Gospel Story Finder

Back in my home city, I attended my new ward and was even given callings. I tried to remain active, but everything in life felt like it was against me, resulting in my dwindling church attendance.
I continued along on a crazy rollercoaster ride through life but never lost faith in what I believed in. I knew that the Church held the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ and everything I needed in life.
I had occasionally attended different wards during those years of being less active and saw the difference between being welcomed and being unnoticed. Fortunately, missionaries bridged the gap and ministered to my needs until I finally came back to church. My home ward truly welcomed me home. I felt like I belonged the moment I stepped through the doors. Because of those welcoming members, I continued to attend and enjoy all the blessings of the gospel.

That’s when I really got to know my Mormon friend, Walt. When everybody else was partying, he and I would find something better to do. Walt made it easy for me to be good because I knew he didn’t drink or smoke, so I never felt any pressure to either.
Walt didn’t swear, and he was always correcting me when I did. He was polite and well mannered (most of the time), and when I was around him, I felt I should try to act a little better myself. He was a serious athlete, as I was, but he also took his studies just as seriously. He studies hard and got good grades (something I did only occasionally). Being friends with Walt didn’t make me perfect, but it showed me how I could improve.
Of course, Walt also put a little friendly peer pressure on me about his church. “Hey, Chris,” he’d say, “you might as well be a Mormon—you don’t drink, smoke, or use drugs. You’re practically a Mormon anyway.” As we became better friends, we talked about his church a lot, and I started to meet other Latter-day Saint youth.
One of them was Walt’s girlfriend, Liz. She was an attractive, cheerful Mormon girl whom I used to tease unmercifully. Liz was the perfect lady, and as we got to know each other better, her good influence began to change me. I stopped swearing. And, most important of all, I became interested in the Church.
It wasn’t easy for me, a Catholic, to consider changing my religion, but good friends like Walt and Liz made it easier for me to investigate the Church. Liz encouraged me to seek out the truth and to do what was right. And when I had gained a testimony, she and Walt gave me the strength and courage I needed to go through with my decision to get baptized.
I know much has been said about how bad peer pressure can be, and it can be very bad. But when I look back on the friends I’ve enjoyed associating with, I’d say that peer pressure can be very good too. My friends have helped me to become a better person than I would have been without them.

He slapped his chunky palms on the table again. “Make da win stop—now,” he yelled. His face turned beet red.
She hadn’t seen Scotty this disturbed before. She felt a little frightened and wondered what would happen if she couldn’t distract him or change his mind. But worse than the fear of what he might do, his stubbornness and anger grated still tender wounds. It felt too much like when Mom and Dad had separated. Six eternal months ago. Impasse. No solution. They had been stubborn. They still were.
When she let herself, she could still hear the echoes of the fights, the name calling, the doors slamming. As terrible as those were, they were better than the deafening silences that followed. Her world had tilted, and her order slid out of control.
She often wondered if Dad’s business failure was the real cause of the trouble. All she knew for sure was that it seemed to start when the money wasn’t there any more. No new clothes. Bill collectors on the phone and at the door. For a month after the separation she sulked, mad at the world, mad at her parents, and mad at Heavenly Father. Stubborn was the reason the family was apart now. Mom and Dad both demanding that something change, when it couldn’t. Stubborn—like Scotty, only worse. They knew better. They went to church, they used to pray, and the family used to work. Scotty was stubborn. They chose it. The anger was back. If she wasn’t careful, it would come pouring out, out of control like it sometimes did. It would land on Scotty and that wasn’t fair.
It was plain though that Scotty wasn’t going to eat lunch unless she made the wind stop. Maybe if she said a prayer. The divorce had taught her about prayer. When her parents first separated, she almost blamed Heavenly Father for the pain she was feeling. At night she muffled her sobs with a tear-soaked pillow until she fell asleep. In the morning she was never sure if it was anger, or loss, or confusion that greeted her first. Finally, though, when it was all more than she could bear, she had learned to ask for help, and the Savior’s healing hand would touch her heart for a moment while he retrieved from some lost corner of darkness, her peace—the peace that kept slipping away, but not so fast anymore.

That same patience and gratitude deepened the love in her marriage. One daughter, Louise, who later became the seventh general president of the Relief Society, says that the only time she saw Elizabeth cry was when a cat knocked down the shelves in the cabin and broke that precious china. Thomas ordered the first set of Haviland that ZCMI shipped into the territory to replace it—a measure of love indeed, for they were struggling to make a living in Scipio, Utah, where he served as bishop and she as Relief Society president.

On top of my desk sits a bright blue beanbag. On each side is a yellow sun. The beanbag sits there to remind me of a personal miracle I call “Sunbeam love.”
It began with a call to teach Primary a few months after I returned to Church activity. My past struggles had led to renewed spiritual commitments, and I was eager to serve.
My first day teaching a group of Sunbeams convinced me I was far from ready. As I met the children, I was shocked at how far down I had to look to find the tops of their little heads. Their faces looked up at me apprehensively.
For an introduction I had planned a beanbag game—with an oversized beanbag I had made myself. With the first toss, I knew immediately I had overestimated the size of these children. The throw sent a wide-eyed girl sailing backwards as she bravely absorbed the bag’s impact.
At home that night, I pleaded with Heavenly Father for help. How do I relate to such tiny, tender beings? Suddenly my vision focused on a picture on my wall. It was a portrait of Jesus Christ holding a small child. I studied the expression of love depicted in Christ’s eyes. How much He must love children! How He desires to reassure them of His love! I then realized with perfect clarity that this was exactly what the Savior wanted me to do: to love them in a way that would reassure them of His love.
It was a simple answer. But to me, it seemed I had been asked to perform a miracle. Six painful years as a stepparent, followed by a divorce, had left my heart numb—especially to the idea of loving someone else’s children. Throughout the night I struggled to reconcile the conflict in my heart. It was only after hours of praying that the Spirit convinced me I could change.
From that Sunday forth, a personal miracle began to unfold. Each week during Primary, I was guided by the Spirit in the art of loving. And throughout the year, I was loved in return. There were excited waves across the chapel during sacrament meeting, shouted greetings from grocery store aisles, and gifts of oddly shaped cookies.
Panic set in as the year concluded and my glorious row of Sunbeams graduated. My heart ached wildly for my little friends. Feeling abandoned, I sat numbly, surrounded by eight tiny strangers.
Then came the introductory beanbag game. As I picked up the worn, oversized bag, I paused, remembering a similar Sunday a year before. How overwhelmed I had felt then! And how far I had come! The memories attending this familiar beanbag fueled me with hope. As I met each pair of bright eyes, I saw their pleading looks, “Please love me, too.”
And so I did.

