Gospel Story Finder

When Paul H. Dunn of the First Quorum of the Seventy was eleven years old, baseball was an important part of his life. Paul’s parents permitted his team to use their large backyard for a baseball diamond. It was completely fenced in, with an alley running along the outside. Beyond the alley was a large church with a beautiful stained glass window that faced the center-field fence.
One hot summer evening an exciting baseball game was in progress in the Dunn backyard. Paul came to bat late in the game and hit an outside pitch. It looked like it might be the best hit he had ever made! The ball cleared the center-field fence, crossed the alley, and then, to everyone’s dismay, entered the church building through the large stained glass window some 260 feet away. It seemed to young Paul that the glass fell for hours. The players scattered in every direction.
When Paul got up the courage to return home, he discovered that his father had two visitors. They were both ministers from the neighboring church. To Paul’s surprise, they seemed to know from which house the baseball had come. Paul admitted to the ministers that he had hit the ball that had broken the window and told them that he was very sorry.
Paul’s father put his arm around his son’s shoulder, patted him on the head, and said, “This is a good boy.” He, too, apologized for the mishap and asked how much it would cost to replace the stained glass window. They told him that it would be about $500.
It was then that his father taught young Paul a great lesson. He asked the ministers if they understood the principle of Christ’s atonement. They seemed a little puzzled. His father said, “In our Church, we believe that ‘through the Atonement of Christ, all mankind may be saved by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel’” (third article of faith). He explained that the atonement allows each of us to be forgiven of our sins if we repent. Jesus paid for all our sins when He suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane. As the only perfect person who ever lived on earth, He was the only one who could do this for us. We could not do it for ourselves. Without His sacrifice, we could never be forgiven of our sins and would not be able to live with Heavenly Father and Jesus again.
Paul’s father pointed out that although Paul had broken a window, he could never pay for it himself. His allowance of 25¢ a week would never pay for a $500 window. Taking his checkbook from his coat pocket, he wrote out a check for the amount needed and said, “As Paul’s father, and because I love him, I will pay the price that he cannot.”
This experience helped Paul understand what Jesus did for us when He atoned for our sins. At this Easter time we can be thankful that Heavenly Father loved us enough to send His Son so that we can be forgiven when we do something wrong.

I also owe much to my forebears. All eight of my great-grandparents were converts to the Church in Europe. Each of these stalwart souls sacrificed everything to come to Zion. During subsequent generations, however, not all my ancestors remained so committed. As a result, I was not raised in a gospel-centered home.

I adored my parents. They meant the world to me and taught me crucial lessons. I cannot thank them enough for the happy homelife they created for me and my siblings. And yet, even as a boy, I knew I was missing something. One day I jumped on the streetcar and went to an LDS bookstore to find a book about the Church. I loved learning about the gospel.

As I came to understand the Word of Wisdom, I wanted my parents to live that law. So, one day when I was very young, I went to our basement and smashed on the concrete floor every bottle of liquor! I expected my father to punish me, but he never said a word.

As I matured and began to understand the magnificence of Heavenly Father’s plan, I often said to myself, “I don’t want one more Christmas present! I just want to be sealed to my parents.” That longed-for event did not happen until my parents were past 80, and then it did happen. I cannot fully express the joy that I felt that day, and each day I feel that joy of their sealing and my being sealed to them.

