Gospel Story Finder

One Saturday afternoon my little sister, my mom, and I decided to make cookies. My mom suggested we make a double batch and give them away.
While the cookies were baking, we talked about listening to the Spirit and serving others. My mom told us how grateful she was for inspired sisters around her that had recently brightened her day with a phone call or nice card. She then suggested that we give the cookies to someone Heavenly Father would like us to serve. We all went into different rooms and said our own personal prayer about who should receive the cookies. My mom and I had two of the same names, and my mom and little sister had also agreed on a family. The names we came up with were not even people that we typically interacted with.
From this experience, my testimony of prayer has been strengthened so much! Heavenly Father heard and answered our prayers and guided us to the people we should serve.
I will always remember that special day when we delivered the cookies to those who the Lord wanted us to. I am so grateful to have Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in my life. I am glad that I can pray for direction and help. I love the Church and my family. I am so blessed to have Young Women leaders to teach me about our gospel.

Last year I did something I’ve wanted to do for years—I gave my parents a book filled with letters from their friends and family. These letters recalled cherished experiences and expressed love and respect for my parents. As a result, my parents were reminded that there are many people who need them, love them, and look to them for inspiration and as an example.
I wasn’t surprised at the number of people who thought of someone they wanted to honor in this way. But I was surprised that everyone seemed convinced it was too difficult for them to do.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Compiling this book was one of the most exciting and enjoyable things I have ever done. I discovered things about my parents that I had never known before. Some of the letters made me laugh, like the one from an old friend who told me about a live chicken that laid an egg on center stage during my Dad’s big scene in the school play. Other letters told of experiences that filled me with overwhelming love and respect, such as the letter I received from a couple who gave my parents credit for inspiring them to marry in the temple.
Based on my experience, here are some suggestions for creating a book of joy, love, and memories:
1. Compile a list of the names and addresses of all the friends and family members that you can think of. Don’t worry if it isn’t complete at first—you can add to it as you go along.
2. Send a letter such as the one that follows:
Dear___________,
I would like to honor my parents, (insert their names here), this year (at Christmas, on their wedding anniversary, on their birthdays, etc.) with a book filled with highlights from their past. I want include letters, stories, memories, and photographs that will remind them of the joy they are to us and others.
Would you please help me with this project by writing down some of your memories of your relationship with Mom and Dad? If you prefer to tape-record your thoughts, I will transcribe them; or you may call and give me the information over the phone, and I will type it. Whatever you send will be treasured.
You can help me further by sending me the names and addresses of other friends of my parents so that I can ask them to participate in the project as well.
I appreciate you help. I am sure you can understand how much this will mean to my parents.
Sincerely, ____________.
Type the letter and mail copies of it to the people on your list.
3. As the letters come in, check the names off your list. Add any new names and addresses you receive, then mail letters to those people.
4. Compile the incoming letters in a book. A photo album, three-ring binder, or padded notebook all work well. The letters can be arranged in alphabetical order with a table of contents at the beginning so they can be easily located. Or they can be divided into sections representing different times in your parents’ lives.
Before you give the book to your parents, you may want to make copies of it to share with your brothers and sisters.

Karen and Susan Jacobs of Walnut Creek, California, found it fun and rewarding. It started when Karen was in the fifth grade at the American School in Copenhagen, Denmark. She was looking for a subject for a rather ambitious American history report. The teacher called for footnotes, bibliography, note cards, and oral reports—everything. Her biggest challenge was to choose a subject. Her parents suggested that she do her report on the Mormon trek westward.
“Why not?” she said.
Once started it was an easier topic to write on than most, with all that help at home, her interest, and her background on the subject from Primary and Sunday School.
Few in the class knew much about the Mormons, and the oral report, filled with interest-raising points, created a lively discussion for months afterwards. She got an A grade too!

In 2002 a consortium of companies including General Motors, EDS, Unigraphics, and SUN made a software donation to BYU that amounted to over $300 million (Partners for the Advancement of Computer-Aided Design/Manufacturing/Engineering Education [PACE]). This donation was provided, we were told, to acknowledge the accomplishments of the students and faculty and to help them with their academic programs. We scheduled a time for the presentation that allowed us to focus on this generous gift. I am grateful to all of those students who came and supported us in such grand fashion. The PACE group was all abuzz about their visit and the celebration. Everything about that day was perfect.

Then PACE decided to make a similar donation to BYU—Idaho. This donation was somewhat smaller and amounted to about $60 million in software. Unlike BYU, BYU—Idaho had scheduled their announcement to coincide with their weekly devotional. Just prior to the time of the devotional, President Bednar had a reception for the PACE team. During that time he talked about BYU—Idaho, their unique approach to sports, and the devotional that they held regularly. He explained that it was a custom at BYU—Idaho for all of the students to hold up their scriptures at the beginning of the devotional. Then he presented a copy of the scriptures to the PACE team leader so that he wouldn’t be embarrassed when the students all had their scriptures in their hands and raised them high. During the devotional President Bednar called upon the team leader to say a few words, which he gave most appropriately.

