Gospel Story Finder

I first finished Personal Progress right before the new value, Virtue, came out. My Young Women leaders encouraged me to wait to get my Young Womanhood Recognition until I completed the new value, so I agreed to do so. I had no idea what was in store for me. We received the new booklet, I completed the Virtue experiences, and then I saw the Virtue project: read the entire Book of Mormon. I hate to admit it, but I had never read the Book of Mormon cover to cover. This was my new challenge for the year.
Over the year, I read the Book of Mormon from beginning to end. When I completed my reading, my testimony had grown so much! The stories came alive, and reading the scriptures gave me a lot of spiritual advice. I encourage everyone to read it, discover for yourself the blessings, and help your testimony grow. It will change your life. Even if you just read for a set number of minutes every day, you will learn so much. After receiving my Young Womanhood Recognition, I decided I would wear my necklace every day to remind myself of the promises and covenants I have made with Heavenly Father and the many things I learned from reading the Book of Mormon. I am so thankful that my Young Women leaders encouraged me to complete the Virtue value. I hope you will take the challenge to read the Book of Mormon and let it touch your life.

Years ago as a stake presidency, we felt impressed to call a good man as stake clerk. At the time he was temporarily struggling with regular Church attendance. We knew, however, that if he accepted the calling, he would do a marvelous job.

We extended the call, but he replied, “No, I don’t think I can do it.”

Then an impression came. I said, “Well, I guess the Glendale stake won’t have a stake clerk then.”

Shocked, he responded, “What are you talking about? You have to have a stake clerk.”

I replied, “Do you want us now to call someone else to serve as stake clerk when the Lord impressed us to call you?”

“OK,” he said, “I’ll do it.”

And do it he did. There are not only many men but also many boys who will respond to a call when they know the Lord is calling them and that the Lord needs them.

Dirk set the tip of the shovel into the sod and pushed hard on it with his foot. The shovel made a crunchy sound as it cut through the tough grass that had started creeping into his mother’s iris garden. Although his arms and shoulders were tired, Dirk had to admit that the iris bed was beginning to look much better. Earlier his mother had told him that if he helped her Saturday morning he could do whatever he wanted in the afternoon.
While he was digging and shaking the soil from the tangled grass roots, Dirk thought about batting a few balls with Ethan, Rick, Chad, and some of his other friends over at the park. Spring had seemed so late that they’d hardly had any time for baseball practice.
Dirk set the shovel aside and went to get the rake to finish his job. His mother had been separating and thinning her iris plants while he worked and had a pile of them at one end of the garden.
“What are you going to do with all of those?” Dirk asked.
“Aunt Maria wants a few of the yellow ones. And Mrs. Cox asked me to save her half a dozen of the blue irises.” Mother shook her head. “It seems a pity.”
“A pity?” Dirk echoed.
“A pity to throw the rest away when they could brighten a yard somewhere. If we just knew someone who could make use of them.” Mother laughed. “But through the years as I’ve separated my plants, I’ve given starts to everyone in the neighborhood who had space. The neighbors have traded back and forth until every yard on the street is filled with flowers.”
“Not every yard,” Dirk said. And he looked surprised as an idea popped into his head. “Hey, Mom, may I have the extra irises?” he asked eagerly. “There is one spot on our street that doesn’t look good. You know, the old vacant lot that’s too little for a house. No one takes care of it.”
“That’s true,” Mother said. “Mr. McCarty lives right next door to it and kept the lot looking nice for years. But now he’s barely able to keep up his own yard and no one else has cared about doing it.”
Dirk nodded in agreement. “Everyone says it’s an eyesore, but no one does anything about it. People passing the lot often throw papers on it and the kids don’t care either. I guess we’re all to blame. Maybe we’d all be more careful if a few flowers were growing there, and iris plants spread fast.”
“And they don’t need as much water as most flowers do,” Mother added.
“I could carry water until they get started,” Dirk suggested. “I believe even a few flowers near the sidewalk at the front of that lot would make people think twice before they threw trash in there.”
“I’m sure they would,” Mother said. “You have a great idea, Dirk, and are welcome to all of the plants you want. Maybe I can even find a little time to help you later this afternoon.”
After lunch Dirk was so busy raking leaves and grass and rubbish from the spot he had chosen for planting his irises on the little lot that he hardly looked up. He collected three bags of rubbish before he cleared a spot large enough to suit him. Then he started spading up the earth. When Ethan saw Dirk digging he came across the street to find out what his friend was doing. “That looks like work!” Ethan said.
Dirk answered with a grin, “It’s work all right, but it’s fun.”
After he explained about the iris plants he asked, “Do you want to help me?”
Ethan thought for a moment and then he nodded. “I’ll go home and get a shovel. This old lot has looked awful for a long time.” In a few minutes Ethan came back with a shovel and a rake. He was grinning as he explained, “I told my mother about your idea and she thinks it’s great. She’s separating some big double shasta daisies and we can plant them right next to the fence. My dad says he’ll come help us after while.”
The boys worked fast, pausing only to grin at each other now and then. They were so busy they didn’t see Monica walk by until she asked them, “Why are you raking and digging in this old vacant lot?”
The boys explained about the iris plants and the daisies. In unison, they asked, “Want to help us?”
“The old lot looks better already,” Monica said. “I’ll be glad to help. I’ll go home and get a shovel.”
In a few minutes she was back with her older sister, Andrea, who carried a box with six peony plants to put near Ethan’s double shasta daisies.
Before Dirk had finished spading his iris bed, Chad came to see why they were all so busy and decided he wanted to help too. He went home for a rake and brought back four yellow rose bushes to put at the back of the little lot where they could grow tall against the back fence.
Mr. McCarty hobbled out to see what was going on next door. His eyes brightened with interest. “I’ve wished many times that I could still take care of this plot,” the old man said, smiling happily. “If you folks are willing to plant and care for some flowers, then the least I can do is provide the water for you. We can just pull my garden hose through the fence whenever the place needs watering.”
Dirk was grateful for Mr. McCarty’s offer for he hadn’t looked forward to carrying water to get all the plants started.
The afternoon went by quickly. With so many working together, there was a lot of talk and laughter and fun. Before the sun went down, nearly everyone on the street had come to help, to offer plants or fertilizer or hours of care to keep the garden blooming.
When they had finished and each family had taken a few boxes or bags of rubbish to put out with their own garbage, they all came back to look at their new garden.
“I believe that this will be the loveliest garden in our whole neighborhood,” said Mr. McCarty. “It’s a very special spot now because it’s everybody’s garden. Not only will we enjoy it, but everyone who walks or drives past will have a spot of beauty to enjoy in place of that awful eyesore.”
Everybody’s garden, Dirk thought happily as he walked home. It was going to be fun to have everyone working together to make something beautiful.

