Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Merrilee Liddiard
I awoke early one morning to get ready for work. While I usually love my job as a teacher, I was out of sorts and just wanted to crawl back under the covers and pretend it was bedtime again.
When I arrived at the high school, I tried to get my mind ready for work. I knew I needed to teach a math class soon, but my heart and head both felt dull and depressed. My emotions were all negative.
I decided to visit the restroom before class. Every once in a while, someone will post fliers in the restrooms with information for students and staff. Out of the corner of my eye, a flier caught my attention. It had a nice quote on it that read, “If you want to give a light to others, you have to glow yourself.”1 I was surprised to see that this quote came from President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018).
I didn’t expect to see a quote from a prophet of God on the walls of the school. I live in a small town in Pennsylvania, USA, and I’m sure I’m one of a few, or possibly the only, member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the school. I knew I was one of a few who would understand the importance of the words of President Monson—a man I had sustained for many years as the prophet. I felt that this message was meant for me. It softened my heart and lifted my mood. Gratitude for my testimony filled my heart, and Heavenly Father’s love surrounded me.
I wanted to pull the flier off the wall and keep it in my pocket all day to uplift me, but I had a quick realization. President Monson wasn’t just the prophet for me and other members of the Church—he was the prophet for the world. His words, like the words of President Russell M. Nelson today, are for everyone. A prophet’s words help and uplift all who will hear them. I took a picture of the quote with my phone and left the flier up for anyone else who might need it.
I’m grateful Heavenly Father put this message in my path. I want to give light to others. Through obedience and a closeness with our Savior, I can glow even on days when darkness would have me lose my way.

Several years ago I realized that while I had a testimony of the gospel in general, there were some principles to which I was not yet fully converted. Although I had no problem with tithing or the Word of Wisdom for instance, I did struggle with the principle of eternal marriage—my eternal marriage.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be married; on the contrary, I did—desperately, or so I told myself. I dated locally and had some long-distance relationships. I dated constantly, even to the point of exhaustion. But I became an expert at identifying what I considered to be “flaws” in each of the women I dated. I always justified breaking off a relationship but usually not until I had strung her along for a year or two. Over time I worked myself into such a cycle of failure that I was practically paralyzed with regard to courtship.
I had served a mission. I attended the temple regularly, fasted and prayed for the Lord’s guidance, and served faithfully in ward callings. I had strong family support. I counseled regularly with my bishops. I even spent a season working with an excellent Latter-day Saint psychologist. But I was miserable. I couldn’t figure out how to get married.
People sympathetic to my plight told me that I just hadn’t met “the right one” yet. Others told me, “You just have to take the plunge.” But I had too many doubts and irrational fears to allow me to do so.
I figured marriage would take nothing short of a miracle. Even though I knew I was responsible for my own life and that I couldn’t expect any bishop to solve my problems, I hoped that each new bishop I worked with might be able to help me. They were all concerned and told me to stay close to the Church, continue to serve, and try my best.
When I was 45 years old, our ward’s bishopric was changed. When the name of the new bishop was announced, my heart sank. The man who had been called was someone with whom I had nothing in common. I foolishly determined that I would have to wait for the next new bishop.
One Sunday not long after, I was on my way to priesthood meeting when this bishop asked if I would come into his office right then for a temple recommend interview. In his office I began my well-rehearsed tale of woe: Nothing was going right for me. Every woman I had dated had some intolerable failing. And maybe I wasn’t really cut out for marriage in this life anyway.
The bishop dismissed my complaints, looked me in the eye, and asked, “Do you want to be married or not?” I had to answer that I thought so but that I wasn’t really sure anymore. He continued, “I want you to go home and decide if you really want to be married. If the answer is no, then I’ll feel sorry for you, but you can stop dating and quit beating yourself up over it. If the answer is yes, then come back, and we’ll work on it.”
At that moment, I received the undeniable impression that his counsel would help me.
I walked out of his office sobered. After church I went home, and with a brief but intense wrestle, I decided that the answer had to be yes. I did desire marriage, and I was willing to submit to the counsel of this bishop, whatever it was.
Making this decision was the turning point in my quest to be married. For decades I had been halfhearted in my efforts. Marriage had not really been a high priority for me, even if I had pretended it was. Only when it was convenient did I give marriage serious attention, but other things, such as my professional pursuits as a concert musician and a university professor, usually took precedence. What I needed to learn was how to approach the goal of marriage with the same commitment.
When I returned to counsel with my bishop, he spoke as plainly as anyone had ever done. He was not interested in my litany of excuses. He simply said, “Let’s find the glitch—the place where relationships always fall apart for you—and then fix it.” At first I was taken aback, but then I found his directness refreshing. I knew I could trust him. It took some energy and courage to get out of the deep rut I was in, but I began to gain more confidence that I could do it.
His first direction to me was to start looking anew for a companion who had, in his words, faith, integrity, and goodwill—enduring qualities that really mattered—instead of merely some surface qualities I considered essential. (In my mind, she needed to be a blonde, a soprano, and a gourmet cook.) My charge was to cherish her with the same kind of love, to the degree that I could, that our Heavenly Father has for each of us.
My bishop also helped me discover the flaws in my quest for marriage. I conceded that they were not in the women I had dated, as I had maintained for so long. Rather, they were in my own erroneous thinking and unrealistic expectations. He laid out some new rules by which I was to date.
First of all, I had to prepare for change. I was very comfortable in my way of living, and even though I desired marriage in an abstract way, I felt it would upset my routine. I would have to start doing some things differently. I’d been doing it my way for more than 25 years, repeating the same mistakes, and obviously it hadn’t worked. Because I was 45, I had to understand that I didn’t have an unlimited amount of time to date.
Second, dating was not to be about entertainment but rather about identifying a companion who was also seriously interested in and prepared for marriage. This was to be a time for becoming acquainted not just with someone’s personality but also, more important, with her spirit.
My bishop also taught me I would be able to tell within a few dates whether a woman had the essential qualities I was looking for. If they weren’t present, it was time to move along. To break my pattern of unproductive long-term dating, the bishop gave me a startling ultimatum: I was to follow any serious dating relationship through to marriage or rejection. After a reasonable period of time, I could not turn back unless the woman I was dating turned me down. Previously, my habit had been to walk away rather than commit. This time I would not be allowed to retreat as I had done so often before. In an uncharacteristically bold move, I agreed to the terms.
I started to recognize a few things. For one, I realized that what some call “chemistry” comes after honest and mature conversation, not before. This is one of the most common mistakes people make—they pursue a relationship only if they feel an immediate physical attraction. Some single people also prefer superficial topics to serious discussions and hard questions, avoiding the latter in the vain hope that once “true love” sets in, somehow all the real-life problems will disappear. Actually, it’s the other way around. If at the outset you practice honest communication and learn to answer the hard questions, then trust develops. This trust erases fear, which is usually the cause of cold feet, lack of commitment, and ultimately a shaky relationship.
Most important, I learned that love is not about just me. It is primarily about caring for the other person. I had to work on humbling myself and relinquishing the arrogant attitude that maybe no woman was good enough for me.
It would be nice if I could say I married the very next woman I met. I dated a few women very briefly and had one longer dating relationship in which I was ultimately turned down. But I exercised faith and followed my bishop’s instructions, even though I didn’t get immediate results.
The year after I adopted these changes in attitude and perspective, I took a second look at a woman I had known for years. We had actually dated before, but this time I saw her in a different light—as a prospective eternal companion who is delightful and beautiful in every way because she has the qualities that are enduring (and many bonus qualities as well). She was generous enough to give me another chance, and now she is my wife and the mother of our precious children. I love her deeply. Ten years ago, I could not have imagined such fulfillment.
What brought about this conversion? (And it was a real conversion—a turning in a different direction.) I believe the change came about because a bishop taught me how deeply Heavenly Father loves me and wants me to be happy and have all the blessings He has already promised me. My bishop helped me rearrange the priorities in my life, which had become distorted. He spoke plainly and did not allow me to be distracted by the excuses I had given for so long.
Now I know what conversion feels like. I have had that mighty change of heart regarding this principle, and it has made all the difference in my life. I can trace the moment of my conversion to that day in my bishop’s office when it was revealed to me that if I would follow his counsel, I would be blessed.
Indeed I am.

