Gospel Story Finder

The 18th century was destined to be a time where the greatest nation ever to live upon the earth was born. It also produced a vast array of great men. Among these wise and spiritual men were the founding fathers-a specially selected group of men who God raised up to give our nation the start toward its destiny. One of these superb men went by the name of Benjamin Franklin.

In 1728 when he was just 28 years old he said, "It was about this time that I conceived the bold and arduous project of arriving at moral perfection."

Ben Franklin then wrote down the qualities that he wanted to acquire, that we today know as his 13 virtues. Below each of these virtues he added a short precept that expressed the meaning he wished the virtues to have. He made a small book, which he carried with him constantly, from the time he was age 22 until the time of his death at age 84. In this little book he made a check each night of al the places where he had fallen down in his determination to develop these qualities of personality. After keeping this technique up after 57 years he made this marvelous statement: "it may be well that my posterity be informed that this little artifice of constant attention and daily checking." It is here where you can see the similarities of President Eyring's voice to write these things down. It may not be for you.

My Personal Experience I was in college, had a good part-time job and was engaged to be married within a few months. My life was exciting and the future looked bright. I was surprised when my Stake President approached me one Sunday morning. He said, “The Lord wants you to serve a mission.” I felt powerfully impressed that this was a call from God. I acted upon that impression and immediately committed myself to serve.

I was called to serve in the Southern States Mission and I began my preparation with personally difficult tasks. I postponed my wedding for two years, quit my job, left the university and said goodbye to my loved ones. It seemed that I was leaving everything that mattered to me.

I traveled with missionary companions by train to Atlanta, Georgia. Two missionaries picked us up at the train station and took us to meet the mission president. My mission president greeted me for a few moments and then told me that I must leave immediately by bus to Montgomery, Alabama where I would be given instructions about my field of labor. The two missionaries took me to the bus station and handed me a piece of paper with an address hand scrawled on it. They told me that the missionaries in Montgomery would tell me what to do.

I walked tentatively into the bus station, bought a ticket and boarded the bus. It was getting dark and I began to feel very alone. I found an empty seat next to a window and tried to ignore growing discouragement from not knowing where I was going, whom I would be with or what I would do.

When the bus driver took his seat, he stared at me in the rearview mirror. I could see he was looking at me. He walked to where I was sitting and shouted, “What are you trying to do, boy?” I was shocked that he would shout at me with all the people on the bus watching. I had no idea why he was angry with me. I was so embarrassed. I barely whispered, “I’m just riding the bus.”

He yelled, “Are you trying to start something here?” He pointed to a white line on the floor of the bus that I had not noticed before. He told me to sit in front of that line or he would put me off the bus. I was terrified and moved immediately. I did not know until much later that in those days, white lines divided the areas where white and black people could sit. There had been a lot of dissension in the southern states over segregation of whites and blacks and the bus driver thought that I was trying to start a protest.

I rode for several hours huddled in the bus trying to fight off fear, loneliness and embarrassment. By the time I reached Montgomery, my trembling hands could hardly lift my suitcases. The bus arrived very late at night, so the bus station was practically empty and there was no one there to meet me. The only information I had was the missionary address hand scrawled on the piece of paper the missionaries gave to me in Atlanta. I had no idea how to find the missionary address.

I awakened a taxi driver sleeping in his taxi and asked him to take me to the address on the paper. He was irritated. He told me it would cost a minimum of $5 and I promised to pay the fee, even though it seemed very expensive. In those days, $5 was a lot of money. My entire monthly support was only $65. He drove me less than 100 yards (91m) and announced “this is it!” The taxi driver demanded his fee and left me and my suitcases in front of a small white house. The house was dark. I carried my suitcases to the porch and knocked on the door. Nobody came. I hammered the door more loudly. After a few minutes, a sleepy-eyed missionary opened the door. “Who are you?” he asked. When I told him who I was and why I was there, he said he didn’t know I was coming and he didn’t invite me in. I apologized and told him I was only doing what I was told to do. “We don’t have any room for you,” he said, still leaving me on the porch.

What do you want me to do, Elder?” I cried. “I have been sent here and I have nowhere else to go.” He finally invited me into the house and told me I would have to sleep on the kitchen floor. He then disappeared into his bedroom. He suddenly returned to the door and said to me: “Elder, if I had as much time left of my mission as you have on yours, I would slash my wrists!” He then disappeared behind the door. Never had I felt so alone and so unwanted and discouraged. The kitchen floor looked as if it had not been cleaned for several generations of missionaries and I was definitely NOT going to sleep on THAT floor.

I put my suitcases on the filthy floor and turned out the light. I stood at the door and peered out the window. I could see the bus station that I had left only a few minutes before. “I could easily walk there and buy a ticket for home,” I thought. I had just enough money left. All of my joys hopes and dreams were at home. People there loved me. I could have my old job back, go back to school, get married, see my family. Over and over again the thought came to me: “Go home. Nobody here cares about you. Nobody here wants you.”