For some time I had wanted to take pictures of Temple Square in Salt Lake City—including the reflection pool, the fountains, and the sidewalks—covered with freshly fallen snow void of any footprints. To get a picture of fresh snow without footprints, I knew I had to arrive at Temple Square early in the morning following a nighttime snowstorm.
One evening after a forecast of snow overnight, I prepared myself. Because Temple Square groundskeepers start plowing the sidewalks at 5:00 a.m., I set my alarm for 3:00 a.m. and got my gear together.
Driving on unplowed roads the next morning, I arrived at Temple Square at 4:15 a.m. while it was still snowing. Then I proceeded to drive around the square, looking for someplace to park that would give me easy access to take pictures.
On my first pass around Temple Square, I noticed that the walkway to the entrance of the Salt Lake Temple was covered in fresh snow—without any footprints! I knew I was going to get my perfect photo. Excited, I drove around the block again to find a parking spot.
As I proceeded east on North Temple Street, I thought I would find a spot close to the walkway. Before I realized it, however, I had run out of parking spots and was again near the sidewalk to the temple entrance.
As I sat at a red light, I looked to my right at the fresh, undisturbed snow. When I looked to my left toward the Conference Center, I noticed an elderly woman dressed in her Sunday best, her head tilted into the falling snow as she headed toward the temple.
“Oh, no,” I thought. “I’m not going to get my shot!”
As the woman crossed in front of me, I turned and looked toward the soon-to-be-ruined walkway and saw that another sister had already gone down the walkway and was turning into the temple entrance. Then I looked back to the first sister now walking down the walkway. With snow clumped around her shoes and ankles, and following the footsteps of the first, she walked slowly but surely down the walkway, through the gates, and into the entrance to the temple.
As I contemplated what I was seeing, I looked at the clock in my car: 4:20 a.m. Sitting in my warm car and looking at the footsteps in the freshly fallen snow, I was humbled by the faithfulness of these two sisters on their way to perform their appointed duties.
I drove around the block again, parked, grabbed my camera, and took a picture of footprints in the snow—a far greater picture than the one I had envisioned.

One afternoon in the fall of 1974, I received a letter, forwarded to me from my parents’ address. I recognized neither the name Lois Muntz nor the Michigan return address on the thick envelope. I began reading the first page, which alluded to the time when I had been a missionary in Libertyville, Illinois. The letter told of a family moving to several different states and being “found” by missionaries wherever they happened to settle and then told of their baptism in June 1974 and the subsequent death of the father not many months later. I was still puzzled as to the identity of the writer when I reached the end of the letter.
Suddenly, it all became clear to me. I could picture the exact circumstances of this long-since-forgotten acquaintance. My mind went back to July 1966 when Roger Allred and I were missionary companions in Libertyville. The name Muntz had appeared on a list of recent move-ins to the area. The list had been supplied to us as ministers by some local organization.
Soon after, we called at the address, a small brick home facing west. The young couple was refinishing their hardwood floor. They told us they were busy and asked us to come back. We’d heard the “busy-come-back” routine many times when people were trying to tell us in a nice way that they just weren’t interested. So we dutifully placed their name on our call-back list, then proceeded to forget about them.
One night weeks later, an appointment fell through. The family we’d lined up to teach a discussion to decided they weren’t interested and sent us away. My companion and I were downhearted, of course, and the rain only added to our misery. We returned dejectedly to our upstairs apartment in the home of an elderly lady and changed into dry clothes.
“What do we do now?” we asked each other. Elder Allred and I were both approaching the end of our missions and were especially anxious to be productive. Tracting in the rain wasn’t such a great idea, yet we couldn’t see wasting the entire evening just because one family didn’t want to hear the gospel. So we got down on our knees and asked our Father to help us do something worthwhile that night.
When we finished, we both had a distinct impression that we should visit the Muntz home. The only question was, who are the Muntzes? Then we had some faint recollection that their name had been on a new move-in list, which we no longer had. But I remembered the brick home on the east side of the street in the south part of town somewhere. So we left once more in the rain and drove around the south part of town until we found it.
We knocked on the door, and Lois Muntz invited us in. There were two small girls, one in diapers. The family welcomed us, and that night we taught them the first discussion and left a copy of the Book of Mormon. We also bore our testimonies. Naturally, we were very encouraged with their attitude and made an appointment for the following week.
When we returned to teach the second discussion, we never got in the house. They informed us that they had discussed our visit with family and friends and had been given some information about Mormons. (Actually, it was anti-Mormon literature.) To continue the lessons at that time would, for them, cause discord and confusion with their families, they said. We tried to answer some of their objections, but they asked us not to come back. We couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong when we knew the Lord had sent us there.
“Well, if you ever do join the Church, let me know,” I said as we left. I didn’t hear from the Muntz family again after that until the letter.
In it Sister Muntz told me how she and her husband had known the Church was true that very first night when Elder Allred and I had borne our testimonies, but, both having been raised strictly in another faith, neither dared tell the other. And as they were taught by missionaries in various states during the next several years, they strengthened their testimonies of the truth but would not be baptized because of their families’ objections. At last, nearly eight years after we had knocked on their door and introduced them to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, they decided they must be baptized. This was accomplished in June 1974.
In September, Brother Muntz was killed by a drunken driver who hit his car head-on. Because they had not been members for one year yet, the family hadn’t been to the temple. But the work was done vicariously for Brother Muntz, and he, his wife, and three daughters were sealed in the Washington Temple in December 1975.
I am grateful that Elder Allred and I had the faith to ask the Lord what to do that night ten years ago and then do what He told us to do, despite the rain and cold. And I am grateful we had the courage to bear our testimonies, for it was not the lesson or the logic of our discussion that converted the Muntzes, but the humble testimonies of two young missionaries who had listened and obeyed the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
There are many experiences in missionary work; some are not fruitful at all. Some carry with them great rewards, though all are not immediate as this story testifies. It was nine and a half years before this family was finally sealed for time and eternity. This is the end of my telling but certainly not the end of this missionary story, for there will yet be much missionary work done by this family, both living and dead.

