Gospel Story Finder

For my 17th birthday, my dad presented me with his old Volkswagen. I was ecstatic. Imagine—my very own car! I was anxious to take a drive. A long drive. Somewhere. Anywhere. I suppose my excitement was, in part, a result of a boyish, budding sense of independence.
The long-awaited and sorely anticipated journey finally arrived the following summer when my parents gave me permission to drive a few states away to visit a cousin. My 15-year-old brother, Tom, accompanied me. My dad hugged me and cautioned, “Keep your sense about you, Ray. And be careful.”
It was a memorable trip, mainly because it was my—rather our—maiden voyage, of sorts. Our first real time away from home. That, in itself, was the real adventure.
As with all adventures, this one came to an end, and it was time to go home. We were tired and ready to return to the comfort of our own beds.
Tom was asleep in the backseat of the car as I snaked my way through the mountains on a high, narrow road. I had been driving all day, and it was late, so I couldn’t wait to get down off that mountain, pull off the road, and get some sleep, at least enough for a brief respite before finishing the final leg of our journey.
Being saddled with an aching want for sleep, along with a youthful helping of inexperience and irresponsibility, I was driving too fast for the conditions of the road. The night was blacker than a bad tooth. The sickle-thin cut of moon in the inky sky and the feeble, confetti-like throw of star glow provided scant illumination on the dark road. I negotiated the narrow, serpentine roadway using the almost-just-as-meager aid of the vehicle’s headlights.
Just as I was about to round yet another sharp curve, I heard a voice within me say, “Slow down. There are two deer around the corner in the road.”
Driving as fast as I was and already upon the turn, I had only time enough to react—to either ignore the voice or hurriedly follow the instruction.
I chose the latter, quickly slowing down as I took the blind curve. And there, just as the voice had forewarned, standing in the middle of the narrow roadway, were two deer, blinded by my headlights and too startled to move.
Had I not heeded the voice, I would have swerved to the left and driven off the edge of the huge drop-off.
After maneuvering around the deer, I proceeded on our route. It was good to be home again. As I lay in my own bed with my hands tucked under my head, I realized that as much as I looked forward to the notion of one day being on my own, I hoped that wherever life found me, I would be living righteously enough to always have the companionship of the Holy Ghost.

Dear President Tanner,
I am 10 years old, and we received our Ensign magazine and enjoyed the record very much. I was very inspired by your talk. I agree there are many problems in this world today. There are many things I don’t understand, one of them is wearing pants to school. My mother says that the presidency wouldn’t like young girls wearing pants to school. We play kick ball and all kinds of out door games that are not presentable in a dress. The principle say it’s all right, and even teachers wear them. I know this gospel is true and I do have a testimony and know you are an inspired man from god and I would like to know your true feelings on this matter. I want to thank you for your time.
Love
Valarie
Dear Valarie,
This will acknowledge your very sweet letter. It shows me that you want to do what is right.
You ask about the proper dress for school. The Church has taken the position that whether youth are at school, attending a sacrament or other Church meeting, at a dance or an athletic or sports-camp activity, at home or away, Church standards require young men and women to be appropriately dressed. Modesty is a protection for the youth of the Church and is one of the Lord’s ways to help them live clean, wholesome lives.
Girls should try always to enhance their natural beauty and femininity. They should dress appropriately for any occasion. It would seem proper to wear slacks or pants when playing kickball or the other outdoor games that you mention.
Modesty in dress is a quality of mind and heart, born of respect for oneself, one’s fellowmen, and the Creator of us all. Modesty reflects an attitude of humility, decency, and propriety. Consistent with these principles and guided by the Holy Spirit, let parents, teachers, and youth discuss the particulars of dress, grooming, and personal appearance, and with free agency accept responsibility and choose the right. You should honor your parents, who love you dearly, and follow their advice or instruction after discussing your problems with them.
May the Lord bless you and give you the desire and strength to do right always. By doing this you will be happy, loved, and respected.
Love,
N. Eldon Tanner
P.S. Would you or your mother or father have any objection to having your letter and my answer published in the Friend? We feel it may be helpful to others of our youth who have the same question.
Dear President Tanner,
I received your letter today. I appreciate the time you have spent with me and my letter. My parents and I both think it would be nice to put it in the Friend, and I will be honored. Thank you again for your time.
Love,
Valarie

Maybe we don’t know a widow whose home needs paint or a new neighbor on our street. But promptings will come, encouraging us to do something good for someone. When we lived in Idaho, we enjoyed doing little things for “Uncle Joe,” the ward’s favorite pioneer. After we moved, we remembered him occasionally and thought that we really should write a letter to brighten “Uncle Joe’s” day. The idea began pressing on my mind, and finally we mailed a note to him. But it was too late. Only one day later we received word that “Uncle Joe” had passed away. An opportunity for service had slipped by because we had ignored a first impulse.

