Gospel Story Finder

Tricia stared with wide, watery eyes at her bedroom closet. The door was broken and wouldn’t shut all the way. In the dark the clothes looked like huddled monsters waiting to jump from their hangers and rush at her. To make things worse, she could hear loud breathing that seemed to come from the closet.
She knew that there were bad people who sometimes hurt children. One of them could be hiding in the closet! She also remembered the story a boy in her kindergarten class had told about a nightmare. He had been chased by a snake with a very long tail. The snake caught him and tied him up with its tail!
Tricia’s sisters, MaryAnn and Rebecca, were sleeping in the bedroom too, but she didn’t call out to them. Whatever was hiding in the closet might attack. She heard the TV fall silent. That meant her parents had finished watching the news and were going to bed. But she couldn’t run to them—she couldn’t even move.
Tricia was so scared that she wanted to cry, but she didn’t dare make a sound. All she could do was stare at the dark, creepy closet, hoping that whatever lurked there wouldn’t get her.
As Tricia stared, a thought came quietly into her mind: “Why don’t you pray?” Immediately she felt a little better. Her mom had told her that she could pray anytime, anywhere. She didn’t even have to close her eyes! Tricia prayed silently. As soon as she said, “In the name of Jesus Christ,” a calm feeling came over her. She knew that Heavenly Father had heard her prayer.
With every breath she became calmer. The scary breathing wasn’t as loud anymore either. In fact, as her own breathing grew quieter and quieter, so did the breathing from the closet. Tricia held her breath. The breathing stopped entirely. Finally she understood—she had been afraid of her own breathing!
She felt a little foolish, but mostly she felt grateful. As soon as she had thought about Jesus, her scary thoughts had stopped being scary, and she could see how silly they really were. She remembered her father telling her that the opposite of fear was faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. “No wonder Satan likes people to be scared,” she thought. “They’re not thinking about Jesus when they’re afraid.”
Tricia snuggled into her covers and prayed again. This time she thanked her Heavenly Father for hearing her prayer and helping her overcome her fears. When she finished praying, she silently sang “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam.” Now she wasn’t afraid to close her eyes and let the music and words warm her. Before long, she was fast asleep.

Elder Quentin L. Cook was nervous when he was called to be a General Authority. He didn’t know if he would be able to do everything he needed to.
Then Elder Neal A. Maxwell, one of the Apostles at the time, told Elder Cook something that helped him feel better. Elder Maxwell reminded him that the most important thing was knowing how to bear his testimony of the Savior. This would help Elder Cook be ready to lead and serve in the Church.
When Elder Cook heard this, he felt peaceful inside. He thought about how much he loved the Savior and the many times he had been able to share his testimony. He was excited to keep sharing his testimony of the Savior with the world. He wasn’t afraid anymore. The Holy Ghost had helped him feel comfort instead of fear.

