Gospel Story Finder

I had an experience that influenced my feelings about the importance of choosing what is right. Several years ago, the young daughter of a friend of mine died in a tragic accident. Hopes and dreams were shattered. My friend felt unbearable sorrow. He began to question what he believed.

The mother of my friend asked if I would talk to him and give him a blessing. As I laid my hands upon his head, I felt to tell him something I had not thought about in the same way before. The impression that came to me was this: “Faith is not only a feeling; it is also a decision.” He would need to choose faith.

My friend chose the road of faith and obedience. He got on his knees. His spiritual balance returned. The ability to seek within ourselves the gift of faith is an enormous spiritual blessing.

I’m serving a full-time mission, and my patriarchal blessing really helps me. It’s like the Liahona that guided Lehi and his family. When I feel discouraged, I read my patriarchal blessing. It fills me with joy.

Hilda Larson was setting the table for dinner when her father came in and said to her, “Put the old dishes away, Hilda. We’re having company.”
“Who is coming, John?” asked Hilda’s mother.
“Two of the men I have been working with today on the temple,” he replied. “Heber Kimball and Brigham Young.”
Hilda smiled, glad to know Brother Young was coming to dinner. She liked most of the men her father had worked with since they moved to Kirtland, Ohio. But she especially liked Brigham Young who told such interesting stories.
Hilda and her mother went into a small room where the china dishes were kept in a tall cupboard behind heavy glass doors. Although they were used only for company or special holidays, Hilda was familiar with every piece.
There was the set of eight beautiful plates with matching cups and saucers, a gravy boat, and a large soup tureen made of delicate Dresden china. Around the edge of each piece was a willow branch pattern in dainty blue.
As her mother handed the dishes to her, Hilda held each one carefully.
“This set of china,” her mother explained, “belonged to your great-grandmother. She wrapped every piece in quilts when she sailed from England in 1770. She worried every time there was a storm on the ocean for fear her dishes would break.”
Hilda thought how happy her great-grandmother must have been when the dishes were unwrapped. Not one was broken then but Hilda’s grandmother had dropped a saucer when she was a little girl. And Hilda’s mother often told about how she, herself, broke the sugar bowl after the dishes were given to her for a wedding present.
“I really cried,” she said. “That bowl was my favorite.”
Hilda walked very slowly carrying the fragile china into the kitchen. After the table was set, Mother brought in a lovely blue pitcher that Hilda could remember the family using only a few times. She placed the pitcher in the center of the table. “There,” she said. “Doesn’t everything look nice?”
Putting his arm around his wife, Hilda’s father said, “It is beautiful, Sara.” But his voice was sad. “I’m glad you have a chance to show off the porcelain pitcher. It may be the last time.”
Hilda didn’t understand. Why would my mother stop using the pitcher? she wondered.
She remembered once when she had been allowed to hold it up carefully to the window to see how the light shone through. Her father had explained to her that fine porcelain china was translucent and that his mother brought the pitcher with her from Holland many years ago.
In answer to a knock, Father opened the door and welcomed the two distinguished men who stood outside. “Our guests are here,” he called, and Hilda and her mother hurried to welcome them.
During the meal Hilda enjoyed listening to her father talk with the two men. They spoke of how the Kirtland Temple they were building was nearly completed.
“All the Saints in Kirtland have helped,” Brother Kimball said.
“We may be few in number,” Brother Young agreed, “and poor, but we are rich in faith. While the men labor on the building, the women spin and weave cloth for our clothes.”
Brother Kimball picked up the china cup that was beside his plate. “And now the women give their precious dishes,” he said, looking at her mother. Then he pointed to the beautiful porcelain pitcher.
“That, too, Sister Larson?” he asked.
“Yes, Brother Young,” her mother nodded. “If it is needed.”
After the men had left, Hilda helped wash the dishes and put them back in their cupboard. As her mother closed the glass doors tears ran down her cheeks. Hilda wished she knew why everyone seemed so sad about the dishes.
The next afternoon Hilda was surprised to see her father come home early. He usually worked on the temple all day unless he had a cabinet-making job in Kirtland. He spoke quietly to Hilda’s mother, “We are ready for them, Sara.”
“Come, Hilda, I’ll need your help,” Mother said, and guided her into the room where the dish cupboard stood. A large box was on the floor beside it.
“We must pack the china into the box, Hilda,” her mother told her. “The dishes are needed to help build the temple.” Hilda could not imagine how china dishes and the priceless porcelain pitcher could help build a temple. She watched her father lift the box of dishes into the back of a pony cart. Then they rode to the bluff where the temple was being built.
Hilda climbed off the cart and followed her father toward a large vat where a workman was stirring something inside.
Bending down, Hilda’s father said over the noise, “We’re making stuccoed plaster for the outer temple walls. We have discovered that broken china helps hold the plaster together. Also,” he added, “the walls look very beautiful with the sparkling bits of china and glass shining through.”
A man nearby said, “Nearly all the Latter-day Saint women have given their best china for the temple.”
Hilda could hardly believe it when she saw her mother take the lovely Dresden china from the box and hand each piece to a man who stood beside the vat. He put them on a flat board, broke them into bits, and scraped the shattered pieces into the vat.
When the blue porcelain pitcher was broken and stirred into the stucco mixture, Hilda began to cry.
“Don’t feel badly, Hilda,” Mother said, putting an arm around the sobbing girl. But all the way down the hill in the cart, with the empty box rattling in back, Hilda was quietly crying.
One evening after the temple was finished, Hilda walked with her father and mother up the road toward the beautiful building. The sun was setting and Hilda saw the temple walls. They sparkled and shimmered in the sunlight.
“Oh, Mother!” she exclaimed, her heart suddenly full and happy. “Do you see that sort of blue brightness beside the front door? Only Grandmother Larson’s porcelain pitcher could sparkle like that!”

