Gospel Story Finder

“I’m hungry,” Becky grumbled as she plodded along behind the wagon.
“Me too!” Jonathan said. “Do you think Pa would mind if we stopped to pick some berries?”
Becky shook her head. “We’d better not. Pa says that if we don’t keep up with the rest of the wagons, we won’t be able to get down the mountain.”
“I wish Ma were here.” Jonathan’s eyes filled with tears. “She’d find us something to eat.”
From the front of the wagon came the sound of music, and Jonathan perked up a little. “Jacob’s hungry, too,” he said. “He always plays that harmonica when his stomach growls.”
Laughing, they hurried along. Sure enough, Jacob Brewster was tapping his foot and playing as hard as he could. With one hand he guided the oxen; with the other he played a tune on his harmonica.
Jacob Brewster was seventeen years old and an orphan. He had asked to join the wagon train in North Platte, and Pa had offered him meals and a place on their wagon if Jacob would help with the oxen.
Soon the signal came to stop for the noon meal. Becky made a thin gruel from a small handful of cornmeal, sweetened with a few drops of the carefully hoarded molasses. Pa cut each of them a small piece of a tough biscuit, and they dipped it into the gruel.
“Brother Snow says that we’re almost there,” Pa said. “He thinks that we’ll make it in the next two days.”
Jonathan jumped up and down. “Really, Pa? Does he really mean it?” Pa just smiled and nodded.
When the meal was over, Becky and Jacob quickly repacked the wagon and stomped out the small campfire.
Just after the family had left Omaha, Nebraska, Becky’s mother had a bad fall from the wagon. Within a week she had died. Now fifteen-year-old Becky had to fix all the meals, take care of the wagon, and help young Jonathan get over their mother’s death. It wasn’t easy when she still missed Mama terribly herself.
While they were stopped, Becky hurried to fill the water cans at the small stream. With a gentle touch she watered the tiny lilac plants in the back of the wagon. Her mother had taken care of them so carefully. In her mind she could hear her mother’s sweet voice tell Pa: “Why, it won’t be home without lilacs around the door! Don’t you worry, Becky and I will take care of them.”
“Time to go, Becky.” Pa’s shout broke into her thoughts.
“I’m ready, Pa. Jonathan, why don’t you ride for a while.” She helped her seven-year-old brother into the back of the wagon, knowing that in a little while he would be asleep.
The trail up the mountain grew steeper, and the pace began to slow. Anxiously Becky watched the darkening sky. A thunderstorm is one thing that we don’t need today, she thought.
The huge clouds grew darker. The slight breeze gusted fiercely, then became a stiff wind. From the north came the first flashes of lightning.
“Becky! We’ll have to lighten the load if we want to get up this mountain.” Pa’s words were all but lost in the wind. “Wake Jonathan and unload everything that we can possibly leave behind.”
“Yes, Pa.” Becky hurried to obey.
Out went the extra washtub and the small chest of linens that her mother had so carefully packed for Becky’s hope chest. Jonathan tearfully dumped his precious rock collection, and Becky resolutely removed the extra bedrolls and cooking pots.
“What about these?” Jonathan asked.
Becky turned to see the bucket of lilac plants in the young boy’s hand. “No, not those, Jon!” she cried. “I promised Mama that we’d plant those by our new home.”
Pa put his arm around Becky’s slight shoulders and gave her a hug. “Yes,” he said. “The lilacs stay.”
The sky became an angry black, and the thunder rolled from mountain to mountain.
“We’ll have to stop, Brother Webster,” Jacob called. “The trail will turn into a slippery mud slide as soon as the rain hits.”
Looking around, Jacob spied a level clearing off to the left of the trail and guided the wagon over to it. The other wagons followed.
As if on signal, the rain began. Great, heavy drops splattered here and there at first, then came down in a torrent. The north wind blew, the thunder roared, and the lightning blazed continually across the sky.
Inside the wagon the four shivered as they listened to the storm. Jonathan’s eyes were round with fear and Becky held him close. They could hear trees being split by the lightning, and the wagons creaking with the wind.
Suddenly the tether holding the oxen snapped. The freed animals headed for the meadow below. Pa and Jacob leapt from the wagon. “Stay here with Jonathan, Becky!” Pa called. “Jacob, you go straight down, and I’ll circle around behind them.”
The men disappeared into the driving rain. Becky and Jonathan anxiously waited. Finally the rain began to lessen, and the thunder grew more distant. When Becky peered from the wagon, she saw limbs strewn like kindling and several trees completely uprooted. Although most of the other wagons had come through the storm without serious damage, some of the smaller ones had lost their canvas tops. There was no sign of Pa or Jacob.
Night was approaching, and Jonathan was hungry. “When’s Pa coming, Becky?”
“He’ll be here soon. Don’t worry.” Becky tried to sound calm, but inside she trembled at the thought of a night alone. There were other wagons nearby, but those folks had troubles of their own, and Becky knew that Pa would want her to stay put.
She gave Jonathan some dried beef and tried to bed him down for the long night ahead. It was chilly in the wagon with its damp canvas, and Becky wished that she still had the discarded bedrolls. Finally she managed to get Jonathan to sleep.
Around midnight Jacob returned, leading one of the oxen. “I had a terrible time getting up the mountain in the mud,” he said weakly. “Where’s your father?”
“He hasn’t come back yet. Oh, Jacob, do you think he’s all right?”
Jacob could see the worry in Becky’s face. “He is probably waiting until morning,” he said consolingly. Then he added as he slumped wearily onto the wagon floor, “Be sure to wake me when he comes.”
Morning brought no sign of Pa. Search groups were hastily organized, with Jacob leading the main one. “We’ll find him,” he said, patting Becky gently on the arm. He gave Jonathan a loving hug and was on his way.
At midmorning Jonathan spotted the first searchers returning. “Here they come, Becky. Do you see Pa?”
Becky looked into the bright sunlight and carefully scanned each group as it appeared. The men were downcast and returning slowly. Suddenly she spotted Brother Snow’s brown mare being led by Jacob. Across the saddle, like a huge rag doll, lay the form of a man.
“No! Oh, no!” she cried and broke into a run with Jonathan right behind her.
“Pa, Pa,” Becky moaned. “Oh, Jacob, how did it happen?”
Jacob’s eyes were red with grief. “Lightning.” He held Becky close. “At least it was quick.”
Becky gazed at the stiff form, then quietly slipped to the ground in tears.
Pa was buried near the edge of the small clearing. Becky planted two of the precious lilac plants near the makeshift marker, just as they had planted two on Mama’s grave a few weeks earlier.
Becky stood in the mountain sunshine with Jacob and Jonathan as the simple service was completed. Tears streamed down her face as she held Jonathan’s hand. Jacob’s hand under her elbow steadied her. “Oh, Jacob,” she murmured. “What will I ever do? How can we manage without Pa?”
“Don’t you worry, Becky. I’ll take care of both of you.”
The rest of the afternoon was spent repairing the damage caused by the summer storm. Wheels were mended and canvases tightened. Bedrolls were laid out in the sun to dry.
About dusk one of the scouts arrived leading the other ox. “Found him a good three miles up the trail,” he said.
Jacob gratefully tethered the animal next to its mate. Women from other wagons prepared a dinner from their own precious food stores for the grieving trio.
As Becky helped Jonathan prepare for bed, she watched Jacob build up the fire and check the wagon. We’ll arrive in the valley the day after tomorrow, she thought. She didn’t know what the future would bring, but she didn’t fear. She had faith that Heavenly Father would watch over Jonathan and her. As she carefully watered the remaining lilacs, she thought, Soon we’ll have a home, and these lilacs will remind us of Mama and Papa. She pulled her shawl tighter around her slim shoulders and went to sit with Jacob in the glow of the dying campfire.