Illustration by Ken Harvey
I didn’t usually run home from school and fling open my scriptures to study them, but today was unusual. Sprawled on my bed, I booted up my laptop and typed two words: Dear Jessica.
I’d known Jessica for a few years, but our conversations were brief. One day in English, however, we were assigned seats by each other, and our class discussion ventured into the topic of religious symbolism.
I was surprised when Jessica, an atheist and usually argumentative, started asking the teacher questions that were uncharacteristically sincere: “What did ‘Godhead’ mean? What does it mean that there are three members?”
Finally, Jessica leaned back and confided to me, “I’m glad I’m not religious; it just seems like a lot to keep track of.”
I struggled for words, but I couldn’t let a moment like this pass. “I actually love the Church,” I said at last. The discussion was moving on, so we promised to talk more after class. I shared a bit of my testimony and eventually lent her a few books about our faith.
After a few weeks of discussions both religious and nonreligious, Jessica finally said, “I understand what you’re getting at, Sydney, but I don’t know if I can believe all of this. I just can’t believe that God would let so many bad things happen to us.”
I didn’t feel ready to answer her question on the spot, so I asked for her email, which led to me being sprawled on my bed, scriptures open, unsure of what to write.
I refocused on the screen. Dear Jessica. I looked at the sticky notes I’d filled with scriptures and started writing.
As I wrote, the Spirit surged up within me. Each word fell together with power and clarity.
Dear Jessica,I don’t know exactly what you’ve been through, what your struggles are, or what the exact words you need are, but God does.
I’ve been thinking a lot about your questions: “Why do I have trials? And why doesn’t God just stop them and make everything easier?”
First, it’s important to understand that progression is eternal. We don’t just become worthy of God’s presence overnight. It’s a lifelong process. Struggle is required, but even though life is hard, I know that “men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25). God does not cast our struggles upon us because that’s just how life is; He desperately wants us to be happy. However, I can say that this life is about not only our natural progression through struggles, but about our eternal progression in overcoming them.
Jessica, Jesus Christ knows how to come to our aid! While you have struggles in your life, Jesus Christ had them in His too. I promise that He understands every one of your struggles exactly and that He knows you personally. I know I’m only a 15-year-old girl, but I know He lives, that this is all true, and that He loves you more than it is humanly possible to imagine.
Please come to me with any more questions you have!
Love,
Sydney
I stared at the document for a few minutes. I’d written for almost two hours, leafing through scriptures and every example I could think of to produce this. As I scanned through it, I felt completely at peace. I closed my scriptures and clicked Send.
Jessica and I never talked about that letter, and she ended up moving. I don’t know if my words will lead her to the gospel this year, in 10 years, or ever in this lifetime, but writing that email helped my testimony. I’m confident it can have the same effect on her as soon as she chooses to let it.

A few years ago, a mother wanted to reduce the time television was taking from her neighborhood’s school-age children. She started a campaign to encourage more time away from television, calling it “Turn Off Your TV, Turn On Your Mind.” She challenged the students at her children’s school to stop watching television—except for two to three hours a week of news or educational programs—for one month. Support came readily from the school’s principal and faculty. Teachers contributed ideas for how the students could use their time, and the children undertook special projects like participating in reading marathons, building models, and performing experiments.
The “Turn Off Your TV” campaign proved to be a memorable experience, especially for the children and their parents. Local news media covered the event and praised the efforts of those involved.

Several years ago my wife and I visited Switzerland hoping to learn more about our family history. When we arrived in the town of Glarus, about 30 minutes from Lake Zurich, we found that our hotel reservation had been lost. The hotel clerk felt very bad for us, and he tried to find another place for us to stay. After making several unsuccessful phone calls, he said, “Oh, wait a minute. There’s one other small hotel not too far away. The owner has been in the United States. I’ll call there and see if he’s back yet.” So he did. We learned that the owner had just returned that day, and his hotel was completely empty.
The little hotel was right at the base of the Alps, on the shore of a beautiful lake. During a pleasant dinner, the proprietor said, “I know a Paul Koelliker. He lives in Glarus.” The next thing I knew, our new friend was on the phone talking to Paul Koelliker in Glarus. The man on the other end asked him if I was from Salt Lake City. When I replied that I was, he said, “I’ve met that man before.”
Early the next morning we went to his office. Not only does this Paul Koelliker live in Glarus, but he is the head of the archives for the canton of Glarus. When I told him we were trying to find our family roots, he said, “I think I can help you.” He took us into the archive and showed us books organized by family. He said, “I can’t let you photocopy any of this; you’ll just have to write it by hand.” So for the next seven hours, we wrote as fast as we could.
We returned from our trip to Switzerland with the names of hundreds of our ancestors and later completed their temple work. We knew there were many more names waiting in the archive at Glarus. Our family feels the spiritual urging that those names are waiting for us. I know the Lord will help us find our ancestors if we will just act on the promptings of the Spirit.

To pay my way through school and help my father support the family, I got two part-time jobs when I was 14 years old. To get to my morning job on time, I got on the bus at 6:30 A.M. In the mornings I worked as an office boy, running errands up and down the stairs to offices in a 15-story building. In the afternoons I made deliveries all over the city. As soon as my afternoon job was over, I went straight to school. My classes were from 7:00 to 11:00 at night. I didn’t get home until around midnight. I studied on the bus and on Saturdays. I had to give up many other activities. Later I also worked hard to attend the university.
Because I was willing to work hard, I did very well in school and later I had very good jobs. I was the director of a big company for the whole country of Brazil. I could do these things because of the sacrifices I made as a boy.

I met my wife, Melinda, during my sophomore year of college, about six months after I had returned from my mission. I knew immediately that I wanted to marry her. Melinda, however, did not have the same experience. It wasn’t until five years later that she finally received an answer that it would be “OK” if she married me.
During those five years, I had one of the more difficult trials of my life. I knew whom I was supposed to marry, and the Spirit urged me on, but I couldn’t seem to reach that goal.
Shortly after I graduated, Melinda decided to go on a mission—in part, I am convinced, to get away from me. There were times while she was on her mission when I was miserable because I focused on what I didn’t have. However, I was studying the scriptures and praying daily, serving in the Church, and striving to do the things that brought the Holy Ghost into my life.
One early, very cold Sunday morning in Minneapolis, Minnesota, USA, while I was driving to a Church meeting, I thought, “I should be really miserable right now. Nothing seems to be going the way I want. But I’m not miserable. I feel unbelievably happy!”
Now, how could I be happy if I was going through what, for me, was a difficult trial?
The answer is found in Galatians 5:22–23: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance.”
Because I was doing the things that brought the Spirit into my life, I felt God’s love. I felt joy and peace. I could suffer long and still be happy.
Having love, joy, and peace in our lives, our families, and our marriages does not come from having a big house, nice cars, the latest clothing, career success, or any of the other things the world says bring happiness. In fact, because feelings of love, joy, and peace come from the Spirit, feeling them doesn’t have to be connected to our temporal circumstances at all.
Please understand that I am not saying that we will always be happy or that our temporal circumstances never affect our happiness. In fact, if we do not taste the bitter, we cannot know the sweet (see Doctrine and Covenants 29:39; see also Moses 6:55).
We need to struggle at times. Furthermore, some physical and emotional conditions can cause us great suffering and make it very difficult for us to feel the Spirit. But if we are striving to have the Spirit in our lives and are trusting God, we can, in general, be happy.
I testify from personal experience that this is true. Since my experience while Melinda was on her mission, I have noticed that if I am doing the things that bring the Spirit into my life, including choosing to believe and accepting that things will work out as God intends, I am usually happy (see Jacob 3:2).1

