Gospel Story Finder

With the tools we now have at our disposal, temple and family history work can be a regular part of our participation in the ongoing Restoration. I have been interested and involved in family history work for years, but online tools have greatly enhanced my success in taking family names to the temple. I have sacred memories of sitting at a table in our apartment in Ghana and finding names of my European ancestors that my wife and I could take to the Accra Ghana Temple. That joyous opportunity has followed us to other places that we have been sent.

Ray Dunham, who was not LDS when he arrived at the academy, found himself looking for Latter-day Saints. “I’m from Oklahoma City, and in high school I had some LDS friends. I figured if I could find other Mormons they’d be a good influence on me.”
He met Keyan Riley from Salem, Utah, verified that he was LDS, and “I thought to myself, I found one of you!” They became roommates, Ray eventually joined the Church, and both he and Keyan resigned, served missions, reapplied, and were permitted to return to the academy.
Ray, who had come to the academy with a twin brother, “had to reassure my parents that the academy wants returned missionaries because they’re good people. Once my parents realized I wasn’t giving up, just serving a mission with the hope of getting back in, they felt more at ease.”

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
I don’t like Tiffany, that new girl. Let’s ignore her.
She just wants to have friends. Don’t you?
I don’t interfere where I’m not wanted. Let’s not give her a valentine.
You know the rule—everybody gives everybody a valentine.
Then we’ll all write mean things on her valentines, and that includes you—understand?
I understand that she has feelings too, and I’m not going to do it.
Then you might just get the same treatment as she does.
Hey, Tiffany, want to swing?
Thanks for the nice valentine, Mandy. And for playing with me.
You’re a child of God, and so am I. That makes us sisters, and I like being with you.

Since William’s birth in 1837 his parents had raised him to be a committed Anglican. His mother, a devoted church member, enrolled him at a very young age in an “infants’ school” where, along with the alphabet, he learned “that there was a Savior who died for all men.” Years of Sunday school attendance taught the boy “a reverence for divine things,” as he termed it.

William’s first contact with the Latter-day Saints evidently came when he was about age 13. While doing an errand for his father, he stopped at a window where some curious boys were peering in. A gentleman suddenly ushered him inside where a Mormon meeting was beginning.

“I took my seat in one corner of the room,” he recalled, and “thought it a very funny place, and not suitable for administering the holy sacrament.” But the sacrament was passed, hymns were sung, and speakers preached. The last speaker was British convert Charles Penrose who later served in the First Presidency. His discussion of the Godhead “upset all my confused ideas of God,” William noted. “If ever a sermon touched the heart, this did mine.”

Year by year the challenges to William’s childhood religious beliefs seemed to increase. At age 15 he left home to become a butcher’s apprentice, and his first landlord, religiously an Independent, tried unsuccessfully to convert the young Anglican boarder. That experience, William admitted, “unsettled my religious views very much.” He also discussed religious ideas with Catholic sisters while making regular meat deliveries to a nearby monastery. For a time he even attended morning Catholic services in addition to his afternoon Anglican meetings for many Sundays. By age 17, he later remembered, “I had become unsettled in my mind as to which church was right.” About this time his confusion became enveloped by fear: he heard a sermon in his own church about damnation that gave him nightmares and continually troubled him. But like another religiously confused teenager in upstate New York 40 years before (about whom William knew little if anything), he sought divine help: “I had prayed often and frequently to my Heavenly Father that I might be correctly impressed as to what was right for me to do.”

During this troubled time William learned that his good friend John M. Bridge had joined the Latter-day Saints. William chided John for converting because Mormons then “were held in such bad repute by all the good people of my town.” But after work one evening John explained some principles of the restored gospel to his former schoolmate. William felt that the teachings made sense so he agreed to attend a Latter-day Saint meeting of the Maldon, Essex, Branch. There the fellowship and doctrines impressed him:

“What I there heard I could but endorse and felt assured it was more like the gospel of Christ than my mother’s religion; yet I thought the people treated it with levity, and there did not seem to be any order among them. I had been raised in the strictest order, and even in my Sunday School every mark of respect was always paid the teacher. I thought they were lax in this respect, but the warm brotherly greetings soon removed this feeling and I saw there was a peculiar union existing that I did not find in any other church. I began to feel that I wanted to be in the company of these people in preference to all my old acquaintances.”

Three weeks after John first discussed Mormonism with him, William asked traveling elders Joseph Silver and John Lindsay to baptize him. So in late April 1855 he was baptized at Maldon in the Blackwater River. A short time later he was ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood.

But finding religious peace had its price: “It was soon reported that I had become a Mormon; and I was jeered at and called old Joe Smith and old Brigham Young, and many things were charged to them as well as to myself.” Friends, relatives, customers, and former Sunday school teachers tried to “show me my error.” During most of 1855 he accompanied another new priest (later his father-in-law), Samuel Gentry, to conduct open-air preaching services in surrounding villages. William’s relatives sometimes attended these meetings to hear, as they said, “little Billy preach,” although Brother Gentry did the preaching and William assisted by giving prayers. Some relatives ridiculed him openly, but such treatment only made William “cling with a stronger tenacity to the principles of truth.”