Every day is busy for Clint Callender, another member of the Garden Park Branch. But being busy keeps him happy. The 17-year-old did so well on his exams that he is now teaching information technology at the Tutorial High School. He was recently sustained as district clerk, a calling that matches well with his interest in computers and his plans to study computer science at a university next year. He is also busy with Aaronic Priesthood and Mutual activities, seminary, basketball, friends, and simply living the gospel day by day.
“I’m trying to be a light to my family and to other people,” Clint says. For example, he encourages his family to pray and to hold family home evening. And with friends, he says, “I try to get them to take a look at what they’re doing, to see what is right and what is wrong, to guide them if they want help.” He also talks with friends about the Church’s humanitarian efforts worldwide. “I tell them that in disasters, we provide food and clothing.” And, he says, smiling, “We offer prayers, too.”
Clint says his personal prayers lift his spirit. “It’s wonderful to know that you can kneel down and speak directly to Heavenly Father sincerely, and you will receive an answer, not always right away, but eventually. Prayer helps you to be much closer to Heavenly Father. Just keep the channel open all of the time.”
He looks to the future with hope. “When I’m 19, I see myself serving a full-time mission,” he says. “That’s another way to be an example.” He believes that someday there will be a temple in Guyana.
“Families will go there to be sealed, and I hope my family will be one of them,” Clint says. “A temple in Guyana means many more Guyanese will be Latter-day Saints. The temple brings a feeling of peace and reverence, and I think all of Guyana will be blessed.” What a great day that will be!

But as I thought about how much God had helped me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted to do more to share His gospel with others. I considered serving a mission—but what if I lost everything I had worked so hard to build?
One Sunday, I prayed and fasted about serving a mission. God had helped me know which path to take in my life before, and I trusted He could help me again.
I attended church with my cousin in a ward far away from where I lived. I was surprised to see a sister missionary there who I had befriended a year before. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence that I had run into her while I was fasting.
After church, I shared with her my fears about losing all the things that were going well in my life. My friend said, “I was in a similar situation before my mission. Everything felt too perfect to leave. But I knew the Lord wanted me to serve.”
After our conversation, the impression to serve grew stronger. I felt that Heavenly Father was helping me know once again which path to take—I just needed to act and trust Him. So, the next day, I started to work on my mission application.

Several years ago as I began my career with a large corporation, I heard rumors here and there about the padded expense accounts and white collar pilfering, but had no concrete evidence to make accusations. Corporate headquarters had their own suspicions and called for an audit unbeknownst to the managers and sales staff. For the next few months, they carefully perused our reports, files, expense accounts, hotel receipts and even restaurant tabs, verifying with customers and other establishments each and every detail of their employee's expenditures. Pursuant to their findings, a meeting was called for managers and sales representatives from all over the nation. The meeting convened, individuals were interviewed, evidence was presented and the punishments given. Some were fined large sums of money while others lost their bonuses or were demoted. I remember sitting there in a numbed state of disbelief for my colleagues and friends, but felt an inner peace. Toward the end of this "Corporate Courtroom," very few were found to be in total compliance with company accounting practices. One was me! Those who were aware of my religion even presented me with the "Donny Osmond Good Guy Award" to bring a lighter moment to the austere occasion. In the elevator as we were leaving, one man who had been found guilty, looked at me somberly and said: "What I wouldn't give to be in your shoes." I don't know when I have been more grateful for the teachings of the gospel and the courage to live them.

In grade school and junior high, Kalin participated in athletics, but by the time he was a sophomore in high school, things began to unravel. He was skipping too much school and his grades were going downhill. He played in four games; then his poor academic record forced him off the team. For two years of high school he watched games from the stands. He started hanging around some guys with gang affiliation. The bond between these guys appealed to Kalin, who was not used to being close with anyone. He became a follower.
Then things hit bottom for Kalin. He got kicked out of school for fighting in defense of a friend. He got caught riding on a scooter someone else had stolen. He wrote a suicide note to his mother. “I don’t know if I was serious,” says Kalin, “but I put it in my mom’s purse, and she found it.”
His mother took him to a hospital for help, and things turned around for Kalin. “I decided I had to change. I saw a lot of guys older than me doing nothing, hanging around selling drugs. I couldn’t see myself that way. I knew I was a fairly bright kid. I knew there was a purpose for me. I always prayed every night before I went to bed. I didn’t know why I did that. Nobody taught me. It was something I felt I had to do.” Only later did Kalin realize that those early feelings that helped him to pray every day prepared him for the changes he would make in his life.
Looking for a new group of friends, Kalin watched the people he admired to see what they were doing. He saw they were going to class, getting good grades, and playing sports. In one semester of school, he raised his grades to As and Bs. He played football and basketball his senior year of high school. As a high school running back, he was all-conference, all-region, and all-state. He was named Nevada’s Gatorade Player of the Year. But he paid a price for messing around for two years of high school. He was not eligible to be recruited by a Division I football school. He was headed to a junior college. He chose Dixie College in St. George, Utah, because it had a good football program and was close to home.

