Gospel Story Finder

For Ann the problems faced by some of her fellow students are very real. “I bet if I wasn’t Mormon, it would be really hard. There is so much peer pressure. Sometimes they try to make the parties with drinking sound real fun, but to me it sounds childish. Being a member of the branch helps because we always have activities. With that and with student council and with other clubs, I really keep myself busy. I just wish other students would get involved because they always say it’s so boring, but they don’t get involved.”
Ann was a little worried about her graduation night. She and George and two of their friends were the only ones she knew of who were not going to a graduation party. They had chosen not to go because they were quite sure that there would be drinking at the parties. Even though Ann is president of the student body, she would not give up her principles for that night or any other.

“Come on, Jodi! It’s only one little game! God isn’t gonna hate you for playing just this once on Sunday.”

“That’s right,” thought Jodi Allen, a 17-year-old from Sandy, Utah, and the star goalkeeper on her championship soccer team. “It’s only one little game”—nowhere near important enough to break a personal promise she’d made to Heavenly Father years before.

But how could she explain that to the teammates who were pressuring her? They’d worked hard all season, winning the Utah state championship and the right to play in the western regionals in San Francisco. A win on Sunday could mean a chance at the finals. The backup goalkeeper had quit, and the roster was frozen. There was no one to take her place, and the same opponents had beaten them 9–1 the year before.

“Oh Jodi—who do you think you are? Some of us are LDS, and we’re playing on Sunday. Do you think you’re better than we are?”

No, there was never a question about playing on Sunday—not even in this tournament. But making her teammates understand was another story.

“Look,” she tried, “if I don’t play on Sunday, sure, I’ll disappoint my team, and I feel bad about that. But if I do play on Sunday, I’ll disappoint so many more. I’ll disappoint myself, because I’d be breaking a promise. I’d disappoint my parents, who know how important that promise is to me. I’d disappoint my cousins, who don’t play on Sunday because of my example, and I’d disappoint my seminary teachers, who have taught me better. But most important of all, I’d disappoint God. I just can’t do that.”

It was a great explanation, but it didn’t do Jodi much good. All Saturday night the team tried to convince her to play. They made fun of her. They called her every name they could think of. Finally, at about midnight, Jodi called home in tears. It wasn’t that she was tempted to give in. It’s just that she felt so alone.

Her parents listened. Her parents understood. Both her mother and father got on the phone and had a prayer with her. After they hung up, they called an old friend in the Bay area and asked her to give Jodi some support.

The next morning Jodi got up and got dressed—in a dress, which she wore as she stood on the sidelines watching her team play. They ended up tying their opponents, 1–1, and afterwards, many of her teammates apologized for being so critical of her.

The team ended up tying for third in the tournament, which was better than they’d ever done before. Jodi thought this would be a good note on which to end her soccer career, even though she was a junior in high school and could play for one more year.

“I’ve achieved just about everything I wanted to with soccer,” Jodi said. She had been ranked as the number one goalie in the state and had been scouted by a number of universities, but when they heard of her policy on Sunday play, they lost interest. “I’d like to try to develop some other talents now—things like music and acting. Plus being on the seminary council will require a lot of time,” Jodi said.

So Jodi’s senior year in high school will be a busy one, despite the lack of soccer, the sport she’s dedicated so much to for so long. She says she won’t miss it too much and that the things she’s learned from it will help her in other parts of her life.

“‘To everything there is a season,’ and the soccer season is over,” said Jodi. “I have no regrets. Because of soccer, many missionary doors have been opened. The Lord has blessed me, and others through me. I haven’t gone unrewarded. I’ve been humbled, pushed, and just about everything else, but I learned that I can stand up to it. The Lord knows he can count on me, and I know I can count on myself.”

Jodi couldn’t be happier knowing that she didn’t let one little game spoil all that.

