Gospel Story Finder

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

I wasn’t exactly nervous to join elders quorum because I felt like I knew what to expect. I also knew everyone in my ward’s elders quorum. They were my friends’ dads and men I already looked up to as mentors. I knew they were happy to help me understand things, so it wasn’t nerve-racking to join them in elders quorum.
What was a little nerve-racking was contributing to the lessons. At first it was hard to think that I could offer anything to men who had so much more life experience and so much more wisdom than I did.
Elders quorum is definitely different from priests quorum. Instead of a bunch of guys your age, you’re suddenly with adults. The first couple of times I went, I didn’t really say anything. I worried that I was too young and didn’t know enough to contribute.
But the more I’ve been going, the more comfortable I’ve become, and the more I’ve come to realize that no matter how old you are, everybody has something to contribute. Everyone has different experiences with the gospel and everyone has different levels of understanding of different principles.
One time we were talking about the Savior’s Atonement, and I raised my hand. I just told how thanks to His Atonement, Jesus Christ not only frees us but can also help us become closer to Himself and to God. I talked about my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and how it has been strengthened as my understanding of the Atonement has grown. After class, a man came up to me and thanked me for my comments. He told me he had never thought about things the way I had said them and really appreciated my insight.
In elders quorum, you don’t just learn from a teacher; you also learn from the Spirit and everyone else in the quorum. All that perspective helps you gain greater insight into the things that you are taught. And that helps you be a better servant of the Lord. For example, since I’ve become an elder, I’ve started liking ministering a lot more! I think I take it a little more seriously because I know that when I’m a missionary in a few months, I’ll be visiting people and sharing the gospel with them just like I do when I minister. Instead of just sitting there and letting my companion do everything, I’ve started preparing for our visits. I make sure to speak up. I know it’s good preparation for my mission, but it has also made ministering become more meaningful to me. I now have a greater appreciation for the people in my ward and the people I minister to.
You don’t need to be intimidated by elders quorum, but you can definitely look forward to hear more wisdom about the topics you’re learning about. You can look forward to becoming a better teacher, leader, and servant of the Lord. And that is so cool!

Sacred experiences don’t always occur in the temple or at church. One night, I had a sacred moment in the dark, quiet living room of my college dorm.
I’d gotten home late. Everyone was either gone or asleep. I relaxed on the couch, enjoying the glow of the Christmas tree lights. In an electrifying instant, I realized that the house was all mine. In that moment, I wanted to dance.
It was an irrational desire; I was definitely not a dancer. However, this night I was alone and no one would see if I made a fool of myself.
I couldn’t sit still any longer. I had to dance. I ran up the stairs to grab a CD and flew back to the living room on tiptoe. I pressed play and listened as the first song began. Slow steps and careful twirls began my secret recital. Then I gave myself to the music and simply danced. Soon I was running, leaping, flying with my heart, and reaching for the sky.
The music soared, and so did I. If I was clumsy, I didn’t notice. I no longer cared. No one was there to judge me. I danced free in a place where the world could never judge me.
For a moment, I saw myself through God’s eyes, and it was glorious. I was completely myself. Not the self that others expected me to be. Not even the self that I was “supposed” to be. The self that God knew was in me—the truest part of my soul.
What freedom I felt then. I was of worth! I was worth something because I was myself. Me. God loved me, not my skills or my looks. I was beautiful and precious just because I was His daughter.
My dance changed. Instead of expressing the beauty of the music, I was literally dancing for the joy of the beauty of my soul. I spun in the rainbow glow of Christmas lights, knowing that God was watching over me and that He was smiling.
That night the dirty carpet of a college dorm became holy ground as I danced by the light of a Christmas tree and saw the eternal worth of my soul.