Indio High School’s water polo team was surprising everybody. The Southern California 3-A championship game was half over, and they were thrashing the El Dorado Hawks, 7–3. Indio’s Rajahs were considered a Cinderella club, strong on teamwork but lacking the polish and size necessary to pull off an upset. Yet somehow they were winning the game!
Calvin Lowell, 17, braced himself at the edge of the pool, ready to sprint to the center. (In water polo each quarter begins when the referee tosses the ball to the middle of the water, and players swim toward it in a scramble for possession.) He knew El Dorado would come out fighting.
Cal looked up at his father, Dr. John Lowell, who was standing near one of the diving boards, ready to shout encouragement. It wasn’t just another case of a proud spectator cheering on his boy. Cal’s father is the Indio coach.
The whistle shrieked. Waves foamed and churned. One blazing shot after another skittered into the net, despite flailing arms and lunging defensive maneuvers. Two of Indio’s top players fouled out. The lead narrowed to 8–7. Each team scored again quickly. Then with two minutes and 36 seconds remaining in the fourth quarter, an El Dorado forward slapped the ball from the goalie’s hand and it floated into the net to knot the score at 9–9.
Coach Lowell bowed his head. Ignoring thousands of screaming fans, he said a silent prayer. He knew the Lord couldn’t promise a victory, but he hoped that each player would perform to the best of his ability. A new strategy came into his head, and he called a time out.
He gathered the players around him and counseled them to avoid the congested area just in front of the goals, concentrating on outside shots. Play resumed. The tactic worked perfectly, but the man who wound up free with the ball was the team’s poorest marksman. “Not him,” Coach Lowell wanted to shout. “Anybody but …”
The ball slammed into the goal’s canvas backing. Indio led again, 10–9. The same play worked twice more with other Indio shooters, while the Hawks tallied only one more point. The seconds timer read zero. The championship game was over, and the Rajahs had won, 12–10!

For a second profile, I turn from Mexico to a missionary at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, desperately struggling to become proficient in the German language, that he might be an effective missionary to the people of southern Germany. Each day as he opened his German grammar text, he noticed with interest and curiosity that the front cover displayed a picture of a most quaint and ancient house in Rothenburg, West Germany. Beneath the picture, the location was given. In his heart that young man determined, “I’ll visit that house and teach the truth to whoever lives within it.” This he did. The result was the conversion and baptism of Sister Helma Hahn. Today she devotes much of her time speaking to tourists who come from all over the world to see her house. She delights in telling them of the blessings which the gospel of Jesus Christ has brought to her. Her house is perhaps one of the most frequently photographed houses in the entire world. No visitor leaves without hearing in simple yet earnest words her testimony of praise and gratitude. That missionary who brought to Sister Hahn the gospel remembered the sacred charge: “Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost” (Matt. 28:19).

Not long after I was ordained a deacon, my bishop, Leon Walker, asked me into his office to give me an assignment. He handed me a bright key, the key to the chapel, and charged me with responsibility to help look after the building. I considered myself one of the most fortunate boys in the world to have an assignment from my priesthood president. I thought this would not be a difficult task. My home was just a one-minute bicycle ride away from the building. But I soon learned what I suppose all bishops know, and that is that everybody in the ward seems to have a key to the building. As soon as I had the building locked up on an evening, someone came along behind me and opened a door. As soon as I had opened a Primary classroom, some diligent soul was there behind me to lock it up again. I could hardly stay on top of that job.
But I began to learn then, as I have come to understand since, that any call, any service in our Lord’s cause sanctifies us. Whether it is performed in the glare of the public eye or in a quiet corner known only to God is of no consequence. What matters is that we do serve, for by serving we keep our covenants with Deity, and in those covenants is the promise of salvation.

More than 40 years ago as I contemplated the challenge of a mission, I felt very inadequate and unprepared. I remember praying, “Heavenly Father, how can I serve a mission when I know so little?” I believed in the Church, but I felt my spiritual knowledge was very limited. As I prayed, the feeling came: “You don’t know everything, but you know enough!” That reassurance gave me the courage to take the next step into the mission field.

Most Creative Response
The most interesting reply to an invitation for a date that we’ve heard about came from Nikki Mather of Preston, Idaho. She responded to a dance invite from Wade Meek by delivering a jar full of Reese’s Pieces and M&Ms. She told him if there were more M&Ms than Reese’s Pieces, the answer was yes, and vice versa. It’s difficult, however, to tell one kind of candy from the other, so Wade had to have the whole family and half the neighborhood over to cut the candies in half, see if there was chocolate or peanut butter inside, and count them. When they were all tallied the answer was yes, of course.