“Buenos Dias, clase!”
It’s 6:00 A.M. on a rainy Wednesday morning, and seminary in the Dominican Republic is in session. You know from the very beginning that there is something special about this seminary class. Even though the hour is early, it’s pitch black outside, and a warm rain is pouring down, the students are alert and eager to learn.
Everyone is fully dressed and ready for school, some in uniforms, others in shirts and skirts or jeans. Some class members, including the teacher, had to walk over Santo Domingo’s muddy, rocky roads for half an hour to get here in time. No one comes in cars.
A long, very sincere opening prayer is given, in Spanish of course, because that’s the national language. The class sings “Te damos Señor Nuestras Gracias” (“We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet”), and the lesson begins. There are no fancy visual aids, no jokes, films, or cassette tapes. There is only a manual, the scriptures, and the Spirit. That’s enough.
Suddenly, a large clap of thunder is heard, and the lights go out. This is not an unusual event in Santo Domingo, the capital city of the Dominican Republic. You might expect havoc to break loose, with people making ghost calls and paper wads flying through the air, but no such thing occurs. A member of the class is dispatched to get a candle from the kitchen, and the lesson continues on, almost uninterrupted. An animated discussion of the scriptures is taking place, and you can hear the students reading the verses loud and clear.
But wait a minute. It’s pitch black in the room. You can’t even see your hand in front of your face. There’s no way they can see their books. They aren’t reading at all. They’ve got the scriptures for the lesson memorized, and they’re reciting them. They memorize about ten scriptures a day.
This kind of diligence and devotion marks the LDS youth of the Dominican Republic. Church for them is more than a Sunday thing. Seminary for them is more than a morning thing. The gospel is the driving force in their lives, and they go to incredible lengths for it.
One teenager, for example, longed to go to seminary, but her parents thought it would be a bother, so they told her she had to do all her chores before she left. They then proceeded to give her an incredibly long list of jobs to do. Much to their surprise, she began rising at 4 A.M. to complete everything before seminary started.
And they’ll tell you it’s well worth the time and effort. “We love the Church,” says Wally Ventura, of the Orzama Ward. “We’re so very grateful for it, and we can never do enough.”
They don’t think they ever do. When school is out in the afternoon, many of the youth in the ward gather at the local church to practice hymns, play volleyball or basketball, or study. In the evenings after dinner, they team up with the missionaries, attend Mutual activities or help put on “Noches de Amistad,” or “Friendship Nights.” That’s a program sponsored by ward members for investigators. They usually combine films, talks, testimonies, games, and refreshments, so the investigators can get a feel for the ambiance at church. Often it’s left to the youth to plan the whole activity.
Most of the teens live within walking distance of their chapels, although sometimes it’s a very long walk. The chapels in the Dominican Republic are new and clean—members are proud to take care of them. Some of the buildings may be small, but they have room for additions, and more are springing up all over. Although the Church was organized in the country about eight years ago, there are now more than 11,000 members there, and a month with over 300 baptisms in the country is not uncommon.
So where and what exactly is this place where missionary work is burgeoning and the youth are so strong? The Dominican Republic shares the island of Hispaniola with the country of Haiti. It’s a tropical island in the West Indies, about 575 miles southeast of Miami, Florida.
The temperature hardly ever goes above 90 degrees or below 60, so it’s almost always pleasant outside, even when it’s raining, if you have an umbrella. Because of the mild weather, you’ll find people outdoors in the street constantly. There are vendors selling brightly colored vegetables in an outdoor market here, a barber working on a customer seated on a stool on the sidewalk there. The chapels in the Dominican Republic don’t need gyms, because you can almost always play outside in the parking lot, which becomes a basketball or volleyball court.
The Dominicans themselves are very friendly. “The people in this country are very helpful,” says Sandra Calderon, another seminary student in the Orzama Ward. “When people are in need, we do whatever we can.” Neighborhoods are quite close, socially and physically. Many houses are made of concrete and painted with bright, friendly colors. They’re built with open spaces to let cooling breezes, neighbors, and relatives in.
This feature does wonders for the missionary work. When the missionaries begin tracting a neighborhood, everyone knows about it. Neighbors become curious when one family begins taking the discussions. One teen says she became interested in the Church after passing by her neighbors’ window a number of times and seeing them study the Book of Mormon. She just had to find out what they were reading.
The closeness of the neighborhood sometimes helps start rumors about the Church, but it can also help squelch them. “When the missionaries first show up in a neighborhood, the people usually think they’re spies from the CIA,” says Esperanza de la Cruz, seminary president in the Mendoza Branch. “Or they think that it’s a North American church. But if we have the opportunity to explain the gospel to them, they realize that it’s for everybody.”
Dominican teens are getting more opportunities to talk about the Church every day. Because LDS membership is rising so fast (in some high schools there are up to 30 members), teachers are taking notice and asking “los Mormones” questions about their religion in class. They aren’t always nice questions, and they aren’t always easy, but with prayer and inspiration, the youth are able to field the inquiries. Because of this, some of their classmates approach them after school with further questions.
Most Dominicans are rather open and easygoing, and they’re justly proud of their illustrious heritage too. Christopher Columbus landed on their island on one of his journeys to the New World, and he eventually built a large house there. Santo Domingo, the capital city, is the oldest city in the New World, and the country boasts the New World’s first university.
When the Spaniards first settled in the area, many of the native Indians died out, but those who survived passed on their Lamanite heritage to some Dominicans today. The French ruled the island for a time, mostly from Haiti, and brought slaves over to work their plantations. It is a mixture of Spanish, Indian, French, and African blood that marks the Dominican culture.
A wonderful by-product of that mixture is the graceful yet lively national dance called the “merengue.” When you talk about the merengue with youth in any seminary in the Dominican Republic, their eyes will light up and their feet will start to move. Someone will invariably start singing, others will join in, and soon the whole room will be swaying with the Caribbean beat. It’s not a dance that has to be danced with partners, but it’s one you’ll see at a lot of Church activities. The merengue comes as natural to most Dominicans as laughter.
Interestingly enough, though, it’s the merengue music and dance that present the Dominican teens with a real challenge. It seems all the best merengue bands have concerts on Sundays, and it’s not easy for the teens to miss out, but they do it willingly. And while they often listen to merengue music most days of the week, their radios sit silent on Sundays.
Just as the merengue seems exotic to many teens outside the Dominican Republic, the food they eat there probably seems exotic as well. The Dominican Republic is basically an agricultural nation, and they grow some fruits most people have never heard of, let alone tasted. The fruits have intriguing names like zapote, guanabana, lechosa, chinola, and granadillo. The banana (about three different varieties) is a staple in the Dominican diet. But it’s “salcocho,” a soup with vegetables, rice, beans, meat, a type of banana, and a variety of spices that the youth say is the most typical food they eat—and the best.
Even though the food and the dancing might seem unique to the Dominican Republic, there are some things the youth there share with LDS teens all over the world. Wherever you go, you’ll find they have certain dreams in common. Missions, temple marriage, and eternal families are on every LDS teenager’s mind. “I want to go on a mission,” says Johnny Ubiera, 17, of the Mendoza Branch. He spends a lot of time preparing for it by going to seminary, reading the scriptures, and going out teaching with the missionaries. Nearly half of the missionary force in his country is native Dominican, and that percentage is still growing.
After their missions, Johnny’s classmates will tell you, “I want to be a lawyer … a doctor … an anthropologist … a stewardess … an interior decorator.” Some, like Yulie Ramirez, an 18-year-old from Santiago, are already making their career dreams come true. Yulie hadn’t quite finished high school when she saw an ad that reporters were needed for the local television station. She applied, and a few screen tests later Yulie was hired. You can now watch her on Channel Seven, doing on-the-spot reports when she’s not in school.
Yulie’s story is unique for another reason. The very first time she ever attended the LDS chapel in her neighborhood, she knew the Church was true, and she bore her testimony. She went home and told her family about the feeling she had there, and soon they were all taking the discussions, going to church, holding family home evening, and finally, being baptized.
Each Dominican youth has a cherished conversion story to tell. “I was invited to a church activity with some friends,” says Pedro Rodriguez, “and was really impressed. I began reading the scriptures on my own, and I knew I wanted to be a missionary and share what those books contained with everyone else. I was baptized soon after that, and I’m waiting my year before I can serve. I never knew I could feel so much.”
“I thought the church I used to belong to was the only church around,” says David Falentino Benod. “But I wasn’t really satisfied with it. At school, when the rest of the class went to chapel, I used to hide in the bathroom. I’d seen the missionaries in the streets before, and one day my father invited them in to teach us. On Sunday we went to church and then to a baptism, and we felt wonderful. We set a date right there for the baptism of our family of nine.
Of course, joining the Church is not always an easy step. Many times it means leaving old friends behind, and often parents and brothers and sisters don’t understand. “The hardest thing to do,” says Llissel Ventura, “is to explain to our friends why we follow the Word of Wisdom. Many here smoke and drink and take drugs. They often tease us. But I just drink my jugo de china (orange juice), and I’m fine.”
Luis Espinal has found an interesting solution to this kind of peer pressure. “I know people who have vices and they would really like to get over them, but they don’t think they have anyone to help them. I try to be a good friend to them, and I bring them all to church. Some leave, but some continue coming, and some become members.”
All over the Dominican Republic you’ll find teens with this longing to reach out to others. In fact, when asked what they wanted the rest of the world’s youth to know about them, the Dominican teens replied:
“Tell them we love them. We want to meet them someday. We may not be very elegant, but we’re very nice and always happy.”
“Tell them we’re all a team.”
“Tell them we think it’s “bien chevere” (really cool) to be members of this church.”
“Tell them that the Church is very important in our lives. We may be different from them in some ways, but we all have the same goals and dreams.”
“Tell them we know the Church is true and that God loves us all. Christ did a very marvelous thing for us—he paid for our sins. He has given us light, and we’re trying to let our lights shine so those around us can see too.”
The light of the gospel. That’s it. That’s what enables the Dominican seminary students to “see” even when the electricity goes out. That’s what enables them to recognize the truth when it comes knocking on their doors. That’s what makes them so eager to serve missions and help their friends. It’s the light of the gospel that fuels their fires and helps them forge a republic of faith.