For three days we had been driving our newly restored, 40-year-old Auburn Phaeton convertible through the Canadian and New England countryside. Our dream after five years of hard work was a reality. A handsome, shiny, black and chrome machine created by the genius of classic automobile carriage designer, Gordon Buhrig, the model 851 Auburn is indeed a beautiful road car. It is akin in many ways to Buhrig’s more recent design for the Lincoln Continental. On the highway the Auburn’s performance is difficult to match even today. The great auto racing and engineering brothers August and Fred Duesenburg, of Indianapolis fame, combined the nearly all-aluminum, 8-cylinder Lycoming engine, turbocharged carburetion, and negative pressure exhaust with a dual-speed Columbia rear drive—a fantastic combination of automobile engineering, performance, and economy that was almost unbelievable in 1935. It was way ahead of its time, and it was known as the King of the Road. After driving and enjoying it for three days, we all began reminiscing about the first time we had seen it.
It had been abandoned beside a barn, and weeds were growing around and inside it. It may not have interested some families; but we were so excited at the prospect of a true, classic automobile to restore that we were almost afraid to ask the owners about it. We drove by the barn three times, looking and talking excitedly. Finally we stopped and, with a surge of courage, made the purchase. We slept little that night and even less during many nights to come as the family planned, unbolted, repaired, restored, rebolted, and refinished the Auburn as a family project.
Around the supper table, usually three nights each week, we talked of the previous night’s progress and planned the work that needed to be done. Rust, grease, and road dirt by the pound, accumulated over nearly half a century, were scraped, wire brushed, and washed away. Many bolts, under stress for years, had to be sawed off to allow complete disassembly of vital running parts. All the bearings required either repacking or replacement. New upholstery with the same fine leather and the original style had to be made to restore the convertible’s interior. Replating all the bright work with copper, nickel, and chromium added to the list of goals to be reached.
We took special trips so the family could learn how to take care of the metallurgical testing of the rods, pistons, crank, and camshaft. We personally observed the lead-pouring of the engine bearings. With fascination we all watched “striking-a-match” to a newly rewound electric starter. Fusing the electrical insulation by fire was actually necessary in such old-type winding.
The second springtime after we had begun the project was especially memorable for us. The mechanical work was nearly completed. The family just had to hear, see, and feel the Auburn in action. After carefully oiling each cylinder and bearing, we rolled the car out into the beautiful, warm, Saturday-morning sun. Because of the tightness of the newly poured lead bearings, rods, and piston rings, the starter couldn’t turn the engine over; so we had to tow the car a few blocks to get it started. It was like Christmas to a five-year-old. The family celebrated the halfway goal we had set for ourselves and each took a turn driving the Auburn around the yard. None of us (and probably none of the neighbors) will ever forget that thrilling morning when the King again roared to life.
The project wasn’t strictly limited to our family, either. Neighbors and friends were caught up in the spirit of the King of the Road. Ted, with his welding torch, a perfect diversion from his chemistry lecturing at the university, put smooth metalwork in place of rusted-out panels. Rebuilding the engine and drive train with new bearings and piston rings would not have been possible without Tony’s skilled hands. Compliments received for the beautifully restored body lines gleaming with a dozen hand-rubbed coats of black lacquer were the result of Richard’s creative ability. It was during hundreds of hours of working together that Richard fell in love with our Auburn, and more important, he and his family learned more of the gospel and were baptized into the Church.
The thrill of driving that masterpiece of design and engineering and the countless hours of labor to restore it have indeed strengthened the life of each individual member of our family. Seeing the goal, planning and working together to achieve it, and finally feeling the achievement of driving that beautiful King has made our family goals, temporal and eternal, very real and important to us.
At the time of restoration, the Auburn was important to every member of our family. Today, in our philosophy of life, it has become merely the symbol of our real achievement. We have found that most of our life problems and challenges can be planned and worked out together much the way we restored the Auburn.

One day, a friend and I were eating at a restaurant when we overheard some people nearby talking about religion. A girl mentioned that she’d met two men on bikes who offered to talk to her about God. After meeting with them for a few weeks, she accepted their invitation to be baptized as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
One friend started asking complicated questions and urged her to change her mind. She looked uncomfortable, admitted that she didn’t know all the answers, but said it still felt right to be baptized. She told them that all she wanted was their support.
My friend and I could tell that she was now concerned. We couldn’t ignore the prompting to speak up.
Before we left, we walked over and said, “We hate to interrupt, but we overheard that you’ve decided to be baptized! We are members of the Church and want you to know that you are making the best decision of your life. Keep reading and praying about the Book of Mormon.”
A year later, I was listening to a lesson at church and the teacher shared a story about his fiancée. One day, she had been praying to know if she should be baptized. That same night, she went to a restaurant with some friends. They started talking about religion and her decision to be baptized. Her friends told her to avoid the missionaries and to not be baptized.
She felt frustrated at their lack of support. Then two people approached her and said that they were members of the Church. They encouraged her to be baptized and to continue reading and praying. The teacher’s fiancée told him that having those two strangers come up and boldly share their testimonies was an answer to her prayers.
I am so grateful that my friend and I listened to the prompting to speak up and to stand for what’s right.