He limped along beside his family’s wagon. A few yards in front of him, his stepmother, Caroline, walked. Snatches of her Danish words now drifted back to him. He watched as she looked up at Fader (Father), who sat on the wagon seat, driving the ox team. Jimmy heard Fader’s voice answering her. It was a comforting, familiar sound in this strange new land of sagebrush and endless miles.
“Jimmy.” Caroline’s voice woke him from his thoughts. “Run fetch that stick, please.”
Hobbling off in the direction of her pointing finger, Jimmy soon found the little sage branch. Part of it lay under a pile of buffalo dung. The animal was nearby, Jimmy knew, for this pile was not one of the dried chips used for fuel, but a stinky, fresh one. If kindling wasn’t so scarce, he would have left the branch. He picked it up, scraped it off in the dirt, and carried it to the woodbox Fader had attached to the back of the wagon.
Jimmy looked down at the rags wrapping his feet. I hope there is a stream at the camp tonight, he thought. Whenever there was enough water, he soaked his rags so that they would peel away from the sores on his feet.
“Why the long face?” Jimmy looked up to see his older brother and hero, John.
“My feet hurt,” Jimmy admitted.
John laid a comforting hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “What’s this? Do I hear murmuring?”
Jimmy shook his head. “I was just answering your question. You’re lucky, John. You have boots.”
“Aye, little brother, but even feet in boots sometimes bleed when you’ve walked as far as we have.”
Stepping over a rock, Jimmy asked, “So what do you do when your feet hurt?”
“I think about the blessings.”
“Blessings?” Jimmy looked into John’s face. He saw a mixture of peace and conviction.
His older brother nodded. “God has restored His ancient authority, Jimmy Boy. Because of that, we can be united as a family forever.”
“One day we will be with Moder (Mother) again.” A warm feeling filled Jimmy.
John nodded. A tear seeped from his eye and rolled down his dusty cheek. “Sore feet is a small price to pay.”
“That’s not the only price, John. I still have bad dreams about the fire.”
John tipped his hat to shield his eyes from the sun. “Do you also remember what Caroline found in the ashes?”
“A lump of gold—enough to make two wedding bands and pay our fare to America.”
“See? Even in the fire there was a blessing.” John gave Jimmy an encouraging pat.
“Lars,” Fader called John’s Danish name, “skynd dig (hurry)!”
“Coming.” John ruffled Jimmy’s hair, then trotted away.
Jimmy wished for a walking stick. He shook his head. It wouldn’t do me any good, anyway, he thought. It would just be used for kindling.
Thinking about the gold in the ashes, Jimmy imagined finding a treasure bound up in his rags. He grinned as he grasped the handle on the lid of the woodbox. Hopping along on one foot after the rolling wagon, he found a good toehold and climbed up. Finally perched on top of the box, he picked at the knots in the ragged strings until he had untied them. He loosened the cloths covering his feet and peeked among the folds—nothing.
“Oh, well.” He retied the knots. “At least I got a ride—and we’re going to Zion, where people won’t burn your house down if you’re a Mormon. And there isn’t as much dust up here.”
He even smiled and waved as he looked back at Brother Bysbee in the next wagon.
“I see you found a seat, Jimmy.” Brother Bysbee laughed good-naturedly.
“It’s better than walking!” Jimmy answered. It felt good to be sitting, even though the wagon ride jolted and rattled him to the bone. He looked out over the hills of gray-green sagebrush, the home of jackrabbits, prairie dogs, and buffalo—and soon his home, too. Long before he was ready to move, he heard Fader call, “Jimmy, please get that scrap of wood.”
Jimmy sighed. He was tired. To get down, he’d have to jump. That would hurt. But Fader had called. Gritting his teeth, Jimmy leaped. As he tumbled in the dirt, he rolled out of the way of Brother Bysbee’s oxen.
Suddenly Jimmy heard a bellow of rage. He looked to the opposite side of the wagon. An angry buffalo thundered from behind a bush and charged the woodbox! Its massive head crashed into the box and splintered it. Screams, shouts, and bawling from the startled oxen filled the air. “Whoa!” Brother Bysbee called. “Whoa there!”
Stamping, pawing, and snorting, the buffalo ran past Jimmy so close that he saw the crazed look in the animal’s eyes. Gunshots exploded.
“Jimmy!” The boy looked up to see Caroline and John running toward him.
From the front of the wagon Fader called, “Are you hurt?”
“I’m all right.” Jimmy called back.
He reached out his hand, and John helped him to his feet. “You were right about the blessings, John. If I hadn’t obeyed Fader, that buffalo would have killed me!”
“Two blessings came out of that one.” John agreed. “The Lord spared your life, and He provided buffalo meat for everybody in camp.”
As Jimmy reached down to pick up the broken pieces of the woodbox, he hardly noticed his sore feet. “We’ll have a good fire tonight!”