“Finish your drawings, class. It’s almost time for recess,” Mrs. Johnson said.
The students hurried to finish their pictures, put away the crayons, and put on their coats.
Abbey looked up from her picture as the other children ran off, then she slowly colored a few more details. There was no hurry. Nobody ever wanted to play with her anyway.
Abbey sighed, stood up, and walked to the coat rack to grab her coat. Then she slowly walked out to her favorite tree and sat down. She looked toward the playground, where the other children were laughing and having fun. Being the new girl was hard. She missed Arizona. Before she moved she had lots of friends, and she never had to sit by herself during recess.
Abbey looked down and saw a flash of silver in the grass. It was her CTR ring! She had lost it yesterday during recess. “Well, at least I have my ring back,” she said out loud as she put the ring on her finger.
Abbey noticed a girl walking her way. She had long blonde hair that swayed back and forth with every step. It was Laurel, one of the most popular girls in class. Laurel sat down beside Abbey.
“Hi, Abbey,” Laurel said. “Do you want to play with me?”
Abbey nodded her head eagerly. “Sure. What should we do first?”
“Let’s go swing,” Laurel said.
After having a contest to see who could swing the highest, the girls talked and giggled at the edge of the playground. Abbey felt so happy. She hadn’t felt this good since before she moved.
Abbey noticed Laurel eyeing the nearby gravel path that led away from the school grounds.
“Abbey, my house is only one block from here, and my mom just bought some cookies,” Laurel said. “We could run there, grab some cookies, and be back before recess is over. No one would miss us.”
Abbey was surprised. Everyone knew that leaving the school grounds during school hours was against the rules. “But what about your mom? Won’t she be there?” Abbey asked.
“Nope. She’s at work today,” Laurel said.
Abbey knew that leaving the school grounds was wrong, but Laurel was the first person in her class to pay any attention to her, and she desperately wanted to have her as a friend. If she refused to go, Abbey was afraid Laurel might make fun of her. Then she’d never have any friends.
Abbey looked down at her CTR ring. She remembered her Primary teacher saying that even though it can be hard to choose the right sometimes, Heavenly Father blesses us when we do.
“Sorry, Laurel,” Abbey said. “I can’t go with you. It’s against the rules.” Abbey looked at Laurel expectantly, waiting to see how she would react.
Instead of getting angry, Laurel just shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, well. I thought you’d probably say that,” Laurel said. “Maybe instead I could ask my mom if you could come over tomorrow after school. Then we can still have some of those cookies.”
Abbey grinned. “That sounds great,” she said. “Hey, do you want to go collect some leaves for next week’s art project?”
Laurel nodded, and the two new friends skipped back to the big tree.

Brad Lau doesn’t swear. He wouldn’t think of watching an inappropriate movie. While other guys listen to heavy metal in the locker room, Brad sings hymns he’s learned in ward choir. He never drinks or smokes, and he always minds his mother.
Oh, and he also happens to be a six-foot, 240-pound, all-state fullback who benches 350 and rushed for over 2,000 yards and scored 49 touchdowns during his high school career in Boise, Idaho.
Of all Brad’s statistics, perhaps the most noteworthy is “0.” That’s the number of times he’s used profanity since he started playing football.
A football player who never swears? It may be hard to believe, but Brad’s teammates say it’s true.
“When Brad gets mad on the field, he just shakes his head,” says quarterback Mitch Rasmussen. “He just turns red—beet red,” says tight end Mike Kelley. “He might look like he’s close to swearing, but he never lets it go,” says offensive lineman Nate Black. “He just unleashes a huge hit,” says strong safety Terry Deeble with a knowing grin.
And when Brad takes a hit? “I just say ‘ouch,’” says Brad, shrugging his enormous shoulders.
How does Brad refrain from swearing even in a high-tension sport in which cussing is so common?
For one thing, he avoids profanity in the music, television, and movies he chooses. “Obviously, I can’t go around and control what people say, but I can control what I watch and listen to.”
Although he doesn’t control others, Brad does try to have a positive influence in whatever environment he is in. “In the weight room, kids’ll play trashy CDs. I’ll turn it to something else, and some guys’ll say, ‘Why can’t we listen to this?’ If I ask nicely, ‘Can we listen to something else for a while?’ then they will.”
“When Brad picks the music, they’ll always give him a hard time, but it’s all in good fun,” says Terry.
And in the locker room, especially notorious for filthy talk and music, Brad says he likes to sing hymns.
A football player who sings hymns in the locker room? “Not only that, when Brad starts singing, other guys join in,” says Mitch.
Laughing, Brad recalls, “I remember once after practice I was singing, ‘How Great Thou Art.’ I guess other religions know it too, because all of a sudden even all the non-LDS guys started joining in. I was really surprised!”
So don’t people think Brad’s a little … well, strange?
“Actually, everyone looks up to Brad,” says Steve Warren, a Catholic teammate from high school. “He sets a good example. Everybody just considers him a friend.”
“Guys will tease him a lot, but then they’ll say, ‘Man, I wish I could be like that,’” says Mitch. “They respect him because they see someone who doesn’t back down.”
“And he’s nice to everyone,” says Terry. “I’ve never heard him say a mean thing.”
Perhaps that’s another key to Brad’s abstaining from profanity. He’s won people’s respect, so people respect his standards when they’re around him.
Says Steve, “When I’m around other people, every once in a while a swear word slips out. But when I’m around Brad, I just don’t do it.”
Mike nods his head in agreement. “There were even a couple of times when the coaches were swearing and just started apologizing right away. They weren’t even looking at Brad; they just knew he was around somewhere!”
Brad says when people do swear around him, he uses good-natured humor to encourage them to stop. “I’ll just jokingly say, ‘Heeeeey. Use substitute words!’ I have a good time with everybody.”
“During football season he started telling other players he was going to charge them money for every swear word they said. Some words were worth a quarter, some a dime, and some five cents,” says Steve.
“I didn’t keep track, so I never made any money,” Brad says with a smile.