Several months ago, with another General Authority, I visited the beautiful island of Tahiti. Our airplane arrived at the Papeete airport at about four o’clock in the morning. We were met by a group of local Church leaders headed by regional representative Victor Cave. We quickly gathered our luggage and went to the hotel to get what rest we could before the day’s activities began.
As we drove through the quiet streets in the early morning light, we saw a man crossing the road in front of Brother Cave’s car. Brother Cave slowed the car to give the man plenty of time to cross and told us, “That man is from the local ward. He is hurrying to get to the temple. The first session of the temple doesn’t begin until nine o’clock, but he wants to be there well in advance.”
“How far away does he live?” he was asked. The answer: “Two or three blocks.” Brother Cave said that the caretakers open the temple gates early and that this man comes in and watches the day begin from within the sacred grounds surrounding the beautiful temple.
I marveled at the faith of that man, who is willing to give up his sleep and other activities in order to meditate and contemplate. Some would no doubt say, “How foolish! What a waste of time that could be spent sleeping or studying.” I hope that in those special hours of meditation and contemplation that faithful man is coming to know himself and his Creator.
Like that man crossing the street in Papeete at 4:00 A.M., hurrying to the temple, we can enjoy an untroubled conscience in the temples of God. Having a simple, untroubled faith can lift us above the selfish, sordid, and greedy aspects of the world toward peace and eternal life.

Now that we all have the right attitude, I should like to introduce the theme of what I have to say by relating an experience I had in Japan some time ago. Approximately six years ago I was in Osaka, Japan. I received a telephone call from one of the Japanese officers of the Church requesting an appointment. He indicated he had a personal problem to review with me. I invited him to my hotel room and there listened to one of the most intelligent and articulating young men I had ever met. He was a college graduate. He had majored in a special field of science and was employed by a stable, conservative corporation. It happened that one of his classmates who was at the top of his graduating class in the same field of science had become employed by a relatively new, progressive firm in Tokyo. Several times in recent months this classmate had tried to entice his friend, a member of the Church, to come and work for his company. Little interest was shown until one day a vice-president of the firm made contact and indicated he would like to have this young Mormon come to work for him. He could set his own salary, and it could be three or four times what he was then making. His response was, “I have a position in my Church. If there is the slightest question in the minds of the officers of my Church about my leaving Osaka, which will require my being released from my Church position, it doesn’t matter how much money you offer me. I will have no interest in your proposal.”

The vice-president answered, “I’m not a Christian. I know nothing about religion, but you are the kind of man I want in my organization.”

This was his dilemma: should he move from Osaka to Tokyo, which would require his being released from his Church assignment? Of course, I assured him he could serve the Lord in Tokyo as well as in Osaka. So he moved to Tokyo.

I happened to be in Tokyo last October, and I received another call from this same young man asking for a conference. We visited for quite some time. Now, this fine, intelligent young man had become extremely successful in his field. He had broadened his experience and was now a consultant teaching top managers in major corporations how to operate their companies. He had become a specialist in human dynamics—in other words, teaching people how to behave as they thought they were behaving or as they knew they should be behaving. His time was in great demand. He was making a very handsome income. He was neglecting his Church work, and he was neglecting his family responsibilities. Now his dilemma was “What should I do?” I told him I wouldn’t tell him what to do, but did tell him that there was a scripture that would tell him what to do—if he was truly converted. Then I quoted the scriptures: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33). I sensed that this scripture might have caused a few little ripples, because he had tasted the fruits of success in the business world. However, we parted as good friends.

A few weeks after I returned home I received a letter from him. He said that now he had his priorities straightened out. He had resigned from the company. His first priority would be his family; second, his Church; and then employment.