The newspaper review read: “The audience was knocked out. The Herreys, with their pocket-size show, including both love ballads and rock music, received a long and well-earned ovation from the audience. Not to forget the two youngest Herreys who performed a number that made you think of some good American groups.”
That was printed in the Göteborg sposten, the newspaper of Sweden’s second largest city, Göteborg (population 50,000). Every year the Göteborg sposten sponsors a talent contest called “Unknown Talents.” In the 1976 contest there were 150 entries who competed for 13 places in the show. The Herreys won one of those places.
And who are the Herreys? A Latter-day Saint family who began their singing career during family home evening and at family outings.
Willy and Gerd Herrey have seven children all together, but it is the four youngest who make up the singing, dancing, and instrumental combo. Per, who plays the guitar, is 17. Marie is 15 and plays the piano. The drummer is 11-year-old Richard. The youngest is 9-year-old Louis.
They also have two sidemen who are both active members of the Church: Peter Edvinson and Rolf Hagglund.
The group plays all kinds of music from slow ballads and folk songs to current rock. Most songs are arranged by Per, who puts them into four-part harmony. Brother and Sister Herrey are always nearby to help with arranging for equipment and giving encouragement whenever the young people need it.
By winning one of the 13 spots on the “Unknown Talent” show, the Herrey family gained national attention and the opportunity to do four performances at Liseberg, Göteborg’s large amusement center.

Parents are often taken aback by the replies their children make to questions from grown-ups. One evening, when my wife and I were away, our children’s babysitter, intrigued by the prayer she heard them saying, asked them this question: “But what is the difference between your religion and mine?” The reply from our eight-year-old daughter was immediate: “It’s almost the same, except that we study a lot more than you do!” Far from wanting to offend her babysitter, my little daughter just wanted to underline in her own way the importance that Latter-day Saints attach to the search for knowledge.

For most of his early life, the only sports Stanley Moleni played were rugby and basketball. But before his junior year of high school, after his family had moved from New Zealand to Hawaii, Stanley discovered football. “I fell in love with it,” he says. It didn’t hurt that he was naturally good at it too.

Coaches were impressed with his size. Stanley is six-feet-two inches tall, and at the time he was a lean 200 pounds.

“I was still learning, but by my senior year I started catching on and the coaches stuck me at outside linebacker. I was still only 205 pounds, and I was missing a lot of plays. I really didn’t know how to play the game that well,” he says.

That didn’t stop college coaches from showing interest in him—especially after he bulked up to 250 pounds. The sport he’d taken up for fun was suddenly his ticket to college. After a lot of thought, he signed a letter of intent to play football for BYU. But instead of enrolling in school immediately after high school graduation in 1994, Stanley moved to Utah and worked to save money for a mission.

“My whole life I was planning on a mission,” says Stanley, now known as Elder Moleni as he serves in the California Ventura Mission. “There was nothing that was going to stop me from coming on a mission.”

And that included the glamour of playing big-time college football.