I asked myself, “Why did I come here in the first place?” My Stake President’s words came back to my mind: “The Lord wants you to serve a mission.” But actually, there was imbedded within that request, a coded instruction, which the Holy Spirit had revealed to me. I recalled that I felt a powerful impression at the time he told me those words. It was a call from the Lord to sacrifice whatever I thought was important for the Lord’s purposes. It did not matter if it was convenient, or pleasurable, or even tolerable. Sacrifice for the Lord meant sacrifice whatever was needed to do what He had commanded. I remembered that the feeling had been so strong I had postponed my wedding, quit my job and left the university so I could serve a mission. However, being in the mission field was not at all like I thought it would be. I had been sure once, but now when I felt the need of divine reassurance the most, the powerful feelings seemed a distant memory.

Almost every aspect of my introduction to the full time mission had been an unexpectedly difficult struggle for me. Yet I knew that I was on the Lord’s errand. The absence of a profound witness at that darkened window in the dreary missionary apartment didn’t change that knowledge. It came to my mind that I was in the process of making a very important choice. It was a choice between what I wanted to do and what the Lord wanted me to do. It was the first time in my memory that I had ever recognized so clear a choice. I spoke out loud to myself: “I will never, never quit the calling I have accepted. No matter what happens, I will stay on this mission.” As I said the words, peace came to my heart for the first time since arriving in the mission field.

Now, many years later, I recognize that the Lord was guiding me through this experience. I learned that the Mission Call was actually a symbol of God’s invitation to consecrate my life to Him. It is the Holy Spirit which provides the key to unlock the code of the symbol by Divine Revelation.

It was a time of learning and testing one’s fortitude. Once Joseph Smith counseled the men not to kill any animal except for food. “When men lose their vicious dispositions and cease to destroy the animal race, the lion and the lamb can dwell together.” (Documentary History of the Church, 2:71–72.)
Brigham Young listened to the Prophet Joseph and learned. Once when Elder Young spread his sleeping blanket on the tall, thick prairie grass, a rattlesnake coiled and threatened. Brigham called to a nearby friend and told him, “Take this snake and carry it off and tell it not to come back again; and to say to its neighbors do not come into our camp tonight, lest some one might kill you.” His companion faithfully picked up the snake and carried it without injury a good distance from the camp. (Journal of Discourses 17:40.)

One evening in the summer of 1837, Joseph and I drove a carriage into the little town of Painesville, Ohio, and stopped at the house of a friend for supper. We had scarcely finished our meal when a disturbance arose outside. A mob had gathered; there were angry yells and threats of murder. They demanded that our host bring Joseph and me out to them. Instead, he led us out through a back door and helped us to get away in the darkness.
Pretty soon the mob discovered we had escaped, so they dispatched riders to hurry along the road they thought we would take. Bonfires were lighted, sentinels were placed, they hunted the countryside.
Joseph and I did not take the main road, however, but walked through the woods and swamps away from the road. We were helped by the bonfires. Pretty soon I began to falter in our flight. Sickness and fright had robbed me of strength.
Joseph had to decide whether to leave me to be captured by the mob or to endanger himself by rendering aid. Choosing the latter course, he lifted me upon his own broad shoulders and bore me with occasional rests through the swamp and darkness. Several hours later we emerged upon the lonely road and soon reached safety. Joseph’s herculean strength permitted him to accomplish this task and saved my life.

They chat on the school bus, during breaks and lunch hour, between classes, and walking home. Sharline Niblett first heard the gospel this way. “I was invited to another Grice sister’s (Wendy’s) 21st birthday at their home, stayed the weekend, went to church meetings Sunday, and have been attending nearly every Sunday since,” she laughs.
So she kept in touch with the Grice girls. “I attended church with them on and off for three years,” she admits. Then came Sharline’s baptism. “I had such a good feeling inside,” she recalls. “During the testimony time, I sat next to Rachael and could clearly hear the Spirit whispering to me, ‘Go on up there.’ I tried to explain to Rachael, asking her to come with me. Rachael hesitated, so I told Sarah I had to go up. She was really surprised. Eventually we walked up to the stand together, and I was just able to say, ‘I know this church is true,’ before bursting into tears.”

I was called to serve as a missionary and assigned to the Brazil Florianópolis Mission. I spent seven months there and ended up returning home early. When I was going home, I said a prayer asking Heavenly Father to not release me as a missionary. After I prayed, I felt the Spirit telling me that everything would be OK.
During my first week home, I trusted in the way I felt after I prayed at the airport. I began helping in the temple store. When I got the chance to meet with my stake president, he was very happy to hear of my service and said he wouldn’t release me. I was then assigned to be a service missionary in my home mission, the Recife Northeast Mission.
My service mission includes various assignments. During the week I help in the temple shop, the temple office, and the laundry room. There is always something to do at the temple—the missionaries never sit still there.
On Saturdays I help with institute. I participated in the institute’s missionary preparation class to share what I learned on the mission—it felt so good to share. I also help distribute food to the students after class.
In addition to my specific assignments, I use my social networks to share the gospel. I have a page I created when I was 17 years old that talks about the youth program.
The Lord has called us to serve. He knows us and our capabilities. Service missions are inspired by the Lord, and if you were assigned to serve one, it’s because the Lord needs your help in building His kingdom.
Even if I’m sad or facing difficulties, I really like it when I complete each month of my mission and can reflect on how I’ve grown and been strengthened during that time. I love my mission. It really is inspired by the Lord.