Last year this same PACE team leader asked me to attend an annual conference in New York. There I made a presentation to the other deans in attendance concerning what BYU had done with our PACE gift. After I finished, the PACE team leader related to the entire group of deans that he had a copy of the scriptures that he had received from BYU—Idaho. He told them how he valued these and recounted his wonderful experience there. Remembering who we are can have a lasting effect for good.

As I have toured missions, many missionaries, as well as converts, have reported to me unusual missionary experiences or miracles. A stake president in California told me the following missionary experience.

A young man in his stake from a well-to-do family had been taught the gospel by missionaries. His interest in the Church was very displeasing to his parents. They endeavored to persuade him not to join, but he still declared that he had a strong testimony that this was the true church of Jesus Christ and that he must join. Then, in desperation, the parents took the drastic step of telling him that if he became a member of the Mormon Church, he would be disinherited. In spite of this warning, the young man joined the Church and his parents literally turned him out of his home.

He was invited to live with a Mormon family. While he was there, the bishop and stake president asked him to go on a mission. He accepted the call. Before he left, however, his parents heard through a mutual friend that their son was going on a mission. They sent word to him that if he did, they would never write him a word, nor send him money, and that he was not to contact them.

About a year later, when the young man was in the mission field, the stake president was called on the telephone about one o’clock in the morning. The gentle voice of a woman on the other end of the line asked if he would please give her that missionary’s address because she wanted to send him some money. Thus, it appears that the love of a mother had risen above her religious prejudice.

