half-numb, showed me the inside of our house. It was unbelievable. It looked as though everything in the house had been piled up, crushed, and then stirred. But our family was alive, without injuries, and our house was at least livable.
The home of my best friend, Becky Christensen, was completely demolished. It was a two-story home that was almost made into a one-story in less than a minute.
I talked with Becky later and asked her how she felt about her house. She answered, smiling, “They’re only material things. My family and friends are all right.” Becky’s family has been camping out in the backyard since the earthquake, and she said to me, “Chris, campcrafter is really worthwhile. You really need it.” (Campcrafter is a proficiency level to which MIA girls may attain in camping expertise.)
When we finally got the news on a transistor radio, we learned about the destruction of the Olive View and Veteran’s hospitals. They were in ruins. I have been a candy striper at Olive View for the past two months, and I was going to miss school that very morning in order to watch surgery. If the earthquake had struck just one hour later, I might have been in ruins with the hospital.
This earthquake is by far the most terrifying experience I have ever had, yet in other ways the most rewarding. I’ve learned that such things as houses, cars, furniture, and clothes are only material things and not so important after all. They may take twenty years to get and pay for, yet in less than one minute they can be destroyed. Many people cried over the loss of their beautiful mirrors and expensive china. My mother said that she and Dad had invested most of their time and money in their seven children, and the Lord had preserved them, so they were very grateful. We haven’t had water or gas or electricity or phones, but we have our year’s supply of food stored for just such an emergency, so we haven’t really suffered. It’s been kind of fun sitting by the fire in the darkness at night.
The greatest lesson I’ve learned is what a wonderful blessing it is to be able to pray to God when you are really scared and to have the feeling that he is there and that he hears you and will help you.

Our stake in Venezuela decided to organize a soccer tournament for the Aaronic Priesthood youth. This activity had more than one purpose, including building friendships and strengthening the various priesthood quorums.
The stake leaders said that only the young men of each ward or branch were allowed to participate and they were to encourage new members and less-active members to join them so they would have full teams for each age group. In our ward there were only two deacons, one teacher, and a few priests.
My son, José Francisco, whom we lovingly call “Junior,” was part of the deacons quorum, with his good friend Oscar Alejandro. It was obvious that there were not enough boys to participate in the soccer tournament. So they worked with the missionaries and ward leaders to find all of the less-active youth. They spent time each week seeking out these young men, encouraging them and gaining their trust. Because of the efforts of this pair of 12-year-old boys, they were able to get enough young men for a team. One of the miracles that resulted from their efforts was that our ward gained several more active youth!
During the week they would pick up their new friends and then practice on a community field. It was a lot of work, and they were always tired. They had little coaching or strategy, but the young men didn’t let that stop them. They were happy with what they were doing.
At last, the first day of the competition arrived. Our valiant team of deacons arrived at the stake center. They didn’t have much of a crowd to cheer them on, nor did they have a coach to help them or uniforms like most of the other teams. But they played with enthusiasm, unity, and love.
They lost the first game by a landslide. But they didn’t give up, and the entire stake began to encourage them, saying that the boys were such good examples.
Junior was the goalkeeper. He defended the goal with such fervor that the balls he blocked left marks on his hands. That night at home, he told me that his hands really hurt and that he needed some gloves. We got out our savings so we could buy him a pair of gloves. But the gloves at the store were more than we could afford, so we had to buy some fabric gardening gloves. He took them with much gratitude.
I don’t know where his team got the motivation to continue. They were last in the rankings, but they kept playing.
Finally it was time for the elimination rounds. Due to the lack of deacons in the stake, this valiant group was able to play in the finals, but they played against a practiced team whose coach was a very good player. He had spent a lot of time working with his team. They were the top team; they had matching uniforms and exhibited the discipline that came from training. Their coach likely felt confident about winning the game because my son’s team was not very good.
My husband had just returned from a trip, so he decided to help the deacons. He encouraged them, gave them some pointers, and surprisingly they won. So they were able to face the other stake team. Our young men won again!
When the game ended, everyone applauded. The crowd could hardly believe that those young men were able to win first place in the deacon’s category and third place in the stake for the entire Aaronic Priesthood.
This experience taught us about principles and eternal truths that would serve us here in this life. The young men of the stake were examples of love, activation, perseverance, enthusiasm, and working together as a team. They demonstrated the true objective of the activity. They built bonds of friendship with others.

That is no way to listen to conference. I have since repented. I have grown to love general conference, I’m sure partly because of my mother’s love for the words of the living prophets. I remember listening to the sessions of a particular conference all alone in an apartment while I was in college. The Holy Ghost witnessed to my soul that Harold B. Lee, the President of the Church at that time, was truly a prophet of God. This happened before I went into the mission field, and I was excited to testify of a living prophet because I had come to know for myself. I have had that same witness about each of the prophets since that time.