Twelve-year-old David gripped his video game controller. He was going to do it! He was finally going to beat this level!
And then it all came crashing down. He missed the last tricky turn on the racetrack. His car fell behind. He lost. Again.
"Nooo!" he said. The opening screen of the video game flashed in front of him. He’d been so close! And all his friends said the next level was the coolest in the whole game too.
I bet I could do it. Just a few more tries. He reached for the start button on his controller.
Then he glanced out the window. Did he really want to spend his whole Saturday morning playing video games?
Not really. But he just knew he could beat the level.
He reached again for the controller. And then David remembered the pile of boards waiting in the backyard. He glanced back at the sun shining through the window. Today would be the perfect day to start on the tree fort he and his friends had planned.
He turned off the game and walked outside. A soft breeze blew through his hair. Sunlight warmed his face.
He filled the red wagon with spare boards Dad had given him. He told Mom where he was going and then tossed a hammer and nails into the wagon before heading to Sam’s house.
"What’s up?" Sam said, opening the door. He noticed the wagon and tools. "Great idea!"
Sam and David stopped by Ty’s house. Soon the three of them were taking turns hauling the wagon up the steep hill in the woods behind their neighborhood.
"This is heavy!" Sam said.
"And it’s hot today," Ty said.
David nodded. Pulling those boards up the dirt trail wasn’t easy. Every so often the wagon wheels caught on a big rock or fell into a crack.
"But it’s gonna be awesome," Sam said as he yanked the wagon out of a deep crack.
David pushed from behind. "Yup. Our very own tree fort."
"With a rope swing," Ty added. "And a lookout tower!"
Talking about their plans got them excited again. Before long they finished the steep climb to the tree they’d already chosen. It had the perfect tangle of big limbs and smaller branches.
"First we need to build the ladder," Ty said. David and Sam nodded. They had already drawn plans. They would nail some short two-by-four pieces of wood sideways onto the tree for the ladder.
The only problem was, building a ladder was harder than they’d thought. The nails kept bending. One board split in half. Their arms got tired.
After they had nailed only three steps in place, David checked his watch. They’d been there over two hours! It was already time to go home and help pull weeds in the garden.
They looked at the big pile of boards remaining.
"This is going to take a long time," Ty said.
David thought about how long it might take. But he wasn’t worried. And then he realized he hadn’t thought about his video game at all while they’d worked. He hadn’t even missed it! This fort might be a lot of work, but those ladder steps were going to last forever.
"Yeah," David agreed. "But I’ll bet we’ll be able to see all the way to the river once we finish the lookout tower."
The three friends headed home. They talked about how great their fort would be and decided to get an earlier start next Saturday.
The video games could wait.

By August 1830, Parley P. Pratt had moved to Ohio, married, and worked hard to turn his land into a beautiful farm. But in studying the scriptures, Parley began to feel that the Lord wanted him to become a preacher. He and his wife sold their farm and headed by boat for Albany, New York, where they had friends. While on board, Parley felt a need to leave the boat and travel by foot.
At Newark, New York, he set off, leaving his wife to continue to Albany alone. He soon met a Mr. Hamblin, who told him of a book said to have been discovered and translated by a young man named Joseph Smith. The next morning Parley went to the Hamblin home to see the book. He wrote, “I read all day; eating was a burden, … I preferred reading to sleep.
“As I read, the spirit of the Lord was upon me, and I knew and comprehended that the book was true. … I soon determined to see the young man who had been the instrument of its discovery and translation.”
Immediately Parley went to Palmyra, New York, to find Joseph Smith. When he got there, he learned that Joseph had moved to Pennsylvania. Parley met the prophet’s brother Hyrum, however, and talked with him throughout the night about the Book of Mormon and the restoration of the gospel. A few days later Parley P. Pratt was baptized in Seneca Lake.

Many of our relatives and friends loved my mother and wouldn’t accept anyone else. They kept telling my father that he was wrong and was making a big mistake. But he wouldn’t listen, and neither would I. All I knew was that I had to trust my father. When I saw my two youngest sisters cuddled up to this woman while she sang them little songs she made up, I knew it was right. She was to be our new mother, and we all needed her, especially those two. As we grew to know her, we all eventually grew to love her.

While on a leadership training assignment to Brazil, I had the opportunity to visit a Primary nursery class. Approximately eight children were seated around a table with their teacher. I watched in awe as these little ones, two and three years old, sat for a few brief moments focused in rapt attention on a picture the teacher was holding of the Savior with the children. I heard her tell them how He loves children and how He loves each one of them. She taught them that Heavenly Father loves them too. I watched them listen, and I felt that they were understanding much more than I might have thought possible. They were hearing her words and feeling her love. In the beauty and simplicity of those few moments, those children were being taught the answer to life’s most important question, “Who am I?” In their pure, childlike faith, their spirits were receptive to the truths they were being taught. That experience will be repeated for them in their nursery class Sunday after Sunday. These are significant teaching moments in the lives of young children at a time when they are ready to learn.

