Gospel Story Finder

Eleven-year-old Hatty pulled the last stitch through the apron. “It’s finished,” she said, tying the knot. “Now can I please make Pa’s birthday shirt?”
“Are you sure you want to try something so difficult?” Ma asked.
“Yes! His birthday’s next week, and I’ve been mending as fast as I can so I’ll have time to make it. Besides, you said his old one was ready for the quilt bag.”
Ma laughed. “All right. You’ve convinced me. There’s some cloth in the box by my bed.”
Hatty hurried to the box and pulled out a large piece of newly woven cloth. “How about this?”
Ma nodded. “That will be fine, but be careful not to use more than you need. It has to last us all year.”
“I’ll be careful.” Hatty spread it on the table.
“The first thing we need to do,” Ma said, “is cut out the pieces. Usually I measure your pa first, but since this is a surprise, we’ll have to rely on my memory.” Ma measured, outlined, and pinned. “It’s your turn,” she said, handing Hatty the scissors.
Hatty cut out the sleeves.
“Good,” Ma said. “I’m going outside now to put fresh straw in the mattresses. Call me if you need anything.”
“I will.” Hatty started on the next piece. This is so exciting! she thought. I can hardly wait till Pa sees—“Oh, no!” she wailed out loud.
Ma ran through the door. “What’s wrong?” Then she saw the large gash. “Oh, Hatty, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you so soon.” She folded the ruined cloth and put it into the box. “Perhaps we can use it later.”
Hatty wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry, Ma.”
“I know.” Ma quickly traced another pattern, and Hatty tried again. This time she was extra careful.
It wasn’t until the next morning that Hatty had another chance to work on her gift.
As she started sewing the first seam, she thought, This isn’t so hard. But after a solid hour of stitching, her hands were sore, her shoulders ached, and her fingers had been pricked five times.
“Let’s see how you’re doing,” Ma said, examining the stitches. “Hmmm, … most of it’s perfect. But see these big stitches? You’ll need to make them smaller, or they’ll come undone while Pa is working.”
Hatty looked at her pricked fingers. “Maybe this project is too hard for me.”
“It is difficult, but I believe that you can do it.”
“You do?”
“Yes. You’ve already done many difficult things. Remember when we crossed the plains? You had to keep our milk cow walking, even when all you wanted to do was sleep.”
Hatty nodded.
“And what about our garden? You planted it all by yourself.”
“Pa helped a little.”
“And I’ll help you with this.”
Hatty looked again at her sore fingers. “Show me what to do,” she said.
The rest of the week, Hatty spent every spare minute working on the shirt. Sometimes she had to unpick her stitches and sew them again, and sometimes she felt like giving up. But, finally, on the morning of Pa’s birthday, she finished it and wrapped it in brown paper.
“There’s a new company of Saints coming through the canyon today,” Pa said after breakfast. “I’ll be spending most of my day helping them.”
“But it’s your birthday!” Hatty cried.
“And I can’t think of a better way to spend it! You know that we’ve always been helped when we’ve needed it, so I’m glad to help others when they need it.”
“What about your present?” Hatty asked.
Pa laughed. “I’ll be home in time for dinner. You can give it to me then.”
When he was gone, Ma said, “Aren’t we lucky? Now we have the whole day to prepare for his party.”
“His party?”
“Yes. We need to make a cake, fix his favorite dinner, and—”
“String wildflowers around the room! Can I do that?”
Ma laughed. “Go ahead.”
That evening, Pa, Ma, and Hatty sat around the table and ate dinner. There was a flower next to each place.
“Happy birthday to you,” Hatty and Ma sang after dinner.
Pa stuck his finger into the cake. “Mmmm. Let’s eat.”
“Presents first,” said Hatty, reaching under her chair.
Just then someone knocked on the door.
“I wonder who that could be.” Pa picked up the candle and went to the door.
Hatty stood on her tiptoes, trying to see who it was, but Pa was too tall. She could hear a man’s voice, though.
Finally Pa closed the door and faced his family. “It’s one of the new settlers,” he said quietly. “He’s out of money, and his clothes were so torn that he didn’t want you to see him. He hid in the bushes all afternoon.” Pa looked at Ma, his eyes pleading. “I have another pair of pants, but …”
Slowly Hatty handed her father the brown paper package. “Happy birthday,” she whispered. “It’s a shirt.”
Pa pulled Hatty into his arms. “Thank you,” he said. Then, he gathered the clothing and gave his gift to the man outside.