A true story from the USA.
“Let’s go!” shouted Lauren as she passed the driveway.
Marcie put on her helmet. “I’m coming!”
Marcie pedaled her bike down the sidewalk toward her friends. She loved to play all kinds of games with Lauren and Cassidy. But most of all, she loved riding her bike with them.
As the girls biked down the sidewalk, the neighbor’s dog, Rocket, started following them.
“Oh no,” Cassidy said. “We need to take him back home!”
But the dog didn’t want to go home. They called for him to stop, but Rocket just kept going. No matter what they did, he ran around and wagged his tail. He was having fun!
As the girls followed Rocket, Marcie realized that the houses looked less and less familiar. She was getting farther and farther from her street. Marcie didn’t know anyone who lived in these houses!
Where are we going? Marcie thought. Will I be able to find my way back?
Marcie tried not to worry and kept biking. But the feeling came back. Something was telling her that she should go home.
Marcie stopped her bike on the sidewalk. She said in a loud voice, “Maybe we should go back now!”
“We need to get Rocket home!” said Cassidy. She and Lauren kept biking after the dog.
Marcie still felt strange. Why was she feeling so worried? Did her friends feel it too?
Maybe this feeling is just for me, Marcie thought. Was it from the Holy Ghost? She had been baptized and confirmed a few months ago, and Mom and Dad had taught her about listening to the Holy Ghost. They said He would speak to her with feelings in her heart or thoughts in her mind. She knew He would guide her if she listened.
She felt the feeling again. This time it was stronger. Don’t follow that dog.s
“I’m going back,” Marcie called to her friends.
“OK!” Lauren said.
Marcie turned around and rode back the way she came. When she got home, she left her bike on the lawn and went inside. Mom was busy in the kitchen.
“Hi, Mom,” Marcie said. “I came home. I felt worried inside.”
Mom stopped. “What happened?”
“I felt a warning feeling while I was riding my bike with my friends. So I came home,” Marcie said. “I think it was the Holy Ghost.”
Mom gave her a hug. “I’m glad you listened to that feeling.”
Marcie felt good inside. “Me too.”

We had a similar experience in our family. Last spring some of our children and fourteen of our grandchildren had a family outing in the mountains. One of our activities was a meeting to share experiences and testimonies. We gathered at the appointed time, but the little people were only gathered in body. The large spirits in those little bodies were clamoring for more of the exciting outdoor activities they had been enjoying. The cabin where we met was too small to contain them, and it seemed as if a dozen restless children and their outcries were ricocheting off the walls in every direction. Grandparents will appreciate the apprehension I felt at trying to sponsor something serious in that setting.

Suddenly the instinctive wisdom of young mothers rescued our efforts. Two mothers began to sing a song familiar to the children. Others joined in, and within a few minutes the mood had changed and all spirits were subdued and receptive to spiritual things. I offered a silent prayer of thanks for hymns and for mothers who know how to use them!

There is a story about a young builder who had just gone into business for himself. A wealthy friend of his father came to him and said: “To get you started right, I am going to have you build a ranch house for me. Here are the plans. Don’t skimp on anything. I want the very finest materials used, and I want flawless workmanship. Forget the cost. Just send me the bills.”
The young builder became obsessed with the desire to enrich himself through this generous and unrestricted offer. Instead of employing top-grade labor and buying the finest materials, he shortchanged his benefactor in every way possible. Finally, the last secondhand nail was driven into the last flimsy wall, and the builder handed over the keys and bills, totaling over a hundred thousand dollars, to his father’s old friend. That gentleman wrote a check in full for the structure and then handed the keys back to the builder. “The home you have just built, my boy,” he said with a pleasant smile, “is my present to you. May you live in it in great happiness!”

