Gospel Story Finder

I gazed at the girl sitting alone at the table across from mine. Her long hair hid her face, but I could sense her loneliness as she idly scooted food around her tray. I couldn’t help but feel selfish watching her eat by herself when I was surrounded by friends.
One of my friends suddenly elbowed me. “Sierra! I’m talking to you. Wake up!” My focus snapped back to the conversation at our lunch table.
“Oh, sorry! I wasn’t paying attention. Hey, do you guys see that girl sitting over there?” I nodded toward the young woman eating alone. “Do you know her name?”
My friends shrugged and returned to their conversation. Their laughter muddled into the noise of the cafeteria while my mind wandered back to the girl at the table. The thought came that I should do something to help her. “But what if she thinks I’m weird or if she’s waiting for her other friends?” I silently objected. But the thought returned, and I knew what I needed to do.
I shuffled nervously toward her, and she glanced up when I reached her table.
“Do you want to sit with us?” I asked.
She half nodded, gathered her belongings, and followed me as my friends scooted over to give her room to sit.
“I have two classes with you,” I said, “but I don’t think I’ve met you before. What’s your name?”
“Kelsey,”* she said. Her reply was barely audible.
For the rest of lunch, my friends and I asked about her interests and school schedule, trying to help her feel welcome. I could tell she was relieved not to be sitting alone. When lunch was over, a warm, light feeling filled my heart.
In the following weeks, Kelsey continued to sit with us at lunch. While her face always made it seem like she was fine, I could see pain in her eyes. She didn’t talk much about her background, but I could sense that there was a lot of stuff she was trying to keep hidden or forget about.
Months flew by, and I grew to love Kelsey. We enjoyed each other’s friendship. I was amazed by her lofty dreams and loving personality.
One day in our computer class, the teacher moved me next to Kelsey, who seemed to be struggling with some of the material. We spent hours working together, and I watched happily as her grade inched up to an A. For one assignment, we created time lines that included 10 major events in our lives. When Kelsey completed hers, she tapped me on the shoulder.
“Do you want to see my time line?” She grinned.
“Yeah, sure!” I looked over at her computer. Stifling a gasp, I read some of the sad events that had filled Kelsey’s life. My surprise reached its peak, however, when I read the final event on her time line: I met Sierra.
Stunned, I hugged her and whispered, “Oh, Kelsey. Thank you.”
Toward the end of the school year, Kelsey suddenly moved to California. About a year after that, Mrs. Cummings,* who worked at my school, told me she wanted to talk with me. She hesitantly explained that Kelsey had passed away over the weekend. Tears started pouring down my cheeks. Mrs. Cummings didn’t know—or at least couldn’t tell me—how it happened, but she did tell me some things about Kelsey that I hadn’t known before. Her life on earth was challenging. I cried for several days, but even through my tears, I was comforted because of the plan of salvation.
Back in that lunchroom, when I saw a girl sitting alone, Heavenly Father knew she was a daughter of His who needed a friend. He knows our needs and knows how we can meet the needs of others. Though it’s easy to ignore the promptings of the Spirit at times, I will forever be glad for the day I listened to the Spirit at lunch.

There were five of us on the trail crew that day. We were all new to the job, so when we gathered around to hear the assignment for the day, we were delighted to learn that we would start on a new trail—Clegg Canyon they called it.
“You mean Fly Canyon?” replied Verle, our fearless leader.
“Why Fly Canyon?” I asked.
With a sly smile, Verle looked down at me and said, “You’ll see.”
While we unloaded the Jeep, Verle filled us in on what work needed to be done. At last we were ready to start the trail. As we walked, Verle kept reminding us that this trail was considered one of the most miserable assignments because of the flies, but we couldn’t see any flies, so taking him seriously was a little hard. Verle had a way of pulling your leg at times, and I was usually a gullible victim. But today, he assured us, once the sun was out, the flies would be too.
As we hiked up farther into the canyon, we soon came to realize how right Verle was. At first the flies came in pairs, buzzing around my ears and making quick landings on my nose. Then they became bolder, so we were sure they had called out their battalions. I had considered myself a patient person until then. Every 30 minutes we had to stop and recoat ourselves with insect repellent. We especially had to drench our hair to keep the pests from getting entangled. When we began to realize that our efforts to avoid the flies were in vain, we began to lose our tempers.
It finally came to the point where we knew we were doomed. The newspaper headlines flashed through my mind, “Forest Service Employees Carried Away by Flies.” Something had to be done quickly. We tried to work faster, believing motion would shoo the flies away, but our sweat made a more delectable landing. As all good news travels fast, more flies came. In desperation we turned to our leader, who, surprisingly, was taking this all very coolly. He explained that we had to learn how to relax and laugh at annoying situations.
“What is so humorous about 50 million flies attacking us?” I asked.
“Look at it this way. They could carry us through the canyon and save us the trouble of hiking up the trail,” Verle replied.
While we sat eating our lunches (it was more like sharing them with the United Fly Nation), we began to relax and develop a humor of our own. At first the laughter was scarce, but one joke led to another, and we were soon lying back in laughter, oblivious to the millions of black specs around us.
That morning we had loaded the tools that were expected to be useful in completing our assignment. But as we headed down the trail that afternoon, we carried with us a new tool—humor.
On the way down to the Jeep, we were rewarded with a sudden cloudburst that finally rid us of our pests. Free at last, we skipped down the trail like children, grinning from ear to ear. We had survived! But, more important, we had laughed.