Says Elder Moleni, “One of our investigators said that he really admired us because he knew we really believed in what we were teaching. When he said he admired me for coming on a mission and leaving my scholarship behind, it felt really good.”

And now just three months short of the completion of his mission, Elder Moleni is concentrating on the work at hand. Soon enough, he’ll be a college student and an outside linebacker.

“I’ll be behind physically. I know that,” he says about football. “But I see a parallel between my not knowing how to play football and missionary work. Through hard work and sacrifice I became better at football. And through hard work and faith in the Lord, I’ve had a successful mission.”

Living next to the border between Mexico and the United States, we enjoyed traditions of both cultures. Every year in school we had piñatas. One year I was sitting on the first row and the blind-folded child successfully hit the candy-filled piñata with a stick. I was the first one able to reach the candy when the piñata broke open. I had my arms around the whole thing. Within two or three seconds every other child in the school was on top of me. I was just flattened, and I lost everything.
The lesson I learned from that experience was that sometimes when we are greedy and try to take it all, we end up losing it all. If I had started passing the candy around, the other children wouldn’t have all jumped on top of me. But because I tried to take so much, I lost everything.

My Uncle Mons Andersen had said to us that we must go to his folks in Lehi. That same evening a fisherman was going past Lehi and said he could take two of us. So Mother and my brother Mathias went with him. Then someone would come after the rest of us. The train could not take us there for the track was then only laid to the Point of the Mountain. So the rest of us stayed in the tithing yard till the next day. All that day no one came. But the next day, July 20, 1872, a man by the name of Mathias Petersen from Lehi came for us in a brand-new wagon. Happy were we. We came as far as this of Sandy and stopped overnight. The next day, this being Sunday morning, July 21, 1872, we arrived in Lehi.
Now I must say a little about Sunday, July 21, 1872. As I said before, we camped overnight on the state road this side of Sandy. It was a beautiful morning, and time came for us to have something to eat before starting. There were five of us in all, and we had some baked wheat bread. There was a farmhouse some distance away, so Mathias Petersen, our driver, went over there to see if he could get some milk to go with the bread. He soon came back and a lady with him with a pan full of sweet milk. It was my first night camping out and my first meal of wheat bread and sweet milk. I shall never forget how good it tasted to me. I was overjoyed. Oh, how good I thought that lady was to bring us that good milk! I don’t know if she was a Mormon or not. But at that time I thought all the people in Utah were Mormons so, of course, I thought she was. So it was another step to me to gain a little better feeling for Mormonism.

The presence of those who hold the Aaronic Priesthood brings to mind my own experiences as I graduated from Primary, having memorized the Articles of Faith, and then received the Aaronic Priesthood and the office and calling of a deacon. To pass the sacrament was a privilege, and to gather fast offerings a sacred trust. I was set apart as the secretary of the deacons quorum and, at that moment, felt that boyhood had passed and young manhood had begun.
Can you young men realize the shock I felt, while attending an officers’ meeting of our ward conference, when a member of the stake presidency, after calling upon the priesthood and auxiliary leaders to speak, without warning read my name and office, inviting me to give an account of my stewardship and to express my feelings regarding my calling as secretary of the deacons quorum and thus a ward officer. I don’t recall what I said, but a sense of responsibility engulfed me, never to depart thereafter.

I wanted to invite those blessings into my life, so when I returned home from my mission, I spoke to my bishop about becoming a temple worker. I was eventually called to serve in the Washington D.C. Temple for a few months while I was working to save money for school.
I served in the temple during the 6 p.m. shift every Friday night. This schedule required me to leave my job early and travel for two hours. It was a big and sometimes tough commitment to keep every week.
At the time, I was working long hours doing lots of physical labor, so I was usually pretty tired for my temple shift. I was also mentally exhausted most of the time with preparing to go back to college and figuring out what I was going to do for the rest of my life.
But during my shifts, I was always excited to learn more about the ordinances. And despite my constant fatigue and endless to-do list, I somehow found peace in the temple. I always left feeling grateful for the chance to serve the Lord there, and I felt spiritually renewed at the end of each shift as I focused on the Savior. The peace I felt also helped me find direction and answers for my life.

