Gospel Story Finder

I remember well the day I first visited the temple. I was a young missionary and I went to the London England Temple to receive my endowments just before entering the mission field.
Thinking back, I felt that I was in a holy place and it felt so right to put on white temple clothing in place of my normal clothes. In so doing, I felt the symbolism of leaving the world behind outside and experiencing heaven on earth. This added to the feeling of holiness.

In the first city where I served during my mission, I had a native companion. Because she was helping the Church to grow in her homeland, Hermana Arriaga radiated a special intensity for the work. Together we had great success; we taught several people who were baptized and had many investigators. One night the President called--rather late--and instructed us to be on the first train to Salamanca the next morning. He was sending us to open a new city for work by sister missionaries. While that may sound quite thrilling, my companion and I were actually quite bothered by the mid-month transfer. Since we were both leaving, neither of us would be around to follow up with our investigators. Therefore, we had to leave copious notes explaining about the progress of each and every one. We also had to pack, which took hours. Then we had to decide what to do with the groceries we had just bought to see us through the month. We opted to take them with us, so we loaded everything into plastic bags.
After a couple of hours of sleep, we went to the train station, climbed aboard, had the other passengers help us find room for our suitcases and 10 (yes, ten) bags of groceries, and then collapsed in our seats. As we pulled out of the station, we noticed the train schedule on the wall and saw that a train left each hour--on the hour--for Salamanca. What was the big deal about being on the first one??? We hadn't even had time to tell any of the members or our investigators that we were leaving. We were frustrated, tired, and in a grumbling mood.
After a few minutes of complaining, my companion suggested that we hold our companionship study session. We had packed our scriptures near the surface, so we grabbed them. We then realized that our study guide and reference books were in cases under other people's seats, and we weren't about to inconvenience all of the other passengers (again) to dig them out. Hermana Arriaga suggested that we just read aloud. So, we flipped open our scriptures at random--no, they fell open--and we began to read--I'm not kidding--Section 111 of the Doctrine and Covenants, which says:

"I, the Lord your God, am not displeased with your coming this journey, notwithstanding your follies."

"I have much treasure in this city for you, for the benefit of Zion, and many people in this city whom I will gather out in due time for the benefit of Zion, through your instrumentality. . . ."

It goes on and on, but we'll skip to verse 10:

"For there are more treasures than one for you in this city."

"Therefore, be ye as wise as serpents and yet without sin; and I will order all things for your good, as fast as ye are able to receive them. Amen."

Well, that impressed us. Deeply. We knew the Lord was speaking directly to us through the scriptures. We immediately stopped our complaining.

Another Cooper family tradition: At least once a week everyone tries to do something nice for another family member as a surprise.
Thanks for making my bed! You know how much I hate doing that.
You’re welcome. It needed to be done, and you weren’t here, so …
Hmmm. Nobody’s done anything special for me yet, and the week’s almost over.
Later that morning …
Somebody pumped up my bike tire for me!
Now you know where I was while you were making my bed.

Today, I want to share a lesson I learned with our daughter over 10 years ago that might help you become the person the Lord wants you to become.
Maria Jesus was a big fan of the band One Direction. When she was 14 years old, she found out they were going to Chile and begged to go to the concert; she even made a list of commitments and a contract. For us as parents, it was an excellent opportunity to work with her on the things she needed to improve, like her grades and keeping her room clean and organized, for example. So, she made a list of the things she was committing to. Tickets were bought one year before the concert. (I need to mention that she kept all her commitments and did a fantastic job.)
The day of the concert finally came and after many hours in line to get into the stadium, she went in and enjoyed the two hours the concert lasted. You could see the joy in her face.
The following day, Maria Jesus cried all day long. Even though she had a wonderful time, she was sad and felt empty; what she had worked hard for was now over. In fact, we found out that many who had attended the concert went through the same.
Maria Jesus learned a couple of big lessons that year:
My dear friends, fill your life with spiritual things, the things that matter most and will bring eternal joy.