Huldah, her parents (Gardenar and Delecta Farrar Clark), and her five sisters were converted to the Church in New York. Driven from their homes by mobs, they joined the Saints migrating to the Salt Lake Valley. While traveling with the wagon train, Huldah met a young Scot, Richard Ballantyne, one of the officers of the pioneer company. Huldah and Richard grew to love each other. In Winter Quarters, Nebraska, on February 18, 1847, they were married by Heber C. Kimball.
The couple’s first home was a shack on the east bank of the Missouri River. When winter passed, the wagon train continued west. Huldah gave birth to their first child, Richard Alando, in their covered wagon on June 1, 1848.
Life was hard in the Great Salt Lake Valley. While Richard struggled in the fields to raise crops, Huldah worked inside, trying to stretch their meager supplies into enough food for their family. She learned to use sego lily roots, thistles, and weeds in preparing meals. Potatoes were mixed with flour to make bread.
Huldah and Richard fought storms, grasshoppers, and drought. Despite their constant work, they experienced repeated crop failures. Although they had barely enough to live on, Richard was inspired to start a Sunday School for the children of the valley. With Huldah’s help, he cleared land and built an adobe house. When he grew weary, Huldah quietly encouraged him and worked beside him. She helped him select music and lessons for the Sunday School. For over a year Sunday School was held every week in the Ballantyne home.
At a special conference held in Great Salt Lake City on August 28 and 29, 1852, Richard was called to serve a mission in Hindoostan (Hindustan), India. For four years the Ballantynes had been hungry. Their clothing was inadequate to protect them against the harsh winters; they had no money and little food. With Richard gone, life would be even harder. Yet Huldah did not hesitate in supporting her husband in this call. She immediately began to prepare clothing for Richard, darning his socks and scrubbing and mending his white shirts. When she discovered that his one suit was totally threadbare, she ripped out the seams of her best homespun skirt, made from material that she had woven and dyed herself. She took Richard’s measurements and carefully tailored a suit for him. That suit was to last him throughout his mission.
Richard was gone for three years. By herself, Huldah cared for their three small children, tilled the land, and made all of the family’s daily necessities. She carded wool and extracted dyes from roots, leaves, bark, vegetable peelings, and cochineal bugs. From beef and mutton tallow, she fashioned her own candles. Scraps of fat, rind, and meat trimmings were saved to make into soap. After soaking and drying potatoes, she grated them to use as starch.
Throughout her life, Huldah quietly loved and took care of her family. She did not serve a mission or even travel far from her own home after she settled in Utah. Yet her influence was deeply felt in the lives of her husband and nine children.

