Gospel Story Finder

Success story number three is the inspiring story of Pygmalion and Galatea from Grecian mythology. Pygmalion was a sculptor from Cyprus, and, like all great artists, Pygmalion loved his work. Then the day came when he would create the great masterpiece of his life. In deathless ivory he would carve the statue of a beautiful woman and show the human form and human personality at its best. Week after week and month after month he labored until finally the statue was completed. And so great was the devotion and love that Pygmalion had lavished upon his work that the gods decreed that the statue would have the power to breathe and move and live. As she stepped down off the pedestal, Pygmalion called her name Galatea, and Pygmalion married his work.

But this is much more than just an idle myth, as the story of Pygmalion is the story of every person who ever lives. For God has decreed that for everyone who falls in love with his work, his work shall live.

Annie’s eyes popped open Friday morning. She hurried downstairs and poured a bowl of cereal just as the sun peeked over the mountains.
“What’s the rush, early bird?” Dad asked.
“Today’s my spelling test, Dad,” Annie said. “Mrs. Page promised a prize to everyone who gets 100 percent.”
“Are you ready for the test?” Dad asked.
“Yes,” Annie said. “I’ve studied the list all week. The words are hard, but I’m ready.” She patted a paper lying on the table. “I’m going to study them again while I eat breakfast.”
“I’m sure you’ll do great,” Dad said. “Just do the best you can.”
Annie studied the spelling words again as Mom drove her to school. Finally, it was time for the test.
“Impatient,” Mrs. Page began.
Annie heard soft sounds of pencils on paper around the classroom. She filled her lungs with air, slowly let it out, and began to write.
“Word number two: weird,” Mrs. Page said.
“Easy,” Annie thought. She quickly wrote it on her paper.
Twenty-three words later, Mrs. Page collected the tests. “I’ll correct the tests during lunch,” she told the class.
“I hope, I hope,” Annie whispered to herself. “I hope I got a hundred percent on the test.”
After lunch Mrs. Page said, “Several of you earned a prize today for perfect test scores.”
Annie held her breath as Mrs. Page read the names.
“Tressa, Jonas, Olivia, and Annie all scored 100 percent!”
Annie grinned as she walked to the front of the room. Mrs. Page presented each student with a fancy pencil. Annie’s was silver, pink, and blue—her favorite colors. She held it high, her cheeks pink, while the class clapped.
“This is one of my best days ever,” Annie thought as she sat down.
Mrs. Page handed back the tests and Annie read the words over, proud of the hard words she had spelled. She paused at the word weird. It didn’t look right. Annie pulled out the study list of spelling words and compared her test to it. “W-i-e-r-d,” she whispered. She felt like a leaky balloon, with all the happiness whooshing out of her. She had spelled weird wrong.
“What should I do?” Annie wondered. “I want my class to think I’m a great speller. If I tell Mrs. Page I’ll have to give back my prize.”
Annie stared at the test with the big red “100%!” written at the top. The words of the thirteenth article of faith popped into her head: “We believe in being honest.”
Slowly, Annie raised her hand. “Mrs. Page, I didn’t get 100 percent on the test. I missed a word.” She stood up and handed her teacher the beautiful pencil and her test paper. “I spelled weird with ‘i-e’ instead of ‘e-i.’”
Anne could feel the eyes of her classmates on her as she walked back to her desk. Mrs. Page held up Annie’s test. “Class,” she said, “Annie did something even more important than spelling every word correctly on a test.” Mrs. Page smiled at Annie. “She taught us all a lesson on being honest.”
Annie looked around. Her best friend, Keely, smiled at her. Khalil gave her a thumbs-up. Even shy Ava smiled at her.
“Annie, I want you to have this pencil because of your good example to all of us,” Mrs. Page said.
Annie took the beautiful silver, pink, and blue pencil from her teacher. “Thank you, Mrs. Page.”
She couldn’t wait to show it to her dad.

Mother had been at the hospital late that night with Daddy. She told us that the doctors didn’t know for sure what was wrong with him. There was nothing to do but wait and see what tomorrow would bring.
Before we went to bed, Mother telephoned the hospital to check on Daddy one last time. A nurse told her that they would call her back in a few minutes since they had an emergency to take care of. We didn’t know it at the time, but the emergency was Daddy.
When the nurse called back, she asked Mother to come immediately. My brother, Lewis, and one of my sisters, Rebecca, said they would go with her. Tired and worried, I dressed for bed, but when I lay down, the Spirit said to me, “Get up—you’ve got to go.”
I ignored the voice, but it came again, stronger this time, and I didn’t argue. When we arrived at the hospital, Mother said, “I’ll go right into the intensive care unit and check on Daddy. I’ll be back in a minute.”
After a long time, she finally came out and said, “I can’t let you see your father in his condition. It would break his heart if he knew you saw him like that.”
We loudly protested, but she stood firm, saying, “No. Remember him the way he was.”
Surely Mother couldn’t mean that Daddy was dying! I was frantic with fear. Then my eyes fell on the Bible lying on the table. I took it and started reading. As I read, my attention was drawn to one verse in particular:
“For I am in a strait betwixt two, having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better” (Philip. 1:23).
When I finished reading, I knew Daddy must go. Lewis was now sobbing in the waiting room. My younger sister, Rebecca, was telling me how it hurt her to see Lewis cry, and how hard it would be to not see Daddy here in the hospital. My older sister, MaryAnn, and my two brothers, Karl and Michael, were still at home, anxiously awaiting news from Mother. Oh, what awful news to hear!
After shedding many tears, we all sat on a couch and drifted in and out of fitful, uneasy sleep. I remember thinking: It can’t end this way. Something has to happen to let us know he’ll miss us and to give us comfort in the years ahead.
When I drifted off to sleep, I dreamed that Daddy was standing in the doorway, dressed all in white. He was crying, but I knew he was happy. He raised his hand and whispered, “Bye-bye, kiddies.”
I didn’t want him to go, but I awoke suddenly and he was gone. He died later that night.
I woke up the next morning in my own bed, barely remembering that friends had taken us home from the hospital the night before. I sat up in my bed and looked around the room. I knew something was wrong, and then I remembered: Daddy died last night. I sank back down on my pillow, already damp with tears, and cried some more.
The days after the funeral were the hardest: setting the table with only seven plates, hearing my mother softly crying in the night, and seeing his chair—empty. Where was the father I loved so much? Then I remembered my dream of his tearful good bye, and the scripture, “Having a desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better.”
Yes, he would be with us in spirit whenever we needed him, memories of him bringing us great comfort. Knowing that he was with Christ made it easier for me to bear my sorrow.