“So what about our rowing team—is it history?” the upperclassman was passionate as he put the question, obviously a rhetorical one, to the first-year students. “No way! It’s a tradition!”
I was one of those new students beginning medical school at the University of São Paulo, which had long been famous for its victories in rowing competitions. Team members had asked our professor for a few minutes to recruit for the team. We would be replacing those who had graduated.
As a result of the enthusiastic pitch, about 30 of us decided to try out. None of us had any rowing experience. We were all out of shape, as our coach constantly reminded us. He had been in the military and made no effort to hide his disgust at our sorry physical condition. He had lots of jokes, too, about the irony of poor muscle tone in students of medicine.
Training was grueling—held at 5:00 A.M., six days a week. We had to set our alarms for 4:15 to catch the bus to the training area. The less disciplined did not show up for long. Those of us who stayed noted that the coach gave all his attention to the team veterans. Meanwhile, we recruits were ordered to run around the campus perimeter.
The University of São Paulo campus covers a large area, so the run was about 6 miles (10 kilometers) and required enormous effort from men in our condition. We were exhausted when we finished, and the coach ordered us to the showers without comment.
This routine continued for several weeks. In time, a few ingenious souls discovered that they could cut their running time by taking a shortcut. Instead of making a full circle around campus, they detoured through the woods. Of course, they thought themselves very clever when they beat us to the showers. They even gave their shortcut a name: the easy return.
In time, the coach announced that he was ready to name those who would join the official team. To their surprise, not one of the men who took the easy return was selected. I still don’t know how the coach knew.
Each of us has a race to run in life. The course may become difficult at times, but we have a Coach who knows us well. He has promised us, “He that is faithful and endureth shall overcome the world” (D&C 63:47). Some people may seem to profit by breaking the rules, but in reality, no effort to keep the commandments will go unrewarded.
I always feel grateful when I think back to the rowing team. I still have the gold medal I was awarded for our victories. But more importantly, I have the determination I developed then never to take the easy return.

Although 16-year-old O. J. Hawea is a star softball player and an integral part of a championship team, he’s never played in the finals.
“They’re held on Sunday, so I don’t play in them. It’s all right,” he says.
There is no softball team at O.J.’s school in Temple View, New Zealand, so he plays in a league a few towns away. Although he has been one of the youngest players on the team, he’s also been one of the strongest, quickest, and best. His teammates, who are mostly not members of the Church, miss him in the championship games, but they respect his commitment and sometimes ask him about the Church.
O. J. enjoys seminary and Scouting and is preparing to serve a mission.

UGH!
Uh … are you OK?
No! This homework is way too hard. I’ll never get it!
Maybe I can help you.
There’s no point. I’m not smart like you.
You can do this. You just need a little help—and that’s OK! I got help from Papai.
I also asked Heavenly Father to help me understand. Do you want to say a prayer?
Good idea.
Later …
See? I knew you would get it.
Thanks for helping me!
Illustrations by Katie McDee

When George Albert Smith was in his later years he had the following experience:
“I became so weak as to be scarcely able to move. It was a slow and exhausting effort for me even to turn over in bed.
“One day, under these conditions, I lost consciousness of my surroundings and thought I had passed to the Other Side. …
“… I saw a man coming towards me … and I hurried my steps to reach him, because I recognized him as my grandfather. … I remember how happy I was to see him coming. I had been given his name and had always been proud of it.
“When Grandfather came within a few feet of me, he stopped. His stopping was an invitation for me to stop. Then—and this I would like the … young people never to forget—he looked at me … and said:
“‘I would like to know what you have done with my name.’
“Everything I had ever done passed before me as though it were a flying picture on a screen—everything I had done. Quickly this vivid retrospect came down to the very time I was standing there. My whole life had passed before me. I smiled and looked at my grandfather and said:
“‘I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.’
“He stepped forward and took me in his arms, and as he did so, I became conscious again of my earthly surroundings. My pillow was as wet as though water had been poured on it—wet with tears of gratitude that I could answer unashamed” (George Albert Smith, Sharing the Gospel with Others, 1948, p. 111).