By the time Domingos turned 18, his church activity began to irritate his father.
“Dad thought seminary was getting in the way of my schoolwork, so he banned me from getting up early to go. I wanted to honor him, so I quit going. But I still did seminary at home. Then he didn’t want that either, so I put that away.
“Then he’d find me reading my scriptures and think I hadn’t done my homework, even though my grades were good. One time he grabbed my scriptures and threw them in the rubbish bin. I had spent the last two years reading them and marking them, and they are really precious to me. The next morning I was able to get them back, but I had to give them to the branch president for safekeeping.”
It wasn’t long before Domingos’s father banned him from everything related to church activity—scripture study, Mutual activities, home teaching, and, finally, Sunday meetings.
“Even though I was 18 and legally my own person, my first reaction was to obey. Really. You want to obey your father because he is your father. But I knew I couldn’t break my promise to Heavenly Father by not attending church.
“Dad said if I went that Sunday, not to worry about coming back. So I packed my bags. My prayers were very sincere that night. The next morning, when he saw me dressed up, he was furious.”
Domingos left, but his parents came to the chapel and found him. They reached an agreement that he could attend every other Sunday. “I wasn’t happy with it, but it was better than nothing,” he says.
Then the next time he got ready for church, his father again told him if he went, never to return. “The second time was just as bad, probably worse. I’d been waiting to receive my patriarchal blessing, and the patriarch, who can only come about once a year, had come from far away. I got there for the appointment, but my father came at the same time. I had to go home and missed my blessing.”
The third time that his father confronted him in a similar way, Domingos left home and moved in with his grandmother. “Eventually my mum came and said my father was all right and he wouldn’t get angry again. So I came back.”
But in the meantime, he’d developed a desire to serve a full-time mission. “I prayed, and the answer was very certain that I should go when I turned 19. From then on my mind was made up—I just needed to prepare.”
If he would complete his first year of study, the University of the Northern Territory would agree to give him two years off to serve. But he’d have to carry an even harder class load for a few months before he left. “My coordinator actually encouraged me and said the mission would be a good experience,” Domingos says. He continued something he’d done since high school—telling fellow students about the steps of repentance and the plan of salvation.
He intensified his scripture study, memorizing many passages. “The scriptures brought me peace,” he says. “They reminded me of the things I should be doing.”
He joined the full-time missionaries when they gave discussions. He often bore his testimony. He kept a journal, writing in it every day. His Church leaders interviewed him, found him worthy, and sent in his missionary application.
Then one day, this time when he returned from church, his father kicked him out for the fourth time. “It was pretty final,” Domingos says. “He was not pleased with my plans for a mission and said if I went I wouldn’t be his son anymore.”
His branch president, Michael Kuhn, invited Domingos to live in his home until the mission call arrived.
Finished with his schoolwork, Domingos filled his days with prayer, with uplifting music, with Church activities, missionary work, and study of the scriptures. Sometimes he would read the scriptures all day long.
And then the letter came: “You are called to labor in the Hong Kong Mission.” Domingos returned home for a short time to try to make peace with his family before he left. “Mainly because they knew they could not change my mind, they yielded,” he says. Before he left, the family went out to dinner together and took lots of farewell photos.
Letters written from the Missionary Training Center and from the mission field reflect the joy that quickly followed:
—“At the airport I was able to meet one of the missionaries who taught me, Elder (Hoyt) Skabelund, and his wife and baby and parents. I am slowly learning Cantonese. The people in the MTC are wonderful.”
—“I’ve received two letters from my mother. Everything is going well at home. They are being blessed greatly and they know it! My family and relatives are now happy that I am serving a mission. Surely God is a God of miracles!”
—“I have done my first street display, talking to everyone who goes by. I have taught the six discussions in Cantonese.”
—“Now I have been transferred to Macau, a Portuguese colony neighbouring the coast of China. I am pretty lucky because not many missionaries get to serve here. We are teaching an investigator, and he will be baptized. I know that God called me here to do a special work.”
—“Every inconvenience was worth overcoming to read the Book of Mormon. Every insult was worth swallowing to keep the Sabbath holy. Every moment was worth waiting for to kneel in private prayer, every pain worth enduring to attend church. Every blow was worth taking, every torment worth suffering, every tear worth shedding to come on this mission.”
Today in Macau, Elder Liao looks out the window of his missionary apartment and sees a promised land.
“When I decided to go on a mission,” he says, “I knew there would be strong currents against me. I didn’t really know the dangers lurking in the water, what might try to sting me or to swallow me up. I was only thinking about making it. Now here I am, and I know that it’s worth it.”
And he’s eager to build a bridge to help others, including his family, to cross over to the other side.

As a boy and a young man, I prepared to serve a full-time proselytizing mission for the Church. Like Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles counseled us, I wanted to be a missionary, not just to go on a mission. But because of my medical challenges, the Missionary Department informed me that it was not in my best interest to face the stress of a full-time mission. Although it would have been easy to become bitter, I had prepared to serve my Savior, and I was prepared to accept His will for me.
What happened to me is called being honorably excused. That means that Church leaders saw my worthiness and my desire to serve but encouraged me to serve in other ways. Like many others who cannot serve a full-time mission, I felt prompted to do more than just “get on with my life.” I wanted to serve, so I did—as a local Church-service missionary. With help from my bishop and stake president, I found a way to serve the Lord while living at home.
There was a need at the Church’s Audiovisual Department, and since I live near the Church Office Building in Salt Lake City, I could help. My stake president extended a call, set me apart, and developed special rules for me during my year of service. Though the rules seemed strict to me, I learned that I was blessed when I followed them. While other service missionaries with different stake presidents may have different rules, these were the ones I followed:
Stick to a daily schedule: arise at 6:30 a.m.; study the scriptures and Preach My Gospel for two hours each day; exercise for 30 minutes each day; go to bed at 10:30 p.m.
Follow the Church’s dress code.
Listen to classical or Church music only.
Limit computer use to e-mail; limited television viewing; no video games.
Participate only in group activities—no dating.
Have monthly interviews with my bishop.
Sometimes when I was down in a crawl space under a building in 100-degree heat (38ºC) winding up cable all day, I found myself wondering what it had to do with bringing to pass the immortality and eternal life of man (see Moses 1:39). Was I really part of the team sharing the gospel around the world? I knew that Mosiah 2:17 says that when we are in the service of our fellow beings we are in the service of God, but it took me a while to believe that was true.
I learned that just like a proselytizing mission, a service mission isn’t about you. It is about learning to do what the Lord needs done. During my service, I helped set up and take down lights, run sound for meetings, and transport equipment. It was hard, dirty work, and I will never take general conference for granted. In fact, now when I watch any broadcast, my whole body aches because I know the intense work involved.
During my Church-service mission, I learned the importance of punctuality, responsibility, doing the job right, and giving my best effort. While my parents had tried to teach me these things, I didn’t understand until I saw how wasting time and effort can directly affect the work of others. Before my mission, it was easy to focus on just having fun. But once you are on your mission, you realize it will not be fun to be the companion who doesn’t know how to work. Part of preparing to serve is learning how to work.
I also learned to appreciate those who work behind the scenes. I saw how hard Church leaders work without drawing attention to themselves or expecting special treatment. I saw others serving who had greater challenges than I did, teaching me that everyone can serve in some way.
I realized that I have been blessed with strengths and abilities and that through hard work I could do more than I had been doing. I learned that as I respect other people, I like myself better. It’s easy to get in the habit of looking down on people in order to try to feel better about ourselves. But respect works both ways, and those who represent Jesus Christ must be respectful.
The most important lesson I learned, however, was that the Lord will help you do difficult things. It was hard to stay home, hard to do menial chores, hard not to be the center of attention, hard to obey mission rules, and hard to hear people tell me I wasn’t on a “real” mission. But the Lord helped me. I know He will help you do the things you need to do to be happy, to feel good about yourself, to grow, and to be a better person. Get down on your knees, bow your head, and be honest with yourself as you pray. Then get ready to serve wherever and whenever you are called.