I had an occasion one time as a stake president to have a man come to me and tell me of some serious things that had happened in his life. He knew that he had not done well. He knew that a disciplinary council should be held. And he knew that it would happen. The discipline was determined, and the man was absolutely faithful. He complied with every condition imposed by that council. As time passed, he came in and we visited. It was not easy for him. The Lord was training him, he was preparing him. This man knew what adversity was. He turned to the scriptures. He found comfort as he read of the Savior and others who had passed through those periods of adversity, and then he knelt in mighty prayer. He went to our Father in Heaven and pled with him during those times of anguish. The day finally came when he was baptized again, and he had his blessings restored. Then came an experience that I will never forget. As we met one more time, he said, with tears in his eyes, “I used to know about the Savior. I used to read about him; now I know him. I know Jesus Christ. He is my Redeemer.” I don’t know of any person that I have met who knew the Savior better. The only thing I felt bad about is that he had to go through all that to know him. I would pray that in our activities and in our trials we would not have to go that far to get to know the Savior.

June 27th. A lot happened today, and I don’t feel much like thinking about it, let alone writing about it. But President Heber J. Grant says keeping a journal of our daily doings is important, so I better get it done.
It all started this morning when my sister, Charity, was holed up in the privy with a catalog and I had a discomfort worse than I can ever remember. So I cornered a mouse in the root cellar, put it into a fruit jar, and dropped it through a hole in the privy wall.
Charity came screaming out of there madder than bees in a poked hive! She chased me from one end of the farm to the other, but I ran so fast that she couldn’t get close enough to me to do anything more than yell. So she commenced to throw rocks. She missed me—but not the windshield of Sister Donohue’s Model T Ford! Sister Donohue was at our house, working on a quilt with Mama.
When she saw what she’d done, Charity looked like she had just witnessed the end of the world. Then she made a face at me like something I had seen in a bad dream once, and started to cry. Sister Donohue didn’t get mad at her. She just stood there shaking her head.
I hurried off to the privy, figuring that Charity was going to be too concerned with paying for the windshield to think about getting even with me. But was I wrong! The first thing I saw when I got out of the privy and went to my room was Charity—with the little box of marbles I’ve been collecting since I was six years old.
She was standing just outside my open window, holding up the box so that I was sure to see it. I ran outside, but she was gone. Then I saw her by our pet pig Thaddius’ pen. He was wallowing in the mud, which was nice and oozy from last night’s rain.
Charity smiled at me and threw my collection into the mud. By the time I got to the pen, Thaddius had stomped and rolled over the marbles good, and I could only find eight of my twenty-two. The pretty one I found under the schoolhouse steps was gone, and so was the big agate I’d won from Lenny. And every kid in school wanted that one!
I said some hurtful things to Charity and spent the next little while in my room, thinking of ways I could get even with her. And when she walked by my room, she gave me a look that said if I did any of them, I’d soon wish I’d never been born!
After lunch, Mama said that she needed Charity and me to go to the city with her. She needed me to help load the car with groceries and to crank it up. And she needed Charity to choose some material for a dress she was going to make her for a family reunion.
The drive to Salt Lake City takes about an hour. It was real quiet the whole way except for when Mama talked about getting along with one another, and about how the scarecrow in Brother McKillop’s field looked so much like him. I didn’t look at it—I’d have had to look out the window on Charity’s side, and I wasn’t about to look at her any more than she wanted to look at me.
We’d finished shopping and started for home when the car broke down. Some kind men helped us push it up the street to an automobile shop, and the man there said that he’d have it running again in a couple hours. Mama wanted to wait on the temple grounds until it was ready, so that’s what we did.
Mama and Papa were married in the Salt Lake Temple, and she said that outside of heaven or home, it was the best place to be. It is pretty there. It looks like a place where God would like to visit. Mama says that He has visited all His holy temples. She told Charity and me that when she was doing Great-Grandma Lavina’s temple work for her, Great-Grandma appeared to her and put her hand on Mama’s shoulder.
Anyway, Mama told Charity and me that we could go wherever we wanted to go on Temple Square, but to not leave it. She’d find us when she was ready to return to the shop.
Neither one of us wanted to do anything together, so Charity went one way and I went another. I ended up in the museum on the southeast corner of the temple grounds. It had a lot of neat stuff on both floors—Indian artifacts, a strand of the Prophet Joseph’s hair, his bed, little stands with glass covers that had interesting things inside. There was even a big old piano that had been buried along the trail by a family of Saints while they were crossing the plains. That was to keep it safe until they could return for it.
I would’ve enjoyed the museum more if Charity and I hadn’t been so angry at each other. It kind of ruined the feelings that kept trying to grow in me.
Finally I went and sat on a window seat in a little room called the President’s Room. People could sit in it and write postcards and things like that. I wasn’t feeling too good. I thought at first I was just tired or something. But it wasn’t that. I was feeling more and more guilty about being mad at my sister. This was such a sacred place that I couldn’t help feeling bad about feeling bad about anybody, even Charity.
An old man and lady came in. There weren’t enough places for them to sit, so I got up and walked over to the temple. It was getting pretty hot, so I sat in the shadows of those big walls. I got a real warm, reverent feeling—like I do in church when the sacrament is being passed, or like sometimes when I say my prayers.
The feeling started taking up so much room in me that it began pushing the hard feelings I had toward my sister right out. It started pushing tears out too. Other people were close by, and I didn’t want them to see me crying, so I left.
Just as I was turning the corner of the temple, I ran into Charity. We both just stood there and stared at each other. Then she began to cry. She hugged me and said she was sorry. I said I was sorry too.
It was late in the day when Charity, Mama, and I left Salt Lake City for home. I looked back at the temple. It stood as tall as a fine memory against the gold sky.
Mama didn’t have to fill up the silence with talk on the way home, because Charity and I didn’t leave her any room. We talked about everything, especially the temple. What we had seen. And felt. Especially what we had felt. Mama just listened, nodded, and smiled. A lot. And said again when we passed by Brother McKillop’s field how much his scarecrow looked like him. And she’s right—he does. But I’m not going to tell Brother McKillop!