I received a shock when I moved to the Salt Lake Valley a few years ago. At that time I really didn’t know much about the Mormons—I just had a vague notion that they lived “somewhere in the West” and that they had somehow contributed to its development. My interest and knowledge both stopped at that point. I was therefore surprised to find that I had come to live in a whole state full of Mormons!
I suppose my background had a lot to do with my lack of interest in any particular religion. I was born an Episcopalian, but my father died when I was nine, and I then entered a nondenominational orphanage. My experience there left me without preferences for one church over another. I later attended several different churches and found good in all of them.
As time passed in our new home and my wife and I began to realize who and what the Mormons were, I patiently waited for the onslaught of well-meaning Mormons trying to convert me. But the onslaught didn’t come. The Mormons I knew were friendly, but they didn’t press. So I asked questions. But the answers didn’t seem to be quite relevant.
Then one day I met Dick Reisner. He had a fine and beautiful family, and was to be coordinator during a year of training in a new career field. He was an enthusiastic Mormon, and I was impressed. His dedication to his faith was precise and honest. He’d ask me questions good-naturedly to see what I knew about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. By this time I knew quite a bit; I had read the early history of the Church and knew generally of its government and beliefs.
The chief obstacle for me concerned the principle of faith. I reasoned that if God could show himself to the sinner Saul on the road to Damascus and speak through a burning bush to Moses, then he could manifest himself to me in a similar way. Once convinced, I would surely be one of God’s strongest defenders and most able architects; but my conversion had to be at least as dramatic as a burning bush.
All too soon my training in Utah was completed and we moved to St. Augustine, Florida.
As time went by, however, we found that we missed Utah—especially the people. We checked the phone book to see if there were any Mormon churches in the area. The closest one listed was 64 kilometers north. We decided we would do without; we didn’t want the Church as much as we did the companionship of the people who made it up.
After one particularly tiring day, I returned from work early to find my wife busy in the kitchen.
“We had some visitors today,” she smiled.
“Really. Who? Salesmen?”
“Yes … a kind of salesmen.
“Who?”
“Two Mormon missionaries.”
“You’re teasing!”
“No. They left a pamphlet. See for yourself. It’s got a telephone number in it.”
“I’m going to call them. I bet that will shock them!”
She laughed. “I called them and invited them over. They told me the branch met in town over at the Odd Fellows Hall. I thought I had misunderstood, but thanked them and hung up.”
The two young men who came to see us offered us six easy lessons over a period of six weeks. Why not listen? We thought to ourselves. It was a small price to pay for the companionship of Mormons. Besides, I had had discussions with some very knowledgeable people.
That Sunday we arose early. In good spirits we turned our efforts to the task of getting four children ready. But we misjudged the time.
“We’re late,” said my wife, as we drove into the parking lot of the Odd Fellows Hall.
“Perhaps,” I said, “it would be better if we waited. We don’t even know which way the congregation is facing. It could be pretty embarrassing to go in and find that they’re all facing us.”
The dilemma was resolved, however, when a pleasant-looking gentleman got out of one of the parked cars and introduced himself as the branch president. Knowing that we might arrive late, he had decided to wait for us.
The children were taken to their particular classes, while we were introduced to the investigators’ class. Our instructor was obviously a learned man and knew his material well. Finding people of his intellect belonging to a church and staunchly professing a belief in God forced me to reassess my own reasoning.
We had a good time that day. Attending church made us feel much closer as a family. And we felt something magnificent, challenging, and rewarding in the simple humility of this branch.
Shortly thereafter I contacted another friend in Utah, Dennis Hill, with whom I had worked. I told him I was now attending his church. He said he was going to send me a book, even though I tried to convince him that I was attending only because I liked the people.
The book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder by LeGrand Richards, came after our second visit to the little church. I set it aside to read “sometime later.”
The third Sunday we decided we were too tired to go to church. No one called to ask “Where were you?” and we were disappointed.
But Monday night the telephone rang. It was the missionaries!
“We missed you at church Sunday.”
“Yes, but you know how it is.”
“Yes, we do.” A pause. “We promised you six lessons; we would like to begin them soon.”
“Fine! How about tomorrow night and every Tuesday thereafter?”
That was the beginning of a very fine friendship. The children loved these two young men who exuded faith and happiness.
I cooperated with their attempts to use psychology on me because I felt they needed the practice; however, I had to set the limit when they invited me to offer prayer at the opening and close of these meetings. I was happy to have them or anyone else offer the prayer, but I would have felt hypocritical praying to a God whose existence I wasn’t sure of.
The next Sunday was stake conference in Jacksonville, Florida, and the speaker was to be none other than Elder LeGrand Richards. I grabbed my book and started reading. (If I’m going to listen to a speaker, I want to know as much about him as possible.) When the day came, I managed to sit way up in the balcony where I could hear and see well. This man’s keen mind impressed me; but I was even more moved by his sincerity, conviction, and faith.
The missionary lessons continued, and we began to acquire a better comprehension of what the gospel was all about. About the fourth lesson we began to realize that these missionaries were planning to finish this by inviting us to be baptized.
I won’t do that! I told my wife. “I don’t even trust myself in a thing so simple as prayer. I’m not going to do all of that.” She agreed.
The missionaries finally mentioned it by telling us that a date had been selected for baptism. Would we like to go? “No,” I told them. “I don’t feel the urge.”
“Well,” they continued, “this Friday we are going to baptize two others. Would you like to come and observe?”
“Where?”
“A block from here—in the ocean.”
“The ocean!” gasped my wife. “That’s too cold this time of year.”
“Yes, we know.” Missionaries always seem to be undisturbed.
We went. After the baptismal service, the missionaries asked us, “Doesn’t that make you want to be baptized next time?”
“No!” I answered. And I meant it.
All of this time the elders had been teaching another family, a beautiful young couple by the name of John and Louise Hatch.
We had met the Hatches only briefly at Church, but were impressed by their vibrance and sincerity. At the time of our sixth and final lesson, the elders told us that John and Louise had elected to be baptized the following Friday, which happened to be Good Friday. The thought occurred to me that that would certainly be the ideal time to be baptized, that it would be a kind of “thank you” to Christ to commemorate that particular day with one’s own baptism. Nonetheless, I felt no urge to do so. I was still looking for that burning bush.
But as the elders prepared to leave following our sixth lesson, they asked, as was their custom, if I would like to offer the prayer. To my amazement, I heard myself agree; after my benediction, two somewhat astonished missionaries congratulated me. I was deep in thought when that beautiful evening ended.
The next day before I left for work, I gathered my courage, took a deep breath, and told my wife I had decided to be baptized on Friday and wanted her to join me. She would have been just as surprised if the roof had blown off or if Florida had begun to slip slowly into the sea.
“You can’t do this to me!” she said.
“Why not?”
“The ocean is too cold!”
“I know, but I’ve decided. With or without you, I’m going to do it. Think about it and let me know tonight because I’m going to call the missionaries tomorrow and tell them so they can get me some special clothing.”
I kissed her and left her standing in the doorway. But I couldn’t leave her in suspense all day, so I called her later.
“Have you decided?”
“I’m not going to let you do it without me!”
“Fine. I’ll call the missionaries tonight. Ask the kids if they want to join in, and let me know after work.”
The two older boys elected to join us. (The two younger children were still too young.) We were baptized on Friday; and I have not doubted since coming up from the water that I made the right decision.
Why did I suddenly decide to be baptized? Because I realized the night of the sixth lesson that a burning bush was not the right thing to look for. I realized that by looking for a burning bush I was missing something just as important. Perhaps the answer lay in the simple things that had been happening to me.
I thought back to the week before we had decided to be baptized. We had once again arrived late to Church. To dispel the awkwardness of the situation, a very young man, Eddie Markle, had welcomed us with a simple handshake. At that moment I sensed in him a faith so strong that I was deeply impressed. It was the kind of faith spoken of by Jesus to Thomas: “Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed; blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.” (John 20:29.) I decided I wanted that kind of faith.
I realized my previous experiences had impressed me in a similar way, but, because of my desire for a miraculous conversion, I had failed to recognize the promptings of the Spirit. My encounters with members of the Church had not been spectacular, but yet they had been very significant.
Each person had—in his own way—displayed a strong yet simple faith: Dick Reisner had planted the seed; Dennis Hill had sent the book; the missionaries had knocked on my door; President Pressler had waited for us that first Sunday; Elder Richards had delivered an inspiring message; Eddie Markle had eased an awkward moment with a handshake. Each person—through his example—had let the powerful light of his testimony shine forth. And to me, having been in darkness, each example was as “the bright shining of a candle” (Luke 11:36), bringing me to a testimony of the truth.
The Mormons love their families and I love them for that. As a religious group they are, in fact, a family themselves—with all the love and learning that implies. Yet through it all one fact never changes: they have the gospel of Jesus Christ. A burning bush is not the answer. We have free choice—we can choose a darkness devoid of faith or we can light it brilliantly and forever with our belief. The Mormons believe! And so do I.