Seminary students know there is an art to breaking in a new copy of the scriptures. The Ada Branch of the Norman Oklahoma Stake demonstrated the technique at a Super Saturday.
At the beginning of the seminary year, Jim, Alice, Chris, and Santee purchased brand-new copies with a sturdy black cover of imitation leather, designed to withstand being handled, used, held, and opened quickly in scripture chases; studied in cars on the way to Super Saturdays; and carried to class. When new, the pages stick together a little around the edges until fingers are slid between to separate them. Ada Branch’s scriptures had no sticky pages.
But still a few more refinements need to be made. The Norman seminary has a rule against using tags or bookmarks for marking references, but if in the heat of a scripture chase competition your book just happens to fall open to the right place because the page has been wrinkled, that’s fair. The pages are high quality, tissue-thin paper designed to resist tearing. They can withstand a little wrinkling. Of course, if you don’t know the reference, you won’t know which wrinkled page is the correct page. So Ada Branch was studying hard, learning references.
Seminary scriptures reach their ultimate usefulness when the student knows the feel and form of his own book so well that in looking up verses, it responds like a well-oiled instrument, an instrument of learning.
The Bibles of the Norman Oklahoma Stake seminary students were well oiled with use and study. Hands were itching to flip the pages to the correct reference. Students were on their toes while sitting down. It was Super Saturday with three favorite seminary activities—scripture chase, seminary bowl (which combines a New Era bowl with seminary lesson review), and a dance.
A Super Saturday in Oklahoma is like Super Saturdays all over. Seminary students drive miles from all over the far-flung stake and gather to compete and get to know each other better. During the car ride to the stake center, students quiz each other on past seminary lessons and recent copies of the New Era that might be used for questions in the seminary bowl. They create memory hooks to remember scripture references. “For the scripture about clean hands and pure heart,” said Chris Wade of the Ada Branch, “just remember palms to remind you of Psalms.”
“How am I going to remember the reference for the scripture that says, ‘I know that my redeemer liveth’?” asked another member of the Ada Branch team.
“I know how we can remember,” said Santee Wade, also of the Ada Branch. “Since it’s Job 19:25–26, how about this? I make 25 to 26 dollars an hour on 19th Street at my job.”
Making the extra effort to get an edge over their competition means extra study. One girl was overheard saying, “I studied every minute I could this week in between classes at school.” Since seminary is either held early-mornings or taken by home-study, it’s hard to get together with your team to review. Chris and Brad Hammock of the Noble Ward recruited their mother and sister to give them clues about things they studied in seminary and read in the New Era.
Competition is fun for these students, and, as Lana Lazenby, Norman Second Ward, put it, “It makes everyone study harder.”
The competition, held at the stake center, is split between two rooms. Home-study seminary students first compete in scripture chase while the early-morning students are holding a seminary bowl. The bowl competition consists of three teams of four with substitutes coming in and out between questions at each captain’s discretion. On the table in front of each student is a box with a button and a light. A quick tap on the button sounds a buzzer and lights the light. The first one to hit his button gets to answer the question. If he is wrong, then the buttons are reactivated and the other teams are given a second chance to answer.
The director asks a toss-up question. The team member that pushes the first button must answer the question without any help from team members. If the answer is correct, then the team is given a bonus question and the team may confer before giving the answer.
As each team seemed to gain momentum, the questions and answers flew fast and furious. “What project were the youth of the Bountiful Stake working on in the New Era article entitled ‘Captains of Ten’?” “Who became leader of the Israelites after Moses?” “What was the theme of the message by Elder Thomas Monson in the New Era article called ‘Crisis at the Crossroads’?” “Name the first five books of the Old Testament.” With good-natured groans at answers that just missed the mark and cheers with correct responses, the competition was exciting. After competing for her team, Marcia Garrett, Shawnee Ward, said, “I think this is great. But I read everything that they didn’t ask.” And Sandra Johnson, also of the Shawnee Ward, was plagued by a problem that many experience when under pressure. “With all these questions, my mind went blank.”
One team that did well had prepared. “We were hot,” said Melissa LeBlanc, Noble Ward. “We’ve been practicing on questions for the past few weeks.”
Although Danny Ellis’s Noble Ward team didn’t win the bowl competition, he summed up the feeling of many of the participants. “We got beat,” said Danny, “but we didn’t lose.” There are no losers when students are learning about the gospel.
At the Norman Oklahoma Stake Super Saturdays, competition is good-natured and fun. It’s a chance to review seminary lessons and get to know other members of the stake.
A New Era bowl is competition between two or more teams consisting of four members each. Questions based on selected copies of the New Era are asked by a moderator, and the first person from any team to answer correctly scores a certain number of points for his team. The team is then entitled to answer a bonus question. The team members may confer about it, but the answer is given by the captain.
Organization. The bowl should have a moderator who asks the questions, a judge who decides if an answer is adequate, a timer/scorekeeper, and as many teams of four as can be comfortably accommodated. If too many teams want to compete, perhaps two bowls could be held.
Game Apparatus. The ideal situation is to have an arrangement of buzzers with lights and a button in front of each contestant. When the first light is activated, it electronically exempts all other lights and buzzers from working. If this type of equipment is not available, the first person to raise his hand would be called on. The judge would decide whose hand was up first.
Time. The bowl can be held in two halves of about ten minutes each. Substitutions to teams can be made quickly only between questions, but the clock is not stopped. A short intermission of a minute or two can be held in between halves to let the teams relax for a moment.
Scoring. A toss-up question or question open to everyone is worth ten points. The player who hits his button first must answer the question immediately with out help from his team members. If he answers incorrectly, his team is penalized five points, and the other teams are given an opportunity to answer the question. If the other team also answers incorrectly, they are not penalized. The moderator then gives the correct answer and goes on to the next question.
If the player answers the question correctly, his team is awarded the ten points. The team may now answer the bonus question, which is worth five points. There is no penalty for answering the bonus question incorrectly. All team members may confer before the captain answers the question.
The game is over when the time runs out.