May I share with you this afternoon an experience that happened to a young couple who were members of the Church in Japan. They wished to be married, and as is the custom in Japan, they sought permission from their nonmember parents for the marriage to be performed. The boy’s parents refused to give permission. With concern and disappointment, the young couple prayerfully sought ways to fill their lives with meaningful Church activities and trusted that permission would be forthcoming later.
At this time Church members were planning a trip to the Hawaii Temple, and much emphasis was made and was being placed on the importance of genealogical research. So the couple joined with others in seeking out their ancestors and in planning to have the temple work done for them. The girl searched diligently through shrines, cemeteries, and government record offices, and was able to gather seventy-seven names. The boy’s uncle, who was a respected and influential member of the family, heard of this and was deeply impressed with and interested in her work. He noted the intense devotion of the girl to honoring her ancestors and suggested that such a young lady would be a good wife for his nephew. Permission was granted for the young people to be married, and the marriage was performed. Later they were sealed in the Hawaii Temple.
It is a Japanese tradition that families gather together for special holidays in January and August. As this young couple joined their family members on these special occasions, they displayed their book of remembrance, and much interest was generated in their work and in the reasons for it. They discussed with those relatives assembled their ancestral lines and the importance of completing the genealogical research. It was difficult for their nonmember families to understand the reasons for a Christian church teaching principles such as “ancestral worship,” for this was a Buddhist teaching and tradition.
Today many young men and women are completing their family group sheets and are teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ to their parents and their relatives by this method. Through genealogical research and through doing temple work for their progenitors, and especially with a temple now becoming available in Tokyo, members can so live that the gospel will yet be embraced by many more in the Orient. This great work has just begun.

During the very early years of her life, our niece Lachelle spent the mornings with her grandmother. The two shared a special bond from these hours together. Lachelle soon turned five years old and was preparing to begin school. On their last morning together, Grandma Squire read her granddaughter a story and rocked her in the big rocking chair. “We have had so much fun together, Lachelle,” she told her, “and now it is time for you to go to school. I love you so much; what will I ever do without you?”
With wisdom beyond her five years, Lachelle looked up at her grandmother with big brown eyes. “Grandma,” she said, “I love you too, but it is time I got on with my life.”

It’s worth doing, not only because you have life ahead but because you have eternity ahead, as well. Here is one report that suggests your reward for investing your inheritance well here will be to get to do it forever. President Wilford Woodruff gave this report in general conference in 1896.
“Joseph Smith continued visiting myself and others up to a certain time, and then it stopped. The last time I saw him was in heaven. In the night vision I saw him at the door of the temple in heaven. He came to me and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. The next man I met was Father Smith; he could not talk with me because he was in a hurry. I met half a dozen brethren who had held high positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again and I got the privilege of asking him a question.
“‘Now,’ said I, ‘I want to know why you are in a hurry? I have been in a hurry all my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.’
“Joseph said: ‘I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the priesthood on the earth and has gone into the celestial kingdom has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when he goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry in order to accomplish it.’
“Of course, that was satisfactory, but it was new doctrine to me” (Discourses of Wilford Woodruff, sel. G. Homer Durham, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1946, pp. 288–89).

One such was Edward Ojuka of Uganda. He met the missionaries in Perth, Australia, when he went there to attend college. After studying the gospel for four months, Edward was baptized. But when he talked to his wife, Grace, she was not interested; she was happy in the church they had been in. “I didn’t press the issue,” Edward says, “because I knew without a doubt that one day she would understand it.”

When Edward finished his master’s degree in 1987, he returned to Uganda. Then he decided to pursue a doctorate at Brigham Young University. Through a “chain of miracles” he received the necessary scholarships, and in 1988 he, his wife, and their three children moved to Provo, Utah. Three months later Grace was baptized, and a year after that their family was sealed in the temple.

“The Church’s power is based on the truth that it carries,” Edward says. “My desire in life is to serve. If I can use my learning and my education both secularly and in the Church to help, that would be my heart’s desire.”

I spent 10 minutes squirming, looking around at my friends, trying to make eye contact with one of them. But they were all watching the movie. Before we put the DVD in, I checked the rating and read the movie summary to make sure it would be OK. But even after taking precautions, I still felt uncomfortable.
I rationalized with myself that since my friends thought it was OK, it should be OK. Plus the rating was technically appropriate. But I didn’t want them to think I was lame. So I stayed.
After 10 more agonizing minutes I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I had to leave. As I left the room, I could hear my friends laughing at me. I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment, but I kept on walking.
On my way home, I stopped at my best friend’s house. I told her what happened, and she told me she was glad that I had left. Sitting with her, I realized I wasn’t embarrassed anymore. I knew that walking away from the movie was the right thing for me. And that was even more important to me than my friends’ approval.

One ever remembers that Christmas day when giving replaced getting. In my life, this took place in my tenth year. As Christmas approached, I yearned as only a boy can yearn for an electric train. My desire was not to receive the economical and everywhere-to-be-found windup model train; rather, I wanted one that operated through the miracle of electricity. The times were those of economic depression; yet Mother and Dad, through some sacrifice, I am sure, presented to me on Christmas morning a beautiful electric train.

For hours I operated the transformer, watching the engine first pull its cars forward, then push them backward around the track. Mother entered the living room and said to me that she had purchased a windup train for Mrs. Hansen’s son Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see the train. The engine was short and blocky, not long and sleek like the expensive model I had received. However, I did take notice of an oil tanker car that was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and pangs of envy began to be felt. I put up such a fuss that Mother succumbed to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker car. She said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.

Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen. The young boy was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, it not being electric like mine, and was overjoyed as the engine and two cars, plus a caboose, went around the track. Mother wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?”

I felt a keen sense of guilt and became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a moment. I’ll be right back!”

As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran to our home, picked up the oil tanker car, plus an additional car from my train set, ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, and joyfully said to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars that belong to your train.” Mark coupled the two extra cars to his set. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track and felt a supreme joy, difficult to describe and impossible to forget. The spirit of Christmas had filled my very soul.