Brother Brown’s ordeal of faith began on 17 March 1980. His wife, oldest daughter, and mother-in-law were killed when their car was hit head-on by a truck. Its twenty-five-year old driver had been drinking and had moved into the path of the oncoming traffic in anticipation of a left turn which was actually nearly 0.8 kilometer away. He was not injured.
Brother Brown received news of the tragedy by telephone from the police. Weeping and praying for strength, he went out into the street, saw two ward members driving by, and stopped them. He told them of the accident and asked for a special blessing to enable him to cope with the tragedy. That blessing gave him a direct and powerful assurance that the Lord loved him and would make him able to cope with his burden.
Brother Brown almost immediately began proving that promise. At the funeral, he chose to speak, trying to help us accept and deal with the loss and showing us the way by his example. I was nearly overcome by his desire to ease our pain when he was suffering the most.
The last speaker extended the spirit of Brother Brown’s address by calling on all who were present, particularly the grieving family, to fight against any feelings of anger which might arise against the unfortunate driver of the other vehicle.
Two days later, my neighbor faced the harrowing task of sorting the items left in the mangled car. It was an agonizing experience as he faced the awful devastation which had killed his loved ones and had to recall the accident for an insurance company report. Reliving some of the agony he had hoped to put behind him nearly overwhelmed him.
In his pain, that evening he found himself becoming angry at the driver of the truck. He prayed. The negative feelings were still there. But not wanting to succumb to that feeling, he determinedly got in his car and went to the young man’s house, sat down with him and said simply, “I’ve been praying for you—for myself—trying to resolve some feelings of anger that are beginning to gnaw at me.” The driver of the truck looked a little frightened and uncomfortable but said nothing as my neighbor talked with him. When Brother Brown asked him if they could pray together, he nodded reluctantly and knelt down. Brother Brown expressed the deepest feelings of his heart, in a prayer, broken by his struggle to control his sorrow, asking for the Lord to help both of them deal with their shared tragedy. The other man remained silent.
When they stood from the prayer, my neighbor noted that the young man’s face was tense and pale but rigidly expressionless. Brother Brown went to him, put both arms around him, and gently said, the relief of peace in his voice, “I love you. I forgive you. It’s going to be all right. And I won’t let you go until you can let out some of those feelings inside.” The young man stood silently, his face moving, then broke into sobs of agony as he wept out his own grief in Brother Brown’s arms. The man’s wife joined them in this circle of love and told my neighbor, “My husband has been so devastated by guilt that this is the first time since the accident that he’s been able to express himself.”
Brother Brown’s trial of faith is not over, of course. He still has many years of living without his loved ones ahead of him. He still has to cope every day. But this mission of love has helped him rebuild his life. And those who know him have learned in part what it means to rise to the “measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ.” (Eph. 4:13).

I had gone to escape the painful realities of my life, I told him. Nine years earlier my brother had died. The following year my parents were killed in a car accident. A year later to the day, my grandmother died. Within a short time, I had lost several of the most important people in my life. I was devastated.
I inherited a large sum of money upon my parents’ death, and I used it to try to escape my grief. I spent it on expensive clothes, cars, drugs, and trips to faraway places.
On my most recent trip I climbed a pyramid in Tikal, Guatemala. There, even though I was physically on a high place, I remember feeling the lowest I’d felt in a long time. I couldn’t live the way I’d been living anymore. “God,” I said, “if You’re there, I need You to change my life.” I stood there for several minutes, silently pleading for help from a being I wasn’t sure was real. When I climbed back down the pyramid, I felt at peace. Nothing had changed in my life, but somehow I felt that things were going to be all right.