Squirrel knew that winter was coming. Owl had said it was, Blue Jay and Deer had told him too. Even Chipmunk, his best friend, had reminded him as she busily gathered food for the winter.
“You’d better hide nuts for winter,” Blue Jay chirped.
“You can’t find food in the snow,” Deer said.
“Listen to your friends, Squirrel,” Chipmunk chattered, flicking her tail. “They’re right, you know.”
But it was only September, and for Squirrel, winter was a long way off. There would be plenty of time to gather food later. He had other things to do. He liked to have fun and to play tricks on his friends. He liked jumping from tree to tree and scaring Blue Jay. And whenever Deer was standing under a tree that Squirrel was playing in, Squirrel dropped nuts on him. When a nut hit him, Deer would bound away in fright—while Squirrel held his sides and chattered with glee!
But what he liked best was stealing a nut from Chipmunk. She would chase him around and around! Up and down the trees they’d go. Finally Squirrel would drop the nut and look for something else to do.
“Squirrel, you are being very foolish,” Owl scolded. “If you don’t store food, you will be very hungry this winter.”
Chipmunk warned him again too. “Store some nuts now,” she said. “Soon they’ll be covered with snow, and you won’t be able to find them.”
Squirrel didn’t like to have Chipmunk mad at him, so he took a few nuts to his pantry, just to please her. But he thought that work was no fun, so before long, he was off playing tricks again.
Time passed quickly. Then one morning when Squirrel poked his head out the door, a blanket of white greeted him. Snow? he thought. Already? The air was crisp and cold. A breeze blew a puff of snow off the branch above his door. Plop! It landed right on his head. “Yipe!” He jumped back inside. He shook his head. “Brrrr!”
Squirrel had to think about this. But thinking always made him hungry. He went to his pantry. Two or three nuts will help me to decide, he thought. Oh, oh! Squirrel stared at the little pile of nuts in the corner. He had always planned to gather food “tomorrow.” But “tomorrow” never seemed to come. “What shall I do?” he muttered.
He ate two of the nuts from the little pile and thought about it. “I’ll go see Chipmunk,” he said. “She’ll know what to do.” So away he went.
Squirrel raced along as fast as he could. At long last he came to Chipmunk’s burrow. He poked his head in. “Good morning,” he chattered. “May I come in?”
Chipmunk looked up from her breakfast. “Wipe your feet first,” she said, after swallowing a mouthful of acorn.
Squirrel wiped his feet, then came in and sat down.
“How do you like the snow, Squirrel?” she asked.
“It’s pretty, but it’s cold,” he answered. Hanging his head, he mumbled, “And it hides the nuts.”
Chipmunk shook her tail reproachfully, “We all tried to warn you that this would happen.”
“I know,” Squirrel said, watching his feet as he shifted from one to the other. “I was very foolish. But I won’t be anymore, I promise.” He looked up. “What can I do now, Chipmunk?” he said in a small voice.
Just then Blue Jay landed on the ground outside Chipmunk’s door. “Good morning, Chipmunk. Good morning, Squirrel,” he said in a cheery voice.
“Good morning, Blue Jay,” Chipmunk and Squirrel said together.
“How do you like this fine, snowy day?” Blue Jay asked, hopping about.
“I think the snow is very pretty,” Chipmunk chattered. “But Squirrel has a problem.”
“He does?” Blue Jay tipped his head and looked at Squirrel with shiny, black eyes.
“I was very foolish. I didn’t gather nuts when I should have,” Squirrel told him quietly. “Now the snow hides them, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Hmm.” Blue Jay ruffled his feathers. “That is a problem.”
“Squirrel has promised not to be foolish anymore,” Chipmunk told Blue Jay. “What can we do to help him?”
Blue Jay hopped about and looked around. He thought and thought. Then he said, “Wait here,” and flew away.
In a little while, he came back. Owl was with him, and so was Deer. Chipmunk and Squirrel came out to join them.
Owl was perched on a limb near Chipmunk’s burrow. The others gathered around him. “Blue Jay told me about your problem, Squirrel,” he said in a deep voice. “We will all try to help you, but first you must promise to never scare Blue Jay or Deer again, and to not tease Chipmunk when she is gathering food.”
“I promise,” Squirrel agreed earnestly. “I also promise that I’ll work hard next year to be ready for winter.”
“Good.” Owl turned to Blue Jay. “You can help Squirrel by knocking the last of the nuts from the highest branches. But”—he turned to look at Squirrel—“you must help Blue Jay get berries from under the bushes when he can no longer reach them.”
Squirrel nodded.
“I’ll help dig nuts out of the snow for you,” Deer offered.
“But when the snow gets too deep for Deer to find food,” Owl told Squirrel, “you must break off tender twigs that are high in the trees for him to eat.”
Squirrel nodded again. “I’ll do that too.”
“Chipmunk can help you carry the nuts to your tree,” Owl said.
“But next fall, Squirrel, you must help me carry nuts to my burrow,” Chipmunk told him.
Squirrel agreed happily.
And that is just what they did.

The third temple to be topped with an angel Moroni statue was the Washington D.C. Temple, dedicated in 1974. Avard Fairbanks sculpted a graceful angel holding a trumpet to his lips and a replica of the gold plates in his left arm. Brother Fairbanks’s one-meter model was taken to Italy, enlarged, cast in bronze, and covered with gold leaf.

When the clay enlargement was finished, Brother Fairbanks invited the temple architects to Italy to see it. One of the architects, Keith W. Wilcox (who later became a member of the Seventy), mentioned that the angel looked as though he were drinking from the horn rather than blowing it. Brother Wilcox demonstrated how a trombone player “buzzes” with his or her lips to make a tone. With Brother Wilcox posing, Brother Fairbanks changed the angel’s mouth.7

A friend took us to Sunday School. During the meeting he stood up and introduced us to the class. As the meeting came to a close, a brother approached me and shook my hand, leaving a 20-dollar bill in it. Soon after, another brother reached out to me as well, and to my surprise, he also left a bill in my hand. I quickly looked for my wife, who was across the room, and shouted, “Blanquy, shake hands with everyone!”
Soon we had gathered enough money to return to Guatemala.