Another example can be found in Sisters, Eloise Richards and Beatrice Kailiponi were steadfast members of the Wailuku Branch of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the valley isle of Maui. They were recognized as competent, dedicated, knowledgeable leaders in Primary, Relief Society and other community organizations. They were credited with initiating and implementing various programs and helpmeets, such as the first 72 Hour Emergency Kit on Maui and the Kupuna Program for public schools Teachers by profession and dedicated genealogists by choice, they offered guidance, expertise, secular and religious education, compassion, humor, discipline and care to all. They, their spouses and children provided years of service. These women shared their love, attention and home willingly and often to a very impressionable little girl whose parents divorced when she was four years old. Her parents were good individuals but not active in church. So she would ask her mother to drop her off at church where she would sit with either Sister Richards or Sister Kailiponi during Sacrament Meeting. After church she would spend majority of the Sunday with their family at their home. She ate meals with them, discussed future plans and felt like one of the immediate family. She observed and participated in family prayers, outings, events and it filled a void, one of being a complete family. She loved the feeling and spirit within the walls of their homes and the lessons she learned in church. The little girl witnessed the two families saving their money and vacation time as they prepared to travel to O’ahu every year to do temple work for the whole week. These caring, unselfish sisters made a marked difference and a lasting impression. They became mentors for this little girl and consistently magnified their Christlike attributes in such a way that this little girl’s hopes and dreams started to take shape, to possibly become a reality. She wanted what they had, an eternal family that attended church regularly, a temple attending family that lived, loved and shared the gospel with others. She saw the adult children in their families go to college and serve missions. She understood the Lord’s admonition to study, learn and serve and desired to have this in her life when she grew up. As time went by she became more confident and determined to follow their example and create a spiritual refuge for her own future family. That little girl was me and Aunty Eloise and Aunty Bea were my grandfather’s sisters. I hope that as they help guide and direct me from the other side of the veil that they are pleased with my choices to follow in their footsteps so we can be reunited in the eternities.

