Gospel Story Finder

You’re going to say I should have arranged housing in advance. But if I had, where would I be now?
After filling out a mountain of forms at registration, I drove around Provo looking for a place to stay. Finally I picked out one of the new apartment units near the campus. The office girl told me they had a vacancy in number 33.
The apartment complex is in the shape of a big C, with a swimming pool and frisby field in the middle. I walked across the lawn to number 33 and knocked on the screen door. Nobody came, although I could hear voices inside. I knocked again.
...
We finished the dishes and sat down around the kitchen table. I took out a sheet of notebook paper and wrote at the top "Operation Engagement."
"We’ll make a list of the things a fellow looks for in an LDS girl. First: testimony. Second: a nice face, a good figure. Third: common interests. Fourth: sense of humor. Fifth: a supporting attitude."
"Let’s go down the list," Cher said. "Testimony. I’ve got one, Tony. I really do."
"Okay," I said. putting down a check on the paper.
"Face." She held out her hand, rotating it to the right and then to the left in a gesture familiar to Easterners. "I don’t know. What do you think?"
"It’s very good. Like a Greek goddess. Do you have many cavities?"
"Our water had fluoride—53% fewer cavities."
I put a check beside "Face."
"Wait," she said, "except for the glasses."
"You have to see."
"I’ll get contact lenses."
"I like you the way you are."
"It’s not you we’re trying to impress," she said coolly. Then, quickly, "I’m sorry, that wasn’t kind."
"No problem."
"Figure?"
I cleared my throat. "Fine."
"You don’t think I’m too skinny?"
"No, ma’am."
"Aren’t you going to say anything more about the figure?"
"No, ma’am."
"Do I dress modestly enough?"
"You dress like a lady."
"Maybe I should dress less modestly to get B.J.’s attention."
"If he noticed you that way, I’d punch him out."
"Okay. Common interests." she said.
"I think B.J.’s biggest interest is himself. So you have a common interest."
"You don’t know him very well. Be constructive."
"Okay," I replied. "Boys from the West are crazy about deer hunting. Do you know anything about deer hunting?"
"What’s there to know?" she asked.
"Do you know how to clean a deer?"
"Do they get dirty?"
"I will ignore that. Probably your biggest common interest is the Church. Maybe that’s enough. Let’s see, sense of humor."
"I don’t think B. J. has a sense of humor."
"If you marry him, you’re going to need one. A supporting attitude. That means you help him on his campaigns. Or you try to do nice things for him, like cooking his favorite food to show him that he’s special to you. You’re doing fine, Cher."
"Tony, there’s one other thing. I have some of that Eastern cynicism. I’m not like your average coed. Maybe I seem too cynical. I need to be more sincere." She wrote down another word at the bottom of the list, sincerity.
The next afternoon when I came in after my lab, she was already working on supper.
"Tony, look what I picked up in the bookstore today. You’re not going to believe this. It’s perfume in a time-release capsule. You just open this little pill and scatter the tiny beads on your hair with this little can. The beads are programmed. The aroma starts out kind of mild, but in about three hours it’s really something. I’m going to put some on."
She applied the contents of one of the small capsules.
"Do you want to smell?"
"In the interests of science," I said.
"Let’s see. It’s 4:30 now. We’ll eat at 6:00. So if I can get around B. J. by 7:00, I’ll give him the full dose."
She started peeling potatoes. I sat at the table and thumbed through a book I was supposed to be reading. The perfume did change aroma as time went on.
"I pick up my contact lenses on Monday, Tony. And I’ve really worked at being sincere. Look at me."
She was standing with her head up, looking at the ceiling.
"What are you looking at the ceiling for?"
"I’m looking at the clouds as the sun breaks through."
"We’re in a room. There are no clouds," I said.
"I know. But you’ve seen those movies where they close with someone looking at the clouds. Now that’s a sincere look, right? Well, I’ve got it, right?"
I stood up, grabbed a dish towel, and draped it over her sincere face.
...
"That’s really great, B.J.," Cher said as she leaned down by him, ostensibly to look at his appointment book but really to allow him a whiff of "T + Three Hours and Counting" perfume.
It was at that moment I realized I loved Cher and didn’t want her to be around B.J.
Monday when I came in, Cher had her contact lenses.
"So how do you like me now?"
"You can really see me?"
"Sure."
"But why are you crying?" I asked.
"My eyes are just watering a little. It’ll clear up once I get used to the lenses."
"I can’t even see them on you. Let me get a little closer." I moved very close to her and looked into her eyes.
"How’s that?" she asked.
"Fine."
"I mean, can you see them now?"
"I’ll have to get closer."
"That’s close enough," she said, moving away.
"Are they hard to take out?"
"Not at all. You just put your finger here on the corner of your eye and blink." She put her other hand below her eye, but the lens missed her hand and fell to the floor.
"Just stay there, Cher. I’ll look for it." I got down on my hands and knees and started looking for it. I soon found the small, green, plastic lens. "Cher, can you see anything?"
"No. Why?"
"Nothing." I put the lens in my shirt pocket.
"Cher, maybe if you get down and help look for it."
She got down on her hands and knees also. "I think we should both concentrate our efforts over here where you were when you dropped it." I moved over by her.