My name is Claudio Lico Villa, I have been a member of the Church for 11 years and belong to the Consuelo Branch, San Pedro Dominican Republic District.
I was born in 1982 in the province of Seibo, Dominican Republic. When I was three months old, my parents gave me to my grandmother to raise. At eight years old we left Seibo, and I was not able to finish school there. A few years later with very limited means I began working because of a need and a desire to be independent. Although this was long before I would join the Church, the self-reliance principles were ingrained in my heart.
“The Lord has declared, ‘It is my purpose to provide for my saints’. This revelation is a promise from the Lord that He will provide temporal blessings and open the door of self-reliance, which is the ability for us to provide the necessities of life for ourselves and our family members”.
I knew I wanted to be independent and could be. I had to work. At the age of 14, I started working in a mill to be able to support myself and to help my grandmother who gave me all the love in the world. I finished high school and started my first business, looking for any items I could find to sell on the street in my neighborhood. Eventually I was able to sell dishes and tableware. A few years later, after working with a friend in his hair salon, I started my own hair salon.
At the age of twenty-seven, I was diagnosed with eye cancer. When I thought all was lost and without any purpose in living, two missionaries came to my home. I had always been God-fearing, so I listened to the lessons. I struggled to make up my mind, but after three months I was baptized. My life with this disease has not been easy. I walk with my cane everywhere. I continue with medication and treatment. I have remained true to what I have come to know as the Lord’s self-reliance principles. I support myself with a business selling sheets and household items, plus help from the government and the generous members of our Church.
I can say today that my strength comes from the knowledge I have of Jesus Christ. I thank those missionaries who came to me. The Church is my family. I invite everyone to know Jesus Christ who brings hope and love to our lives.

I grew up in the Church. Most of my teachers and leaders were diligent and effective in trying to instill within me a love for the gospel, a knowledge of its principles, and especially, a testimony—what President Joseph Fielding Smith called the “speaking of the Holy Ghost to the soul in a convincing, positive manner” (Answers to Gospel Questions, comp. Joseph Fielding Smith, Jr., 5 vols., Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1979, 3:28). In my teen years I remember several teachers and fireside speakers outlining how a testimony could be obtained. It seemed so easy that I decided to follow it.
As a high school student, I determined that I would act on this advice and try to obtain my own testimony of the gospel. I wanted to know that it was true. So I carefully read the Book of Mormon, underlining as I went. When I finished I felt a great sense of anticipation about Moroni’s promise. I knelt down and prayed, trying to learn for myself whether this book was true or not. Although I prayed off and on for several weeks with what I thought was “real intent” and determination, I failed to recognize an answer. When my friends stood in fast meeting to express their testimonies, my parents were disappointed that I did not. I told them that I was trying, but that a testimony had just not come to me yet. I could not be dishonest. I worried and wondered what I was doing wrong. Perhaps my life was not good enough for the Lord to recognize my question—or maybe there was something wrong with the way I was praying—or perhaps I just didn’t know how to recognize an answer.
The prayer and study went on for two more years, during which I read the Book of Mormon a second time, and then my bishop asked me to go on a mission. On one hand, I was elated, because I had always wanted to serve a mission; but on the other hand, I was very worried, because my testimony had not been granted. How would I convince others if I could not speak with conviction? My brother was going on a mission at the same time, and my parents, who were of very modest means, pledged themselves to our financial support.
When I went for my interview with the stake president, he surprised me by suggesting that I remain at home until my older brother returned—to lessen the financial burden on my parents. Greatly disappointed, I returned home to relay this sad advice to my father, normally a quiet, soft-spoken man. My father was distressed. He expressed strongly held feelings that I should go at the same time as my brother, and that the Lord would help us to meet the financial obligation. He put on his coat and announced that he was going to talk with the stake president. “You are going on a mission—and you are going now!” he said with conviction. Before he left, he wanted us all to kneel in family prayer. My father uttered a simple prayer, expressing thanks for blessings, and asking for help in his talk with the stake president and for help for his sons as they prepared to leave for the mission field.
As I listened with faith to that prayer and tried to look into the future, I was spiritually moved beyond anything I can describe. At that instant, I received a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. I was overcome with a feeling of happiness and excitement, as if to say that my father would be successful in his own little mission, which he was. But I also knew absolutely that I would be able to go on a mission (as I did to New Zealand) and testify with honesty and certainty to anyone who would listen to me. It was an enormously satisfying experience. My previous anxieties about being a missionary without conviction were gone. The Lord had answered my prayers—although in a way that I had not expected. As for my parents—they successfully supported their two sons as missionaries for two years and prospered financially.

