Gospel Story Finder

Some time later I was called to be a member of the high council and assigned to the López Arellano Ward, the ward Brother Durón now attended. One Sunday I was in Sunday School in this ward, and the teacher asked class members to share personal experiences regarding service.
I happened to be seated to the left of a sister named Adela Rosa de Santos. She started to tell how the man at her right, Brother Durón, had served as her home teacher when she and her family were new members of the Church. She told how his kind service had given them strength and encouragement when they needed it and how he had blessed their lives. She concluded by saying, “If it weren’t for you, Brother Durón, I wouldn’t be here.”
I could hardly believe my ears. Sister Adela’s daughter, Suyapa, was the missionary who had knocked on my door five years earlier, and now I was a member of the Church and my life had been filled with the richest possible blessings. I had been given the opportunity to serve a mission, the privilege of receiving my temple ordinances, and the glorious hope of having an eternal family.
At that moment I learned that 20 years before, a humble man who was true to his commitment to serve others had unknowingly labored for the welfare of my soul. I was filled with a joy that is hard to express and with love for my brother, Fidel Durón. I had once thought I didn’t have anything to thank Brother Durón for. Now I considered myself to be first and foremost on the list the bishop had asked us to make.
That special meeting for Brother Durón was never held, because he returned to the Fesitranh Ward for a time. We now have a beautiful friendship. I have so many reasons to be grateful to Jesus Christ for all He has done for me and also to Brother Durón for the love he showed me 20 years before he ever met me.

The next day the girls left their backpacks behind, carrying with them only canteens and crackers and cheese for lunch, and mounted the assault on the peak. As the elevation increased, forests gave way to scattered trees, trees gave place to shrubbery, and finally, there was nothing to climb but barren, broken rock.
“For safety’s sake, we have a system—we keep talking to each other and keep each other aware of where we are,” Sister Visker said. “That way, if loose rocks fall, we’re able to give warning and get out of the way.”
“It was hard climbing,” said 16-year-old RaLene Neal. “Sometimes we were on our hands and knees.”
“But we had our fun, too,” 17-year-old Shelly Michelsen wrote in her journal. “We took turns sliding down a glacier and had a super time. Then we pushed on along the ridge until we reached our goal. I sat down as close to the edge as I dared and, like the others, looked in all directions. A cool breeze was blowing around my hot face, but I felt calm and restful. We were so filled with the beauty of our surroundings—the rippling lakes, the pine forests, mountains in all directions, even out into Wyoming. I felt very in tune with my Father. I thought of how he must have felt when he looked over all he created and saw that it was good.”
“One of the men in the ward told us before we left that it couldn’t be done, that we couldn’t climb to the top of Mount Watson,” Becky Palmer, 15, said. “So when we got there we felt like we had achieved the impossible.”
“I thought,” Shelly continued, “that even though we’re not always up in the mountains, we can still have the same feeling, the same reverence for God’s work. I think life with its hardships is a big mountain, but if we keep at it, there’s a time when we’ll reach the top and look down at what we’ve done, and we’ll know that it’s good, too.”
Maria Lecon, 15, said she was “most impressed with the spirit we felt up there. I knew that the Lo.”
For Edie Coats, 17, it was a time of gratitude. “We just moved here from Virginia, and I was a little bit scared. But the first Sunday, everyone was so friendly to me. They were coming on this trip the next Saturday, and they wanted me along! I think by coming on the trip, I really got to know the girls in my ward.”
Most of the girls kept journals of their experiences and feelings, and there on the mountaintop, the group paused and wrote poems. “I felt like every poem was sort of a journal in itself,” Shelly said, “because it came from the heart and described a special time in our lives.” At a morning meeting the next day, the young ladies read their verses to each other.
Of course, the slide down the snowbanks left a pleasant memory, too. “We used the same garbage sacks we had used before in the rain as ’sleds,’” said Rachel Palmer, 17. “The glacier was less slick at the bottom—it looked steeper than it was. But a couple of times we did have to use our feet for brakes.”
Dinner that night and breakfast the following morning were cooked and served in number 10 cans, the main “pan” carried on the excursion. “We did bring utensils and a skillet or two, but the large cans really helped keep weight in the packs to a minimum,” Sister Visker explained. Around the campfire the girls each shared one positive thing they had learned about someone else since the trip began and also drew names to see who they would be the “wood elf” for. Wood elves do mysterious, anonymous kind deeds for someone else in a camping group.
The next day was to have been spent “puddle jumping” (visiting one lake after another). “But when we got to the first one, Wall Lake,” said Marlene Neal, 15, “we liked it so well that we stayed.” Activities at the lake included cliff diving, fishing, and swimming.
“We had to check it out and make sure it was safe before we started cliff diving,” Marlene explained. “We had to make sure there were no rocks on the bottom and that the water was deep enough. And an adult supervisor trained in lifeguarding and first aid had to be there all the time, too.”
At first, the divers were scaring the fish away, so the swimmers moved to another location. Then one of those fishing scared the fish away! “Sister Visker helped me get a little fake fly way out away from the shore,” Maria said. “As soon as it landed in the water, a big fish came along. It scared me, so I threw a rock at it.”
Marlene also had her problems fishing: “I’d hook the grass at the bottom and all my lures and sinkers would get torn off. But it was still fun.”
The various activities of the day left the girls tired, but not too worn out to express their feelings during a testimony meeting. They read their favorite scriptures to each other, spoke again of their love for nature, for the gospel, and for the Lord, and talked about the lessons they had learned on their trip: lessons of perseverance, sacrifice, relaxation, and sharing the load.
“It’s unbelievable the feeling you get on top of a mountain,” said Sandy Kay, 17. “If you have an open mind and a humble heart, it can really help straighten out your priorities and help you see the reason why we’re here.”
The next morning the girls had loaded up their gear and they were on the trail home. But they weren’t rushing away. Somehow they wanted to linger just a bit longer, savoring the strength of the hills they had learned to love.