In my profession as an airline captain one of my routes was from Frankfurt, Germany, to Miami, Florida. On one flight we had completed our departure out of Europe and were on our assigned route for an orderly and safe crossing of the North Atlantic. Our Boeing 747 was cruising smoothly at 33,000 feet. Behind us lay the green coast of Ireland, and only four hours ahead was Newfoundland on the east coast of the North American continent. The planned flight time from Frankfurt to Miami was 10 hours, 16 minutes, and we would cover 4,955 nautical miles. The weather forecast called for an uneventful flight. We had 386 passengers aboard.
While checking the instruments and communicating by shortwave radio with ground control, we saw the contrails of two other jetliners many miles ahead. Obviously, we were faster, and soon we were close enough to recognize the aircraft types and their markings. They were on the same North Atlantic crossing route. One was 2,000 feet above and the other was 2,000 feet below our cruising level. As we slowly overtook those beautiful aircraft, my copilot mentioned how remarkable it was that because of true and accurate information entered into the navigation units at the start of our flights, all three jets were precisely on the same track, separated only by altitude. And we would continue to be so if the crews used identical navigational points leading to the same destination.
As I have contemplated the truth of this statement and its application to our lives, I arrived at the question: Do we all know our destination, and are we on the right track? It is imperative for a pilot to know his destination before submitting his flight plan. Heavenly Father has prepared a flight plan for us that will lead us back to him. We read in the Pearl of Great Price, “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39). It is a plan for our happiness.
Before starting a flight, the crew has to be extremely careful and precise in entering the geographic coordinates of the point of departure into their navigational system. This information has to be true and accurate because it will be the basis for all future references and decisions. In 1979 a flight started with wrong coordinates from New Zealand to the South Pole and crashed into Mount Erebus, killing all 257 passengers.
The gospel of Jesus Christ provides the true and accurate information by which to direct our lives. If we let it enter into our system—into our hearts and minds—we will know who we are, where we came from, why we are here, and what our final destination will be. We can communicate with God daily through prayer to update and chart our course. If we have tuned ourselves to the voice of the Lord, we will feel in our heart who we are and that we are here to succeed: “… behold, thou art my son [daughter] … and thou art in the similitude of mine Only Begotten” (Moses 1:4, 6).
I received great comfort and strength as a teenager from the counsel of a young, but wise, missionary. He said to me, “You will succeed as long as you are on the Lord’s side.” Isn’t it even more motivating to realize, and to know, that we are sons and daughters of God the Eternal Father? And through His plan, the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, we know how to get and to stay on the Lord’s side.
On a shortwave radio, frequencies are sometimes crowded. So it is in daily life. Many are competing to get their messages across. We have to train and condition ourselves to hear the still, small voice. We must not give up listening or be distracted because of static on the sacred frequency.
During cruise flight, passengers visiting the cockpit would often ask, “Are you on automatic now?” Well, there is nothing really automatic in a jumbo jet. You have to initiate an action, and then you supervise the results. Like using any computer or the cruise control in a car, giving the wrong input will never get you the desired result: “Garbage in, garbage out.”
To direct your personal flight toward the right destination, the navigational points you choose must comply with your goals. If a crew inserts the coordinates of the track to Chicago, it can’t expect to arrive in Miami. President David O. McKay said, “Next to the bestowal of life itself, the right to direct that life is God’s greatest gift to man” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1950, p. 32). The gift of agency, however, does not release us from the consequences of our behavior. We all have to decide on our own to follow the righteous track in order to reach the great and marvelous destination Heavenly Father has prepared for us.
I found that one of the most important navigational points along this track is personal integrity. Webster defines integrity as an “uncompromising adherence to moral and ethical standards.” Integrity indicates wholeness or oneness. If we have integrity, we are sincere, truthful, fair, and honest. We are true to our covenants. Honesty again embraces many personal virtues: being open, without pretense, upright, frank, genuine, sincere; not disposed to lie, cheat, or steal. Integrity acts somehow like the tuner in that shortwave radio. It helps us hear that still, small voice and really feel that we are children of God.
How can we create integrity in our lives? By internalizing the moral and ethical standards we receive through guidance and clarification from the scriptures and prophets. President Spencer W. Kimball taught, “We must study the scriptures according to the Lord’s commandment … ; and we must let them govern our lives. … Access to those things means responsibility for them” (Ensign, Sept. 1976, p. 5).
If we read the scriptures daily, we receive the messages the Lord has given us through his prophets. Our Heavenly Father is updating the instructions to his children according to their needs and their readiness. From the Prophet Joseph Smith to President Howard W. Hunter, we are receiving guidance customized for our time and its special challenges. Seminary, institute, the booklet For the Strength of Youth, and general conference messages by our prophets are given to us for a purpose.
Once, before approaching Miami, we had to leave our predetermined track to avoid heavy thunderstorms north of our destination. It lengthened our flight a few minutes to keep us from harm. Entering a cumulonimbus cloud is dangerous and can destroy an aircraft. While the sun was setting we were amazed by the beauty of the towering clouds and lightning striking the sea, but we made certain to stay out of their way.
In the Book of Mormon Alma tried to help his son Corianton avoid unnecessary storms by explaining that “wickedness never was happiness” (Alma 41:10). Unfortunately, sin appears occasionally attractive but hides its destructive nature until it is too late and harm is already done. We need to understand how to recognize and avoid the evil and be prepared to detour around it in time. If we do fail, however, there is hope and relief made possible through the atonement of Jesus Christ. Sincere repentance brings us forgiveness and peace in this life and puts us back on course to live again with our Heavenly Father.
My dear young brothers and sisters, let us use our Heavenly Father’s flight plan. With it we will commence our journey based on the gospel of Jesus Christ. By using the scriptures and listening to the living prophets, we will establish integrity as a guiding way point in our lives. This will enable us to stay on the right track and safely reach our heavenly destination.

Several years ago while my wife and I were serving in Venezuela, our youngest son left the comfort of his high school to join with us. He did not complain, but it was obvious that he struggled as he went to this country where everything was new to him; but in an amazing turn of events, the experience went from one of trial to a huge blessing in his life. He accomplished this by changing his own attitude and developing a determination to succeed.