“I really appreciate your agreeing to do this,” Jenkins said as he led Kyle down the long hallway of the research and development section of Megatech.
“I couldn’t believe what they told me on the phone,” Kyle said.
“It is a pretty remarkable breakthrough, isn’t it? You know, out of 500 randomly selected calls, we had 86 percent willing to participate in our consumer-testing phase. Eighty-six percent—that’s unbelievable. I don’t mind telling you we’re very excited about the possibilities of VI-CAM.”
“Can you tell me again what VI-CAM stands for?”
“Sure, it took me a week to get it right. It stands for Viewer-Interactive Computer-Activated Movies.”
“How does it work?” Kyle asked.
“It’s really quite simple. Have you ever had the experience of coming out of a movie and liking everything about it except for a few parts.”
“Yeah, that happens a lot.”
“I’m sure you’re aware how much computers have improved over the past few years. We can process information faster and store and recall it much easier. So what we do in VI-CAM is take a character in a movie and more or less reduplicate him or her into computer memory. We do that with each character in the movie. With a few additional computer graphics breakthroughs, the system we’ve developed lets you take those characters and actually program the movie you want to see.”
Jenkins led him into a small room with a large-screen TV. “There are refreshments in the refrigerator. Take all the time you want. I’ll set it up to get you started. First thing we do is have you watch the uncut Hollywood version of the movie and then Lorie, the main character in the movie, will come on screen and ask you how you’d like to edit it. You can see it in as many versions as you want and stay as long as you want. We’re open 24 hours a day. Have fun.” And with that Jenkins left.
Kyle watched the Hollywood version first. It was a PG movie called Party SchoolUSA.
After it was over the actress Lorie Summers came on the screen. “Kyle, you still there?”
Kyle didn’t answer.
She smiled. “Kyle, you awake, or what?”
“Sorry. I guess I’m just not in the practice of talking to a TV.”
“I understand. Well, how did you like the movie?”
“It was okay,” he said politely.
“Just okay?”
“There were some things I didn’t care for.”
“No problem. We can change it anyway you want. Did you keep notes while you watched?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. How about if we go through what you wrote down?”
Kyle glanced at his notes. “All the parents and the teachers in the movie seem so messed up. It’s like you’re trying to say adults are no help at all to teenagers.”
“That’s right, Kyle. Adults are incompetent and stupid.”
“I don’t agree with that. My parents aren’t.”
“Do you agree with everything your parents say?”
“No, but even when we disagree, I respect what they tell me.”
“Why?”
“Because they’ve been through it all once before.”
“Adults don’t know what it’s like now for kids growing up,” she said.
“Oh, maybe not the exact things, but a lot of things are the same.”
“So you want the adults to be more … ?”
“Like real adults.”
She smiled faintly. “Well, you’re shooting down about half the plot, but we can fix it up the way you want. Anything else?”
“I really like you in the movie, Lorie, but I was wondering if you could, you know, not swear so much.”
“That’s the way people talk these days.”
“I know, but it still bothers me.”
“All right. We’ll cut out the swearing. What else?”
He cleared his throat. “Well, there’s that one scene where you don’t have, uh, a lot of clothes on.”
“Yeah, so?”
“I didn’t feel comfortable watching that.”
“Kyle, let me ask you a question. Are you normal?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Just wondering. Don’t you like the way I look?”
“Yes, but …”
“But what?”
“Why have that in the movie? It’s got nothing to do with the plot. It’s just thrown in there for no reason at all.”
“It sells tickets.”
“Maybe so, but why did you agree to be shown that way?”
“I’m not ashamed of my body, Kyle.”
“I’m not ashamed of mine either, but I don’t go around showing it to anyone who has the price of a movie ticket.”
“Kyle, let me tell you something. We’ve run this for 100 people today, and you’re only the fifth one who’s requested us to cut that scene. There’s someone a few booths down from you making similar changes, but yours is definitely a minority viewpoint.”
Kyle paused. “Who’s the other one making those kinds of changes?”
“A girl your age from Idaho. She’s in town for a few days. She’s staying with her aunt.”
“From Idaho, huh?”
“Yeah, she’s in Booth 27.”
“How far is that from here?”
Lorie paused. “Straight down the hall for 10 booths.”
“Do you mind if I go down there, and she and I talk to you from the same booth?”
“How do you know she’ll want to meet you?”
“Just a guess.”
“I don’t understand that at all.”