Seven-year-old Craig Parker of Spanish Fork, Utah, gained a testimony of the role of prayer in the repentance process. One day while he was playing, he said a word that he knew was wrong. He felt very bad afterward. “In our home and at church I have learned about Jesus, and I know that He would not want me to say that word.”
Craig decided to kneel and pray for forgiveness. “I folded my arms and told Heavenly Father I was sorry for saying that word. I felt better after praying. I knew that Heavenly Father forgave me, and I have never said that word again.”

Jeff Daniels pushed open the car door. The clean, cool night air poured in and drenched him with freshness. He paused for a moment and then stepped out onto the curb in front of his home and breathed deeply. Even outside the car, the faint odor of alcohol lingered.
Nathan Brinser, who was driving, leaned over and looked out the open door at him. “Hey, Daniels, why don’t you loosen up a bit?” he invited good-naturedly.
A troubling emptiness rested in the pit of Jeff’s stomach, but he managed to shrug indifferently and grin.
Jeff found himself grinning more and more these days. Not out of any sense of amusement. It was quite simply his best answer to so many things now. If his beliefs or good behavior were challenged or ridiculed, he could always answer with an uncommitted shrug and grin.
“One lousy beer isn’t going to kill you,” Nathan laughed.
Jeff stared down at his friend. Two years earlier neither one of them would have suspected this kind of conversation would be going on between them. He and Nathan had been friends since kindergarten, and over the years they had been inseparable. But now Jeff felt like a stranger around Nathan.
“You going to KC’s party tomorrow night?” Nathan asked. “His folks are going to be out of town all weekend. I think half the senior class will be there.”
Jeff contemplated an excuse.
“And don’t tell me you’ve got to study,” Nathan cut into his thoughts.
Jeff grinned again. He didn’t like to go to the parties. He had been to a few but he’d never been comfortable, always having to explain why he didn’t join in. He was tired of making up excuses or dumping the blame on his parents. He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess I’ll go,” he said, unable to think of anything else.
“Don’t sound so excited,” Nathan grumbled. “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.” Nathan was quiet for a moment and then spoke without facing Jeff. “You know, some of the guys were talking. I can’t blame them. Whenever you go with us, you’re all depressed. Everyone else is having a good time and you’re just sitting there looking down.”
“Hey, I said I want to go,” said Jeff, falling back on his grin.
A few minutes later Nathan’s taillights faded into the blackness, and Jeff started up the walk to the door. After having spent most of the evening in the car, sitting through a drive-in movie, it felt good to be out in the open where everything he breathed was clean and fresh.
He thought about the two six-packs KC had managed to get. Jeff had declined as the cans were passed out, and the others didn’t seem to mind. It meant more for them. But before the night was over Jeff could sense the annoyance his abstinence caused.
KC had been especially irritated. “Come on, you can still go to church on Sunday,” he had said sarcastically.
What would it hurt just once? Jeff thought as he walked up to the house. Some of those other guys are members of the Church and they’re all “active.” Why do I have to be the one that stands out?
“Oh, you’re home,” his dad called to him, as he stepped through the front door. “I thought I heard a car pull up. I just got home myself. Thought I’d fix a sandwich. You hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Want some juice?”
“Juice sounds good.” Jeff sighed heavily as he walked into the kitchen, pulled out a chair and dropped into it. His father poured him a glass of orange juice and pushed it across the table. Jeff took a couple of sips. “Where’ve you been?” he asked his dad. “It’s past 12.”
Brother Daniels finished chewing a bite of his bologna sandwich and shook his head. “Bishop Taylor asked if I’d go with him to visit a family in the ward.”
“At this time of night?”
“They’ve been having some family problems.” Brother Daniels shook his head and stared at the table. “I kept thinking while we were there, If they just followed the counsel of the Church, they could avoid so much of this.”
“The Church doesn’t fix everything.”
“Oh, members of the Church have problems too. Everybody does. But if you’re doing what the Lord has asked you to do you can work through those problems. There’s never a problem that’s insurmountable,” Brother Daniels said resolutely.
Jeff looked over at his father and wished that he could really believe that, but right then following the teachings of the Church didn’t seem to be the solution to his problem. That seemed to be the cause.
“How was the movie?” his dad asked.
“Oh, it was all right, I guess.”
Brother Daniels stared at his son for a moment. “What’s the matter?”
Jeff shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
Jeff nodded again, stood, finished his juice in a few gulps and turned to go. “What’s wrong, Jeff?” his father asked again.
“What makes you think anything’s wrong?”
Brother Daniels set down his half-eaten sandwich and brushed some bread crumbs off the table. “I was just wondering,” he said. “You’ve seemed a little troubled lately.” He looked at Jeff, and reached over to push the chair out again so Jeff could sit down. “Sometimes talking helps clear your mind.”
Jeff wasn’t sure he wanted to talk, or of what he would say even if he decided to speak. While he debated, however, he dropped back into his chair. It was hard to begin. He wasn’t sure his father could understand. He wasn’t sure he understood.
“What would you do if I’d been drinking tonight?” he burst out suddenly. “I wasn’t,” he added quickly, “but what would you do if I had been?”
Brother Daniels looked across the table at him, studying his face. “I’d try to help you,” he said slowly. “Can I help you?”
Jeff shook his head. “Probably not. You know, you’re always hearing these stories about some Mormon guy going to a party or something and everybody and his dog is drinking. Everybody except this one Mormon guy. Somebody offers him a drink and he turns them down and later everybody rushes up to him and tells him how much they admire him for standing by his beliefs.”
Jeff looked across the table at his dad. “Do you know how many parties I’ve been to where everybody’s been drinking? Enough of them,” he said bitterly. “And do you know how many times somebody’s come up to me and said, ‘Gee, Daniels, it’s sure great that you don’t let down your standards?’ Not once. They look at me like I’m some kind of freak. Those stories about Mormon guys being so good and having everyone look up to them—they just don’t happen.
“I’m just tired of feeling like a freak,” Jeff grumbled. “I thought if you did everything you were supposed to, you were happy. I don’t feel happy—just weird!”
“Maybe you need some different friends.”
Jeff shook his head. “Nathan Brinser goes to church every Sunday. His dad’s in the elders quorum presidency. KC Wells is active. His dad’s on the high council. Every Sunday they get up and bless the sacrament like nothing ever happened.”
“They’re not fooling everyone, Jeff.”
“But they’ll get away with it. When they turn 19, they’ll march into the bishop’s office, confess everything, and end up going on missions. They’ll repent and everything will be fine. That’s part of the whole plan. It makes me wonder, Well, what’s wrong with that? Why can’t I go out and have fun? I can repent as well as they can.”
Brother Daniels thought for a long time. “There are two things that come to mind. First, once you get involved in anything like that, it’s always hard to turn away from it. Maybe you’d get caught in the snare and never get out of it.”