Alison and Dad chatted about ballet, school, and work as they crossed Topham’s Bridge on their way home. Then Dad asked, “Alison, would you like to go with me to Birchington Ward this Sunday? President Hicks wants me to see how everything’s going there. I also have some interviews there for temple recommends and Melchizedek Priesthood advancements.”
“Just me?”
“Just you. You’re pretty good company.”
“Sure!” Alison was pleased that Dad had asked her. In all the years he’d been on the high council, and now as a counselor in the stake presidency, she’d never gone on a trip with him by herself.
“It’s a good hour’s drive up to Birchington, and I ought to get there a little early, so we’ll need to be ready to leave by 7:30 A.M. You might want to bring along a book or two for company.”
“OK,” Alison agreed cheerfully. She was eager to visit another ward and to spend time with Dad.
By seven-thirty Sunday morning Alison had eaten breakfast, brushed her teeth, dressed in a skirt and jacket Mom had made her, and combed her hair. She had also gathered her scriptures, a notepad, a pen, and two library books.
“You’re really guarding against boredom!” Mom said, smiling as she looked at the bulging shopping bag. She smoothed Alison’s hair and gave her a kiss. “Have a good time.”
Alison pulled out a book as soon as they were on the interstate highway, setting it down occasionally to look at farms and forests. Once they were in Birchington, she put the book away so she could watch for the meetinghouse.
“It’s not hard to spot it,” she remarked as she glimpsed the steeple through some trees. “Most LDS meetinghouses look alike.”
“Yes, they do,” Dad agreed as he parked the car. In the building he knocked quietly on one of the office doors. In a minute a tall, gray-haired man Alison recognized from stake conferences appeared and warmly welcomed Dad with a burst of greetings, comments, and questions.
Alison shifted from one foot to the other, feeling a little awkward. Dad reached out and pulled her close to him. “This is my daughter Alison, Bishop Nightingale.”
Alison politely shook the bishop’s hand.
“So you’re the youngest of the Tanner bunch,” he said. “Nice of you to come. It’s always nice to have visitors. I like to have them speak.” He winked at Dad. “It’s a change for the ward, and it means I don’t have to talk so much.”
Alison looked at Dad and smiled. He was always being asked to talk—so often that he would joke, “I feel like a walking tape recorder! Just plug me in, and I speak. Rewind me every so often, and I’ll even repeat myself.”
Dad and Bishop Nightingale disappeared into the office, and Alison strolled curiously up and down the halls, examined the items on the bulletin board, and then settled down in a chair to read. The foyer gradually filled up with people. Soon Dad emerged from the office and, in between shaking hands and chatting with ward members, told Alison, “Meet you up on the stand.”
The stand? Alison walked slowly into the chapel and up the aisle. She rarely got to sit up front, and she was both excited and apprehensive. It was fun to be able to see all the ward members—but then, they could all see her too!
As she got settled, Bishop Nightingale leaned over and shook her hand again. “Remember what I told you about visitors,” he said.
Alison smiled and nodded, but she didn’t know why he was making such a fuss about it. Dad was used to speaking.
The meeting proceeded smoothly until the bishop introduced the last speaker on the program—and added, “Before our closing song, we’d also like to hear briefly from Alison Tanner, who’s here from New Salem Ward with her father.”
Alison gasped.
“I didn’t know he was going to do that, honest,” Dad whispered, putting his arm around her. “I’ll talk if you’d rather not.”
“I should have guessed,” Alison whispered back, remembering Bishop Nightingale’s comments and his twinkling eyes. Why had she been so quick to assume he’d meant Dad was to speak? She rubbed her hands, suddenly cold and damp, on her skirt. Her heart was thumping wildly. It would be easy to let Dad talk, but if she did, she’d never be able to face Birchington Ward again. “What can I say?”
“You could tell a scripture story or tell something you learned in Primary. And give your testimony. You’ll do OK; you’ve given talks before,” Dad whispered reassuringly.
Just in Primary, not in front of a whole ward! And not without any time to prepare, Alison thought. She pressed her trembling legs together and thought desperately. Primary—scriptures—Nephi! That’s it! We talked about Nephi not too long ago. She quickly opened her Book of Mormon.
“Amen,” the speaker said, and Alison swallowed hard. Dad gave her a reassuring pat, and she stood up. Reaching the podium, she waited while Bishop Nightingale adjusted the microphone. The chapel was a sea of faces—smiling, pleasant faces. Alison took a deep breath and began.
“One of my favorite scripture stories is about Nephi and about how he and his family left Jerusalem.” Alison briefly retold the story, managing to include the most important details. She finished and was momentarily tongue-tied. Primary! she remembered, relieved. “I’m glad I can go to Primary each week and learn about Nephi and other people; and I’m grateful for my teachers and for my family …” She concluded with her testimony, then, still feeling shaky, sat down.
Dad hugged her as the organist began playing the closing hymn. “Fantastic!” he whispered. “You handled it like a real pro!”
Alison leaned against him and whispered back, “I did it! I can’t believe I did it!”
After the meeting everyone on the stand and many people from the congregation congratulated Alison on her fine talk. When the bishop approached Alison, she tried to frown at him, but he looked so cheerful that she couldn’t.
“I was scared to death!”
“Now, now, I warned you. And you did a tremendous job. Next time it will be much easier.”
Next time? Alison thought as she walked down the aisle. Of course, there will be a next time—if not in Birchington or New Salem, then somewhere else.