1 Indians in the Western Hemisphere are often called Lamanites by Church members because these Indians are descendants of the Nephites and Lamanites in the Book of Mormon. Oliver Cowdery and Peter Whitmer, Jr., were called to go on a mission to the Lamanites. Other men wanted to go with them. The Lord indicated that Ziba Peterson and Parley P. Pratt were to accompany Oliver and Peter.
2 First the missionaries went to the Catteraugus Indians in New York. Finding a few Indians who could read, the missionaries gave them two copies of the Book of Mormon.
3 Near the Ohio border the missionaries preached to the Wyandot Indians, who were happy to learn about their ancestors in the Book of Mormon.
4 In Missouri the missionaries preached the gospel to the Delaware Indians. These Indians were also given the Book of Mormon. They thanked the missionaries for traveling so far and for caring enough to give them the Book of Mormon.
5 Other people in Missouri did not believe the gospel, nor did they believe the Book of Mormon. They told the missionaries to stay away from the Indians.
6 When told that soldiers would force the missionaries to stay away from the Indians, the missionaries were sorry, but they obeyed the authorities and left the Indian settlements.
7 One of the missionaries, Parley P. Pratt, went to tell the Prophet Joseph about their mission to the Lamanites. The mission had been a good one; the gospel had been taken to three great Indian tribes.

Illustration by Taia Morley
When I was 13 years old, the prophet asked Church members to read the Book of Mormon in five months, by the end of that year, and promised blessings for doing so. One day as I was reading on the bus, a girl named Cynthia sat by me and asked what the book was. I said it was the Book of Mormon and that it was a special book. I said I wanted to finish reading it before the year ended so I could receive blessings.
She started asking more questions, and I told her she could come to my house so we could talk more about it. She accepted my invitation, and we spent several hours over the following days talking about the Book of Mormon and the Church.
The next Monday, I invited her to family home evening, where I introduced her to the missionaries. They started teaching her the lessons, and she began coming to church and to all the youth activities and other Church meetings.
She decided that she wanted to be baptized, and with her parents’ permission, she was baptized on her birthday that year. She said it was the best present she’d ever received. Her mother and siblings attended the baptism. She asked me to sing “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2), and she asked my father to perform the baptism. After she came out of the water, we embraced and cried. I will never forget that day because I felt such incredible happiness.
A year later my family moved away. It was difficult because Cynthia and I had become good friends and sisters in the gospel.
Even though we don’t live close to each other anymore, we’re still great friends. We talk often on the phone, and recently she called to tell me that her mom was listening to the missionary lessons. This made me happy because before that her mom didn’t want to listen to the lessons. Cynthia told me that someday she hopes to go to church with her entire family. She thanked me for introducing her to the Church.

It all started with a dream to help critically ill children in London’s Royal Marsden Hospital. With the intent of giving service in a way that could make a real difference, 50 young LDS teens from the Staines England Stake set out on an incredible service project that resulted in what some called a miracle.
They planned and produced an evening of entertainment, the “MGM Spectacular.” The initials stand for Marsden’s Glorious Musical. The miraculous part of the project was the fact that in addition to raising money for the hospital, the LDS teens helped the young patients participate and perform in the production. For many of these children, this theatrical experience was a once-in-a-lifetime event. Sarah Burlinson of the Tunbridge Wells Ward, Kent England Stake, said, “The children really looked happy, and I know that they enjoyed it as well.”
The show was intended as a family event. Besides the LDS youth, the critically ill outpatients and their brothers and sisters performed in song and dance. The LDS teens wanted to offer these children a chance to forget their difficulties for a day and feel the joy of being involved in service. The money raised was used to buy needed equipment for their own hospital. And they threw themselves into the project with energy. Catherine Wittle of the Guilford Ward said, “The sick kids were a great example to us. They were so determined to do well.”
The combination of dedicated LDS youth with enthusiastic children made for a remarkable evening. The project was linked with a charity called Kids Count. The group also received help from London’s Capital Radio.
But the performance was preceded by 18 months of hard work. To earn the money necessary to hire the hall, create the costumes, and print the tickets and programmes, the stake youth held car washes, sponsored hikes and bake sales, and held a summer festival. At times it was discouraging, especially after well-made plans fell through, but then the phrase, “The show must go on,” was heard around the stake.
Everyone understood that the proceeds of this show were to serve an important purpose. “The show was a lot of fun to put together and perform,” said Alison Youngberg of the Addlestone Branch, “but the best part was knowing that we were raising money that would save the children’s lives.”
On the night of the performance, the show was a great success. The near-capacity audience was thoroughly entertained. Standing on stage that evening, Amber Travers of the Kingston Ward said, “When we all sang the closing song on stage, there was a really good feeling, a feeling of total unity and friendliness.”
A cheque for nearly £2000 (about $3,214) was donated. Beth Sepion, representing the hospital, said that the show was the most touching and innovative way she had ever seen to raise money. For the Staines Stake youth, it was a chance to learn how much fun service can be and how great things can come from that which is small.