“They’ll get out of it,” Jeff insisted.
“The second thing. Because of Christ’s love and mercy, he suffered for each of us and made it possible for us to be clean, but his plan was never intended to be used as a plaything.
“Repentance wasn’t provided so that we could go out and sin carelessly, willfully, always with the idea in mind that sometime we’d resort to repentance to clean up our lives. Christ didn’t go through the terrible agony of Gethsemane just so we could all go out and eat, drink and be merry, and then scrub ourselves with repentance like it was a common bar of soap.
“Those who think they can use repentance in that way are making a mockery of the whole atonement.”
“But, Dad, I’m tired of being the different one. Where are the good kids my own age?”
Brother Daniels pondered a moment. “You remember the prophet Elijah, the one who had the contest with the priests of Baal?” Jeff nodded. “Well, Elijah lived in Israel, but at that time wickedness was rampant. The chosen people had turned to idolatry, adultery, and every other degrading act.
“Elijah felt a lot like you. He went to the Lord and said, ‘I’m the only one in Israel that’s remained true.’” Brother Daniels smiled and shook his head. “He was wrong. The Lord told him that there were 7,000 who had not bowed down to Baal, who had kept themselves clean. You’re not alone, Jeff. There are those who feel just as you do. I don’t know if there are 7,000 or 70,000 or whatever, but they’re there.”
All during the next day Jeff debated whether he should go to the party at KC Wells’s place that night. In the midst of his internal debate, he felt prompted to pray. At first he ignored the feeling, but it persisted until he went to his room and dropped to his knees. He began to whip through a prayer, but it was empty. The words were going nowhere. He paused and remained on his knees just thinking.
Suddenly he was bombarded with feelings, fears, and frustrations. He struggled to sort through them, and as he struggled, the prayer came as a humble plea for help. For one of the first times in his life he was talking to the Lord, not just mouthing words or repeating worn-out phrases, but telling the Lord how he felt.
Tears burned under his lashes, and he pleaded for something to help him through. In the middle of his prayer an all-encompassing warmth filled him. For one of the first times in his life he felt the purest kind of love he had ever experienced and knew that someone really cared about what Jeff Daniels was doing, what he was going through.
“Will you be out late?” Brother Daniels asked Jeff as he was leaving for KC’s party.
“I doubt it. I’d decided not to go, but I got to thinking that maybe I should. I don’t know why. I’ll be all right, though,” said Jeff as he headed out the door.
KC’s house was full when Jeff pulled up. Cars lined the street, music was playing, and kids were spilling out into the backyard. It did look like half the senior class was there.
He wandered around to the backyard and found a lawn chair from which he could watch the others come and go, laugh and talk. Everyone was munching chips and sipping drinks. No one seemed to notice him, and he had the impression that his presence made no difference to those who were there. There was a time when that would have bothered him, but right then he didn’t care.
“Hey, I was wondering if you’d show,” Nathan said dropping into the lawn chair next to him. “I should have known that you’d come and hide yourself. You been here long?”
“Ten minutes or so.”
“It’s a little tame,” Nathan said, nodding toward the activity about them. “KC had to be careful. His folks know he’s having a party, and a couple of the neighbors are supposed to wander through to make sure everything’s okay. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t arrange a few surprises.”
The two continued talking until Nathan nudged Jeff with his elbow, “Hey, is that Kristi Case?” He nodded across the yard at a girl in a yellow sweater. Jeff recognized the girl from his English class. She had always been quiet, a little on the shy side. She was not grabbingly beautiful, but she was pretty.
Jeff watched her for a moment. She laughed and talked with the others but seemed nervous. She wasn’t the kind of girl he thought would show up at something like this. He felt sorry for her.
A few minutes later Jeff watched as KC approached Kristi. They talked and as they did Kristi happened to catch Jeff staring at her. For a moment their gazes locked; then she looked away. Jeff turned back to Nathan, feeling guilty for staring.
“Hey, Jeff,” a voice called. KC came toward him, holding Kristi’s arm. “You know Kristi Case, don’t you?”
Jeff nodded, “We have English together.”
“Great!” I thought maybe you could help her have a good time, show her around. Why don’t you get her a drink. Start on the punch in the dining room, and get one for yourself too. Brent Tate can mix one that will wake you up.”
“No thanks,” Jeff said, “I really don’t want a drink.”
“Why not?” KC demanded.
Jeff could feel Nathan’s and Kristi’s eyes on him. Any other time he would have been groping frantically for an excuse, some place to dump the blame. But right then he didn’t want an excuse. And the last thing he wanted to do was grin.
He remembered his conversation with his father the night before. Why had he always insisted on being different? He had never really answered that question for himself before, but right then he wanted the answer. And he wanted the others to hear it too. “I don’t drink,” he said. “You know that, KC.”
His words shocked him as much as anyone, but as soon as they were out, he felt a sense of control he had never known before. The same assuring warmth he had felt while praying seemed to come over him.
“You mean you’re not old enough to have a sip now and then?” KC asked sarcastically.
“I’m just not interested. I guess I never have been,” said Jeff.
KC’s eyes narrowed as though he had been insulted. “If you’re too good for this party why’d you bother to show up?”
Jeff smiled, but there was no apology in the expression. “I don’t know,” he said, and leaving the others standing there he stood up and started around the house.
As he walked through the shadows to his car, he knew he was alone, but there was a feeling of triumph in what he had just done. He wondered why he hadn’t taken that simple stand months earlier.
“Jeff,” a girl called to him. He stopped and looked behind him. It was Kristi. “Are you leaving now?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’m leaving.”
“Could I—maybe—catch a ride with you?”
“Sure. Come on.”
For several minutes after Kristi explained where she lived, they rode in silence. Then unexpectedly she asked, “Are you a Mormon?”
No one had ever asked Jeff that before. He had always just assumed his religion was obvious. “Yeah, I’m Mormon,” he said.
“I always thought you were, but …”
“But what?”
“I guess I was just shocked to see you there tonight. I’d never gone to a party like that, and I didn’t know what to expect. But I wasn’t expecting you. You really don’t drink?”
“No, I don’t drink.”
“Have you ever?”
Jeff laughed. “What is this, the Inquisition?”
Kristi smiled, “I’m sorry. I was just curious.”
“No, I haven’t,” said Jeff. He was glad he could say that.
“I’ve seen you around school, and I thought you were—different. But when I saw you at the party—well, I thought you were just like all the others.”
“The others?”
“Oh, lately I’ve wondered if maybe I was the odd one, if there was anybody around that really …” she hesitated. “Well, that really believed in the gospel. Do you ever feel like that?”
Jeff smiled; then laughed. It felt so good not to grin. “I get discouraged sometimes, but I get over it.” He looked over at Kristi, “You’ll be all right,” he said with conviction.
And he knew that he would be too. His dad had been right. It didn’t matter if there were 7,000 or 70,000 who were trying to do what was right because no one, not Elijah, not Kristi, and not Jeff Daniels was ever really alone.