Let’s go, guys. Time to get up,” a loud voice said, unconcerned that my exhausted body needed more rest. “Yeah,” I moaned in my most convincing tone. I rolled 90 degrees and half opened one eye to see what time it was. The illuminated digital clock read 4:35 A.M. in bright red. Dad’s portly figure towered at the bedroom door. The hallway light surrounded him, giving him the aura of a heavenly messenger dressed in white. Dad’s message, however, was not exactly prophetic: “We’ve got cows to milk. You guys awake?”
“Okay, okay,” Steve said slightly annoyed.
I closed my eyes, then felt my nose with my hand. It must have been ten degrees colder than the rest of my body, which was warmed by a stack of six blankets. I snuggled, eyes closed, listening to the wind howl outside the bedroom window. I heard the bathroom door open. “Let’s go, Steve,” I said to my brother as I slowly rolled to the edge of my bed. I flipped back the covers, sat up, and quickly pulled my pants over the insulated socks and long johns I wore all night. I grabbed one flannel shirt and slipped it on, then imitated the procedure with a second.
I heard the back door close as I headed downstairs. Steve was right behind me. In the coatroom I donned another pair of pants over the ones I had on, then two more flannel shirts of a quilted style, and a dirty green army jacket. Snowmobile boots, a heavy winter cap over my ears, a thick scarf, and sheepskin gloves completed the outfit. I took a deep breath and looked at Steve. He glanced back, in almost identical clothing. We pulled open the door and stepped out into eight inches of swirling, drifting snow.
Steve’s voice was muffled by the scarf over his mouth, but I detected a sarcastic tone as he talked, “Sure is a lovely morning.”
“Yeah,” I replied, pointing to the thermometer by the milk house. “Let’s check the temperature.”
Out of habit, we walked single file, stepping in Dad’s boot tracks. The barn lights shone brightly through the windows. I could see Dad’s reflection and knew he was throwing hay to the cows. Half asleep and shivering I was barely aware of what I was doing. Dad, however, was bustling around feeding and checking each cow to make sure she had made it through the night okay. We both stopped at the telephone pole, and Steve scraped the ice off the thermometer as I adjusted my view of the mercury. “It’s only twelve below,” I mumbled, “five degrees warmer than yesterday morning.”
As we stepped in the barn and untied our scarves, the warm air penetrating our nostrils was filled with the sweet aroma of oat straw and alfalfa hay. Johnny, our dog, ran to greet us. We each took a second to say good morning to him. Then, without speaking to each other, we moved to do our preassigned chores. In sleepy silence Steve and I prepared to milk as Dad fed the cows. The clanking of neck chains and hooves on concrete was drowned out when I turned on the radio.
As we milked I watched Dad and wondered what it would be like without him. He never missed a morning in the barn. He was never late, and he never complained. No matter what happened (and things inevitably would go wrong, especially in cold weather) he always handled it with cool, efficient professionalism. I wished I could be as patient as he was. He always shared a positive attitude, explaining that things were never as bad as they could be.
The next words were spoken half an hour later when Dad said he needed to check the heifer barn to make sure the water wasn’t frozen. We heard on the radio the wind chill outside was about 55 below. He left but returned in five minutes. We watched as he got the propane torch. “Not too bad,” he shouted cheerfully on his way back out the door.
“I’ll bet that water is frozen solid. He just doesn’t want us to get perturbed at the cold.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed, “that’s Dad.”
At 6:45 Steve and I were almost done milking. Dad returned. “Took you awhile, Dad. Everything okay up there?” I asked.
“No problem. Everything’s fine,” he said reassuringly.
I looked at Steve in disbelief. His face said without words exactly what I was thinking. “Right, Dad!”
We assembled in a circle and made sure each one knew what needed to be done before breakfast. After deciding who would do what, we dispersed. It took an extra 30 minutes on cold winter mornings to make sure every water line, calf, cow, tractor, and truck was safeguarded from the elements. I took some shortcuts while cleaning the feeder, hoping Dad wouldn’t check. It was a dumb thing to hope, but my fingers were numb and my nose resembled a circus clown’s. Of course Dad checked and discovered my slothfulness. As I refroze my fingers finishing what I hadn’t done before, I imitated Laman and Lemuel and murmured against Dad’s thoroughness.
At 7:20 we sealed up the barn and braved the bitter cold again on our way to the house. Around the breakfast table we discussed the things to do today and decided who would be responsible for each. The list seemed long, especially when I thought of the icy cold weather.
I expressed my disgust at the arctic conditions and complained to Dad about all the trivial things he wanted done. He smiled and explained the importance of each of the “trivial” jobs. I nodded in agreement, my face indifferent. Strangely, I looked forward to the next eight hours. I didn’t realize it then, but Dad was teaching me each day invaluable lessons about responsibility and preparedness. I was in the eighth grade.
Twelve years have passed since that cold January morning. We don’t milk cows anymore, but Dad hasn’t changed a bit. He still shares a positive attitude even after a crippling accident that has left him disabled. The lessons he taught us surface in my conversations and experiences all the time now. At last I understand what he has taught me by his example. I love my dad.

In 1982, Preben Klitgaard, a Church member in Aalborg, wrote a book on square dancing. Since then, Brother Klitgaard and his wife, Henny, have devoted themselves to teaching and performing square dancing. For them, it has become a missionary tool, as the dance room of their home fills up four nights a week with stomping, clapping, and whooping.

Their children, Susanne, Elisabeth, and Jimmy, also love to participate. It became a family pastime and then much more. “The interest in square dance was so strong,” explains Sister Klitgaard, “that Preben and I began offering classes in an evening school. When the crowds later outgrew our rented room, we built this new wing onto our home to accommodate the growth.”