We looked and looked. Finally we decided to take it one tile at a time.
"Tony? You have your hand on top of my hand," she said, looking down at our hands.
"Oh, I do. Do you want me to move it, Cher?"
"I don’t know. I can’t decide."
"Cher, you are really good looking."
"With contacts, I’ll look better. Maybe that’s been my trouble all along."
"No, I mean with glasses, and without the time-release perfume, and without the forced sincere look. You are beautiful. You don’t need any improvement."
"No, I’m not beautiful."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I’m not," she insisted.
"Yes, you are."
"No, I’m not."
"Well, maybe not beautiful. But definitely pretty."
"So you don’t think I’m beautiful!"
"Yes, I do. But you wouldn’t accept it, so I figured I’d compromise. And Cher, you are sincere. In fact, you are just about the most sincere person I’ve ever met. Truly."
"Thank you. I try to be sincere. And Tony, you’re the only person I’ve ever been able to talk to without wondering what I’m supposed to say. With you I’m just myself."
"Cher, you have a nice hand."
"We shouldn’t be here alone like this."
"We’re not alone, Cher. Boris is on the couch, and Enrico is looking at the chalkboard."
"I know," she whispered, "but it’s like being alone."
"Cher, you are very special to me."
"I don’t want to hurt you, Tony."
"Who’s hurting? My knees are a little sore, that’s all."
"That’s not what I meant. I don’t want you to fall in love with me."
"It’s too late. I already have. I want to marry you, and I’m asking you."
She started crying.
"If you want to wait before you give me an answer, that’s okay."
I got up to get her a box of tissues. When I returned, she was sitting on the chair in the kitchen. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and sat there.
"Tony, I really like you, but I’ve been thinking about B. J. for so long there’s no more room for anyone else in my heart. Can we be good friends?"
The next day I paid a visit to B.J.’s office in the Wilkinson Center. "B.J., I want to talk to you."
I told him about Cher and the way she felt about him. "The poor girl," he said. "I had no idea she felt so strongly about me."
"What are you going to do about it?" I asked him.
"I guess I’ll have to take my shirts to the cleaners and tell her to buzz off."
I slammed my hand down on his desk, breaking his plastic, desk name plate. "No, B.J., that’s not what you’re going to do. You’re going to take that girl out and try to fall in love with her. You are going to treat her like a queen, or some morning you’re going to wake up with your head shaved."
"Perhaps I should go out with her," he said quietly.
For the next several weeks, I stayed clear of Cher. I spent my late afternoons watching the Foucault pendulum swing, or listening to music, or taking long walks. Then I would go home around 8:00 and eat whatever was left. Cher was cooking for B. J. now. She made homemade wheat bread, beef stew, meatloaf—the things that B. J. liked.
It was especially bad when I knew they were going out, and I stayed away from campus for fear I’d see them together. Every couple seen from a distance looked like them. Every time I saw a girl with her head on some boy’s shoulder, I got cold chills. I wished I had never met her.
One weekend B. J. took Cher home with him to meet the family. That was the Saturday I ran. I got up early and put on sweat pants and sweat shirt and drove out to a country road. After parking the car I started running. Soon there was just the road, the pain in my side, and the crunch of my feet against the gravel. But the pain in my mind diminished as the pain in my side increased. So I kept on. Finally I collapsed on the side of the road. It was a long time before I could make myself get up and walk back to the car.
A couple of weeks later B. J. had to go to a conference of student leaders in New Mexico. That Tuesday night I entered the apartment at 8:00 expecting to see the usual empty kitchen with a plate of food in the refrigerator.
Cher was in the kitchen cooking. "I thought you were never coming," she said. "Sit down and get started."
She sat down across from me, and we said the blessing.
We got through the salad in silence. Removing the salad plate, she replaced it with a plate of lasagna and garlic bread.
"Why are you cooking with B. J. gone?"
"I get paid to cook here, remember?"
"But why did you wait for me? I’m two hours late."
"Your name Tony Versalino? Of Italian ancestry? You like Italian food?"
"Yes."
"That’s what it means."
"Cher?"
"Item five, a supporting attitude. ‘Like cooking his favorite food.’"
I put down my fork and held her hand. "What about B.J.?"
"He was a dream in my mind for all those years, but a dream with no reality. Besides, it finally occurred to me that it wasn’t necessary for all members of the Church to walk and talk and live like they came from Panguitch, Provo, or Parowan. I can’t fit the Utah-Mormon mold. I like the East, and I want to go back and help the Church grow there."
"You mean, the West is a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there?" I caught the aroma of her perfume in the last stages of its time-release cycle. "Lady, what you need is a nice Mormon boy from Pennsylvania."
"I don’t want to push you, Tony."
"I’m your man."
"You know what Daddy is going to say?" Cher said. "‘Queens? He’s from Queens? I send you by plane across the country, you live in a desert for years, and you find a husband from Queens? For Queens, I could pay subway fare. Now you tell me you want to get married in a temple in Utah? We got plenty of temples in New York, and I know a rabbi …’"
For dessert we had a dish of Italian ice.