Dear brothers and sisters, I join with you in expressing my love and sustaining support to President Eyring and his family. President Hinckley extended this call to serve in the Quorum of the Twelve late Thursday afternoon. I cannot possibly articulate the kaleidoscope of feelings I have experienced since then. There have been sleepless nights and much prayer. My spirits have been buoyed, however, by the knowledge that President Hinckley is the prophet and that the membership of the Church will be praying for me and my family.
To say that I feel deeply inadequate would be an understatement. When I was called as a General Authority in April of 1996, I also felt unequal to the calling. Elder Neal A. Maxwell reassured me then that the most important qualification for all of us serving in the kingdom is to be comfortable in bearing witness of the divinity of the Savior. A peace came over me at that time and has stayed with me since because I love the Savior and have had spiritual experiences that allow me to testify of Him. I rejoice in the opportunity to bear witness of Jesus Christ in all the world (see D&C 107:23), notwithstanding my inadequacies.
In Doctrine and Covenants 68, verses 5 and 6, we read:
“Behold, this is the promise of the Lord unto you, O ye my servants.
“Wherefore, be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you; and ye shall bear record of me, even Jesus Christ, that I am the Son of the living God, that I was, that I am, and that I am to come.”
I seek the companionship of the Holy Ghost as I speak with you this Sabbath morning.
The overwhelming feeling that I have in receiving this call is that we must live by faith and not by fear. In 2 Timothy, the Apostle Paul references the faith of Timothy’s grandmother Lois and his mother, Eunice. Paul writes:
“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7).
In my own case, I respectfully acknowledge ancestors now on the other side of the veil who gave everything asked of them to build the kingdom of God upon the earth.
I am grateful that all my life I have been surrounded by those who love the Savior. My heart is full of appreciation for my family. My wife, Mary, has been the joy of my life. Her spiritual strength, righteous example, sense of humor, and loving support have blessed me throughout my life. Our three children and their spouses have been sources of great personal satisfaction and, together with our nine grandchildren, have been such a blessing to us. Their faith and prayers and the goodness of their lives have been a great comfort to Mary and me.
When I think back to my youth in Logan, Utah (Elder Perry’s fabled Cache Valley), I realize how fortunate I was to be reared in a goodly home—to have a righteous mother who was full of faith, a loving father, an older brother who has been an extraordinary example to me as well as a friend and counselor, and a younger sister who has been loving and supportive. How fortunate also to have had talented and devoted Church leaders, teachers, coaches, and friends who were wonderful examples to me.
As a young man I had the opportunity to serve in the British Mission, which was a seminal, defining event in my life. The influence of a valiant mission president is one of the great miracles of the restored gospel. A few weeks ago I received a birthday card at Church headquarters from a woman I helped teach in Gloucester, England, many years ago. I had lost contact with her. She informed me that she and her husband are both very active members and have 6 children and 20 grandchildren, all born in the covenant. It may be the best birthday card I have ever received.
Mary and I left Utah so I could attend law school in Palo Alto, California. We were planning to return to Utah after graduation, but the Spirit directed that we stay in California. We lived in California for 33 years and raised our family there. We both had many opportunities to serve. We loved the diversity of the members and their commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ. I will be eternally grateful for the wonderful Latter-day Saints in California who have been such a positive influence in my life.
These last 11 1/2 years of service as a Seventy have been truly rewarding ones. As I leave that quorum, I want my fellow Brethren to know of my love and appreciation for their dedication and loyalty to the kingdom of God on the earth—for their faithfulness and good works. I want them to know of the joy it has been to serve with them.
I love the Brethren we sustain as prophets, seers, and revelators with all my heart. I’ve tried to serve honorably and lighten their responsibilities in any way I could. I’m grateful to the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve for their lives of goodness and example, their patience, their teaching, their kindness, their devotion to our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, and His restored gospel. I am grateful that God called Joseph Smith to be a prophet through whom the fulness of the gospel was restored to earth.
My experience as a General Authority has filled my heart with appreciation for the faith and goodness of the Latter-day Saints all over the world. We served for two years in the Philippines. In April of 1961, President Hinckley, then an Assistant to the Twelve, sent the first missionaries to Manila. There was only one Filipino priesthood holder in the Philippines. Today there are almost 600,000 members. Their lives are not easy, and they lack many material things, but they love the Savior. The gospel is having a tremendous impact in improving their lives. What a blessing to serve in their midst.
We also served for three years in the Pacific Islands. It is significant that almost 25 percent of all the Polynesians in the world are members of the Church. Their faith and spirituality are legendary. Sister Cook and I were in Vava‘u in the Tongan islands on one occasion. I had just spoken about following the prophet in the general session of stake conference. At the luncheon following the conference, I sat next to a distinguished elderly patriarch. He indicated how grateful he was to hear what the prophet was teaching. He gave me the following account. Vava‘u, which is a relatively small island, usually has sufficient rain, but periodically there are severe droughts. The island has long inlets or bays, almost like sounds, which curl into the island below steep hills. When drought conditions left the village without water, there was only one way they could obtain fresh water and stay alive. Over the centuries they had found that fresh water traveled down through rock formations inside the mountains and came up in a few spots in the sea.
The Tongan men would set off in their small boats with a wise elder standing at one end of the boat looking for just the right spot. The strong young men in the boat stood ready with containers to dive deep into the seawater. When they reached the appropriate spot, the wise man would raise both arms to heaven. That was the signal. The strong young men would dive off the boat as deep as they could and fill the containers with fresh springwater. This old patriarch likened this lifesaving tradition to the living waters of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the wise man to God’s prophet here on earth. He noted that the water was pure, fresh, and, in their drought condition, lifesaving. But it was not easy to find. It was not visible to the untrained eye. This patriarch wanted to know everything the prophet was teaching.
We live in a precarious time. The world is in desperate need of the fresh springwater, which is the gospel of Jesus Christ. We should listen intently to the prophet as we make choices. My own informal records indicate that President Hinckley has continually emphasized faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. That has been followed by his emphasis on strengthening families and having family religious observance in the home. Over and over again he has told us that if we would live a principle, we would gain a testimony of the truthfulness of that principle, which would in turn increase our faith.
I know that many of you are concerned about raising your children during these difficult times and increasing their faith. When my wife and I were starting our family in the San Francisco Bay area, we had that same concern. At a critical point our stake members were advised by Elder Harold B. Lee, then a member of the Twelve, that we could raise our families in righteousness if we would:
Follow the prophet.
Create the true spirit of the gospel in our hearts and homes.
Be a light to those among whom we live.
Focus on the ordinances and principles taught in the temple. (See D&C 115:5; Harold B. Lee, “Your Light to Be a Standard unto the Nations,” Ensign, Aug. 1973, 3–4.)
As we followed this counsel, our faith increased and our fears decreased. I believe we can raise righteous children anywhere in the world if they are taught religious principles in the home.
One area where members can live by faith and not by fear is in our missionary effort. Prior to my call to the Presidency of the Seventy on August 1 of this year, I had served in the Missionary Department for six years, the last three years as Executive Director under Elder M. Russell Ballard, who served as Chairman of the Missionary Executive Council.
Some mission presidents informed us that many wonderful members are in camouflage to their neighbors and coworkers. They do not let people know who they are and what they believe. We need much more member involvement in sharing the message of the Restoration. Romans 10, verse 14, puts this into perspective:
“How then shall they call on him [speaking of the Savior] in whom they have not believed? and how shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher?”
Verse 15 contains the wonderful message referenced in Isaiah:
“How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings” (see also Isaiah 52:7).
It has been observed that the members are going to have to move their feet and let their voices be heard if they are to achieve this blessing.
Preach My Gospel: A Guide to Missionary Service was first introduced in October 2004. President Hinckley commenced this effort when he called for missionaries to learn the doctrine and to teach the principles by the Spirit. Every member of the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve participated to a significant degree. Elder Ballard and I felt that the windows of heaven were opened and the Lord’s inspiration poured out to bring forth this great resource. Over 1.5 million copies of Preach My Gospel have been acquired by the members of the Church. It is a wonderful foundation, and the missionaries are powerful, spiritual teachers. However, if we are to accomplish what President Hinckley has requested, the members, living by faith and not by fear, need to share the gospel with their friends and associates.
In our individual callings we need to have faith and not be fearful.
Our daughter, Kathryn, is serving as the Primary president in her ward in Salt Lake City. My wife and I attended her ward last Sunday to observe the Primary sacrament meeting presentation, “I’ll Follow Him in Faith.” I was thrilled to hear the children recite scriptures and stories coupled with songs focused on faith in Christ.
After the meeting I asked her about her calling. She said that initially the calling weighed her down. Much time was spent going over problems. Then the presidency decided to emphasize love, faith, and prayer. Suddenly spiritual impressions came to mind about a particular child or family. Friction was replaced with love. She tells me that as they acted upon promptings from the Spirit, Primary reflected a reverence and peace, and real gospel learning was taking place.
It is our faith in Jesus Christ that sustains us at the crossroads of life’s journey. It is the first principle of the gospel. Without it we will spin our wheels at the intersection, spending our precious time but getting nowhere. It is Christ who offers the invitation to follow Him, to give Him our burden, and to carry His yoke, “for [His] yoke is easy, and [His] burden is light” (Matthew 11:30).
There is no other name under heaven whereby man can be saved (see Acts 4:12). We must take upon us His name and receive His image in our countenance so that when He comes we will be more like Him (see 1 John 3:2; Alma 5:14). When we choose to follow Christ in faith rather than choosing another path out of fear, we are blessed with a consequence that is consistent with our choice (see D&C 6:34–36).
May we all recognize and give thanks for the incomparable gift of life we each enjoy and for the breath that He lends us daily. May we choose to have conviction at the crossroads of life and exercise faith in Jesus Christ. My prayer is that we will live by faith and not by fear. I bear my witness of God, who is our Heavenly Father, and His Son, Jesus Christ, who atoned for our sins, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Elder Paul Christianson came from snowy Chicago to our home in Slidell, Louisiana. He grinned a lot as he taught my husband gospel discussions, but one day he revealed that he missed his mom. She’d been dead for two years, he said. He’d gone on a mission because of her.
Paul’s dad had died when he and his little sister were young. His mom went to work at a small factory across town, working the evening shift. Despite her meager salary, she managed to set aside a few dollars every week for Paul’s mission.
Paul said he didn’t worry much about being poor. Sure, he and his sister wore hand-me-downs, and they didn’t often have the money to go to movies, but his mom always made sure they had enough to eat. “The Lord will provide,” she always said, and Paul believed her.
Everything was fine until seventh grade, when Paul decided to try out for the track team. At the meeting, the coach announced that everyone had to wear a track suit to the tryouts, which would be held in two weeks. No suit, no tryout. Paul’s heart sank. He didn’t have a track suit, and he knew his mom didn’t have the money to buy one. Hesitantly, he asked her if they could borrow from his mission fund.
She smiled and shook her head. “Son, we’ve put that money away for a special purpose. If we remember the Lord first, He’ll take care of everything we really need.” Paul wondered if the Lord took care of track suits.
Since she was so insistent that he exercise faith, he ran track in a pair of cutoff jeans every day after school. He worried about what he’d wear when the big day arrived.
His mom worried, too. She mentioned the problem to her supervisor at work, who managed to scrounge up some fabric from home. Every night as Paul’s mom rode the bus across the long miles to their apartment, she hand-sewed a track suit to surprise her son.
The tryouts approached, and Paul ran and ran. His mom sewed and sewed. On the night before the tryouts she sat in the bus, putting the last few stitches into the track suit. It began to snow, and the bus grew cold. The tired woman fell asleep with the track suit cradled in her lap.
She woke up when the bus pulled into the terminal. It was one o’clock in the morning. The bus driver hadn’t noticed her in the back of the bus. He said he was sorry she’d missed her stop because no more buses would run that night. She got off and began to walk home through the snow.
She walked all night, and finally arrived at the apartment at 7:00 A.M. Her children were getting ready for school. With a weary smile, she drew Paul into her arms and kissed him.
“Tryouts are today, aren’t they, son?” she asked.
He nodded and looked at his feet. “I decided not to try out,” he said.
“Not try out? After all the running you’ve done?”
He told us he didn’t have the heart to remind her that he couldn’t try out without a track suit. She’d feel bad that she hadn’t been able to afford one. Maybe she’d feel bad that the Lord hadn’t provided, after all.
“Shut your eyes and hold out your hands,” she said.
His heart leaped in sudden hope. Had she been able to get him a suit after all? Holding his breath, he squeezed his eyes shut and held out his hands. He felt her place something soft and flimsy in them. He opened his eyes.
There in his hands was a polyester track suit. A bright-orange polyester track suit. The orangest, brightest, most electrifying track suit he’d ever seen in his life. The school colors were red and silver. No way would anyone believe this suit was red.
He gulped. His mom looked at him out of shining, worried eyes. “Do you like it, son?” she whispered.
“I … like it more than anything,” he said, and then he hugged her tight. He kissed her cold cheek and then went to try on his orange track suit.
Paul told us everyone laughed at him when he walked onto the track that afternoon. He almost fled back to the locker room, but then he remembered his mother’s small, cold hands and the anxious look in her eyes. He pictured her walking across town through the snow, clutching the suit she’d made on the bus.
His cheeks bright red, he put his head down, toed the chalk line, and when the starting pistol cracked he ran like the wind. He didn’t pay attention to the other runners—all he could think of was getting off that track as fast as he could.
Someone in the crowd yelled, “It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s a jet-powered jack-o-lantern!” Everyone laughed again. Paul said he felt as if he’d been shot.
He leaned into the final turn, knees pumping, elbows like pistons. He heard someone coming up behind him. In a final burst of speed he lunged over the finish line and kept running straight to the locker room.
Later he learned that he’d set the fastest time in the 440 in school history. He’d not only made the track team; he would soon become one of its star runners. The coach provided him a red and silver track suit emblazoned with the school name. He wore it with pride for three years.
But folded into the bottom of the battered old suitcase he carried on his mission was a bright orange track suit. Every time he touched it, he felt his mom’s small, cold hands again and knew she’d given him a gift much greater than a track suit. She’d given him the gift of faith in the Lord’s ability to provide what he really needed. She’d given him the faith to eventually serve a mission.
And maybe, just maybe, she’d given him a little extra speed.