As Kyle walked down the hallway he glanced into each booth to see what others were watching. For some the changes in the movie had turned it into pornography. For others a simple teenage flick had become a horror movie with axes dripping blood. Kyle focused his attention on those who were watching. One man looked like he’d been there for days. His movie had degenerated to the extreme in degradation and horror.
Kyle reached Booth 27 and knocked. A girl his age opened the door. She looked like an outdoorsy kind of person with long dark brown hair and a nice smile.
“Hi, Kyle,” she said. “Lorie told me you were coming. I’m Susan Blair.”
They both stepped inside.
“Are you LDS?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure am.”
“I thought you might be. I am too.”
They sat down together on the couch in front of the TV console. Lorie came on the screen again. “Well, I see you two have met each other. Susan, I haven’t heard all your suggestions yet, have I?”
“Not yet. One thing is that I’m not happy with the way you portray people. In movies like this you always have the science nerd who can’t do anything right when it comes to talking to girls, the athlete who treats everybody like they were the scum of the earth, and the girl who goes through the movie mostly just smiling and looking dumb but beautiful.”
“So?” Lorie said.
“So some people who like science are fun to be with,” Kyle said.
“Yeah, and some athletes are friendly to everybody,” Susan said.
“And some beautiful girls have terrific minds too.”
“Are you two trying to ruin a perfectly good movie?” Lorie said.
“No, not really.”
“All right,” Lorie said. “I’ll see what we can do. Anything else?”
“I don’t like the way the movie ended,” Susan said.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Well,” Susan said, “for someone who believes in chastity, it’s just not the best ending.”
Lorie was getting red in the face. “They like each other so what they do is okay, all right?”
“It’s not all right unless they’re married,” Kyle said.
“We want it out of the movie,” Susan said.
“You’ve got adults sympathetic to kids, you’ve got a girl who wants to improve her mind, you’ve got everybody fully dressed the entire time, you’ve got athletes who aren’t jerks, and nerds who aren’t nerds, and the two main characters believe in—what did you call it, chastity? What on earth do you call that anyway?”
“We call that life,” Susan said.
The screen went blank.
A minute later the door opened and in walked Lorie Summers.
“She’s not real,” Kyle whispered.
“She looks real,” Susan said.
“I read about it in Omni Magazine. It’s a hologram. It’s done with lasers. Watch my hand. I’ll pass it right through her body.” He moved his hand through the air and touched her on the arm, which was very much real. He gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Susan asked.
“I have no idea how they do that,” he whispered back.
Lorie smiled.
“Are you real?” Kyle asked.
“I’ve been wondering the same thing about you two.
“You are real, aren’t you. You’re a famous movie star,” Kyle said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been interested in this project since it began. Sometimes I come here just to watch what’s going on. There’s a monitor in the control booth where I can see what everyone is watching. The one difference between this and a regular movie is that with VI-CAM what a person sees is exactly what he or she chooses to see. And so it’s a way to find out what monsters lurk in people’s minds. There’s a man in one of the booths—you may have seen him on your way here—he’s been here ten days. He’s living on whatever he can get from the candy machine. Each time he changes the movie it becomes more and more warped. It’s kind of scary.” She paused. “Which brings me to you two. Why are you so different?”
“Well, it’s kind of a long story,” Kyle said.
“No it isn’t,” Susan interrupted. “I don’t know about the others who objected to the same scenes we did, but the reason we’re different is that we’re Mormons who try to live the way we’ve been taught.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” Kyle said.
Lorie sat down. “I’ve got a confession to make. Even though I play a teenager in the movie, I’m actually older than that. I guess I used to believe what I was saying to you through the VI-CAM system. But time has a way of changing things. I’ve been wondering about things for a long time. Now I have a two-year-old daughter and I look at the world through different eyes. Sometimes it really scares me to realize she’s going to grow up in this world. You two seem a little strange to me, but I think you know how to avoid the bad things in the world today. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. How have you managed to escape?”
“Well, that’s kind of hard to explain,” Kyle said.
“Why is it so hard?” Susan said. “I think it’s simple. You escape evil by making good choices.”
A few minutes later the three of them walked down the long corridor together, talking about important things.