As Kevin entered the park, he saw his friends David and Nathan playing in the sandbox. They had some empty milk cartons and raisin boxes that they were using for buildings. Kevin could see that the boys had toy soldiers armed with swords.
“Hi, guys!” he called. “Are you playing Roman soldiers again?”
“Hi,” both boys called in return.
“No, we’re not playing Roman soldiers today,” David said. “We’re playing Book of Mormon soldiers.”
“What are Book of Mormon soldiers?” Kevin asked as he sat next to them in the sand.
“They are Lamanites and Nephites,” Nathan told him. “We read about them in the Book of Mormon.”
“What’s that?” asked Kevin. “I’ve never heard of that book. Or of Lamanites and Nephites.”
“The Book of Mormon is a book of scriptures, like the Bible,” David explained, “except it’s written about the people of ancient America.”
“Yeah,” Nathan added, “and the Lamanites are always fighting the Nephites.”
“So the Lamanites are the bad guys?” Kevin asked.
“Well,” David started, “the Lamanites refused to keep the commandments of God, so I guess, in a way, you could call them the bad guys. But the Lamanites weren’t always bad, and the Nephites weren’t always good. In fact, the part we’re getting ready to play now started with some bad Nephites. Especially one, a man named Amalickiah.”
“Amalickiah wanted to be king of the Nephites, but the Nephites didn’t believe in having kings,” Nathan explained. “They had judges, instead. So Amalickiah got mad and took all the people who would go with him and went over to the Lamanites. When he got there, he tricked the Lamanites into letting him be their king.”
“That’s right,” David said, “only that wasn’t enough for Amalickiah. He still wanted to be king of the Nephites.”
“And that’s where we are now,” Nathan said. He pointed to one of his figures. “This is King Amalickiah, and my army is the Lamanite army. We’re getting ready to fight the Nephites.”
David picked up one of his figures. “This is Captain Moroni,” he said. “He is the chief captain of the Nephite army. He has ordered all his men to dig a dirt ridge around the city of Ammonihah to protect it and has placed men all the way around it.”
David pointed to another spot where they had made a fort. “That is the city of Noah,” he said, picking up another figure. “And this is Captain Lehi. He is in charge of the army in Noah. You can be him if you want to play.”
“All right!” Kevin said enthusiastically. “Let’s play!”
On the walk home from the park, David and Nathan told Kevin more about the Book of Mormon.
“It sounds like a great book,” Kevin said.
“Oh, it is!” agreed David. “My parents have some extra copies. Maybe they’ll give you one.”
David’s parents said that they would be happy to give Kevin a Book of Mormon if it was all right with his father and mother.
The next day at school, David and Nathan could hear their names being called. They looked around to find Kevin running toward them and waving.
“I told my mom and dad about the game we played and about the story of Amalickiah and Captain Moroni in the Book of Mormon,” he said. “I asked them if I could have a copy of the book to read.”
“What did they say?” asked David.
“As soon as my dad heard that the bad guys were the ones who didn’t keep the commandments of God, he said yes!”
“That’s great!” Nathan said.
“My mom said she felt much better about me reading a good book than she does about me reading comics all the time,” Kevin told them. “Then she said, ‘Now, if we can only do something about those videos you watch!’”
David smiled at Nathan and put his arm around Kevin’s shoulder. “Kevin, speaking of the Book of Mormon,” he said, “have we got some videos at home for you!”

President Russell M. Nelson, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, told the following story:
“On a recent flight, our pilot announced that we would encounter turbulence during our descent and that all passengers must fasten their seat belts securely. Sure enough, turbulence came. It was really rough. Across the aisle and a couple of rows behind me, a terrified woman panicked. With each frightening drop and jarring bump, she screamed loudly. Her husband tried to comfort her but to no avail. Her hysterical shouts persisted until we passed through that zone of turbulence to a safe landing. During her period of anxiety, I felt sorry for her. Because faith is the antidote for fear, I silently wished that I could have strengthened her faith. . . .
“When we speak of faith—the faith that can move mountains—we are not speaking of faith in general but of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.”1
Like this woman’s perilous journey, we face obstacles and trials in this life, events that can make us doubt our faith and make us lose assurance that we need prophets, seers, and revelators on our own flight leading to eternal life.