Eleven-year-old Pedro sat quietly on the front steps of his apartment building. It was a warm summer day in Santiago. His father, a city bus driver, had left hours ago for work and would soon be home for lunch. Pedro’s mother was busily preparing arroz con pollo (chicken with rice) in the kitchen. Its aroma floating from the open window made him hungry.
He felt the warm breeze on his cheeks and watched it dance across the long grass that separated his home from the post office. Then he saw them, the two young women with white blouses and dark skirts who came this way every Monday. One resembled him with wiry dark hair and soft brown eyes. The other, blond and freckled, was obviously a North American. Mormons, he thought.
He remembered visiting his cousin Carlos on the coast a few summers ago. When the Mormons had come, his aunt invited them in to give their message.
Pedro had felt his heart burn as the young men told the story of Joseph Smith. They opened a blue book. They said that the book was called the Book of Mormon and that it told of Jesus’ coming to America. Then one of them read a promise from the book: God would tell them it was true, if they would just read it and ask Him about it.
Pedro and Carlos exchanged excited glances. Jesus had come to America! Pedro was eager to read this book. Would the missionaries offer them a Book of Mormon? They did!
“No, thank you.”
Pedro stared in disbelief at his uncle, whose words nearly choked the warmth in his heart. Carlos hung his head.
The missionaries smiled politely and, thanking them, rose from their chairs.
Pedro felt tears coming as he watched the missionaries walk away. He couldn’t let them go—he wanted so much to read the book! Feeling as though he would burst, he jumped up and ran outside. “Wait!” He caught up with the missionaries at the gate. “Please don’t leave!”
Both of them smiled, but Pedro could tell that they were sad. The tall one stooped down and spoke softly. “What is your name?”
“Pedro.”
“Well, Pedro, remember what we taught you. Pray to Father in Heaven, and be a good son. Your time will come.”
Pedro watched sorrowfully as they walked away.
Now, remembering, his eyes began to sting again. He did what the missionaries had told him. He prayed every day to Heavenly Father. And he obeyed his parents. When would his time come?
A shadow fell across the grass in front of him. Surprised, he looked up at the two young women with friendly eyes. He noticed the tags on their blouses—Hermana (Sister) Sanchez and Hermana Cartwright—and, in a canvas bag Hermana Sanchez carried, he saw the blue book.
“Buenos días (good morning),” Hermana Cartwright said, smiling. “We noticed you on our way to the post office, and we felt that we should talk to you.”
“Are your parents home?” asked Hermana Sanchez.
“Sí! (yes)” Pedro cried. He quickly opened the door and called to his mother. The missionaries were right. His prayers were answered. His time had come at last. He turned back to the sisters and smiled. “You don’t know how long I have waited!”