My friend and I were playing at the park. I climbed a tree, but my friend couldn’t climb up. When I tried to get down, I couldn’t, and it was too far to jump. My friend said that we should say a prayer so that someone would come help us. First I prayed, and then my friend prayed. A few minutes later my dad showed up at the park and helped me down from the tree. I told my mom and dad what happened, and each of them told me that they had a feeling they should check on me to see if I was OK. I know that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers.Nicholas M., age 7, Utah

After I completed my college education, I became a research scientist. Trained in the scientific method, I accepted only what could be sensed and proven. I lived without God’s influence in my life; I was practically an atheist.
Then one morning I received a call that my son had been in a serious automobile accident. On the way to the hospital, I felt prompted to say the Lord’s Prayer, which I had learned in childhood. I could not remember it, but I felt that I needed to pray anyway.
Even though God had called to me, when the crisis subsided and my son recovered, I continued to live without Him in my life.
Years later I began dating a woman named Rubí. She was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, though she was not active. We were together for three years when she began to feel the desire to go to church. She would ask me to go with her, but I always refused.
One day the missionaries came to our door. They gave me a Book of Mormon and left me with reading assignments. I read what they requested but felt nothing. I also attended church but was always skeptical. Even so, I felt I needed to keep reading the Book of Mormon. God was calling me again.
As I continued reading, I started to feel that the book was true. My faith was growing. When I reached 3 Nephi 13:9–13 and read the Lord’s Prayer, the Spirit flooded over me. I broke into sobs. God was calling me a third time. This time I listened.
My faith in God grew. I wanted to know more. In a short time, I read all the standard works. I continued attending church, and after Rubí and I married, I was baptized. I will never forget the joy I felt when I was confirmed a member of the Church.
Today I am still a research scientist. But now I see the hand of God in all things. I agree with Alma, who said, “All things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator” (Alma 30:44).

An acquaintance of mine used to live in a ward with some of the highest statistics in the Church—attendance was high, home teaching numbers were high, Primary children were always well behaved, ward dinners included fantastic food that members rarely spilled on the meetinghouse floor, and I think there were never any arguments at Church ball.

My friend and his wife were subsequently called on a mission. When they returned three years later, this couple was astonished to learn that during the time they were away serving, 11 marriages had ended in divorce.

Although the ward had every outward indication of faithfulness and strength, something unfortunate was happening in the hearts and lives of the members. And the troubling thing is that this situation is not unique. Such terrible and often unnecessary things happen when members of the Church become disengaged from gospel principles. They may appear on the outside to be disciples of Jesus Christ, but on the inside their hearts have separated from their Savior and His teachings. They have gradually turned away from the things of the Spirit and moved toward the things of the world.