Elizabeth sat contentedly next to her grandmother and idly traced the pattern of the old woman’s faded blue gingham apron. A few strands of her grandmother’s yellow-white hair, smelling faintly of gingerbread and apples, brushed the child’s cheek.
“Grandma, tell me one of your long-ago stories,” Elizabeth murmured lazily.
“What kind of story today, Bess?”
“Tell me about when you were a girl living in England before you joined the Church and came to live here in Canada.”
“Oh, child, that was so many years ago! Let me think.” The old woman tilted her head in thought. Then her wrinkled face broke into a sudden smile. “Have I ever told you about our village’s May Day celebration?”
Elizabeth shook her head slowly, her dark eyes filled with curiosity.
“What a grand time it was, Bess. Before dawn each May first, my sisters and I would go into the woods to pick flowers and branches to decorate our cottage with. That morning our mum would make crowns of leaves and wildflowers for us to wear as we went singing from door to door. But the best part was the May Queen.”
“Your town had a real queen, like in fairy tales?”
“No, only a make-believe one for May Day,” Grandma replied. “The village chose the prettiest girl, and she rode in a flower-covered cart to the center of town.”
“Were you ever picked?” asked Elizabeth.
“No,” chuckled Grandma. “I was too plain. Of course, I always wanted to be, but I was never asked.”
“What happened then?”
“The May Queen, wearing a crown of wildflowers, was taken to the maypole to preside at the spring party given in her honor.”
“What’s a maypole?”
“It was a tall tree that had been cut down that morning. After all its branches were cut off, it was placed in the village green, and flowers and ribbons in all colors of the rainbow were hung from the top of it.”
“And then the party started?”
“Yes, love. The May Queen sat beneath an arch of flowers and watched the villagers dance around the maypole, welcoming spring. When I smell the first blooms of the lilacs each year, I feel like I’m a little girl in England again.”
“Grandma, I think I hear Mommy calling. I guess I’d better go now,” Elizabeth said, kissing her grandmother’s cheek.
Throughout the last week of April it rained constantly. Elizabeth stared out the window, muttering, “It will never be sunny in time. Everything will be ruined.” But on the morning of the first of May, the sun broke cheerily through the clouds and covered the land with warmth and brightness. Tossing back her covers, Elizabeth leaped excitedly out of bed. By the time her parents came downstairs for breakfast, Elizabeth had finished her cereal and juice and was slipping out the door.
“What’s the rush today, kitten?” her father asked.
“I have a lot to do, Daddy.”
“Have fun, sweetheart, but be sure to play closeby,” her mother said.
“I will, Mommy. I promise.”
For the next three hours Elizabeth was busy behind the barn. Occasionally she had to run up to her room. From downstairs her mother could hear Elizabeth’s dresser drawers sliding open and slamming shut, followed by the thumping of Elizabeth’s feet as she bounded down the stairs.
Shortly after noon, Elizabeth knocked on her grandmother’s door, bursting with excitement.
“Come in, Bess. I’ve just baked some biscuits.”
“Oh, Grandma, you have to come with me right now! I want to show you the lilacs. They’re blooming behind the barn.”
“Oh, how lovely! Let’s go pick a bouquet for the parlor.”
As Grandma walked around the corner of the barn, her mouth dropped open in amazement. The branches of a young peach tree, decorated with brightly colored hair ribbons, swayed gently in the breeze. Beside it, a rickety wooden chair had been transformed into a throne of roses and daisies.
“Sit down, Your Highness,” said Elizabeth with a curtsy. “The May Day party is starting, and you are the May Queen—the fairest in the land.”
As the old woman slowly seated herself, a crown of blossoms was placed on her head. Gracefully spreading the faded apron over her knees, she blinked back tears of happiness while she watched Elizabeth dance around the peach-tree maypole.

It takes faith to stand alone, as Natalia did; it also takes faith to change your life, to leave behind friends who are a bad influence. That is what Viktor Russo found out when he learned about the gospel of Jesus Christ and had to make a few changes in his life.
Life had been rough for Viktor. As a boy, he was scrawny. Other boys beat him up. Out of resentment, he made a mistake. He joined a gang at age 15. “I wanted the others to be afraid of me,” he says.
And that’s what started to happen. He became one of the “bandits,” as he calls them. But before he got in too far, he discovered the Church. His aunt, a Latter-day Saint, invited Viktor and his mother to attend Sunday meetings.
“Right from the opening prayer there were tears in my eyes,” Viktor explains. “They didn’t just recite words. They spoke with their Father in Heaven. I felt a great love overpowering me, an understanding that I also have a Father in Heaven who loves me.” Viktor was so impressed he continued to attend. And he began meeting with the missionaries.
“I had always wanted to know if there really is a God,” he says. “So I prayed, ‘Please tell me if what I am learning is true.’ The same powerful feeling I had during sacrament meeting surrounded me again.”
He was particularly impressed as he learned about the priesthood. “I felt this love among the men, something I had never felt in the gang. During one of the missionary discussions, I remember thinking, ‘I can’t be in a gang and serve God, too.’ From then on, I tried not to meet with my old associates. I tried to be only with good people.”
And what happened was remarkable. “I was amazed,” Viktor recalls. “Some of my former ‘friends’ teased and taunted me, but most of them just said, ‘All right then, go. We’ll leave you alone.’” Enemies didn’t retaliate. True friends took an interest in his new religion. Some of them even met with the missionaries, but Viktor is the only one so far to be baptized.
“I had a lot to repent of first,” he acknowledges. “But I knew it was the right thing to do.”
Today Viktor is 18. He has been a Latter-day Saint for almost three years. He spends his time with other Aaronic Priesthood holders, helps with the sacrament, and goes home teaching. He looks forward to serving a full-time mission and to the completion of the Kyiv temple. Day after day you’ll find him with the elders when they’re teaching. “I like to share my testimony of Jesus Christ,” he says. “I like to tell people they need to believe in Him.”

Sometimes, you simply have to take a stand. “The greatest challenge for me was saying no, because all of my friends would go out Friday nights drinking, smoking, some doing drugs,” explains Maxine Ireland, 15. “They’d always ask me. They didn’t ever give up. At first I made excuses why I couldn’t go. But finally I explained what I believe and why I would never do those things. After that, they left me alone.”