Haruki, it is time for bed. Did you say your prayer yet?
No, not yet.
We will kneel with you.
Haruki knelt down and started to pray.
Thank Thee for my family, my house, my friends, and my toys. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Haruki, that was a good prayer, but you forgot to start by saying, “Heavenly Father.”
Why do I have to say that?
When we pray, we are talking to Heavenly Father. He loves us.
When we pray to Him, we can thank Him for everything He gives us. We can also ask Him for things we need.
Heavenly Father loves me?
Yes, He does. How does that make you feel?
I want to say my prayer again!
Heavenly Father, thank Thee …

As leaders, what are our attitudes toward percentages as they relate to active versus inactive? You have probably heard the story of the father who had four daughters. As each of them left on a date one evening, he cautioned them to be home by midnight. The first returned at 11:45; the next, at 11:50; and a third came in at midnight, whereupon he locked the doors, turned out the lights, and went to bed. When his wife reminded him that Mary had not come in yet, he said with great satisfaction, “Seventy-five percent of them are home—isn’t that a pretty good percentage?” It is so easy to love those who are active and responsive and sometimes so difficult to do the same for those who are inactive and rebellious.

On a hot summer day, I went to play with a friend who is not a member of the Church. She wanted to go swimming, but I didn’t have a bathing suit. She said I could borrow one of hers. She pulled out a two-piece bathing suit. I said no. Finally she found a modest bathing suit that fit me.
I’m glad I chose the right by not wearing the two-piece bathing suit. I’m glad I was born in the Church and that my parents teach me what is right and what is wrong. I hope I can always choose the right so I can live with Heavenly Father someday.

May 26, 1853 I went to Fourchu, a place 6 or 7 miles from Gabarouse. On my way along the beach I saw a large duck on the waves, picking among the kelp. This was a desolate place, no houses for 6 or 7 miles. The Spirit said to me, “You are going among strangers. No Saints there. Take the bird with you.” So I sat down right where the wave broke and the bird floated straight towards me, picking among the kelp and sea weed. When it got close to the shore it put its head under its wing, so I jumped and caught it. It was lively enough then and tried to get away. So when I got to Fourchu (6) I went to a house, asked if that was Mr. Cann’s. They said yes. I told them I had come over from Gabarouse to preach the Gospel to them. I had forgotten the duck. I then happened to notice them looking at it. Says I, “Here is a bird. I saw it out on the water and I thought I would bring it along, that it might be good to eat.” Says he, “Is it hurt?” “No, Sir.” I handed it to him. Heexamined it very close and said it was all right. It was cooked. We ate it. It was fat and good. A few came in. We had a meeting. The sectarian minister had poisoned the minds of the people, but Mr. Cann and family treated me very kindly … and spoke favorably to others of me.

The excitement of Valentine’s Day was growing. The valentine boxes in Cady’s class were decorated and ready to receive the special cards. The teacher, Mrs. Duncan, gave everybody a class list so that each child could address a valentine to every other class member.
Cady loved Valentine’s Day. She enjoyed sending and receiving special notes any day of the year. It was not unusual for her to put a note under her mom’s and dad’s pillows. When her sister went on a trip, she neatly tucked a note in her bag. She looked forward to getting notes from her family in her lunch box or a word of encouragement in her backpack. Cady knew how good it felt when she got notes, so she tried to help others have the same feeling.
When Billy* wasn’t around, the other children in his fifth-grade class were talking about the big day when the valentine boxes would be emptied. One said, "Let’s give valentines to everyone but Billy." Hesitantly each agreed on the plan.
Cady was troubled, though. She knew that Billy came from a family that didn’t have very much money. Sometimes he came to school scruffy and dirty. The children made fun of him and didn’t include him when they played. Cady felt sad about that, and she knew she had been wrong to agree with her classmates.
That afternoon as she sat at the kitchen table, addressing her valentines with her best friend, who was in another class, she had an idea! She explained to her friend and Mom how sad Billy would be if he didn’t get any valentines. Then she asked her mom for some more valentines.
Soon Cady and her friend had a whole bunch of valentines for Billy. They hoped that their cards would make Valentine’s Day a happy day for him. The next day they secretly tucked the valentines into his box.
When Billy opened it and saw all the valentines, he was thrilled. Cady’s heart swelled as she remembered the words of the Savior, "Love one another, as I have loved you."

Last summer I received a letter from a woman who has emerged from a long period of Church inactivity. She is ever so anxious for her husband, who as yet is not a member of the Church, to share the joy she now feels.
She wrote of a trip which she, her husband, and their three sons made from the family home to Grandmother’s home in Idaho. While driving through Salt Lake City, they were attracted by the message which appeared on a billboard. The message invited them to visit Temple Square. Bob, the nonmember husband, made the suggestion that a visit would be pleasant. The family entered the visitors’ center, and Father took two sons up a ramp that one called “the ramp to heaven.” Mother and three-year-old Tyler were a bit behind the others, they having paused to appreciate the beautiful paintings which adorned the walls. As they walked toward the magnificent sculpture of Thorvaldsen’s Christus, tiny Tyler bolted from his mother and ran to the base of the Christus, while exclaiming, “It’s Jesus! It’s Jesus!” As Mother attempted to restrain her son, Tyler looked back toward her and his father and said, “Don’t worry. He likes children.”
After departing the center and again making their way along the freeway toward Grandmother’s, Tyler moved to the front seat next to his father. Dad asked him what he liked best about their adventure on Temple Square. Tyler smiled up at him and said, “Jesus.”
“How do you know that Jesus likes you, Tyler?”
Tyler, with a most serious expression on his face, looked up at his father’s eyes and answered, “Dad, didn’t you see his face?” Nothing else needed to be said.
As I read this account, I thought of the statement from the book of Isaiah: “And a little child shall lead them” (Isa. 11:6).