Mrs. Higgins never missed a piano lesson. Every Tuesday afternoon at precisely 3:30 P.M. her big, white sedan would round the corner and come to a halt in front of our house.
She’d march up the driveway in her grandma shoes with that leather clasp purse hanging from her arm and her hair pulled neatly into a bun. I’d hear her firm knock, the front door opening and footsteps in the hallway. Then my mother’s sweet voice would summon me to my doom.
Mrs. Higgins was convinced I was one of her most talented students. Of course, she never knew how little effort I put into my practices because I always performed to her satisfaction.
Each lesson began with a recital of the pieces I had practiced that week. I’d play; and if the music had words, she’d sing in her loud, clear opera voice. If there were no words, she’d count out loud. Occasionally she was silent as I performed a piece particularly well.
I wasn’t the only child in the neighborhood whose parents employed Mrs. Higgins. There were Lisa and Brian Baccus and Charlie, Beverly, and Jenny Bradley. I felt especially sorry for the Bradleys because Mrs. Higgins was at their house for almost two hours each week.
The older I got the more intensely I begged my mother to let me quit. After seven years of complaining, I finally convinced her to cancel the lessons. I was free.
Several years later my mother asked if I would accompany her to a piano concert at an art gallery in Sacramento where Jenny Bradley would be performing. I remembered her as the funny little girl who always forgot her piano pieces at the yearly recitals. She never was very good.
When Jenny came out on stage, I was surprised to see that the little freckle-faced girl was all grown-up. She seated herself at the grand piano and began to play. The piano sang out and sounded like the work of three pianists. I’d never witnessed such energy, such concentration.
As I listened, I glanced around the room at the small crowd of people. Then I saw her—Mrs. Higgins—leaning against a marble pillar near the back of the room. She looked older, but her eyes sparkled and she glowed with true happiness.
“Behold, we count them happy which endure. Ye have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord” (James 5:11).
Suddenly, my eyes filled with tears. Though I should have been happy to see someone perform to the best of her ability, I wasn’t. I was jealous. Why wasn’t I sitting at that piano? After all, I had been more talented than Jenny. Deep down inside, I knew I’d failed because I’d given up.
“Behold, I am the law, and the light. Look unto me, and endure to the end, and ye shall live; for unto him that endureth to the end will I give eternal life” (3 Ne. 15:9).
Two people who had paid the price were getting their reward. Jenny was playing brilliantly and Mrs. Higgins, who never missed a lesson, glowed with the knowledge that she had made a pianist.

Stepping out of the car into the raw January drizzle, I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Ashes of the portable trailer classroom that had housed my high school’s seminary classes smoldered at my feet.
We had been studying the Doctrine and Covenants in our released-time seminary program, learning of the persecutions the early Latter-day Saints had endured. I never skipped seminary class, but I wasn’t always there in spirit. Occasionally I didn’t listen to the lessons and sometimes dreaded going to class. But I didn’t realize how attached I was to seminary until I saw our meeting place destroyed.
That frigid morning I trudged through the thick mud surrounding the trailer’s remains to where a dozen mourners stood silently. The stunned students carefully nudged the smoking desks as if they were dead animals. They spoke quietly, if they spoke at all. Most just stared intently at the damage as if it were one of those computer-generated, three-dimensional posters.
A rusty old pickup thundering down the road shattered the stillness. It slowed as it passed the rubble. “H-A-A-A-A-A-A-A!” screamed the stubbly-faced senior, craning his head out of the passenger-side window. “So much for your Mor-man temple!”
The seminary students shuddered as the words reached out and slapped them in the face with some invisible hand.
I wandered over to where our seminary teacher, Brother Shields, stood beside a fallen filing cabinet. He wore faded blue jeans, a paint-splotched sweatshirt, and an expression that couldn’t hide his pain. He hardly resembled the man who filled our little seminary with his wide grins and optimism.
“I’m … sorry,” I squeaked, not knowing what else to say, my thoughts still knots of confusion.
Brother Shields raised his eyes in my direction, then frowned. “This was the journal of my trip,” he sighed, flipping through the blackened pages. “To Jerusalem.”
At last I am alone. The crowd of students, their parents and Church leaders have finally filtered into the cool darkness after the dedication ceremony. It’s November 19, 1995, and we have a new seminary building. I am the senior seminary president.
I loosen my tie, slump into a desk in the corner of the classroom, and admire the strength and splendor of the new structure: the high-arching ceiling, the state-of-the-art audio/video system, the oak shelves for our scriptures, the red brick walls, and the double-paned windows.
My mind travels back to the seminary burning two years earlier and the transformation that followed. After the fire, my testimony of seminary’s importance blossomed. It wasn’t until I went without seminary for two months that I realized the powerful impact those daily lessons had on me. While the Church members spent several weeks cleaning up the old building and searching for a temporary replacement, I wasted my vacant seventh periods shooting pool at a friend’s house. That was fun at first, but over time, I felt that something was missing. That missing something was the spiritual nourishment of seminary. I missed that. The warm, comforting feeling that embraced my soul when I entered the seminary building—I missed that too.
When we finally received a temporary trailer and seminary classes resumed, the lessons had new meaning for me, and my appreciation for seminary continues to grow.
I rise from my desk and quietly slip out of the dim building. As I shuffle through the front door, I glance up at the New Era poster hanging overhead. With a simple picture of a baby chick cracking through its shell, the poster proclaims, “Adversity can make you strong.”