Elder Ulisses Soares traveled with President Dallin H. Oaks to help dedicate a new temple in Colombia, in the city of Barranquilla.
Many children came with their parents to see the new temple be dedicated.
President Oaks invited a boy and girl to help seal the cornerstone in place. The temple was finished!
Inside the temple after the cornerstone ceremony, Elder Soares gave a talk. Then President Oaks gave a prayer to dedicate the temple to the Lord. Now the temple is the Lord’s house.
Soon children will be able to go inside to be sealed to their families and do temple baptisms!

Now I would like to conclude with one other little experience. I was down in Toquepala, Peru. We were dedicating a chapel. Many of the men who were employed in that mining town were Americans. After the dedication they had a dinner at one of the homes. As we moved around in the home, a young boy came to me and said, “Brother Kimball, I’m thinking about a mission. Would you give me a blessing?”
I said, “Why, of course. I’d be very happy to give you a blessing, but isn’t that your father I met in the other room?”
He said, “Yes, that’s Dad.”
I said, “Well, why don’t you ask him to give you your blessing?”
“Oh,” he said, “Dad wouldn’t want to give a blessing to me.”
So I excused myself. In time I ran into the father, and I said, “You have a wonderful boy there. I think he would like to have a blessing from his father. Wouldn’t you like to give him a blessing?”
He said, “Oh, I don’t think my boy would want me to give him a blessing.”
But as I mingled among these people and saw the father and the son a little later, close together, I could understand that they had come together in their thoughts and that the boy was proud to have his father bless him, and the father was delighted to be asked.
I hope you boys in this audience will keep that in mind. You have the best dad in the world, you know. He holds the priesthood; he would be delighted to give you a blessing. He would like you to indicate it, and we would like you fathers to remember that your boys are a little timid maybe. They know you are the best men in the world, but probably if you just made the advance, there would be some glorious moments for you.
Brethren, it is wonderful to be with you here tonight. And may peace be with you, and as has been said so many times in these days, only righteousness pays dividends. God bless you, and I bear my testimony to you boys, to you men, that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ. It is a great program of salvation and exaltation, and it is the only way, and there never was found happiness in unrighteousness. I bear my testimony to you in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

In the late spring of 1967, our ward was asked to choose 16 youth to dance in the All-Church Dance Festival. For our little town in rural Idaho, this was an adventure. The festival was to be held in the giant University of Utah stadium with thousands in attendance. I was not a dancer and was reluctant in our initial practices, but I soon came to enjoy being together with good young men and women preparing for the dance festival. The thought of going to the large city of Salt Lake and staying at a hotel with a swimming pool motivated us.
We arrived in Salt Lake City on the appointed day and began to dress for our performance. I suddenly realized that I did not have the black trousers I was to wear for our ballroom dance. I had left them at home. We did not even consider going to the store to buy a pair of pants, because it would have been too expensive. I did not know what I would do.
The solution came as my Young Men leader, Brother Lowe, offered to let me wear his dark pants. When I put the pants on, I was happy that they were about the right length. However, I quickly realized that I had a problem: the pants were several inches too large in the waist. “What am I going to do?” I thought. I was grateful for the kindness of Brother Lowe but felt very embarrassed to wear the large pants. Brother Lowe and my friends assured me that no one would know because the pants would be mostly covered with my suit coat and I could use a belt to cinch them up tightly.
I still remember the feeling of arriving at the stadium and seeing hundreds of young men and young women from all over the country who shared my beliefs and convictions. It was a great moment for me to realize how important the Church was to so many.
When it was our turn, we moved onto the field. As the dance began, much to my horror, I could feel the big ballooning trousers slipping. There was no time to fix the situation; the music had begun. The dilemma added new steps to my ballroom experience. Not only was it necessary to remember all we had been taught, but I also had to invent some new movements to keep my trousers in place. At times these steps dismayed my talented partner, but they saved me from a more troubling conclusion.
I have never forgotten my brief precarious moments of ballroom dancing. More important, I have never forgotten the feeling that we were all part of something extraordinary—not simply a dance festival—but the restored Church and gospel of Jesus Christ.

Merrell: Since returning from my mission I have been made a seventy and have been able through my career to introduce the gospel to producers, musicians, and other people in the industry. I give a Book of Mormon with a picture of our family and my testimony in the front to the conductor of the orchestra I happen to be working with and also to people I meet on planes while traveling. By the time Producer Kieth Merrill* and I finished doing Three Warriors, the editor, who is Jewish, wanted to send his daughter to BYU. They went out and investigated the school, and I believe she is enrolled there now.