I could see by the length of the shadows that it would be almost dark by the time I got home. Supper would be over at our house, and, being late, I’d get only what was left over. The fire in the stove would have burnt itself out, so I’d probably eat another cold meal too. I put a little more effort into my stride, because thinking of food had made me hungry.
As I walked, I thought about some of the people I wanted to be like when I grew up. One was Uncle Milton. He always said, “If you will say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ along with ‘you’re welcome,’ you can make friends and get along with most everyone.” Since he was so well liked, I tried hard to practice what he said.
Then I thought about my cousin Garn. To me he was a great horseman and cowboy. Garn came by our house and showed me the rope tricks and fancy riding he could do. He used me in one of the tricks he did: He loped his horse almost at a run. Then, as he went by, he reached down and grabbed me under my arms and swung me up on the horse with him.
Garn had surprised me the first time he snatched me off the ground. Once I got over the shock and got my breath back, I asked him to do it again. After just a few times, I felt secure with his strong arms around me, and we soon had the trick worked out so it looked smooth and easy.
The first time Mother saw Garn and me do the snatch-up trick, she was upset. “What if you drop Adam, and he breaks something?”
Garn didn’t have much to say, so I came to his defense. “We’ve done it lots of times, and nothing has happened.”
Father put his arm around Mother and added, “It’s much safer than Adam’s riding a half-broken horse.”
Nothing more was said, but I knew that Mother worried.
A few days later I was showing off my little gray mare by loping her up and down the streets of town. I met my friend Marlene and asked her, “Would you like to learn the snatch-up trick?”
She just kept walking without answering me, so I asked again, adding, “I’ll give you a ride anywhere you want to go, if you will.”
She finally nodded. “OK.”
I rode down the street, turned the horse around, and loped toward her. As I got close, I leaned over in the saddle and got a firm grip on the horse with my knees, just like Garn did. Then I reached under her arms to pick her up.
She was heavier than I thought, but I got her up off the ground without slipping out of the saddle. I just had to swing her up in front of me. But her long dress flew up and spooked the little gray horse. It shied, and I lost my hold and dropped Marlene.
Before I could get the frightened horse stopped, Marlene had scrambled up and run down the street and into her house. I assumed she was all right and went on home.
The next evening Mother said, “Doctor Meeks has been at Marlene’s house. He had to set her broken arm. When Father gets home, he and I have something to say to you.”
While I waited for Father, I learned that the break was just below the elbow and that Doctor Meeks had said it would probably heal as good as new. He’d had to pull the bones back in place before putting on a cast, though, and she’d cried hard.
Father came home and said, “Adam, do you know that what you did was wrong?”
“I guess I shouldn’t have tried to do the snatch-up trick with her.”
“I will pay the doctor. What do you think that you should do?”
“Well, she said she’d do the trick with me, and it wasn’t my fault the horse shied.”
“While you are thinking about what you did not do, and about what you need to do to make amends, you are not to get on a horse—yours or anyone else’s—until Marlene’s arm is well. You are not to accept rides on wagons or buggies, either. In other words, wherever you need to go, you will walk!”
So I walked. I walked for more than eight weeks. When my friends found out what happened, they made sure to ride by me on their horses and say things like, “Adam, are you practicing to be a foot soldier?”
I also had to get up much earlier in the morning to get to the fields to work, and I got home long after everyone else, usually to a supper of cold leftovers, like tonight. I started to avoid people and went out of my way when I saw someone coming who I was sure would ask, “Adam, how much longer are you going to be walking?” And I started to think about why I was in this fix. I had made a mistake, and someone else had been hurt. Each step I took seemed to pound that fact more firmly in my head. I started to pray as I walked—for Marlene and for me.
Last week Doctor Meeks passed me in his buggy. I waved him to a stop and asked, “Doctor, how much longer do you think it will be until Marlene’s arm will be better?”
“Well,” he said, “we set it right, and she’s been careful. She was given a priesthood blessing of healing by her father, so I haven’t worried about her. Usually six weeks is long enough for that bone to heal, but we didn’t get hers set until the next day, remember, so it may take at least two more weeks. Then it should be as good as new, and she’ll probably forget all about it, except when she sees you.”
Doc reached over and tousled my hair. “Be careful, Adam. No more trick riding. I have enough sick people to take care of without you helping to make more.”
He clicked to his horse and went on down the road, leaving me to walk on alone.
When the two weeks had passed, I started looking forward to church so I could see if Marlene had the cast off her arm. She still had it on last Sunday, and it had been a few days more than eight weeks since the fall. The past three nights I had walked by her house, hoping to see her without the cast. I was sure people were saying, “There is that Adam. Let him walk and let it be a lesson to him.”
I was feeling pretty bad tonight as I came to our street. Then I remembered that my Uncle Milton’s advice was not just to say “please” and “thank you” but also “I’m sorry” and “It was my fault.”
I hurried past our house and went up to Marlene’s door and knocked. She called out, “Just a minute, please.”
It was a long minute before she answered the door. I just stood there looking down at my dusty shoes. Then I looked up at her. Her arm was still in the cast, and it was a bit soiled. I looked her in the eye. “Marlene … I’m sorry. Really! It was all my fault. I hope sometime you can forgive me.”
She let me stand there a moment longer. Then she said, “I’m glad you came, Adam. Your mother said that you would probably remember to come and say you were sorry for what happened before the doctor took the cast off. You made it—it comes off tomorrow.” She smiled. “Last night I prayed you would come today.”
“And you’ll forgive me?” I asked.
“Yes, I forgive you.”
I felt so warm inside as I walked home that I didn’t even mind the idea of one more cold supper.