“I can fly,” laughed Carlos as he went spiraling into the cool Idaho evening. He landed in the playground sand and rolled like a movie stuntman.
He brushed himself off and ran back to the merry-go-round, but it was spinning too fast to get back on. The four of us, all college roommates, had the thing moving so fast that I was afraid it would spin off its braces and take flight. I guessed we’d break out of the earth’s gravitational pull somewhere near Boise, and I’d never get home for Christmas.
“Is there a point to this?” I yelled at Dave, who was leading our family home evening activity that night.
“Yep. And remember, I buy pizza for whoever stays on the longest,” he called from his position in the middle of the twirling merry-go-round.
Our roommate Brad, however, was standing near the edge of the contraption, and I could see his grip was not that secure. From the ground Carlos saw too and began spinning us until we were moving at particle-accelerator velocity. Finally, Brad slipped and was sucked off like he’d just opened the door of a flying 747. He crashed right into Carlos. The two of them landed on the sand in an awkward heap.
“Okay, I win,” I yelled. “Now stop this thing before I throw up.”
We eventually slowed the ride, and Dave gathered us on one of the park benches to give us his lesson.
“Anyone know why I put us through this merry-go-round exercise tonight?” he asked.
“Mental instability?” Brad guessed.
“A sadistic streak?” I asked. My world was still spinning.
“Thanks, but wrong. Did you notice why Carlos and Brad flew off?” Dave asked.
“Yeah, because you took the middle,” said Brad.
“Actually, there was room for all of us,” Dave added.
“Yeah, but it’s not as wild a ride in the middle,” I added.
“True,” said Dave, “there are greater risks on the outside—which is my point tonight. It’s safer when we are in the center—on the merry-go-round and in the Church.
“You’ll find that when you move away from the teachings of the Savior and the prophets, you find yourself taking risks you know you shouldn’t. And then you can suddenly find yourself far away from the Church. And it can be really hard to get back on the ride again once you’re off. Right, Carlos?”
Carlos nodded and brushed a few flecks of sand off his jacket.
Dave opened his scriptures and read from Moroni 10:32 [Moro. 10:32]. “Yea, come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, and deny yourselves of all ungodliness; and if ye shall deny yourselves of all ungodliness, and love God with all your might, mind and strength, then is his grace sufficient for you, that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ; and if by the grace of God ye are perfect in Christ, ye can in nowise deny the power of God.”
Dave closed the scriptures. “Being a member of the Church is the greatest blessing in the world,” he said. “This scripture reminds us that if we come unto Christ and do all He has asked of us, we won’t be led astray. And if we stay centered on Him, following the teachings of the Church and the prophets, we won’t be tempted to take the risks that will throw us off the path that leads home.”
I have never forgotten Dave’s lesson. Every year the world seems to move faster and the distractions and temptations are greater, but I know if I stay centered I will avoid the greatest risks.
As Dave reminded me, by staying close to Christ I can overcome anything.

When I was young, my family and my Primary teachers asked me if I was going to go on a mission when I was older. I always said yes. When I was 12 years old, I was ordained to the office of deacon. My leaders started saying that I would be going on a mission in just seven years. It seemed so far away.
When I was ordained a teacher, the reminders of an upcoming mission became more frequent. When I was ordained a priest, they became even more frequent. I started to get worried because I had only three years left.
I liked the idea of going on a mission, as some of my older brothers had done. But the thought of being away from my family for two years in another part of the world was frightening. I realized that I was afraid to go on a mission because I didn’t have a strong desire to go.
I told Francisca, my sister, about my problem, and she sat down next to me and said, “Isaí, I understand what you’re saying, and I have just two things to say to you. The first is that a mission is where people can have the Spirit 100 percent of the time when their eye is single to the glory of God. The second thing is to ask the Lord to help your desire to go on a mission grow. The Lord will help you.”
I followed her advice and started to pray that my desire to serve a mission would become strong.
April 6, 2000, was a day of decision for me because that was the day my home teaching companion left to go on his mission. I went to the airport to see him off. When he got on the plane, I felt a nervous excitement about doing the same thing. But instead of feeling afraid, I had a feeling of peace. I concluded that these feelings were the answer to my prayers. I knew the Lord wanted me to serve a mission. From that day on, I had a firm desire to go on a mission when I was 19.
I was called to serve in the California San Jose Mission, and I have just recently returned. My years there were the best of my life. I found that even though I was far away from my family, when I had hard times or needed help, the Spirit of the Lord comforted and helped me. I came to know and love my Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I could say with certainty that the Book of Mormon is true. My testimony of living prophets and of the Restoration grew. I came to love the people I was serving. And I learned that the gift of tongues is real—because I learned to speak and teach in English.
What I thought would be a big sacrifice became the greatest blessing in my life.

When the Livingston Branch of the Kingwood Texas Stake put on a dance, it was a new page in their history.
The branch, with a total membership of 59, had never sponsored a stake activity, so the Mutual decided to remedy the situation and sponsor the next stake dance. They decorated the multipurpose room, planned refreshments, and sent out invitations. When the night came, more than double the expected number attended. It was a good night for dancing in Livingston.

After Ella gulped down her breakfast, she quickly put on her jacket, boots, hat, and gloves. She opened the front door and eagerly stepped onto the porch to see the glistening, new-fallen snow.
Ella dragged her feet through the snow, making two narrow trails across the yard. She reached the sidewalk and peered down the street. The Gonzales twins were already out in their yard, busily constructing a snowman.
“Their snowmen are always the biggest and fanciest on the street,” Ella grumbled to herself, “because there are two of them to do the work. Well, I’ll show them. I’ll build the best snowman that’s ever stood on Larkin Street—even if it takes me all day!”
Scooping up a handful of snow, she patted it into a ball and began rolling it in the snow. Around and around and around the yard she went, until her arms ached from pushing and sweat trickled down her forehead.
“Whew!” Ella stood back in admiration. She’d never seen such a gigantic ball. She glanced proudly toward the Gonzales’s yard—and her eyes popped as the twins set still another snowball on top of the four already there. A five-layered snowman!
“Nuts!” Ella said crossly. She wished that she had someone to help her—this was hard work! She flexed her arms, took a deep breath, and began rolling a second ball.
“Can I help?”
Ella whirled around instantly, but her excitement turned to dismay when she saw who was standing hopefully in the driveway.
Deon! Of all the people on Larkin Street—of all the people in the whole third grade—Deon was the very last person whom Ella would pick to help her. Deon was big enough, but he was awkward. He couldn’t make it through a day of school without dropping something, tripping, or crashing into desks and shelves and people—even Mr. Brown, the principal. Deon’s nickname was the Clumsy Giant.
Deon would probably trip and fall on top of mysnowman and smash it to pieces, Ella thought. I don’t want him to help.
She opened her mouth, all set to tell him—nicely, of course—to go away. Deon’s head drooped sadly. He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking.
“Oh,” said Ella, hating to see him so unhappy, “all right. You can help. Here, let’s lift this up.”
An enormous grin spread across Deon’s face as he plodded into the yard and bent over. Together they lifted the ball and set it on the sturdy base.
“Great!” Ella exclaimed as she dusted the snow off her knees. Then she looked down the street again and groaned. “The Gonzales’s snowman is so tall!”
“Yours is a lot wider, though,” Deon encouraged her.
Ella was pleased. “I’ll make the head, and you can make the neck, OK?”
“Sure!”
In another half hour they were finished.
“Fabulous!” Ella said, beaming. “It’s much better than the Gonzales’s snowman.”
“Are you going to put a face on it?” Deon asked eagerly.
“Of course. A face and a hat, buttons, …”
“A belt?” Deon asked.
“Terrific!” Ella exclaimed. “Why don’t you get a belt and buttons, and I’ll take care of the rest,” she said. “I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes.”
“OK,” Deon agreed. He lumbered down the sidewalk.
Ella rushed inside and began rummaging through the kitchen.
“Who’s that you’re playing with?” asked her mother.
“Oh, that’s Deon,” Ella explained, slamming a drawer shut. “He’s eight, too, even though he’s so big.”
Mom chuckled. “He reminds me of your Uncle Terry. Terry was big like that when he was a boy. Papa called him a bumbling old sheepdog.”
“Uncle Terry was that big?” Ella was amazed. Uncle Terry looked just like anybody else now. Oh, he was a little taller than average, and quite a bit chunkier, but still he was normal.
“He certainly was a clumsy child,” Mom said. “But now Aunt Rosemary says that he’s the best dancer that she’s ever danced with!”
Ella kept sneaking glances at Deon as they decorated the snowman. Will Deon grow up to look and act like everybody else? She wondered. And had Uncle Terry minded being called a bumbling old sheepdog? I bet Deon doesn’t enjoy being called the Clumsy Giant! Uncle Terry is a pretty super guy—and Deon really is a nice boy.
Soon the snowman was dressed with pop-bottle-cap eyes, a carrot nose, a potato-peeling mouth, an old fishing hat, a moth-eaten blue and green scarf, five shiny black buttons, and a sagging brown belt. Ella lifted up the hat and plopped down an old mophead for hair, and Deon leaned a broken fishing pole against the snowman’s arm.
Deon laughed. “We should make a sign: ‘I’m all ready. Where are the fish?’”
Ella grinned. “That’s a good idea.” She paused, then said, “Come on in. I think that we have paint and cardboard somewhere.”
Mom greeted them cheerfully and gave them cookies and milk after they finished their sign. She didn’t even mind when, on the way out, Deon knocked over a chair and just missed toppling a lamp. “No harm done,” she said, reaching out to steady it. “Now,” she added, “put your sign up, then wait for me. I’m coming out with the camera.”
“Your mom’s nice,” Deon told Ella as they propped the sign against the snowman. “My mom’s always afraid that I’ll break things. She starts yelling at me as soon as I come into the house: ‘Stay away from the table! Don’t set foot in the living room!’” Deon sighed. “I wish that I could take a shrinking potion. I hate being so big.”
“Don’t worry,” Ella said reassuringly. “My Uncle Terry was big like you when he was eight, but now he’s just like everyone else.”
“Really?” Deon’s eyes brightened.
“Yes. After Mom takes our picture, you can come in and play and she’ll tell you about him.”
“Are you ready?” Mom called as she tramped through the snow. “One of you get on each side of this super snowman and smile!”
“The best snowman on Larkin Street,” Ella said proudly as Mom focused the camera. “The best friends too.”