Tandy loved to frisk and frolic. Then he would wag his tail with happiness. But for over a week now he had hardly wagged his tail at all. Something was different in the Phillips’ house where he lived. Everyone was too busy to play with him.
One of the things Tandy liked to do best was to roll over on his back, put his feet in the air, and play dead. Before all the busyness, his playing dead trick always brought him a playful tickle on his tummy or a soft tug on his ear from Paul. Sometimes, Paul’s younger sister, Wendy, or Mother or Daddy would stop and play Tandy’s make-believe game with him. When they tussled him “awake,” Tandy would open his eyes, jump up on his four feet, and dance around the room, fanning the air with his tail.
But since Daddy had brought a tree into the house and the family had covered it with shiny balls and bright lights, no one had time to play with Tandy. The little dog was curious about the tree and sniffed at it suspiciously, wondering what it was all about.
Lately, right after supper, Mother would go to the back bedroom and close the door. Soon Tandy could hear the humming of a sewing machine. When Daddy excused himself from the table, instead of going into the living room to relax and read the newspaper, he went out to the garage and shut the door. It wasn’t long until Tandy could hear a tap-tap-tap of a hammer and the whirrrrrr of an electric drill.
And as quickly as Paul and Wendy finished washing the dishes, they disappeared into their own rooms. When Tandy pattered up to their doors, they were closed, and he could hear that they were busy.
One day Paul didn’t shut his bedroom door tightly, and Tandy trotted in. Next to playing dead, Tandy liked best going into the closet and getting hold of Paul’s old leather slipper to chew on. But the closet door was closed. Of course Tandy had Roscoe, a rubber frog, to play with, but it wasn’t nearly as much fun as the slipper.
Although Tandy was given food and water every day, no one stopped to play with him. That’s why his tail had stopped wagging—he, was lonely and unhappy.
One night after supper Tandy could feel a kind of excitement in the air. Soon he saw Mother and Daddy and Paul and Wendy putting packages under the tree. When the doorbell rang, Paul ran to open it. “Hi! Grandpa,” he called, “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas to you,” said Grandpa, bending down to give Paul a squeeze. When the doorbell rang again, Wendy answered it. In came aunts and uncles and little cousins. Everyone was smiling and saying, “Merry Christmas!” to each other. When they came over to put their packages by the tree, Tandy had to run behind the couch to get out of the way of all the feet.
Then Paul and Wendy’s mother played the piano and everyone sang happy carols. Tandy came out from behind the couch to sit by Paul and listen. And when Paul rubbed his ears, Tandy’s tail started to wiggle just a little bit.
Tandy felt his loneliness slipping away. He scampered through the bedrooms, happy that the closet doors were open. But when he rooted around for his favorite slipper, it was gone.
Trotting back into the living room, Tandy saw that the tree made the only light in the room. Daddy was calling out names and everybody was smiling as packages were handed to them. When Daddy said, “Here’s one for Tandy,” the little dog’s ears pricked up. He tugged at the wrapping until something fell right between his paws. Tandy’s tail began to wiggle when he found Paul’s old slipper inside!
Tandy was content just chewing on the slipper, but when Paul called, “Here Tandy, play dead for the cousins,” he quickly dropped it and did his trick. And when it was finished, Tandy jumped up and frisked about, his tail wagging so fast it was only a blur.