When I was 16, my friend Shruti and I were adventure-hunting on a trail when we found a breathtaking waterfall that fell 80 feet next to a small beach. We were on a cliff toward the top of the waterfall and decided we would climb down the cliff so we could make it to the beach below and go exploring.
There was a fence that stood between us and the path down the cliff with a sign that said: “Warning: No Trespassing.” But we were in search of adventure and wouldn’t let a sign stand in our way.
We climbed over the fence and slowly started down the cliff. The descent was exhilarating. When we finally got to the bottom of the waterfall, we were excited.
However, it didn’t take us long to figure out what we had done. We were at the bottom of the cliff with the tide coming in. Climbing back up looked much more difficult than coming down had been. At any time the tide could come in and carry us out to sea.
When we were at the top of the cliff we had choices. We could have kept walking on the trail, we could have gone back to the car, and we could have simply enjoyed the view. But because we chose to ignore the warnings, now our only choices were to be washed out to sea or to climb back up the steep cliff.
Our decisions in life affect us the same way. When we choose the right, we have more choices and more freedom. But when we make choices contrary to the will of the Lord, our options become more and more limited until we are enslaved by our choices and lose our freedom.
Shruti and I did what we should all do when we’ve fallen into this trap. We knelt down and confessed to Heavenly Father that we had made a wrong choice and that we needed His help to fix it.
The climb back to the top of the cliff was slow and hard, but with the Lord’s help we made it. From this experience I learned that all of our choices have consequences, but Heavenly Father is willing to help us if we turn to Him.

I thought other youth would be interested in hearing about the Punta Arenas Branch, southernmost branch of the Church in the world, I believe. When Isaiah said, “… utter it even to the end of the earth,” he must have been referring to Punta Arenas, Chile! We’re on the Straights of Magellan, facing Tierra del Fuego. The wildlife and beauty of the Patagonia is outstanding: sharp green mountains, grazed by guanacos; blue waters filled with trout and salmon; and birdlife ranging from parrots to ostriches, ducks, swans, flamingos, and an occasional penguin.
Our branch is at the tender age of four years and has a membership of two hundred Saints. Jaime, our MIA president, and Carlos, an MIA officer, both youth, have been working all year to save enough money to cover their traveling expenses to the international youth conference to be held in Arica, Chile, at the northern end of the country. It’s been a long, hard job, involving window cleaning, cakes sales, and cleaning houses, but they have finally made it. That’s what it means to be a Latter-day Saint down here.
Elder Gary WeldChile Mission

“But they won’t want to go,” Tad insisted.
Brother Feagin thought for a moment and then said, “Do you know how many years Sister Arnold has been a widow?” We shook our heads.
“Thirty-five years. Her husband was killed when she was 42. She had eight kids under 18. She went back to college, got a degree, and then taught for the next 19 years. She didn’t have much time for a social life. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go 35 years without a date? That’s twice as long as you’ve been alive. People never outgrow their need for doing things with other people. Oh, she’s gone to a church dance occasionally, but always with a couple, always feeling like a fifth wheel. Now she has a chance to go out and be the main wheel. Going with someone young enough to be her grandkid won’t be ideal, but it beats staying home for 35 years.”

“I want to go to school like Christopher does,” grumbled Sarah as she watched the school bus pull away from the curb.
“You can go to school when you are five,” her mom assured her. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
“Carry me,” Sarah demanded.
“I can’t, I’m carrying Adam,” Mom answered. “I’m not strong enough to carry both of you. I can hold your hand if you’d like.”
Sarah took hold of the hand that Mother offered her. “But I wanted you to carry me,” she complained as they walked back into the house.
Sarah climbed up onto the couch. “It’s no fun being three,” she muttered. “Three-year-olds don’t get to do anything.”
Adam had fallen asleep, so Mom carefully placed him in the playpen. Then she sat next to Sarah, lifting the unhappy girl onto her lap. “Christopher goes to kindergarten—that’s what five-year-olds do,” Mom said. “Adam’s taking a nap—that’s what babies do. Let’s think of some things that three-year-olds do.”
“Like what?” Sarah demanded.
“Well, you can play with your modeling clay, or you can have a doll party, or I can push you in the swing, or you can do something else that you choose. What do you think?”
Sarah’s face brightened. “I want to paint, then have a fun party for my dolls, and then make cookies.”
Mom smiled, glad to see Sarah returning to her happy self. “All right,” Mom said, “let’s get you started.” She stood up and lifted Sarah high in the air before putting her down.
Sarah giggled. “And then I want to build a house out of my building blocks. Then I want to swing. Then I want to play with my clay. Then—”
“Slow down!” Mom laughed. “There are a lot of things that three-year-olds can do, but I don’t think that you can do them all today.”
“Maybe not, but I can try!”
Mom got out paper and paints and filled a cup with water for Sarah to dip her paintbrush into. “I know one more thing that three-year-olds get to do,” Mom said as she helped Sarah into her booster seat.
“What?” Sarah asked.
“When we go to church, you go to the nursery. But in January, all the children in the nursery who have turned three will go to Primary.”
“And I’ll go to class with Christopher?”
“Well, you’ll be in different classes, but you’ll go to Sharing Time together,” Mom explained. “And I think that you’ll enjoy Primary. It’s one of the best things about being three.”
Sarah carefully dabbed eyelashes on the big happy face that she had painted. “This is how I’m going to look when I go to Primary,” she said. “I love being three.”