When I was presiding over the Edmonton Branch a man came to me and said, “I can’t pay a full tithing this year. I have had to do some building, some remodeling, and so on.” I told him that the Lord had said that he would pour out blessings that we would hardly be able to contain. He said, “I still can’t do it.” Right after the first of the year that man spent several days in the hospital with a high doctor bill, and he paid it. I am not suggesting that he was there because he didn’t pay a full tithing, but I am suggesting that the evidence is there that he could have paid a full tithing.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells us to pray for our enemies. Our Church leaders today have often counseled us to do the same when we hold onto bad feelings about someone. While I was growing up, I used to think this was just something people would talk about but never actually do. There came a time in my life, though, when the only thing I could do was pray for those I disliked. I learned the wisdom in that counsel from an experience with prayer and forgiveness that changed my life.
It started when I entered the Young Women program in our small ward. Involved in many activities, I always tried to do the best I could in each area. I was excited about being in Young Women, and I began trying to develop a relationship with the four girls with whom I would have constant association. My excitement soon turned to bitterness as these four girls became one of the biggest trials in my life.
Being jealous of my accomplishments, they started doing anything they could to ruin my self-esteem. At first it was just rude remarks about me to other people. Then they would get together and make fun of me in Sunday School. One day in Young Women class I sat next to one of the girls, and she stood up and moved across the room. Whenever I suggested an activity or was in charge, they failed to show up or carry through with their responsibilities.
I tried hard to uphold my standards, and was sometimes recognized for doing so. This did not improve my relationship with them.
A person can endure this sort of treatment for a few months, or even a couple of years, but it went on for four years at an age when it is very important to feel a sense of belonging. I felt I was a failure because I had no friends. It was a terribly lonely time.
When I was sixteen years old, our family moved to a new neighborhood. I thought all my problems would be solved, but they were just beginning. In a new environment, I felt like a social outcast. With little confidence in myself left, I believed no one could ever like me. I hated the girls back in my hometown for making me feel this way. How could I “start again” with my past haunting me?
Feeling horribly alone, unloved, and bitter, I asked myself what I should do. I thought of that old saying, “Pray for your enemies.”
Pray for the girls who have destroyed my self-esteem, my social life, and hope? I just couldn’t do it, I thought.
But I felt the Spirit prompting me to pray.
I knew I had to forgive if I was ever going to progress and regain my self-confidence. I knelt and said my usual prayer. Then I stopped. I couldn’t pray for them. I just couldn’t. I stayed on my knees for about a half hour weeping. Praying for strength, I then said, “Dear Father, please bless Kathy, Ann, Sherri, and Julie.” That’s all I said. I didn’t feel any different, and it was the hardest prayer I had ever offered. The next night I said the same thing.
After a few months of praying every night for them, an amazing thing started to happen. The words came more easily, and I started feeling better about myself. Soon I prayed specific things for each girl: “Bless Ann to do well in her dance lessons. Bless Julie to get along with her parents. Bless Kathy to have the courage to stand up for the right, and bless Sherri with the strength to accomplish her goals.”
After an entire year of praying, the thing that I thought impossible happened. I loved them, and the bitterness and bad memories were erased. We have now become good friends.
It has been three years since we moved away, yet I still take time out in my prayers to remember them. The night I decided to pray and forgive them was probably the most important decision I ever made. You see, I could have spent my whole life being angry and hurt. In the end, I would have only destroyed myself.
Through those prayers I was able to improve my self-esteem. I learned faith, the power of prayer, and the truthfulness of the scriptures. I have been blessed with many friends who love me. I have not carried around a guilty, heavy conscience. It has become a habit for me to fall to my knees and pray for anyone who offends me. I have learned the sweetness of forgiveness.

When I looked at my brother’s Christmas tree, there, hanging as a decoration, was a tiny molded figure of a swimmer with a snorkel and diving mask. “What’s this on your tree?” I asked. “We’ve started a new tradition,” he said. “Each year we are going to make decorations that represent something that happened to us that year. This year I learned to snorkel. Here’s one of the Washington Monument because we moved from Washington, D.C., and here’s one of the sun because we had a fun summer.”
Every year when my brother unpacks the Christmas decorations, his family will remember some of the special things that have happened to them during past years.

Joseph was ten when his parents decided that they had had enough of stingy New England—their crops were frozen out the third summer in a row. Late that season the family followed their father to new farmland in western New York. Young Joseph hobbled over snowy roads with a severe limp from a crippling bone operation three years before. Yet he outgrew this as he worked in the forests with his brothers, clearing 40 acres of heavy timber and underbrush, fencing and erecting buildings for themselves, and hiring out on neighboring farms. By such hard work Joseph built a body that served him well in the travels and trials required of the first leader of the restored church.