Chad Bybee, now a returned missionary from the Japan Okayama Mission, ran four years on the Mountain View team. He took second at state in 1989, leading the boys’ team to its first cross-country title. Looking back, Chad realizes how much cross-country helped prepare him for his mission.
“I learned dedication, self-motivation, and self-discipline,” he says. “It also made me fit.” Chad remembers an experience on his mission where his running experience paid off. “One time, our bishop was sick, and he asked us to give him a blessing. My bike got a flat as we were going up the hill to the bishop’s house. So I ran the final 100 to 200 meters up the hill while my companion rode his bike,” Chad says. “Then I ran three-quarters of a mile to a discussion afterward.
“But I knew I could do it because of cross-country,” he continues. “Cross-country taught me how to push myself.”

Earlier this year I was on assignment visiting a stake in the western United States. It was a normal Sunday, a normal meeting, with normal members of the Church. I watched as people entered the chapel and reverently moved to available seats. Last-second, whispered conversations echoed throughout the hall. Mothers and fathers tried—sometimes in vain—to quiet energetic children. Normal.

But then, before the meeting began, words inspired of the Spirit came into my mind.

These members had not come just to fulfill a duty or listen to speakers.

They had come for a deeper and far more significant reason.

They had come to worship.

As the meeting progressed, I observed various members in the congregation. They had an almost heavenly expression, an attitude of reverence and peace. Something about them warmed my heart. The experience they were having that Sunday was something quite extraordinary.

They were worshipping.

They were experiencing heaven.

I could see it in their countenances.

And I rejoiced and worshipped with them. And as I did so, the Spirit spoke to my heart. And on that day, I learned something about myself, about God, and about the role of true worship in our lives.

When I reflect back on what began as a normal Sunday morning, in that normal meetinghouse, in that normal stake, even today I am moved by that extraordinary spiritual experience that will forever bless my life.

And it was Lester who taught me the "What-If" Game.
"What if one day yer flying along and ya smell smoke?"
"What if one day yer puddling along up there, minding your own business, and all of a sudden. …"
He had hundreds of what-ifs.
One evening as we were flying back and forth across an Ohio summer sky, polishing up a few maneuvers I’d need for my private pilot’s flight test, Lester suddenly reached up without warning and cut the switch on the plane’s engine. My heart stopped along with the propeller. Then he sat back, pulled his cap down over his eyes, folded his arms, and feigned sleep.
I panicked.
I’d stood on the ground and watched Lester come in dead stick a hundred times. So I knew it could be done. But Lester was good—and he’d been flying for 500 years! I was just a kid!
My neck was starting to unscrew from my shoulders as I swiveled my head trying to pick the best cornfield, wheatfield, hayfield, highway, Lake Erie, any place to land! We’d drilled on this a hundred times! But it was always with the engine idling. This was different. The gentle kick of an idling propeller was gone and the altimeter was unwinding—fast!
I finally spotted a good field and started to align the nose with it. It would be a tricky approach. We’d have to cross some woods and then slip quickly into a field I knew would be much too tight. But if I did it perfectly and then kicked it into a groundloop just as we reached the far side fence …
Lester stirred. "Why don’t ya use Bunch’s strip?" he asked, pointing downward. "You didn’t look right under us. We’re right over top of Bunch Woods’s home strip!"
He was right! Straight below us was about 1,200 feet of beautiful Ohio grass with Bunch Woods’s house and plane sitting smack at the end.
When we stopped rolling after landing, Lester sat up, set his cap back on straight and said, "Mebbe ya better play the What-If Game more often." He turned to look at me and his face was serious. "Because, ya know, it’s not a matter of if you’ll ever have an emergency in flight, it’s a matter of when. And when it happens, you’ll be glad you stretched for excellence instead of just being good."

Her mother is the Relief Society president and the Primary president—and the only Primary teacher. Her dad, who retired from a company that makes luxury cars farther south, cuts the grass around the meetinghouse. One day the lawn mower just stopped on him and wouldn’t move. A few seconds later, a big tree crashed where he would have been mowing. Then the lawn mower started to work again! The Whites are sure that the Lord was protecting him.

Nearly three years have passed since we first met Jose Manuel in that park in Madrid, Spain. He is now a member of the Church. A few months ago he, like you and me, had a decision to make. He had to decide whether or not to serve a mission. Jose Manuel had every reason in the world not to go. He was just a recent convert. His knowledge of the gospel wasn’t that extensive. He had lost his father a few years before, and his mother didn’t want him to go. Other family members didn’t want him to go either. He didn’t have the finances to be able to serve for 18 months. He also had to complete his military service before he would be able to even think about serving a mission. Everything was against his going on a mission.
Every one of us, as we think about a mission, can find a number of reasons why we shouldn’t go. We must each look beyond those reasons. The key is to look for reasons to go. And Jose Manuel had some reasons to go. He knew that Jesus Christ was the son of God and the Savior of the world. He knew that Joseph Smith had seen a vision. He knew that the Church was true. He knew that it had changed his life, and he wanted to go out and share that knowledge with others.
Jose Manuel had a desire to serve. He was called to the work. With the help of the Lord, he was able to work things out. That always seems to happen. He overcame the obstacles, and he’s now serving in the Spain Barcelona Mission.