One morning in April 1991, Kiril and Nevenka Kiriakov were at their home in Virginia when the telephone rang. Nevenka immediately recognized the familiar voice: “May I speak with Brother Kiriakov?” then-Elder Thomas S. Monson asked. 7
“Certainly,” she responded. Before she could hand the phone to Kiril, however, Elder Monson continued, “How would you feel if your husband were called as the first mission president in Bulgaria?” 8
Kiril and Nevenka had fled Bulgaria in 1963 with their children, Julia and Peter, and joined the Church in France before settling in the United States. Although Communist authorities had threatened Kiril with death and his family with life imprisonment if they ever returned, Kiril had been promised in a blessing that he would preach the gospel in Bulgaria. With a new government in place, they felt safe to return. Despite Kiril’s significant health concerns, he and Nevenka courageously accepted a call to serve. 9 “I was anxious to see all my relatives and friends,” Nevenka said, “and share with them the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.” 10
As Kiril and Nevenka prepared to return to their homeland, the first missionaries who would serve under their leadership were arriving at the missionary training center in Provo, Utah, USA. The language teacher who greeted them on their first day was Julia Kiriakov Caswell, Kiril and Nevenka’s daughter. 11
In July 1991, the Bulgaria Sofia Mission officially opened. Through the faith, perseverance, and efforts of the local members and the missionaries, the Church soon received official recognition. 12 By the end of 1991, more than 150 Bulgarian Saints had been baptized. 13