This story took place in the USA.
Josie sat with her cousin Ashlyn under a tree outside her house.
“I wish there was something fun we could do to earn money,” Josie said.
“Maybe we could earn money by doing things for people,” said Ashlyn.
“What if we made it a club?” Josie jumped up excitedly. “Like a pet-sitting club or a dog-walking club.”
“We could do all kinds of things,” Ashlyn said. “People always need help. And they would pay us.”
Ashlyn was right. Every day Josie saw people who needed help.
Suddenly Josie had another idea. She felt warm inside. It reminded her of her baptism last year. She’d promised to always remember Jesus and follow His example. She knew one way she could do that.
“What if we have a club that helps people for free?” Josie asked. The warm feeling got stronger.
Ashlyn’s eyes grew wide. “That would be really fun,” she said. “We can help people at school and church—pretty much everywhere.”
“We can call it the Making Things Better Club!” Josie said. “Let’s start tomorrow at school.”
The next day at recess, Ashlyn and Josie ran to the edge of the playground.
“Do you see anyone we can help?” Ashlyn stood on her tiptoes and looked toward the bumpy rainbow slide.
“Not yet.” Josie searched the monkey bars and the swing set. Kids were sliding and swinging. They were bouncing balls and playing with jump ropes. No one really looked like they needed help. Everyone seemed to have a friend. Then she saw a younger girl all by herself with a jump rope.
Josie grabbed Ashlyn’s arm. “Look over there!”
Josie and Ashlyn found jump ropes and walked over to the girl.
“Hi. I’m Josie.”
“And I’m Ashlyn. What’s your name?”
The girl looked surprised. “I’m Leslie.”
“Do you want to play with us?” Josie held up a jump rope.
Leslie smiled. “Yes!”
Ashlyn and Josie taught Leslie some new ways to jump rope. When the bell rang, they said goodbye. Josie felt good inside. She knew it was the Holy Ghost.
After that, whenever Josie and Ashlyn saw Leslie in the hallway, they said hi to her.
Josie and Ashlyn looked for more people to help. Sometimes they said nice things to people and tried to cheer them up. Other times they invited kids to play with them.
One day, Josie smiled at a boy outside the school. “I like your dinosaur shirt,” she said.
The boy grinned and looked down at his shirt. “Thanks.”
As Josie sat down, she realized she hadn’t even thought about doing that for the club! She had just done it.
Josie thought of all the friends she had made since she and Ashlyn started their club. Josie really liked helping people. It made her want to do more nice things for others. The Making Things Better Club was making her better. And that felt great.
Illustrations by Tania Rex

In 1946 I visited Hawaii shortly after a huge tidal wave, where walls of water some forty feet high struck Hilo and the Hamakua coast, and I saw the devastation that resulted. Homes had been overturned and shredded, crushed into splinters like toothpicks; fences and gardens were obliterated; bridges and roads were washed away. Bathtubs, refrigerators, mangled autos lay strewn all about the streets. Where one of our little chapels had stood, nothing remained but the foundation. More than a hundred people lost their lives; as many more were injured; thousands were left homeless. I heard many stories while there of suffering, of heroism, of salvation.
One woman told how she received a telephone message from friends to get out and to leave—that a tidal wave was coming. She looked out to sea and saw the monstrous wave approaching, like a mountain. She and her husband picked up the baby and ran for their lives up the hill. However, two of their little girls were away from home playing near a clump of lauhala trees. They saw the wave coming, ran into the trees, and held tightly with their arms around the tree trunks. The first gigantic wave washed entirely over them, but they held their breath and clung with all their might until the water receded and their heads were again above the water. When the wave receded, they quickly ran up the hill before the succeeding waves came. Together, the family watched from the safety of the hill as their home below disappeared under the pounding of the waves.