When I was a newly called deacons quorum president, I wasn’t sure how to increase my spirituality. I started doing family history, usually each Sunday. I have been going to the temple every Saturday morning. My goal was to take male baptism and confirmation names as often as I could. After I went to the temple each week, I would feel a little more spiritual, and that way I was able to help my quorum better.
Josh B., 13, Utah, USA

My youngest daughter and her husband spent several years earnestly seeking the best medical direction and the latest scientific assistance to have a baby. They fasted, they prayed, they hoped.
At last the long-desired result was achieved, and she is expecting their first child. Recently, the doctor scheduled an intensive examination to determine the soundness of the pregnancy. My daughter approached the exam with much anxiety. As the appointed day drew near, she found that her husband could not accompany her, and she asked if I would go with her. She said, “Mom, after all we’ve been through, if anything is wrong, I am going to need someone with me.”
I was delighted to get a preview peek at someone I am going to love and treasure through eternity. I wanted to reassure her that everything was all right, but in my heart I too worried.
After the doctor reviewed the technician’s video, he came in to discuss the findings with us. His first words were, “I wish every baby could look this perfect!” I could hardly contain myself. As we got to our car, I could not hold back my feelings any longer and I began to cry. So many feelings just came spilling out. I wept, wishing every expectant mother could hear those words. I cried for every woman who wanted to have a baby but couldn’t. Tears flowed for all the women who want children but have not found a husband. Finally, I shed tears of gratitude with an overwhelming desire that our family will provide a home worthy of this baby.

The construction of a temple in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala, fulfilled a dream for Mónica Elena Fuentes Álvarez de Méndez. She is the daughter of a pioneer in the Church who instilled in her a love of the gospel and all its blessings. Her mother, Magda Ester Álvarez, was baptized in 1953, six years after Latter-day Saint missionaries first arrived in Guatemala.
Mónica grew up in the Church and eventually married a good man, Enio Méndez, who was not a member. He supported his wife and daughter in Church activities and admired its members, but he showed no interest in being baptized. Nevertheless, Mónica remembers her mother telling her that one day her husband would become a member. “I never lost faith,” she says, even though she had no idea what could bring about his conversion.
Her mother enjoyed the blessings of periodic visits to the temple in Guatemala City and was filled with joy in 2006 when a temple was announced for Quetzaltenango. But Magda Álvarez suffered from a terminal illness and passed away in 2008, before the temple in Quetzaltenango could be built.
Mónica and her young adult daughter, Mónica Esther Méndez Fuentes, served together as guides during the open house for the Quetzaltenango Temple. Enio attended the open house with them, and unbeknownst to them, he went back two more times.
Leaving the temple together on the last day of the open house, Mónica and her daughter wondered if Magda Álvarez’s prediction about Enio could ever come true.
Enio had always believed it was acceptable for him to be a member of his church and his wife and daughter to be members of theirs so long as they respected each other’s beliefs. But his experiences at the temple open house gave him much to think about. “I began to fast, without saying anything to them, and to pray,” he recalls. He went into the mountains, where he likes to go to ponder. “I asked the Lord, ‘What should I do, then?’” In fact, he already knew what was right, but he needed to resolve doubts.
Enio was baptized in April 2012—a deeply moving occasion for both his wife and his daughter.
The Méndez family was sealed in the Quetzaltenango Temple in October 2013. Sister Méndez expressed their joy at an eternal goal achieved and their hope to be faithful until the end of their lives.

Back home in Mendon, Brigham and his brother Joseph left in late November or early December, to walk through mud and snow and cold and wind, to preach the gospel. They found many people receptive to their message.
As soon as spring came, Brigham went alone preaching to and converting people. He went to Loughborough, Canada, where he and his brother had taught earlier. Brigham joined a group of converts and guided them some 960 kilometers to Kirtland. Then he walked back to Mendon.