Squanto taught the people how to plant corn, and everyone helped with the planting. “If you want to get crops from these old grounds,” Squanto advised, “you must fertilize the fields with fish.” When the herring began their spring run, he showed the settlers how to trap them. Then the men spaded holes in the hillocks, and the boys dropped in three herring, spokewise, with their heads toward the center. Ellen and the other little girls put four kernels of corn into each hill, then covered them. Squanto told the settlers to guard the crops against animals. The children kept watch by day and the grownups by night.
Squanto also showed the villagers how to tap maple trees for the sweet sap, how to trap deer and other game, and where to find eels. Thanks to him, the colony began to thrive.
The six acres of wheat, barley, and peas the settlers had planted with seed brought from England scarcely produced seed enough for the next year. But with the pumpkin and corn from the Indians, the harvest was bounteous far beyond their expectations. And because of the peace treaty with the Indians, the children could gather wild plums, berries, and grapes in the woods as safely as they could have walked the sidewalks of Holland.

Among those who Joseph, 15, and his 19-year-old sister, Alexandra, helped bring to the gospel are their mother and father.
Or maybe it was the parents who brought the children. They’re the ones who first met the missionaries in the city center and brought them home to lunch. The Szamosfalvis had been raised under a regime where Christianity, or any other religion, was discouraged. The gospel message was quite foreign to them. Still, they were interested.
“The missionaries’ message rang true to me,” says Joseph. “I had a great desire to know about the purpose of life.”
“The missionaries weren’t like the other young people we knew,” says Alexandra. “I was impressed because they had goals in life and they were confident. The scriptures gave them direction. They had someone to turn to. So many other people around try to dull their senses with drink and have no point to their lives.”
Although their parents thought they were too busy to take the discussions at that time, Joseph and Alexandra continued on. By the third discussion and a few visits to church meetings, they knew the Church was true and wanted to be baptized.
“The first time we came to church, there was a wonderful feeling there,” says Alexandra. “It was April, and the sun was shining through the windows. Everyone was friendly and warm. When we went to other churches, there was a cold feeling. We felt the Spirit in this church and knew we must return.”
When Joseph and Alexandra asked for permission to be baptized, their parents were surprised that their children could be so sure of something in such a short time. They understood, however, that the Church taught good principles and high morals, the same things they were trying to teach them at home. They gave their consent, and Joseph and Alexandra became the 13th and 14th members of the branch.
“Our parents came to our baptism,” Joseph said. “It was outside, in a swimming pool. The birds and crickets were singing in the background. The Spirit was so strong, and our parents became more interested. The next day, in sacrament meeting, we were asked to bear our testimonies. Dad had to work, but Mom was there.”
Joseph and Alexandra quickly became active and energetic members. They both play musical instruments, the recorder and the guitar; and they love to sing, both hymns and folk music. In the branch, their love of music is infectious. So is their love of the gospel. They frequently help the missionaries and are great aids in integrating investigators. They were especially attentive to their parents.
“We would share our church activities with our parents at dinner,” says Joseph. “We would invite them to come to church with us, and they often came.”
It was really only a matter of time before the senior Szamosfalvis were baptized—by their son, Joseph, of course. And once they joined, Church membership drastically changed their lives. Not only did Joseph Sr. change jobs so he could attend church on Sundays, but he also sold the family vineyard and the family bar. The Szamosfalvis feel the Lord has opened all sorts of doors for them and look forward to a bright future.

I remember my first association with the welfare program. It was inaugurated in the early 30s during President Grant’s administration. Presidents J. Reuben Clark, Jr., Harold B. Lee and Henry D. Moyle were its principal architects. I was a bishop at the time. We had many people living in my ward in that depressed era who were unemployed and unable to sustain themselves. I remember we were in this building at a conference when President Heber J. Grant told us as bishops to go home and see what we could do to get together the basic food, clothing and other necessities of life required to care for our people during the coming year. I remember that in our ward we built some closets in the basement and gathered food and used clothing, which we put in those closets to take care of our people during the ensuing winter.

A group of Piet’s most interested investigators asked if they could hold LDS services. They found an empty barracks in a far-off corner of the prison, put a blanket in front of the window for privacy, and set up an old soapbox for a pulpit. They had to do all this in secret because the guards didn’t allow extra meetings.