“I became interested in the Church when my grandmother was visited by the missionaries seven years ago. She invited our family to come and listen to them. All my family except my father joined the Church after studying with the missionaries. My grandmother and aunt also joined.
“Now I am teaching English at the university even though I don’t have a regular college degree. I studied four years of normal school and prepared to teach English in secondary schools, but circumstances made it possible for me to get my job at the university.
“When I first finished normal school, I got a job teaching in one of the best secondary schools. It was an air force school. But when the supervisor found out I was a Mormon, he said I wasn’t good for the students and fired me. That experience was one of the things that led to getting my position at the university. Here I have a better job, and I am accepted for what I am, and I accept others for what they are.”
Miriam Schumperli, 20Lima, Peru

It was morning, muggy and buggy. I sat in the mulberry tree, thinking about the July carnival two weeks away. Daddy had promised us if we did our chores daily, no nagging, we’d each get $2.00 to spend. Otherwise, we’d have to pay our own way. I was 12 years old, and since my access to money was limited in those days, I’d taken his warning to heart and done all my work early. Now I had nothing to do, except sit in the mulberry tree, think about the “Fourth,” and eat mealy mulberries.
“Hello there, Birdie.” Grandpa walked over under the tree and chuckled. I’m named Roberta after my Uncle Robert, but everyone calls me Birdie. Grandpa was laughing because Birdie was in the tree. He and I had many jokes together, most so familiar we didn’t have to say them aloud.
“Hello there, yourself. Back from your walk already?” I jumped down and rubbed my hands on my pants, trying to remove the purple stain.
“Yup. I guess I’m still alive.” We laughed again. Every morning except Sunday, Grandpa went for a walk. “A man who stays in the house may as well trade his bed for a coffin,” he’d say.
He was really my great-grandfather, but we called him Grandpa because that’s what my mother called him. He lived with Mom’s family when she was a girl. Now he lived with us. His wife, Marie, died in 1932. He never remarried.
I was the youngest and only daughter, so my family had a tendency to treat me like I was still in Sunbeams. But Grandpa was my best friend. He didn’t treat me like a little kid. And I didn’t treat him like an old man.
“Are you ready for the fair?” I asked, squinting in the sunlight. “Great gray grizzlies couldn’t keep me away,” Grandpa replied. But on carnival morning Grandpa felt sick and couldn’t go with me. Dad gave each of us our $2.00. Don, Ricky, and I left early so we wouldn’t miss anything. Ted, however, was 23, home from his mission, and too old to go to the fair in the daytime. He and his fiancée, Katie, would go that evening. Nights at the carnival were romantic. Even I knew that.
I liked Katie. She always smiled and said, “Hi Birdie,” just like I was her best friend. Once she tried to fix my hair like hers, after I told her how much I admired her hair style. Since her hair was long and blonde and mine was red, short, and mop-curly, the results were disastrous. But we giggled the whole time. None of Ted’s previous girl friends ever acknowledged my existence, so I was glad he was marrying Katie—except they were moving to Utah to finish school. So I had to think of something extra perfect for a wedding present. And I had to get it before August.
The carnival was in the town park. There were twister rides, bumper cars, a double-decker Ferris wheel, and more. Rows of game booths stood around the rides. And the food booths smelled so good I got hungry just smelling them, even though I’d eaten breakfast less than half an hour before. Since Grandpa hadn’t been able to come I tried to print the entire scene in my memory. I walked slowly and separated sights, smells, and sounds. I wanted to tell it to Grandpa so lifelike that he’d close his eyes and the kitchen (where I’d be telling it over buttermilk and fruit) would magically change into a fairground with sawdust on the ground and birds flying to your feet, pecking up popcorn and hot dog bun crumbs.
I was just about to have one of my dollars changed for some ride tickets when I saw it.
Usually I don’t waste my time on game booths, since Grandpa says they’re all rigged against you. Sometimes I stand back to watch people try their luck, but not for long. So many people walk up with hope in their faces and walk away grumbling how they were gypped. The old men running the booths never seem to care. But the operator at this booth wasn’t an old man “carnie.” He was young with bright red hair and a faceful of freckles, and he wore a fluorescent yellow shirt that read, “James.” And his booth didn’t have big faded stuffed animals hanging from it, like they’d been waiting for years. This booth had all sorts of glassware stacked up in the middle—and you threw dimes. Whatever your dime landed in, you took home.
Normally, a bunch of glasses, even pretty ones like these, wouldn’t interest me. But near the middle was a tall, dark, red-rose vase. Flowery and frilly, with the sun glowing through.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” The red-haired “James” said. I jumped. I was used to people ignoring a 12-year-old.
“It sure is. It would be the perfect present for Ted and Katie.”
“Just one dime, and it’s yours. I’ll even put it in a box with tissue paper. You can take it home,” James said.
“I, I don’t think I could,” I stammered.
“It’s easy.” He picked up one of the many dimes on the floor and flipped it casually between his thumb and middle finger. It made a clear “ping” as it dropped into the vase. At the same time a boy on the other side threw a dime into a red and blue Spiderman bowl.
“I won! I won!” He screamed.
“Everyone’s a winner here.” James handed him the bowl. When he turned back to me I held out one of my dollars.
“I’d like change, please.”
He put the dollar in his pocket and picked ten dimes up off the floor. “Just remember, it’s all in the wrists.”
I looked at the dimes in my hand. One of them was going to land in the red vase. Maybe it would even be my first try. I wiped my sweaty left hand on my shirt and pitched a dime at the vase. It missed by a foot.
“Oh, a south paw,” James said. I nodded. “We always give lefties two first tries.” He picked up a dime and pressed it into my hand.
Embarrassed by so much attention, I hurriedly threw the dime and missed again. Only I missed much closer. Again and again I threw my dimes until I only had one left. Disillusioned, I started to leave. Then I thought. “What if this is the dime that will go in?” That thought got stronger and stronger. I still had one dollar left. So what was one dime? My heart thumped. I tossed it. It slid around the frilly edge, off the side, and landed in a jelly glass.
“A winner!” James cried out. He handed me the stupid jelly jar I didn’t want or need. Now I only had one dollar left. The whole day and fair were before me. I walked over to a food booth.
“How much for a hot dog?” I asked.
“Twenty cents. Mustard or plain?” The woman looked at me and waited. I wanted a hot dog, but I couldn’t spend any money. If I spent two dimes for a hot dog, I might spend the dime that would win my vase.
“Will you take this for a hot dog?” I asked, holding up my jelly jar. She glared at me. I walked back to James and the vase.
“Ten more dimes, please,” I said, shivering. Here it was, a hot Nebraska summer day, and I was shaking like it was zero degrees.
One by one I tossed all my dimes. One by one, they all missed. I kicked at the dirt and turned to go.
“Hey, Red!” It was James. “Come on back!”
“I don’t have any more money.” I jammed one hand in my pocket and gripped the jelly jar with my other.
“Us redheads got to stick together,” he grinned. “If you go get more money, I’ll help you get the vase, okay?”