It was odd, Andrew thought as he looked in the mirror and tried to force the cowlick at the back of his head to lie flat; he was actually looking forward to tonight’s “date.” He hadn’t been enthusiastic about it at first, but now that it was almost time to go, he was excited.
His friend Jim had suggested a “practice run” before his big date with Alyssa Adams, his first since turning 16 last month. Jim said if they were going to double then Andrew needed practice—“so you won’t act like a goon and spill soup on your date or something.” Andrew agreed because (1) he didn’t have his driver’s license yet and Jim did; (2) he was nervous about going on his first date with a girl he really had a crush on; and (3) Jim had been on a couple of dates already, so he must know what he’s talking about.
Andrew talked to his dad about the idea too, and he agreed that practice might be a good idea. “Besides,” he said, “I know just who you should ask. She’d love to do something like that.”
At first, his father’s suggestion—and his enthusiasm—caught Andrew off guard. But dad persisted. “You’ve known her since … well … forever. She’s fun, and she’ll understand. She’s the kind of person who has as much fun playing ball with the guys as she does dressing up and going to dinner. She won’t even mind that she’s helping you get ready for a big night with somebody else.”
“You mean I have to tell her why I’m asking her out? That’ll make it worse,” Andrew said, ready to forget the whole thing.
“Of course you do; it’s only fair. Besides, if she knows ahead of time, she’ll probably be able to give you some pointers. I’ve seen her, and she’s pretty knowledgeable about those kinds of things. You’d feel rotten if she found out later that the only reason you asked her out was to practice for a date with someone else.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Andrew said reluctantly.
Nevertheless, Andrew still felt nervous when he thought about asking someone else out so soon. It had been murder trying to find the courage to ask Alyssa out. Now he was faced with the problem of having to ask someone he’d known all his life, and it wasn’t any easier. What if she laughed at him or told him his idea was dumb? He felt he had to do it, though, and after school one day he worked up the nerve to ask her.
“Hi,” he said, almost choking because his mouth was so dry.
“Oh, hi Andrew,” she said, looking up from her book. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing much, but I was wondering, uh, are you doing anything special Friday night?” he asked, looking everywhere but at her.
“I don’t think I’ve got anything planned. Why do you ask?” Finally he looked directly at her. “Well, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind going to dinner with me?” He looked at her for a change in expression. What showed looked more like surprise. “It wouldn’t be a real date,” he said quickly. “It would be sort of a practice date. I’ve never been to dinner with a date before, and I want to make sure I do it right.”
There was a pause, and Andrew didn’t know whether or not to keep talking. Suddenly, however, she smiled. “Sure! That sounds like fun. I’d love to.”
Soon the “rehearsal” was under way. They planned to go to La Traviata, the same Italian restaurant he and Jim would be taking their dates to next week. As they made preparations it became painfully apparent that Jim had been right all along. Andrew needed this trial run more than he thought. But she seemed to know exactly what to do. First, she helped him call and make reservations.
“What do I say?” he asked as he nervously dialed the number. “Just say, ‘I’d like to make reservations for two at eight o’clock tonight, and then tell them your name when they ask.”
“She says things so easily,” he thought. “I wish I had her confidence.” Then she helped him pick out the clothes he was going to wear. He had picked out his best pair of blue jeans, his favorite shirt and his cleanest, basketball shoes. She wisely chose the gray Sunday slacks with the blue blazer and firmly insisted that while inflatable shoes were quite fashionable in the gym, they were out when it came to dinner at a nice restaurant.
Finally, with his help, she took some plates and silverware from the cupboard and created an elegant setting on the kitchen table.
“Wow,” Andrew said, sitting down to the beautiful array of china and silverware in front of him. “I think I know some of this stuff,” he said, swallowing hard. “But maybe you could help me with a pointer or two. What’s this tiny little knife for?”
She gave Andrew a description of all the various utensils and their uses. She talked about the proper way to handle a salad and where the bread goes—everything. She even reminded him that it was not a good idea to tuck the napkin under his collar, or use his thumb to slide a stubborn vegetable onto his fork as she had seen him do before. He thanked her and said he’d try to remember.
She continued her explanation, but Andrew was only half listening. As he watched her he couldn’t help feeling like a jerk for using her to impress another girl. He noticed, probably for the first time, how pretty she was and how much effort she was going to in order to make things nice for him. What made it worse was that she had been so cheerful and enthusiastic about it from the beginning. She approached this like she approached so many things, happily and without a thought for herself. She was doing it all for him and he knew it. She really was a good friend, better than most, he thought. This date was going to be fun for both of them, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit guilty about it.
“Huh, what?” he said, quickly aware he had drifted too far.
“I said, ‘This fork is for seafood,’” she said, teasingly shaking it at him. “You use it on things like crab or shrimp cocktail, and no, there’s no alcohol in shrimp cocktail so it’s okay to eat. That about wraps it up. Any questions?”
“Nope, no questions, but it sure is a lot to remember.”
“Don’t worry. As a rule, you use the utensils on the outside and work your way in as you go. If you absolutely don’t know what to do, watch your date or the people at the table next to you. They might be able to help you out.”
“Got it,” he said.
“Good. Now I’ve got to rush or I’m going to be ‘unready’ for this ‘undate.’”
Andrew waited a bit before getting ready, then dressed quickly and found he still had a few minutes before it was time to leave. He went to the backyard and picked out the prettiest rose he could find. He carefully picked it as far down the stalk as he could and then bent the thorns off the stem. He resisted the temptation to put one of the thorns on his nose and play rhinoceros. He walked around the block, up the front steps, and rang the doorbell.
“Wow!” he said when she opened the door.
“Hi, Andrew. What do you think?”
“You look beautiful,” he said, visibly impressed.
“Thank you very much. You look rather handsome yourself. Good choice of wardrobe, if I do say so myself.”
“Thanks a lot,” he said, smiling back. “Oh, here,” he said, remembering the flower in his hand. “This is for you.”
“Why, Andrew, how sweet. Thank you. Let me put it in a vase.” She returned a moment later. “Are you ready?”
“Sure. Let’s go!”
At first, the rehearsal appeared to have worked. He offered her his arm, opened the car door, and let her in on the driver’s side since she had the driver’s license and he didn’t. They talked and laughed on the way to the restaurant, and when they arrived he was quick to get the door and offer an arm to his “undate.”
“I’m impressed,” she said, while walking to the door with her arm in his. “Someone must have taught you well.”
“Yeah, I had a pretty terrific teacher,” he said, smiling.
Suddenly, Andrew tensed and tried to look away, but it was too late. Their eyes had already met. Directly in front of them stood Ryan Adams, the captain of the basketball team and, worse, Alyssa Adams’s big brother. He was leaving the restaurant with his date.
He had seen them together and Andrew was positive he was going to hear about it at practice next week. Not only that, but Alyssa was sure to find out, and trying to explain would only make things worse. In an instant he made a decision. He’d tough it out. “Hi, Ryan,” he said.
“Hi, Andrew. How’s it going?”
“Fine. How’s the dinner?”
“Terrific. Watch out for the antipasto, though; it’s a killer.” Ryan rolled his eyes and pretended to spray some breath freshener into his mouth.
“I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
“See ya.”
“Bye.”
Andrew breathed a sigh of relief as he opened the door to the restaurant and they walked inside. At least he didn’t say anything then, he thought. He could only imagine what he was going to say at practice Monday.
The dinner was excellent, a true dining experience, and Andrew handled himself extremely well. He thought the dinner was over, though, when the waiter brought out small servings of sherbet for them. The waiter had to explain that the sherbet was merely a “palate cleanser,” something to eat so the taste of the previous course wouldn’t interfere with the taste of the next. Other than that, he managed to impress her by remembering everything she had taught him. He even proved to be a very good conversationalist by asking questions and paying attention to what she said.
At the end of the meal when the waiter presented the check, she reached into her purse and tried to pass some money to Andrew under the table. “For my half,” she said quietly.
“No way,” said Andrew. “I invited you here and I’m going to pay for it.”
“I just thought that since this was a “nondate” it might be different.”
“It’s not that different. Besides, with the way you’ve helped me I’d say it was worth every penny.”
He paid the waiter and left an adequate tip. They left the restaurant and he opened the car door again for her. “You’re spoiling me,” she said as she got in. “I might get used to this.”
“I suppose I could make it a habit. I probably should have all along, huh?”
“That’s okay. You haven’t done too badly. You’ve become quite a gentleman. Alyssa Adams is in for a treat.”
“Thanks.”
She pulled the car into the driveway and he escorted her to the door.
“Thanks for going along with my ‘trial-run’ idea. It really helped.”
“You’re welcome. Thank you for a wonderful evening. There’s just one thing, though.”
“What’s that?” he said, wondering what he could have done wrong.
“Don’t worry about Alyssa’s brother seeing you with me tonight. I’m sure he recognizes that his sister will be treated with as much courtesy as I received. If he’s any kind of brother, I think he’ll like that. I don’t think Alyssa will mind either. If you treat all your dates as I was tonight, you’ll have a lot of fun dating.”
At first, Andrew was surprised that she knew what he had been thinking at the restaurant when he saw Ryan. Then he realized he wasn’t surprised at all. He put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said. “You’re terrific.”

