Gospel Story Finder

A year ago when I was called as a Seventy, a nonmember patient of mine asked me an interesting question. She wanted to know if a Seventy was higher or lower in the Mormon Church than a bishop. When I asked her why she would ask such a question, she replied that she was interested to know just what I’d be doing. She said she understood that in the Mormon Church, every calling from a bishop on down was all work, and everyone from a bishop on up was all talk. This may be the reason for my wanting to talk, tonight, to you Aaronic Priesthood brethren.
Many of you during your lifetime have had a pet that may have come to a tragic end, with sad moments following. Some years ago while traveling on a family vacation, we acquired a rather unusual pet, which was a small, friendly, not-too-long water snake from the beaches of Puget Sound. My children named him Sneaky, as short for Sneaky Snake.
Early one morning while the family was off walking near the motel, Sneaky somehow got out of his cardboard box. When the room attendant entered to tidy up the room in our absence, Sneaky, seeing the open door, headed for it. She slammed the door shut in absolute terror, and since Sneaky got caught in the door, we might say he came all apart.
It was the end of Sneaky, the beginning of a nervous breakdown for the girl attendant, and a time of weeping and disappointment on the part of our children.
Now there is a lesson here. The attendant had erroneously perceived Sneaky as something less than the friend he was.
We’ve heard from Bishop Hales tonight about true friends. May I add a thought or two about them? All of us may have been at one time or other confused as to just who our true friends are. Let me give you an example of what I mean as it relates to the Word of Wisdom.
Some years ago in my medical office I had occasion to examine a young man who was approximately the same age as you young men of the Aaronic Priesthood. I was puzzled by what seemed to be his medical problem.
After several tests and x-rays, I found myself amazed at the diagnosis. He was an alcoholic at his young age.
He told me that he had begun having alcoholic drinks at a very early age due to the encouragement of his so-called friends.
I wondered to myself, Are friends that encourage us to break the Word of Wisdom really our true friends?
Phrases like “just try it once” or “everybody does it” or “who is going to know” are all too commonly used. If they were true friends, would they pressure us that way?
Indeed, in life it may be difficult to tell at times just who our true friends are. Were my young patient’s friends the kind he should strive to keep? The room attendant perceived Sneaky as a potentially harmful enemy instead of a friend, and yet the reverse was true.
A true friend of yours and mine gave us the Word of Wisdom through his Prophet Joseph Smith.
Medical research tells us that by far the majority of young people who begin using alcohol or tobacco products do so with the urging of their friends.
The Lord has told us that neither strong drinks, meaning alcoholic drinks, nor tobacco are for the body and that they are not good for man.
Let me talk to you rather plainly, my young friends. As a physician, who for forty years has witnessed firsthand the truth of those statements in the Word of Wisdom, I testify that they are true.
The beautiful scenes in magazine advertisements are not what the end results of cigarette smoking prove to be. This advertising in these magazines and newspapers is very deceptive. The end results are not nearly so pretty. They are oxygen masks and intravenous medication and literally hours of pain, misery, and gasping for breath.
Remember that approximately 5,000 people a day quit smoking, and another 1,000—every single day—die from cigarette smoking, or one in every ninety seconds, in the United States alone. This means that each day 6,000 people either kick the habit or kick the bucket. No wonder the cigarette companies spend billions to keep their unwitting customers buying their lethal wares.
I had my own comment printed and pasted on all cigarette advertising in the magazines of my medical office waiting room. It states:
“Many of the ads in this magazine are misleading, deceptive, and are a rip-off. For example, smoking does not make one glamorous, macho, or athletic. It does make one sick, poor, and dead.”
How true this is.
Smoking is indeed becoming less and less popular as the heavy smokers one by one pass on. If an industrial accident killed everyone in the entire Salt Lake Valley, the nation would be horrified. That, however, is the scale of the annual tobacco disaster. One out of every six people that die in the United States dies as a result of smoking.
Almost inevitably, the user of hard drugs begins first with alcohol or tobacco, both of which are drugs of the highly addicting kind themselves.
In addition, the real damage from the use of these things is usually even more severe to our spiritual lives than it is to our physical bodies. Now, would a true friend be one to entice you to use them? I’m sure he wouldn’t.
Look closely at your friends. Cultivate good friends. They’re so valuable. Remember the Savior valued his friends so highly that he would lay down his life for them. He had this to say about friends:
“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13).
And then he went on to say:
“Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you.
“Henceforth I call you not servants; for the servant knoweth not what his lord doeth: but I have called you friends; for all things that I have heard of my Father I have made known unto you” (vs. 14–15).
Friendship is an extremely important part of your life. Someone has said a true friend is someone who makes it easier to live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Many of you young men will be, at some time or another, approached by one or more of your “friends” who will entice you to do something you know you should not do—it might be something you know deep down inside will hurt your parents and your Father in Heaven. It may be violating the Word of Wisdom, for example, or committing moral transgression, which is so displeasing to the Lord.
“No one will ever know,” the so-called friends will tell you. “Besides, what difference will it make?”
My young friends, you don’t have to reject your friends who are on the wrong path; you don’t even have to give them up necessarily. You can be their caring friend, ready to help them when they are ready to be helped. You can talk to them and lift them and bear your testimony to them. Lead them by example.
But don’t ever be led into displeasing your Father in Heaven by your friends who might ask that as a condition of being your friend, you must choose between their way and the Lord’s way.
If that happens, choose the Lord’s way and look for new friends.
Especially important are our friends in times of need when we may have feelings of loneliness or despair. True friends will stand by you. When the Prophet Joseph Smith was incarcerated in that terrible Liberty Jail, he was told by the Lord:
“Thy friends do stand by thee, and they shall hail thee again with warm hearts and friendly hands.
“Thou art not yet as Job; thy friends do not contend against thee, neither charge thee with transgression, as they did Job” (D&C 121:9–10).
Knowing his friends would stand by him was a great assurance to Joseph Smith during this trying experience.
Some of the most trusted and loving friends you will ever have on this earth are your parents and family. It may be that only when you have children of your own will you fully appreciate the bonds of love that exist between parents and children.
You’ll find as you grow into manhood that advice from your parents as to who should or should not be your true friends will be very reliable and valuable to you.
Cultivate our Savior and Redeemer Jesus Christ as your friend above all. Being his friend will without exception lift your vision and bring you comfort, guidance, peace, and, yes, even the companionship of other true friends.
I know something of his love, his compassion, his mercy, and the help one may receive from him and the Holy Spirit. He has promised that by obedience to his word, you “shall find wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures” (D&C 89:19).
Just think! With Jesus as your friend, you may receive increased strength and testimony that will uphold you against temptations when they arise.
Choose your friends wisely. They will provide the foundation of spiritual strength that will enable you to make difficult, extremely important decisions correctly when they come in your life.
Above all, be a friend of the Savior. You, my young men, are the honored holders of a royal priesthood. If you have not done so previously, now is the time to let him know you consider him your true friend and that you will be a true friend of his.
That we may all qualify to be his disciples, his friends, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Thank you so much for your article in Questions and Answers (Jan. ’02). It talked about what to do if you sometimes feel sad and unhappy, and it also gave some great advice on what to do if you feel “overwhelmingly sad all the time.” It said to tell a trusted adult who will be able to get you some professional help. My 16-year-old son sadly ended his life last year. Our son was a nice, shy, worthy priesthood holder who was active in the Church. He didn’t tell anyone how sad he was feeling, and we didn’t recognize the subtle signs we now know were caused by depression. Instead, we brushed them off as him just going through the teenage years. We later learned that untreated depression is the number-one cause of suicide. The organs of our bodies, like our hearts, lungs, or kidneys, can become ill. We sometimes don’t realize that another organ, the brain, can also become ill. Depression is a chemical imbalance of the brain that can usually be successfully treated with medication and therapy. Maybe if our son would have read your article he would have received the courage he needed to ask for help. I hope there is someone out there who reads this article and then asks an adult for help.
Stacy HonePayson, Utah (via e-mail)