Sarah headed to the back of the room, where some of the popular girls in her class were waiting for her. As she passed Kathy, who was trying to finish her homework before class started, Kathy looked up and said, “Good morning, Sarah.”
Mr. Jones gave homework every night, and if it wasn’t handed in first thing, you had to stay in for both recesses.
“I see your ‘bosom buddy’ is trying to finish her homework—like always,” Roxanne sneered.
“She’s not my ‘bosom buddy,’ Roxanne. You know that.” Sarah felt the eyes of the other girls laughing at her.
The girls giggled as Roxanne went on, “Did you notice what she was wearing today? I wonder where she found that horrible sweater. It looks like a sweater my mom wore in high school.”
“Yeah, it looks like a two-for-one special from the Bargain Barn,” Rachel added.
“And we all know, ‘Two is better than one.’” Roxanne mimicked Crazy Barney from the Bargain Barn commercial. The other girls laughed.
Sarah felt bad for Kathy, but she wished Kathy would quit picking her out to talk to. It was embarrassing in front of these girls.
After school, Mom said, “Sarah, I talked to Sister Simpson today, and she was concerned. Her children don’t have any friends at school. Even the Latter-day Saint students aren’t nice to them. I’m sure that’s why the family hasn’t been to church. Her daughter is in your grade. Could you be her friend and invite her to Primary?”
“Sure, Mom, but there’s nobody named Simpson in my class. She must be in the other fifth-grade class.” Sarah got out some graham crackers.
“No, I’m sure she’s in your class, because her mother said she was having a hard time keeping up with all the homework that Mr. Jones assigns. They had to move a few months after their baptism because Brother Simpson lost his job. He’s working now, but they’ve had a difficult time making ends meet. Let’s see—I wrote her name down. … Here it is—Kathy Burns. Her last name is different from her mother’s. Do you know Kathy?”
The graham crackers suddenly stuck to the sides of Sarah’s mouth. It would be Kathy! What’ll the other girls say? They already tease me because I don’t make fun of her when they do. Now Mom wants me to be her friend. Sarah knew that Roxanne would have a field day with that. Roxanne would have two targets. And, of course, “two is better than one.”
“Sarah, are you all right? You look sick.”
“Yeah, uh, I’m all right, Mom.”
“Well, do you know Kathy Burns?”
“Yes, I know her. But I didn’t know she was a member of the Church. She doesn’t really have any friends. She’s kind of … different.”
Mom looked into her eyes, “Sarah, we’re all different in some ways, but we’re also very much alike. We all need to know of Heavenly Father’s love for us, and we all need friends.”
“I guess so.” Sarah felt a tug-of-war going on inside her as she tried to avoid Mom’s gaze.
That night, Sarah didn’t sleep well. When Dad called her at six-thirty the next morning for scripture study, she groaned. “I think I’m sick, Dad. Can I sleep a little longer?”
Well, it was kind of true—she felt sick at heart.
“Come on downstairs with us, and I bet you’ll feel better after scriptures,” Dad called back.
Sarah rested her head against the couch, not really paying much attention as Mom started reading the sixth chapter of Moroni. But as she began verse three, something made Sarah listen closely:
“‘And none were received unto baptism save they took upon them the name of Christ, having a determination to serve him to the end.
“‘And after they had been received unto baptism, and were wrought upon and cleansed by the power of the Holy Ghost, they were numbered among the people of the church of Christ; and their names were taken, that they might be remembered and nourished by the good word of God, to keep them in the right way …’”
Sarah remembered two years ago when she was baptized, how determined she had felt to always do what Jesus would want her to do. She wondered if Kathy’s family felt like they were really “numbered among the people of the church.”
She looked at the picture on the wall of the Savior. She’d seen it many times and loved it. This morning, however, as she gazed at it, she seemed to feel the love Jesus had for her—and for Kathy. She felt warm inside, and some of His words came into her mind: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”*
Sarah felt a peace come over her, and she knew what she must do. She no longer cared what the in-group at school would say. She would follow Christ with a “determination to serve him to the end.”
As Sarah walked into her classroom, she gazed around the room, looking for Kathy.
“Over here, Sarah,” Rachel called.
“Just a minute,” Sarah called back, still looking for Kathy.
“Are you looking for Santa Claus?” Roxanne laughed. “Come here, silly!”
“I’m looking for Kathy,” Sarah told them matter-of-factly. “Have any of you seen her?”
Roxanne asked the group, mockingly, “Did she say she was looking for Kathy?”
“Yes,” Sarah said, looking each of them in the eye. “I have an invitation for her to the Primary party at our church.”
“Kathy belongs to your church?” Rachel piped up.
“Yes. I just found out yesterday, and I want her to know about the party we’re having next week. Oh, there she is now. I’ll talk to you all later.”
After class began, Mr. Jones asked to talk to Sarah at break. Sarah worried. She had finished her homework, but she had been kind of distracted last night. …
“Sarah, you’re a good student,” Mr. Jones told her, “and I wondered if you’d help me. Kathy and Vickie both need a little extra help understanding fractions. Would you work with them during math time? It shouldn’t take long for them to catch up with the rest of the class, and I don’t think it would put you behind. I think that Kathy likes you—I noticed the two of you talking this morning. What do you think?”
Sarah smiled. “I’d like to help. Kathy likes me fine, but I don’t know about Vickie. She never talks to me. I don’t mind helping her, too, though.”
“Thank you, Sarah, and don’t worry about Vickie. I’m sure you’ll get along well together.”
Sarah and Kathy talked quietly together as they worked on the math assignment. Vickie didn’t say much, but about halfway through math time, she began to get the hang of simplifying fractions and she started to smile. Soon the three girls were whispering and laughing quietly as they worked on the problems together. Sarah had never enjoyed math class as much as she had today.
Sarah could hardly wait as she ran in the door. “Mom! Mom! Guess what?”
“I’m upstairs,” Mom called.
Sarah took the steps two at a time. “You won’t believe it, Mom! I made friends with Kathy—and with another girl, Vickie. I’m helping them during math, and it’s really fun! It’s a lot more fun than working by myself all the time. They’re both really nice, and we ate together at lunchtime. Two new friends in one day—isn’t it great? Two is better than one, right, Mom?”
“Right, Sarah. When it comes to good things, like friendship, two is better than one.”