Gerald woke up on New Year’s Day feeling tired.
“Time to get up,” called Mother. “Breakfast is on the table.”
When Gerald came into the kitchen rubbing his eyes, Mother asked, “Did you make any New Year’s resolutions?”
Gerald didn’t answer his mother’s question just then. He felt like complaining that he hadn’t had enough sleep, but instead he forced a smile and said, “Morning, Mom.” Then Gerald saw that they were having oatmeal for breakfast. He was going to say, “Ugh! I can’t stand oatmeal.” Instead, he said, “Thanks, Mom, you’re sure nice to have my breakfast ready.”
“Good morning, Gerald,” said Dad. “Greg and Jennie and I have been talking about our New Year’s resolutions.”
Greg and Jennie were Gerald’s little brother and sister. They were twins and it seemed to Gerald that all they ever did was argue.
“I resolved to eat all of my oatmeal every morning,” said Jennie with a giggle.
“Big deal!” said Greg. “That’s no resolution. You love oatmeal.”
“Jennie also resolved to make her bed every morning before playing,” said Dad.
“And Greg resolved to write a letter to Grandma and Grandpa once a week and make his bed every morning.”
“How about you, Gerald?” asked his mother again. “Have you made any resolutions?”
“As a matter of fact, I have,” answered Gerald with a grin. “But, they’re a secret.”
“A secret!” cried Greg. “That’s no fun! How will we know if you’re keeping your resolutions?”
“Oh, you’ll know,” answered Gerald with an even bigger grin. “I made five resolutions and you’re supposed to guess what they are by watching me.”
“Ah ha!” said Mom. “That explains a few things that have already surprised me this morning. I think I know what two of your resolutions are.”
“Well, one of my resolutions is to see that the garage stays clean,” said Dad. “And I notice that someone has left my tools scattered all over the workbench. I expect that someone to put them back where they belong.”
“I didn’t touch them,” said Jennie.
“I haven’t been in the garage,” Greg declared.
“I didn’t do it,” was what Gerald was about to say, but then he remembered using them. “I used them, Dad, and I’ll put them away today for sure,” he promised.
Dad smiled. “I think I’m beginning to guess one of your secret resolutions too,” he said, winking at Gerald.
“What is it?” teased Jennie.
“You have to guess,” Gerald answered.
“I’m going to tidy up the garage this morning,” Dad announced. “Why don’t each of you do whatever you need to, and then we’ll play a game of football when I’m through.”
“I’ll make my bed,” shouted Jennie and Greg at the same time, and they both ran off to their bedrooms.
“I’ll do these dishes,” Mom said and began clearing the table.
“I’ll warm up the football,” Gerald almost said; then he remembered. “Can I help you, Mom, before I put away the tools?”
After Gerald finished helping with the dishes and putting away Dad’s tools, he went to his room to make his bed and get the football. When he walked down the hall he found Jennie and Greg arguing over who should put away an animal game that was spread on the hall floor.
“You got it out,” complained Jennie.
“You helped me play with it,” said Greg.
“Will you two ever quit fighting?” was what Gerald nearly said, but he didn’t.
“Hey, you two, it will just take a minute to put this game away if you both help. In fact, I’ll help you. Let’s see how fast we can pick it up.”
Gerald’s family had fun playing football and doing many other things that day. By evening Gerald’s family thought they had guessed all five of his resolutions. They wrote them down and gave them to Gerald to see if they had guessed right.
And they had!
Can you guess what Gerald promised to be when he made his New Year’s resolutions? Unscramble the five words if you don’t already know.
rfeeluhcloteiplufhtrutplufelhgmakceepain.
Answers:
Helpful, cheerful, truthful, peaceful, and meek.

One of our grandsons, when he was five years old, became confused when his family moved into a new ward. He thought the meetings were over and went outside. When he realized he was alone and could not find the family or their car, he knelt down and prayed for help. Just a few minutes later, one of the counselors in the Primary presidency came out and asked him if he was lost. A Primary teacher had called to her from the door of a classroom and said that someone was missing. The teacher asked the counselor to find out who it was. The counselor felt impressed to look outside and went straight to our grandson. Later, the teacher and counselor both commented on how strong their impressions were that he needed help. We were thankful that his parents and Primary teachers had taught him that Heavenly Father loves him and had taught him to always pray for help.

When I was 12 years old, I had an excellent Young Women leader named Sister Smith. She noticed that my friends and I loved to talk about all the popular music groups. We all declared that one boy band was definitely the most awesome music group since our favorite girl band had broken up. When the boy band came along, they stole all our hearts, and they became all we could talk about.
Sister Smith became concerned about us and our obvious obsession with these popular bands and their music. One Sunday, she expressed her concern. I remember speaking for my friends and myself when I said, “There’s nothing wrong with pop music, even if some of the words aren’t very good. It doesn’t really affect us.”
Giving me a skeptical look, Sister Smith said, “If you’re so sure music doesn’t affect you, let’s try an experiment.” She gave us all two crossword puzzles. Then she told us to do the first puzzle while listening to classical music. For the second puzzle, we were told to listen to our favorite pop music while completing it. We all wondered what she was getting at, but we agreed to do what she said.
The next Sunday, Sister Smith began by giving us the hints from the first crossword puzzle and asking us to give her the answers. We all remembered every answer. However, when she gave us the hints from the crossword puzzle we had completed while listening to pop music, we couldn’t remember many of the answers. That day I learned that good music could help inspire me to remember things, while music with words and fast beats distracted me and got stuck in my head, causing me to forget the things I had learned.
I learned that the music I listen to really does affect me.

That gift continued in the hospital after his wife died. We gathered up my mother’s things to take home. Dad stopped to thank every nurse and doctor we met on the way out to the car. I remember I felt, with some irritation, that we should leave to be alone with our grief.

I realize now that he saw things only the Holy Ghost could have shown him. He saw those people as angels sent by God to watch over his sweetheart. They may have seen themselves as health care professionals, but Dad was thanking them for their service on behalf of the Savior.

On my third day in the hospital, my neurologist requested an MRV (magnetic resonance venography) of my spinal column and brain, looking for a tumor or blockage. At 4:00 a.m. two days after I woke up blind, I began a five-hour MRV. In preparation, my family planned to pray and fast for me that morning. My father, who slept by my side on a bench each night in my hospital room, gave me another blessing—the second of several blessings I received.