Question: What makes the missionary work go so well?
A: There are several factors. One is the dedication of the missionaries and their leaders. They are very willing to open their mouths and teach wherever they are. As an example, two of our young missionaries had a goal to teach seven discussions one day, and when they were headed home on their bicycles that night, they had completed only six. Then a young man rode by them on his bicycle. They looked at each other, then pulled up next to him, one on each side, and introduced him to the Church. Then they said, “Now what we have to teach you is so sacred we need to stop.” They stopped, taught him about Joseph Smith, bore witness of the Restoration, and today that young man is preparing to go on a mission.
Like that young man, people in our area are very ready to hear the gospel, very willing to listen to testimony and to act on the witness they feel. Our members are eager to share what they have. The Church is well respected, so it is not difficult to converse with people about it.
It is important that members in other parts of the world see the true picture of the Church in these countries. These are not third-world areas. We are able to use all the missionary tools and approaches used anywhere else. We have had some successes, for example, through public affairs media programs. The Church attracts people from all walks of life. We have many highly educated and professional people among our membership.

I thought that righteousness was no more nor less than doing everything and anything asked of me by leaders of the Church. I guess I thought righteousness was somehow a system, a set of rules. So, I made this my goal and began. I filled a mission, married in the temple, was almost immediately ordained a high priest and called as a counselor in a bishopric, and subsequently held many other callings. I tried to regularly attend the temple, learn and do genealogy, hold family home evenings, pay tithes and offerings, give to the ward budget and building fund, and simply do whatever my bishop asked.
I could not deny that the rewards from these activities were great. But I also could not claim that I became wonderfully righteous as a result. Somehow, I was still troubled by feelings of guilt and unworthiness. I was still retaining the little character faults and other evils in my soul. Church activities alone didn’t seem to be eradicating my sins.
My first reaction when I realized all my efforts weren’t getting rid of my sins was to redouble my effort. I found myself increasingly concerned with obtaining some measure or recognition of success in the Church. Like many of us, I was mistakenly assuming that a call to high position was equivalent to the Lord’s approval. It took me several years to get rid of this misconception.
Another result of my goal to do everything I could in the Church was that I found myself feeling frustrated and guilty at times because I could not understand all the instructions I was receiving from Church leaders. Sometimes I heard, “Do this; it is most important.” Other times it seemed that something else had priority. When I felt torn between two “good,” my goal to simply do whatever I was asked didn’t help me make those hard decisions. Frustration and guilt set in when I found I simply didn’t have time to fulfill every church and family responsibility in a satisfactory way every time.
In time, I realized some important things. First, I realized that although my goal—righteousness—was still there, I had been mistaken in the means of achieving it. I had sought for external evidence rather than internal assurances from my Heavenly Father. I also saw that fulfilling the expectations of other people was not only not fully possible, but did not make me feel totally righteous. So I began again.

At one such time, I sought Heavenly Father’s counsel through constant and heartfelt prayer for more than a year to find the solution to a difficult situation. I knew logically that Heavenly Father answers all sincere prayers. Yet I reached such desperation one day that I attended the temple with one question: “Heavenly Father, do You really care?”
I was sitting near the back of the Logan Utah Temple waiting room when, to my surprise, entering the room that day was the temple president, Vaughn J. Featherstone, a close family friend. He stood at the front of the congregation and welcomed all of us. When he noticed me among the temple patrons, he stopped speaking, looked me in the eyes, and then said, “Brother Brough, it is good to see you in the temple today.”
I will never forget the feeling of that simple moment. It was as if—in that greeting—Heavenly Father was stretching forth His hand and saying, “Here am I.”
Heavenly Father really does care and listen to and answer every child’s prayer. As one of His children, I know the answer to my prayers came in the Lord’s time. And through that experience, I understood more than ever that we are children of God and that He has sent us here so that we can feel His presence now and return to live with Him someday.