A friend of mine recently wrote to me, confiding that he was having a difficult time keeping his testimony strong and vibrant. He asked for counsel.
I wrote back to him and lovingly suggested a few specific things he could do that would align his life more closely with the teachings of the restored gospel. To my surprise, I heard back from him only a week later. The essence of his letter was this: “I tried what you suggested. It didn’t work. What else have you got?”
Brothers and sisters, we have to stay with it. We don’t acquire eternal life in a sprint—this is a race of endurance. We have to apply and reapply the divine gospel principles. Day after day we need to make them part of our normal life.
Too often we approach the gospel like a farmer who places a seed in the ground in the morning and expects corn on the cob by the afternoon. When Alma compared the word of God to a seed, he explained that the seed grows into a fruit-bearing tree gradually, as a result of our “faith, and [our] diligence, and patience, and long-suffering.” It’s true that some blessings come right away: soon after we plant the seed in our hearts, it begins to swell and sprout and grow, and by this we know that the seed is good. From the very moment we set foot upon the pathway of discipleship, seen and unseen blessings from God begin to attend us.
But we cannot receive the fulness of those blessings if we “neglect the tree, and take no thought for its nourishment.”
Knowing that the seed is good is not enough. We must “nourish it with great care, that it may get root.” Only then can we partake of the fruit that is “sweet above all that is sweet, and … pure above all that is pure” and “feast upon this fruit even until [we] are filled, that [we] hunger not, neither shall [we] thirst.”
Discipleship is a journey. We need the refining lessons of the journey to craft our character and purify our hearts. By patiently walking in the path of discipleship, we demonstrate to ourselves the measure of our faith and our willingness to accept God’s will rather than ours.
It is not enough merely to speak of Jesus Christ or proclaim that we are His disciples. It is not enough to surround ourselves with symbols of our religion. Discipleship is not a spectator sport. We cannot expect to experience the blessings of faith by standing inactive on the sidelines any more than we can experience the benefits of health by sitting on a sofa watching sporting events on television and giving advice to the athletes. And yet for some, “spectator discipleship” is a preferred if not a primary way of worshipping.
Ours is not a secondhand religion. We cannot receive the blessings of the gospel merely by observing the good that others do. We need to get off the sidelines and practice what we preach.
The first step on the path of discipleship begins, luckily enough, in the exact place where we stand! We do not have to prequalify to take that first step. It doesn’t matter if we are rich or poor. There is no requirement to be educated, eloquent, or intellectual. We do not have to be perfect or well-spoken or even well-mannered.
You and I can walk in the path of discipleship today. Let us be humble; let us pray to our Father in Heaven with all our heart and express our desire to draw close to Him and learn of Him.
Have faith. Seek, and you will find. Knock, and the door will be opened. Serve the Lord by serving others. Become an active participant in your ward or branch. Strengthen your family by committing to live the principles of the gospel. Be of one heart and of one mind in your marriage and in your family.
Now is the time to adjust your lives to be able to have a temple recommend and use it. Now is the time to have meaningful family home evenings, to read the word of God, and to speak to our Heavenly Father in earnest prayer. Now is the time to fill our hearts with gratitude for the Restoration of His Church, for living prophets, the Book of Mormon, and the priesthood power that blesses our lives. Now is the time to embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ, become His disciples, and walk in His way.
There are some who believe that because they have made mistakes, they can no longer fully partake of the blessings of the gospel. How little they understand the purposes of the Lord. One of the great blessings of living the gospel is that it refines us and helps us learn from our mistakes. We “all have sinned, and come short of the glory of God,” yet the Atonement of Jesus Christ has the power to make us whole when we repent.
Our beloved friend Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin taught us this principle with clarity when he said:
“Oh, it is wonderful to know that our Heavenly Father loves us—even with all our flaws! His love is such that even should we give up on ourselves, He never will.
“We [might] see ourselves in terms of yesterday and today. Our Heavenly Father sees us in terms of forever. …
“The gospel of Jesus Christ is a gospel of transformation. It takes us as men and women of the earth and refines us into men and women for the eternities.”
To those who have left the path of discipleship for whatever reason, I invite you to start where you are and come to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Walk again in the way of the Lord. I testify that the Lord will bless your life, endow you with knowledge and joy beyond comprehension, and distill upon you the supernal gifts of the Spirit. It is always the right time to walk in His way. It is never too late.
To those who feel inadequate because they have not been members of the Church all their lives, to those who feel that they can never make up for the time they have lost, I testify that the Lord needs your specific abilities, talents, and skills. The Church needs you; we need you. It is always the right time to walk in His way. It is never too late.
Let us remember on this Palm Sunday, during this Easter season, and always that the restored gospel of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ has the power to fill any emptiness, heal any wound, and bridge any vale of sorrow. It is the way of hope, faith, and trust in the Lord. The gospel of Jesus Christ is taught in its fulness in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This Church is led by a living prophet, authorized by the Lord Jesus Christ to provide direction and guidance to help us face the challenges of our day, as serious as they may be.
I bear my solemn witness that Jesus the Christ lives. He is the Savior and Redeemer of the world. He is the promised Messiah. He lived a perfect life and atoned for our sins. He will ever be at our side. He will fight our battles. He is our hope; He is our salvation; He is the way. Of this I testify in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I was baptized when I was eight and attended Primary, but when I became a teenager I fell away from Church activity. At first, I went to a few Mutual activities, but by the time I graduated from high school, I was completely inactive.
During high school, I liked to go to a nearby field after school, lie in the tall grass while watching the clouds go by, and wish to be happy. I was sad because my parents were separated. I didn’t feel peace or happiness a lot of the time, and I didn’t know why. I was a cheerleader, I participated in school government, and I had plenty of friends, but something was missing in my life.
Two years after high school I went on a backpacking trip with friends. Everyone went to sleep early, but I stayed up by the campfire. As I was looking up into the heavens, the thought came to my mind to say a prayer. I looked up and asked, “Heavenly Father, are you really there? And if you are, will you help me to be happy?” It felt as if a huge blanket was wrapped around my shoulders. I felt warm, as though everything would be OK.
A few weeks later, my mom and I went for a vacation to Idaho with her sister. A couple of my cousins invited me to a youth dance at the church, and I had a great time. I danced with a young man who had received a mission call to Korea. He asked if he could write to me, and I agreed.
In his first letter, this young man shared missionary experiences with me and bore his testimony of the gospel. I don’t know whether I was swept off my feet by him or the Spirit. But after all those years of inactivity, I decided to go back to church and check things out.
I roped one of my older brothers into going with me so I wouldn’t have to sit alone. I don’t remember the meeting at all. I just remember thinking, “Everybody must be looking at me and saying, ‘Look, Gretchen is at church. I wonder why.’ ” I was so uncomfortable by the end of the meeting that I planned a quick escape as soon as the closing prayer ended.
That’s when something happened that changed my life forever. Four girls I remembered from Primary ran up and surrounded me. They were so happy to see me at church, and I felt their sincerity. They asked if I would come back later that night to a youth fireside. I agreed and then left for home.
I talked my brother into going with me again. At the fireside, a man stood to speak and said he felt impressed not to give his prepared talk but to share his testimony and then let us do the same. All of a sudden, my whole being felt on fire. I don’t know how long it took me to get up, but I stood and bore my testimony that now I knew why I had been feeling unhappy and lost. It was the gospel that was missing in my life. I knew I needed to make some changes.
Now, almost 30 years later, I am still grateful to those young women who didn’t let me escape the chapel that day. I later met and married a returned missionary in the Idaho Falls Temple. We have four children, three of whom have married in the temple. Our oldest son served a mission, and our last is now planning to go on his. I have served in the Young Women program of the Church. Each time I teach a lesson on service, I share my life-changing experience in hopes that the same will be done for others as was done for me.
I believe my simple prayer was answered on that mountaintop. Heavenly Father does hear and answer our prayers. And my prayer was answered because four girls chose the right. They put their arms around a lost soul and invited her back. There are Gretchens out there who need to be brought back. You never know whose life can and will be changed forever if you will just reach out and be a loving, caring friend.