“Look, the baby is blind. It doesn’t have any eyes!” Incredulously the nurses crowded around to see the newborn infant just beginning to become pink after his journey into this world. Yes, it was true. The baby was blind. There were no eyes where eyes belonged. The mother, a beautiful nurse, and the father, a medical student, would have to be told. How would they react?
No, our Father doesn’t promise us immunity from trouble, and so it was with the mother and the blind baby. That child was accepted with love, cared for with kindness. The parents are more empathetic, more concerned, more Christlike because of their response to a heartrending problem.

At Deseret Press, Brother Monson helped President J. Reuben Clark Jr. prepare his manuscript Our Lord of the Gospels for publication. They met regularly for months in President Clark’s office. The relationship that developed between them was almost that of father and son. When Thomas S. Monson was called to preside over the Canadian Mission, he took Frances and the children to visit President Clark. As Frances was carrying her third child, the Monsons said it would be named after him were it a boy. When told the child would be called Clark, the president urged, “Don’t be afraid of ‘Joshua Reuben.’” When Clark Spencer Monson was born in Toronto, Canada, the parents informed President Clark by wire. He responded with a classic letter (a Monson family treasure) addressed to the baby.

And the missionaries were grateful for chances to share their testimonies. One day when they were running drills with the Russian team, an interpreter asked, “What training methods do you use?”
Elder Condie hesitated. The mission president had said the elders could practice only on Saturday mornings and play games only on Wednesday nights. They were missionaries first, so they didn’t train more than that. He wasn’t sure what to tell the interpreter about why their team did so well. Then an idea came.
“The Word of Wisdom,” Elder Condie said. The interpreter looked confused. “We don’t drink coffee, tea, or alcohol, or smoke tobacco,” Elder Condie explained. At that time lots of people drank and smoked, even athletes.
When the interpreter told the Russian team what Elder Condie said, they just stared. They were amazed at how long the missionaries could play before getting tired. Because the Mormon Yankees followed the Word of Wisdom, their bodies were healthy and strong.

I’m pretty hard-core into athletics, especially basketball. I just like to compete. And that is partly why I had to face an eight-hour open-heart surgery at 14 years old.
I was born with a defect in one of my heart valves. At first, the doctors said I would probably need surgery when I was old—after I retired, maybe. But over time, the problem got worse, largely because of how intensely I play sports.
During one visit in the fall, the doctor said I’d probably need the surgery in the next year or two. In the meantime, I ran cross-country at school. But instead of my running times getting better, they got worse. That’s how I knew there was something really wrong.
We visited the doctor again in March. During the visit, I felt like I should get the surgery even sooner than we had planned. I started to get a warm spiritual feeling inside. That personal revelation brought me some comfort. Suddenly I heard myself saying that I wanted the surgery as soon as possible. My parents were a bit scared at first, but I told them, “I’m at peace. How soon can we do this?” We scheduled the surgery for April.
In hard times, I know Jesus Christ is always there for me. I can always pray to Heavenly Father, and it helps.
I had faith that everything would work out, but the day of the surgery was still scary. It all hit me at once, walking into that room. I remember shaking. My anesthesiologist really helped me in that moment. I’m grateful for all the people who helped me through that whole experience. I also had heavenly help. For example, my entire ward held a fast for me, and I really felt the power of fasting and prayer.
These days my heart is doing great. If I hadn’t had the surgery, I could have died within two years. Now I have a full life expectancy.
This whole experience has changed my perspective. I see everybody differently as they go through their trials. I feel greater empathy for them. I’ll occasionally see someone and sense that they’re dealing with something tough, and then I go over and help them.