“What a place for a reunion!” I tell myself the moment I see the cabin. When my grandparents retired they sold a perfectly normal house and bought this place in the woods near a very cold lake. They said it had room for everyone, so we should all come here for a reunion.
The cabin had been a simple A-frame at one time, but the previous owners kept making additions as if they were afterthoughts. Additions were attached to additions. I can’t believe my grandparents bought it. Even more unbelievable is the fact I’m in a car with my family, and we’re driving up to it, and we’ll be living here for the next three weeks.
As the car stops, I hear the noise, a kind of roar full of shrieks and bangs. My cousins. They come rushing out, leaping at us with their arms wide open, smothering us with hugs before they go running down the hill toward the lake.
Let me explain the family connections here. My grandparents have six children. The oldest is my dad. Now he’s moved into the cabin along with my mom and the two biggest suitcases. That leaves me (I’m 15), my brothers (13-year-old twins), and my little sister (who’s 10), standing with our bags in the dust. We’re staring at The Cabin when Sarah and Marleen come to help us. Sarah is my dad’s brother’s wife, the mother of six kids. Aunt Marleen is Dad’s youngest sister and is due to have a baby next month—her first.
Sarah and Marleen help us carry in our stuff. Once inside we see Grandpa and two of Dad’s brothers playing a computer game. As I approach the stairs I hear the wall of sound coming again and count as 18 cousins—all kids—rush past me and up the stairs. My grandmother stands in the kitchen doorway, hardly noticing the mob.
I am directed to the loft, which is much coveted by all but reserved for me since I’m the oldest grandchild. But I’m not convinced that’s where I want to be spending my nights. So I go to the basement to see if there are any spare rooms. That’s where I find four mattresses spread on the floor, with little girls’ clothes everywhere. Perpetual slumber-party-city. I’m doomed.
“Marti! Wanna see a caterpillar?” It’s my six-year-old cousin, Erin.
“Nah,” I say, turning back to the stairs. “I’ve seen lots of them, thank you.”
I discover a room loaded with books that’s kind of between floors. I’m looking at the books and thinking maybe I could move in when I hear a thundering sound above me. I look up to see the room is just under the staircase. That would be like living under a freeway overpass. Anyway, the room is soon overflowing with boys and their sleeping bags.
“Aunt Rebecca (that’s my mom) told us to use this room. She’s gonna use the one we were in. Isn’t this neat?” My cousin looks around at my brothers and his other male counterparts. They seem to be in agreement; they are staking out their individual territories.
So I head upstairs to find all the rooms there are taken by at least two people, some by four or five. Will I ever have a quiet moment for the next three weeks?
I go downstairs to explain my dilemma to my grandma, but she’s nowhere to be found. Grandpa tells me she went on a walk with Deenie, my little sister.
“Anything I can do for you?” I ask Grandpa, who is playing a computer game.
“Well …”
Grandpa pushes the pause button on the computer and turns around to look at me as he takes my hand. I think he knows I need to talk.
“Too bad we can’t do that with life,” I say, pointing to the button he’s just pushed.
“Unfortunately, life can’t be paused,” he says. “That’s why we have pause buttons on computers instead.” He squeezes my hand. “Now what’s troubling you?”
“I’m supposed to sleep in the loft, and I don’t really want to stay there because it’s all open and everything and everyone will see me and I’ll see everyone else and it’ll be all noisy and everything and …” My voice begins to sound like Minnie Mouse’s.
“Well, the only problem is there are lots of cousins who want that loft.” As if to emphasize the point, we hear a bang and then we hear several cousins running into the back bathroom.
“Are you willing to take whatever room is vacated? Even if there are other cousins there?”
Not exactly, I think. I want a room to myself. But just about anything would be better than the loft.
“Okay,” I declare.
“Then it’s set. Just wait and see.”
That night at dinner, my grandfather announces there will be a contest for the loft. A spontaneous cheer erupts, and I spill my spaghetti on my jeans.
“After dinner,” Grandpa announces, “we’ll all go down to the lake and skip rocks. Whoever is the best rock skipper will get the loft.” This declaration is followed by more cheers.
The rock skipping winner ends up being Tamara, Aunt Sarah’s 12-year-old. I’m amazed the boys didn’t out-skip her, but I think they’re too excited about being all together in the library room. I don’t skip any rocks. I just watch. When the contest ends, we all end up eating gooey cake that adds yet another interesting color to my jeans. And then I’m moved in with my six-year-old cousin, Erin.
I have doubts about abandoning the loft. Erin is constantly asking me questions. “Marti, what time does the sky turn blue? Why is your hair brown? Do fish sleep?” When Erin isn’t asking me questions, she’s staring at me. And when she’s not asking and not staring, she’s telling long involved stories about her day—tales of hiking, catching crayfish, and finding a dead bird. The next day is more of the same.