It was June of 1987 and I was visiting a friend for one week in a city 600 km from where I lived. When Sunday arrived, I told him that perhaps I’d not go to his ward but to a different one. The fact is that I was planning to secretly watch a very important soccer game on TV (a Sunday practice that I have since abandoned long ago) that would take place in the exact same time of his ward’s Sunday block. I did promise him that I would go to church in some other unit at a different time, but to no avail. He exercised his agency and persisted in convincing me to do the right thing. I ended up going to church with him and his family.
Now at that very same moment, on the other side of that very same city, a young woman—also a member of my friend’s ward—was similarly confronted with an important decision to make. She was ready to leave for church with her parents when her dear aunt and family unexpectedly arrived at her home to visit and stay for several days. For a moment, she felt like she needed to stay home and give proper attention to those relatives while the rest of the family went to church. However, a thought came to her mind: “Your relatives know of your faith, they’ll be fine staying in your home for some hours until you come back. Be a good example and honor the Sabbath day and everything will be fine”. That’s what she did.
When I arrived at my friend’s ward some minutes before sacrament meeting—and began talking with some young men of my age group—I saw from a distance this gorgeous green-eyed girl passing by and asked them: “Who is she?!?!” They told me to forget about her as every returned missionary in that stake was after her and I’d have no chance at all.
However, all of the sudden, this beautiful girl approaches and boldly asks me, in front of all:
Girl: “Can I ask you something: Are you married?”
Me: “No!” (because I want to marry you, I thought.)
Girl: “There’s a new mall in town, would you like to visit it with me tomorrow?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Girl: “And by the way, sacrament meeting will start momentarily, shall we sit together?”
Me: “Of course!!”
Me (turning to the awestruck guys around me): “If you will excuse me.”
I went into the chapel with her.
It was the same girl who was confronted with the decision of staying home with her unexpected visitors or coming to church that Sunday.
We married in the temple 10 months later. If both of us that day had not followed the promptings to go to church—regardless of our particular situations that day—we possibly wouldn’t ever have met.

Pretty soon Kamila decided she wanted to pursue film in high school. But most high schools don’t have a strong film program, so she started looking around.

She explained, “When I originally heard about the school of art and design, I didn’t want to go. But my dad wanted me to. He has a lot of friends who are in film, and he thought it would be a good decision for my career. He said it was the best school for film. So I visited the school to check it out and really liked it.”

Liking the school was one thing, but getting accepted was another thing altogether.

“I had to audition in front of the teacher,” Kamila said. “It was really hectic, because I had to create two storyboards [outlines of her film ideas] to present. I wasn’t prepared on the first day like everyone else, so I had to go on the second day. On the way there we got a little lost, and I was late. My mom told me not to worry and to call my dad. I did, and he said a prayer with me over the phone. It was nice.”

Kamila calmed down and presented her storyboards. The result? She was accepted into the program, and she just started her third year there.

For Kamila, studying film has been amazing. Recently her class created a public service announcement for a competition. Experiences like that have helped her see what she can achieve.

But going to her school also comes with sacrifice. It’s an hour and a half commute each way. Plus, “All the other kids in my area go to a normal high school with football fields and other sports,” she said. “My school is different because everyone’s interested in the arts. But going there has also prepared me for things in life. I know how to take the train and how to get around on my own.”

At the same time, Kamila knows that making a living as a filmographer—especially for one holding LDS standards—can present challenges. So she’s kept her mind open to other interesting options.

“In English class we learned about psychology, and I really liked it,” she said. “My mom is going back to school, getting a minor in psychology and a major in teaching. So she shares with me what she’s learning. I still want to follow film, but psychology is my backup. Or finding a way to combine film and psychology would be great.”

Kamila is developing her gifts and talents for a career and independence—and a future family. “I hope to get married in the temple and be a mom one day,” she said. “I believe that by developing my talents like psychology and film, I would be able to have more open communication with my family.”

As prophets have counseled: “Heavenly Father has given you gifts and talents and knows what you are capable of achieving. Seek His help and guidance as you work to achieve your goals” (For the Strength of Youth, 40).

For other youth trying to figure out their goals and future plans for education, jobs, and family, Kamila had this advice: “Follow your dreams. Do what most interests you. It’s not a status thing or an obsession—it’s doing something you’ve always wanted to do, the thing you really want to be in the back of your mind. You can do it!”