“I know why they’re going to tear the old Bently place down,” Troy announced late one afternoon as night was starting to creep around us. “It’s because it’s haunted!” he said in a whisper.
“Everybody knows that,” Shane muttered, swallowing hard and glancing down the street toward the Bently house.
As long as I could remember, we had all been afraid of the old Bently house. Nobody had lived in it for years. Most of the windows were boarded up, the paint had peeled off, and the doors that were left sagged and squeaked on their hinges.
Dad said that he could remember when there had been tall oak trees, green lawn, and trimmed bushes all around the house. The oak trees were still there, standing like big bushy giants around the old house to guard it and keep snoopers away. But the lawn had been taken over by weeds, and the bushes were nothing but tangles. Every time I had to pass the Bently house, I shuddered and tried not to look as I sprinted past it.
“Do you figure any ghosts live there?” I asked, glancing first at Troy and Shane and then at Justin, who was sitting beside me.
“The place is packed with them,” Shane answered.
“Once, I walked up on the front porch and peeked in the window,” I bragged.
Troy, Shane, and Justin looked at me. I could tell that they didn’t believe me. “It was afternoon, though,” I explained, shrugging my shoulders, “and I was with my Uncle Dan. But it was still kind of scary.”
“What did you see, Jimmy?” Shane wanted to know.
“Nothing. It was too dark, and something started banging on the side of the house. I was halfway home in about three steps. I didn’t want to go back, even with Uncle Dan.”
“I wouldn’t just go up on the Bently porch,” Troy said in his cocky way. “I’d go right inside!”
We stared at Troy. He was the biggest kid in the neighborhood, the strongest and the bravest too. If anybody would dare go into the Bently house, Troy would.
“I would too,” Shane boasted.
I licked my lips and added, “Me too.”
We looked at Justin, waiting for him to make his brag. He just sat there, his eyes wide and his face looking a little white. He swallowed and rasped uneasily, “Mom and Dad told me to stay away from the Bently house.”
“Don’t blame your mom and dad,” Troy scoffed. “You’re just chicken.”
Justin shook his head. “I don’t believe in ghosts. My dad said that I could get hurt in there because it’s falling apart. And that’s why they’re going to tear it down—not because of ghosts.”
Troy jumped to his feet, stuck out his chest, and put on his toughest look. “Jimmy and Shane and I are going in there right now,” he said. “If you don’t come, you’re just chicken.”
I felt my heart flip-flop in my chest, and it felt like someone had sucked all my breath away. Mom and Dad had told me to stay away from the house too. I just didn’t know how to tell Troy and Shane that. I slowly got to my feet and stood next to Troy, and Shane followed me.
We looked at Justin, who was looking at the ground. For a long time he didn’t say anything. Finally he looked up and said, “I’m not afraid—well, maybe a little—but the main reason I’m not going is that Mom and Dad told me not to.”
Right then I was wishing that I could tell Troy and Shane that I couldn’t go either, for the same reason, but I didn’t have the nerve.
“You’re just a chicken!” Troy sneered at Justin. “But if you want to hang around with us any more, you’d better come with us.”
“You could get hurt in that old house,” Justin insisted.
Troy laughed, and Shane and I joined in. “What a chicken!” Shane gave Justin a little shove. “Go on home to your mommy so that nothing will get you.”
“Yeah,” I said, wishing that my mouth wasn’t so dry and my heart wasn’t beating so fast. “Go home and let your mom tuck you into bed.”
Leaving Justin standing there, the three of us started toward the Bently house. We laughed and bragged all the way, telling each other that we weren’t afraid of anything. But every time I laughed, I got a sick, sinking feeling in my stomach.
Outside the Bently house we stopped. Shadows were lurking everywhere, making strange, scary shapes.
“Do you think we ought to get a flashlight?” Shane asked. His voice cracked, and he coughed to cover it up.
“We don’t need a flashlight,” Troy muttered. “Flashlights are for sissies like Justin.”
I wanted a flashlight. I wanted one bad! But I didn’t want to be called a chicken, so I just looked over at Troy and asked, “How are we going to get in?”
“In back. Just to the side of the big oak tree, there’s a window that we can squeeze through. The boards have fallen off.”
We found the window that Troy had told us about, and we had to pull off two more boards to make a hole big enough to climb through. Shane and I helped Troy through first; then he helped pull us up into the house.
A few gray bars of light streaked across the room from cracks in the windows. It smelled musty, and when we moved, the boards under our feet creaked and groaned. And when we just stood still, the house made creaking, groaning noises all by itself.
“Well, we’re inside,” I squeaked. “Now we can say that we’ve been in the—”
“We’re not going to just stop here!” Troy broke off my sentence with contempt. “Just coming in the window’s nothing. We need to explore.”
“Shouldn’t we have a light, though?” I asked.
“Are you chicken like Justin?”
“Yeah,” Shane joined in, “are you chicken too?”
I shook my head—not that they could see it—and wished that I was with Justin.
“Let’s go,” Troy ordered.
We started shuffling forward. I could barely see Troy and Shane as we left the first room and tiptoed down a long, dark hall. Cobwebs brushed against my face, and dust filled my nose. Suddenly the flooring beneath our feet began to shudder. We all froze, not knowing which way to go. Then the floorboards buckled. Before we knew it, we were falling into a deep, dark hole with dust and boards tumbling about us. I heard somebody scream. It seemed like we were going to fall forever. Then my feet jarred against something solid, and I sprawled forward on my face.
I lay still, wondering if I was still alive. My arms felt like they’d been scraped half off, and my side burned like it had the time I fell off my skateboard onto the pavement. I was just getting ready to try to move, when I heard a groan.
“Oh, my arm!” someone whimpered. “My arm’s killing me. I can’t even move it.”
“Is that you, Troy?” I heard Shane ask.
The only answer from Troy was more moaning and groaning.
“Where are we?” I called out. “I can’t see anything.”
“Probably in the cellar,” Shane answered. “We shouldn’t have come into this creepy old house,” he sobbed. “I didn’t really want to come here. It’s all your fault, Troy. It was your great idea!”
Troy’s only answer was, “Oh, my arm. I think I broke my arm.”
“What are we going to do?” I asked, sitting up. I was sore, but I didn’t have any broken bones.
“I hope somebody finds us,” Shane whimpered.
“Who’s going to find us?” I snapped. “Nobody even knows we’re here.”
“Justin knows,” Shane said hopefully.
“But we sent him away,” I reminded him. “He won’t know we’re missing until tomorrow. Besides, after calling him a chicken, he won’t want to help us, anyway.”
Shane and I managed to get to our feet, and we started yelling, hoping that someone would hear us. But the sound seemed to stay down in the hole with us.
Finally we sat down quietly, breathing hard and staring into the blackness. Then we heard footsteps. They were faint at first, and I wondered if I was just hearing the creaky sounds of the house. Then they got louder and louder and closer and closer.
“What’s that?” Shane rasped.
“Can you hear it too?” I whispered.
Even Troy stopped his moaning as the footsteps came closer. Then a dim, yellowish light shone above us, and Justin called out, “Jimmy! Is that you?”
“Justin!” I started to breathe again. “How’d you find us?”
“I waited. When you didn’t come out, I ran home and got a flashlight.”
“Get us out of here,” Shane whimpered. “We’re stuck.”
“And Troy’s hurt,” I added. “He thinks that his arm’s broken.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get help.”
It seemed like Justin was gone forever. But finally we heard voices. Justin’s dad was there, and so were Shane’s dad and Brother Richards and Rusty Hammond and my dad and Troy’s dad. They had ropes and a ladder and had us out of there almost before we knew it. Everybody was pretty sure that Troy’s arm was broken, so his dad hurried him off to the hospital.
That very night our dads boarded up the Bently house tighter than ever. Shane, Justin, and I just stood out by the curb and watched them work.
“I’m sorry for calling you a chicken,” Shane mumbled to Justin.
“Me, too,” I said.
Justin shrugged. “It’s OK.”
“No it isn’t,” I added. “We were wrong. We said that you were afraid because you wouldn’t go into the house with us, but we were the ones who were really afraid. At least I was. I was the real chicken.”
Justin stared at me, not quite understanding.
“I was afraid to say no. I knew that I wasn’t supposed to go into that old house, but I was afraid to tell Shane and Troy no. I was afraid that they would call me a chicken too. I was afraid to do what was right.”
Shane nodded his agreement.
I thought a moment. “I guess a lot of times it takes more courage not to do something than it takes to do it.” I smiled over at Justin. “Thanks for saving us. I don’t know what Troy or Shane think, but you can be my friend anytime.”