I’m relaxing on the beach soaking up some rays. Serious stuff. “Marti, come see,” she calls.
My answer is always the same: “Later. I’ll look later.” I then return to my book and/or tan. I’m hoping she’ll give up on me and give me some peace and quiet. Erin is soon joined by Deenie, and they approach me in tandem. “Marti. Row us to the island, pul-eeze! Pretty please?” Maybe I can find a place to hide. But they always manage to find me.
One day everyone is going for a walk around the lake together. I immediately see it as a chance to be alone at last. “Don’t you want to come with us, Marti? Are you sure?” Grandpa practically pleads with me. I say I’m tired and think it would be nice to be alone for a while.
Finally everyone leaves. And it’s great. The peace and quiet is all I had hoped it would be, except that it doesn’t last long enough. When everyone comes back, they’re all licking ice cream cones.
“Marti,” Erin exclaims, “we saw this really big bird that flew right down over us!”
“It was a bald eagle,” Jonathan says. I’ve never seen him look that excited about anything other than football.
“Yeah, it was so awesome,” adds Adam. “It flew right over our heads and then dove to the lake and grabbed a fish—right out of the water!”
“Probably the trout I’ve been hoping to catch all summer,” Grandpa says.
That night, I’m trying to pretend I’m asleep, but Erin starts talking to me anyway. “You missed it, Marti,” she says solemnly.
“Missed what?”
“The eagle.” She looks at me as if I’ve committed a crime.
It’s obvious I’m not going to get to sleep anytime soon, so I go outside on the deck where I find Grandpa looking through his telescope. I know he’ll make me look at some planet, so I go into the kitchen to get my yogurt. One problem. Someone has already eaten it.
“Honey, look,” Grandma says, holding up my jeans that are miraculously clean again.
“Yeah, great,” I say.
“You don’t seem happy about it.”
“Someone ate my yogurt.”
“Oh, we’ll get you some more.”
“And it’s so noisy here. All the kids are running around until late. Why do you let them?”
Grandma sits down and motions for me to do the same. “Honey, it’s summer and you kids all have so many rules all the time. This is a time to relax; to get to know each other. All you cousins don’t see each other that much. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind if we all stayed up playing and enjoying each other’s company.” Grandma stops for a moment, then focuses back on me. “Course, your moms would never allow that, staying up all night.”
Just then, Adam bursts into the kitchen. “Grandpa says come and look. He found Venus!”
Grandma jumps up and follows. I venture back to my room. Erin is already asleep, and I drift off to the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in days. But when I wake up it’s strangely quiet. I look at my watch and see it’s nine o’clock. How could it be this quiet? Erin’s bed is empty. I panic and run down the stairs, putting on my robe as I go. No one’s there.
“Anyone here?” I call out.
“Up here, Marti.” My grandmother calls me by name and I feel a chill. I enter the bedroom to see everyone there. Some have tear-stained eyes. My grandpa is in bed, sleeping peacefully. I think I must be having a strange dream. Then Mom says, “Grandpa died in his sleep.” That’s all she manages to say before she begins to softly cry.
Then my tears come out so fast they take me by surprise. “No!” I hear myself say, and I sink down on the carpet between Deenie and Erin. “I didn’t even look in his telescope.” It’s a strange thing to say, but everyone seems to understand.
For several days everything is like some kind of numb dream.
“He’s here,” Grandma says. “I can feel him nearby, loving all of us.”
“Yeah, he is,” Erin says, “except it will be a long time before I can give him a hug again.”
Four days later, after the funeral is over, we start to laugh and share all our memories. I surprise myself to see how I can cry so hard and laugh so hard in the same day.
Then I walk around the lake by myself. I see the eagle snatching another fish. “That’s my grandpa’s fish!” I yell, and realize my heart is beating rapidly just at the sight of the diving eagle. I look up at the sky. It looks bigger than I’ve ever seen it before, and there are pink clouds on the horizon. I say “Thank you” aloud to my grandfather for all he’s taught me.
And I thank my Heavenly Father, for the pink clouds, the eagle, one cousin named Erin, and the big sky that’s whispering “eternity” to me personally. I speak to my grandfather. “You’re right. Computers have pause buttons because you can’t pause life. I should know. I’ve been trying to pause mine.”
My heart is full of so many things, and they all translate to love. I pick some tiny flowers on my way back up the hill. I see Adam on the front deck examining the telescope.
“Think you could find Venus tonight?” I ask.
“I’m gonna try.”
“Let me know if you do.”
Erin looks at me curiously. I hand her the flowers, and she holds them close to her nose. She seems to be pondering deep thoughts for a long time. Then she raises her head and says, “Grandma said I can make chocolate chip cookies for dessert tonight. You wanna help me?”
“Sure.” She holds my hand in one of her small hands, the flowers in the other, and she escorts me to the kitchen, squealing enthusiastically, “Grandma, look at these beautifullest flowers!”
I don’t even flinch.