Others, like Brother Thach, risk capture and death by traveling from Vietnam in the south, northward through Cambodia to neutral Thailand. With Brother Thach was his wife, Minhdan, three-year-old daughter, Minhvan, and a nephew, eight-year-old Khaivien. Brother Thach says, “Khaivien’s father was unable to pay the price to get his wife and six children out of Vietnam. He asked me to take the boy. Even though it meant giving up their oldest son, he and his wife felt that at least one of their children should have a chance at freedom.”
The journey through Cambodia was arranged with the help of a “guide” who charged Brother Thach one and one half taels of gold, approximately equivalent to his entire earnings for eighteen months. Brother Thach worked hard to save the money, accumulating the funds secretly so as not to arouse the suspicions of the authorities. Finally prepared, after selling the family’s meager possessions to relatives and friends, the group left on a moonless night in March, 1981, praying that they would be successful in their venture.
Brother Thach knows that their prayers were answered. Although they were Vietnamese citizens, he and his wife shared a Cambodian heritage and assumed the identity of Cambodians for their journey. “We were not always successful,” he recalls. “For instance, my wife dressed like a Cambodian woman, but one day we were questioned by someone who wondered why her sarong looked Vietnamese and not Cambodian. Even though the two countries have the same cultural background there is a difference in the style of sarong and in the way that it is worn. We gave some excuse or other, and we were allowed to go on our way.”
They were stopped several times by soldiers, but each time a small miracle occurred and they were free to continue. “One time,” says Brother Thach, “we were stopped at a checkpoint where there were two soldiers on guard; one of them Cambodian and the other Vietnamese. For some reason the Vietnamese soldier turned away and didn’t talk to us. The Cambodian soldier asked to see our identification papers. I decided to tell him the truth—where we were from and where we were going. He let us go. I’m sure we would have been detained had the Vietnamese soldier challenged us.”
The family also escaped other potential dangers—being attacked by robbers or getting caught in military skirmishes—as they made their way by overloaded and ancient buses, bicycles, ox-drawn cart, and railroad train to Batdambang south of the Thai-Cambodian border.
The train carrying them had to make frequent stops while repairs were made to railroad tracks damaged by land mines. Brother Thach explains, “To clear the tracks, the train crew would unhook the locomotive from the passenger cars and use it to push ahead a weighted freight car to set off any unexploded mines. Then they would repair the track. This took so long to do each time that all of us on the train were afraid we would be stranded without food.”
Brother Thach says that at one repair stop, “I left the train and prayed that the Lord would help me find food for my family. They had not had anything substantial to eat for some time. After walking for about two kilometers I came to a village. I went to a house at the edge of the village and asked a lady if I could buy some food from her. She cooked a pan of rice, packed it in a banana leaf, added a pinch of salt, and gave it to me.” He paid her and took the rice back to his wife and the two hungry children, not forgetting to thank the Lord.
The family finally arrived at the refugee camp in Batdambang, but because it was located in Cambodia, Brother Thach requested that they be transferred to safer refuge at Panat Nikom, Thailand, where they arrived in May, two months after leaving Vietnam. From Thailand, they relocated to the United States where Minhdan Thach was baptized. She now serves as a Relief Society counselor in the Taylorsville 40th (Vietnamese) Branch, Taylorsville Utah Central Stake. Brother Thach, second counselor in the branch elders quorum presidency, is now an electronic test technician with a national engineering and research company with a manufacturing plant and offices in Utah.

Paul Hulme is such a person. In November 1973, his 10-year-old daughter, Kelly, was walking from school to her home in San Jose, California. While crossing through an orchard, she was accosted by a teenage boy who raped and then killed her. The young man was convicted shortly thereafter and sentenced to life in prison.
Brother Hulme, a former bishop then serving as a high councilor, faced the challenge of his life. Having his youngest daughter’s life cut short so brutally assaulted his sense of justice and brought him to a crisis of faith. His pain, intense at the loss of one he loved so much, was compounded by anger and bitterness. He sought the Lord’s comfort for himself and for his grieving wife and family.
As he prayed for strength, he found solace in the knowledge that Kelly was in her Heavenly Father’s loving care, secure from the pains of this world. He also recognized that his growing bitterness, if not resolved, could seriously threaten his peace of mind and spiritual well-being.
He found that his thoughts, guided by the Spirit, began to turn to the young man’s family. Brother Hulme knew his daughter was safe and content, but what of the young man responsible for her death? What hope did he have of forgiveness and peace? And what of the boy’s family, also grieving but uncomforted by any knowledge that all was well with their son and brother?
Brother Hulme decided to visit their home and offer whatever comfort and support he could give. As he met with the boy’s family, he explained that he understood their anguish. But as he shared his concern, he sensed that the family did not fully comprehend his motives or the message he brought. He came to understand that this home had never been touched by such simple Christian principles as faith and charity. Brother Hulme did not know if his visit had helped the family. Nonetheless, a miracle occurred in his own heart as he felt bitterness and anger melt away, replaced instead with charity.2

Once, when Otto was leading a San Fernando, California, LDS Boy Scout Troop, he gave a small, laughed-at lad the important task of notching his stick with a nail each time they crossed the river. Faithful to the task, the boy scratched 252 marks on the stick by the trip’s end. (Brother Fife, now choir president of the Cedar City [Utah] 5th Ward, has led 1,060 LDS Scouts through the Narrows in all.)

Ammon Arvidson and Brooke Noble, two youth from the Maitland Ward, Newcastle Australia Stake, were chosen to represent Port Stephens, Australia, at the first World Child Summit, held in Kushiro, Japan, last summer. The theme was “The Natural Environment and Our Future.” To be chosen, they each had to present a 10-minute speech on the environment of Port Stephens, the problems facing the habitat, and their role in protecting the natural beauty of the world.
Speaking of the presentations he made at the summit, Ammon, 12, said, “It makes me very aware of the beautiful world our Lord has created for us to enjoy.” Then thinking about all the people, languages, and cultures created by the Lord, Ammon added, “It makes me look forward to serving a mission wherever Heavenly Father sends me.”