A forlorn cry of sea gulls accompanied Susie’s thoughts as she lay, fully clothed in jeans and thick red sweater, on Millington Beach. She’d found a sheltered place by a sea break wall and was glad of the chance to be alone with her problem.
A flock of wheeling gulls had blocked the sun. She brushed her hand across her closed eyes, attempting to wipe them away, wishing the same could be done with last night’s memories.
James, with his expensive image, had not been his usual, light-hearted self. Despite trendy gear and his stylishly cut black hair, he really hadn’t acted like a gentleman.
“You and your standards,” he shouted, as they were saying good night in the car. “I’m tired of them. We’ve been going out for five months now, and you might as well know you won’t change me. Either you love me or you don’t. I’ve even asked you to marry me, though I can’t for the life of me see why we shouldn’t live together like the rest of the world. I’ve had enough. I expect an answer by tomorrow.” She barely had time to close the car door before he accelerated away.
Rising to her feet, Susie walked down the shore. She rubbed sea spray from her face, determined not to let tears join the salty taste. “All my Church life it seems I’ve been hearing of this sort of mess,” she thought, sniffing hard at the seaweed smell blowing up from the tide line. “But I never thought it would happen to me.”
“Please, Mum, I’m 18 now, so can’t I make up my own mind?” she begged. “Can I go just this once? The rest of the sixth form will be there. At least I stay away from those places normally.”
Mum looked perplexed. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Susie. I know you have high standards. It’s just that … ”
“I know, I know—the atmosphere’s wrong, and I meet the wrong people,” she replied wearily. “But Mum, they accept that I don’t drink, and there’s not much going on at church in our small ward. I mean, Chris and John are fine, but not to date. So what if I do get asked out tonight? Actually, James Johnson wanted to know if I was going.” She hesitated, looking down. “But what’s the harm in that?”
“Susie, there will be opportunities to meet other Church youth around the country. And there’s an old saying about you marry who you date, so datewho you might marry—remember?”
“Oh, Mum, come off it. As if I’m ready for marriage. I’m ready for a good time, you know, a date here, a date there. Please understand, Mum.”
Mother had given in.
Moving close to the sea edge, Susie idly watched sea gulls dodging the swishing back and forth of the waves. As worm holes appeared, full of bubbles, the birds poked their beaks down, grabbing at the juicy creatures, sucking them forth with triumphant jerks. “I know how you feel,” Susie sympathized with the worms, “being pulled out of safety like that.”
“It’s not that I don’t like your Church friends, Susie,” James said. “They’re just too goody-goody for me. You know, all that mixed fun and games, dancing, road shows—it’s not my scene—just too religious.”
Susie flushed, “But don’t you enjoy … ”
He interrupted “They’re not adult enough for you and me. There’s a big wide world out there, you know. Fun of a different kind, all ready for experimenting.”
Susie turned, bending to remove her trainers. She began trailing along the beach, her feet pushing uncomfortably against rippling ridges left by the waves. “What was it Dad used to say when we were small?” she wondered. “Copy the crabs. Walk sideways and your feet won’t feel the bumps.”
It had been like that at home for a while, walking sideways to avoid bumping her growing feelings for James against Mum and Dad. But eventually they collided.
“Susie, Susie,” James murmured against her hair as they embraced on her doorstep. A kiss was beginning when the door opened.
“Ah, Susie, you’re home. I was getting uneasy, dear,” Dad said, standing there in his pajamas.
“Sorry, Mr. Blake. We meant to be back by 11:30, but the … er … traffic was bad,” lied James. He pushed Susie forward with a laugh. “See you tomorrow, Sue. I’ll pick you up at 7:00. My mate’sgetting a video. We’re invited to his flat.” He jumped down all three steps at once, then stopped. “Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Blake, I’ll have her back by 11:00 this time.” With a boyish grin, he dived into his silver mini, revved the engine, tooted the horn, and was gone.
Susie tried to move with equal swiftness upstairs, but Dad was faster. “Er, one moment, young lady,” he said over his shoulder, locking the front door. “Into the lounge, please. I’d like a few words.”
They sat on the sofa. “It’s not what you think, Dad,” Susie was guarded. “James is a gentleman. He’d never harm me. He’s just a friend. We’re … ”
“Susie, love, I’m sure that’s so, or at least, I’m sure that’s how you wish things to be, but at this time of night you’re letting temptation have full power. Don’t you think you ought to put this ‘friendship’ in the fridge for a while, perhaps see less of each other?” Dad looked troubled.
Susie moved nearer. Her dad had always been special to her. From a tiny age, she’d known how close to the Lord he lived. Scriptures and Dad seemed to go together like sea gulls and webbed feet.
“Listen,” he pulled Susie round to face him. “Will you do me and your Mum a favour? Start coming to church again more often? You’re really missed. Share us a little with James, will you please?”
He gave a yawn and helping her to stand, added, “Oh, and by the way, when you get a minute, look up D&C 132:15–16, will you?”
She smiled. “All right, Dad. I’m sorry to keep you up so late. I’ll begin work on all this tomorrow.”
But tomorrow never seemed to come.
She turned again to the sea, dabbling her feet in the water. As wavelets curled round cold toes, her feet arched against the icy tingle. She squirmed both heels deep into the sand, then, pulling out each foot in turn, felt a sucking squelch which left the ground wobbly, no longer secure. Susie watched, fascinated at the time it took to regain sure footing.
“If I leave James now, I’ll feel like that,” she decided. “I can’t do it. I can’t. We’re too close, too comfortable, with too much shared. And he’s so attractive. Maybe marriage is the answer. Perhaps Dad’s scripture doesn’t mean me. Maybe I’m different.”
Mum had brought up the same subject only last week, while they were preparing the evening meal.
“Susie, before matters get too serious between you and James, there’s one or two ideas I think you should consider.”
Susie felt familiar “here we go” signals creeping around her brain but decided to play interested rather than argue. Mum usually finished quicker that way.
“There’s more to marriage than dates and fun, you know.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“You need to pull together in all things, share goals, see eye-to-eye over child rearing and finance.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Do you know James’s views on children?”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Are they the same as yours?”
At this Susie put down her knife. Resting chin in hands, elbows on the table, and with a frown creasing her forehead, she exclaimed, “Mum, I know they’re not his thing at the moment. He has no time for them. But I’m sure when … I mean if we marry, we’ll think along the same lines. Don’t worry.”
“Susie, love, I’m sorryto be a pain, but these things are important. There’s nothing worse than being unequally yoked. You wanting babies and him not. You wanting to save for the future, him not; you wanting to attend church, him not—it’ll pull at your heartstrings.”
“But doesn’t love overcome all that?” Susie sounded less sure of herself.
Mother sighed. “For a while, maybe.” She stopped working and touched Susie’s arm. “For a while, but I’ve seen marriages break because of the strain. The worst part of all, for a Latter-day Saint married to a nonmember, is the lack of spiritual unity.”
Susie pouted. “Oh, come on, Mum, it’s not that bad. And how about the ones who get converted?”
Mum shook her head. “This may sound silly at your age, but the older you get, the more important the spiritual side of life becomes. To be forever tugging in different directions can be anguish. Not many conversions take place, and children are torn between you.”
She picked up a fresh carrot, briskly slicing again. “Think hard, Susie, think and pray hard about the future. If you can’t communicate about the important things now, you could be in for big trouble later.”
She returned to the still-quivering, waterlogged sand. A tame grey gull, with a black patch over one eye, resembling some cheeky pirate about to plunder, edged forward, expecting food. “But I love him,” she told the gull. “At least I think I do. I get this incredible feeling when he looks at me, when he’s next to me, but you wouldn’t begin to understand, would you?”
Slumping into the same sandy shelter as before, she hunched her knees and clasped them tight with both hands. As her head dropped forward, the words in her head were closer to prayer than they had been for a long time. “Father, help me, please.”
Susie sensed a shadow moving between herself and the sun. Her gasp of alarm soon turned to pleasure as she recognized the voice. It was soft and cajoling.
“Guessed I might find you here,” James said. “Here, your favorite.” He dropped two Mars Bars at her feet.
“Your Mum said you needed a change of scene.” His tone altered. Susie was conscious of a defensive note. “She said you’d gone for a think.” He kicked puffs of sand around the base of the sea break.
“Come on then, out with it. I need to know your answer sooner or later. May as well be sooner.”
Susie bit her lip. She took a deep breath. “I think I love you, James. And I do think it’s right to … to …” She was interrupted by an inquisitive sea gull sidling nearer and nearer the chocolate. It was Pirate.
In one smooth move, James bent, grabbed a pebble, and yelling harshly, aimed it straight at the trusting bird. “Get lost. Go find your own kind of food. There’s better fish in the sea.”
“Oh, James,” Susie begged, as Pirate gave a distressed cry, flapped his wings in panic. “Don’t hurt him. He … he’s sort of a friend,” she finished lamely, digging deep into the sand with her fingers, aware of his look of scornful disbelief.
“Friend! Grow up, Susie. You’ll be telling me next he brings you messages from heaven. Do you think I’m a wally or something? It’s only a stupid bird. Anyway, what were you saying?”
Susie rose to her feet and looked him in the eye. “I think it’s right to stop seeing each other from now on,” she finished in a rush, loudly.
Her voice softened when she saw the hurt amazement on James’s face. She hesitated, “This isn’t going to be easy, James. We’ve become close, comfortable … no, don’t stop me now,” she raised her hand as he moved forward. “Let me finish for once. This afternoon I’ve discovered eternal things are as important as the present, probably more so.”
“Okay, okay, cool it.” James raised his eyes skyward. He turned away, only to swing back abruptly. “Look, I’ll be baptised this weekend, especially for you. How about that?”
Susie wavered. He looked so hopeful, and it was hard to resist the way his mouth curved in that pleading smile. What was it a seminary teacher once said? Something about doing the right things for the wrong reasons can be as bad as not doing them at all for all the good it does you.
She shook her head. “It won’t work like that, James. I can’t explain properly. We’re on different wavelengths spiritually.”
Bending to pick up another stone, James strained as he flung it far out to sea. Marching away, he called over his shoulder, “Don’t bother ringing when you come to your senses. You’ve had your chance. You’ll not make a fool of this man twice.”
The crunching of his feet on the shingle faded, mingled with the noise of ebbing surf. Susie’s heart shared those wrenching tugs as each wave pulled at resolute grit. She shivered. The sun had disappeared behind clouds of rain.
Miserably picking up the chocolate bars, she was about to turn homeward, when a beating sound caught her attention. It was Pirate heading home too. Only this time he didn’t dip and swoop aimlessly. He was firmly on course, flying straight and fast, strong wings taking him in the direction he wanted to go.
Susie straightened, a slow smile touching her lips. “James was right about one thing, anyway,” she called after the bird. “There are better fish in the sea.”
Her step became light and quick. She turned her face to the rain as it poured from the clouds, washing and freshening her skin.