Second, as a bishop in a large eastern city, a Spanish speaking branch had been merged into our suburban ward. One of the Hispanic members came to me confused about whether to pay 14%, 17% or more to satisfy his tithing obligations. When I inquired as to why he asked, he explained, “In the country I came from, people do not get a deduction from income tax for donations to charitable institutions. Here you do. When I pay tithing, I get back through reduced taxes a percentage of what I paid in tithing. Since I am to pay the Lord 10% shouldn’t I pass on to Him the amount by which I reduce my taxes by paying tithing?” I explained to him that the tax law expresses a public policy to encourage personal charitable giving and that the 10% he was already paying as tithing was what was requested of the Lord.

As I left the tithing settlement with that man and so many others, I was each time reminded of what a blessed way tithing is to both show our love and devotion to the Lord and to finance His work.

Sister Mireille Van Tonder of Bordeaux, France, also speaks five languages—Afrikaans, French, Dutch, English, and German. She recently spoke with a young woman visiting from South Africa. Sister Van Tonder, who was born in South Africa, was able to tell the visitor about the Church in her native language. The young woman was surprised and excited to learn that the Church was in her own country and that she could be taught by missionaries when she returned home.

My father shared this experience from when he was younger:

When I was in high school, I learned how to play pool. I am not sure where I learned, but we did have a pool hall in town. Several other boys and I would go downtown at noon, go to the pool hall, and play pool. The front of the pool hall was a bar, and it seems there was always someone there drinking. We never paid much attention to them; we would just go to the back of the room where the pool tables were and play pool. The owners never said anything to us as long as we were just playing pool.

Our stake president owned a grocery store almost directly across the street from the pool hall and had observed us going into the hall nearly every noon. One day while I was in the store, he asked why we were going into the pool hall. I explained that we were just going in to play pool. He explained that some people who saw us going in may not think that and might get the wrong idea about what kind of boys we were. He then explained what it meant to “shun the very appearance of evil.”

My father recognized what he had been doing and how it was more important and valuable to set a good example than satisfying his love for playing pool.

Growing up, I didn’t believe there was a God. My life was full of turmoil, and in my darkest days I was depressed enough that I wanted to end my life. That was when the missionaries came knocking on my door. The gospel was exactly what I needed; I was drawn to it like a magnet.
My trials didn’t end after I joined the Church, but I was in a better position to resist the influence of the adversary. For the first time, I knew what happiness felt like.

Kelly and her mom walked up to the church building and looked around. It was beautiful, with palm trees swaying outside. The sign on the building said, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints”—in three different languages: Malay, Chinese, and English!
Kelly didn’t know much about Jesus Christ. And she had never been to church before. Her mom’s friend, Liza, went to church here. She had invited Kelly and her mom to come with her.
As they went inside, people smiled and said hello. Everyone was so nice. Kelly and Mom followed Liza upstairs to a big room. Liza said it was called a chapel.
Kelly sat down next to Mom and Liza in a row of chairs, and soon church started. She listened to the music. She liked how it made her feel, even though she didn’t know the words.
At the end of the meeting, a woman got up to say a prayer. Kelly looked around as everyone else folded their arms and closed their eyes. She still felt something really good inside. What was it? It felt different than anything she had felt before!
As they left the church later, Kelly told Mom about the feeling she’d had during the prayer.
“Well,” Mom said, “I didn’t feel anything special.”
But Kelly kept thinking about how she’d felt at church. She had liked the prayer. And she had liked hearing about Jesus.
“Can the missionaries teach me?” Kelly asked Mom. “I want to learn more.”
“If that’s what you want to do, that’s fine,” Mom said.
The missionaries taught Kelly how to pray and how to read the scriptures. They taught her about Jesus and how He loves us. Kelly liked what she was learning.
One day the missionaries gave her a special challenge.
“Will you try to pray during the week?” asked Elder Parker.
Up until now, Kelly had only prayed with the missionaries. But she wanted to try it on her own. She knew Heavenly Father was always listening, and He wanted to hear from her.
“I’ll do it,” she promised.
The next day at school was a special one. Kelly was going to sing in a competition! She had learned a beautiful new Chinese song. Learning all the notes and tones had been hard work! She had practiced and practiced and practiced.
Now that it was time to perform, Kelly was nervous. She pulled out the picture of Jesus she had put in the pocket of her school uniform that morning. She decided to say a prayer, like the missionaries had shown her. “Heavenly Father, please help me let go of my nervousness,” she prayed. “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Then Kelly stepped out onto the stage. She stared at the audience and the judges. She thought about the picture of Jesus in her pocket and felt a little bit better. She took a deep breath and started to sing.
She sang all the words just like she had practiced. As she sang the last note and took a bow, Kelly knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer and helped her.
With a smile, Kelly walked off the stage. She couldn’t wait to tell the missionaries about what happened! She knew she wanted to keep praying every day.