It was 113 degrees at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, and some of the Scouts were starting to see that they would learn a lesson the hard way before the day was over. Our Scoutmaster had warned us to get up early, get organized, and be on our way before the sun got a head start on us. But we had lazed around, and so now we were struggling slowly upward in the hot sun. Many of the Scouts were guzzling their canteen water, too—another thing our Scoutmaster had warned us about. Before we climbed out of the canyon, some of those canteens would be bone dry.
I was pleased when I arrived at the top of the trail with water left to share. So was our leader. He turned to me and said, “I knew I could count on you, Kent.” I’d been through enough adventures with our Scoutmaster to learn to do what he suggests, things like “Drink plenty of water, but take it one swallow at a time,” or, “Always suck on something so your mouth won’t get so dry.”
With our Scoutmaster we have hiked the back country and the mountains. We have also discovered the hills in our own backyards. Every once in a while, I’ll look up at the mountains behind my house and say, “Wow! I was actually up there! I know what it looks like.”
That night at our usual chat around the campfire, he told us other stories from the mountains—stories about Enos wrestling before God, about Abraham preparing to sacrifice his son, about Nephi’s broken bow, about Christ teaching the Nephites in the tops of the hills. Then he talked about missions in life and missionary service, and he told each of us he expected us to go on a mission. (Every once in a while a returned missionary speaks in Church and thanks him for the same kind of encouragement he’s giving us now.)
On the trail, our Scoutmaster points things out to us—different kinds of plants and trees, how to avoid stinging nettle, how to judge geological formations to find spring water, how watersheds are organized, or which side of the mountain has more vegetation. Sometimes he stops us on a plateau or a knoll and says, “Look, guys. The Creator’s system works.” Things like that really help us see.
We went on a hike with our Scoutmaster last summer, and he reserved one night for each of us to be alone and talk to our Father in Heaven. He told us we could pray to him, just like Joseph Smith did, and get an answer. The next morning we were back on the trail again, with our Scoutmaster urging us over “just one more hill,” and “just around the next bend,” and repeating his slogans like, “When you see a man on a mountaintop, remember he didn’t fall there,” or, “Make your mind tell your body what to do. Don’t let your body tell your mind what to do.”
One of the best things about our Scoutmaster is that he’s not afraid to let us see him make a mistake or two. It lets us know he understands when we flub it. One time we lined two maps up crookedly and ended up climbing the mountain next to King’s Peak. We still laugh about that, and we named the mountain “Troop 112’s Mistake”.
But the thing I appreciate the most about our Scoutmaster is that he’s my dad. For more than 10 years now I’ve been sharing him with three older brothers, a younger sister, and a troop of Scouts. But that’s not hard to do because my dad has always saved part of himself for me. That’s why he’s the best Scoutmaster I know.

We sat in her living room—she in her nineties, I in my thirties. Her health and the snowy weather wouldn’t allow her to come to the bishop’s office for tithing settlement, so I had stopped by her home instead.
She handed me two pieces of paper. One was her own handwritten record of the contributions she had made to the Church during the year; the other was a computer printout listing the same information.
“As you can see,” she said, “my records perfectly match the ward clerk’s.” I couldn’t help thinking that if there had been a discrepancy, the error wouldn’t have been hers.
Then I asked the question bishops are supposed to ask in these situations: “Sister, is this a full tithing for the year?”
She looked at me with incredulity in her eyes. There was a brief pause. And then, with mock indignation, she chastised:
“Bishop, that’s the most ridiculous question I have ever heard!”
In her case, I couldn’t help but agree. We laughed together as I gave her a hug. I had known the answer before asking the question. But I also knew she was glad for the opportunity to give a verbal accounting of her faithfulness.

Everyone at my school in the fourth grade was reading a book that was very popular. I put the book on hold at the library and finally it was my turn! I started reading it and realized that the book made me feel uncomfortable. I read two chapters to see if it changed, but it didn’t. I stopped reading the book and returned it to the library. I felt good for choosing the right.
Savanna M., age 9, Wyoming, USA

When I was a child, a neighbor brought us food during a celebration. When our family receives such a gift, it is customary in my home for my father to decide when the family eats the food. This time, my father was not home. I desired so much to eat the food that I cried and begged my mother to give me some. My mother didn’t want to disrespect my father’s traditional role, but she also didn’t want me to be unhappy. She cut some of the food and gave me a little to eat.
Later, when my father came home, he was unhappy about what I had done. He invited me into his room and told me he was disappointed that I had not shown contentment for what I already had. He taught me that peace of mind and a good life are only for those who are content with what they have.

I recently saw a video showing a day in the life of a 14-year-old young man in India named Amar. He gets up early and works two jobs, before and after school, six and a half days a week. His income provides a substantial part of his family’s livelihood. He hurries home on his worn bicycle from his second job after dark and somehow squeezes in a few hours of homework before dropping onto his bed on the floor between sleeping siblings around eleven o’clock at night. Although I’ve never met him, I feel proud of him for his diligence and courage. He is doing the very best he can with his limited resources and opportunities, and he is a blessing to his family.

Grandpa and Grandma were coming! To 15-year-old Holly Walker of Calgary, Alberta, Canada, this was front-page news, bigger than a visit from the queen or a phone call from E. T.

Holly and her grandfather are pen pals. She writes to him often, sharing her triumphs and traumas, her dreams and goals. He answers her with letters full of encouragement and counsel. The two share many things—a love of horses and gardening, a zest for learning, and, above all, a devotion to family and the gospel.

Holly’s grandmother symbolizes for her the ideal of strong, wise, gracious womanhood. Holly has grown up using her grandmother’s life as a model and cooking old family recipes first created by her ingenuity. On the horizon of Holly’s young life, these two people loom like giants.

Now the time for the visit had come at last. Holly waited impatiently at the Calgary International Airport with her mother; two of her sisters and their husbands; and assorted cousins, nieces, and nephews. They sat and watched the control tower gather in jets and sort them back into the sky like a mailman sorting mail. Soon one of the incoming specks would grow into the plane carrying Grandma and Grandpa.

Grandpa’s plane floated down across the southern edge of Calgary, tracing with its shadow the broad blue sweep of the Bow River. The plane banked, leaning hard on its northern wing, pointing the wing tip like a finger at the tall shafts of glass and metal that clustered in an elbow of the river. Just behind the wing tip Grandpa could see a splash of color punctuated with turning circles. He knew the circles were Ferris wheels at the stampede grounds. The plane flew north now, shedding altitude rapidly. Through the eastern windows Grandpa glimpsed a fringe of houses and then only a green and yellow distance to the horizon. Westward lay a broad rug of city, green with trees and parks. At the city’s western edge hills rose in gentle swells that grew mile by mile till they crested in a vertical tidal wave of stone—the eastern ramparts of the Rocky Mountains. From this distance they looked like an abrupt wrinkle on a relief map. Then the city rushed up, and the bump of wheels on runway told Grandpa and Grandma that their visit had begun.