Christ is our best example of service. He served others throughout His life. When I serve others, it makes me feel good. The other day we were going to give a rocking horse to a boy in our ward, but it had to be put together. I was excited to do this because I could picture the joy on the boy’s face when he got on the horse. When the horse was assembled, I helped Mom put it in the car to take to the boy’s house. Sometimes I complain about doing things like this, but when they are over I’m glad that I did them, and I’m happy.

The youth of the Brea Second Ward, Fullerton California Stake, had an unusual opportunity. They helped a member of their ward celebrate her 99th birthday! Because Sister Polly Hall is unable to leave her nursing home to attend church, two priests from the ward visit her every Sunday to administer the sacrament.
Through their service, the priests have become friends with Sister Hall, and decided they would give her a birthday party.
Sister Hall was pleased to be the guest of honor at the party, which included games, dancing, music, and presents.
“I just love the youth of the Church,” says Sister Hall. “My testimony is strengthened each week when the boys come to visit me with the sacrament.”

I looked down at my swollen stomach and began to cry. The child inside me was wide awake, kicking, punching, and doing somersaults. These last nine months had been the longest and hardest of my life, and I feared the worst was yet to come. I slowly got up from the kneeling position I had been in for the last hour. It was a position I had grown very used to. At times it seemed the only reason I made it through the day was the comfort I felt when I prayed.
I sat on my bed and looked at the clock. It was already 3:45 in the morning. My doctor’s appointment was at 6:30, which meant I only had a few more hours before I went in and gave birth to my first child. My due date had passed a week earlier, and the doctor wanted to induce labor before the baby got any bigger. That idea suited me because I was very ready to welcome Elizabeth* into the world. I had dreamed for so many nights of seeing her and holding her.
I was only 16 when I got pregnant. The father didn’t want anything to do with me or the baby. I had never felt so alone in my life. The worst part of all was that I had run away from home the month before I found out I was pregnant, and my lifestyle was less than perfect.
Not only did I feel I didn’t have support from my parents, but I felt I couldn’t even turn to the Lord. I finally did go home only to find my parents loved me more than ever and wanted nothing but the best for my baby and me.
I turned 17 while I was pregnant, and I began working with my bishop so I could take the sacrament again and get my much-anticipated patriarchal blessing. I felt I was doing well and making good decisions for myself, but there was that constant, recurring question of what would be best for my baby.
I knew I wanted her to have a mother and a father, and to be sealed to them for eternity in the temple. I knew the only way to give her everything she needed and deserved was to find a good family and place her for adoption. My bishop told me about LDS Family Services.
I went in and talked to a worker who had me fill out a wish list, where I would select the type of home and family I wanted Elizabeth to grow up in. My worker soon found lots of families that matched the one I had described. I then began the search for my baby’s parents. I started looking at pictures and reading letters from couples who couldn’t have children. There were so many, and every one of their stories broke my heart. But who were the right parents for my baby?
I looked for five months and didn’t feel any special feelings for any of the couples. In my seventh month, I read the letter from John and Jill and I started to cry. The Spirit touched me, and I just knew this was where Elizabeth belonged.
I lay my head on my pillow as I remembered the last nine months of my life. It seemed as if I had gone on an emotional roller coaster. I closed my eyes and prayed I would have the strength necessary to get through the next couple of days.
I got up at 6:00 A.M. and got ready to go to the hospital. My family was there to see my mother and me off, and my father gave me the most beautiful blessing I had ever received. We said good-bye and walked out the door. I knew my life would soon be forever changed.
On the way to the hospital, I had an overwhelming sense of peace. I was calm and relaxed. I knew the Spirit was with me.
At the hospital, my mother was right by my side getting me ice chips, playing card games with me, and rubbing the cramps out of my feet and legs. The contractions began, and I prayed it would all be over soon. At 3:33 P.M., Elizabeth Jane was born, and she immediately began to cry.
So did I.
A few minutes later, Elizabeth was in a blanket in my arms. I had never felt so much love, joy, and sadness. I knew this was a time to say hello, and the beginning of a time to say good-bye. She looked right into my eyes and for a second went a little cross-eyed. She was the most beautiful person I had ever seen. She was perfect.
It was such a wonderful feeling to be looking into this precious little girl’s face, my little girl’s face. She looked like a tiny angel, so beautiful and innocent. I knew she deserved the best in life.
The day of her placement I got Elizabeth ready. I put lotion on her, changed her diaper, and dressed her in a pink dress and booties. She was ready to be united with her family.
As we drove to the agency, I studied her face and cried. I wished I could spend more time with her. I feared I would forget how her face looked. I studied her lips and tiny tongue. I touched her nose, I kissed her smooth, chubby cheeks, and I stroked her beautiful, soft hair. I smelled her perfect baby smell and wished I could put that smell in a box and keep it.
When we got to the agency, I picked Elizabeth up. Everyone left me alone to say good-bye to my daughter. I looked into her eyes. I told her I loved her and I’d miss her but I knew I was doing the right thing. I kissed her a million times and took a deep breath as I twisted the knob on the door.
Tears showered my face as I walked to the couple, the parents I’d chosen for her. My lips quivered and my hands shook as I placed her in their arms. The emotions I felt were so intense, like none I’d felt before. Inside I just went back and forth, battling how I felt. Was I doing the right thing? Could they love her as much as I did? Then I looked at them. Their happiness was so sincere; their love was pure and true. This was my baby’s family. I just knew.
The ride home was hard. I had never felt so much emptiness and heartache in my life. I cried, but I only cried for my sake; for Elizabeth I knew everything was how it should be. I didn’t know how I had the strength to do what I had just done. I knew Heavenly Father had helped me every step of the way. As I tried to understand my feelings, I thought I understood much better how much Heavenly Father loved His Son, Jesus Christ.
I love Elizabeth so much. She came to me at a time in my life when I had no direction and was spiritually dead. I know this experience helped save me from that lifestyle.
I have learned so much through all of this. I have gained a greater knowledge of how much my parents love me and how much my Heavenly Father loves me. I have learned how to make decisions through the power of the Holy Ghost. I have also gained a testimony of the gospel, and especially of the Atonement.
Although my love for Elizabeth is strong, I had to put my own feelings aside and focus on her feelings and future. She deserves so much more than the life I could give her. I know I’ll miss her, and sometimes I’ll cry. I’ll remember those few days we spent together before we said good-bye. But I’ll have peace and comfort when I think of her because I’ll always know I did what was best.