When I was a young boy, my parents had a tradition of buying the children baby ducklings at Easter time. They became our pets. Near our home, in Minnesota, there was a small pond. As the ducklings grew, we would allow them to live in it. Each day I would feed them. All I had to do was whistle and they would come to me. They knew that my whistle meant easy food. As the spring turned to summer, the ducks grew bigger and fatter. They were bred not to fly. They were grateful for my free hand-outs.
From time to time, wild ducks would join them. These ducks were different. They were smaller in size. They could fly. And each winter, when it turned cold in Minnesota, the wild ducks would fly south to warmer weather. The wild ducks would never join the others when I fed them. They were afraid of me.
One day, though, a wild duck decided to join the tame ducks. He wanted an easy meal. At first, he did not trust me. But slowly he grew accustomed to my presence. He, too, began to enjoy the free meals. His life was different though. Initially, he could have it both ways. He would eat his tasty meal and then would fly off to be with the wild ducks.
After a while, I noticed a change. He stopped flying. And then I noticed why. All his free meals made him fat. He was no longer able to fly. Perhaps this story would have had a happy ending, but as mentioned earlier, winter in Minnesota brings cold, snow and frozen ponds. One day my mother told me that a man would be coming to take the ducks away for the winter. She said he had a farm and would take care of them. When the time came to say good-bye to my ducks, not only did the tame ducks go, but the wild duck was taken as well.
A few days later, I asked my mother about the ducks. She confessed to me that the man who took them was going to eat them. She just wanted to spare me the pain of telling me. I suspected that this was the case. This happened about 60 years ago, but the experience remains clear in my memory.
I remember the wild duck. This duck had freedom, but he gave it up for what he thought would be an easier life. What he thought was a free hand-out became his prison.

Adeltha Collyer (right) and Carol King
“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).
Another couple in the area, Bertram and Adeltha Collyer, ran a produce stand in Waterflow, New Mexico, for 52 years. It provided a living for them and their six children. It also provided a lot of love to the neighborhood.
“We had 40 acres, and we employed more than 800 people off and on. We’d always find work for anybody going on or coming off a mission, mothers who needed income, or people who needed a job,” Adeltha says, now age 82.
“One day a lady up the road was taking a truck full of empty boxes to the dump. I told her we’d trade produce for boxes. She asked, ‘Can I give some to my neighbors who are in need?’ I told my helpers, ‘Let her have what she wants, no charge.’
“Carol King, a member of our ward who works for me, would help me make big boxes of surplus produce—squash, cucumbers, melons, corn, tomatoes, or chiles. Her son would take them to neighbors, Church members or not—it didn’t matter. It was a joy for us to give to people in need.”

In 1898, Inez Knight and Jennie Brimhall were the first two single women called as sister missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Shortly after arriving on their missions to England, the two women went to preach in Oldham, a small manufacturing town near Liverpool.
Inez Knight and Jennie Brimhall prayed for help in their missionary service in England.
Right: photograph courtesy of Jennifer Whatcott Hooton
The two sisters, their mission president, and other missionaries gathered one evening. “They formed a circle on a busy street corner, offered a prayer, and sang hymns until a large crowd formed around them.” Their efforts were so successful that the mission president “announced that a special meeting would be held the following day, and he invited everyone to come and hear preaching from ‘real live Mormon women.’”