Like all good Calgarians, Holly loves the Stampede, and every year she and her family attend. And Stampede 1983 was going to be something special. This year Grandpa and Grandma would go with them! It had been a long time since her grandparents’ last visit, because Grandpa is a very busy man.

When Holly’s grandfather and grandmother appeared through the airport gates, everyone rushed to greet them. You probably would have recognized them too. Holly’s grandfather is President Ezra Taft Benson, President of the Council of the Twelve. There were hugging and kissing and the happy chatter that accompanies a reunion. Then they were all off to the beautiful home where Holly lives with her mother, Barbara Benson Walker, and her father, Robert Harris Walker, who is president of the Calgary Alberta Stake.

As they drove homeward, they enjoyed the special gentility that governs life here. Drivers obeyed the speed limit, respected the rights of others and merged and yielded with courtesy. They saw cyclists pedaling out to one of the islands on the Bow River and caught a glimpse of men in immaculate white shirts and trousers playing cricket on a manicured swatch of grass.

That evening, Holly went to the LDS dance, which is one of the highlights of social life for young Latter-day Saints in Calgary. After the dance, she brought home many of her friends to meet her grandfather, who received them with graciousness and humor. He made them all feel like old and valued friends, and they also felt the powerful witness of the Spirit that they were in the presence of a beloved servant of God.

The Bensons were only able to be in town a few days, but the family made the most of the days they had. Holly treasured the opportunity more than any gift she could conceive of. Her family was the most important thing in her life, and her grandfather and grandmother were the honored patriarch and matriarch of the family. She loved to sit talking with them, enjoying the stories and counsel as much as a gourmet might enjoy a delicious meal. She listened spellbound as President Benson told her stories of his experiences as a Scoutmaster when he was a young man. It was obvious that he had taken that calling just as seriously as he does his present assignment.

Holly showed her grandfather her journal. This was almost the same as reviewing her whole life since she had last seen him, because she keeps a world-class journal. It included not only a written account of her experiences but also clippings and programs and articles and drawings and photographs and bits of fabric and many other artifacts of her life. Her descendants will be able to know their ancestor very well indeed. Through this journal President Benson was able to be a real participant in her life.

Music has always been an important part of family get-togethers, and Holly played the piano while President and Sister Benson sang. Later they walked and talked and relaxed in the well-tended yard which Holly’s green thumb had helped to prosper. Then Holly showed her proud grandpa a bedroom full of trophies and awards and shared her written goals for the coming year. For another girl, a girl with fewer trophies and fewer accomplishments, the list might have seemed pie-in-the-sky nonsense, but this young lady was up to the challenge. She has been student-body president of her junior high school, seminary president, and captain of the school basketball and volleyball teams. She is a very talented pianist, having won first place in her age group at the Calgary Kiwanis Music Festival several years in a row. She also accompanies her mother, who is a soprano soloist. Two years running Holly won the top academic and athletic award at her school. She has also won awards as a dancer, singer, and composer. These are only a few of her many accomplishments to date, and only a beginning of what she plans to achieve.

Her 1983 goals run several pages in length. They include an ambitious, capacity-stretching list of self-commitments in the areas of spirituality, academics, reading, journal keeping, photography, athletics, self-improvement, music, service, and missionary work. As an example, the sports goals include specific and challenging commitments in basketball, waterskiing, tennis, jogging, swimming, hiking, racquetball, windsurfing, trampoline, and golf.

Monday evening the family went to the chuck wagon races at the Calgary Stampede. President Benson watched with the keen eye of a lifelong horseman as the chuck wagon teams careened around the track in a cloud of dust and tangle of wagons, horses, and outriders. A constant stream of LDS Scouts who were visiting from the nearby international jamboree came to shake the Apostle’s hand, and he graciously turned away from the spectacle to greet them warmly. Afterward there was a stage show honoring Canada, and then the night became noon as fireworks blossomed in new constellations overhead. The family laughed and joked and cheered. The best part of the evening was just being together.

As with all happy events, the visit passed too quickly, but it was long enough to deepen Holly’s love for her grandparents even more. “It is great having my grandparents here. I love them and admire them both very much. They have always been and will always be great examples to me. I feel very blessed to be their granddaughter and to be so close to them. I hope that I will never let them down.

“I remember going down in the summers or at conference time to visit them. I always love to hear their stories of when they were my age or younger. Their experiences seem to really relate to me and the things I’m interested in. I love them so much. I think the greatest thing they’ve shown me is to have love in the family, and we certainly do. My family and my relatives are my closest friends. I’d much rather be with them than with anyone else.”

As her grandparents’ visit drew to a close, Holly was happy to know that every parting with those she loved would someday be followed by a reunion, and that someday there would be a reunion to be followed by no partings. Her grandfather and grandmother were hers eternally, and as beautiful as the summer is in Calgary, that knowledge was still more beautiful.

Fasting is not only a source of knowledge, but a means of attaining other spiritual goals as well. The great power of fasting was demonstrated to our family when I was only 16 years old. Mother had become seriously ill. Medical diagnosis revealed that she had cancer. Furthermore, if the malignant cells were not removed she would die. The only chance was an operation that had been performed only rarely before. My father called the family together and asked if my brothers and sisters and I would be willing to pray and fast for mother. Of course we agreed and began an extended period of fasting. During the fast mother was administered to and in the blessing was promised that she would live to raise her children. The operation was a success. When my mother died in 1969, my youngest sister was 20 years old. Truly the power of fasting is remarkable.