“Okay!” I shouted, then frowned. Where was I going to get any more money?
I searched frantically until I found Ricky and Donald. “You spent the whole two bucks already?” Ricky gasped. “Isn’t that just like a girl.” Donald shook his head in disbelief. “Can I borrow a dime?” I begged. But they laughed and ran off. “I’ll sell you this jar for a dime!” I followed them but soon gave up. I shoved the jar on top of an overful trash can. I kept my eyes on the ground, looking for pennies, because I didn’t have any more money at home.
“Yes, you do.” I thought. “In the vitamin jar on your dresser is 37 cents.”
“But that’s tithing money!” I couldn’t believe I’d thought such a thought.
“You can pay it back,” I told myself. “And James promised to help. You’re sure to win the vase for Ted and Katie this time.”
“But it’s not my money. Anything in the vitamin jar is already tithing.” I argued with myself as I walked. When I looked up I was home. I felt like a thief as I walked into my room.
“What’s the matter, Leftie?” James asked when I returned. “I only have 37 cents and I have to win the vase this time.” He gave me four dimes and winked. I threw the first three. They all missed.
“I can’t do it,” I whined. “I try and I try, but they all either bounce off the rim or miss completely!”
“Give me your last dime.” He pointed to his palm. I handed it to him. “I’ll throw your last dime for you.” A flip of his hand and the dime went into the vase.
“You’re a winner!” He picked up the vase, put it in a box, and handed it to me. I smiled at the people clapping for me, but I didn’t feel like a winner. I felt like a real loser.
I ran straight home to my room, put the box up in my closet behind some dirty clothes, and lay down on my bed.
Grandpa knocked at the door. “Home already, Birdie? It’s only 2:00.”
“I don’t feel well,” I answered.
“Would you like some buttermilk?” he asked.
“No, thanks. I just want to be alone.” He left, and I lay there, more alone than I’d ever felt before, thinking all sorts of terrifying thoughts. I’d stolen from the Lord. What if I died before I could pay back that tithing?
August came, sunny and hot in the daytime, dark and hot at night—and sticky. The sweat stuck in the creases of your arms and knees. Katie was the only one who didn’t seem to mind the weather. She was over all the time, talking and laughing with Mom about the reception and married life.
I was feeling good again, too. I hadn’t died. I’d earned enough money and repaid the Lord. And I had the best present for Ted and Katie. To ease any remorse, I’d convinced myself that maybe the fact that I’d spent tithing money to win the vase made it more special. Guilty people can be real stupid.
Two days before the reception Grandpa and I were sitting in my bedroom drinking apple juice and club soda. Grandpa told me again about the day he married Great-grandma Marie, the civil ceremony in Fremont, and then, the train ride to Salt Lake City.
“Ted and Katie can fly to Salt Lake and get married tomorrow. But it took us three days by train,” Grandpa explained. “So we were married before, to make the trip respectable. It was an expensive marriage for me, but it was worth it.” He smiled at me. “The right things are difficult sometimes, but they’re always worth it.”
“Do you want to see what I got them?” I bounced up off the bed. “I haven’t shown it to anybody. I haven’t even looked at it since I got it. But if you want, I’ll show it to you.” I was already to the closet.
“What did you decide on, Birdie?” he asked.
“Wait until you see it. It’s the most beautiful present in the whole world.” I uncovered the box. He held it while I removed the lid and folded back the tissue paper. Somehow it looked different.
“Very nice,” he said.
“No, it’s not.” I turned away and looked out my window. “It looks like junk.” The vase, which had been the most exquisite object I’d ever seen at the carnival was now, in the afternoon light of my bedroom, all flawed. One side was much thicker than the other. Air bubbles marred the entire surface. “I don’t understand. It was so pretty at the carnival.”
“Is that where you bought it, the carnival?” Grandpa put his arm around me.
“I’m so ashamed,” I sobbed, and hugged him.
“You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of,” he comforted.
That made me feel worse. “Oh yes I have.” And between crying and blowing my nose I told him the whole regrettable story. “I’m so sorry.” I sniffed.
“I know,” he sighed. “I’m sure the Lord knows it, too. I wish I could have gone with you and spared you all this. But it seems to me, Roberta, you’ve learned a hard lesson.” He patted my back.
“When do I get to start learning easy ones, Grandpa?” I asked. Then, without waiting for him to reply, I stuffed the vase back in its box and gave it to him. “Please, do me a favor and take this to the trash. I never want to see this ugly vase again.”
When Ted, Katie, and the parents left for Utah, Grandpa stayed home with me and my brothers. We got the happy couple a gift certificate. Grandpa paid for it; I made the card. That was eight years ago. I’d almost forgotten about it.
Grandpa’s funeral was during finals week. When I came home from school there was a box on my dresser wrapped in plain brown paper. I carried it out to the living room. Mom was doing some mending.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“I found it in Grandpa’s bedroom when I was cleaning up,” she said. “It had your name on it.”
“Did he leave any others, for the boys or you?” I asked.
“No. That was the only one,” she answered. I felt kind of important as I opened the package. But the feeling didn’t last long. When I took off the lid I felt the same nausea and embarrassment I’d felt at age 12. Grandpa had left me that ugly red vase.
“It’s even worse than I remembered.” I felt like crying.
“What made him give you that?” Dad asked.
“There’s a note, Roberta.” Mom picked it up and looked at me. I was straining not to cry. “Would you like me to read it?”
I nodded.
She read:
“Dearest Little Birdie,
“I want to give this to you. It is the most important thing I can leave you. Do you remember how bad you felt the day you first showed me this vase when you told me the story behind it? I want you always to remember how bad you felt, because someday it may help you from feeling much worse.
“In life there are a lot of red vases: power, fame, beauty, money. And here on earth these things look so good to some people that they do anything to obtain them. They do far worse things than spending tithing money. When these people die, they will see with new eyes the goals they worked so hard to attain during their mortal existence. Those will seem as cheap and worthless as this vase seems to you. Only they will have spent a whole life on their red vases, while you, if you learn, will have only spent one hard lesson on yours.
“If you read the scriptures and heed the words of the prophets, ancient and latter-day, you won’t need to worry about whether the things you strive for in this life will be worthwhile in the next. You’ll know.
“So throw this ugly vase in the trash, if you must. But I would hope instead, you’ll keep it nearby at all times. So any time you’re tempted to lower your standards for money, worldly praise, or a man who is not worthy of you, anything you will have to compromise yourself for, you can take out this old vase, look at it, and remember how you felt that hot summer day. Then, ask yourself if it’s worth it.
“All my love, Grandpa.”
After crying for a while and explaining the vase story to my mother and father, I picked up the gift from my wise grandpa, carried it into my bedroom, and placed it on my dresser. And I’m going to take it back to school with me, too. I don’t know if my roommate’s going to think much of my taste, but I’m going to display it proudly in a prominent place in our apartment.
That red vase was a more expensive present than I ever dreamed on that carnival day. I will never let anything cost me that much again.