Perhaps he feels such missionary zeal because the gospel has so deeply changed his own life. Masao Watabe was born to Japanese parents in the An-Tung Province of China, and he belonged to one of the sects of Shintoism. He was an intelligent young man with an interest in languages. After graduating from college, he married and was sent by the Japanese foreign office to study the Mandarin language in Peking. He worked at the Japanese embassy in Peking and at the Japanese foreign office in Tokyo.
An idealistic young man, Masao Watabe had had a lifelong dream of unifying the nations of the world. Then World War II began, bringing death, devastation, and defeat. A year before the war ended, young Masao was drafted into the Japanese army. The experience of war plunged him into a period of despair. “Life was like wandering in the darkness with no hope or purpose,” he recalls.
After the war, Masao was transferred to the city of Sendai, Japan. There he met a Catholic priest who introduced him to Christianity. “When I talked to him about the religion of Jesus Christ,” Brother Watabe remembers, “I felt good in my heart. I asked many questions about Christianity. As I listened to his answers my heart, which had been struggling in the darkness, gradually became enlightened, and it seemed to me the Lord’s voice began to whisper to it.”
After a short time, Masao became disillusioned with Catholicism. He sought out a Bible class at a local university, which he attended for a year. His teacher, the wife of a Methodist minister, took him to church. She and her husband encouraged him to be baptized into the Methodist church. Because he had unanswered questions about that faith, he hesitated.
While he was still considering becoming a Methodist, one of his students told him that two American missionaries had begun boarding at his house. Masao was eager to meet them, and the next day the student brought them to school. “As I shook hands with them, I had a very good feeling,” says Brother Watabe. When he attended Sunday School with them, he was impressed with the simplicity of the services and the sincerity of the people.
A missionary pamphlet, Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story, fascinated him so greatly that he read it all night. But it was the Book of Mormon itself that rekindled the hope he had lost during the war. When he first read the prophecy contained in 1 Nephi chapter 10 [1 Ne. 10], concerning the scattering and gathering together of Israel, his heart was filled with joy. All his life he had yearned to help bring about unity in the world. He was also excited to learn that his deceased ancestors could receive baptism and other saving ordinances.
Ever since that cold day in November 1949 when he was baptized in the Hirose River, Brother Watabe has dedicated himself to sharing the joy he has found in the gospel. He was able to baptize his wife, Sister Hisako Watabe, in July of the next year. Their oldest son, nine-year-old Masahisa, was baptized that same day. And he has baptized their two younger sons, Masaji and Masakazu, and two daughters, Seiko and Yasuko, at age eight.