The first assignment in my sophomore English class was to bring “a signature item” the following Wednesday. “A what?” the class chorused. “A signature item,” the teacher explained, “is something that represents who you are.”
Uh oh, I thought. Something deep—what if I don’t know who I am?
Within my heart lay a desire to live a life that would matter. I wanted to make a positive impact and to know that my life was not lived in vain. Something within me told me that this was possible but did not say how. My confidence was lacking, and I was unsure how I, of all people, could do it.
Since I was originally from Utah, people often asked me if I was a Mormon. Each time, I would answer in a different way: “I don’t know.” “I was baptized, but I don’t go to church.” “No, but I should be.”
For some reason, I felt a responsibility to God to be a Mormon. But it didn’t make sense because I didn’t quite believe in God. At times, I would look out at the starry night and feel strangely alone, yet not alone. The universe filled me with a sense of longing and inexplicable familiarity. When I overheard people talk of how many wonderful blessings they had received from God, I listened with stoic nonchalance. Yet I had wonderful dreams, dreams of courage and honor.
My oldest sister, Lark, was the only active member of the Church in our family. When she moved to Seattle, Washington, with her new husband, Tim, they invited me to attend church with them in the ward they would be moving into, a half hour’s drive away. It was something she wanted me to do, and I somehow knew it was something I was supposed to do. So I decided to go.
With my life fluctuating and with the decision of who I would become hovering before me, I plunged into high school. I recognized that I had a slate wiped almost completely clean. The teachers didn’t know me. Neither did most of the students. The opportunity was excellent for me to redefine who I was, both to others and to myself. I had mixed emotions about popularity, but thought I might have an outside chance at it if I played my cards with precision. This was when the signature item was assigned.
Needless to say, I had not come up with a signature item on Monday. Nor had I come up with anything before going to the weekly Tuesday night youth activity in my sister’s ward. She made some suggestions on the way to the meetinghouse, but none of them satisfied me.
The events of the combined activity had been kept secret, so it was with curiosity that I viewed the cultural hall after my arrival. My first glance revealed tables that appeared to be set for dinner. A second look revealed that there was no food on the tables. Instead of plates containing physical food, there were copies of the Book of Mormon containing spiritual food; instead of eating utensils, there were writing utensils; and instead of napkins, there were sheets of paper. As I took a seat, my attention was captured by this riddle that had been set before me.
Two missionaries were the central speakers. Each bore his testimony of how he came to learn that the Book of Mormon was, indeed, the word of God.
When they turned our attention to a video which told the story of Christ’s visit to the righteous Nephites and Lamanites after his resurrection, an incredible feeling came over me. The way Nephi described the situation then is also an apt description of how I felt: “And it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them … to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn” (3 Ne. 11:3). Pure knowledge of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon entered my soul that night, leaving a mark that would affect me eternally.
As Lark and Tim drove me home, I mentally went through my homework checklist. First period, algebra, done. Second period … Sixth period, English, signature item—uh, oh. What could I take?
In a still, small voice, the Spirit whispered, “The Book of Mormon.” I instantly recognized that it was not my physical ears that had heard this statement. This was the first time I had felt the Spirit with such distinction and clarity.
“Cool!” I stated with outright enthusiasm.
“What?” Lark said as she looked over her shoulder.
In awe, I explained, “I think the Book of Mormon should be my signature item.”
A smile spread quickly across her face, and she said, “Oh, that sounds great, but it will be really hard.”
That realization dampened my enthusiasm considerably. There goes my clean slate, I thought ruefully. Would I be giving up popularity and the chance of making friends in my high school life? Sensing my hesitation, Lark suggested that I pray about it before going to bed. The idea appealed to me, so I agreed. I thanked her for taking me home and went inside my house.
I placed the Book of Mormon with my school books. Then kneeling, I prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, are you sure this is what you want me to do?” The answer I felt was an immediate yes, accompanied by the assurance of the Spirit. “Will you help me?” I asked. Another strong positive feeling calmed my nerves. Reassured, I went to sleep.
As my sixth-period English class approached, I grew more uncertain. The teacher gave instructions to the class. We were to state our name, what our signature item was, and why it was our signature item. The first two requirements I had down pat, but for some reason, I hadn’t thought about the third. I knew what my signature item was; I didn’t know why it was my signature item.
When the call for volunteers was made, one girl from the front row stood up and shared her signature item. Then the girl next to her stood up and took her turn. A pattern started developing in the order of volunteers. The third person on the front row stood to share her item. After that, the pattern was set. To the class, it was probably just an amusing way of alleviating the uncertainty and pressures of being called to the front of the room. But it meant that I would be the final person to share his signature item.
When my turn came, I slowly walked to the front of the room. I hadn’t written a speech or even made a mental outline of what I would say. I began with, “My name is Derek Tucker, and this is my signature item. It is the Book of Mormon.” From that time until I finished speaking, I felt the Spirit guiding my words. To this day I am not really sure what I said.
After I finished, I braced myself for a verbal assault. But to my amazement and gratitude, there was silence. What truly took me by surprise, however, were the facial expressions of the students. About one-third of the class had tears in their eyes. Others had stoic expressions. And still others were nervously looking away. Though not everyone may have felt comfortable about the subject, there seemed to be an atmosphere of respect.
I turned to walk back to my seat when suddenly my attention was turned to the teacher, whose face was streaming with tears. She whispered in a choked up voice, “That’s a strong testament.” I was stunned; time slowed as the statement penetrated my heart. I said, “Thank you,” and then walked back to my desk.
The Book of Mormon was now emblazoned upon my formerly clean slate, never to be erased. I had put my trust in the Lord, and he had helped me. I now knew who I was—a precious son of Heavenly Father. And I knew that by being his servant my life would have meaning and value.