Then, on January 18, 2012, Elder Nelson met with members in Nicaragua, accompanied by Elder Enrique R. Falabella and Elder James B. Martino, both of the Seventy.
He urged members to increase in holiness and to continue working on their family history records. “I promise you that when you are ready, the Lord will do His part so that you have a temple,” he said.
We should cultivate in ourselves attributes of the Savior, Elder Nelson said, beginning with love.
“We can learn to love through service,” he said. “Another attribute is to pay attention to the ordinances: baptism and the sacrament. They relate to the Crucifixion of the Savior.”
Other habits Elder Nelson said members should cultivate are to pray as the Savior prayed and to acquire knowledge through scripture study. “Read the scriptures to your children, develop love for [the scriptures], and I assure you, you will come to feel joy as you apply [what you learn] in your lives,” he said.
Finally Elder Nelson said, “Cultivate perseverance; persevere to the end. Jesus Christ suffered more than anyone else and did not give up. He trusted His Father to the end. Remember this when you have to face the challenges of life.”
In closing, Elder Nelson expressed gratitude for the faith, devotion, and tithes and offerings of the members in Nicaragua, and he testified of the Atonement.
“Our Lord’s Resurrection assures us and opens the door to eternal life through faith and repentance, if we endure to the end,” he said.

My family moved to that little desert town in the middle of September—one of the hottest times of the year. But among the Mormon kids, all I got was the cold shoulder.
I was 15, and my family had already moved 10 times, so it wasn’t as if I didn’t know how to make friends. I tried everything I knew to break the ice, but after five months I still didn’t have a single friend who was a member of the Church.
Luckily, I had lots of good nonmember friends at school. But that didn’t make it any easier at early-morning seminary and church. I actually sat through five months of seminary without anyone saying hello to me, except my seminary teacher. And there was always one empty seat between me and the rest of my Sunday School class.
Tom Jeppson* was the ringleader of the Mormon kids. He’d never really said anything to me. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he’d noticed me until one morning when he met me at the seminary doors.
“Go home. We don’t want you here,” he said.
I started to laugh. He had to be joking, right? But when I looked at his face, I knew he wasn’t kidding. I looked at the others standing a few feet behind him. They didn’t say anything, which I figured meant that they agreed.
As I turned away, I heard the doors slam behind me and muffled laughing.
I’m never going to seminary again, I swore to myself as I walked the half-mile to the high school. It’ll be all their fault.
That day seemed like it would never end. After school, I rode the bus to my street, but I didn’t go home. I went to my seminary teacher’s house. He lived a few doors down from me, and I really liked him. In fact, I liked his whole family.
He usually gave me a ride to seminary each morning, so I wanted to tell him not to worry about picking me up anymore. Actually, what I really wanted was some sympathy.
Sister Murray answered the door. Brother Murray wasn’t home yet, but she invited me in for a drink of lemonade. It wasn’t long before I was telling her the whole story. She was sympathetic until I said I wasn’t going to seminary anymore and that I might not ever go to church again.
“If this was really the true church, people wouldn’t act like that,” I said.
I expected her to plead with me to come back. I wanted her to tell me she would talk to all the kids’ parents and get them in a lot of trouble. I thought she’d be ready to do almost anything to keep me active. But instead she said, “Well, fine. You’re not hurting any of those kids by not going. You’re only hurting yourself.”
I was too shocked to say anything. I quickly finished my lemonade and told her I had to go.
I stayed away from seminary and church for three weeks. My seminary teacher called a couple of times to check in on me. I missed seminary, but I was too proud to admit it. Instead, I kept telling myself that everyone was probably feeling pretty guilty that they’d made me become inactive. I told myself they would be in trouble on judgment day.
Still, I couldn’t forget what Sister Murray had said about me only hurting myself. And then, one day when I was reading the Book of Mormon, a scripture caught my eye.
“See that ye do all things in worthiness, and do it in the name of Jesus Christ, the Son of the living God; and if ye do this, and endure to the end, ye will in no wise be cast out” (Morm. 9:29).
As I read the words, the Spirit filled my heart and I realized Sister Murray was right. Sure, the kids had been real jerks. But they couldn’t keep me away from the Church if I was determined to be there. And best of all, they couldn’t cast me out in the end, when it really mattered. Not if I endured.
I got out of bed and set my alarm for 5:00 A.M. so I wouldn’t miss seminary the next day.
We lived in that hot, windy desert town for five more months and nothing really changed—except my heart. For the first time, I understood that no one was responsible for my salvation but me. I didn’t miss another day of seminary or church. And although the Mormon kids were still cold, it didn’t matter. I was filled with the warmth of the gospel.