Several years ago I needed to get my car inspected for safety and emissions standards. I arrived at a garage one afternoon to find the line for inspections eight or nine cars long.
It was a beautiful spring day, so I decided to roll down the windows, turn off the car engine, and pull out a copy of “The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” which I kept in my car along with other Church materials. My stake president had recently counseled stake members to commit the proclamation to memory. This free time gave me the perfect opportunity to do so. Eventually, my turn came to have my car inspected.
One of the men who did the inspections indicated that he would drive my car into the garage. Then he asked me to wait in an adjacent room until the inspection was completed. Time passed as I watched other customers come and go. After a while I began to think that something serious must be wrong with my car.
Finally the mechanic came from the garage into the waiting room and indicated that my car had passed inspection. What a relief! I paid the cashier and walked out to where he had parked my car and found him waiting for me.
“Miss,” he said, looking at me intently, “can I please talk to you for a minute?”
“Of course,” I told him.
“I want to apologize for taking so long with your car inspection. You see, when I drove your car into the garage, I noticed a piece of paper on the passenger seat that talked about families. Instead of immediately returning your car to you, I sat in the garage and read that piece of paper over and over.”
He continued, “What is this church? What is this document on the family? Can I have a copy of it? It says it was written by Apostles. Do you mean to tell me that there are Apostles on the earth today just like in Jesus’s time? Please, I need to know.”
I was almost speechless but gathered my thoughts. I told him that there are indeed apostles and prophets on the earth, just as in the time of Jesus Christ. I told him about the Prophet Joseph Smith and the Restoration of the gospel. I then gave him all the Church materials I had in my car. He gave me his name and phone number so the missionaries could contact him. Our conversation ended with his sincere expression of gratitude.
As I drove away, tears filled my eyes. I was grateful I had left a copy of “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” on the car seat.
I have never forgotten the look of eagerness in that man’s eyes. This experience was an unforgettable lesson on the power of the proclamation on the family, the reality of modern-day revelation, and the importance of sharing the gospel in everyday—and sometimes unexpected—situations.