Often, after an evening of square dancing, she explains, people will stay and talk to the Klitgaards about their way of life. “To us, that’s an open invitation to bear our testimony, because it’s the gospel that has given our lives purpose. Dancing has opened many people’s hearts to the gospel.”

Institute Celebrates with Service Weekend
During a break in university terms, the three Hamilton stakes and the young single adult ward focused on enrolling for institute for the next semester. The theme for the institute weekend was “Joseph Smith and Young Adults—True to the Values.” Following a mix-and-meet opening activity, the activity turned toward service.
Project number one was at Hamon’s Bush, just west of the Temple View Community, where Elder and Sister Roger Hamon are serving as missionaries. The young adults planted native trees on what has come to be known as Institute Hill.
Project number two saw young adults mingling with other Temple View stake members in another tree-planting project for the Hamilton City Council.
The third service project involved making quilts and donating soft toys for the children’s ward at the Waikato Hospital. The young adults donated 29 quilts and 4 large sacks of soft toys to the hospital during this activity.
Spearheading the toy project was Amy Howard, who said recent stays with her son in the hospital made her want to do something to brighten it up for the young patients. The children will be able to play with the toys and take one of their favorites home with them after their stay.

Photo illustration by Leslie Nilsson
After taking last place in the 880-yard race for the fourth meet in a row, the enthusiasm I once felt for track was beginning to fade. It wasn’t just losing; it was the fact that I could barely finish my races.
One night while reading the Doctrine and Covenants, I read section 89, the Word of Wisdom. Verse 20 says, “And [ye] shall run and not be weary, and shall walk and not faint.” That was a promise I wanted. I didn’t smoke or drink, but I remembered the coach saying that consuming soda pop and sugary foods could make breathing difficult in longer races. I decided to cut back on them and also thought I’d try eating something besides hamburgers every day for lunch.
With those thoughts in mind, I knelt by my bed in prayer. I remember promising the Lord I would keep the Word of Wisdom and stick to my diet so that He could bless me to do my best.
I had my temptations. My friends were doing fun activities after school while I ran the bleachers around the football field. My brother and sister slept in while I woke up early to jog. A cute guy offered to buy me a soda at lunch, and I had to tell him I preferred milk. And some friends decided to sit and talk rather than do our exercises and weightlifting in gym, forcing me to do my workouts alone. I found inner strength from keeping the commitment I had made to myself and to the Lord.
The day of regionals was a warm day. We were divided into two heats according to our previous times, so I was in the slow heat. This was the first race I had felt good about, win or lose, since I started track this year.
“Runners, take your mark!”
“Get set.”
The starter’s pistol went off. I sprang forward, each step in unison with the rest of the pack. I was holding fourth place, but the rest of the runners were gaining on me. A thought came to mind: “I have kept the Word of Wisdom; I CAN DO THIS!”
I focused on third place and pushed myself harder. New energy exploded in me, and I was gaining on them. The runner in second place was only a few feet ahead, so I reached out with all my mind and body.
The girl in first place was starting down the straightway just as I was turning the last bend. She was 5 feet ahead of me with 20 feet to go. With all the energy I could muster, I reached and stepped—go, go, GO!
I raised my arms and crossed the finish line first. A natural high glowed within me. My time was slower than all the runners in the fast heat, so I didn’t get to participate in the state track meet, but I knew the feeling of running and not being weary and of finishing a race and not feeling faint. I understood then what was meant by “a principle with promise” (D&C 89:3). I knew it was true when the Lord said, “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say” (D&C 82:10).

David Baker, a priest in the Laie Fifth Ward, Laie Hawaii Stake, won the national Very Special Arts Henry Fonda Young Playwrights Competition. His play, Inside Al, was chosen over more than 100 written by teens throughout the nation. It was performed at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C., with David watching in the audience.
The Very Special Arts organization was founded to encourage participation in the arts by people with mental or physical handicaps and to foster better understanding of the challenges faced by the handicapped. Inside Al portrays both the outer appearance and inner thoughts and feelings of a person with cerebral palsy. The play was warmly received.
David also has won second place in a short story contest and has had several accepted for publication. In addition to his writing, David has played in his high school marching band, and his tuba solo won the solo award at the Holiday Bowl competition in San Diego. He also plays m the jazz band and in the brass band at the Polynesian Cultural Center. He enjoys drawing and painting, including painting custom designs on sneakers.
David plans to attend BYU—Hawaii Campus and is looking forward to serving a mission like his two older brothers.

I understand exactly what it feels like not to feel peace. When I was ten years old my father died. Everyone told me that Heavenly Father would comfort me through the trial, but for the first few months I felt only pain and anger, not comfort.
One night, in the midst of all this hurt, I had a dream about my father which helped me to understand what had happened and to feel at peace with myself. I know that my dad is doing a great work helping people on the other side. I also know that you must look deep within yourself to find true peace in order to live a happy and peaceful life.
Bente Heiselt, 16Powell, Ohio

When two-year-old Clayton overheard the family sharing feelings about his grandmother serving in Swaziland, Africa, his little heart was touched. Often he would fold his arms, bow his head, and say, “Gam-ma on mission. Jesus. Amen.” When she returned, he did not recognize her until she said, “This is your missionary grandma.” Instantly he broke into a smile, ran, and threw his arms around her. Each grandchild now wants to be a missionary.