So, Kayli started attending church as well as midweek activities. At first, it didn’t really do much for her. “I attended, but I didn’t believe anything,” Kayli says. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”
However, she began to notice something unusual. “Every time I went to church or youth activities, I’d be happy.”
After a couple years of noticing this, Kayli was ready to meet a very special friend.
“I met my friend Maddie when we moved to another part of Texas the summer before 10th grade,” Kayli says. “She introduced herself and became such a great example to me.”
Kayli says that Maddie always seems upbeat and joyful, even when times get tough. As their friendship grew, Kayli looked forward to attending Church meetings and activities more.
“Maddie is such a good friend,” Kayli says.
Another big influence in Kayli’s life was seminary. Unlike when she first attended church, this time Kayli truly started paying close attention to what was being taught. “The reason why I started paying attention in seminary is that the people around me were really good at answering questions and participating. I wanted to be a part of that.”
The stars were aligning, as they say. Between studying the Book of Mormon in seminary, seeing the gospel bring happiness to her older sister, brother-in-law, and others in the ward, and making some key friendships, Kayli was ready to say yes when Maddie asked if she’d like to take the missionary lessons at her house.
From there, things moved quickly. Kayli and her younger sister—who was asked independently and by a different friend to take the lessons at that friend’s house—decided to be baptized on the same day.
“In Alaska, my happiness came from hanging out with my friends and trying to be popular,” Kayli says. “Now my happiness comes from the gospel. I’ve learned so much from the members here. I’ve learned that happiness and light come through Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.”