“Me?” I asked, looking at the Young Women president in utter shock.
“Yes,” she said. “You’d only have to play one hymn each week for opening exercises. You can tell us ahead of time which one you choose, and practice during the week. Besides, it’s only for Young Women. You’re all friends anyway.”
“Well, I guess so. But I’m not making any promises,” was my response.
For as long as I could remember, my mother had been teaching me how to play the piano. But I was only to the point where I could study a piece of music one measure at a time and eventually memorize it.
For that first Sunday, I chose a piece in the key of C that looked fairly simple. I began practicing it, and it turned out to be quite a chore. But by the end of the week I had memorized the hymn and felt ready for Sunday. Unfortunately, with 20 girls singing and a director setting the pace, I was lost within the first three measures. I tried with all my might to catch up, but the song dragged on—a capella.
When the song ended, I buried my head into my folded arms through the opening prayer. At its conclusion I took a seat by my best friend who greeted me with a sympathetic pat on the back. I also received an affirmative thumbs up and a smile of encouragement from our Young Women president.
After class, she came over to talk to me. I figured she had realized her mistake and was going to let me sing each week rather than play. “So, what song will it be next week?” she asked. Silent groan.
The next week I spent every free second playing “Come Follow Me.” I was not going to make a fool of myself again. All this practicing did was slowly cause me to dislike the piano and dread the quickly approaching Sunday. However, I managed to master the hymn, and even practiced with my mom leading and my little sister singing. I was prepared.
Sunday came, and by the time we got to the part of the song “… the Savior said,” I was lost. Tears were forming in my eyes. I tried with all my might to blink them away, but couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. I had worked so hard—and for what? More embarrassment.
I finally decided there was only one thing to do. I looked very closely at the final measure through my tears. I wanted to play the last chord of the song, and I carefully placed my shaking fingers on each key while the young women warbled on without me. “With God’s own loved, begotten Son.” I attacked that last chord with all the power I could muster, then confidently bowed my head for the prayer.
Unfortunately, the prayer was delayed until everyone stopped laughing. I can see the humor in it now, but at the time I decided to never touch another piano key for the rest of my life.
Thankfully, I stuck with the weekly chore. As the Sundays went by, playing became easier. I used most of my free time to practice the piano, which helped me learn how to play without having to memorize the piece.
I still play a hymn each week and usually hit a few sour chords. Every day I sit down at the old piano and play all sorts of music. I have gained a talent that I love, but almost missed.
I’m so thankful that after my first catastrophic experience, I was convinced to stick with it and not give up. I think about the friendly smile from my supportive president, and realize my assignment to play each week was a blessing in disguise.

The General Authority who married Brother and Sister Hunter gave them some advice they took very seriously: Stay out of debt; never buy anything until you have the money to pay for it. They followed that counsel, sticking with it throughout their married life and teaching it to their children.
That counsel proved to be extremely valuable when the bank where Howard was employed failed during the Great Depression of the early 1930s. Out of work, but also out of debt, Brother Hunter quickly found other employment.

When we moved to Provo thirty years ago, I was in my twenties. Our oldest son was two, and our youngest son was just a few weeks old. I had been a member of the Church for less than ten years.
Shortly after arriving in Provo, I met Bertha. Bertha was in her sixties. I knew a little bit about Bertha. I knew she lived in our stake. I knew she was respected by those who knew her. I also knew that she was a leader and a woman of service. People sought her advice.
I remember attending a stake Relief Society function at which Bertha was one of the women on a panel that was answering questions and giving advice to those in attendance on a variety of topics. I noticed that Bertha was being asked for a lot of advice about raising children. I soon discovered why. She was the mother of thirteen children. I appreciated her responses to the questions. She seemed to have all the wisdom and experience that I lacked.
Another thing I knew about Bertha was that she seemed to like walking. Sometimes I would see her walking in the neighborhood. One morning while I was walking with my friend, she asked me if it would be okay if Bertha joined us occasionally on our walks. I told her that was fine. But privately, the thought of walking with Bertha intimidated me somewhat, mainly because I held her in such high esteem.
A few days later my friend invited Bertha to walk with us. Before Bertha met us for our walk that morning, my friend told me a couple of things about Bertha that she thought would be helpful to me. She told me that Bertha sometimes had a little difficulty hearing and that her shins sometimes bothered her—especially when walking uphill. I thought these things were good to know.
Our walking route that day began in the Tree Streets south of the Provo Temple. We headed toward the temple, which is a steady uphill walk. I don’t remember much of our conversation that day. I remember only the question I asked Bertha once we reached the top of the road by the temple and began our steady descent toward home.
Remembering that Bertha’s shins sometimes bothered her, I asked, “Bertha, how are your shins?”
There was a bit of an awkward pause, and then, with much earnestness, Bertha replied, “I’m working on them, and hopefully they are improving every day.”
I responded, “Oh, that’s good. Thankfully it’s all downhill from here.”
I was feeling pretty magnanimous about my expressed concern for Bertha. For a couple of minutes we walked along in a somewhat awkward silence.
Then my friend suddenly got a relieved look on her face and, turning to me, exclaimed, “You said shins, didn’t you?”
My first thought was, “Yes, of course I said shins.” Then it occurred to me that they had both thought I had asked Bertha how her sins were doing!
I was mortified! There I was, this inexperienced young mother, asking Bertha, this accomplished and wise woman, how her sins were doing! How impertinent I must have seemed, especially to have commented that it’s all downhill from here—as if implying that once you hit a certain age, it can only be downhill.
I really don’t know what Bertha thought of me. I do know that I was grateful that my friend clarified the misunderstanding that I had unintentionally caused.
That experience and many others like it have taught me the critical importance of effective communication.