Until last month, Heath Edwards had one killer of a schedule. Each weekday morning during the school year Heath’s alarm would go off at 4:30 A.M. That’s 4:30 in the morning. The sun isn’t even close to being up at 4:30, school isn’t for another three hours, and the temptation to push the snooze bar is a real one. That is unless you happen to be a world-class swimmer with designs on making the 1996 United States Olympic team. If you want to swim in the Olympics, you don’t stay under the covers.
So Heath, a 17-year-old from Columbia, South Carolina, would leap—okay, he’d roll—out of bed and get ready for another trip to the pool. Harbison Recreation Center, located about a mile from the Edwards’s home, has been kind of Heath’s home away from home for the last five years. If he wasn’t at his parents’ house, the first place you’d want to check is at Harbison, where there is a better-than-average chance you’d find Heath either in the swimming pool or in the weight room.
Thirty minutes after getting up to another dark morning, Heath, his close friend Elizabeth Peake, and the rest of the Harbison Aquatic Team members would jump in the pool, and that’s how each weekday would begin.
After the 90-minute workout, Heath and Elizabeth would go to the Dutch Fork Ward building for their 6:45 seminary class. There’s no need to call it early-morning seminary. If 6:45 is early morning, what does that make 4:30? Brother James Daves’s class would end around 7:30, and Heath and Elizabeth would go their separate ways. Heath would hop in the family’s Plymouth Horizon, run home, knock down some breakfast, and then head to Irmo High. Meanwhile, Elizabeth would go across town to Lexington High. The just-completed 1993–94 school year was the fourth year Heath had this schedule. It was Elizabeth’s first.
“I used to go to the pool and then go home before going to school,” Elizabeth remembers. Of course that was before she became a member of the Church. And it’s Heath’s, uh, fault Elizabeth added an extra hour to her already-busy schedule.
“You know how a lot of guys cuss?” Elizabeth asks. “Well, Heath wasn’t like that. And he was really nice to everyone. He was just different from any guy I’d ever met. But I didn’t know he was a Mormon at first.”
She soon found out. And before long, Heath was inviting Elizabeth to ward parties and dances. Then one Sunday Heath took Elizabeth to the Dutch Fork Ward sacrament meeting because his mother was singing. “I liked church a lot. I liked how members would bear their testimonies, and how the congregation would give the sermons. I eventually started going with him every Sunday,” Elizabeth says.
The more she heard and saw, the more interested she became. Eventually, Elizabeth requested that Heath arrange for her to be taught by the missionaries. After listening to the missionary discussions for several weeks, Elizabeth asked Heath, who had just been ordained a priest, if he would baptize her.
“When Elizabeth got baptized, it was probably the most spiritually uplifting experience I’ve ever had,” Heath says. “It was too great to describe when I baptized her. And I know Elizabeth knows this Church is true. It’s a great feeling to know I introduced her to the Church because of the way I acted.”
That’s how Elizabeth came to add an extra hour to her morning routine, a routine that ended for Heath last month when he graduated from both Irmo High and from seminary.
Next month, Elizabeth will begin her senior year of high school, but it will be different. She’ll have her usual 4:30-in-the-morning routine. She just won’t have Heath there with her. In August, Heath will leave Columbia for his freshman year at the University of Georgia. He’s accepted a swimming scholarship at the Athens, Georgia, school, and is a prized addition to the Bulldog swimming program. How valuable is this guy? Last year, Heath had the fastest 200-yard butterfly time in the United States for his age group (17–18), and he also recorded the third fastest 100-yard butterfly time.
He was the 200 butterfly national champion in 1993, and finished second in 1992. He’s competed in the United States Olympic Festival, and he was recruited by several different universities. A lot of college swimming coaches wanted Heath to swim at their schools, and he had a huge decision to make when it came to choosing a college to attend. In the next two years, he’ll be making a few more decisions.
In November of 1993, Heath signed his letter of intent to attend Georgia, and he’s already committed to swimming for the Bulldogs through the 1995–96 season—his sophomore year. If things work out according to plan, he’ll be competing in the 1996 Summer Olympics in nearby Atlanta, Georgia. After that, he wants to go on a mission, whether he makes the Olympics or not.
“I’m definitely planning on going on a mission. Right after my sophomore year, depending on how close or how far I am from making the Olympic team, I’ll talk to my parents about what I’m going to do about a mission,” Heath explains.
Although a full-time mission is still a few years away, Heath’s current timetable hasn’t stopped him from sharing the gospel anyway. Elizabeth is an example of that, and so is Elizabeth’s mother, Sandy. Fourteen months after Elizabeth’s September 1992 baptism, Heath baptized Sandy.
“I knew Sister Peake felt the Spirit. She would always come to church with Elizabeth or when my mom invited her. Then she came to me one day and told me she wanted to get baptized. Nobody else knew,” Heath says. “She wanted to surprise Elizabeth and everybody else.”