Shortly after getting my first driver’s license, I drove alone to southern Utah to visit a favorite aunt and uncle and get in a little fishing. After fishing without much success Saturday evening, I proceeded Sunday morning toward my aunt’s home. I had time to get there before church began.
As I drove past Duck Creek Springs, I noted the clear surface mirroring an emerald meadow and tall pine trees. I stopped the car to take a closer look. Then I saw a resplendent, 20-inch crimson-striped rainbow trout slowly fin over a moss bed not far from the bank. The fish seemed intent on slurping up every insect in sight.
My fishing rod was in the trunk of the car. I’d have plenty of time to put my humpy fly pattern in front of that feeding fish and still get to church on time. I was alone and no one would know that I was fishing on Sunday.
At that precise moment I truly felt that I could make a few casts, then quit, whether I caught the fish or not. But what about the time after that? And then, would I arrange deliberately to spend Sunday fishing?
I had heard people tell me they could “worship God out among his creations, in nature; you don’t need to be within the walls of some church building.” However, that thinking always seemed shallow to me. Even if you did yourself some good, what good would you do anyone else spending Sundays by yourself?
I got back in the car and headed for my aunt and uncle’s home and ward.
Over the years, that Sunday experience has always stood out as a source of strength in my mind. Since then I’ve taken fishing trips in many parts of the world, sometimes fishing almost every waking moment from Monday to Saturday night. But Sunday is different. No, it hasn’t always been easy. But it has been easier to keep things in proper perspective since that first Sunday decision at Duck Creek Springs.