One evening in my youth, my mother sat with me at the foot of her bed and spoke fervently of the importance of living the Word of Wisdom. “I know from the experiences of others, from years ago,” she said, “the loss of spirituality and sensitivity that comes from not following the Word of Wisdom.” She looked right into my eyes, and I felt her words penetrate my heart: “Promise me, Ronnie, today [she called me Ronnie], that you will always live the Word of Wisdom.” I solemnly made that promise to her, and I have held to it all these years.

That commitment served me well when I was in my youth and in later years when I was in business circles where substances flowed freely. I made a decision in advance to follow God’s laws, and I never had to revisit it. The Lord has said, “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise.” What is He saying to those who abide by the Word of Wisdom? That we will have the promise of health, strength, wisdom, knowledge, and angels to protect us.

Ben’s interest in photographing animals began when he was 14. Whilst being driven to school, he noticed some deer in a field and wished he could have taken a picture. He had caught the bug. He would go out in the early hours of the morning or late afternoons looking for animal and bird subjects he could photograph. His family have encouraged and supported his passion, even arranging trips to the Isle of Skye so he could photograph sea otters.

It was still early on Sunday morning as Dad called the family together.
“Where’s Mom?” six-year-old Katie asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“That’s what I need to talk to all of you about,” Dad answered. “I took Mom to the airport this morning. Grandpa called late last night to tell us that Grandma is very sick. Mom has gone to help them.”
“Is Grandma going to die?” Melanie asked, her eyes filling with tears.
“I don’t know, sweetheart.” Dad put his arm around her. “Grandpa doesn’t know exactly what’s wrong. Mom will call us after she arrives and has a chance to talk to the doctor. Meanwhile, there is something we can do to help.”
“We can pray for Grandma,” Katie said, kneeling and folding her arms.
“Exactly right, honey,” Dad said. “And we can fast for Grandma today, too. Let’s begin our fast with a prayer. Would you offer it for us, Katie?”
The little family knelt together, and Katie prayed, “Heavenly Father, please bless Grandma. Bless Grandpa, too, so he won’t worry too much. And help Mama so she can come home soon. We are fasting for them today.”
Everyone felt peaceful as Katie finished the prayer and they prepared to go to church.
At home after church, Dad pulled two big photo albums from the shelf and told the children about some of the pictures. They talked all afternoon about their many happy memories of Grandma. Then, when it was time to end their fast and have supper, they knelt to give thanks for the day and to once again ask for a special blessing for Grandma.
Mom telephoned just as the children were getting ready for bed. “Grandma is going to be just fine,” she said. “I’ll stay to help Grandpa for a few days while Grandma rests. I’ll be home by Friday.”
After everyone had told Mom about their day and their fast for Grandma, they gathered again for family prayer. “Before we pray,” Dad said, “tell me what you learned today about fasting and prayer.”
“Heavenly Father answered our prayers,” Rachel responded.
“That’s true,” Dad said. “We know that He always answers our prayers. Sometimes the answer is yes, as it was today.”
“Sometimes it’s no, “ Melanie put in, “like when I prayed for my team to win the tournament and we lost.”
“That’s right, Melanie,” Dad said. “Sometimes the answer is ‘no.’ And sometimes the answer is ‘not yet—just wait and be patient.’ But Heavenly Father always answers our prayers in the way that is best for us. Did you learn anything else?”
Katie said, “Fasting helped me feel close to Heavenly Father.”
Natalie added, “Fasting today wasn’t as hard as it usually is. I didn’t even feel hungry! Is that because we were fasting for Grandma, not just going without food?”
Dad nodded. “Fasting helps us learn to control our bodies and it helps us develop faith. When we are baptized, we make a sacred promise to Heavenly Father that we will bear one another’s burdens and comfort those who need comfort. We have surely kept that covenant today as we fasted and prayed for Grandma.”
That night, family prayer was a prayer of gratitude—for Grandma feeling better, that Mom was coming home soon, and for keeping their baptismal covenant through fasting and prayer.