A poignant experience with a former patient shows how gratitude for generosity and compassion can transform us. In 1987, I became acquainted with Thomas Nielson, a remarkable man who needed a heart transplant. He was 63 years old and lived in Logan, Utah, in the United States. Following military service during World War II, he married Donna Wilkes in the Logan Utah Temple. He became an energetic and successful brick mason. In later years he especially enjoyed working with his oldest grandchild, Jonathan, during school vacations. The two developed a special bond, in part because Tom saw much of himself in Jonathan.
Tom found waiting for a donor heart frustrating. He was not a particularly patient man. He had always been able to set and achieve goals through hard work and sheer determination. Struggling with heart failure, with his life on hold, Tom sometimes asked me what I was doing to speed up the process. Jokingly, he suggested avenues I could pursue that would make a donor heart available to him sooner.
One joyous yet dreadful day, an ideal donor heart became available for Tom. The size and blood type were a match, and the donor was young, just 16 years old. The donor heart belonged to Jonathan, Tom’s beloved grandson. Earlier that day, Jonathan had been fatally injured when the car in which he was riding was struck by a passing train.
When I visited Tom and Donna in the hospital, they were distraught. It is hard to imagine what they were going through, knowing that Tom’s life could be extended by using their grandson’s heart. At first, they refused to consider the proffered heart from Jonathan’s grieving parents, their daughter and son-in-law. Tom and Donna knew, though, that Jonathan was brain dead, and came to understand that their prayers for a donor heart for Tom had not caused Jonathan’s accident. No, Jonathan’s heart was a gift that could bless Tom in his time of need. They recognized that something good might come out of this tragedy and decided to proceed.
The transplant procedures went well. Afterward, Tom was a different man. The change went beyond improved health or even gratitude. He told me that he reflected every morning on Jonathan, on his daughter and son-in-law, on the gift he had received, and on what that gift had entailed. Even though his innate good humor and grit were still readily apparent, I observed that Tom was more solemn, thoughtful, and kindhearted.
Tom lived an additional 13 years after the transplant, years he otherwise would not have had. His obituary stated that these years allowed him to touch the lives of his family and others with generosity and love. He was a private benefactor and an example of optimism and determination.

My boyhood home was surrounded by alfalfa fields. When I was nine years old, I cleared a small plot on the edge of the fields to plant a garden. In early spring, I planted a single pumpkin seed and cared for it each day, eager for it to sprout. Within days, to my delight, small green leaves pushed through the soil. Over the days and weeks that followed, I marveled at the rapid rate of growth of my small, single pumpkin seed. With divine components of seed, soil, sunlight, and water, my small seed miraculously transformed into multiple vines stretching out in all directions.
A short time later, green bulbs appeared where orange and yellow flowers had just bloomed. And over the course of the summer, the bulbs transformed into large, orange pumpkins. When the harvest arrived, I cut open my pumpkins. I was astonished! Each pumpkin had produced hundreds and hundreds of seeds.
You might be thinking to yourself, “That’s great, but what does this pumpkin seed have to do with me as a young adult?” Well, in observing the seemingly endless supply of seeds from my harvest, I suddenly understood how, with God’s help, the finite (one seed) could be transformed into the infinite and eternal. I saw that “with God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:37). I experienced the truth of the scriptural words “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).
Those who know me well know that I still often carry a pumpkin seed in my pocket to remind me of the important life lesson learned: Heavenly Father can take something as small as a seed of love in our lives and transform it into powerful, never-ending, and eternal love and service of God, neighbors, and self.

“What are you doing?” Nate asked his big sister, Jessica.
“Writing a thank-you to Grandma for my birthday present.”
“I want to write one too.”
“You don’t know how to write yet,” Jessica said. “Besides, you write thank-yous to someone who gives you a present, and it wasn’t your birthday.”
“Oh,” said Nate, rolling his tongue around in his cheek. Then he started to grin. “I know someone I can make a thank-you for. I’ll be right back.”
A minute later, Nate dumped crayons, markers, and a big sheet of plain white paper on the table.
“Now what are you doing?” Jessica sighed, moving over.
“Making a thank-you picture. I can’t write, but I can draw.”
“Who are you thanking?”
“It’s a surprise.” Nate picked up a yellow crayon, drew a round sun, and colored it in. Then he used markers to make a red house with two blue windows, and a door.
Jessica peered at it. “I know who that picture’s for. It’s for Dad.”
“No,” said Nate, smiling. He drew his black cat, Pepper, and the swing hanging from their big oak tree.
“I bet that picture’s for Mom,” Jessica said.
“Nope.” Nate picked up a blue crayon. He colored birds flying in the sky, and the pond next to their house.
“I’m done,” said Jessica, putting her note into an envelope. “Now I have to write Grandma’s address on it and send it.”
“I’m done, too,” said Nate, coloring a frog by the pond.
“I bet that picture’s for your kindergarten teacher,” Jessica said.
“No,” Nate said. “It’s for someone who gives me different things every day. It’s a thank-you picture for Heavenly Father.”
Jessica smiled. “You’re right, Nate. He does give us all kinds of presents.”
“Do you think He likes my thank-you picture?”
“Sure He does. Everyone likes it when you say thank you.”
Nate smiled. “Help me hang my picture up for Heavenly Father to see. Then I’ll help you mail yours.”