These services were filled with the Spirit, but they were a little unorthodox. The opening and closing songs were read, since the congregation didn’t dare sing out loud for fear of alerting their guards, and the worshipers had to sneak away afterwards one at a time.
Gospel principles were strictly observed inside the barbed-wire compound. The men observed fast Sunday by giving their meager cup of beans to someone else even though they were already hungry themselves. Many men received a testimony of the gospel while praying through the long nights made sleepless by hunger. One of the most skeptical investigators received a testimony during such a night of fasting. He stood weeping the following day and told of an indescribable feeling of peace that had come over him. He humbly asked that he too might have some small task to help prepare for the Sunday meetings. When Piet asked him to sweep the floor each week, he replied that it would be an honor. “You enter this room,” he said, “and with you the holy priesthood.”
When the men heard about the Mutual Improvement Association, they wanted to hold one of their own, so Piet organized one, calling prisoners to serve as the presidency, secretary, and teacher. They studied the Doctrine and Covenants in their meetings, and Piet later reported that he had never heard that book taught better than it was by these nonmembers.
As the months wore on, the long walks around the camp continued, and men grew strong in the gospel. Their faith helped them to endure. The men developed a deep love for Piet, and one Easter morning they surprised him with an original song entitled “Faith.” It was later included in the official songbook of the Netherlands Mission.
Near the end of the war, the prisoners were moved to Neubrandenburg, Germany, where the Church activities continued. On April 28, 1945, a Russian tank ran down the barbed wire fence, and the camp was liberated. A few weeks later Piet was home with his wife and children. Those of his fellow prisoners who had been willing to receive it took home with them a gift that made the hunger and cold and bedbugs well worth it to them.
Seven of them were later baptized into the Church, and with them many family members. One of Piet’s prison converts later became the first president of the Netherlands Stake.
Piet Vlam was a hard man to distract from his duty. When he was taken away from his mission field, he simply took his mission with him, and many people will be eternally grateful that he did.

A few years later I met some missionaries for the first time. My parents had warned me about the young Christians who were going around preaching. As I was walking home, a tall American missionary with a kind smile stopped me. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid he would talk about his church. If he had, I might have run the other way! All he asked was how to find the post office. I told him and then walked home.
As I walked away, I felt something. If I see the mission­aries again, I thought, I will talk to them.
Not long after that, I ran into a different set of missionaries. I was shocked that God would hear and answer the prayers of a boy like me, until I read about Joseph Smith. I had read in the New Testament to pray always, but God appearing to a man? It felt both radical and right. Rather than run away, I set up an appointment to have them teach me.

Angie was one of my dearest high school friends. There wasn’t a person I could think of who didn’t like her. She was not only fun, outgoing, and beautiful; she was also kind and compassionate.
One afternoon on our way home from a youth ski trip in Colorado, we stopped for dinner. After ordering our burgers and fries, several of us followed Angie. We all crowded around her table, caught up in discussions about skiing, friends, and boys.
I didn’t even notice Sarah sitting alone, quietly eating her dinner. Without saying a word, Angie carefully slid out of her chair, picked up her tray, and walked over to her. The rest of us continued our conversations, but eventually, one by one, we all noticed what Angie had done. Sarah had always seemed a little odd and unapproachable, but her eyes seemed to light up as the two girls sat together eating dinner. It didn’t take long before the rest of us followed. For one short dinner, Sarah became the center of attention.
Twelve years later, I remember very little about that ski trip. However, Angie’s example of kindness and friendship to that awkward teenage girl has made a permanent impression in my heart and mind. I am grateful to a friend who taught me to be a better person by her quiet example.

by Craig Doxey
“No way,” I heard a few of the Venturers murmur as we looked down at the Snake River for the first time. “Look at some of those rapids!”
“Don’t worry,” I assured them, “we won’t be going down this portion of the river. But we will be hitting King Rapid before our river trip is over, and it’s pretty big!”
The Venturers of the Orem 27th Ward, Orem Utah South Stake, had been planning and preparing for this trip since last year. In the back of the Venturing manual there were several pages of instructions detailing how to build a kayak. At a post officers seminar in the fall the presidency had voted to build kayaks during the winter and plan a superactivity around them. Last January when we finally began seriously looking at the idea of building our own kayaks and running a river, we suddenly began to realize the great amount of planning and work that this project would take. After several voting sessions with the Venturer post, post committee, and parents, we decided to give it a try.
We were able to enlist the aid of an explorer adviser who had done this before, and with his instructions and guidance and a kayak mold that we rented, we began purchasing materials. Each boy was asked to earn $50.00 in order to purchase the necessary resin and fiberglass. The post presidency planned several money-making projects, and the boys were able to come up with the rest of the money through cherry picking and yard work.
As each boat was built, our Venturer post learned to work together. At least four or five people are needed for each kayak built. Gradually teamwork skills emerged as the boys began helping each other with their boats. With visions of whitewater and beautiful rivers, they labored through the smell, stickiness, dirtiness, and work of each boat.
As plans for the superactivity began to materialize, we decided to run the Snake River from Jackson Lake Dam to a small resort called Astoria Hot Springs about 70 miles downriver. It was decided in our post meetings that we needed to learn how to read a river and how to paddle. We also needed experience before hitting the “big water” of the Snake. Utah Lake served as our first practice camp, followed by several practice runs and camps down the Provo River. One of the most important skills learned was how to “ferry glide” across a river. This technique is used to move swiftly across a river, even through a rapid, without wasting energy. Our practices required each Venturer to intentionally swamp his boat—many were able to perform this great feat without even trying. I’ll never forget the picture of one of our smallest Venturers towing our 200-pound assistant adviser across the Provo River after the adviser had unintentionally swamped his boat!
We felt well prepared as we began our trip down the Snake River, and each of the skills we had learned and developed were evident as the Venturers ran rapids as tall as they were. “It was worth all that effort,” several of them said as we floated through the beautiful, primitive parts of Teton National Park, camped on the shores of the Snake, and saw elk, beaver, eagles, and other wild animals. Throughout the river trip, and in testimonies given at the testimony meeting the final night on the river, gratefulness was expressed to the Lord for the great experience we had had, for the brotherhood that had developed, and for the beauties of the land that we saw on our trip down the Snake River.