Three years ago my family and I were sealed in the Orlando Florida Temple. The temple was as white as snow on the outside and I could feel God’s Spirit on the inside. When I was brought into the sealing room, I felt the Spirit so strong that I was trembling! It was good to have my brother there too. I felt so reverent. Now my testimony of the temple is very strong. I know that it is the house of the Lord.Keegan G., age 8, Florida

Amberley likes to play cricket with Ben. She also enjoys shooting a netball outside her house. (Netball is something like basketball and is played with a soccer ball.) She is a good netball player and has been player of the month at her school three times. When she first started playing, she was having trouble catching the ball. But as she listened to her coaches and kept trying, she became a lot better at it.

My paternal grandparents had two children, a son (my father) and a daughter. After serving a mission and military service in Hawaii, my father returned to the islands in 1946 to establish himself professionally and raise his family. His parents lived in Salt Lake City, as did his sister. She married in 1946 and four years later was expecting a child. There is something very special for parents to anticipate a daughter (in this instance an only daughter) giving birth for the first time. No one knew that she was carrying twins. Sadly, she and the twins all died during childbirth.
My grandparents were heartbroken. Their grief, however, immediately turned them to the Lord and His Atonement. Without dwelling on why this could happen and who might be to blame, they focused on living a righteous life. My grandparents never had wealth; they were never among the socially elite; they never held high position in the Church—they were simply devoted Latter-day Saints.
After retiring professionally in 1956, they moved to Hawaii to be with their only posterity. The ensuing decades found them loving their family and serving in the Church, and mostly they just enjoyed being together. They never liked being apart and even spoke of whoever died first finding a way to help them reunite soon. Nearing their 90th birthdays and after 65 years of marriage, they passed away within hours of each other by natural causes. As their bishop, I conducted their double funeral.

In early 1965, I was assigned to attend stake conferences and to hold other meetings throughout the South Pacific area. This was my first visit to that part of the world, and it was a time never to be forgotten. Much that was spiritual in nature occurred during this assignment as I met with leaders, members, and missionaries.

On the weekend of Saturday and Sunday, February 20 and 21, we were in Brisbane, Australia, to hold regular conference sessions of the Brisbane Stake. During meetings on Saturday, I was introduced to the district president from an adjoining area. As I shook his hand, I had a strong impression that I needed to speak with him and to provide counsel, and so I asked him if he would accompany me to the Sunday morning session the following day so that this could be accomplished.

Following the Sunday session, we had an opportunity to visit together. We talked of his many responsibilities as district president. As we did so, I felt impressed to offer him specific suggestions concerning missionary work and how he and his members could help the full-time missionaries in their labors in his area. I later learned that this man had been praying for guidance in this regard. To him our visit was a special witness that his prayers were heard and answered. This was a seemingly unremarkable meeting but one which I am convinced was guided by the Spirit and which made a difference in that district president’s life and administration, in the lives of his members, and in the success of the missionaries there.

During what was to be the last year of running my business, the church approached me about coming to work for the church as an architect. After working in the Southwest Area office for a couple of years, I had the feeling that I should submit my resume to the head of the Architecture and Engineering Department. The feeling wouldn’t go away. So, I finally sent my resume to the director of the department. He said they were going to be posting for a job opening, but they just hadn’t got around to it. I was hired near the end of 1996.

When I was a young man, I couldn’t have dreamed of the experiences that yet lay in waiting for me. The Lord had greater things for me to do than what I was qualified for.

A few months later the surprise of surprises happened when we heard about the now-well-known story of the development of the small temple concept. President Hinckley told of his coming home from a trip through northern Mexico, conversing with a stake president in Colonia Juarez on what more could be done to help the saints in the colonies, and was inspired to have our department work on ideas for a small temple. He handed the sketch he had drawn of a small temple plan to our managing director, Brother Little. Everyone in the office was asked to sketch their ideas of what it could look like. The President attached some criteria to the idea. It wasn’t to be larger than 6,000 s.f. and cost no more than a million dollars. We accomplished one of those criteria.