When a hospital technician asked if I wanted to listen to music during my test, I asked for songs from my favorite singer. The tech placed a set of rubber earphones into my ears and pinned my head down with a facial mesh to hold me in place. In the process, he bumped the headphones nearly out of my ears. I could barely hear any music as the MRV began.

The longer the procedure took, the hotter I felt inside the tubular imaging machine. After what seemed like forever, I was told I was doing great and to keep going a little longer. But I felt scared and distraught from the heat, loud sounds, and constraints holding me still.

In silent prayer, I cried out: “Heavenly Father, please comfort me. I’m so alone. I need Thy help. I need my family.”

Immediately, a soft piano chord echoed in my ears. It was from one of my favorite songs—one that my younger sister, Morgan, plays on the piano. I would not have expected to hear it from the loose earphones over the noise of the machine. It seemed like Morgan was with me, and I wasn’t alone. The noise went away. The heat went away. The claustrophobia went away.

I felt out of my body, like I was floating on a sea in space. I felt surrounded by God’s love and by my family’s love. Just like that, I was calm. It was 7:30 a.m., the time my family started fasting for me. The rest of the five-hour MRV passed in an instant, and then I heard, “You’re done.”

The love I felt from that experience left me in tears and eased the weariness I felt during the rest of my stay in the hospital. I didn’t know if my sight would return, but I knew that God was there and had heard my prayer. After four days in the hospital, I was released.

For Gabby and Ethan Quesne, getting an eternal marriage was a very long, and sometimes frustrating, journey.
Below is their story and their thoughts on marriage as they experienced it in 2020:
We met at a church ball back in 2016. We can’t say that it was love at first sight because Ethan forgot who I was after that! Shortly after, we rekindled our relationship at institute and sparks flew. We pretty much saw each other four days a week after that. We then got engaged in May 2018. We knew we wanted to be with each other forever pretty quickly because of how well we got on and how much we laughed with each other. Marriage at some point was pretty much a no-brainer.
Ethan and I both want an eternal family unit and want to have children and raise them to be good, kind and thoughtful people. To us, marriage is a great way to bring about that family stability. I guess we have been preparing since our youth by trying to be good, kind people ourselves, being inspired by our parents and grandparents.
Our journey to marriage became a bit challenging when I finished university and job stability was uncertain. Then the pandemic hit, and no one could have seen that coming! We had to move our wedding from March 2020 to September 2020 and we were even unsure at some points whether the September 2020 date would go ahead with everything in the world changing so rapidly, but luckily, it did and we are happily married now. It may not have been the big day as originally planned, but it was perfect, and we are both so glad that we are now married and can start our own little family as husband and wife.
For people thinking about eternal marriage, I would say wait till you find the right person. You are going to be with this person for a long time so make sure you pick someone with the same values and morals and don’t rush it if it doesn’t feel right. Pray and work on yourself as that will help you find the perfect eternal companion for you later down the line.

First, you will likely be found out. Then you must work extra hard to make up for losing the trust of your teachers and your parents. One young woman was very nervous about going to college. The first essay she turned in to her freshman English class was one she plagiarized (copied from another source). Her teacher recognized the essay she had copied from and confronted her. The student spent the rest of the semester trying to make up for her cheating. Even when she did well on an essay she wrote herself, her teacher was always a little suspicious.

Second, cheating takes away the satisfaction of doing well in your classes. Nothing will give you more confidence in your abilities than doing well in a class by studying hard. One young chemistry student found out that someone in his chemistry lab had the answer book for all the lab experiments they would be assigned that semester. It seemed like the whole class played around in the lab and then filled in the correct answers while he did his lab work without cheating. He was made fun of, but in the end, when the class was assigned individual projects for their final grade, he was way ahead because he had actually learned the things he was supposed to have learned.

Third, and perhaps most important, cheating damages your spirit. When you are in tune with the promptings of the Holy Ghost, it is fairly easy to tell right from wrong. But each time you cheat or lie or cover up errors, you start to believe your rationalizations. You begin to think that there really are good reasons for you to cheat or to bend the rules in your case. But no matter how you fool yourself, it doesn’t make it right. And the cost to your spirit is high. Your ability to hear the promptings of the still, small voice telling you right from wrong will diminish. You can become spiritually numb, as it says in 1 Nephi 17:45, “Ye were past feeling, that ye could not feel his words.” [1 Ne. 17:45]

The things you learn about being honest in schoolwork apply to the business world as well. As you move into the working world, if you give good honest value in services and products for the money paid you, then you can truly say that you deal honestly with your fellowmen.