After I returned to Samoa, I spoke at a YSA devotional about health. Following the conference, a woman walked up to me to shake my hand and tell me she liked my talk. Lagimanofia had just returned from her mission. From the moment I met her, I felt that she completed me. I had been praying to find someone who could be a companion and who would love and accept me.
As Lagimanofia and I started dating, she cared for me and accepted me, and her family was supportive. We married, and our lives changed forever when we adopted Posenai Jr. God prepared us to adopt him. Having him in our lives has made us very happy.

The story is told of two outdoor enthusiasts who hired a bush plane to fly them to a remote lake for their annual fishing trip. Following a successful outing, the pilot returned to retrieve them. However, he quickly informed the fishermen that his small plane would not support them, their equipment, and the added weight of the fish they had caught. A second flight would be required.
Now, the sportsmen were not interested in paying for a second round-trip. So after a promise to pack tightly and a small bonus payment, the pilot reluctantly agreed to attempt the flight.
The fishermen grinned knowingly as the pilot forced the aircraft into the air. However, seconds later the plane stalled and crashed into a large, flat swampy area at the end of the lake.
The plane had stalled as it flew because of a well-known phenomenon called “ground effect.” Ground effect creates added lift on an airplane when air is compressed between the aircraft’s wings and the earth’s surface—when they are in close proximity. In this case, as the bush plane inched its way upward out of ground effect, it was required to fly on its own lift and power, which it simply could not do.
Fortunately there were no serious injuries, and after regaining their senses, one of the fishermen asked the other, “What happened?” The second replied, “We crashed on takeoff—about a hundred yards (91 m) from where we ended up last year!”

One Sunday when I was a deacon, I was in the foyer with a tray of water passing the sacrament when a woman walked into the building. Dutifully, I approached and handed her the tray. She nodded, smiled, and took a cup of water. She had arrived too late to receive the bread. Shortly after this experience, my home teacher, Ned Brimley, taught me that many aspects and blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ are given to us in sequential order.

Later that week, Ned and his companion came to our home with a memorable lesson. Ned reminded us that there was order to how God created the earth. The Lord took great care in explaining to Moses the order in which He created the earth. First, He started by dividing the light from the darkness, then water from dry land. He added plant life and animals before introducing to the newly formed planet His greatest creation: humankind, beginning with Adam and Eve.

“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them. …

“And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good” (Genesis 1:27, 31).

The Lord was pleased. And He rested on the seventh day.

The sequential order in which the earth was created gives us a glimpse not only of what is most important to God but also why and for whom He created the earth.

Ned Brimley punctuated his inspired lesson with a simple statement: “Vai, God’s house is one of order. He expects you to live your life with order. In proper sequence. He wants you to serve a mission before you get married.” To this point, Church leaders currently teach that “the Lord expects each able young man to prepare to serve. … Young women … who desire to serve should also prepare” (General Handbook: Serving in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 24.0, ChurchofJesusChrist.org). Brother Brimley continued: “God wants you to get married before you have children. And He wants you to continually develop your talents as you earn an education.” If you choose to live your life out of sequence, you will find life more difficult and chaotic.

Brother Brimley also taught us that through His atoning sacrifice, the Savior helps us to restore order to our lives made chaotic or out of sequence by our own or others’ poor choices.

From that time on, I’ve had a fascination with “sequential order.” I developed a habit of looking for sequential patterns in life and in the gospel.