I was privileged to develop a floor plan with two other architects, that divided the temple into two areas, one was the Aaronic priesthood side for the baptismal font and the other was the Melchizedek priesthood side for the other ordinances. I was then asked to develop the exterior elevations for the concept. I had never designed anything close to a temple in my private practice, yet here I was designing a temple. I was not qualified. I had no experience. I didn’t really know what it should look like. But, as I was drawing lines on the computer, I remember having ideas come to my mind that I knew were not mine. The Spirit gave them to me. I kept drawing lines and completed this idea for the first small temple, which became the Monticello Utah Temple. I prepared elevations for the other floor plan concepts as well. However, we forgot to develop a scheme based on the President’s sketch. So, we quickly completed this option as well. Brother Little presented the options to President Hinckley. We might think, “I did this” or “I did that,” but if we have the Holy Ghost with us always and pray with faith to receive inspiration and expect to be inspired, the Lord will inspire us. I was only the pencil. But in our digital day, I was the computer mouse being pushed around to create lines on a screen.

“When I started college a few years ago,” says Eró, who is 57, “no one in the family had done any type of superior education. But I believed that when this wall was broken, education would fill our home. It would make things better going forward. I am a cook by profession, and I cook because I love to cook. But I thought I could learn more, and my daughter Dielle wanted to learn more too.”
They joined a Church self-reliance group, and the facilitator suggested that they apply for Perpetual Education Fund loans. “The loans were approved,” Eró says. “So, we enrolled at the university to study gastronomy. We did the same major, and we were daughter and mother in school together at the same time. We would work all day cooking food, then go to college at night.” Some days Eró started work at 5:00 a.m., worked all day, then had classes starting at 8:00 in the evening.
She admits to falling asleep sometimes. “Sure, it’s tough,” she says. “But you just trust that the Lord will help you, and you keep on going.”
Raimundo and Eró Carvalho on the day she received her degree in gastronomy.
Photographs courtesy of the Carvalho family
Now both mother and daughter have graduated. Eró no longer works at a restaurant. She is self-employed and works from home. “We’re both still cooking, but we’re more qualified and have more opportunities to advance. We’re earning enough to pay back our loans, and Dielle is working on a master’s degree in event management!”
Dielle is now working on a master’s degree.

Because I studied Come, Follow Me, I think Heavenly Father helped me with school. At first I made lots of mistakes in my homework. Then my dad asked me to start by saying a prayer. After the prayer, I understood better. Soon I was no longer making as many mistakes. When my teachers received my homework, they would say, “Congratulations, Sarah! Keep doing what you are doing!”
I successfully completed my school year. And school at home went well, because we always started with a prayer, just like we do when we study Come, Follow Me.

“When the missionaries were teaching me, I knew right away that it was true. I didn’t have any doubt. My dad got baptized; then I got baptized the next Saturday,” said Stephanie Rawlins. “I enjoy being in the church I know is true. Friends I have who aren’t members can’t talk the same way. They don’t understand. With my friends in the Church I can open up; I can talk about things that are really important.”

How I struggled to learn Spanish on my mission. I had been out three months and still I was unable to help my companion. Early each morning, I got on my knees and pled for the gift of tongues I had been promised when I was set apart. I studied my heart out. Yet I could not speak Spanish.

Then one night, my companion who was the branch president got a phone call from a family in need. Soon we entered their apartment on the sixth floor of an old building in New York City. Never had I felt such darkness. Mother and father were shouting at each other and two little ones cried in fear. My father had been right. This was hell. My companion and I sat on the couch, without a clue of what to do.

Then warmth and an urging came over me. "Sid, you know what to say." I rebelled in my heart. "No I don't. I do not understand what they are yelling, I can't speak Spanish and I am the junior companion." Then... I was speaking. I am sure it was not great Spanish, but I was speaking and they were listening. I said, "Brother and Sister Vargas, Heavenly Father does not like fighting at home. I explained that in my home, when we needed to solve a problem, we prayed. I turned to Sister Vargas and invited her to pray. I slipped off the couch to my knees. My companion stared at me in disbelief.