Minjun and Dad hurried into the Church building, the cold wind blowing behind them. It was chilly inside the building too. Minjun hoped it would get warmer as more people gathered.
Minjun’s friend Jungmin was getting baptized today. Jungmin had met with the sister missionaries and thought about getting baptized for a long time. The whole ward had fasted and prayed for him. Finally he decided to be baptized. And today was the day!
The font was still filling up with water when Minjun and Dad walked into the room. They sat down next to Minjun’s friend James. Soon Jungmin walked in, dressed in white baptismal clothing.
“He looks a little nervous,” James said.
Minjun nodded. He was glad he could be here for his friend.
Soon the font was filled. It was time for the baptism to begin! But instead of starting, the missionaries were talking with some of the other members, and they looked worried. Dad went to see what was wrong.
“What’s the matter?” Minjun asked Dad.
“The water heater in the building is broken, so the water in the font is very cold,” Dad said.
Minjun looked at the font. At his baptism, there had been warm weather, warm water, and even his dad’s warm hug when he came out of the water. He couldn’t imagine being baptized in cold water on such a cold winter day.
Minjun watched as Jungmin courageously stepped into the water with Elder Keck, who was going to baptize him.
“It’s too cold!” Jungmin said. “I can’t stay in here any longer.” He climbed back out of the font, shivering. Minjun felt sad for him.
A few minutes later, Jungmin tried to get in the water again. This time he only made a few steps before hurrying out. He tried two more times. The water was freezing! “Can we stop?” Jungmin finally asked. He looked like he was about to cry.
Minjun said a silent prayer asking how he could help.
“What should we do?” someone said.
“Should we postpone the baptism?” someone else asked. Everyone wanted to help Jungmin, but they didn’t know how.
Then Minjun had an idea. He gave James a nudge. “Let’s go, James!”
Minjun and James went to the kitchen. They found a large cup and bowl and filled them with hot water from the water dispenser. They carefully carried them back to the chapel and dumped the hot water in the font. “Maybe this will help warm the water up!” Minjun said.
Everyone was surprised. “Why didn’t we think of that?” someone asked.
Together, everyone started adding warm water from the kitchen. Some people heated water on the stove. Others carefully carried the pots across the hall and poured the hot water into the font. Even the other Primary children helped, one cup at a time.
Finally the water was warm enough. Jungmin and Elder Keck stepped all the way into the font. Minjun felt warm in his heart as he listened to Elder Keck say the words of the baptism prayer. When Jungmin came out of the water, he was smiling. Everyone was happy.
After Jungmin changed into his dry clothes, Minjun gave him a big hug. Minjun knew that whenever he prayed with courage, Heavenly Father would help him know what to do. This baptism was one Minjun would never forget!

As we think about eternal values and wise choices, let me share an experience of some who exemplified a righteous standard.

Our son-in-law, who is a bishop in a student ward and also a teacher of English on this campus, was assigned a six-week seminar last summer. After talking it over, he and our daughter, Susan, decided she would stay at home with their five children and see that they all had their summer lessons and also care for their yard in his absence.

One hot summer afternoon she brought the children to Salt Lake City to see us. While visiting with us she mentioned that everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. Then, having shared her problems and having touched base with home, she felt she could go on. About an hour after she left, the phone rang. Susan was calling from her home in Provo. We could barely hear her teary, squeaky voice on the other end, and we thought perhaps there had been an accident. But she simply wanted us to know that the students in their ward, in spite of their busy schedules, had come over while she was in Salt Lake City and weeded their entire yard.

Commitment to righteousness is not just saying—it is doing!

Perseverance is demonstrated by those who keep going when the going gets tough, who don’t give up even when others say, “It can’t be done.” In 1864 the First Presidency assigned Apostles Ezra T. Benson and Lorenzo Snow, along with Elders Alma Smith and William W. Cluff, on a mission to the Hawaiian Islands. From Honolulu they took passage on a small boat to the little harbor of Lahaina. As they approached the reef, the surf was running high and a heavy swell struck the boat, carrying it about 50 yards and leaving it in a trough between two huge waves. When the second swell struck, the boat capsized into the foaming sea.

The people on the shore manned a lifeboat and picked up three of the brethren, who were swimming near the submerged boat. But there was no sign of Brother Snow. Hawaiians accustomed to the surf swam in every direction to search for him. Eventually one of them felt something in the water, and they pulled Brother Snow to the surface. His body was stiff, and he looked like he was dead as they hauled him into the boat.

Elder Smith and Elder Cluff laid Brother Snow’s body across their laps and quietly administered to him, asking the Lord to spare his life that he might return to his family and home. When they reached the shore, they carried Brother Snow to some large empty barrels lying on the beach. Laying him face downwards on one of them, they rolled him back and forth to expel the water he had swallowed.

After the elders worked over him for some time, without any indication of life, the bystanders said that nothing more could be done for him. But the determined elders would not give up. So they prayed again, with the quiet assurance that the Lord would hear and answer their prayers.

They were impressed to do something rather unusual for that day and time. One of them placed his mouth over Brother Snow’s in an effort to inflate his lungs, alternately blowing in and drawing out air, imitating the natural process of breathing. Taking turns, they persevered until they succeeded in inflating his lungs. A little while later they perceived faint indications of returning life. “A slight wink of the eye, which, until then, had been open and death-like, and a very faint rattle in the throat, were the first symptoms of returning vitality. These grew more and more distinct, until consciousness was fully restored.” With their perseverance and the smile of merciful Providence, all four of the Lord’s servants survived and were able to complete their missions.