In April, the branch start ed a Young Women program. At first there was only one participant: me! Even when I didn’t go, the teacher would wait for me. That seemed strange, too. Why was she so patient? Why did she wait so long even when she wasn’t sure I’d show up?
About that time, the mission presidents changed and the Suzuki family came to Sapporo. There was a young lady in the family, Naomi, who was my same age. We quickly became friends, since we were the only young women our age in the branch. She set a good example for me, and with her as a guide, I began to understand the patience of our teacher and the beauty of the gospel. Naomi’s example helped keep me going to church weekly and praying diligently. I was able to gain a small testimony and wanted from the bottom of my heart to be baptized.
I had talked to my parents once before about receiving that blessing, but they were against it. This time, armed with a tiny testimony, I tried again.
“Faith,” my father told me, “is not something that is grown in one or two days. It is the process of many years.” He felt that, to a student, school is more important even than religion, and he emphatically refused to give permission for baptism.
That had been a painful experience. But I got a grasp on myself, thought over what my father had said, and decided that one thing he had said was right. Religion should not be just a two-day spree, but a life-long adventure! I began attending seminary and studying the Old Testament in earnest. Fun lessons helped me gain insight into a subject new to me, and my knowledge of the gospel became fuller. However, I could not buy the home study manuals because that year was also the year for high school entrance exams, and my parents wanted me to spend time on school work, not religious homework.
I was overjoyed when the students in the class gave the manuals to me as a present! What could I give them in return? The best thing was to study those manuals hard. Even though my progress was slower than others, I was able to finish the manuals and turn them in to the teacher.
I also passed the high school entrance exams and felt relieved. My heart was lighter as I once again approached my parents about baptism, figuring I had proven I could be active in the Church and still succeed at school. Their response knocked me back into reality. “No,” my father said, “from now on school will be even tougher. You won’t have time for church and school too.”
My parents became increasingly upset by my diligence in attending Church meetings and would speak harsh words when I left the house on Sundays. After many months, however, they finally realized I wasn’t going to stop attending, and their resistance slackened somewhat. I continued studying seminary manuals, and my testimony grew more and more firm. But baptism still seemed impossible.
Finally, Naomi suggested that we should fast and pray about the situation. So every Sabbath day—for an entire year—we fasted. Naomi fasted and prayed right along with me. I could always feel God’s presence nearby, and my testimony became unshakable as we realized many other blessings that year. But my parents remained firm.
Last of all, my thoughts drifted to the beginning of this school year—my last in high school, the year of preparation for the college entrance examinations. I knew I would not be allowed to join the Church until the exams were over. I also wondered if my parents would allow me to be baptized even after the tests. One thing was certain, though. If I failed the exams, my parents would say, “The reason you failed is because you spent so much time with that church!” I had to prove that what they were thinking just wasn’t right. Somehow I knew that passing those tests was the key to my baptism, but I couldn’t see how.
I studied harder than I ever had before. Schoolwork passed ahead of everything, even Church assignments. Seminary studies began to pile up, but I rationalized that in order to be baptized, it was worth neglecting seminary in favor of schoolwork. The lack of seminary study worried me, however, for it was there I had grown the most and felt the strongest testimony. Now that testimony seemed to be shrinking as 13 home study books cluttered my shelf. My conscience told me I wasn’t doing what was right, that even with school there should be time for Church work and seminary too. On February 25 I promised myself I would complete all 13 books by March 4, the day exams began. Sandwiched in between my other schoolwork, seminary workbooks became a welcome break. On March 2, I handed all of my assignments, completed, to my amazed seminary teacher.
“It’s time,” the teacher supervising the exam said. I looked at the clock and whispered a prayer. Like a squadron of robots, the college entrance exam candidates rose and entered the testing area. Reluctantly, I joined them.
I passed! I couldn’t believe it! I was so excited! But several days later, when the scores were posted, I was listed. I would be able to go to college! I rushed to my parents with the good news and also asked if now I could finally have my wish—to become a member of the Church.
“No,” my father said simply. He startled the words right out of my mouth.
But my mother, although she had never done so before, came to my defense. She reminded him that I had been true to my studies and true to my religion for four years. “That’s such a good church that I don’t think my daughter would be doing anything wrong by joining it,” she said. “It is such a good church. I can understand why my daughter wants to go to it all her life.”
The three of us talked for hours, and I slowly realized my parents weren’t against me but loved me. They were concerned for my welfare and didn’t want me doing something blindly. I’m grateful to have such wonderful parents. I think they realized, too, that I wasn’t joining the Church on a whim. They gave me permission to be baptized! I made that covenant and received that ordinance on the same day I graduated from the Young Women program. My friends from seminary helped plan the baptismal service, and most of my family attended.
Of the high school- and college-age members of the Church in Japan, only about 5 percent have parents who are members. They may find that sharing the gospel with their families can be difficult and that parents of the Buddhist and Shinto faiths don’t always understand the joy that comes into someone’s heart through the knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ. But I truly believe that the Lord is mindful of us and will provide a way to help us. For me, it was through four years of patience that allowed my faith to grow strong.

Some of the missionaries in places that had been hard hit decided to make the most of the situation and make good use of their time even though tracting was impossible. “The sister missionaries in our area stayed in our home at this time so they’d have food and because no one was supposed to be out except for cleanup,” said Bishop Bob Horner of the Naches Ward, Yakima Washington North Stake. “They got on the phone and called everyone in the phone book, saying that they were from the Mormon church, and asking if people were okay.
“It was a time when people were scared to death, and it was comforting for them to talk with someone. They were so impressed that the sisters would care enough to call that Sister Karen Miller and Sister Colleen Cummings got 45 contacts through those calls. The sisters felt that since they were on the Lord’s time, they couldn’t waste it. They are two of the greatest missionaries we’ve ever had,” said Bishop Horner.