Jackie Allen hurried along the steaming pavement. She paused just outside Mr. Martin’s pet shop and opened her purse. Inside were the ten dollars and fifteen cents she had so carefully saved, plus a crisp ten-dollar bill she had received that morning for her eleventh birthday. I should have enough, she decided.
Inside the shop Jackie walked past the birds and fish and kittens, to a box with three bundles of fur huddled together. Two of the puppies were black and brown, but the third was tawny brown and white. Leaning over the box Jackie offered a finger. The brown and white puppy left his play and wobbled over on unsteady legs. He seized the finger and looked up at Jackie with soft brown laughing eyes.
Jackie fell hopelessly in love. “Mom and Dad said I could have a dog,” she told Mr. Martin who had come to help her. “And I’d like this one,” she said, her finger still firmly gripped between the puppy’s needle-like teeth.
Mr. Martin disengaged the pup from Jackie’s finger and lifted him out of the box. He was so tiny he could sit in the palm of Jackie’s hand. “You’ve made a good choice, young lady. That’s a purebred shetland sheep dog. They’re smart, easy to train, and small enough to live in the city.”
Jackie stroked the silky head and caressed the floppy ears. “He’s exactly the sort of puppy I’ve been hoping for. How much?”
“Sixty-five dollars.”
Jackie swallowed hard, numb with disappointment. He might as well have said two hundred dollars. It had taken her all last winter, running errands and babysitting, to save ten dollars. It’ll take years to save that much, she thought dejectedly. With tears in her eyes she handed the puppy back and left the store.
“You’ll just have to choose a less expensive dog,” her mother said later when Jackie told her about the shelty pup. “There are lots of mongrels for ten or fifteen dollars, and they often make the best pets.”
But Jackie didn’t want another pup; she wanted the shelty. That night she dreamed about him, and the next day hurried back to the pet shop to visit him. If only I were old enough to get a summer job, she wished fervently as she stood gazing into the puppy box. But she couldn’t get a job until she was at least fifteen, and that was four years away.
As she left the shop Mr. Martin was putting a sign in the window. Idly Jackie read it: WANTED! RELIABLE BOY TO FEED PETS AND CLEAN CAGES DURING SUMMER. Why couldn’t I have been born a boy! Jackie brooded, deliberately dragging her feet as she slowly trudged down the sidewalk.
But before she had reached the end of the first block, Jackie paused a moment then hurried back the way she had come. What if I’m already too late! she worried.
Mr. Martin was busy arranging dog collars and leashes on a rack at the front of the store. Timidly Jackie approached. “Have you hired a boy yet, Mr. Martin, for that job?”
Mr. Martin laughed. “I only put the sign in the window five minutes ago.”
Jackie took a deep breath. “Could it possibly be a girl?”
The store owner continued arranging the leashes and collars. “I guess so. Have you an older sister who’s looking for a job?”
“No, sir,” Jackie gulped. “I am.”
Mr. Martin smiled at her, then picked up another handful of collars. “In three or four more years you’ll be just perfect,” he said kindly. “But I’m afraid I’d be in trouble with the authorities if I hired anyone your age.”
Jackie could feel the tears starting to gather behind her eyelids. She didn’t want to cry in front of Mr. Martin. She swallowed hard. “Until you hire a boy, could I just come and help? Not for any pay but just to look after the puppies until they’re sold?”
For one dreadful moment Jackie thought that Mr. Martin was going to refuse. But then he smiled. “Let’s try it tomorrow and see how we get along.”
Next morning promptly at nine Jackie arrived at the pet shop.
“The first thing is to feed and water the animals,” Mr. Martin directed. He gave her a list of exactly what each pet should receive. Jackie followed the directions carefully.
When she had finished Mr. Martin showed her how to clean the bird cages, and then how to change the water in the fish tanks. “Now how about taking these puppies outside for some exercise,” he suggested.
Jackie scooped up the wriggling puppies and hurried out to the small enclosed yard behind the store. As she played in the sunshine she pretended the little shelty was hers.
“You’ve been a big help, young lady,” Mr. Martin said as she was getting ready to leave. “Will you come tomorrow?”
“I’ll come every day until you hire someone,” Jackie replied eagerly.
Next morning as Jackie hurried the three blocks from her house to the store she worried that Mr. Martin would have hired someone and that the sign would be gone from the window. But it was still there! And it was there the following morning too. But on the fourth morning, it was gone.
Jackie felt sick as she opened the door and went to find Mr. Martin. “Have you hired a boy?” She struggled to keep her voice level. “Is that why the sign is gone?”
Mr. Martin straightened up from unpacking boxes of birdseed. “The job is filled, that’s why the sign is down.”
Jackie felt as though the floor were falling away beneath her feet. She turned back toward the door. “Then, I—I guess you won’t want me anymore—” she stammered.
“The job is filled by the best summer helper I’ve ever had,” Mr. Martin interrupted, smiling.
Jackie couldn’t believe her ears. She turned to face him again. “You mean? …”
Mr. Martin’s eyes were twinkling. “I mean, I’d like you to continue to work for me during the summer. And in return, since I can’t pay you, I’ll make you a present of that little shelty you’re so attached to.”
“Oh, Mr. Martin!” Jackie could scarcely breathe. She started to run toward the puppy box.
“I could never sell him to anyone else anyway,” Mr. Martin called after her. “He’s much too fond of you.”
But Jackie wasn’t listening. She was on her knees hugging the wriggling puppy, explaining that he was finally hers, while the pup was giving his full attention to playfully biting her ear.