Whenever anyone said something nice to Dan, he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—accept it. A typical conversation went something like this one with his teachers quorum adviser:
“Hey, Dan, glad you came! We can really use your help on the ward basketball team.”
“I’m no good at basketball. The only reason I came was because the other guys kept calling me.”
“Well, get warmed up. We need your outside shot.”
“I don’t have an outside shot. I don’t even have an inside shot.”
“So … what do you do in a game?”
“Mainly try to get the other team to feel sorry for me,” Dan said glumly.

Let’s take another look at Dan, this time with a more positive light in his life:
“Hey, Dan, glad you came. We can really use your help on the ward basketball team.”
“I’m glad to be here.”
“Well, get warmed up. We need your outside shot.”
“Okay. Maybe I can work with Steve a little. He’s good at passing, and that, along with what I can do, should be a good combination. You know, I feel a little sorry for the other team.”

One day in my P.E. class, a boy and a girl began saying the Lord’s name in vain. I told them I didn’t like them saying it, and that our church teaches us not to. For the rest of the day, they teased me about it and said it even more. When I got home, I prayed and asked Heavenly Father that they would not continue to say it and tease me. They haven’t teased me about it again! I’m thankful Heavenly Father answered my prayer. I’m thankful I can be a good example even though the other students were making fun of me.

Now, back to the word lists. Which list would you put the word "boredom" under? How many of you would put it under A? How about B? Well, you are right there with everyone else who has ever responded to that question. So it goes without saying--the lifestyle most of us have chosen is boring. I think that is unfortunate. So what is the opposite of boredom? The best answer I know of comes from the classic Disney film, "Never Cry Wolf."

In this film a young biologist by the last name of Tyler was sent to the far northern reaches of Canada to determine if wolves were responsible for killing off the great caribou herds. To get to his desired destination, the Valley of the Black Stone, Tyler had to travel by plane. The only plane available was an old prop plane known as a De Havilland Beaver. In the film the plane was literally held together with duct tape and wire. The pilot, Rosie Little, was a real entrepreneur, always looking for a way to make extra money. During the flight as the plane was inching its way past tall, rugged mountains Rosie asks Tyler what it was in the Valley of the Black Stone he is looking for. "Is it gold?" he asked. "Silver?" Tyler's response was, "It is hard to say." Rosie's response was, "Well, we are prospectors up here, all scratching for gold, so we won't have to scratch anymore. But I will tell you, Tyler, the gold isn't in the ground. The real gold is south, in the States, sitting in front of the TV, bored to death, bored to death Tyler."
Right then the plane's engine begins to cough and sputter. Pretty soon you see the propeller begin to slow down and eventually stop completely. Very excitedly, Tyler asks Rosie, "What's going on?" Rosie's answer: "Boredom, Tyler, that's what's going on." You can imagine Tyler was anything but bored. Rosie asked the next question. "How do you deal with boredom, Tyler?" He then reached into a toolbox and pulled out a big crescent wrench, waved it in Tyler's face, and simply said–this is the key word–"Adventure. Adventure, Tyler." He then opened the door of the plane, stepped out onto the wing strut and began to hit the frozen fuel line with the wrench. Since this scene took place in the first 10 minutes of the film, they obviously survived.
But, the big word here is "adventure."

“I didn’t feel good about the first person I picked, so after praying, I chose Natalie. She just moved here from France, and she’s still learning about America. Since the Church of Jesus Christ was restored here in America, I thought it would be easy to talk to her about it.
“I invited Natalie over and we looked through my photo albums. Natalie poured over each picture and asked zillions of questions. Pretty soon she came to the photos we took at the Joseph Smith monument.
“‘What’s that?’ she asked.
“I had my answer all ready. ‘It’s a special place in the state of Vermont where Joseph Smith was born.’
“‘Who’s Joseph Smith?’
“‘An American prophet.’
“Natalie stared at me. ‘An American prophet? How is that possible?’
“I told her about the First Vision and the restoration of the Church. Natalie set down the album and concentrated fiercely on every word I spoke. ‘Are you certain? Do you truly believe that? How? Why?’ By dinnertime my voice was hoarse and my brain felt numb.
“‘Could I borrow something to read about your church?’ Natalie asked before she left.
“‘Sure!’ I was ecstatic.
“The next day at school, though, Natalie cornered me in the hallway. ‘Annlouise,’ she said, handing me the books I’d lent her, ‘I’m sorry, but my parents disapprove of anything to do with the Mormons. They don’t want me to talk, read, or even think about Mormons.’
“I felt awful. I hadn’t wanted to get Natalie in trouble at home!
“‘We won’t talk about it then,’ I said.
“She avoided me for most of the week, and I was afraid she’d never speak to me again. But on Friday she sat next to me in the cafeteria, so I guess we’re still friends. Whew! For a while, I was scared. Sometimes being a missionary can cause problems.”
“We have to respect the rights of parents,” Sister Searle explained. “But you’ve planted seeds, and some day they’ll bear fruit.”
“Maybe if my family are good neighbors to Natalie’s family, they’ll think more positively about the Church,” Annlouise suggested.

When Steve and I were dating, I used to go sit on the beach while he would surf, often with a book in my hand to pass the time. Once, when the surf was really big, I climbed up into a platform that had been built into a tree so that I could see better. It was 12 to 15 feet at Sunset Beach, and Steve was practically beside himself with excitement.

The next couple of hours were some of the worst of my life. I don’t know how close any of you have been to 15 foot waves, but these were huge and close to closing out the break—which means unsurfable. You also have to keep in mind that Hawaiian surfers measure from the back of the wave, which means that the face of the wave, what you and I see from the beach, is double the size of the back of the wave.

For most of that time, I couldn’t even see him. I would see him catch a wave and then disappear into the huge crashing white wash. Then I would search desperately until I saw him catch the next wave. It was not fun. I kept thinking, “Is he going to make it back out? Am I going to lose him? What if he doesn’t come back up after this one?”

When he finally paddled in, I scrambled down out of the tree and ran to meet him. He was grinning ear to ear and totally pumped. “Steven,” I said, “don’t ever bring me to watch you in surf that big again.”

In hindsight, I shouldn’t have gone to watch him. I’ve lived on islands all my life. I know what big surf looks like, and I know the dangers involved. This was just the first time that someone I loved was out there in that crazy stuff! Steve and I worked out a compromise—he continued to surf big waves, and my rule of thumb as a spectator became 8 feet or under.