I had a 16-page research paper to finish. Even though my cousins also had the same assignment to finish, they still planned to go to the movies. I really wanted to go too, but I thought of the consequences of going to school the next day without my paper being finished. I chose to stay home and work on my paper. The next day I turned in my paper while my cousins were busy finishing their research by the deadline. They were stressed, but I felt good about choosing to do my homework first.

President N. Eldon Tanner related the following experience: “A young man came to me and said, ‘I made an agreement with a man that requires me to make certain payments each year. I am in arrears, and I can’t make those payments, for if I do, it is going to cause me to lose my home. What shall I do?’
“I looked at him and said, ‘Keep your agreement.’
“‘Even if it costs me my home?’
“I said, ‘I am not talking about your home. I am talking about your agreement; and I think your wife would rather have a husband who would keep his word, meet his obligations, keep his pledges or his covenants, and have to rent a home than to have a home with a husband who will not keep his covenants and his pledges’” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1966, 99).

In another instance, some of the young men and women in one ward found themselves wavering in their testimonies and uncomfortable with Church activity. One day they decided, under the guidance of a very wise bishop, to involve themselves actively with several of the elderly members of the ward who were homebound. They divided into small groups, with each group determined to develop a family-like relationship with one of the homebound members. On a regular basis the young women and young men prepared meals that they and their elderly friends enjoyed together in the homes of the elderly members. Each Sunday the young men took the sacrament into the homes. On occasion, they arranged to hold special family home evenings together. These activities caused a remarkable change in the attitude of the young people toward themselves, toward the elderly, and toward the Church. They found a way to express the gospel of Christ through giving loving service.

I wish you to know how much I’m thankful for this New Era magazine in watering the seed of the gospel to grow and be rooted in my heart.
I remember in the year 1978 being ten years old when two missionaries, laboring in love and understanding, patiently planted the seed of the gospel in our poor home. I was present at every discussion. I just sat observing them, because at that age I couldn’t fully comprehend their words. I hoped that through their actions I could better understand them.
I was baptized together with my family. True, I didn’t really understand why we were joining the Church, but as I went to church with my family I came to understand more and more.
The seed has grown, and yet at every turn there were temptations challenging me. I wondered whether I could truly follow all the commandments. Then one of the missionaries who taught us subscribed to the Church magazines for us. I then found the New Era which supplies my needs and helps me to stay close to the Church. It also gives me encouragement in such bitter trials, knowing that other members in other nations have overcome them. It strengthens my testimony.
So, Elder Hunter, wherever you are now, I would like to thank you for the New Era. Through this magazine you’ve truly helped to convert me. The Church is really true, and I am now preparing to serve a mission like my three brothers and sister.
Amor Q. YacapinCagayan de Oro City Philippines

Jean and I met on a blind date set up by our sisters who played together in the BYU Symphony Orchestra. Neither of us were anxious to go on that date, as we had never even met each other, but we both trusted our respective sisters.

For me it was love at first sight. For Jean it took a little longer. Despite what the movie might imply I was not a very good dancer. I am grateful that Jean “hung in there” and that five years after that first meeting we were sealed in the Los Angeles Temple.

One of the things that immediately attracted me to Jean was her radiant smile and her happy, confident spirit. I sensed these came from the depths of a pure soul.

Angie was one of my dearest high school friends. There wasn’t a person I could think of who didn’t like her. She was not only fun, outgoing, and beautiful; she was also kind and compassionate.
One afternoon on our way home from a youth ski trip in Colorado, we stopped for dinner. After ordering our burgers and fries, several of us followed Angie. We all crowded around her table, caught up in discussions about skiing, friends, and boys.
I didn’t even notice Sarah sitting alone, quietly eating her dinner. Without saying a word, Angie carefully slid out of her chair, picked up her tray, and walked over to her. The rest of us continued our conversations, but eventually, one by one, we all noticed what Angie had done. Sarah had always seemed a little odd and unapproachable, but her eyes seemed to light up as the two girls sat together eating dinner. It didn’t take long before the rest of us followed. For one short dinner, Sarah became the center of attention.
Twelve years later, I remember very little about that ski trip. However, Angie’s example of kindness and friendship to that awkward teenage girl has made a permanent impression in my heart and mind. I am grateful to a friend who taught me to be a better person by her quiet example.