Several years ago my husband and I asked our children what they liked about the recent general conference. Our then-16-year-old daughter was elated. She said, “I loved it! I loved hearing inspired, intelligent prophets and leaders affirm motherhood.” Then she told us that this was one of the disturbing anxieties in her life: “I just don’t hear it from anyone—not at seminary, not in Young Women, and definitely not at school; nowhere except at home.”
I don’t know if her experience is similar to that of other young women, but I suspect it is. I know that for some time it has not been vogue for women to extol the virtues of motherhood or for young women to express the desires of their hearts to be mothers.
I particularly noticed this some time ago when I talked with a group of about 20 Laurels whom I had never met before. I asked them what their goals were. The first few mentioned educational goals such as getting a PhD; some said they would like to go on a mission—all worthy goals. Finally one girl timidly expressed the desire to be a mother. Then a few more girls talked about other goals. After one more girl mentioned motherhood, the rest of them joined in. But it was quite courageous for those first two girls to admit they wanted to be mothers. And this was in a very safe setting.
Besides the fact that admitting this goal may set a girl up for ridicule, it may also set her up for feeling like a failure. She knows she doesn’t have complete control over achieving this goal, which may make her feel vulnerable in stating it. It is also a goal that requires great unselfishness; it may require setting aside other more glamorous goals. I am sensitive to the many issues facing our young women, but I still feel that I must teach eternal principles.
I would like to affirm motherhood, to talk about the newest phrase in our Young Women theme: “be prepared to strengthen home and family.” I will address five things we as parents and leaders must do for our young women.
All families, from the best to the most troubled, are in need of strengthening. Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, “If we think other families don’t have any difficulties or any problems, we just don’t know them well enough.” We need to encourage girls to turn to their mothers and fathers not only to receive help but to give help.
Several of our general board members grew up in homes with parents who were less active in the Church. One of them had a wise Young Women leader who counseled her to be with her family when they did recreational things on Sunday but to maintain her personal standards. So if they went to a swimming club, she would go with them to visit with them, but she herself would not go swimming. She was able to build a tender relationship with her family.
I know a young woman who ruefully saw her brother associating with the wrong group of friends. After praying fervently for him one night, she followed an impression to pick him up from the party he was attending. She drove around with him for some time just talking to him about who he was as a member of their family and who he was as a member of Heavenly Father’s family and of his responsibility to honor those identities. He was able to turn things around in his life, partially because of the love of his sister.
Youth often feel lonely or isolated either socially or spiritually. Friendships and close ties with their brothers and sisters are the best antidote. One teenager was rejected by a group of girls at her school. Her brothers and sisters eased her sorrow by including her in their activities and giving her extra doses of love.
All these are examples of young women who strengthened their homes and families. Serving families is a way of covenant keeping, and covenant keeping reaps the promised blessing of having the Spirit in our lives. We must help our young women begin where they are, in whatever kind of family they are in, to strengthen their homes and families.
I believe that one way we can arm our girls spiritually is to help them develop temporal skills or talents. We know that to the Lord all things are spiritual (see D&C 29:34).
Homemaking skills are becoming a lost art. I worry about this. When we lose the homemakers in a society, we create an emotional homelessness much like street homelessness, with similar problems of despair, drugs, immorality, and lack of self-worth. In a publication called The Family in America, Bryce Christensen writes that the number of homeless people on the street “does not begin to reveal the scope of homelessness in America. For since when did the word home signify merely physical shelter, or homelessness merely the lack of such shelter? … Home [signifies] not only shelter, but also emotional commitment, security, and belonging. Home has connoted not just a necessary roof and warm radiator, but a place sanctified by the abiding ties of wedlock, parenthood, and family obligation; a place demanding sacrifice and devotion, but promising loving care and warm acceptance.”
So we must teach homemaking skills, including practical ones such as cooking, sewing, budgeting, and beautifying. We must let young women know that homemaking skills are honorable and can help them spiritually as well as temporally. Making a home appealing physically will encourage loved ones to want to be there and will help create the kind of atmosphere that is conducive to the Spirit.
Sunday lessons, Mutual, and Personal Progress are all programs that provide times and ways to teach these necessary lessons. I think of my own experience as a Laurel adviser. The young women in my stewardship had one year until they would be out in the world on their own. I asked them what they needed to know to be ready for that independence. From their list of needs—balancing a checkbook, applying for colleges and jobs, cooking something besides cookies, and so forth—we planned our Mutual activities. I no longer had any problems with attendance, because we were preparing skills the young women needed to fulfill their important future roles. I could see that in the process of learning temporal skills, some spiritual skills were developing simultaneously. There was more genuine friendship and concern for one another. Mothers told me that the spiritual tenor of their homes improved as the young women shared some of their newfound skills.
This is what we as parents and leaders must do. We must help young women develop practical and spiritual skills that will bless their future homes.
The two most powerful tools we have to inspire our young women are our examples and our sincere words.
I’ve seen many inspirational Young Women leaders who exemplify living their roles with nobility and joy. I remember the powerful example of my Laurel adviser, who was faithful in rearing her children in the Church even though her husband was less active. I know a young woman whose parents weren’t active in the Church. She was impressionable and teachable and learned well from the examples of her leaders. She learned how to fast and how to hold family home evening by participating with her teachers in these activities.
My best and most consistent example in learning the joys of homemaking and mothering was my own mother. She told me many times every day how much she treasured being a mother and homemaker, and then she lived those words in every action. She sang as she folded laundry; she exulted over the clean smell in a freshly scrubbed bathroom; she taught me how to read and write, sew and cook, love and serve. Because she emanated the Spirit and the fruits of love, joy, peace, meekness, long-suffering, and temperance, I felt it, and I knew I wanted the same things in my life (see Gal. 5:22–23). Her example continues to teach me daily.
I want all of you to know the great joy I feel in being a mother, wife, and homemaker. We should express our joy often through our words, actions, and countenances.
It has been alarming recently to feel the full fury of Satan’s attack on families. Alternative lifestyles, abortion, cohabitation, divorce, immorality, and violence are issues that are screaming in our faces at every turn.
Even though I feel alarm, I do not feel fear. Fear is the opposite of faith. Paul told Timothy that “God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” (2 Tim. 1:7).
I feel faith in Jesus Christ and in His restored gospel upon the earth. I feel empowered by the truths of the gospel succinctly stated in the proclamation on the family. It takes a stand on each of the issues I just mentioned, as well as others. For example:
Alternative lifestyles: “Gender is an essential characteristic of individual premortal, mortal, and eternal identity and purpose. …
“… We further declare that God has commanded that the sacred powers of procreation are to be employed only between man and woman, lawfully wedded as husband and wife.”
Abortion: “We affirm the sanctity of life and of its importance in God’s eternal plan.”
Cohabitation: “Marriage between man and woman is essential to [God’s] eternal plan.”
Divorce: “Husband and wife have a solemn responsibility to love and care for each other and for their children.”
Immorality: “We warn that individuals who violate covenants of chastity … will one day stand accountable before God.”
Violence: “We warn that individuals who … abuse spouse or offspring … will one day stand accountable before God.”
Not only do I feel strengthened by these truths, I feel loved by a wise and all-knowing Father in Heaven, who has blessed us with prophets and apostles to guide this Church. If our young women can know of His love, if they can have the truths of the gospel embedded in their hearts, they will not fear. With strong testimonies of the gospel and a firm knowledge of eternal doctrines, our young women will have the courage to face a world that is desecrating families.
President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) talked about the influence of strong women of God upon the world: “Much of the major growth that is coming to the Church in the last days will come because many of the good women of the world (in whom there is often such an inner sense of spirituality) will be drawn to the Church in large numbers. This will happen to the degree that the women of the Church reflect righteousness and articulateness in their lives and to the degree that the women of the Church are seen as distinct and different—in happy ways—from the women of the world.”
We are distinct and different in happy ways because we know who we are eternally. We are all divinely appointed to these womanly roles of mothering and nurturing.
My cousin Carrie was a sterling example of a single sister who was a happy, generous, loving woman, blessing all with whom she associated. She was killed in an automobile accident when she was in her late 30s, but her final act of goodness prior to her untimely death was finishing scrapbooks for each of her nieces and nephews. She was fulfilling her mission to the degree that she could within her opportunities.
Now a word to you wonderful Young Women leaders. I hope the Spirit will help you know how to simplify—by that I mean to spend your valuable time on the important things. Teach principles and doctrines. Give love. Be examples. Make your teaching appealing and as simple as possible.
While what we as leaders are doing with young women now is crucial to saving this world, what we are doing with our eternal callings is of even greater importance. We also carry a mantle for our callings as wives, mothers, and homemakers. We need to call upon the Lord for His Spirit to be with us in these eternal roles. Our homes may be our last and only place of refuge, as our prophets are prophesying. I am pleading with you to be exemplary leaders but not to neglect your home responsibilities.
How significant are our roles as parents! How crucial are our roles as leaders! How imperative that we properly train the future righteous women of God! I know this work we are engaged in is His work, and I am grateful for the wonderful privilege we all have to be His instruments.