Early in the spring of 1947, my dad took a week off from his job in the coal mines so he could plant the crops on our small farm. Generally we planted only enough potatoes to last us for a year. We used the rest of the ground to raise vegetables for our family—consisting of Dad, Mom, two brothers, and a sister at home. These crops also helped feed the cows, pigs, and chickens. Our land was plowed and ready to plant when the missionaries stopped at our house for their weekly meal and visit. Seeing our family, even though we were only partially active in the Church, cheered their spirits as well as ours.
When Dad mentioned his plan to plant the potatoes, the missionaries were eager to help. Dad was nervous about men without farming experience helping, but they were persistent, and he finally agreed. The next morning, the elders arrived just as we children were getting ready for school. We listened as Dad explained to them how to prepare the seed potatoes for planting. “It’s easy. This is the bud of the potato,” he said, pointing to a small, round bump. “Cut each potato into small pieces and make sure there is at least one bud in each piece. Understand?”
“Oh, yes,” the missionaries replied, and they enthusiastically started working.
Dad left to borrow a team of horses and a mechanical potato planter, and we went off to school.
At noon, we arrived home for lunch just in time to view the disaster—the expensive seed potatoes had been ruined! The elders, unaware that each bud needed some of the fleshy part of the potato to nourish its growth, had decided that they would help us by leaving less potato around the bud and more potato for our family to eat. So instead of cutting each potato into seedling cubes with a bud in each cube, they had peeled each potato into very thin circles with a bud in each circle. The rest of the potato was put into a tub so it could be cooked and fed to the family.
Dad was furious when he returned home and saw what had happened. But he did not want to offend the elders, so he dipped the peelings into a solution that protected them from disease and loaded them into the planter. The missionaries, feeling guilty for the serious mistake they had made, waited to help with the planting.
Just before we returned to school, we watched our dad drive the potato planter into the field with the elders riding on back. I knew it would be their job to make sure that only one seedling dropped into the ground at a time. This would be a difficult and time-consuming job since the planter was designed for a cube of potato and not a thin peeling.
The planting was nearly done when we came home from school. Unfortunately, because each peeling had only one bud, not the usual four or five, the potatoes had taken up nearly all of the plowed ground. Where would we plant the corn and wheat we needed? Seeing our dismay, one of the missionaries said, “Brother John, may we offer a blessing on your potato crop?” Dad shrugged his shoulders and said yes. I can still remember the promises of an abundant harvest and great blessings that the missionary pronounced upon our fields. Dad thanked the elders for helping him, and invited them inside to share our supper of fried potatoes.
Dad was discouraged as he returned to his job at the coal mine. He was sure we would have no crops that year. But to our surprise, all the potato plants came up! Our family was amazed, and the elders were elated.
A short time later, the elders were transferred and they never knew whether or not we had a potato crop. One summer day mom needed something to cook for supper, so I dug up one of the potato plants. We were amazed—the potatoes were nearly full size! Mom said that if the rest of the plants were like this one, we would be able to sell some of them. As we continued to dig up the potatoes, we found about 4.5 kilos per plant! When our neighbors and the local stores found out about our early crop, they bought our potatoes all through July, August, and September. Their purchases didn’t diminish our supply. Not only that, but the potatoes’ taste and quality were superior.
At harvest time, we dug up the rest of the potatoes. What potatoes! Some weighed 2.5 kilos each, and none of them were hollow or soft. I remember one that was twenty-seven centimeters long and ten centimeters in diameter. We harvested five times the normal amount, and since we had planted two hectares instead of the planned .4 hectares, our harvest was twenty-five times what we had originally planned. People heard about our potatoes and we sold all of our harvest. Dad had lost his job at the coal mine, but the money we earned from our potato harvest paid for school clothes and supplies, feed for the cows and chickens, and our food and fuel the following winter.
But the greatest blessing was to our spirits. To us, those potatoes were a miracle, a testimony that God hears and answers the pronouncements of his servants. Our family’s faith grew, and we became much more active in the Church.