Mamãe? I said something mean to my friend today. Now I feel terrible.
Wait, I know! I can just get baptized again! Then I will be all clean.
You don’t need to do that. You can repent right now and be forgiven. And when you take the sacrament, you can promise to do better!
Can we say a prayer together? I want to tell Heavenly Father I’m sorry. And I’ll tell my friend I’m sorry tomorrow.
Of course.
That Sunday …
I’ll try harder this week to be kind! I know Heavenly Father will help me.
Illustrations by Katie McDee

When my daughter ‘Ofa, graduated from BYU–Hawaii few years ago, I asked her the question most parents ask their children when they graduate from college: “Now that you’re graduated, what are you going to do with your life?” She smiled with confidence and said, “What else do you expect? I came here to learn. Now I’m ready to serve. I’m going to serve a mission.” She served an honorable mission in the Auckland New Zealand Mission, and she is now attending BYU–Provo and serving faithfully in her YSA ward.

Bishop Edgley has told you a basketball story. I think I’d like to tell you a baseball story. I was reminded of it while watching a program on the Public Broadcasting System one evening not long ago. It was a program on baseball, once the great American pastime.
I recognize that baseball has little interest for people in most nations of the world, but I speak of it to highlight a principle that has meaning for people everywhere.
The event of which I speak occurred in the World Series of 1912. It was an eight-game series because one of the games was called at midpoint because of darkness. Playing fields were not electrically lighted at that time. It was the last game and the score was tied 1–1. The Boston Red Sox were at bat, the New York Giants in the field. A Boston batter knocked a high-arching fly. Two New York players ran for it. Fred Snodgrass in center field signaled to his associate that he would take it. He came squarely under the ball, which fell into his glove. It went right through his hand and fell to the ground. A howl went up in the stands. The roaring fans couldn’t believe it. Snodgrass had dropped the ball. He had caught hundreds of fly balls before. But now, at this crucial moment, he dropped the ball. The New York Giants lost. The Boston Red Sox won the series.
Snodgrass came back the following season and played brilliant ball for nine more years. He lived to be eighty-six years of age, dying in 1974. But after that one slip, for sixty-two years when he was introduced to anybody, the expected response was, “Oh, yes, you’re the one who dropped the ball.”

For some reason, the last month or so, my mind has turned to a colleague of many years ago at the University of Utah. Dr. Reed Merrill was a distinguished educational psychologist. He had, for instance, done pioneering work in establishing the process of licensure associated with clinical psychology, as well as important work in educational psychology. However, he had been inactive in the Church and inattentive to spiritual things, though a good person. Then, in the early 1980s he was stirred spiritually by the Lord. I could see it when he came to visit me twice. He wrote two powerful letters regarding the comparative emptiness of his secular discipline with the fullness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. These observations meant a lot because they came from a man of unquestioned intellect and integrity. Other catalytic things were happening, unbeknownst to me, including his daughter’s service on a mission, to say nothing of a wonderful wife.

Reed called me sometime before his daughter’s sealing, asking if I would perform her sealing. I said, “I would be delighted.” I think I had an intervening trip overseas, but asked, “Reed, will you be there?”

With his typical integrity, he said, “Neal, you know me well enough to know I won’t be there unless I am fully worthy to be there.” When the morning came for the sealing in the Salt Lake Temple, I waited with particular anticipation. Then Reed came down the corridor of the temple. We embraced, and he said, “Neal, I made it!” He had come home! Subsequently, he taught in his high priests group and in various classes. It was a spiritual renaissance in his life, a marvelous thing to see. How wonderful it is when anybody comes home!

Yesterday, when I reviewed my handwritten notes used ten years ago at Reed’s funeral, they included words of gratitude for what I called, even back then, “the intersections of our lives”—Reed’s and mine. The most important thing to be said about Reed Merrill when he departed from this life was that he exited “in spiritual crescendo.” Such things bring joy!

President Eyring reinforced this message at BYU–Hawaii during a question-and-answer panel discussion.
A student referenced President Nelson’s statement “In coming days, it will not be possible to survive spiritually without the guiding, directing, comforting, and constant influence of the Holy Ghost.”46 The student asked where they would need the direction of the Holy Ghost.
President Eyring asked me to respond, and I cited the importance of choosing a major, career planning, and where we live after graduation. I had answered this question in similar forms many times in other university settings, and I thought I had done a reasonable job in my response.
Then President Eyring pasued on the phrase “survive spiritually.” President Eyring proceeded to explain that we are living in a season of great confusion about God’s truths and that students would need the Holy Ghost so they would not be misled.47