Matt and Margaret (all names have been changed) turned off the television following the concluding session of general conference. The messages had been inspiring, and they had enjoyed the positive atmosphere that had permeated their home that weekend.
Nobody could have been more disappointed than Matt and Margaret were when, less than 24 hours later, they were having a heated argument over whether to save an unexpected bonus Matt had received at work or spend it on school clothes for the older kids. The debate was not resolved, and Matt and Margaret each moved on to other tasks feeling misunderstood.
To create a lasting, happy marriage, couples must learn how to resolve conflicts so that each individual feels understood and decisions are made that involve acceptable compromise.
Scriptures and words of prophets and apostles provide ample cautions about contention. In 3 Nephi we read, “He that hath the spirit of contention is not of me, but is of the devil, who is the father of contention” (3 Nephi 11:29). Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught that Satan “works to drive a wedge of disharmony between a father and a mother. He entices children to be disobedient to their parents. … Satan knows that the surest and most effective way to disrupt the Lord’s work is to diminish the effectiveness of the family and the sanctity of the home.”1
Differences of opinion, habit, or background are inevitable, but we have ample resources to help us know how to cope. Doctrine and instruction taught in Sunday worship and Church publications can help and can be supplemented with quality professional information as needed. Couples can learn methods for dealing with conflict. Inspiration can lead to changing hearts that soften each spouse from the inside.
President Thomas S. Monson cautioned: “Some of our greatest opportunities to demonstrate our love will be within the walls of our own homes. Love should be the very heart of family life, and yet sometimes it is not. There can be too much impatience, too much arguing, too many fights, too many tears.”2
When troubles persist and become destructive to family life, there can be more serious causes of conflict, including immaturity, selfishness, desire to win power struggles, and pride. President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) taught, “I have long felt that the greatest factor in a happy marriage is an anxious concern for the comfort and well-being of one’s companion. In most cases selfishness is the leading factor that causes argument, separation, divorce, and broken hearts.”3
Elder Marvin J. Ashton (1915–94) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles also commented: “When one considers the bad feeling and the unpleasantness caused by contention, it is well to ask, ‘Why do I participate?’ …
“… It is important to recognize that we choose our behavior. At the root of this issue is the age-old problem of pride.”4
Whatever the cause, we need to learn new skills and soften our hearts when problems persist.
There are many causes of conflict, ranging from superficial personal biases to deeper ingrained communication styles. In addition to overcoming selfishness and immaturity, couples will face other common causes of conflict including such factors as the following:
Newlyweds learning to adjust to one another’s styles
Natural differences between men and women
Edginess prompted by exhaustion
Different opinions on how to best raise children or manage finances
Children learning to use agency
Different likes and dislikes
Overreactions to stress
Lack of understanding or skill in resolving conflict
Many marital or family conflicts arise because of uncontrolled anger. If we’re not careful, we can follow an angry incident with constant thinking about how we were wronged. The longer we ruminate the more reasons we can generate to justify our perspective. This brooding can prevent us from calming down, and when a second wave of anger emerges before the first is resolved, hormonal reactions can lead to additional outbursts.
For example, in a counseling session, Marilyn described how frustrating it had been to lie in bed after she and her husband had yelled at each other. “I knew I was in the right,” she said. “I knew he was going to flip on the light and apologize, but he never did. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. When I heard him start to snore, I couldn’t stand it—I jumped out of bed and yelled at him some more and then went downstairs. Can you believe that he still didn’t apologize?” Marilyn’s experience is a good example of how not to deal with angry feelings.
Habits, even short-term ones, can seem hard to break. But spouses can learn skills to help. Here are some useful practices:
Challenge thoughts quickly. In our example, Marilyn could have said to herself, “It seems like I’m right, but I’m blowing it out of proportion. My relationship with my husband matters more to me than what we’re arguing about.”
Allow your emotions to calm before you try tackling a problem. Wait out the chemical reaction that may be taking place.
Find a distraction. Choose to think about something else or take a walk.
Write down your thoughts. For some, this helps to increase self-awareness.
Let it out in productive ways. Yelling about your feelings won’t help you “get it out of your system.” The more you vent in an angry manner, the more intense your feelings will become.
Listen to calming music or read uplifting literature.
Start over. Catch yourself in the beginning of a disagreement. Research has shown that the first three to five minutes of a conversation lays the foundation for what is likely to follow. Say, “This is going in a bad direction. Let’s start over.”
Strengthening Marriage, an LDS Family Services’ manual, recommends three steps for resolving conflict: (1) expressing views, (2) exploring concerns, and (3) selecting mutually satisfying solutions.5 These steps are based on a communication and sharing model that is cooperative and addresses the issues of all concerned.
Each individual shares views in an honest but non-attacking manner. Sometimes thoughtful reflection resolves the problem as it becomes clear the disagreement was merely a misunderstanding. For example, a wife who thinks her husband is selfishly insisting that she attend a high school basketball game with him instead of going out to dinner for a date, might come to understand that he is less interested in basketball than in showing attention to a player who has stopped attending his Sunday School class.
Couples explore concerns at a deeper level. The focus is on understanding and accepting one another’s concerns. Continuing the basketball example, the wife, while understanding her husband’s concern for the student, might believe that he is developing a pattern of always putting the needs of others before those of the marriage. In this case, a more thoughtful discussion must be held in which each expresses feelings in a sensitive manner and opposition gives way to cooperation.
Couples brainstorm and decide on mutually satisfying solutions. The focus is on what each individual can do to address the concerns rather than on what their spouse can do. Such negotiation can test maturity and patience but, over time, lead to a belief that there is safety in expressing feelings and confidence that each person’s desires will be addressed. Our couple may agree to spend one Friday night together at a basketball game, one Friday night in which the husband attends the game alone, and two Friday nights doing couple activities. It is not as important how the couple chooses to spend Friday night as it is that the quality of the decision-making process is satisfying to both.
Wonderful blessings flow from resolving conflicts in an atmosphere of love. These include security; personal growth, which leads to inner peace; increased faith; enhanced character; and personal righteousness.
When conflicts are resolved, new patterns can take their place. The door then opens for spouses to express positive thoughts and demonstrate support. Sister Jean B. Bingham, Relief Society General President, said: “Words have surprising power, both to build up and to tear down. We can all probably remember negative words that brought us low and other words spoken with love that made our spirits soar. Choosing to say only that which is positive about—and to—others lifts and strengthens those around us and helps others follow in the Savior’s way.”6
Couples who have made long-term progress in resolving conflict reap desirable rewards. A husband of a previously troubled relationship said, “It’s hard for me to look back on how it used to be and believe that it was real. How could I have treated my wife the way I did? I’m grateful for the Spirit getting my attention and for the patience my wife has shown to me.”
Overcoming conflict takes conscious effort and follow-through. The very next thing you say or do can start more positive communication patterns in your marriage. You too can reap the fruits of the Spirit as experienced by the Nephites: “There was no contention in the land, because of the love of God which did dwell in the hearts of the people.
“And there were no envyings, nor strifes, nor tumults … ; and surely there could not be a happier people” (4 Nephi 1:15–16).