As some of my companions engaged in practices that Latter-day Saints don’t think highly of, such as smoking or drinking, profanity or immorality, it was evident that they didn’t concern themselves about what the Lord would like them to do. When moments of stress came, however, their attitudes changed. I remember when one of these boys, who was not particularly impressed with the life of a former missionary, was scheduled for what was called an elimination flight, and he knew that if he failed the test that day, he would be eliminated from flying in the United States Air Force. He came to me in a very solemn mood and quietly said with tears in his eyes, “Bill, please pray for me. I need it.”

One day my instructor was giving an explanation to five of us in the ready room. In order to explain a certain maneuver, he went to the blackboard. Inasmuch as he was smoking a cigarette, he handed it to me to hold while he made the demonstration, and by this means I had the “privilege” of holding my first cigarette. After he had finished his demonstration at the blackboard, he took his cigarette back, and then he said, “Mr. Bangerter, I apologize for handing you my cigarette. I know you don’t smoke, do you?”

I said, “No, sir, I don’t.”

He said, “You don’t drink either, do you?”

I said, “No, sir.”

He asked, “Do you drink tea?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you drink coffee?”

“No, sir.” He turned to the other four students standing together and said, “Now, men, that’s the Word of Wisdom. We would all be much better off if we lived that way.” You can appreciate that I felt uplifted by that experience.

Another day I was riding in the airplane with my squadron commander. I was about 23 years old, and he was about 40. He was a man of fine manners and polite expression. After we had finished our flight and had landed the airplane, we were taxiing back to the parking area when another airplane came driving past in a way that my squadron commander did not appreciate. He looked over at the other pilot and said to me in a disgusted voice, “Where does that so-and-so think he is going!” And he uttered an oath. We parked the airplane and shut off the engine. As I climbed out, he turned to me and said, “Mr. Bangerter, I am sorry I spoke the way I did back there. I forgot for a moment it was you who was riding with me in the airplane.”

Of course, I realized throughout those years that I was considered different. Some people may have thought me strange. Those with whom I associated, however, frequently expressed admiration for the way I lived. I never found it necessary to break my standards, to remove my garments, or to apologize for being a Latter-day Saint. On more than one occasion during our training, my classmates gathered together for a farewell party or some other special event and had a dinner that, of course, was liberally supplied with liquor. Several of my companions would come to me before the dinner and ask me if I would please be so kind as to drive their car home for them because they would not be able to trust themselves at the conclusion of the party.

I can honestly say that no nonmember of the Church has ever tried to induce me to discard my standards. The only people I remember trying to coerce me to abandon my principles or who ridiculed me for my standards have been non-practicing members of the Church.

I know it is a blessing to stand up for the principles of truth and righteousness. People who value their character and their reputation will be honored to be of the chosen generation and to stand out as representatives of a peculiar and a noble people. I hope I may always find young people who are square. They are the solid kind, and their foundations are secure.