As I sat contemplating an upcoming Church assignment, I became more and more apprehensive about my ability to do well. I needed help, so I began to pray. Much to my surprise, tears began to flow as I remembered an incident that had happened many years before.
The memory of that experience calmed me with the assurance that, like my earthly father, my Heavenly Father felt I had great ability and would do just fine. If I would stay calm and not worry about failure, he would be able to inspire me.
Confident once more, I thanked Him for giving me a father whose love and concern has helped me begin to comprehend our Heavenly Father’s love.

Last Sunday, Ruby and I attended a sacrament meeting of a ward here in central Salt Lake. The meeting was most interesting because in that ward there is some affluence as well as people who are living in halfway houses. Just before the testimony meeting, a young lady walked up to the bishop on the stand holding a little baby in her arms, wanting the baby to receive a blessing. The bishop stepped down and took the little baby, and the baby was blessed.

Later on, during the testimony meeting, a little seven-year-old boy, with his five-year-old sister by the hand, walked up to the pulpit. He helped fix a little stool there for her to stand on, his five-year-old sister, and he helped her as she bore her testimony. And as she would falter just a little, he would lean over and whisper in her ear, this little loving seven-year-old brother.

After she finished, he stood on the stool, and she stood watching him, and he bore his testimony. She had that sweet expression on her face as she watched him. He was her older brother, but you could see that family love and relationship with those two little children. He stepped down from the stool, took her by the hand, and they walked back down to take their seat.

Near the end of the testimony meeting, when there were a few moments for me at the end, I asked the young lady who had brought her child up to be blessed if she would come up and stand by me, which she did. In the meantime, while the testimony meeting was going on, I asked the bishop, whispering into his ear, “Where is her husband?”

The bishop said, “He’s in jail.”

I asked, “What is her name?” and he told me her name.

She came up and stood with me by my side, carrying the little baby. As we were standing at the pulpit, I looked down at this little precious baby, only a few days old, and this mother, the mother of that little daughter who had brought her to receive a blessing at the hands of the priesthood. As I looked at the mother and looked at that precious little child, I wondered of what she might become or what she could be. I spoke to the audience and to this young mother about the proclamation that was issued five years ago by the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve, a proclamation on the family, and of our responsibility to our children, and the children’s responsibility to their parents, and the parents’ responsibility to each other. That marvelous document brings together the scriptural direction that we have received that has guided the lives of God’s children from the time of Adam and Eve and will continue to guide us until the final winding-up scene.