“John, I can see it’s time I tell you the story.” Grandpa reached over to shut the engine off. “When your dad was ready to go on a mission, almost twenty-five years ago now, your grandmother and I couldn’t afford to send him. We’d always tried our best to live the gospel, and we knew we could depend on the Lord, so we prayed that He would help us make enough money to send our boy on a mission.”
“Were your prayers answered, Grandpa?”
“Yes, John. Heavenly Father answered them in a surprising way. This little piece of land came up for sale, and your grandma and I felt inspired to buy it. It was a small field, nothing to rave about. But we had read in the scriptures that from small things great blessings come. So Grandma and I hoped that if we remained faithful and hard-working, the Lord might see fit to turn this small field into a great blessing.”
“Did you get your blessing, Grandpa?” John asked.
“Did we ever!” Grandpa answered, beaming. “We received enough money from our first crop to send your dad on his mission, and for as long as he was serving in England, we had a bumper crop. When he came home from England, the field’s production returned to normal, but as each of our three sons served missions, it thrived again. To this day, Grandma and I call it our mission field. Why, this very field is helping support Mark on his mission right now.” Grandpa smiled, giving John’s shoulder a healthy squeeze.

A girl in my class at school was saying the Lord’s name in vain. I didn’t like it. When we went to recess I wanted to ask her to stop saying it, but I was very nervous. I finally got up my courage and said, “Will you please stop saying that word?”
She said, “I can say it if I want to,” and she said it again in my face. I asked her again to please not say it in front of me, and she said, “OK.” Since then I haven’t heard her say it.