Christopher filled his plate with food in the kitchen and retreated to his room. His sister Kaitlyn, a freshman in high school, was having a party for her friends before the stake dance began.
Christopher, two years older, had decided not to go to the stake dance. Instead, he would stay in his room and play video games or go online.
His parents would be attending the dance as chaperones, so he would be alone. He could hardly wait for everyone to leave. Even so, he had a strange feeling. It was the feeling you’d have walking along the top of a steep, ice-covered roof, knowing that, if you start to slip, it would be very difficult to keep from sliding off the roof.
“Not this time,” he said to himself.
He turned on his computer and checked his e-mail. He had two messages from friends he’d found on a chat line. He read each one and sent a reply. He had more online friends now than from school or church.
There was a knock at the door, and then Kaitlyn threw open the door and stuck her head in the room. Standing next to her was one of her friends. She was a good six inches shorter than Christopher, with a long narrow face and dark brown hair.
“Mom and Dad are about to leave. You coming with us?” Kaitlyn asked.
“I don’t think so.”
The phone rang. “I’ll get it!” Kaitlyn shouted, running down the hall.
Christopher stepped out of the room. He was relieved he hadn’t been looking at anything inappropriate, but at the same time, he was embarrassed that he could have been.
“Why is your face so red?” Kaitlyn’s friend asked.
“No reason.”
“You should come to the dance,” she said.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Hannah Banana Happy Piana.”
“That’s your name?”
“Not the Banana Happy Piana part, but my first name is Hannah.”
“Well, it’s always nice to meet one of Kaitlyn’s little friends,” he said sarcastically.
“How come you don’t want to come to the dance?”
“I don’t like to dance, and none of my friends will be there.”
“I’ll be there.”
“So?”
“You could dance with me.”
“No offense, but I’d rather stay home.”
“Stay home and what? Watch a computer screen? Do you know what computer images are? I just learned about it. They’re just a series of 1’s and 0’s. Would you rather spend time with 1’s and 0’s than talking to me?”
“Do you want an honest answer?”
She playfully slugged him on the arm. “Can a bunch of 1’s and 0’s do that?”
“Go away. You’re bothering me.”
“Come to the dance with us. I’ll teach you not to be so boring all the time.”
“Who says I’m boring?”
“Kaitlyn says you scare girls away because you don’t know how to talk to them.”
“That’s not true.” But even as he said it, he realized it had been a long time since he had spent much time with girls.
“I say it is. I say you’re totally hopeless. Anyone can see that.”
“Look, I doubt if you could teach me anything.”
“I could teach you that staying in your room playing with your computer when you could go to a dance is lame. All I’m saying is think about it, okay? We won’t be going for a few more minutes, so you can still change your mind.” And with that, she was gone.
He was glad to get rid of her and could hardly wait for everyone to leave. But at the same time, he felt some dread at what might happen after everyone left—what had happened at other times when he’d been alone.
It was hard for him now to stay away from some Web sites. He had been introduced to pornography at a friend’s house two years earlier. What he saw there was both disgusting and degrading. When he finally got a computer in his room, he had gone to a pornographic Web site just out of curiosity. And now he found himself returning again and again, until it was as if he had no ability to stop himself.
More than once he had promised himself he would never look at those things again. Sometimes he went a day or two, but eventually he found himself returning.
One Sunday, after his bishop had talked to the Aaronic Priesthood about the evils of pornography, he’d gone to his room and prayed. He had poured out his heart to God for help, but nothing seemed to change. And now everyone was about to leave for the dance, and he’d be alone again.
He closed his eyes. “Father in Heaven, please help me. I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing.”
There was a loud pounding on the door.
“What?”
Hannah threw open the door. “It’s me again! Kaitlyn sent me here to get you for the dance. We worked it all out. You’ll dance every dance with one of us, except for Kaitlyn. She doesn’t want to dance with you. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
Suddenly he was looking at her in a new light, wondering if she could possibly be an answer to his prayers. One thing was for sure, he knew what would happen if he stayed at home.
He stood up. “Give me a minute. I need to change.”
Hannah called out into the hall. “He’s going! I won the bet, Kaitlyn!”
A few minutes later, he went into the living room, where six girls were waiting for him. They all ended up riding in the family van with Christopher’s parents. He sat in the middle with Kaitlyn on his right and Hannah on his left.
“What’s your favorite color?” Hannah asked him.
“I don’t know.”
“Come on, you’ve got to pick one.”
“Why?”
“It’s one of the first things I learn when I meet somebody. You can learn a lot about people if you know their favorite color.”
“What can you learn?”
“Well, for one thing, you’ll know their favorite color!” She started laughing hysterically.
“It wasn’t that funny.”
“It was plenty funny. My favorite color is orange. My bedroom is painted orange. Sometimes I wake up and pretend I’m living inside a pumpkin, like I’m one of the seeds.”
“You are a very strange girl.”
“I like to think of colors as if they had a personality. Like serene green, or true blue, or cheery red. Do you ever do that?”
“No, I never do.”
The dance seemed to have been frozen in time until Hannah showed up with her friends, with Christopher in the middle of them all.
“We’re here, everybody!” Hannah called out. She grabbed Christopher’s hand. “I get the first dance because I got you to come.”
They went out on the dance floor and waited for the next dance to start. The music began. Christopher shuffled his feet.
“Okay, Christopher, start dancing,” Hannah said.
“I am dancing.”
She smiled. “Well, that’s a start. Let me give you some pointers. Watch carefully.”
He watched her dance. It was totally unpredictable.
“You got it?” she asked.
“Got what?”
“Look, just do what I do, okay?”
A few minutes later they returned to the other girls. “Okay,” Hannah said, “now dance with Melissa. You’ve got 10 minutes, and then it’s Sarah’s turn.”
Melissa wasn’t as spontaneous as Hannah, so within a few minutes neither she nor Christopher was saying anything.
He realized he used to be better at talking with girls, but not anymore. Just after an episode with pornography, he felt such guilt that he avoided any wholesome interaction with a girl. But then as time went on and he became tempted again, he couldn’t look at a girl without thinking of her in ways he knew he shouldn’t. It was a vicious cycle that kept repeating over and over again with the net result being that he pulled into himself. Hannah was able to draw him out—but Melissa was a little shy, and he couldn’t seem to make the personal contact by himself.
“Time out!” Hannah shouted. She came out to them. “Melissa, I need to talk to Christopher for a minute, but I’ll get him back to you soon.”
Melissa returned to her friends.
“What’s the deal? You didn’t even talk to Melissa. Okay, we’ll practice. I’ll be Melissa, and you be you. Talk to me.”
“Don’t you think that Hannah is the strangest person in the whole world?” he asked.
Hannah wasn’t amused. “Very funny! Okay, you be Melissa, and I’ll be you.”
“It’s easy to be Melissa,” he said. “All I need to do is stare at the floor and not say anything.”
“Melissa, how many brothers and sisters do you have?” she asked, trying to mimic his voice.
“Four brothers, two sisters,” Christopher said in his highest voice.
“And what are their names?”
“Winken, Blinken, and Nod, Donner, Comet, and Blitzen.”
“Do you have any hobbies, Melissa?” Hannah asked Christopher.
“Yes,” he said in his high voice. “I collect boilers from condemned schools.”
Hannah tried her best not to laugh. “How interesting.”
“I have them in my room.”
“Big room, huh?”
“Yes, and it’s always warm.” They both laughed.
Hannah said, “Do you see how easy it is to carry on a conversation with a girl? You just keep asking questions about her life. But you need to be interested in the answers she gives. Okay, let’s go back in there and see how you do.”
For the rest of the evening, Hannah let him practice what she’d taught him. He danced with Hannah, Kaitlyn, and all their friends. Two hours later the dance was over.
On the way home Kaitlyn turned to Christopher.
“Thanks for being so good with my friends,” she said.
“I had fun,” Christopher responded.
At home they had family prayer and hugged each other, and then everyone separated to get ready for bed. A few minutes later, Christopher entered his room. The first thing he noticed was the computer on his desk. It seemed more like an enemy than a tool.
“Maybe I should check to see if I have any e-mails,” he thought. He sat on his bed and tried to decide what to do. In the past, something as innocent as checking his e-mails late at night had led to him ending up on pornographic Web sites.
“How am I going to make it through the night?” he thought. “And what about tomorrow and the next day and the day after that?”
Out of nowhere, in his mind, he heard Hannah, in her upbeat, cheerful way: “What’s your favorite color?” The thought of asking one of the women on a pornographic site a question like that seemed ridiculous. They wouldn’t answer such a question, and he wouldn’t ask it. They existed in a one-dimensional world where only one thing mattered. And that one thing promised a thrill but gave nothing back but guilt and remorse.
He went to his desk and began to write in his journal:
“From now on I will spend my time with real girls, not with virtual images on a monitor. I’ll ask them what their favorite color is. I’ll ask how many brothers and sisters they have. I’ll ask them what their hobbies are. I’ll dance with them, joke with them, tease and get teased by them, and I’ll laugh with them. I will stay away from virtual girls for the rest of my life.”
He signed it, looked up, and glared at his computer on the desk. He quickly began disconnecting all the cables. A few minutes later, he had set up his computer in the kitchen where anybody coming into the room could see what was on the monitor.
His dad heard him moving about and came into the kitchen. “What are you doing?”
“Dad, do you have a few minutes? There’s something I need to tell you, something I need help with.”
“What is it?”
Christopher lowered his head. He wasn’t even sure he could say the word to his father. He fought to stay in control.
“I need to know so I can help,” his dad said.
Christopher sighed. “It’s pornography, Dad. That’s my problem. I’ve been looking at it in my room, but I want to quit. It’s tearing me apart.”
“Is that why you brought your computer in here?”
“Yes. At first I thought I could just tell myself I wasn’t going to look at it anymore. But that hasn’t worked. The truth is I can’t seem to stop.”
His dad put his hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you for telling me this.”
“No, Dad. There’s nothing to be proud of when it comes to me.”
“I disagree. You could have gone your whole life trying to hide this from the rest of the world, but you knew you couldn’t live a lie. To me that shows character.”
“I’m out of control. I need help.”
“I’ll be glad to help.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You’ll need to work with the bishop, too. Because of his calling, he can help you in ways I can’t.”
“He’ll be really disappointed in me.”
“I think he’ll be pleased you want to get rid of this evil in your life.”
They talked until two in the morning. They made a list of actions they could take. Christopher’s dad made it clear that there were some things he would need to keep doing. Things like praying and reading the scriptures, filling his time with positive activities and positive thoughts. An addiction like his isn’t overcome easily, and not without help.
Christopher asked, “Dad, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to or if I’m too unworthy, but could you give me a priesthood blessing?”
“I would very much like to do that.”
“I didn’t know if I should even ask. I haven’t felt much like praying either.”
“Heavenly Father will never turn away from us, no matter what we’ve done.”
After the blessing, they hugged each other and said good night. Christopher returned to his room. It seemed a much safer place without the computer. He knelt once again in prayer and then, a few minutes later, slipped into bed.
He remembered Hannah’s question, “What’s your favorite color?” He smiled. “I know the answer to that question now. My favorite color is true blue.” He felt better at that moment than he’d felt in a long time.