Last October when my teachers quorum was learning about becoming more Christlike, we served some families in our ward. During the Duty to God lesson that month,* we talked about the many examples of service in Christ’s life. We also read Doctrine and Covenants 20:53, which says that one of a teacher’s priesthood responsibilities is to watch over and strengthen the Church. Together, we thought of some ways we could do this through service.
For example, as a quorum we mowed our bishop’s lawn. We also visited an elderly man in our ward, which was fun because he told us stories about his life and shared some lessons he’d learned. Both of these experiences made me feel great. As a quorum, we also completed the “Serve Others” section in the Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet. I felt like an instrument in Heavenly Father’s hands, and I felt like I was coming closer to Heavenly Father as we served.

Eighteen-year-old Annie Smith wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and looked back across the railroad bridge she and her students had just crossed. The students were from her one-room schoolhouse in Porterville, Utah. They were a variety of ages and sizes; some students were even older than she was. She was glad to see the older ones helping the younger ones along the tracks. It was a beautiful winter day in 1892, a perfect day for their school outing. She and her students had already enjoyed dinner at her house and a sleigh ride.
Annie felt a small hand slip into hers. She looked down into the face of her youngest student, little Hughie. His brown eyes were large with excitement.
“Do we really get to walk through the tunnel?” he asked nervously.
Annie nodded. “I have special permission from the railroad. They said no trains are scheduled for today, so it will be perfectly safe.” She looked at the dark opening of the mountain tunnel ahead. “It’s a long, dark tunnel, Hughie, and there are no lights inside. But on the other side is a beautiful view of the rockslide and the valley.”
Hughie gave a little sigh and smiled. Annie’s words had put his fears to rest. Now he tugged on her arm. “Come on, Teacher. Let’s go see the valley.”
Soon they were all inside the tunnel. It took a while for their eyes to adjust to the darkness after the bright daylight. “Go slowly,” Annie said. Her voice echoed in the tunnel. “Stay on the tracks and hold hands so you don’t fall.”
At first the children were laughing and joking, but they soon grew quiet as they concentrated on keeping their footing. Their footsteps grated on the gravel as they guided each other over the railroad ties.
Annie knew they were about halfway through the tunnel when she saw a small circle of light in the darkness ahead. “We’re almost there,” she told her students. “Look at the light.”
As they paused to look, they heard a rumbling noise behind them, and then a sound that terrified them—a train whistle.
“Teacher?” It was Hughie’s voice. “Did you hear?”
Annie hushed him quickly. She stood frozen on the tracks, not daring to believe her ears. But then the whistle sounded again, nearer this time. There was a train rounding the point of the mountain and coming very fast toward the bridge they had just crossed!
Annie prayed silently for help. Please, Heavenly Father, what should I do? Tell me what to do.
“Teacher?” an older child asked. “Should we run?”
The tracks were starting to vibrate under their feet.
“No!” Annie commanded. The words seemed to spring from her lips of their own accord. “Lie down at once as close to the wall as possible. Don’t move or try to get up until I say you can. Now, go!”
She had to shout the last word over the sound of the approaching train. She pulled the nearest child with her to the wall of the tunnel and held him tight. As the train roared into the tunnel, many of the children screamed in terror. Sparks flew from the smokestack, and the smoke almost suffocated them. The train seemed to go on forever. Annie trembled and tightened her grip on the child she was holding, afraid she might lose him in the hot, rushing wind that swept through the tunnel with the train.
When the train was finally gone, she helped the child up and hurried toward the light. She went as swiftly as she could, tripping on stones and helping her students, who were also rushing to get out of the dark.
Once outside the tunnel, one of the older children asked, “Where’s Hughie?”
Taking some older boys with her, Annie returned to the dark tunnel, afraid of what she might find. The boys ran ahead calling Hughie’s name. “He’s here!” a boy called, relief in his voice. “He’s still lying facedown by the wall.”
Annie heard another boy comforting him. “It’s OK, Hughie. The train is gone. You can get up now.”
Hughie turned his face toward them and said in a brave but frightened voice, “Did Teacher say I could?”
Annie hurried over and put her arms around him. “Oh, Hughie,” she said with tears forming in her eyes. “Thank you for being so obedient. You did the right thing, and you are safe. You can get up now. Teacher says so.”
Hughie got to his feet, and Annie took his hand and led him toward the light. She silently thanked Heavenly Father for watching over this little boy who had such faith in his teacher. She hoped she would always live worthy of that trust.
Annie also knew her trust in Heavenly Father had been rewarded. Her prayer had been answered when she told the children what they needed to do to be safe. They were spared because they immediately obeyed those instructions. There is safety in obedience. That was a lesson Hughie, the other students, and their teacher never forgot.

A few years ago, while sitting with our children at tithing settlement, our bishop invited our 10-year-old son to take a small picture of the Savior and decide where in our home to place it, where it would be a constant reminder of our family’s commitment to follow Him. After returning home, he placed the picture on the front door, where, our son said, “each of us would see it the most.” This has been a great blessing and constant reminder to all of us every day in a small but powerful way of our promises to follow Jesus Christ.