Eight young men in the Hamilton Ward, Stevensville Montana Stake, resolved a dilemma through their own initiative. The weight room at the high school was only open from 7:00 to 8:00 A.M., the time they were in seminary each morning. The bishop of their ward, Robert W. Wischmeier, offered the priests of his quorum the use of an old barn if they wanted to renovate it. “It was a mess back there,” the bishop reported.
The young men jumped at the chance. With volunteer labor and materials from people and businesses in the area, the barn was eventually converted into a weight room and opened for use to other high school students. And the young men can still attend seminary without missing their workouts.

When my father passed away suddenly, I had a very difficult time dealing with my grief. I had been a member of the Church for 16 years and thought I was prepared for this experience, but I struggled greatly.
One evening about a month after my father’s death, I picked up the September 2004 Liahona and began to read. The article in Latter-day Saint Voices entitled “Death Is a New Beginning,” by Claudia Yolanda Ortíz Herrera, caught my attention immediately. The author’s experience was very much like my own, and after reading the article three times, I began to have a better understanding about many things and I felt greater peace. My testimony that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ live was strengthened, and I realized that, indeed, death is just a beginning. I am so grateful for the Liahona and for that wonderful article.Zullymar Rodríguez Castro, Costa Hermosa Ward, Barranquilla Colombia Hipodromo Stake

I became a member of the Church in 1997 through my elder brother, Francis Marveh, who received the gospel in Freetown through his friend. Through the callings I have had, I was motivated to serve a full-time mission. Though I thought it was to be a place of laxity and comfort, I realized it was entirely the opposite. I had a lot to learn and to experience, and I clearly understood what it was. I served diligently as a senior companion, trainer, district leader, and a zone leader. I am grateful to be a returned missionary, still serving in the Church as a leader in my ward. I am married and sealed to my beautiful and supportive wife, Isatu Fatima Marveh, and we are truly blessed. I know that perseverance strengthens our weaknesses if only we rely on our Saviour and Redeemer of the world, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen. —Josephus Salia Marveh, Njagboima Ward, Bo-Sierra Leone West Stake

Elsie Smith, 17, whose house didn’t burn, spent nearly every Saturday for several months helping clean up sites where houses were burned. “Kids from other stakes came every week to help,” she says. “Only 2 of the more than 600 homes that burned in our ward area belonged to members, but we helped everyone.”
Elsie came to the understanding that we all have good and bad things happen to us. “Your Father which is in heaven,” the Lord taught, “maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust” (Matt. 5:45). Elsie says, “It’s how we handle what happens that is important.”

We get many letters about athletes who clean up the courts or the fields but not many about athletes who clean up the team’s language. Andy Fuhriman was chosen basketball MVP and All-Star, not only for the baskets he made, but for the way he influenced the team. He even helped the coach stop swearing.
Andy made the sacrifice of turning down a chance to play in an AAU tournament because it was held on Sunday. He’d rather be in his priests quorum in the Sandpoint Ward, Sandpoint Idaho Stake. His other interests are painting and studying, as demonstrated by his high grades.

During our service at Brigham Young University–Idaho, Sister Bednar and I frequently hosted General Authorities in our home. Our family learned an important lesson about meaningful prayer as we knelt to pray one evening with a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

Earlier in the day Sister Bednar and I had been informed about the unexpected death of a dear friend, and our immediate desire was to pray for the surviving spouse and children. As I invited my wife to offer the prayer, the member of the Twelve, unaware of the tragedy, graciously suggested that in the prayer Sister Bednar express only appreciation for blessings received and ask for nothing. His counsel was similar to Alma’s instruction to the members of the ancient Church “to pray without ceasing, and to give thanks in all things” (Mosiah 26:39). Given the unexpected tragedy, requesting blessings for our friends initially seemed to us more urgent than expressing thanks.

Sister Bednar responded in faith to the direction she received. She thanked Heavenly Father for meaningful and memorable experiences with this dear friend. She communicated sincere gratitude for the Holy Ghost as the Comforter and for the gifts of the Spirit that enable us to face adversity and to serve others. Most importantly, she expressed appreciation for the plan of salvation, for the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ, for His Resurrection, and for the ordinances and covenants of the restored gospel which make it possible for families to be together forever.

Our family learned from that experience a great lesson about the power of thankfulness in meaningful prayer. Because of and through that prayer, our family was blessed with inspiration about a number of issues that were pressing upon our minds and stirring in our hearts. We learned that our gratefulness for the plan of happiness and for the Savior’s mission of salvation provided needed reassurance and strengthened our confidence that all would be well with our dear friends. We also received insights concerning the things about which we should pray and appropriately ask in faith.