Elder Snow went on to become the President of the Church. While serving in that office, he stabilized the Church’s funds by urging the members to pay their tithes and offerings.

In early 2002, while I was serving in the Relief Society general presidency, the Church instituted a security system that required those of us who frequented the extended Church campus in Salt Lake City– including Temple Square, the Conference Center, Church Office Building, Relief Society Building, and so forth–to wear ID badges. Because our presidency had served nearly five years, we were easily recognized, and I don’t remember ever actually using my new ID badge.

In one of the Saturday sessions of the April 2002 General Conference, our presidency was released, but we continued to come and go to that conference in the usual manner for General Authorities and general officers–through a series of pedestrian tunnels that connect the various buildings on the Church campus.

I had been assigned to speak early Sunday morning at a devotional for all of the General Conference hosts and hostesses, and I was to be in the Conference Center at 6 AM. As I drove to the Conference Center that morning, it dawned on me that heavy double doors located at various places along the tunnel might not be open that early.

Sure enough, the first door in the tunnel was locked. I noticed an intercom on the wall, pushed the buzzer, and asked the Church Security officer who answered if he would let me through the door. “Sister Dew, do you have your ID badge with you?” I thought but didn’t say, “You know who I am. Why do you need to see my badge?” but I rummaged through my binder and found the badge. The officer then said, “Just wave it in front of the sensor, and the doors will open.”

“Seriously. That’s fantastic! What else will this badge open?”

He laughed and said, “You have a high clearance. Your badge gives you access to most doors throughout the Church campus. Didn’t you know that?”

“Amazing!”

I was already wondering what else my badge would open when he brought me down to earth: “Wasn’t your presidency just released, Sister Dew?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Well, enjoy your badge today because tonight at midnight, it will be deactivated.”

As promised, my badge opened the doors through the tunnel, and also, as promised, the next day it no longer worked. The privilege was gone.

The irony was unmistakable. For months, I had carried with me a badge that gave me privileges I had never made the effort or took the time to understand.

While I was walking off the playground one late afternoon, after several weeks of helping out at the school, the principal pulled me off to the side.

The children were playing on the playground equipment they had earned by collecting Campbell’s Soup labels.

“See that little girl over there?” he asked, pointing to a skinny, olive-skinned, dark-haired girl sitting on the steps.

I nodded.

“She came to us last year from the public school system. The teachers said she was slow, uncooperative and noncommunicative. No one could reach her to teach her. So they sent her here as a last resort. She has really come out of her shell here with these kids.”

I noticed the girl was hugging a young student after he had fallen down.

“But she won’t respond to any adults. As soon as one of the teachers tries to engage her in something, she clams up and stares and won’t respond.

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“Because we’ve tried everything we know and she still won’t respond. I’ve even worked with her myself.”

Then the principal paused.

“And there’s something else,” he said. “I was going through her records today. When she was tested—when she first entered school—she had a very high I.Q. By the time they sent her to us, her I.Q. had dropped to an infantile level. Her hands are deformed, and she has a wooden leg. The records report that she was treated badly by the other public students. But the kids here don’t make fun of her. They adore her. She is everyone’s second mother.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked again.

“I thought maybe you could reach her somehow.”

“I’ll try.”

From that time on I made it a point to observe this little girl every chance I got. I read her records and found out her name was Monica. She was 12 years old. A mother was listed on her records but no father. I noticed Monica spent a lot of time by the piano in the classroom. Because her fingers were deformed and small, she would sometimes start banging on the keys with her palms until all the other children were laughing and stomping their feet. At this point, the teacher would drag her away from the piano and take her to the principal’s office.

I watched the teachers and aids approach Monica with games, papers, blocks, and books. But she wouldn’t respond in any way.

Sometimes I’d sit down at the piano and play a couple of tunes. Monica would stand near the piano and listen. Once I noticed her squatting down at the side of the piano and placing her ear up against the wood.

One afternoon as I was playing, she came over to the bench and sat down next to me. Then she pushed my hands off the piano and began pounding on the keys with her palms. I gently took her hand and rolled it into a fist. Then I guided her hand to the piano and showed her how to play a simple tune that my mother had taught me as a child. It was a tune that she could play by rolling a fist down the black keys.

Monica quickly caught on and played the tune over and over. From that moment, she seemed to sense that I was her friend.

One morning during recess, I noticed Monica crouching beside a bush near the entrance to the school. I walked up behind her and could see that she was studying a chrysalis hanging precariously on a twig. The butterfly inside was almost free, struggling desperately to free its wings.

“You know,” I said whispering next to her ear, “that used to be just a funny looking caterpillar. Now look at it. In a few minutes it will be a beautiful butterfly.”