"No," she said. "I can't pray now." I bowed my head, closed my eyes and waited. First there was silence, then tears as she began to pray. She apologized to the Lord and her husband for getting angry and for the words she had said. She asked the Spirit to return to their home. I then turned to the father and asked him to pray. His heart was hard and he was about to throw us out. But... he started to pray and his heart softened. Soon the children were holding tight to their parents and light had returned to that home.

“You both know Elder Kempter, don’t you?” I asked. “I received a letter from him a little while ago, and among other things he said, ‘Have I got a story for you.’ It went something like this:
“‘Last night after holding a family home evening, we were getting ready to leave when this one girl came out to the truck and asked me if I wanted a goat. I told her it was probably too small to eat and I didn’t have any place to keep it. Now, I don’t know if you are aware of what offering a goat means, but afterwards I found out. Offering a goat is a way of proposing marriage for a young lady! I almost fell over with surprise when I found that out—but don’t worry, President, there is no attraction on my part!’

It was in March of 1878 that Aurelia first thought seriously of an organization for children, especially so little boys could be taught “everything good and how to behave.” She wanted desperately to help them and prayed that she might be shown a way. “I had a strong motivation within me,” she wrote in her history.
A few weeks later Sister Eliza R. Snow went to Farmington to meet with the Relief Society. She and Sister Emmeline B. Wells, who accompanied her, stopped at Aurelia’s home for a brief visit on their way to the depot to board a train back to Salt Lake. Sister Rogers discussed with them her concern over many of the boys, who she felt were not being properly taught the gospel nor the manners that would help them become good men. She asked if an organization to help them would ever be possible. We are told that Sister Snow was “silent for a few moments, then said there might be such a thing and that she would speak to the First Presidency about it.”
At that time John Taylor was president of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and the acting president of the Church, since a president had not yet been sustained by the Church membership after the death of Brigham Young. Sister Rogers talked with President Taylor who discussed the matter with other members of the Quorum of the Twelve, and they were inspired to write to Bishop John W. Hess of Farmington, asking him to call some women to be leaders. Sister Rogers was chosen to be the president. “Up to this period,” she said, “the girls had not been mentioned; but my idea was that the meeting would not be complete without them …” And so it was agreed.
Louisa Haight and Helen M. Miller were selected as counselors of the new organization to be called “Primary,” a name suggested by Sister Eliza R. Snow. Bishop Hess urged these women to visit every home in the area to invite the children to attend and to obtain their parents’ permission. Sister Rogers reported that they enrolled about 112 boys and 112 girls! The children together with all members of the ward, were asked to attend a public meeting on Sunday, August 11, 1878, when these women, and others, were set apart by Bishop Hess and his counselors to preside over a Primary at Farmington.
Bishop Hess was most helpful, often attending Primary himself or delegating other priesthood holders to do so. In a letter written shortly after the organization of the First Primary, Sister Snow wrote encouragingly:
“I feel assured that the inspiration of heaven is directing you, and that a great and very important movement is being inaugurated for the future of Zion … The angels and all holy beings, especially the leaders of Israel on the other side of the veil, will be deeply interested.”
Sister Rogers’ records that were so miraculously saved from the fire report that the children were called together for the very first Primary on August 25, 1878. This is how she described the Primaries that followed:
“When the children came to understand the motives which prompted the calling of their little meetings, they seemed elated with what was being done for them. Obedience, faith in God, prayer, punctuality and good manners were subjects oft repeated. At these meetings, the whole association would generally take part in the exercises. The smaller children were seated on the front benches, the rest according to size. At the proper time the smallest would rise up and perhaps, recite a verse or two in concert, then sit down and the next bench-full take their turn in answering Bible questions. Another class would sing a song; another would repeat sentiments or verses, one at a time, and so on.
“… The next spring we rented a town lot and the Primary Association planted beans and popcorn to go with the Relief Society wheat in the time of famine which is to come.”