In 1960 I met a young man at a party who told me that Jesus Christ had visited the Americas after His Resurrection. I found the idea fascinating and wanted to know more, so I began searching in libraries and inquiring at the various religious denominations in my hometown of San Miguel, El Salvador.
I searched for almost three years but found nothing. When I mentioned to religious leaders that I had heard of Christ coming to the Americas, they told me I had been deceived. Because my search turned up no information, I eventually came to believe they were right.
One day, two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to my home and said they had an important message for my family. I immediately asked them, “Do you know if Jesus Christ came to the Americas?”
One of them said, “We bear witness of that.”
At that moment I felt a great excitement in my mind and heart and asked, “How do you know that?”
He took a book out of his bag and said, “We know Christ came here because of this book, the Book of Mormon.”
What the missionaries taught me during the first discussion troubled me, and I doubted the account of the Prophet Joseph’s vision of the Father and the Son.
However, the Book of Mormon intrigued me, and the missionaries kept teaching me. One afternoon they asked me, “Have you prayed to find out if what we are teaching you is true?”
I told them I had but had not obtained any answer.
“You must pray with real intent,” they said.
I had been reading the Book of Mormon for several nights. I had read about and believed in Christ’s appearance to the Nephites. But I still could not accept Joseph Smith’s vision. My internal struggle was terrible.
One night I knelt alone and opened my heart to God. I told Him I needed to know if He had really manifested Himself to Joseph Smith. If He had, I promised Him I would be baptized into the Church and serve Him all my life.
When I got up early the next morning, the answer came to me through the Holy Ghost. My mind cleared and my heart filled with peace. From that moment to this, I have had no doubts whatsoever that Joseph Smith truly was a prophet of God, that the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ, and that Jesus Christ is our Savior and Redeemer. I know Christ came to the Americas after His Resurrection. My soul delights in this marvelous knowledge that was taught to me by the power of the Holy Ghost.

Why do I say that? Here’s one reason: I knew a boy who faced an unexpected and challenging decision. He faced it at the end of the summer in the year he turned fifteen. He had just returned home after working all summer on his uncle’s farm in another part of the state.
It was the first sacrament meeting he had attended since returning home. For some reason, he was detained a few minutes after the meeting. When he found his friends, they were standing in a group just outside the church building. As he approached, he noticed that they were concluding some kind of agreement. When he joined them, he was met with a seemingly innocent question: “Are you going in with us on it or not?”
“On what?” was his reply.
“On a half gallon of beer.”
That answer really shook him. He was not ready for it. His group had always been good kids. This question was completely out of character, he thought. But things were not as he remembered them. He had spent his summer away from his pals, and this had kept him more or less as he was. Something, however, had happened to change his friends. They seemed more grown up and worldly. This surprise made him falter before answering their question. It’s strange how many things can go through your mind in a flash: These were his friends. They were not enemies. He knew each one well. He had sat in Primary and Sunday School classes with them. They had sung songs together. Some of them had been ordained deacons the same Sunday. They had passed the sacrament together scores of times. Their school activities had brought them close. With some of them he had built toy airplanes and scooters and played rubber guns. They had hiked and worked and played together. Why should this simple question threaten this choice association?
Pressure from friends and acquaintances our own age is tremendously powerful! There is a desire to want to be “one” with friends. Besides, who wants to be a sissy, afraid to join in the fun. What’s more, if he didn’t join them, he would be one against the crowd.
But even with all of these ideas running through his head, another idea impressed itself even harder on his mind. There was one reason that stood out against all that seemed so appealing: It was not right. From somewhere within him came the courage to say, “No, I don’t think I will.”
The group turned away and strode across the street toward the beer hall, intent on carrying out their plan. My friend was left standing—alone. I’m sure he did not think of the Lord’s statement, “It is not good for man to be alone,” but he certainly understood its meaning in a new and personal way. He came to understand the truth of that statement in the days that followed and to see why all of us need true and loyal friends who believe and live as they should.
Even though he was fifteen—going on sixteen—tears came to his eyes as he walked home. His mother, sensing that something was wrong, asked, “What has happened?”
He blurted out the short experience.
“You’ve done right, my son” she reassured him.
“I wish I were as sure as you are,” he answered.
“You made the right decision,” she repeated, “and you’ll see. You will be blessed.”
The days that followed this incident were not especially happy ones. It took readjustments to establish his equilibrium. There followed a process of establishing new friendships. There was the inevitable heartache at school when conversations would grind to a stop as he joined his former group. There were moments of loneliness as he walked between the high school and the adjacent industrial arts building. What was formerly spontaneous fun and youthful sport changed to a subdued good humor. There were some obvious moments in basketball practice, too, when he would be in the clear and call for the pass, only to be ignored while another person was sought out to receive the ball.
But that all passed as everyone knows it will. Time is the great eraser. It dulls the former sad moments. It smooths hurts and salves wounds.
It was not long until former friendships were reestablished, although on a different basis than before. In a little more than a year, this young man was elected seminary studentbody president. The next year he was elected high school studentbody president by his friends. Two years later he entered the mission field, the only one of his class to do so. One classmate went on a mission the following year, but his other friends never did.
This young man has since fulfilled many calls to service and responsibility in the Church. Other tests of his integrity and moral standards have come into his life—as they come into the lives of us all. But few such tests have been so well-remembered or have made so lasting an impression on his life.
In a rather undramatic situation, he chose the right. And his mother was right, as mothers generally are. Her promise was literally fulfilled: “You’ll see. You will be blessed.”