Monica didn’t say a word. In a moment the butterfly was separating its damp wings, and the gentle breeze soon dried the bright orange and black pattern. Moments later the breeze lifted the delicate wing expanse and the butterfly was gone. Monica cupped her hands and with them she followed the butterfly into the air as if attempting to follow.

Then she turned and looked at me. She looked me directly in the eye. Deep, dark, and brown, her eyes were wet and soft and imploring. In that brief instant, I knew. Monica was not mentally retarded. She was trapped somewhere deep inside.

“I want …” she said.

Then her eyes darted to the ground, and she ran up the stone stairs and into the school.

I suddenly realized that Monica had found some kind of security and love with the mentally retarded children that she could not find in the public school system and at home. Her infantile behavior was simply her way of making sure she could stay here. If she responded to any adult and showed her intelligence, she knew she would be put back into a system where she had been abused.

Weeks grew into months, and soon Monica and I were good friends. But whenever I questioned her about her home, she would avoid the questions and change the subject.

“I like the way you smile at me,” Monica said to me one day. “My mother never smiles at me.”

Later I found out from the principal that Monica lived alone with her mother. Her mother was on welfare and spent most of her days sleeping and most of her nights going from bar to bar. She often had different men living with her. Much of the time there was little or no food at the house.

When Monica had progressed sufficiently that the principal thought she was ready to return to the public schools, he asked me to speak to her about it.

After I talked to Monica, she pulled away from me and told me she would do or act any way she had to to stay at the school.

I spent a lot of sleepless nights wondering what to do. Finally, one morning it came to me. That afternoon I talked to Monica about my idea. She agreed enthusiastically, so I went to the principal.

We worked out a plan where Monica could obtain the regular public school textbooks and materials for her age level and remain at the special school. Then Monica would spend each day doing her regular school work with a little help from the teacher and student aids.

The teachers and principal were amazed at how quickly she grasped her subjects and how quickly she progressed.

My course work became more and more difficult at college, and my hours at Monica’s school became less and less.

Four years later, after my graduation, I walked down to the special school to say good-bye. Most of the same students were there, but they were older now. Monica had developed into a strikingly beautiful young lady.

She had gone through her class work so quickly and well that she had taken her college entrance exams earlier that spring and had been admitted to college on scholarship at the age of 16 for the next fall.

Monica’s teacher was still telling Kenny to “Shh!” when he told his corny jokes. The principal was a little balder and plumper.

The children gave me a going-away party with cake, streamers, hugs, and tears. Monica proudly showed me her college scholarship and admission papers.

The principal put his arm around Monica’s shoulder and said, “You know I’ll be retiring in a few years. I think Monica would make a great replacement for me, don’t you?”

I don’t know what happened to Monica after that. After college I moved away, married, and had children of my own. But I have often thought about her.

Mike Bruneau’s parents and Church leaders told him that work is something to take seriously, to be honest at, even when it is not very glamorous. He took that advice to heart.
Mike, 15, is working as a temporary custodian for a Pepperell elementary school during the summer. If you have ever pushed a vacuum around your own living room you can probably testify that cleaning is not the most exciting job. Mike says the temptation to slack off at work is strong at times, but he sets goals and takes pride in his work.
“It could be boring because we do a lot of the same things over and over,” Mike said. “So I set a goal to make sure we get everything done before the end of the day.”
Mike also adds that he wants to be a good example because he’s LDS. He has had the opportunity to tell other employees about the Church and feels better about talking religion when others can see what kind of person he is trying to be.

I remember an experience President Kimball had with the navy chief of chaplains a few years ago. We invite military chiefs of chaplains to visit Church headquarters so we can continue our wonderful relationship with them and maintain our chaplaincies throughout the services. It was this chaplain’s first trip to the Church. He came, and Elder Hanks was with him. They saw the various leaders, they came to BYU, they went to Temple Square. They saw what we were doing with the chaplaincy, and finally they were to meet with the prophet, Spencer W. Kimball. At that time we were trying desperately to get more navy chaplains. President Kimball had been trying for years, and so had the other Brethren, without success. The two of them had a wonderful talk; it went on for about an hour. Four or five times during the conversation this navy chief of chaplains said, “President, is there anything we can do for you?”

President Kimball said, “No, I don’t think so. We just love our servicemen and women so much we want to do everything we can for them.”

The chaplain went on talking and then asked again, “Well, isn’t there something I can do?”

Finally, the chief of chaplains said, “Well, would it be of any help if we let you have more chaplains in the United States Navy?”

President Kimball replied, “I think that would be just wonderful if that is what you would like to do.”

A perfect example of never demanding, but inviting. And when he walked out of that building with Elder Hanks that day and stopped on the front steps of the Church Office Building, this man, who would be a counterpart to an archbishop in his Catholic church, looked at Elder Hanks and said, “There is a holy man of God.”

Elder Hanks said, “He is a wonderful man.”

And he replied, “Elder Hanks, that is not what I said. He is a holy man of God.”