Elder David A. Bednar taught this principle: “As we study, learn, and live the gospel of Jesus Christ, sequence often is instructive. Consider, for example, the lessons we learn about spiritual priorities from the order of the major events that occurred as the fulness of the Savior’s gospel was restored in these latter days.”

Elder Bednar listed the First Vision and Moroni’s initial appearance to Joseph Smith as teaching the boy prophet first, the nature and character of God, followed by the role the Book of Mormon and Elijah would play in gathering Israel on both sides of the veil in this last dispensation.

Elder Bednar concludes: “This inspiring sequence is instructive about the spiritual matters of highest priority to Deity” (“The Hearts of the Children Shall Turn,” Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2011, 24).

One observation I’ve made is that “sequential order” is a simple, natural, and effective way for the Lord to teach us, as His children, important principles.

We’ve come to earth to learn and gain experience we would not otherwise have. Our growth is unique to each of us individually and a vital component of Heavenly Father’s plan. Our physical and spiritual growth begins in stages and develops slowly as we gain experience sequentially.

Alma gives a powerful sermon on faith—drawing on the analogy of a seed, which, if tended and nourished properly, sprouts from a small sapling into a full-grown, mature tree that produces delicious fruit (see Alma 32:28–43). The lesson is that your faith will increase as you give place for and nourish the seed—or the word of God—in your hearts. Your faith will increase as the word of God begins “to swell within your breasts” (verse 28). That it “swelleth, and sprouteth, and beginneth to grow” (verse 30) is both visual and instructive. It is also sequential.

The Lord teaches us individually according to our capacity to learn and how we learn. Our growth is dependent on our willingness, natural curiosity, level of faith, and understanding.

Nephi was taught what Joseph Smith would learn in Kirtland, Ohio, over 2,300 years later: “For behold, thus saith the Lord God: I will give unto the children of men line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little; and blessed are those who hearken unto my precepts, and lend an ear unto my counsel, for they shall learn wisdom” (2 Nephi 28:30).

That we learn “line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little” is again sequential.

Consider the following statements we’ve heard most of our lives: “First things first” or “Feed them milk before meat.” How about “We have to walk before we run”? Each of these axioms describes something that is sequential.

Miracles operate according to sequential order. Miracles occur when we first exercise faith. Faith precedes the miracle.

Young men are also ordained to offices of the Aaronic Priesthood in sequence, according to the age of the one being ordained: deacon, teacher, and then priest.

The ordinances of salvation and exaltation are sequential in nature. We are baptized prior to receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost. Temple ordinances are similarly sequential. Of course, as my friend Ned Brimley so wisely taught me, the sacrament is sequential—it begins with the bread, followed by the water.

“And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my body.

“And he took the cup, and gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it;

“For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins” (Matthew 26:26–28).

In Jerusalem and in the Americas, the Savior instituted the sacrament in the exact same order.

“Behold, mine house is a house of order, saith the Lord God, and not a house of confusion” (Doctrine and Covenants 132:8).

Repentance is sequential. It begins with faith in Jesus Christ, even if just a particle. Faith requires humility, which is an essential element of having a “broken heart and a contrite spirit” (2 Nephi 2:7).

Indeed, the first four principles of the gospel are sequential. “We believe that the first principles and ordinances of the Gospel are: first, Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; second, Repentance; third, Baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; fourth, Laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost” (Articles of Faith 1:4).

King Benjamin taught his people this important truth: “And see that all these things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength. And again, it is expedient that he should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize; therefore, all things must be done in order” (Mosiah 4:27).

May we live our lives with order and seek to follow the sequence the Lord has outlined for us. We will be blessed as we look for and follow the patterns and the sequence in which the Lord teaches what’s most important to Him. In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Roger Bannister was a medical student in England who had an ambitious hope. He desired to be the first man to run a mile (1.6 km) under four minutes. For much of the first half of the 20th century, field and track enthusiasts had anxiously awaited the day the four-minute-mile barrier would be broken. Over the years many outstanding runners had come close, but still the four-minute barrier stood. Bannister dedicated himself to an ambitious training schedule with the hope of realizing his goal of setting a new world record. Some in the sporting community had begun to doubt whether the four-minute mile could be broken. Supposed experts had even hypothesized the human body was physiologically unable to run at such speeds over such a long distance. On a cloudy day on May 6, 1954, Roger Bannister’s great hope was realized! He crossed the finish line in 3:59.4, setting a new world record. His hope to break the four-minute-mile barrier became a dream which was accomplished through training, hard work, and dedication.