Sister Patience Kaloobhai wanted the 2018 Light the World campaign to be different. She wanted to fully participate in the suggested service activities and to have the Spirit of Christmas abide with her and her family.
She felt inspired to share daily thoughts on her social media platforms. Almost immediately, a few friends began asking her about this “Light the World thing” that was constantly on her social media timeline. But she wanted to do more than just share, and so she looked for opportunities to participate in the service activities herself. She had been teaching her seven-year-old son, William, that Christmas is not only about Christmas trees and presents and wanted her own service to be an example of that.
One morning on a quick errand, as she made her way across the bridge to the bus rank in Gaborone, she observed that there was an elderly lady with two children trying to get two big suitcases to the other side of the bridge. She was carrying the infant on her back and the two heavy suitcases on each hand while the toddler trudged behind—at times holding on to her dress. She would take a few steps, then turn to be sure that the toddler was staying close to her amongst the fast-moving crowd. Whenever she stopped, she would relieve her hands from the heavy suitcases that she was carrying. This flustered lady and toddler would often get in the way of the oncoming crowd—people who were not at all pleased with this slow-moving elderly lady and her child. In the hot December Gaborone heat, this old lady kept her eyes to the ground as she would take three steps, rest and start all over again. As Sister Kaloobhai watched, she wondered if the woman would ever make it across to the other side of the bridge and the bus rank.
“Can I help you, Mama?” Sister Kaloobhai asked the elderly lady.
“Yes please,” the clearly relieved lady replied, handing Sister Kaloobhai one suitcase and wiping beads of sweat from her face. She seemed close to tears and clearly overwhelmed. Sister Kaloobhai smiled, took the suitcase and also held out her hand to the toddler who grasped it—and the two women walked over the bridge. As they walked to the bus rank, the elderly lady expressed gratitude that someone, a stranger, felt pity and was willing to help in a moment of need. She remarked that nowadays, it is rare to find someone who will go out of their way to assist—and especially in this case where Sister Kaloobhai had to deviate from her intended destination to assist. For some reason, Sister Kaloobhai felt that what she had originally set out to do was not so important as helping this lady and her children. After all, she could finish her errands after this. As she helped the older lady, her luggage, and children onto the bus, Sister Kaloobhai suddenly remembered that week’s Light the World suggestion to light her faith by being the answer to someone’s prayer.