But many of the biggest miracles in this powerful program are the most personal. During her sophomore year, Mary Mulvey found herself being pulled further and further away from church and family. “My life was going in a very bad direction,” she recalls. Then she was called into the Laurel presidency in her ward. Her adviser asked her to help get other girls involved with Personal Progress, so Mary started working on it herself. “I started with some of the easier experiences,” Mary explains. “For two weeks, I tried being nicer to my older sister, and that really changed our relationship.” Next she set goals to clean up her language and improve the way she dressed. “Everything I did helped change my overall attitude. I was changing all the little things that had pulled me away in the first place.”

Soon Mary felt worthy to receive her patriarchal blessing, another huge help in her life—especially when she lost her old group of friends and had to start over socially at school. “Personal Progress was life changing,” Mary reflects. “It redefined who I am and helped me see where I need to go in my life.” As her last value project, Mary set a goal to go to the temple regularly to do baptisms for the dead. Today people in her ward often tell Mary that she now has a visibly brighter countenance. It all started when she started her Personal Progress.

On the night of March 24, 1832, a dozen men stormed the Hiram, Ohio, home where Joseph and Emma Smith were staying. Both were physically and emotionally spent, not only from all the travails of the young Church at the time but also because on this particular evening they had been up caring for their two adopted twins, born eleven months earlier on the same day that Emma had given birth to—and then lost—their own twins. Emma had gone to bed first while Joseph stayed up with the children; then she had arisen to take her turn, encouraging her husband to get some sleep. No sooner had he begun to doze than he heard his wife give a terrifying scream and found himself being torn from the house and very nearly being torn limb from limb.
Cursing as they went, the mob that had seized him were swearing to kill Joseph if he resisted. One man grabbed him by the throat until he lost consciousness from lack of breath. He came to only to overhear part of their conversation on whether he should be murdered. It was determined that for now he would simply be stripped naked, beaten senseless, tarred and feathered, and left to fend for himself in the bitter March night. Stripped of his clothing, fighting off fists and tar paddles on every side, and resisting a vial of some liquid—perhaps poison—which he shattered with his teeth as it was forced into his mouth, he miraculously managed to fight off the entire mob and eventually made his way back to the house. In the dim light his wife thought the tar stains covering his body were blood stains, and she fainted at the sight.
Friends spent the entire night scraping and removing the tar and applying liniments to his scratched and battered body. I now quote directly from the Prophet Joseph’s record:
By morning I was ready to be clothed again. This being the Sabbath morning, the people assembled for meeting at the usual hour of worship, and among them came also the mobbers [of the night before. Then he names them.] With my flesh all scarified and defaced, I preached to the congregation as usual, and in the afternoon of the same day baptized three individuals. [HC 1:264]
Unfortunately, one of the adopted twins, growing worse from the exposure and turmoil of the night, died the following Friday. “With my flesh all scarified and defaced, I preached to the congregation as usual”!

The youth from the Victoria Ward in Hong Kong and from the English-speaking branch in Taiwan combined in making a trip to the Taiwan Temple to do baptisms for the dead.
The group started their excursion with a trip to the peaks of Alishan, part of the central mountain range in Taiwan. The location is popular because of the spectacular sunrises. At 4:00 A.M. when the wake-up call came, the sleepy youth hiked to the highest part of the summit. They were issued cardboard sunglasses with darkened lenses to protect their eyes while they were watching the sunrise. They were not disappointed. The neighboring mountains rose out of the mist, and the sun burst above the final jagged peak. It seemed to set a theme for the trip: “The day dawn is breaking, the world is awaking,/ The clouds of night’s darkness are fleeing away” (Hymns, 1985, no. 52).
Arriving at the temple and performing baptisms was the highlight of the excursion. Garrett Povar of Hong Kong said, “I had a very special feeling in the temple—a feeling of calm and reverence.”
Jennifer Rasmussen said that doing baptisms in the Taiwan Temple added to her testimony. “Being in the temple is a testimony to me that Heavenly Father’s work is going on in different parts of the world. I can see that the worth of a soul is great in the sight of the Lord. I know this because the Church is concerned with the salvation of all.”
The youth had a four-day retreat from the world and from their daily routines. They had fun together, laughed together, and served together.

Years ago our family lived and worked among people who in almost every case were not of our faith. When they asked us how our weekend was, we tried to skip the usual topics—like sports events, movies, or the weather—and tried to share some religious experiences we had as a family over the weekend—for instance, what a youth speaker had said about the standards from For the Strength of Youth, or how we were touched by the words of a young man who was leaving on his mission, or how the gospel and the Church helped us as a family to overcome a specific challenge we had. We tried not to be preachy or overbearing. My wife, Harriet, was always the best at finding something inspirational, uplifting, or humorous to share. This often would lead to more in-depth discussions. Interestingly enough, whenever we talked with friends about coping with life’s challenges, we often heard the comment “It’s easy for you; you have your church.”