My quorum means a lot to me, but I don’t tell people this very often. I like doing things for the quorum, like the time we went camping at Three Mile Lake and I was in charge of the food. Everything went okay except the corn bread. I thought if chocolate was good and corn bread was good, they’d be terrific together. They weren’t. The quorum hasn’t quite forgotten that little episode, and I’ve been banned for some time from all cooking. Oh, well. Then about two weeks ago the quorum president called to ask me to visit the deacon who’d moved into our ward. “Sure,” I said, “what’s his name?”
“Jerry Snook.”
“The Jerry Snook at Chief Joseph? The Jerry Snook who is the terror of the classroom?”
“You got it.”
“But I’m sure he’s not a member.”
“Sorry. He’s just moved in from the Third Ward. He’s been inactive most of his life, I guess.”
I wasn’t surprised. Jerry wasn’t the kind of kid you’d expect to meet at church. “Do I have to do this alone?”
“Nope, we’ve asked Paul David to help you.”
“Thanks, he’ll be a big help.” I mean Paul’s a nice kid, but he’s a little different. Most of his classes at school are for students who don’t learn very fast. Still, he’s a deacon, passes the sacrament with us, and participates in the lessons. And he likes to tease me about the chocolate corn bread. But for Jerry Snook I wanted somebody strong.
“And don’t worry,” said the quorum president. “He’s already agreed to work with you.”
“Wonderful,” I said. And then I spoke very rapidly. “I can’t go see Jerry. He hates me. It’s true. Once when I said in English that I’d like to race a stock car, Jerry said real loud, ‘Dwayne, you could be the stock car.’ Even my teacher, Mr. Robertson, laughed.”
“You’ll do great. Just try to see him soon. Invite him to church.”
“You’re sure he’s a member?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Good luck.”

I hung up the phone. At first I planned to call and see when Paul would want to go out. But I decided to wait until that evening because I wanted to be sure to catch him. I told my dad about the phone call, and he said he’d be glad to help in any way. That night he helped by asking if I’d been able to reach Paul. It was a little after nine, and I didn’t want to wake him. He might have been asleep. So I decided to wait until Monday. Jerry wasn’t in my English class, which was a relief. And I didn’t see Paul. I didn’t call him that night either because I didn’t want to interrupt his family home evening. My dad must have asked about ten times if I’d set up a time with Paul. Each time I promised I’d try real soon.

Tuesday I concluded it was time to give Paul a ring, but when I wasn’t sure which David family to call, I thought I’d wait a day or so. When my dad found out I didn’t know the correct phone number, he looked it up. “Paul’s father is named Emory,” he said, “and the number is 754–3961.”

The next day in English I found out why I hadn’t seen Jerry for a few days. Evidently, he had broken his leg playing touch football. I didn’t feel very bad about it, but at least I kept my feelings to myself. I also figured I’d wait a week before visiting him so he’d have time to recuperate.

That night I was surprised when Paul called me on the phone. “Dwayne,” he said slowly.
“Yes?”
“We need to see Jerry.”
“I know. I’ve been trying to call, but your phone is always busy.”
“Oh.”
“Listen, he’s got a broken leg, and I think we ought to let him get up and about before we go see him. Don’t you agree?”
“I think we ought to go see him tomorrow.”
“Well, Paul,” I explained, “we can’t do that because we’ve got to let him know we’re coming, and it’s too late to do that now.”
“I know.”
“Great. Well, I’ll call him tomorrow or so and set up a day.”
“I already talked to him.”
“You what?”
“I called him, and he said to come on over.”
“Did you say I was coming?”
“I just said that a friend and I would be over tomorrow.”
“Hmm, tomorrow. You know, I’m pretty busy most days, and I’ve got things to do tomorrow.”
“I told him tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow after school?”
“Yeah.”
“All right, all right. We’ll go tomorrow.” I paused for a second. “Hey, Paul, we don’t know where he lives.”
“I do. You come here, and we’ll walk over together.”
“Fine, fine.” I told my dad that we had an appointment with Jerry, and he seemed happy.