Rosa Clara was born in 1837 on the island of Guernsey, located in the English Channel between France and Britain. But she was taken first to England and then to New South Wales, Australia, after her father died. By 1849, when Rosa Clara arrived with her mother, Eliza Friedlander, and younger brother, James, Sydney was a large, prosperous city. Two years after their arrival, Rosa Clara’s mother married George W. Watson.
Just six weeks after the marriage, Elder John Murdock and Elder Charles W. Wandell arrived to open the Australian Mission of the Church. By Christmas they had baptized twelve converts, and on the first Sunday of 1852, Elder Wandell organized the Sydney Branch.
Eliza Watson, her husband, and her children accepted the gospel and were all baptized within a few weeks of the branch’s organization. George Watson was ordained a priest, and the whole family was active in the newly formed branch. Frequently, they hosted cottage meetings in their home, and when the elders needed someone to move to Melbourne and serve as a part-time missionary there, George Watson volunteered.
Rosa Clara was devastated. At fifteen, she enjoyed working in the little branch and had become close friends with another young member, Mary Clines. Although she loved her mother, Rosa Clara apparently did not get along well with her stepfather. So, with her parents’ consent, when the rest of the family sailed for Melbourne, Rosa Clara remained in Sydney under the guardianship of successive mission presidents.
Rosa Clara lived with her newly married friend Mary and Mary’s husband, Robert Evans, at Kissing Point on the Parramatta River. Every Sunday she walked twelve miles into the city to attend meetings in the Old Assembly Rooms opposite the law courts in King Street. These rooms in the upper story of a school building had been used some years previously as a temporary meeting-place for the Presbyterian church. Latter-day Saint missionaries now rented them for the Sydney Branch services.
Rosa Clara attended singing practice on Thursday evenings and sang in the choir on Sundays. She helped distribute Church tracts and did all she could to further missionary work in Sydney.
On 21 May 1853, sixteen-year-old Rosa Clara Friedlander married Charles Joseph Gordon Loge, a recent convert, in the Scots Church. The Reverend James Fullerton performed the ceremony because Latter-day Saint elders were not then approved to perform marriages in Australia; but the new mission president, Elder Augustus Farnham, and another of Rosa Clara’s Latter-day Saint friends, Mary Ann Gingell, attended the ceremony and signed the register as witnesses. “Attended the wedding of Brother Loge and Sister Rose Friedlander at Parson Fullerton’s,” wrote President Farnham in his journal. “Returned to Brother Gingell’s and married them over again. Spent the evening very happily … in good spirits, peace and harmony.”
Rosa Clara and Charles Loge set up house and continued their work in the branch. One of the new missionaries, Elder John Hyde, was ill with cancer of the mouth. His health worsened, and the only place he could be cared for was in a public institution. Rosa Clara Loge worried about the lonely, ill, and pain-wracked missionary. Finally, she and Charles arranged for Elder Hyde to be taken from the institution to the Loge home, where the courageous sixteen-year-old girl nursed him until his death.
On 27 June 1854, Rosa Clara had her first baby, a little girl, named Annie Augusta after President Farnham. When little Annie Augusta was fourteen months old, the family sailed from Sydney with a company of Saints on the Julia Ann, bound for California. Disaster struck four weeks later.
On the evening of 3 October 1855, Rosa Clara put her baby to bed while some of the pioneering Church members sang hymns on the deck. Suddenly the vessel struck a coral reef. For a little while, confusion reigned. Then, one of the ship’s crew swam to the reef and managed to fasten a rope. With a sling, the captain prepared to ferry the women and children one at a time to the reef.
No one knew what lay ahead in the pitch-black night. The women were afraid. Finally Rosa Clara, not yet eighteen, volunteered to be the first. Hurriedly, she helped tie baby Ann securely to Charles’s back in a brown woolen shawl and readied herself to be taken to the reef. But then, before Rosa Clara’s horrified eyes, her husband and baby were swept overboard by the huge seas. One of the sailors rescued them unharmed.
With enormous courage, then, in leaving her family on the wreck, Rosa Clara climbed onto the captain’s lap and was pulled, hand over hand, to the reef. Here the captain left her standing barefoot on the sharp coral, chest-deep in the sea, with the surf breaking on the reef. She stayed alone and in darkness while he returned for the other women. Gradually, most of the company, including Charles and baby Ann, arrived safely. But not all were so fortunate. Two little girls were washed off the deck and were lost; two women and a small baby drowned in their cabin.
When daylight arrived, the crew made a raft from timber and nails salvaged from the wreck. They managed to get the passengers from the reef to a small island, which became their home for the next eight weeks.
A barrel of hard biscuits and a chest of tea retrieved from the ship, as well as coconuts, fish, turtle meat, and eggs sustained everyone. They formed coconut shells into drinking vessels. With a large silk skirt also salvaged from the wreck, Charles Loge fashioned a tent for Rosa Clara, who was ill, and baby Ann crawled around playing happily in the sand. After repairing the ship’s boat, some of the crew rowed more than 300 kilometers to the Society islands (Tahiti) for help.
The Loge family and others were taken off the island two months after the wreck, finally arriving in San Francisco. There, Elder George Q. Cannon presented Rosa Clara with a small pewter teapot in recognition of her bravery in being the first to go to the reef. The teapot is a treasured family heirloom today, together with a carved coconut-shell drinking vessel and a handmade nail from the Julia Ann.
Charles and Rosa Clara Loge eventually settled in American Fork, Utah, where Rosa Clara raised twelve children. But although she served the Lord to the end of her days, the service she gave as a young girl in the first Sydney Branch of the Church has not been forgotten. “There are several large and flourishing Colonies [in Australia] each containing many thousands of British inhabitants,” wrote Charles Wandell to Franklin D. Richards in 1852, “and the little branch in Sydney is the nucleus of the Kingdom which must spread through them all.”
Today, more than seventy thousand Australian members in eighteen stakes and five missions are a lasting memorial to the pioneer spirit of missionaries like Charles W. Wandell and stalwart members like Rosa Clara Friedlander Loge.

Vitaly: Katya and I were married in Omsk on February 25, 2006. (The laws of Russia require a civil marriage prior to a temple sealing, as many countries do.) The next morning we set off on a trip to the Stockholm Sweden Temple. We boarded an airplane in Omsk and flew three hours to Moscow, where we spent the rest of the day. Then we took an overnight train to Saint Petersburg. Once there we got on a bus with other Latter-day Saints and traveled for eight hours to Helsinki, Finland. The last leg of our journey was an 11-hour ferry ride to Stockholm.
Finally, we had reached the temple.
For some, such a long trip may seem like a challenge, but in many ways, our trip across Europe made a great honeymoon.
The day of our sealing, March 1, 2006, was a great day—a day of peace and assurance. I knew that the person whose hand I was holding was the one I’d share eternity with. This thought alone filled me with great joy and gratitude to Heavenly Father for trusting me with His daughter for my wife. I felt closer to Him than ever before.

There are times when joining with my congregation feels really hard. I am shy, and sometimes, I struggle with social anxiety. Sometimes, the hardest place for me to be on a Sunday is with a group of women I don’t know very well. I say that as someone who loves the Relief Society and has a testimony of its mission. I have found that when those times hit, I am often blessed with being called to be the primary chorister, where I can sing my prayers and praises to the Lord with the children of my ward. Like Sister Tracy Y. Browning taught in the most recent General Conference, the Spirit has taught me through primary songs. I, too, have had “primary music [carry] a holy influence in my life and have lifted my soul, taught me eternal truths, and drawn me nearer to the Savior and to His gospel.” [17] I could be the sister whom Sister Browning shared about, the one who credited Primary music with “accelerating her continued conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ.” [18]

Did I mention I’ve been the primary chorister in five different wards? And I’m so grateful for those opportunities. Hymns can teach us through the Spirit in ways that nothing else can.

During the last general conference, a relatively insignificant thing caught my attention. It was a necktie! As a choir of young boys and girls was singing, one of the TV cameras happened upon a young boy in the choir. He thought he saw himself on the television monitor but perhaps wasn’t completely sure. So this is what he did: by wiggling his tie almost unnoticeably, he knew—yes—it was really him!
And now to you, my young friend with the tie, yes, it is you. You and the millions like you, if you prepare well, will be the faithful mothers and fathers in the Church and the Lord’s future leaders. You will be the teachers and leaders that will continue to establish the Church throughout the world. You will probably want to look in the mirror periodically and remind yourselves of the great mission that lies before you, and perhaps you might even want to wiggle your tie just to remind yourself of your important mission ahead. May you stand straight and noble in your callings.