As we talked about it and as I looked at that beautiful little baby, I thought of last summer. Ruby and I were up in Idaho for a short visit, and we met some people from Mountain Home, Idaho, the Goodrich family. Sister Goodrich had come to see us and had brought her daughter Chelsea with her. In part of the conversation that we were having, Sister Goodrich said Chelsea had memorized the proclamation on the family.

To Chelsea, who is now 15 years old, I said, “Chelsea, is that right?”

She said, “Yes.”

I said, “How long did it take you to do that?”

She said, “When we were young my mother started a program in our house to help us memorize. We would memorize scripture passages and sacrament meeting songs and other types of things that would be helpful to us. So we learned how to memorize, and it became easier for us.”

I said, “Then you can give it all?”

She said, “Yes, I can give it all.”

I said, “You learned that when you were 12 years old; you’re now 15. Pretty soon you’ll start dating. Tell me about it. What has it done for you?”

Chelsea said, “As I think of the statements in that proclamation, and as I understand more of our responsibility as a family and our responsibility for the way we live and the way we should conduct our lives, the proclamation becomes a new guideline for me. As I associate with other people and when I start dating, I can think of those phrases and those sentences in the proclamation on the family. It will give me a yardstick which will help guide me. It will give me the strength that I need.”

As the date of our divorce hearing drew near, my husband sent me a 16-page letter evaluating our marriage. Despite priesthood counsel to the contrary, I began to believe my husband’s assertions that the problems in our marriage were my fault—that I was even the cause of his infidelity.
Torn with doubts, I turned to the scriptures. There I found hope and understanding in the Savior’s words. I reflected on how His words had already blessed and lifted me. I wrote in my journal: “The tides of self-pity, self-reproach, and self-destruction rage against my shore. And at my shore the Savior is ever there, building—shoring up—protecting against the onslaught—telling me I have value—telling me to believe in myself. His is the voice I prefer to hear, the voice I must heed.”
I was blessed with opportunities to rebuild belief in myself. Priesthood counsel and blessings offered me divine comfort. Through the Savior’s great love, strength and courage returned.

Randy Herrman terrified me.
It wasn’t that he was bigger than I was. He was kind of puny for his age. And he certainly wasn’t smarter, or funnier, or more creative. Nope. What intimidated me about Randy Herrman was his attitude. He wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything.
Like a villain in a melodrama, Randy appeared at school while we were all registering for the seventh grade. There were about a hundred of us in line outside the principal’s office when Randy walked up wearing a black motorcycle T-shirt. He stopped for some reason beside Travis Duncan. Then, with a little sneer, Randy reached into Travis’s open backpack—that was still on Travis’s back—fished around and pulled out a Ding Dong. Without a pause Randy bit the chocolate cake clean in half, wrapper and all.
Travis stood there for a second, in complete shock, then started yelling—a high-pitched wailing that was way too-over-the-top for a bitten Ding Dong. Finally, Mr. Squires came out of his office to see what all the commotion was about. Then the principal grabbed Randy by the shirt collar and led him down the row of kids to the detention room. As he passed, Randy looked at me with his gray eyes and smiled. It was an unspeakably cold smile that sent a shiver up my spine.
I couldn’t sleep for a week.

An eighteen-year-old priest recounted:
“On one occasion, I was persuaded to join a group on a weekend excursion. I was told that the [plans] for the day included … sightseeing, a lunch, and a movie. I was promised that there would be no [inappropriate activities]. All … knew that I was a Latter-day Saint and … deeply committed to the moral standards of the Church.
“Upon reaching the city, we visited a place or two of historical significance and ate lunch. Then the inevitable happened—the group turned toward a bar and a house of [prostitution]. I refused to enter these dens of iniquity, and I openly expressed my anger over the broken promises of my associates.
“As I walked away … , my companions taunted me by shouting, ‘When are you going to grow up?’ ‘When will you stop being a sissy and a religious fanatic?’ ‘When are you going to be a man?’” (Carlos E. Asay, In the Lord’s Service [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1990], p. 46).

Then, the summer right before I turned 12, I went to girls’ camp with my ward’s Young Women.
We had time each night for scripture study in our tents, and I decided I was going to read the scriptures every night I was there. I began with the first words of the first verse that almost everyone has memorized: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents …” (1 Ne. 1:1).
It was so incredible. I don’t know how, but the scriptures started making more sense. I felt how hard it would be if Heavenly Father commanded my family to leave our home and go somewhere so far away. I had always known the story of how the Lord commanded Nephi to go get the brass plates, but those three nights at camp I could actually see a young man going to an evil man’s home, needing the plates.
I have read the scriptures every night since girls’ camp. I haven’t forgotten, and if I accidentally turn off the light before I read my scriptures, I am not able to sleep. After I finish reading the Book of Mormon, I plan on reading the Bible.