Micki Adams, West Point Stake Young Women president, and Annice Nixon, her second counselor, spearheaded the bear project. They approached Captain K. D. Simpson of the Davis County Sheriff’s Department with the idea of placing teddy bears with the sheriff’s paramedic and patrol units.
Captain Simpson told them that children are involved in approximately 45 percent of all the calls for services by the Davis County Paramedics.
Sister Adams read a newspaper article about a Montana group who donated teddy bears to a paramedic organization. She brought up the idea at a Young Women presidency meeting, and the theme “Teddy Bear Picnic” was selected for the Young Women birthday party.
Knowing how anxious children are when confronting a policeman or a paramedic, the Young Women decided that they would create teddy bears to help. “We wanted to give the child something to focus on beside his pain,” Sister Adams said. “We wanted to give him something to hold on to and to love.”
When the young women gathered for a stake Young Women birthday party, they met to begin clipping, turning, stuffing and hand finishing 285 bears.
Lori Ellsworth, a Beehive in the West Point Third Ward, said, “The first bear was hard to make until I got the hang of it. But it was worth it because it would help someone in pain.”
Ninety bears were completed that evening. The girls took the rest of the bears home to finish on their own.
The bears are eight inches tall and made from scraps donated by the stake Young Women presidency. The West Point Stake Relief Society donated most of the stuffing.
The Davis County Sheriff’s Department received 100 teddy bears. Captain Simpson said it is policy now for a paramedic or a sheriff on a call to give any child involved under the age of ten a bear. However, young children have not been the only recipients. The paramedics gave a bear to an 80-year-old woman who suffered a stroke. “It was the only thing that calmed her down,” said Captain Simpson. “She wouldn’t let go of the bear.”
The local hospital received another 100 teddy bears that were hung on a Christmas tree. Children admitted to the hospital were able to choose which one they wanted.
Captain Simpson said, “At first the paramedics weren’t too sure about using the bears. It wasn’t macho. It took two or three times using the bears before they realized how well they worked. Now if they don’t have enough, they get more. They count on them when working with children.”
Captain Simpson, who is also a flight paramedic, saw firsthand how effective the bears can be. Twelve-year-old Nicole Wallace had to be flown by helicopter from one hospital to another. She was bleeding internally from a lacerated kidney and liver suffered in an automobile accident. She refused to give up her bear even when the paramedics needed to transfer her from one gurney to another. She finally gave it up just before undergoing surgery.
Nicole lives in the West Point Sixth Ward but had not yet turned 12 when her friends had made the green spotted bear the paramedics gave her after the accident.
“The paramedics had to take the seat out. Then they took me out of the back window. When they put me in the ambulance, they gave me this cute little bear,” Nicole said. “It kept me from getting scared. I would hold on to it, so I wouldn’t hurt so bad. In the hospital it stayed right by me in my bed.”
Jennifer Techmeyer, a Beehive in the West Point Seventh Ward, said, “I thought it was really great to make something to put in the ambulance for the kids. I thought it was special to donate our love to them.”

Even worthwhile endeavors need evaluation in order to determine if they have become distractions from the best goals. I had a memorable discussion with my father when I was a teenager. He did not believe enough young people were focused on or preparing for long-term important goals—like employment and providing for families.
Meaningful study and preparatory work experience were always at the top of my father’s recommended priorities. He appreciated that extracurricular activities like debate and student government might have a direct connection with some of my important goals. He was less certain about the extensive time I spent participating in football, basketball, baseball, and track. He acknowledged that athletics could build strength, endurance, and teamwork but asserted that perhaps concentrating on one sport for a shorter time would be better. In his view, sports were good but not the best for me. He was concerned that some sports were about building local celebrity or fame at the expense of more important long-term goals.
Given this history, one of the reasons I like the account of Lucy playing baseball is that, in my father’s view, I should have been studying foreign policy and not worrying about whether I was going to catch a ball. I should make it clear that my mother loved sports. It would have taken a hospitalization for her to miss one of my games.
I had decided to follow my dad’s advice and not play intercollegiate sports in college. Then our high school football coach informed me that the Stanford football coach wanted to have lunch with Merlin Olsen and me. Those of you who are younger may not know Merlin. He was an incredible all-American tackle on the Logan High School football team where I played quarterback and safety and returned kickoffs and punts. In high school Merlin was recruited by most football powers across the nation. In college he won the Outland Trophy as the nation’s best interior lineman. Merlin was ultimately the third overall pick in the National Football League draft and played in an amazing 14 consecutive Pro Bowls. He was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1982.
The lunch with the Stanford coach was at the Bluebird restaurant in Logan, Utah. After we shook hands, he never once made eye contact with me. He talked directly to Merlin but ignored me. At the end of the lunch, for the first time, he turned toward me, but he could not remember my name. He then informed Merlin, “If you choose Stanford and want to bring your friend with you, he has good enough grades and it could probably be arranged.” This experience confirmed for me that I should follow my dad’s wise counsel.

It has been a privilege to seal several adopted children to Nan and Dan Barker, now living in Arizona. Some time ago, Nate, their son, then just over three, said: “Mommy, there is another little girl who is supposed to come to our family. She has dark hair and dark eyes and lives a long way from here.”
The wise mother asked, “How do you know this?”
“Jesus told me, upstairs.”
The mother noted, “We don’t have an upstairs,” but quickly sensed the significance of what had been said. After much effort and many prayers, the Barker family was in a sealing room in the Salt Lake Temple in the fall of 1995—where a little girl with dark hair and dark eyes, from Kazakhstan, was sealed to them for time and eternity. Inspired children still tell parents “great and marvelous things” (see 3 Ne. 26:14).

Last year in my fourth-grade class there was a boy whom nobody respected. At lunch our table always got really crowded, and no one would scoot over for him. I knew that this wasn’t right, so whenever he asked me to scoot over, I did. One day one of my friends asked, “Why do you always scoot over for him?” I answered, “That’s what I’d like someone to do for me.” I know that when I scooted over he appreciated it. I felt good inside too, because I believe that it was what Jesus would have done.