Evan’s inspiration to help orphans living thousands of miles away in China began with his visit to that country in December of 1996. Evan accompanied his parents, Dave and Mary Pressley, when they adopted his little sister, Marianne Kai Yue. “After I got home, I just wanted to help some babies who are not as fortunate as my little sister, who has found a family.” Marianne and Evan have two older brothers, Ben, 19, and Dan, 18.
As a result of traditional prejudice against females, hundreds of girls are abandoned daily in China. Evan’s little sister was one of them. She had been left on a doorstep in a small village when she was only one day old. On a note attached to her clothing was the handwritten date and time of her birth: “April 15, 1996, 9:23 A.M.” Eight months later, when the Pressleys took her home, she weighed only 10 pounds. Poor nutrition is a fact of life for Chinese orphans. Their caregivers are very loving but lack the funds to feed the babies well.
In the spring of 1997, Evan sent a handwritten letter to Lily Nie and Joshua Zhong, directors of the agency the Pressleys went through to adopt Marianne, informing them of his project. His goal was to raise $2,175. He exceeded that goal and came up with a total of $2,418 (and 45 cents). He made a list of specific things he wanted done with that money: repair a child’s cleft palate and lip; buy a heavy-duty washer and dryer; provide enough formula for eight babies for one month; buy a crib and some toys; set up a small children’s health clinic. All this for $2,418! “Money goes a long way in China,” Evan explains.
In August of 1997, Evan hand-delivered the money to Lily and Joshua. And they more than honored his request. Joshua, who affectionately calls this “the Evan Project,” traveled to China last fall with the money and carefully carried out Evan’s itemized list. He even chose the child that would have the cleft palate surgery. The funds went to the Fusan Children’s Welfare House in Liaoning Province in northern China. “There are more than 150 children there,” Evan says, “and 95 percent of them are handicapped. They’ll never be adopted.”
Was Evan’s project easy? “A lot of people turned me down. I almost quit when I knocked on one man’s door and he told me that he wouldn’t contribute. He even admitted that he was hard-hearted!” Very discouraged at this point, he says, “I fasted for 24 hours and prayed. I told Heavenly Father that I really needed to do this, for the babies in China, and would he please help me find people who wanted to give.” Evan’s prayers were answered.
Several articles were published in the newspapers about the Evan Project. Later, Joshua Zhong sent a letter to one newspaper thanking the people of Craig, Colorado, for their support. He also sent a letter to Evan expressing his feelings. “I want to thank and salute you for an incredibly moving and successful fund-raising effort. I am deeply touched by your love for the Chinese children. … You are an amazing kid with a very BIG heart!”
What does this “amazing kid” have in mind for the future? You guessed it. He’s not through helping orphans in China. He’s given it a lot of thought, and he’s getting close to earning his Eagle Scout Award. For his project he’s going to do something like gathering baby formula—lots of it—to send to Chinese orphanages. After all, when you have a BIG heart, it can strrreettch a whole lot to make room for one more Chinese baby … or 50 … or 150.