A short time after that reunion, young Bruford Reynolds, a son, who was also a bishop, called and said, “Did you know my dad is in the hospital? He had a serious heart attack. He is in the LDS Hospital, and we wondered if you knew.” I had not known. I told him that I would like to see him but I had to catch a plane in a little over an hour. I didn’t see how I could get up to the hospital before I had to leave. He then said, “Oh, that’s okay. Dad is going to be released tomorrow to return home.”
I said, “Tell him I love him, and I’ll drop in to see him as soon as I get back.”
I hung up the phone, thought for only a moment, and decided everything else could wait. I took my briefcase, airplane tickets, and drove to the LDS Hospital to see Bruford Reynolds. As I walked through the door, our eyes met. The love between a great man and boy spanned the years. I went over to him and sat down, and we talked. Then I said, “I know you have been administered to, but would you feel all right if I knelt by your bed and offered a prayer?” I knelt down and together we prayed. When I finished, my eyes were filled with tears, as were his. Then I bent down over him and kissed him on the forehead and left.
Bruford Reynolds died an hour later. I was one of his boys, saying “farewell” to a great adviser one last time.

Working as an errand boy in his father’s advertising business, Elder Nelson says that he learned to appreciate both the value of work and the people he met. His father had built his advertising business with the hope that his sons would join him. When Elder Nelson decided to become a doctor, his father may have been “somewhat disappointed.”
Elder Nelson had found that he had “a flair for the exact sciences—mathematics, chemistry, and physics. I did well in those subjects, and I reasoned that through medicine I could couple the exact sciences with my desire to serve other people. When my father learned of my plans, he was very supportive and said, ‘Well, if you want to do it, be the best.’”

Youth in Fargo, North Dakota, know how to live within their means. When their leaders announced they were going to have a stake-sponsored formal dance, they were excited. Then the leaders dropped the bomb: No one could spend more than five dollars on what they wore to the dance.
“When I heard we could only spend five dollars, I was a bit skeptical,” says Becky LaDuke, a Mia Maid. “But I found two great dresses at a thrift store, and it only cost me four dollars. I guess you don’t have to have a lot of money to have a good time, because I had a blast.”
People found different ways to adhere to the budget rule. Some borrowed clothes from friends, others remade thrift-store items, and a few wore things they already had in their closets. A couple of enterprising priests even secured a matching set of powder-blue tuxedos from the school’s drama department costume collection.
The dance was a huge success, proving that low-budget doesn’t have to mean no fun.

Bishop Ochieng and his wife had a friend who moved away from their neighborhood, but his wife knew where she now lived. The Ochiengs decided to “do something merciful” and visit her and also see how she was doing. They found her in a predicament with rent due and only KSh40 for the whole week. They gave her a little. She wept and the Ochiengs wept with her, because she didn’t know they were doing the 25 ways in 25 days program.