This cookie made of phyllo dough and pistachio nuts is a thank-you. It was made by the Kadado family who, for decades, owned three bakeries in Damascus, Syria. When war came, a blockade stopped food and supplies from reaching their part of the city. The Kadados began to starve. At the height of this desperate situation, Latter-day Saint Charities and some very courageous staff at Rahma Worldwide began serving a daily hot meal, along with milk for the little children. After a difficult time, the family began their life—as well as their bakery—once again in a new country.

Recently, a box of cookies arrived at the Church offices with the following message: “For more than two months, we managed to get food from the Rahma–Latter-day Saint [Charities] kitchen. Without it we would [have] starve[d] to death. Please accept this … sample from my shop as a small token of thanks. I ask God the Almighty to bless you … in everything you do.”

A cookie of gratitude and remembrance. It is meant for you. To all who prayed after watching a story on the news, to all who volunteered when it was not convenient or who kindly donated money to the humanitarian fund trusting it would do some good, thank you.

Last year I met an inspired bishop and his wonderful wife. On a recent Saturday morning, they were driving to their son’s baptism and suffered the tragic and sudden loss of their darling two-year-old daughter, Tess.

The next morning their ward members gathered for sacrament meeting filled with compassion, also suffering over the loss of this perfect little girl. No one expected the bishop’s family to be at church that morning, but a couple of minutes before the meeting started, they quietly entered and took their place.

The bishop went to the stand and walked past his usual seat between his counselors and sat down instead between his priests at the sacrament table.

During that anguished and sleepless night before of searching for understanding and peace, he had received a strong impression of what his family most needed—and what his ward most needed. It was to hear the voice of their bishop, their ward Aaronic Priesthood president, their grieving father, pronounce the promises of the sacramental covenant.

So, in due course, he knelt with those priests and spoke to His Father. With the pathos of that occasion, he pronounced some of the most powerful words that anyone is ever allowed to say out loud in this lifetime.

Words of eternal consequence.

Words of ordinance.

Words of covenant.

Instruction that connects us to the very purposes of this life—and to the most magnificent outcomes of Heavenly Father’s plan for us.

Can you imagine what the congregation heard in that chapel that day—what they felt in the words that we hear every Sunday in our chapels?

“O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it, that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy Son, and witness unto thee, O God, the Eternal Father, that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy Son, and always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given them; that they may always have his Spirit to be with them. Amen” (Doctrine and Covenants 20:77).

And then: “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this [water] to the souls of all those who drink of it, that they may do it in remembrance of the blood of thy Son, which was shed for them; that they may witness unto thee, O God, the Eternal Father, that they do always remember him, that they may have his Spirit to be with them. Amen” (Doctrine and Covenants 20:79).

This good father and mother testify that that promise has been fulfilled. They do, in fact, to their everlasting comfort, “have his Spirit to be with them.”

After Grandpa retired, he continued to work hard on his yard and garden, something in which he and my grandmother took great pride. Even with his failing eyesight, he would walk quite a distance every week to turn the irrigation water down to his property in order to water his garden, pasture, and lawns. One summer night his turn came at midnight, and it was a dark and frightening time in his life. After he had taken his water turn and was attempting to return home, he became lost in a cornfield adjoining the right-of-way to the canal. He lost his sense of direction and panicked. He was lost for over an hour, with my grandmother and the neighbors searching, thinking he might possibly have drowned in the canal. They had decided to call the police, but at that moment, a neighbor found him crawling along the side of the road quite a distance from his home. After that incident, his neighbors insisted that they turn the water on for him. He also started to use his cane, a need that was difficult for him to accept.