President Young had said, “If the people of the United States will let us alone for ten years we will ask no odds of them.”

Eight years to the day after the 1849 celebration, the Saints were in Big Cottonwood Canyon to celebrate another 24th of July. Four horsemen rode in to report that an army 2,500 soldiers strong was on the plains. The army of the United States, commanded by Colonel Albert Sidney Johnston, was ordered by President James Buchanan to crush a nonexistent Mormon rebellion.

The Saints broke camp and headed for home to prepare their defenses. Rather than flee, this time President Young declared, “We have transgressed no law, and we have no occasion to do so, neither do we intend to; but as for any nation’s coming to destroy this people, God Almighty being my helper, they cannot come here.”

Neither mobbings nor the army could turn the Saints aside from what they knew to be true. A settlement was negotiated, and the Utah War (later called Buchanan’s Blunder) was over.

One of the best ways to make friends is to invite them over, right? That’s what the Montreal Ward of the Montreal Mount Royal Quebec Stake did. Their new chapel created so much interest in the surrounding neighborhood of La Salle that ward leaders decided to open it up for tours.
And when they did, the youth of this English-speaking ward played a major role. The Latter-day Saint teens were ushers, served refreshments, directed parking, and greeted guests at the door.
“It was a good experience because it gave other people in the community an opportunity to know more about us, what we believe, and what we do,” explains Melissa Poirier, 15. More than 300 non–Latter-day Saints toured the building.

As I walked down the dusty, Brazilian country road, my mind strayed to a day in my childhood. Now, I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and was serving the Lord as a missionary. But the setting took my mind back to a loving aunt, a wonderful day, and a promise.
Aunt Rocilda and her family lived on a large farm. Our extended family was very important to us and we loved to visit her. Since a day in the country was a day away from the pressures of everyday life, I always looked forward to our visits to the country—especially Aunt Rocilda’s farm. I could tell that one of her greatest joys in life was making me happy.
One particular day, I had played hard and taken advantage of every opportunity to enjoy the farm. Aunt Rocilda had given me a fish to take home and it seemed that she had shown me her love more than ever that day.
As I prepared to leave, I hugged her and made her a promise; I wanted to somehow repay her for her Christlike love. “Someday,” I said with the sincerity of youth, “I will go to Sao Paolo and I will bring you back a big gift.”
As I grew up, the dream of Sao Paolo never faded, though the remembrance of my promise did. One day I learned that Aunt Rocilda had died. As I mourned, I remembered my promise to her and I grieved that I would never be able to fulfill it.
However, I did go to Sao Paolo and there I met two Latter-day Saint missionaries. After being baptized, I worked toward a mission and the blessings of the temple. As I entered the Missionary Training Center in Sao Paolo, I thought of my aunt. What would be the greatest possible gift I could give her? I felt a strong desire to share the blessings of the gospel with Aunt Rocilda, and I made sure that temple ordinance work was done in her name.
Though Aunt Rocilda didn’t receive the “big gift” in this, earthly life, I feel that she has accepted the greater, eternal gift.

A couple of weeks ago, my friend’s 12-year-old sister passed away. Mili had suffered brain damage at birth. She never spoke or walked or did things for herself.
I helped care for Mili for a long time. When I was notified of her death, I couldn’t be comforted. Then I remembered learning that when we are resurrected and return to the presence of the Lord, we enjoy perfect health and have a perfect understanding. This knowledge comforted me greatly.
I wanted to console her family, but I didn’t know how to share the peace I felt with them—especially since they are not members of the Church. Then it came to me to look in the Liahona. I randomly chose an issue, and the First Presidency Message was “The Faith of a Child,” by President Thomas S. Monson (see Liahona, August 1998, 2–6). He told of the death of a 10-year-old girl. He spoke of Jesus Christ’s beautiful message: “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God” (Mark 10:14). It was exactly what I needed. I found a way to express consolation to her family.
I’m extremely grateful and happy to be a Latter-day Saint and to be able to read the Liahona (Spanish).