Twenty-six months ago when I first arrived in Germany, I wrote home to Layton, Utah, and asked my mother to subscribe to some Church publications for me. A couple of months later I was surprised to receive my first New Era. At the time I mistakenly thought I was much too old and mature for such a magazine. But as the months came along so did the New Era, and I found myself being uplifted by such wonderful stories as “Strike the Steel,” “Jensen and Ernstein,” and “If Thou Art Willing.” The poems, stories, and articles are in keeping with the common, simple philosophy of the Church. I shall always read the New Era—especially during my last months of duty here in Europe. I know that it will be a strength to me on my future mission. The magazine has helped me keep the Spirit of the Lord during these years of military service. I sincerely thank the Lord for this blessing.
Sherman FleekMainz, Germany

When I was sixteen in Billings, I went with a group to repel off the rim rocks rising up north of the Montana city. I had never done anything like this and was scared spit less. Now, I warn all of you: Do not do what we did. The guys parked their car close to the edge, blocked up the wheels with rock, and tied off ropes on the bumper. Those of us who can remember, back in the ancient days, car bumpers were made of steel instead of plastic. They strapped on me a homemade harness with a Karabiner and serpentine the rope through it; and then they placed a safety rope around my waist--just in case. The guys showed me what to do and lined me up at the rims ledge. My knees were shaking, I thought, "What have I got myself into and why did I let them talk me into this."

Getting up the courage, I jumped off the edge and before I knew it I was hanging upside down, screaming at the top of my lungs, about thirty feet below the edge, knowing any minute my life would be over. The guys from above, kept calling out to me, over and over again, "Turn around so we can pull you up."

After many attempts, I finally was able to pull myself around and then immediately they were all able to pull me up. I was never so thankful to be back to the top. Just a note, I did get the courage to do it again and was quite successful. I later loved it so much I got my own gear, and my friends and I would drive up to the top of the rims and foolishly tie off on my old 60 Chevy Bumper. Again, I caution you: Do not do this! Always and I stress always, have the right equipment and proper training.

Another important relationship in a family is that between children themselves. Often an older brother or sister will come to the aid of a younger sibling in a show of love and concern. If there is any doubt about love as a divine inheritance, consider a brief Reader’s Digest story shared by Sister Sharon G. Larsen at the recent Young Women conference. The story is about

twin girls, Brielle and Kyrie, who were born prematurely. “They were placed in separate incubators to reduce the risk of infection. Kyrie, the larger sister at two pounds three ounces, quickly began gaining weight and calmly slept. But Brielle, who weighed only two pounds at birth, could not keep up with her.”

Sister Larsen said Brielle’s condition became critical as her oxygen intake plummeted and her heart rate soared. “Then the nurse remembered a procedure she had heard about. The parents consented, and the nurse slipped the squirming baby into the incubator with the bigger sister. No sooner had the door of the incubator closed than Brielle snuggled up to Kyrie and calmed right down. Within minutes Brielle’s blood-oxygen readings were the best they had been since she was born. As she dozed, Kyrie wrapped her tiny arm around her smaller sibling.” [“Protect Families from Anger, Strife,” Church News, 4 April 1998, p. 5]

One might argue that the relationship formed in the womb was the reason why Brielle snuggled up to her sister and why Kyrie wrapped her arm around her smaller twin. Even then, the bonding reflects a divine spark in both children that reaches back into the eternities.

I too have been the beneficiary of others’ efforts to reach out to people from different walks of life. My early childhood was spent in and around the city of Maracaibo in Venezuela. My mother, a U.S. citizen whom my father had met here at BYU, was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and took me to church with her on Sundays. During the week, though, I attended a Catholic school for girls.
At the beginning of my first year at Colegio Altamira, one of the nuns at my school—I wish I remembered her name—tapped me on the shoulder and asked if she could talk to me. She led me to a hallway outside my classroom, where we sat on a bench.
I was sure I was in big trouble. But I wasn’t. This sister told me she just wanted to know more about how I prayed. She knew I was not Catholic, and she had noticed that I did not recite the prayers that the rest of the class recited every morning. I told her about how my mother had taught me to pray. This nun and I discussed the differences and the similarities in our styles of prayer. I awkwardly apologized for not knowing the prayers that the other girls were reciting, and I vividly remember this sister telling me that she thought my way of praying was beautiful.
That experience has stayed with me. A woman who had committed her whole life to serving God through the Catholic Church—and who served as an authority figure in her church—sat down with a little girl of another faith to have a genuine conversation about prayer, not to convert or change her but to connect with her as sisters and daughters of the same God.