My dad was what I’d call an urban farmer. No, we didn’t raise crops in a metropolis. We built swimming pools.
The problem with the swimming pool business in Philadelphia is that it’s impossible to build a pool in a Pennsylvania winter. That meant Dad would do all the work he could between April and October, and then hope he had enough money to last us through the winter. Dad would pick up odd jobs to make ends meet.
I think I was about 14 or 15 when I helped Dad deliver salt. During breakfast one snowy day after early-morning seminary, Dad asked me if I would help him after school. Since basketball season hadn’t started yet, I said I would.
That day we put on our coats and boots and climbed into the truck that was normally used only in the summertime. We drove to the docks on the Delaware River in downtown Philadelphia where Dad pulled over and went into the office. Soon he came out and we drove through the gate and into the yard. Before long, we were loading several bags of road salt onto the back of the truck as snow began to fall.
Off we went, with Dad doing the driving and me doing the navigating. With the addresses and a street map, I tried to plot out the most efficient route for us to take.
We began near the historic area of the city. We drove by the Liberty Bell and into the business district. There wasn’t a place to park, so Dad just stopped the truck in the middle of the road and put on the flashers. We jumped out and carried three bags of salt into a small clock shop.
One of our next stops was a men’s clothing store. Dad made the owner laugh with one of his jokes as we carried the salt through the falling snow. After a few more deliveries, we went into a poorer neighborhood and delivered a single bag of salt to a small deli. The man there spoke with an Italian accent. I carried the salt as Dad talked with the man and had him sign the delivery papers.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in the low-income areas of Philadelphia. There were small grocery stores, laundromats, pawn shops, and hardware stores. And at each of the stops, Dad treated each person with dignity and respect—and often made them laugh.
Several weeks went by, and each afternoon delivery brought new insights, new observations, and new talks with Dad. We talked about all kinds of things—world events, Church doctrine, sports. Once Dad tried to talk about what kinds of girls I liked, but I wouldn’t let him. So he changed the subject.
There were lots of things I learned the winter I delivered salt. I learned that Dad was willing to “dig a few ditches,” as he would say, to provide for our family. I learned you can actually talk to your dad about things that really matter—things like testimony, friends, and relationships.
But looking back, one of the most important lessons I learned is that we truly are the “salt of the earth.” Dad made everyone smile despite the weather or their life’s status. It didn’t matter if we were delivering to a woman managing a laundromat in the slums, or a man who owned a tailor shop in uptown Philly. Dad cheered all of them with his jokes, his attitude, and the respect he showed them. At least for that winter, Dad was the salt of Philadelphia in more ways than one.

Keeping the Sabbath day holy is important to Melynne Murdock, 14, a former Miss Hawaii National Preteen who helped change the statewide pageant because of her commitment.
When Melynne was informed that the 1989 pageant in which she was to turn over her crown was scheduled for a Sunday, she asked the director if it could be changed. The director explained that a suitable location for a Friday-Saturday event could not be found on the busy island of Oahu. But he agreed to a change if Melynne could find a place and work out the details. She did.
BYU—Hawaii hosted the 1989 pageant, and the director was so impressed that next year’s pageant has also been scheduled there.
Melynne, 14, has since moved with her family, which includes seven brothers, to Lake Arrowhead, California.

Following two years of investigation into the Church, Brigham was baptized in a creek that flowed through a nearby woods. It was a bitterly cold day in April 1832. Those participating in the ceremony could hardly see because of a heavy snowfall. Seated on a log, his wet clothes freezing on him, Brigham was confirmed a member of the Church and ordained an elder. He later said, “As I sat there I felt the sweet spirit of the Holy Ghost witnessing that my sins were forgiven.” His wife Miriam was baptized a week later, just a few months before her death of tuberculosis. After her death, Brigham and Miriam’s two daughters, Elizabeth and Vilate, were taken into the home of Heber and Vilate Kimball.

The first free-lance article I submitted to the New Era was … well … much like wearing a tuxedo to a pool party. Inappropriate.
Without opening the magazine, I had mailed off a six-page essay on what I had learned being a convert to the Church. The rejection letter arrived in my college dorm mailbox a month later. “How dare they?” I demanded, showing the story to a few young people in my Sunday School class.
“Uh, good spelling,” one said, handing it back without turning the page.
“It’s very neat,” said another, not getting past the first paragraph.
It quickly became obvious there wasn’t a 15-year-old in the Church who would read my dry essay. I hadn’t done my homework, and the rejection letter proved it.
I tried again. This time I dug a stack of New Eras out of my drawer and read. It took a few days, but I got a feel for the style of the magazine—the way the anecdotal leads drew you into more serious topics; the up-tempo, spiritual kids featured in the stories; the faith-building experiences people wrote about.
And, as I read, I learned a few important points—that the New Era is particular about what it prints, and how it is presented.
A few days later, I again found myself in front of my typewriter. I stopped trying to summarize all I had learned since becoming a member of the Church. Instead, I focused on one event that happened while I was growing up in Canada and what I learned from it.
It took a lot of writing and rewriting to make the piece fit the style of the magazine. But a few weeks after I sent the article off, the editors mailed me a nice letter saying they’d like to purchase my story. The New Era wasn’t unreachable after all.

The afternoon my mother died, we went from the hospital to the family home. We sat quietly in the darkened living room for a while. Dad excused himself and went to his bedroom. He was gone for a few minutes. When he walked back into the living room, there was a smile on his face. He said that he’d been concerned for Mother. During the time he had gathered her things from her hospital room and thanked the staff for being so kind to her, he thought of her going into the spirit world just minutes after her death. He was afraid she would be lonely if there was no one to meet her. He had gone to his bedroom to ask his Heavenly Father to have someone greet Mildred, his wife and my mother. He said that he had been told in answer to his prayer that his mother had met his sweetheart. I smiled at that too. Grandma Eyring was not very tall. I had a clear picture of her rushing through the crowd, her short legs moving rapidly on her mission to meet my mother.
Dad surely didn’t intend at that moment to teach me about prayer, but he did. I can’t remember a sermon from my mother or my father about prayer. They prayed when times were hard and when they were good. And they reported in matter-of-fact ways how kind God was, how powerful, and how close. The prayers I heard most were about what it would take for us to be together forever. And the answers which will remain written on my heart seem to be the assurances that we were on the path.
When I saw in my mind my grandmother rushing to my mother, I felt joy for them and a longing to bring my sweetheart and our children to such a reunion. That longing is why we must teach our children to pray.