Years later my husband told me that when he was a child, Brother Joseph went to their home and asked if he could borrow one of his mother’s twin babies. He explained that his wife Emma had been sad and lonely since her own baby had died, and he thought it would comfort her to take care of one of the girls. The Prophet picked up the baby in the morning and brought her back each night.

One evening when the baby was not home at the usual time, Mother Burgess went to see what was the matter. There was the Prophet rocking the little baby by the fire. He had her wrapped in a silk quilt, and he was singing to get her quiet.
—Margaret M. Burgess

In March 1997, while living in the Russian city of Rostov-on-Don, my husband and I were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As I studied the doctrines of the Church, many of my questions were answered. It was interesting to learn about the plan of salvation, including the practice of baptism for the dead. I was surprised to learn that we could be baptized for our deceased ancestors.
A year after our baptism, the mission president invited us to prepare to go to the temple. As part of our preparation, we started doing family history research. One day as I was thinking about doing this work, the phone rang. It was my mother-in-law. I asked her if she would send me a list of the deceased ancestors on my husband’s side of the family. She was amazed and told me that baptism for the dead was not Christ’s doctrine but rather something the Mormons had made up. I wasn’t sure how to answer her because I wasn’t familiar with scriptural references that supported the doctrine.
As I was thinking about how to respond, the phone switched off. I was unsure for a minute what had happened, but I hung up the phone and went to my bedroom. I took the New Testament into my hands, knelt to pray, and asked Heavenly Father to show me where I could find the answer.
At the end of my prayer, I opened the Bible. I felt as if someone had told me to read the 29th verse on the very page I had opened. I was in the 15th chapter of 1 Corinthians, which talks about the doctrine of baptism for the dead.
I was touched and surprised that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer at that very moment. It was a wonderful feeling.
I was thinking deeply about this experience when suddenly the phone rang again. It was my mother-in-law, asking me why the phone had switched off. I told her I didn’t know but then asked her to open her Bible and read 1 Corinthians 15:29.
A few days later a list of deceased relatives was on my table. My mother-in-law had read the scripture and now believed that the Savior, through the Apostle Paul, had taught the doctrine of baptism for the dead.
God has promised great blessings to those who do this redemptive work. I know this to be true.

Later I mailed the overweight birthday card and enjoyed the thought of Eric reading his life out loud to his roommates.
It was almost midnight Friday when the phone rang.
“Mom, this is Eric.”
“Eric! Today’s your birthday. You got my card! You got the money! You loved them both! But you didn’t have to thank us at this hour!”
“Mom! Listen! Brad and I were just sitting around here in the student dormitory reminiscing when the telephone rang. It was a girl.”
She said, “Is this Eric Miller? You probably won’t remember me. It’s been a long time. This is Jena Hamilton.”
“Jena! I can’t believe it! Of course I remember you. What are you doing here in Utah? Visiting?”
“I’m going to the BYU just like you.”
“But why? How did you decide to come here?”
“Well, about three years ago mother and I were doing dishes when two young men knocked at our door. They said they were representatives of Jesus Christ and would like to leave a message with us. Mother said. ‘No, thank you, we really aren’t interested.’ Then for some reason she asked, ‘What church are you from?’ And they said, ‘We belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes called the Mormon church.’ She looked at me, and we both said, ‘That’s Eric’s church.’ We weren’t interested, of course, but we would be courteous to someone from Eric’s church. Well, you know how that goes! We were baptized after the fourth lesson.”
“Jena! That’s wonderful! Hey, it’s my birthday. We’re celebrating! Where are you living? Can we come over?
Eric ended his story. I wiped a tear off my chin and nose. He paused a long time. “Well,” I demanded, “Did you go over? How is she doing?”
“She’s beautiful!” Eric replied enthusiastically.
“And her leg? Has it improved?”
“Her leg? What was the matter with her leg?”

I know exactly what it’s like to carry the burden of having a guilty conscience. I had something I needed to confess to my bishop, but it was of such a personal nature that I was horrified of telling him about it. To make matters worse, my bishop was also my neighbor. Every day I would see him and I would feel so uncomfortable when he’d smile at me and ask me how things were going. I knew deep in my heart that I needed to talk to him, but I needed strength and courage. I decided one day to fast and pray and search the scriptures for an answer and strength. I came across several scriptures that seemed to help me: Doctrine and Covenants 64:7; 82:1; 95:1; 98:47 [D&C 64:7; D&C 82:1; D&C 95:1; D&C 98:47]; Mosiah 26:29–30.

It is never easy for one to confess something one has done wrong, but if you will ask Heavenly Father for strength, he will bless you for it. He loves you as he loves all his children. I testify to you that by confessing and sharing your problems with your bishop, you will feel so much better. It will help take the weight off your shoulders and you can start on the road to forgiveness.

Name withheld

In Eastern Germany I visited, with a handful of members, a small cemetery. It was a dark night, and a cold rain had been falling throughout the entire day.
We had come to visit the grave of a missionary who many years before had died while in the service of the Lord (See Tambuli, May 1989, page 7, “In the Lord’s Time”). A hushed silence shrouded the scene as we gathered about the grave. With a flashlight illuminating the headstone, I read the inscription:
Joseph A. Ott
Born: 12 December 1870—Virgin, Utah
Died: 10 January 1896—Dresden, Germany
Then the light revealed that this grave was unlike any other in the cemetery. The marble headstone had been polished, weeds such as those which covered other graves had been carefully removed, and in their place was an immaculately edged bit of lawn and some beautiful flowers that told of tender and loving care. I asked, “Who has made this grave so attractive?” My query was met by silence.
At last a twelve-year-old deacon acknowledged that he had wanted to render this unheralded kindness and, without prompting from parents or leaders, had done so. He said that he just wanted to do something for a missionary who had given his life while in the service of the Lord. I thanked him; and then I asked all there to safeguard his secret, that his gift might remain anonymous.