One summer as a teenager, I worked on an oyster boat off the coast of Long Island in New York to earn funds for college. The other members of the crew were seasoned oystermen, hardened by the harsh winter environment in which they spent much of their lives battling the icy ocean and raw wind to secure their catch. I was an enigma to them, easier to distrust than to understand. They shunned me as a company spy, then as a crazy kid who didn’t know how to be a man. Later, I became better at my duties and tried to build friendships. They offered to make me “a real man” by inviting me to join all-night indulgences. I thanked them but declined, and the tension grew more intense.
The summer weather was beautiful and the ocean magnificent. We were engaged in relatively simple tasks, such as transferring small oysters to a more distant portion of the sound where the nutrients accelerated their growth and improved their flavor. Except when a dredge full of oysters was dumped onto the deck, signaling a flurry of intense activity, there was much time for contemplation. While my deck mates dozed by their shovels, I read and pondered the content of the Book of Mormon. I cannot adequately express the powerful awakening within me that came from those weeks of study of the Book of Mormon under singularly unusual circumstances.
We slept in envelope-type bunks sandwiched into the restricted space between the ship’s diesel engine and hull. One night at dockside I retired early since some of the crew planned unrighteous activity outside our boat. I was suddenly shaken into consciousness by the powerful hand of a deck mate, Toddy, a giant of a man. He was brandishing a hammer in my face, and his breath reeked of alcohol. Stunned, I realized that there was no way that I could escape him. I thought I had come to the end of the road. Then I heard what he was shouting: “Scotty, get your fins and mask. There’s a man overboard, and you can save him.”
That night I learned a lesson I have never forgotten. Publicly the crew members ridiculed me, but privately they respected me for my standards. The confidence that came from that knowledge let me quietly help three of them with some serious personal challenges.