In 1992, just three years after Naume and I were married, we were struggling with the basic necessities of life. A friend?—Jerry D. Hymas from San Diego, California, USA?—taught me a self-reliance principle that has made a difference in our lives, even in times of Zimbabwe’s economic meltdown, which we experienced from 2000 to 2008. Jerry said to me, “Eddie, here is a formula for financial success that has worked for me over the years and has enabled me to retire early. When you receive your paycheck, you (1) pay tithing, ten percent; (2) pay ten percent to yourself; and (3) save ten percent for emergency purposes.” Then he looked at me and said, “Never spend money you do not have.”
Naume and I have always paid our tithing and enjoyed the promised blessings, but we did not know about the other 20 percent he shared with me. Since then, Naume and I tried to the best of our ability to follow this model, and it has blessed us tremendously.
I recommend this to anyone, especially young adults and young couples. Navigating through life may seem daunting, but moving forward with faith and with a vision will help you reach your full potential. One has to have a financial plan. President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, promised, “When one learns to master the principles of setting a goal, he will then be able to make a great difference in the results he attains in this life.”1
For purposes of simplicity. here is what I would teach my grandchildren: I would teach them what to do with a dollar. I would teach them that their financial ability depends on what they do with a dollar. From the onset they would need to understand two challenges of life:
The development of their full potential.
The wise use of all their resources.
Most people, including myself, have gone through life saying, “If I had more money, I would have a better plan.” What I failed to grasp is that if I had a better plan, I would have sufficient money. While Jerry Hymas in 1992 taught me the plan of financial prosperity, this plan actually was taught by our loving Father in Heaven, in the Old Testament when He said, “Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth” (Genesis 1:28).
If you have a dollar never spend more than 70 cents. If my grandchildren—wherever they may be, or in any circumstance they may be in—if they could just grasp this principle, never spend more than 70 cents of each dollar which comes their way, through gifts or labor they will prosper. They will understand what the Lord said, “the earth is full, and there is enough and to spare” (D&C 104:17).
These principles will bless all of us: those who are currently employed need to plan for the future as well as those of us who are struggling in life and surviving hand to mouth. This concept would be a great blessing and help in being self-reliant. My suggestions on where to begin would be this:
Ten cents is for the Lord. Pay tithing. President Russell M. Nelson taught: “To develop enduring faith, and enduring commitment to be a full-tithe payer is essential. Initially it takes faith to tithe. Then the tithe payer develops more faith to the point that tithing becomes a precious privilege.”2 This life-changing teaching from the Lord’s prophet is very true.
Ten cents is forcapital. Put it somewhere where you cannot access it or use it. This could be for 10, 15, or more years. When I think of this ten cents, I am reminded of my mother. She would sift through very good ground nuts and maize and put some aside for seeds. She would fumigate—or we were made to believe, so that we would not be tempted to roast that maize and eat those ground nuts when we were hungry. Mother never used the seeds, even in the dire situations. She would rather have us go without than to eat those seeds. They were to be planted in the following rainy season and have them multiply. She would do the same in each harvest. She was never dependent on government handouts.
Ten cents helps to make sure that you would not buy anything in credit—except for a house. When one invests this ten cents, its having someone else use it with an interest to yourself. It’s not the amount that counts, it’s the PLAN!
Do this and watch the numbers change and fulfill your Heavenly Father’s blessing to you, be fruitful! In reality it is not more of what we will get, but what we are becoming. Our forebearers saw what they would become.
During the Great Depression in the United States of America, the Lord’s prophet, seer and revelator declared: “Our primary purpose was to set up, in so far as it might be possible, a system under which the curse of idleness would be done away with, the evils of a dole abolished, and independence, industry, thrift and self-respect be once more established amongst our people. The aim of the Church is to help the people to help themselves. Work is to be re-enthroned as the ruling principle of the lives of our Church membership.”3 This principle has blessed lives inside and outside the Church throughout the world.
My humble invitation to you is to rise and be fruitful.