Let me know how I can help. I’ve said this myself, dozens of times, but words alone are meaningless. I prefer the approach of my neighbor when a section of my backyard fence was blown over in a windstorm. He didn’t ask if there was anything he could do to help, he just came over one day, replaced a rotted post, and repaired the fence.
Are there some specific things that you could use some help with right now? When my neighbor saw my broken fence and fixed it, he knew that I needed help. But other needs aren’t as easily determined without asking. Gently ask or suggest ways in which you might help. For example, I was concerned that the financial provisions for my family were in order, but didn’t quite know how to go about determining whether or not they were. One day my bishop, who is a certified public accountant, came to see me. “If you’d like me to,” he said, “I’d be happy to review your financial affairs with you and your wife.” I was grateful for his tact, and relieved to learn after his review that things were as we wished them to be.

Here is another example of the effect on the future of decisions made in the present. This example concerns the choice to make a present sacrifice to achieve an important future goal.
At a stake conference in Cali, Colombia, a sister told how she and her fiancé desired to be married in the temple, but at that time the closest temple was in faraway Peru. For a long time, they saved their money for the bus fares. Finally they boarded the bus to Bogotá, but when they arrived there, they learned that all seats on the bus to Lima, Peru, were taken. They could go home without being married or be married out of the temple. Fortunately, there was one other alternative. They could ride on the bus to Lima if they were willing to sit on the floor of the bus for the entire five-day and five-night ride. They chose to do this. She said it was difficult, even though some riders sometimes let them sit in their seats so they could stretch out on the floor.
What impressed me in her talk was this sister’s statement that she was grateful she and her husband had been able to go to the temple in this way, because it changed the way they felt about the gospel and the way they felt about marriage in the temple. The Lord had rewarded them with the growth that comes from sacrifice. She also observed that their five-day trip to the temple accomplished a great deal more in building their spirituality than many visits to the temple that were sacrifice-free.
In the years since I heard that testimony, I have wondered how different that young couple’s life would have been if they had made another choice—forgoing the sacrifice necessary to be married in the temple.