“Going to church isn’t always a picnic,” I thought to myself as I studied the congregation. There must have been 200 people in the room, but I felt painfully alone.
All around me families sat snuggled cozily together on the benches, and Bishop Campbell was up at the pulpit talking about the joys of eternal families. “Right,” I thought sadly. “Sometimes that seems like a fairy tale.” My parents were divorced; my sister, the only other member in my family, was away at school; and I had no one to sit with in sacrament meeting. I felt warm tears forming in the corners of my eyes. Once again, the depression inside me began to swell and completely overwhelm the messages that were being taught from the stand.
There are probably a lot of you who feel the same way at times. More teens than ever are joining the Church on their own, without having other family members join them in the waters of baptism. Or maybe your parents stop coming and you continue to attend. You wish your family were with you—you wish they were feeling the same spirit, learning the same things, receiving the same blessings. You wish you had someone to lean on, to talk to, to discuss the talks with after the meeting. I know. I’ve sat through countless meetings alone because I didn’t think my friends and their families wanted an intruder to squish in with them on their bench.
Now, for those of you who have always had loving, supportive families to sit with and can’t understand the loneliness your friends are experiencing, you might take a look around and see just how many of them there are. They come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages. Consider going out of your way to invite them to sit with you, even if it means your family will have to sit on two rows. You have no idea how grateful your friends will be.
But for those of you who are going it on your own, here are a few suggestions:
1. Avoid sitting by yourself. Find someone else who is sitting alone, and ask if you can join them. They’ll probably be just as grateful to have a friend by them as you are.
2. Try not to let self-pity get the best of you. It’s easy to think, “I put a lot of effort into coming to church—no one’s dragging me here. I’m here because I want to be. Yet sitting alone reminds me that these people are way ahead of me in the blessing department. They’ve got celestial families, and I’m by myself.” When these thoughts come into your head, concentrate extra hard on the speaker. Pull out the hymnbook and start singing something to yourself (maybe not “Love at Home”). Say a quiet prayer. Read your favorite scripture. Think about the blessings you do have. Do anything to get your mind off the loneliness.
3. Realize that you, and only you, are responsible for your attitudes about church. Don’t try to blame your negative feelings on the actions of others. It’s how you react to those other people that counts. And try not to expect ward members or the Church in general to solve all your problems. That responsibility lies with you.
4. Whatever you do, don’t start resenting those who do have families, and are happily seated with them. They’re not purposely trying to hurt or ignore you, and they’re probably not aware that you’re in so much pain. Be happy for them, and use them as good examples. Vow that one day your children will be able to sit cozily with their family and will never have to suffer the same ordeal that you’re going through.
5. Make a commitment that you’ll always come back. Don’t even consider neglecting church because of the loneliness you sometimes feel there. As you sit in church alone, you might feel bad about your family situation, but at least you can feel good about yourself because you’re doing what you know the Lord wants you to do. If you stay home, you won’t feel good about anyone. Besides, many times the Lord reaches out to you and answers prayers through speakers and through your fellow ward members. Why deprive yourself by missing out on important learning, inspiration, and fellowship?
6. Know that you’re not completely alone. The Lord is with you and is very mindful of you. He’ll bless you for your diligence. He knows that it’s not easy for you to sit there by yourself, and he shares your sorrow. But he also knows that in the long run, the experience can prove useful to you.
7. Realize that you can benefit from the experience. You have to stand on your own two feet when you don’t have anyone to lean on, and this can help you develop inner strength and endurance. You’ll build your own testimony, and not be dependent on anyone else for your devotion. If your mind is open and your heart is pure, the Lord will supply you with the understanding you miss by not having someone there to discuss the meeting with. You’ll develop a strong relationship with Heavenly Father, because there aren’t a lot of other places to turn. And you’ll develop compassion for others in similar circumstances.
Maybe these pointers sound a little idealistic, but I can tell you they work. Every now and then, I still have to sit alone in Church, and it’s still not fun. But these days, I try to relax and count the blessings I’ve received from the experience. I’ve become more aware of other’s needs. While serving a mission, I was able to successfully battle the loneliness a missionary feels when there is no one familiar around. I gained a bit of spiritual self-confidence, because I knew I could do something difficult that the Lord asked of me. But best of all, I developed a very strong relationship with Heavenly Father.