The baptisms went ahead as scheduled, and afterwards Erroll Bennett had time to think. No one called from the soccer club with congratulations or criticism, and by the end of that quiet evening he had made his decision. It was no good agonizing over an elusive compromise, and there was little point in training if he wasn’t going to play on Sundays. The following day he would talk to Napoléon Spitz and withdraw from active soccer, leaving his position open to some other hopeful.
Mr. Spitz’s reaction was a surprising one. “Hold off for a few days,” he said. “Wait until after the meeting of the league later this week.”
When Erroll heard the news a few days later, he could hardly believe it. Napoléon Spitz had advised league officials that the Central club had decided not to play on Sundays. Mr. Spitz explained that playing on Sundays was preventing team players from being with their families, and that it was an unacceptable practice. Whatever other league teams wanted to do, Central would not play on Sundays.
A vote was then called for, and the decision was unanimous. From now on, all Honours Division games would be played on weekday evenings.
Michael Ferrand, senior sports writer for the Tahitian daily newspaper La Dêpêche, attended the meeting as a delegate of another club, and remembers it well. He smilingly recalls: “Of course, we all knew the real reasons for the requested change. Napoléon Spitz was addressing the meeting as a delegate of Central. He offered some good reasons why we should all make the change—pressure on players and on their families and so on—but I guess everyone in the room knew that it was Erroll Bennett’s joining the Mormon Church that prompted it all.”
Mr. Ferrand says the players themselves seemed happy to go along with the new arrangements, though the public reaction was mixed. “It’s not easy to change a long-standing tradition,” he says. “People had been going to Sunday soccer for years and now suddenly it was to be switched to week-nights. Some of the sports writers were a little unhappy with it, but criticism was fairly subdued. You have to remember that Erroll Bennett is enormously popular in Tahiti. No sports writer is going to be outspokenly critical of a national hero!”
Since Erroll Bennett’s baptism in 1977, all twelve top clubs in the Tahitian Honours Division have played their games midweek. It has now become such an established practice that it is unlikely to change even if Erroll retires or leaves the game. Mr. Ferrand, who is also executive secretary of the College La Mennais, the largest private Catholic college in Tahiti, welcomes the change.
“Personally, I feel it’s a good thing,” he says. “If it contributes to a more sacred Sunday, so much the better.”
No one is suggesting that soccer enthusiasts now flock to churches on Sundays instead of to a game. Yet besides making a point for the sanctity of the Sabbath, the changes prompted by Erroll Bennett’s baptism six years ago seem also to have had a positive effect on Tahitian soccer itself. Napoléon Spitz, a man who has observed the repercussions as closely as anyone, is unhesitating in his response.
“There’s no doubt the players prefer playing on weeknights,” he says. “They have discovered that they like being with their families on Sundays. They appear to be better rested, they practice better and they play better. The public may have been uncertain at first, but I believe there is no doubt now that they value the extra freedom they have on Sundays to do what they want to do with their families. All of us have benefitted.”
Brother Bennett’s no-Sunday play rule has meant that in the past five years, Erroll has missed only two games held in Tahiti—both were in 1977. The first was the day following his baptism—before the historic meeting of the league to change days. The second game was the final of the Tahiti Cup—an open competition for all 112 clubs in Tahiti. Napoléon Spitz says it was just too complicated, with short notice, in that first year to switch the cup final to another day. The following year, however, and every year since, the Tahitian Cup has been kept off Sundays—because of Erroll Bennett.

A lovely lady who has since passed away visited with me one day and unexpectedly recounted some regrets. She spoke of an incident which had taken place many years earlier and involved a neighboring farmer, once a good friend but with whom she and her husband had disagreed on multiple occasions. One day the farmer asked if he could take a shortcut across her property to reach his own acreage. At this point she paused in her narrative to me and, with a tremor in her voice, said, “Brother Monson, I didn’t let him cross our property then or ever but required him to take the long way around on foot to reach his property. I was wrong, and I regret it. He’s gone now, but oh, I wish I could say to him, ‘I’m so sorry.’ How I wish I had a second chance to be kind.”

As I listened to her, there came to my mind the doleful observation of John Greenleaf Whittier: “Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: ‘It might have been!’” Brothers and sisters, as we treat others with love and kind consideration, we will avoid such regrets.

1. “Lunch is ready!” Mom called.
2. Three-year-old Trevor raced to the kitchen and quickly sat down on the stool.
3. His eyes flew past his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and apple slices to the shiny green glass full of milk.
4. “Hooray!” he exclaimed. Trevor and his five-year-old sister, Andrea, both liked to drink from the beautiful green glass. Since there was only one green glass, they took turns. Today was Trevor’s day.
5. “But, Mom, I really wanted to have that glass today!” Andrea declared. The look on her face was stormy and disappointed as she stomped to the counter.
6. “I’m sorry, it’s Trevor’s turn today,” Mom said.
7. Trevor looked at his sister. He knew she had a cold and didn’t feel well. She was always loving and kind to him. She was quick to share, and she was a great playmate. Trevor knew he loved the green glass, but he loved Andrea more.
8. “Here, sister,” he said simply as he slid the glass by her plate. “In nursery, the teacher said when people are sad, we share.”
9. “Oh, Trevor!” Andrea said with a smiling face as she gave him a hug. Trevor knew her happy face and warm hug were better than drinking from the green glass.

My big sister and I were playing outside and we weren’t getting along. We argued, and I felt bad inside. I went into my house and prayed that I would feel better and not be mad at my sister. After my prayer I felt much better. Soon my sister came into the house and asked me what was wrong. I told her that I was OK, and we started to play again. This time we didn’t argue.Emma V., age 7, with help from her parents, Texas