Anna Waschuck flicked her blond braids back over her shoulders and picked up another cabbage leaf. As she spooned rice filling into the cabbage cup, she glanced anxiously at her mother working beside her. How am I going to ask her? she wondered. Mama will be disappointed. She always likes the family around her for Svyata Vechera (holy supper that many Ukrainian families have on Christmas Eve).
“Why must we have our Christmas in January!” Anna complained, as she folded the leaf and rolled it into a neat little bundle.
“Because in the Ukraine some still use the Julian calendar and Christmas there falls on a different day than here,” Mama replied.
“But it makes life so difficult!” exclaimed Anna. “Everything happens when we are celebrating. I miss all the fun!”
“Ah—h, that’s why you’ve been so quiet. Is there something special tonight that you want to do?”
“Oh, Mama! Kathy is having a skating party this afternoon, and she’s invited me to go.”
“When we finish making the pirohy, you may go. But be back in time for Svyata Vechera.”
“She’s having pizza after the skating. If I go, I won’t be home in time for the supper.”
“Anna, it won’t be quite the same unless the whole family is together for the feast. But I won’t forbid you to go to the party. You are old enough to make your own decision.”
They worked in silence, while Anna wondered what to do. At last in annoyance she snapped, “Why do we have to keep Ukrainian customs? We’re Canadian now!”
“Some of the old familiar ways are a comfort to your father and me in this new land,” Mama replied quietly.
As Anna rolled the last of the cabbage leaves, she was undecided about what to tell Kathy. She thought of the fun it would be to play crack-the-whip on the ice and laugh with her friends. At home there was only her eight-year-old brother Steve, and just playing with him wouldn’t be much fun. But Mama would be unhappy with an empty place at the table for Svyata Vechera. There will be another Svyata Vechera next year but there might not be another party for me so I must go! Anna finally decided.
Anna lay the last holubtsi in the pot, and looked at the clock. It is one o’clock! The party begins at two. We’ll never finish making the pirohy in time! she thought. I must work faster.”
Mother began rolling and cutting the pastry for the pirohy. Anna filled each square with a small ball of potato and cheese mixture. Quickly she folded the pastry over, squeezed the edges together, and dropped the dumpling onto the pile. Mother would boil them just before supper.
While she worked, Anna kept peeking at the clock. The hands seemed to race. It’s quarter to two already! I’ll never make it, she worried.
“I see you’re watching the clock. You’ve decided to go,” her mother said. “Run along. I’ll finish.”
“Thanks, Mama,” Anna called, as she hurried to get her skates and into her heavy clothes.
Before running out the back door, she turned to say good-bye. But even though Mama waved and smiled Anna could see the hurt in her face. The uncomfortable thought that Mama still had several foods to prepare nagged at Anna. There had to be twelve meatless dishes, one for each of the apostles.
“But she can manage,” Anna murmured reassuringly. “She had to do it all alone when I was little.”
As Anna walked along, a cold gust of wind blew icy flakes from a snowbank over her. It’s a good thing I have these warm mittens, she thought, looking with pride at the exquisitely embroidered flowers on them. Mama had made them and no one else at school had such a beautiful pair. The memory of the many things her mother did for her came crowding into Anna’s mind, mingled with a picture of her mother’s sad face when she had waved good-bye. Mama had prepared and looked forward happily to the holy supper. It would be disappointing to all the family if there were an empty chair at the table.
Anna stopped a moment while she decided what to do. She hoped Kathy would understand. She would be sorry to miss her skating party but there would be others they could attend together before spring.
Anna turned and ran back toward home. And when she opened the door, the pleasure she saw on Mama’s face made Anna glow inside.
“Come, Annushka, let us set the table,” was all Mama said.
Before spreading their best embroidered tablecloth, Anna strewed a handful of hay in memory of the Christ Child. Then she placed three braided loaves of bread on top of each other in the center of the table. Next Anna inserted a white candle in the top loaf, and encircled the bottom one with twigs of evergreen. As she worked, Anna recalled her excitement when Mama had first let her prepare the table for Svyata Vechera.
Soon Father arrived home from the mine, and while he washed up, Anna and Mama changed into their snowy white Ukrainian blouses covered with embroidery. When Father and Steve had on their high-necked shirts, her mother declared everything ready. Mama brought in the steaming dishes, and they sat down at the table. Little Steve watched out the window for the first star to appear to signal the beginning of the meal.
As they waited, Anna looked at their happy faces. Mama beamed with joy. It’s lovely to be with my family on such an occasion, Anna thought. And it is good to be able to enjoy old customs as well as new ones!

But Arthur’s Seat has been the site of some lesser-known important events. On May 3, 1840, Orson Pratt arrived in Scotland as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He organized the first Scottish branch of the Church in Paisley. Then, after laboring in several other cities, Elder Pratt made his way to Edinburgh, where he found it very difficult to get the people to listen to the message of the restored gospel.
Sometimes when things seemed difficult, he would climb to the top of Arthur’s Seat. There, looking out across the city of Edinburgh, he could see the high peaks of mountains on the horizon and the Firth of Forth stretching to join the North Sea. Below, the tracks of one of Scotland’s first railroad lines ran through one of the earliest railroad tunnels. The echo of rifle practice may have risen up to greet Elder Pratt from Hunter’s Bog, while the ruins of St. Anthony’s chapel silently blended into the background on a lower ridge where sheep grazed. Holyrood Palace, the royal residence, lay at the foot of the hill, and across the way Edinburgh Castle guarded the top of another hill. On top of Arthur’s Seat, Elder Pratt prayed that the people would be receptive to the gospel. He then went down into the city and preached for endless hours, trying to establish the gospel in this important city of Edinburgh.
In one of his prayers, Elder Pratt pleaded with the Lord to help him find two hundred converts. After working very hard for ten months, Elder Pratt left Edinburgh having seen more than two hundred people enter into the covenant of baptism.

In recent weeks I’ve been having finals. One of my finals had to do with a composition consisting of a picture, poem, song, and theme paper. I remembered the June New Era and took a picture and poem from it. I had a question to ask the teacher, so I brought the New Era to school. The teacher was interested and wanted a subscription for the school. I told her I would get a subscription and donate it to the school. It seems to me that Mormon youth all around the world would want to do this for their schools and colleges. Thanks for making possible this good experience.
Carol ClawsonLos Altos, California

One of my favorite hymns is “Because I Have Been Given Much” (Hymns, no. 219). As a member of an area presidency in the Philippines, I once attended a stake conference in the Philippines just a few days after a bad typhoon. Many of the members’ homes had been destroyed, and I wondered if they would come to the conference. But the Philippine Saints filed into the chapel with smiling faces. In that meeting, they sang “Because I Have Been Given Much.” I marveled at their faith and devotion.