I grew up in a small village on the island of Anglesey in north Wales. As a teenager I faced a problem that affects most LDS young people in Britain. Almost all social life revolves around the pubs.
There is no straightforward solution to whether LDS youth should go to pubs. A pub, unlike the bars of most other countries, attracts people of all ages and all walks of life. It is a social gathering place. I remember feeling torn when close friends would invite me to parties at the local pub. I wanted them to know that I valued their friendship and appreciated them for wanting to involve me in their plans. However, the fact remained that I didn’t feel comfortable in pubs. On the few occasions that I went I always had the scriptures about shunning the appearance of evil or standing in holy places spinning around in my head. At the risk of ostracising my friends, I usually stayed at home.
This issue came to a head when my best friend, Elizabeth, turned 18 and invited me to her birthday party. It was to be held at a nearby pub. My friends were anxious that I go, although they knew that I would not join them in drinking alcohol. I decided that the only way that I could know what I should do was through prayer. It took me some time on my knees before I received a positive confirmation. I told Elizabeth that I would go for a short while and arranged with my father to take me and to pick me up half an hour later. That way I could show Elizabeth that her friendship and her birthday were important to me, but then I would not feel obliged to stay long in an environment where I felt so out of place.
Once the decision was made, the week sped by and before I knew it my father was dropping me off outside the heavy doors of “The Gazelle.” The lights glowed and reflected off the sparkling glasses along the length of the bar. A fire roared in the large grate, and scattered around the room were small round tables with their accompanying chairs. Paintings of fox hunts hung on the walls. The air was heavy with the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol.
As I hesitated in the doorway, I heard a familiar voice. “Sian, you came!”
I turned to see my friends Nia and David. “Come on,” Nia encouraged me, “Elizabeth is over here. I know she’ll want to see you.” She led the way across the room towards a small group of people.
I was made to feel welcome. I gave my gift to Elizabeth, and I knew she realized that I was there because I cared about her. I spoke to most of the people there before finding a quiet chair in the corner where I sat with a glass of orange juice on the table in front of me. I watched those around me. It saddened me to see some of my friends already showing signs of having drunk too much. It seemed so pointless and such an artificial way to have a “good” time.
I was so consumed with my own thoughts, I was not aware of Andrew’s approach until he spoke. “Are you glad you came, Sian?” he asked as he sat beside me.
I hesitated for a second before answering.
“If by coming I have shown my friends that I value their friendship, then yes, I’m glad I came.”
“But you’re not very comfortable here, are you?”
I knew Andrew well enough to be honest with him. “No,” I said, “I guess it’s always hard to be in a situation where you are different from everyone else.”
“But it’s not so hard that you would change your stand on drinking and join us all?” There was sadness in his voice as he spoke.
I felt my heart begin to burn. “No, Andrew, deep down I know that there is a God who loves me and doesn’t want me hurt. Alcohol can hurt.”
“You’re so lucky,” Andrew sighed.
I looked at him, startled and said, “You don’t have to drink either.”
“That’s easy to say,” he replied, “but I don’t have a good excuse not to. It may be hard for you to understand.” He continued to gaze into the frothy pint of beer in his hand. “If I refuse to drink the others will give me a hard time. They’ll heckle me about being chicken or not man enough. I don’t have any excuse to give them other than the fact that I don’t feel like drinking—and that’s not good enough for them. Everyone knows that you don’t drink because you’re a Mormon. They don’t understand it, but they accept it as something you live by. Most people admire you for taking a stand. I don’t have any religious reasons not to drink, so everyone expects me to.” He shrugged his shoulders and grinned. A mask of nonchalance quickly covered the inner feelings he had briefly exposed.
“Maybe I just lack your strength of character,” he teased. Then he stood, raised his glass to me in salute and turned to walk away. Feeling hopeless, I watched him go.
I glanced at my watch and saw that my designated half hour was over. I gathered my coat, signaled my goodbye to Elizabeth who stood a few yards off. I looked for Andrew, but he was lost in the crowd, so I left quietly.
As I opened the pub door, a wave of cold, fresh air swept over me. I breathed deeply, then glanced around. Sure enough, parked not more than ten yards away was my father. I ran to the car and jumped in.
I leaned over and gave my dad a hug. He asked me how the evening had gone. I sat back in my seat and recounted my experience. A heavenly spirit filled the car as I told him what I had learned.
My conversation with Andrew had helped me to see that commandments are blessings, not obstacles. I knew that the Word of Wisdom was given for our own good, but when I went to Elizabeth’s party that night, I was struggling with the idea that it was a barrier between me and my friends. Then I talked to Andrew and discovered that there are others, perhaps many others, who wish they had such commandments to guide them.
Now I know that if I ever struggle to see the reasons for a specific commandment, I will use it as a good excuse to do what is right until my faith and understanding increase.