Let me share a personal story.
My wife and I learned to work better at being equal partners after one day when I decided to make an important decision without consulting her. My action surprised her, took her off guard, and put her in a very difficult situation. Afterward, she put her hands on my shoulders and firmly said, “Ron, please, never do that to me again.” We have pretty much been on the same page ever since.

When the missionaries showed me the filmstrip of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s First Vision, it was difficult for me to contain my tears. The story of his search for truth was in some ways similar to my own.
At that time, I was 20 years old and living in Italy, the land of my birth. For five years I had been looking for answers my parents’ religion had not been able to give me. I had sought these answers in other religions and philosophies, but something seemed lacking in all of them. During the year before I met the missionaries, that search had become the most important thing in my life. I distanced myself from some of my friends and even left the university where I had been studying. My relatives could not understand me.
At the end of 1984, I met the missionaries on the street and gave them my address. I knew very little about the Church, but for some reason I wanted to speak to them.
Some days later I was in my room. I opened my heart to God, asking Him to show me what He wanted me to do. As I prayed I felt a great peace surround me. At that exact moment, the doorbell rang. When the missionaries came in, I knew they had the answers I sought.

About seven years ago, Marie Holley and Margaret Adamson moved into our ward in North Dakota. Both had doctoral degrees in nursing, and they had been hired to design a graduate degree program in the College of Nursing at the University of North Dakota. It was a challenging task, and they began it with vigor. We felt fortunate to have two such talented people in our ward.
Then, just six months after moving into our midst, Marie found that she had a rare form of cancer. Doctors felt she had only a few months to live.
But the doctors did not know about Marie’s strong desire to live. For almost three years, she fought her disease with her will and with every medical treatment doctors could prescribe. Finally, she grew so ill that she had to retire from work.
When Marie became too weak to take care of herself at home alone, she hired someone to come in to make lunch, give her baths, and do housekeeping tasks. I was Marie’s visiting teacher, and my companion and I helped in every way we could. Her friend Margaret came every day after work to be her night nurse.
In the spring of 1983, Margaret became ill from her long hours of working and caring for Marie. At this point, the Relief Society became involved. We set up a schedule, and Relief Society sisters faithfully signed up to come and stay with Marie during the day—every day. Until then, we had thought of compassionate service as something we did in an occasional time of need. Now it became an important part of our daily lives.
As the summer went on, Marie’s health grew worse. When doctors could offer no more help, Marie became eligible for the Hospice program. The Hospice is an organization of volunteers from the community who give basic nursing care for terminally ill patients who wish to die at home. The Hospice volunteers took over the nursing, so we Relief Society sisters organized ourselves to be Marie’s home companions.
At first, the Hospice volunteers were uneasy about having the Relief Society sisters help Marie. They had found that well-meaning friends of the terminally ill are often unreliable. Our Relief Society sisters were also uneasy about working with the women from the Hospice. In our area, many people think of the Church as a cult, and we wondered what the volunteers would think of us and our beliefs.
We also had other concerns. Our Relief Society had never been asked to care for a dying sister. Many sisters wondered what they should say and do. So we prayed. We held meetings and taught the sisters what to do in an emergency and how to give pain-killing shots.
We began to live by the calendar. Often we didn’t know the volunteer who would be on the shift before or after us, but Marie would always introduce us. The Relief Society sisters and the Hospice volunteers first became acquaintances and then friends. The Hospice women marveled at how busy we were—many of us were young with small children—and that we all still came to spend time with Marie. The volunteers began to admire us.
After several months, Marie became suddenly worse and went into a coma. Our bishop, who was also a physician, notified Marie’s family. The Relief Society sisters and Hospice volunteers flocked to Marie’s bedside to say goodby and to tell Marie how much we had grown to love her. It was an emotional time as we prepared to let her go.
But Marie didn’t die. Two days later, she came out of the coma. She hadn’t been ready to go, she said.
Some of the Hospice volunteers expressed anger and frustration. In a meeting with the Relief Society sisters, they asked, “Why does God allow her to suffer on and on and on?” They also asked us how we could be so calm as we watched Marie’s great mind and life being wasted.
This gave us an opportunity to explain something about the plan of salvation. The Hospice volunteers sat silently as we told about why we are here, the purpose of our lives, and the promise of what lies before us in eternity. We explained that death is just another beginning, not an end. The meeting ended on a thoughtful, spiritual tone.
Several months later, after fourteen months of our constant care, Marie finally died. Her funeral was not a sad occasion. Marie had not wanted it to be. Instead, it was a calm, peaceful “goodbye for now,” with the assurance that we would see her again.
Most of the people who attended the funeral were not Latter-day Saints. Many were Hospice volunteers. Many others were from the university. The audience listened attentively as the principles of the gospel were explained, as Marie had requested. After the funeral, I heard many interesting comments:
“Why, it was the most beautiful funeral I’ve been to! It was so well organized, I had to keep reminding myself that all you people were volunteers.”
“I remembered all the things Marie has told me before, and it all fit together. Your beliefs are so logical.”
“I wish I could really believe as you do. No wonder you feel so comforted.”
“I’ve lived in this town for many years, yet I’ve never had the courage to come into your church. I am so glad I came today.”
“I’ve been reading the books Marie gave me, and I was so interested to hear where we came from and why we are here.”
We discovered that Marie had given each nonmember who had cared for her a copy of the Book of Mormon and a copy of Elder LeGrand Richard’s book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, with a challenge to read them both. “After I’m gone, someone will come and explain them to you and answer your questions,” she had told her friends.
During Marie’s illness, seventy-five people had helped—forty-five Relief Society sisters, twenty-two Hospice volunteers, and eight part-time employees. Through caring for Marie, so many strangers have become friends. She has planted the seeds of the gospel in the hearts of many people. Now it is up to us—her friends—to nourish those seeds so that the Lord might reap the harvest.