I met Paul the next day at his house, kind of a small place with two big trees in the front. “It’s not far,” Paul said. “We can walk.” It wasn’t that close either, and I was puffing a bit when we stopped in front of a brand-new house in a recently developed area.

“This is Jerry’s address,” Paul said. My hands felt clammy, and my stomach twisted as it always does before I have to climb a rope in PE or give a talk at church or tell my folks I failed a test. We walked up the steps, and Paul knocked on the door.

A thin, tall woman with blond hair opened the door. “Yes?” she said, looking at Paul and me as if she had caught us trying to steal the cement steps we were standing on. “Can I help you?” she added.

“We came to see Jerry,” I said, “that is if he’s not asleep or busy or eating or anything, because we can always come back.” The woman leaned forward a bit, raised her eyebrows, and slightly pursed her lips.

Paul cleared his throat a little and said, “We’re friends of his. I called yesterday.”

“Oh yes, from the Church.” She continued to look at me. “You know, we don’t go to church very often. In fact I can’t remember the last time.” She looked at Paul. “Well, come in, come in.” She ushered us into the living room, where we sat on some hard, wooden chairs. “Jerry, oh Jerry,” she called down the hall, “the boys that called yesterday are here.”

“Okay,” he said, sounding bored. After a moment I could hear a thump, thump, thump that grew louder.

“He’s not used to the crutches yet,” his mother said. “His accident has got him down, I think.”

At that moment a cast-covered leg poked through the hallway door, followed by a very redfaced Jerry who struggled with his crutches. He stared at me a moment. “What are you doing here?” he said.

“Oh,” said his mother, “you really do know each other.”

“A little,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah. At school,” Jerry added with a hint of a smirk.

“Well, I’ll leave you boys for now,” said his mother as she went into the kitchen.

Jerry backed up to a chair and flopped down. “So you’re a Mormon,” he said.

“Yes,” I answered, my voice cracking a little. “Both of us are.” I looked quickly at Paul.

“Yeah, we’re Mormons, and we came by to invite you to come to church,” he said.

Slow down, I thought. Now he’ll really lay into us.

“To church?” Jerry said.

“Yes, to church. It’s a good place to go, and we have a good time.”

Jerry shifted his crutches to the side of his chair. “You guys want me to come to church, huh?” He glanced at me. “You want me to come even if I call you fatso and chubby?” He was smiling.

“Well,” I said, my eyes a little out of focus, “sure, we both do.”

“That’s kind of funny, you know,” Jerry said. “You guys want me to come to church. I haven’t been to church for a long, long time.”

“There’s always a first time,” Paul said.

“Yeah, there’s always a first time,” Jerry laughed for a second.

We were all quiet a moment.

“How’d you hurt your leg?” I asked.

“I was playing football and tripped.” He looked a little embarrassed. “I feel like a jerk.”

“I know what you mean,” I said, and he looked at me sharply. “That is, I’m clumsy all the time.”

“You mean like when you dropped your tray in the cafeteria?”

“Yeah, and it had everything on it.” Even I could laugh about that incident.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad. You should have seen me when I tripped. What a klutz.”

“When are you coming back to school?” Paul asked.

“I don’t know. Probably in a few more days. The doctor said it was a pretty bad break and that I ought to take it easy.”

“That’s too bad. We’re working on predicate nominatives in English. Believe me, they aren’t any fun. And Mr. Robertson is as hard to understand as ever.”

“I’ll probably have to work hard to catch up.”

We all started talking about our different classes, the ones we liked and didn’t like, the easy and hard ones. Jerry’s mom brought out some punch. When we finished, Paul and I said that we had to go. We thanked Sister Snook for giving us something to drink. Jerry came with us to the door, not an easy feat when you’re not used to crutches. “You know,” he said, “nobody ever asked me to go to church. I mean just me.”

“You should come.”

“Maybe. Maybe I will.” Jerry looked out into the street. “Is the church far?”

“No,” answered Paul, “just down the street a couple of blocks. We could come by and get you.”

“Give me a call, okay?”

Paul and I stepped outside. “Maybe we’ll come by one of these days,” Paul said.

“Sure,” said Jerry. “Why don’t both of you come?”

It was getting dark, so we waved good-bye and headed home.

After a moment or two Paul said, “Well, we made a start.”

I left Paul at his house and walked home. When I got there, I told my dad how things had gone. He seemed pretty pleased. I felt pretty good myself. And then I had to settle down and study my predicate nominatives. They still weren’t any fun.