Max McDonald and the Aaronic Priesthood boys in his Scout troop from Hooper, Utah, know about the strong ice, about the water and the fish beneath. They know that in the depths, down in the realms where the mythical Bear Lake monster roams, the cisco congregate all winter. But during the January thaw the small fish pull in close to shore and spawn. The cisco run lasts one week, maybe two. Then the fish retreat deep into the turquoise once again.
Now it was the last week of January, and the cisco were coming in.
Chris, 12, and Kevin Chase, 13, of the Hooper First Ward, Hooper Utah Stake, cracked open the front door of their parents’ home and headed for the chapel. Their breath puffed up white around them, lingering, then mingling in the gray air. There was still sleep in their eyes, but the biting chill was enough to make them alert. So was the walking. Chris pulled his orange hat down tighter so it met the collar of his blue parka.
It was 4 A.M. It was cold. It was a crazy time to leave a warm bed and go outside. It was an adventure.
Max, the Scoutmaster, and Kent Summers, a fisheries biologist who serves as the ward Scouting coordinator, had already endured the morning ritual of scraping windshields, shivering under the blast of cold air before the car heater warmed up, unbending their frozen fingers from around the steering wheel, and maintaining calm as the boys loaded into their station wagons. Kevin and Chris arrived just in time to make the passenger list complete.
They nodded to friends inside the car: David Kite, 14, and Shawn Park, Jon Housley, and John Summers, all 13 years old. Max’s sons, Travis, 9, and Cordell, 8, love to fish, and the night before they had begged to tag along. Max loves to fish almost as much as they do. And he loves to spend time with his sons even more. So his boys had claim on the back seat.
On the freeway, headlights stabbed through the darkness. The heater purred. Static on the radio interrupted agricultural news of soy bean prices and pork belly futures. The Scouts started out joking and teasing each other. Some talked about the weather, about the awful fog that had been trapped in the valley for weeks now. Some found a few doughnuts to munch on. But it wasn’t long before everyone but the drivers fell asleep.
It seemed only minutes later when the boys sat up to a startling sensation. It was bright. The fog—the dingy gray curtain hanging over Salt Lake and Ogden—was gone. Climbing through the mountains, they had risen above the temperature inversions. A clear, clean day full of light was dawning with not a cloud in sight. “It made me feel like shouting hurray,” said John. “We’d been in the fog so long, every day for weeks and weeks. I’d forgotten what it was like to see the sun.”
The cars pulled through a deep canyon, out onto the flat around the shore, and turned off the highway. Already dozens of fishermen were out on the ice, silhouetted in the rising sun.
The cars turned off the beach road and onto some gravel, then stopped. The Scouts were instantly alive. Within five minutes the cars were empty. Fishing poles, tackle boxes, blankets, folding chairs, firewood, food, and hatchets were all stacked on the shore or carried out on the ice. Kelly Lucas, 14, even strapped on ice skates and raced back and forth, helping speed up the transportation of equipment.
The best cisco fishing on Bear Lake is often along the east shore, about the same place where scuba divers practice in the summer. “That’s why we’re on this side,” Max said. “We’re next to the hills, and the sun won’t hit the water for a while. That makes the fish crowd around.”
“Last Saturday is when you should have been here,” Brother Summers added. “That’s when they were really running.”
The leaders checked each boy to make sure he had a fishing license. They warned them not to leave their poles unattended and cautioned them about accidentally stepping through old holes not yet frozen over, which are easy to spot by their color. Max talked a little about how to use a dip net close to shore for cisco and a rod and reel further out for trout and whitefish. They reminded everyone to stay in the same general area. And then they turned the group loose on the ice.
A hatchet makes a strange sound when it hits ice, a kind of echoing “chunk.” It also sends up a spray of chips and splinters. Kevin soon had them all over his coat. But he had also opened up an old hole and was ready to fish.
“You can only make a new hole with an auger,” Kevin explained. “It’s like a giant drill.”
And Brother Summers just happened to have one along.
Grunting with the effort, he and Max took turns drilling a new hole in a place where the ice was nearly two feet thick. They twisted the auger around and around and let some of the young men have a try. Eventually the blade cut through, and some water bubbled up, black like india ink. Then Brother Summers pumped the auger up and down in the hole for a minute to clean it out. The water melted the frost off the ice and turned it clear. Sure enough, there was the turquoise, deep underneath.
“It’s an eerie thing to look down and realize you’re standing on something solid that’s made out of water,” said Roy Fowers, 12, “and then to look through it to the water underneath. It’s almost spooky. It feels so solid, but it looks fragile.”
Max reassured him that even trucks have driven on the Bear Lake ice without going through.
That was little comfort a minute later, however, when there was a groaning sound, followed by a quiet snap and a pop. Everyone looked around, then ran to find the crack and see how far it reached into the thickness of the ice.
Then they laughed.
“Hey Cordell,” Chris said. “Did you hear something?” And with theatrical fear and trembling, Chris put his hatchet down and said, “I’m not chopping anymore.”
Those who had been ice fishing before knew that any patch of ice shifts and adjusts when sun hits it and temperatures change. But for newcomers and those with tender nerves, the occasional cracking sounds were a bit unsettling.
And so was the cold.
Dave kept complaining about the line freezing in the top of his pole. Jon looked a quarter mile out, where the trout fishermen were dropping lines through the ice.
“The only thing they’re catching out there is a cold,” he said.
Shawn was shivering. “Right now I’m just freezing,” he said. “I wish I was home!”
“It’s only five miles to the other side of the lake,” Max replied. “Run over there and back. That’ll warm you up.”
Then, all of a sudden, the fish arrived.
It looked like catching cisco would be easy. The small fish were swimming in schools at shallow depths, close to shore. Dip nets are legal when fishing for cisco, so all that’s necessary is to sneak the net near them, move it quickly, then snatch them out of the water. Simple, right?
Well, not quite. For one thing, the fish are wary, and they’re quick. They dart away when something else moves in the water. And the long pole of a dip net creates a lot of resistance when pushed or pulled through the water. Cisco will swim into the net and back out before they get lifted out of the water. It’s fair to say they have at least a fighting chance.
Just the same, once the Scouts got used to the technique, they managed to catch a few fish at a time, until small piles of silver at their feet gave evidence of success.
And toward the center of the lake, the trout fishermen were having their day, too.
“Take a look at that one,” Roy said, pointing to a small, pale cutthroat he’d caught in a nearby hole. “Isn’t it beautiful? In the winter they aren’t quite as colorful as in the summer. Maybe they lose color when they get cold.”
Actually, the fish was just above the limit for size. But Roy couldn’t have been prouder. And when the next one he caught was even bigger, that was all right, too.
“Isn’t fishing great?” he said, untangling a lure in his tackle box. “And up here, we can do it in the middle of the winter.”
Over on the shore, Max had started a fire and called Kevin and Chris in to start frying some bacon. Within minutes they also had potatoes and onions, with just the right touch of pepper, steaming in a dutch oven. Undisturbed by the makeshift kitchen around them, Travis and Cordell sat together on the same folding chair. Huddled under an old sleeping bag, they propped their stocking feet on a log by the fire, thawing out slowly.
The sun topped the hill. Its rays beat down, pure and hot, chasing the cisco and trout to deeper, colder water. One by one the fishermen meandered in to eat.
The freshly caught cisco were cleaned and wrapped in foil, then buried deep in the coals.
“We’ll save the trout to eat at home tonight,” Jon said. “But the cisco are best if you cook ‘em fresh out of the water.”
In truth, though they have a troutlike flavor, cisco are quite bony. But half the fun of an adventure is bragging. And as far as the young men of the Hooper First Ward were concerned, at the moment there weren’t any better tasting fish in the world. Well fed and happy, the Scouts and their leaders took a moment to chat.
“I love coming out on stuff like this,” Kevin said. “It’s fun. I get to be in a troop with my friends and share everything with my brother, too.”
“It seems weird that a whole lake could freeze over,” Dave said. “Just imagine where we’d be, trying to fish from the same spot in the summer. You’d have to have a boat.”
“I love to look down through the hole and see the trout,” Shawn said. “You can see them green against the rocks on the bottom.”
He also talked about previous Scout activities, mostly camp-outs in the mountains. “This is my first time ice fishing,” he said.
And Kelly remembered another activity, one that had been a lot of fun.
“We played ice hockey at a place in Hooper, but only two of us knew how to skate very well, so the others took off their skates and played with shoes on.”
And that was how the hockey game at Bear Lake got started. A couple of old coats served as goal markers, feet served as sticks, and a pop can became a puck. Up and down, up and down along the ice, the battle for points raced with a fury. No need to check opponents—the ice took care of that. As soon as anyone got running well enough to gain an advantage, he’d hit a slick spot and tumble, leaving the can behind. Conveniently, the score was tied when Shawn spotted deer on the slope above the lake, and suddenly nature became more important than hockey.
“Look at them run!” John said, watching a buck zigzag from rock to rock. “There’s been a lot of snow. It’s forced them down low this year.”
While they were all busy looking at the slope, Max took a minute to talk about his “boys.”
“We’re real proud of them,” he said. “They’ve all progressed at least two ranks this year. But it isn’t the ranks that count. It’s the boys.” Then he told a story about one young man who’d had a problem with littering.
“We were up here in the summer, and he threw a can in the lake after he’d promised not to. I made him wade out and bring it in. Later, we had a demonstration from the forest service about the effects of littering. People don’t usually think of littering as pollution, but it’s one of the most visible kinds.”
Caring enough to go beyond just saying no, to help young men understand why they need to be responsible for their actions—that’s what Max is all about. But he shrugs off such praise lightly.
“I just want to help them have some good experiences, to help them have some fun. If one of them ever got lost in the winter and needed food, maybe ice fishing would be one of many skills that could help him survive. If one of them needs to know he has some friends, he can always come join with us. And that might also help him to survive.”
The deer eventually disappeared from sight. With a slight amount of prodding Kelly, Shawn, Dave, John, and the others returned to help gather up cooking gear and fishing equipment and load it back into the cars. Even though it was still early in the afternoon, it was time to head back to town.
And even though that meant they would soon descend back into the haze and fog, the young men from Hooper were content. They had a good supply of fish for the days to come. Their spirits had been buoyed up by fresh air and bright light. They had enjoyed being together and learning from their leaders. They had stories to share with their mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters. They had gazed deep into turquoise waters and walked on crystal ice. Without spending lots of money and without driving far, they had enjoyed their day in the sun.