A perfect example of this giving of talent to others is Ida Jackson of the Provo Grandview Stake in Utah. Sister Jackson was taught to tat by her Beehive teacher. On that teacher’s 80th birthday, Sister Jackson presented her with a handkerchief edged with tatting. The teacher, with tears in her eyes, was touched that a skill she had taught so many years ago to a little 13-year-old would have been remembered, cherished, and used. Now in her 80s herself, Sister Jackson is passing the art on to a new generation. She is teaching the girls of her stake the art of using thread and a shuttle to create delicate tatted lace. During the first demonstration of tatting, the girls were a little hesitant. “We can’t learn that. It’s too hard.” But with patience and by using heavyweight thread, the girls began to catch on to the exacting under-and-over movements of the shuttle and the deft twists of the fingers to make the knots that form tatted lace.
Soon the girls were practicing their tatting at odd moments at home and in public. They came to enjoy the questions. People were always asking, “What is that? I’ve never seen that before.” For some girls, learning to tat became a connecting thread to their mothers and grandmothers as treasured samples of the art that had been passed down as family heirlooms were pulled out of trunks and closets.
“It has been a lovely thing for our stake,” says Elaine Strunk, Young Women president of the Grandview Stake. “It’s been a way for the girls to learn more about their mothers’ and grandmothers’ talents.” The gift of a rich heritage was added to the basket.

Those who serve as stake presidents do not seek the office they hold. All are humbled and some are overwhelmed when they are called. As I called a stake president in Europe who had been a member of the Church only about 10 years, he gasped, “Oh no, no, not me. I cannot do it.” Fortunately, his wonderful wife, who was at his side, put her arms around him and said, “Honey, you can do it. I know you can.” She was right, and he served very well.

One such young man who became a casualty of this conflict was a respected husband and community member. Someone with whom he worked brought lurid bits of pornography and passed them around the office. At first it was treated as a joke, and those who viewed them kidded each other about such things of the world. This young man, however, mainly out of curiosity, thought he should study them carefully in case he might have occasion to help others combat such evils of the world. As he looked at the items more and more frequently, he was overcome by a spirit of the adversary that he did not recognize. Soon he sought more pornographic materials from his fellow employee, and the two of them began to spend more time discussing these evil things.

Still thinking he was becoming enlightened as to the ways of the world so that he could be a stronger influence for good among his friends, this young man became trapped by his own ignorance of the enemy’s ways. His associate convinced him that he should experiment with the actions portrayed in the materials he was viewing. With his spiritual sensitivity dulled, he agreed, and he approached his wife with the idea. She was surprised and shocked by his suggestions, and when he continued his insensitive pleas, she finally refused to have anything to do with him. In his distorted condition he sought gratification elsewhere, and in the end he lost her, his family, and his self-respect.