When I was eight years old, my Primary teacher gave a lesson that confused me. She said that after we die, we will be able to remember all the things we did while on the earth.
After class when I was going to sacrament meeting, I saw a little girl who was sad. Her parents were not around, so I knew she was lost. I played with her for a minute, but sacrament meeting was starting and I knew I should go in. I started to go into the chapel, but then I remembered what my teacher said. Her lesson started to make sense. Heavenly Father and Jesus would know what I did. I knew that I should help that little girl.
I went back to get her. And soon her dad came back and found her. I’m grateful for Jesus’ example. And I’m grateful to my teacher for the lesson that helped me so much.

When Patrick was 19, he lost his father and brother-in-law in a tragic car accident in Saudi Arabia. “My world turned upside down with their loss,” he says. His father’s guiding hand, loving encouragement, and joyful view of the world were gone. Lost in grief and emptiness for a time, Patrick went home to England with his mother but eventually returned to work in Saudi Arabia.
“I had all sorts of valuable opportunities to learn and grow and see how businesses worked,” he says. He was especially grateful for “a wonderful boss who coached and guided me and became a dear friend. He was one of several father-type figures I’ve been blessed with since my father’s death.”

7. Keep cars free of inside litter. Place heavy objects—which could become missiles in case of a quick stop—in the trunk. In California, two missionaries were slowing down for an intersection when an empty pop bottle rolled from beneath the driver’s seat and up under the brake pedal. With the brakes thus jammed, they smashed into a semitrailer and the car was totaled out. Fortunately no injury more serious than a broken arm resulted, but all for an empty pop bottle. In another case a quick stop brought some heavy books flying from the back window area, whacking the driver on the neck. He was severely cut and had to have stitches. Imagine what a typewriter or an adding machine might have done!

Another challenge was an individual I had to work closely with. I felt no particular admiration for him, and he obviously felt contempt for me. As our interchanges grew more quarrelsome, I found him deliberately trying to sabotage my work and needling me to provoke quarrels. I responded in the best tradition of the natural man and soon a bitter feud was underway. In my quieter moments, I realized that I was destroying myself and that the Spirit was leaving me because of this contention.
Again, I turned to the Lord and prayed, night and morning, “Father, I’m having a terrible time with this man. Wilt thou bless me that I may feel about him as you do.” Soon a vision began to open to me of an entirely different person than the one I’d been perceiving. I now saw a sensitive, easily hurt individual who felt alone, vulnerable, and afraid in new situations. I began to see the great strengths he had developed that had brought him to this point. But more than that, I gradually came to feel reverence and even awe for him. Here was a son of God, beloved and cherished of him. And who could resist loving such a person? Not I. It came. The love just came. Another small corner of my heart had been changed, and the Lord’s promise had been fulfilled.