Dear Journal,
I got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. At least that’s what Mom said, though I’m pretty sure it was the same side as always. I was really grouchy, though, and who could blame me? When I went to get my new sweater, I couldn’t find it anyplace. I asked Mom where it was, but she said that keeping track of my clothes was my responsibility and that she didn’t have time to help me search. I stomped back to my room as loudly as I could and slammed the door.
I found my sweater on the floor of the closet. I put it on and slouched down to the kitchen, where Mom was feeding Annie her baby food. Mom asked me to help Charlie put on his shoes, and that made me even grumpier. Charlie’s in kindergarten—why can’t he put on his own shoes? I was about to say something unkind until I looked at Mom’s face. I could see that she was having a tough morning, too, so I helped Charlie, but I wasn’t happy about it. As if all this weren’t enough, I had to walk to school by myself—my best friend had already left without me.
I came home from school that afternoon with a ton of homework. I was just getting started on it, when Mom asked me to watch Annie while she took Mr. Stanley his dinner. She takes dinner to him once a week because he’s in a wheelchair and it’s hard for him to cook. I told Mom that he could buy a frozen dinner and pop it in the microwave, but she just shook her head and headed out the door.
As she left, I noticed that she had a happy look on her face. It reminded me of the picture of Jesus in our living room. Why was she so happy? It was then that I realized that Mom was following President Hunter’s counsel. I decided that if helping someone she hardly knew made her feel so good, maybe it wouldn’t hurt me to try being nicer to my own sister. So I put on my best fake smile and started playing with Annie. By the time Mom returned to give me a kiss and a thank-you, my smile wasn’t as fake, and my day didn’t seem quite so bad.

I held the paint pen in my hand and started painting the blank canvas in front of me. I was giving art therapy a try, and my therapist and I were working together to help me overcome some of the deep shame I was experiencing. I had picked the color blue to represent those feelings on the canvas.
When my therapist then asked me what I wanted to do with this shame, I immediately thought of Jesus Christ and His healing power. I picked up a yellow pen to represent His light and began to mix the blue and yellow together.
The two colors started to form a bright green—a color we see in spring after a long, cold winter. To me, this green represented me giving my pain, fear, and shame to the Savior and Him providing healing in return. The painting became a representation of who I was becoming, a new man in Christ (see 2 Corinthians 5:17).
It also led me to a new way of living and to feeling greater love from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
I’ve had to look deep into my soul and explore the shame and pain in many different ways, including the painting exercise I mentioned earlier. I realized that the more willing I was to face these things, the more I was able to draw upon the Savior’s healing power in my life. I’ve continued to seek His influence through consistent prayer, scripture study, meditation, heartfelt conversations with loved ones and trusted friends, and therapy.

Merrell: One particular example I might share happened in Hollywood. I had met a composer who had written the music for 58 great movies, and he invited me to dinner with him and the producer of his current movie. We talked a lot about Utah, and by the end of the meal they knew I was LDS, although we hadn’t talked about that. I had dinner with the composer again, and we corresponded, and I gave him a picture of my family. One day he said to me, “You are a lot more successful than I am,” and I know he was talking about something more important than music. I looked at him as a superstar, as someone I was fortunate to even sit in the same car with, and he was admiring me.
The New Era: What advice would you give young people who may be wondering just what their own talents are?
Merrell: I think basically that if you love doing something, it is probably a talent. Maybe you excel in woodwork or are a great salesman. Or maybe you are just plain great with people and are always finding yourself doing things like putting your arms around the little boy down the block who’s lost his bicycle. That is a great talent. Parents can help you identify your talents, and you also need to ask the Lord to help you identify them. Then, once you know what they are, pursue them and use them to contribute something of value to society. Each of us has a mission to fulfill and specific talents to help us do it, and the Lord will help us if we seek his guidance.
The New Era: What role does individuality play in talent development?
Merrell: Today the world teaches that you should do your own thing and look out for your own interests at the expense of everyone else. But that, of course, is not the way the Lord intended us to use our talents. Following that philosophy will cut us off from his inspiration. We will ultimately be neither happy nor successful. However, when you realize that every individual is unique and is capable of receiving personal inspiration, it opens up a whole new world of positive possibilities.
For example, in musical expression there is usually more than one right way to do something. If I’m writing a piece of music, it is influenced by my emotions and my perceptions and comes out a certain way. But someone else, using his own creative juices, could write a whole different style of music and be equally successful. What makes personal creativity so wonderful is that there is room for a million expressions for a specific situation and all of them can be good. It’s important to remember that just because one person is successful in a particular field doesn’t mean there’s no room for someone else in the same field. It’s possible for several artists to be equally successful.
The New Era: Would you ever compose music for a film you didn’t agree with?
Merrell: No, I wouldn’t be able to write music for a picture that promoted the wrong principles. I believe that to compose the correct music for a piece means becoming totally involved in it, and I couldn’t do that if it meant compromising my principles.
The New Era: Can you sum up your general philosophy concerning being an LDS composer or entertainer in today’s world?
Merrell: Yes, I think we need to remember that our life is a mission, and if we will be receptive to the counsel and inspiration of the Lord, he will direct us in what is right. I believe that learning to listen and to remain spiritually in tune are essential to successfully completing that mission.

The story of the train is one of Brian’s favorites. One explanation of the drawing is that many years ago an important chief of the tribes who lived near Storybook Canyon was invited by the big chief of the white men (the president of the United States) to visit Washington, D.C. The Indian chief and many important leaders from nearby tribes traveled by steam train to the East. There they spent several weeks as the honored guests of the president.
When the Indians returned from Washington, the chief climbed onto the ledges of Storybook Canyon and there, like his people had done for many generations before him, he carefully carved into the soft rock the story of that important event. The train that the chief drew on the ledge is over ten feet long.