Name: Seneca Francis
Age: 17
Location: Smithfield, Utah
Noteworthy experience: In October 2008 she participated in the Youth World Championship archery competition in Antalya, Turkey, where she helped the U.S. team win a gold medal. They defeated the Russian team 224 to 223 and set a world record in the 16–18-year-old compound bow category.
Seneca Francis is a straight shooter in more ways than one. Her archery skills have led to great accomplishments. And when it comes to her commitment to gospel standards, she’ll let you know that she’s aiming for eternity. Find out a little more about her.
You’re a relative newcomer to archery, yet you compete at a world-class level. How did it all start? I’ve been doing archery for about four years. My brother had a bow, and I started shooting and liked it more than he did. I would go into the backyard and shoot at the tree stump. I started competition about three years ago. At first I went to a youth league. Then they sent me to JOAD [Junior Olympic Archery Development] because it’s more advanced.
What was it like competing in the Youth World Championship in Turkey? It was fun. My mom went with me. It was my first time going anywhere outside of the states around us. It was a totally different culture. It was fun and interesting to see how other people live. I met some good friends on other teams, and we keep in touch.
Did you have any experiences that strengthened your testimony? We were about the only Church members at the competition, so that was kind of weird for me. But it makes you stronger. Others would ask, “Why don’t you want to go and drink with us?” or “Why don’t you want to wear the short shorts?” And I would say, “We don’t do that.” I’m glad for what we have. Also, my mom and I were happy that we were safe the whole time. We prayed a lot. My grandma prayed every day that we’d be OK. Prayer works.
How do you relate archery to the gospel? It takes a lot of hard work and sticking with it. You have to always believe you can do it, even if you think you can’t. You also need a lot of concentration. If you lose concentration, you miss the shot. A tiny jerk can throw it off. In the gospel, you need to be steadfast and sure.
Would you like to share a favorite scripture? 1 Nephi 3:7. You can go and do anything you’re supposed to. You can do whatever the Lord wants you to. If He wants you to do it, you can do it.

One of my earliest memories is of waking up one morning when I was about four years old and seeing my mother lying on her bed in terrible pain. She couldn’t get up. She told me to get my Uncle Mike, who lived about three hundred yards (270 m) down our country lane.
I climbed up on a stool and cranked the telephone, trying to call my uncle. When that didn’t work, I hurried outside, calling his name.
Somehow Uncle Mike heard and came. As soon as he saw Mother, he knew something was wrong. He bundled her up, carried her out to his car, and drove her to Salt Lake City.
The doctors never did know exactly what was wrong with Mother, but she was very ill. While she spent months in Salt Lake City being treated, I lived with relatives. We were happy when she came home, even for brief periods, and my older brother and sister and I did what we could to help her until she left for another long period of treatment.
Our family prayed to Heavenly Father often. We always asked Him to help my mother feel better and be strong. Mother also received priesthood blessings. I saw Heavenly Father strengthen my mother and bring her peace. I know that He hears and answers our prayers.

As a leader, Jose says, “Walter was strict. He was perceived as a hard man.” But Walter often cried when he knew he had hurt someone’s feelings, and he was quick to ask forgiveness. Jose recalls an incident in which he and Walter argued while working together on a Church assignment. “I returned to my Sunday meetings just in time for the sacrament and knew I couldn’t take it, feeling as I did,” said Jose of the incident. “But right before the sacrament, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Walter. He wanted to apologize so we could take the sacrament with good feelings.”