And the inspiration for all of this is the sweet assurance—deeply rooted in the heart of every decent man who is living as he should with his sweetheart wife, or who has so lived, or who is planning and preparing such a union—that heaven will be heaven for us because we know we will be there with the one we love the best. Parley P. Pratt said after he met the Prophet in Philadelphia that “it was from him that I learned that the wife of my bosom might be secured to me for time and all eternity; and that the refined sympathies and affections which endeared us to each other emanated from the foundation of divine eternal love. It was from the Prophet that I learned that we might cultivate these affections, and grow and increase in the same to all eternity.” (Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1938, pp. 297–98.)

There is a picture of another girl in that yearbook. She was not particularly beautiful. But she had a wholesome look about her, a sparkle in her eyes, and a smile on her face. She knew why she was in school. She was there to learn. She dreamed of the kind of woman she wanted to be and patterned her life accordingly.

She also knew how to have fun, but knew when to stop and put her mind on other things.

There was a boy in school at the time. He had come from a small rural town. He had very little money. He brought lunch in a brown paper bag. He looked a little like the farm from which he had come. There was nothing especially handsome or dashing about him. He was a good student. He had set a goal for himself. It was lofty and, at times, appeared almost impossible of attainment.

These two fell in love. People said, “What does he see in her?” Or, “What does she see in him?” They each saw something wonderful which no one else saw.

Upon graduating from the university, they married. They scrimped and worked. Money was hard to come by. He went on to graduate school. She continued to work for a time, and then their children came. She gave her attention to them.

A few years ago, I was riding a plane home from the East. It was late at night. I walked down the aisle in the semidarkness. I saw a woman asleep with her head on the shoulder of her husband. She awakened as I approached. I immediately recognized the girl I had known in high school so long before. I recognized the boy I had also known. They were now approaching old age. As we talked, she explained that their children were grown, that they were grandparents. She proudly told me that they were returning from the East, where he had gone to deliver a paper. There at a great convention he had been honored by his peers from across the nation.

I learned that they had been active in the Church, serving in whatever capacity they were asked to serve. By every measure, they were successful. They had accomplished the goals which they had set for themselves. They had been honored and respected and had made a tremendous contribution to the society of which they were a part. She had become the woman of whom she had dreamed. She had exceeded that dream.

As I returned to my seat on the plane, I thought of those two girls of whom I have spoken to you tonight. The life of the one had been spelled out in a three-letter word: F–U–N. It had been lived aimlessly, without stability, without contribution to society, without ambition. It had ended in misery and pain and early death.

The life of the other had been difficult. It had meant scrimping and saving. It had meant working and struggling to keep going. It had meant simple food and plain clothing and a very modest apartment in the years of her husband’s initial effort to get started in his profession. But out of that seemingly sterile soil there had grown a plant, yes, two plants, side by side, that blossomed and bloomed in a beautiful and wonderful way.

Those beautiful blossoms spoke of service to fellowmen, of unselfishness one to another, of love and respect and faith in one’s companion, of happiness as they met the needs of others in the various activities which they pursued.

As I pondered the conversation with these two, I determined within myself to do a little better, to be a little more dedicated, to set my sights a little higher, to love my wife a little more dearly, to help her and treasure her and look after her.

In my mid-60s, it was getting harder for me to get around. I weighed almost 300 pounds (136 kg). I had low energy and stamina and even obtained a handicapped parking permit so that I could park as close to stores as possible.
I decided it was time to lose weight. I turned to Doctrine and Covenants 89 and prayed to Heavenly Father, “Help me to understand what this is really telling me.” Over time each verse, each word took on new meaning. Even though I don’t drink alcohol, tea, or coffee, and I don’t smoke, I hadn’t really absorbed the overall message. I knew the Word of Wisdom was a health code, but I had never before thought of it as a way of life.
For the first time I truly felt that I could change my lifestyle. I set a realistic goal of losing 50 pounds (23 kg) in 50 weeks.
I kept track of my calories and nutrients. I researched the health benefits of everything I ate. As I ate healthier foods, I felt satisfied. I had no cravings. My body seemed to know what it needed. Unhealthy food I used to enjoy lost its appeal. I quit eating sugar. Over time, I quit counting calories and ate plant-based foods, as the Word of Wisdom says: “that which yieldeth fruit, whether in the ground or above the ground” (D&C 89:16). I met my goal and more. In just over 23 months I had lost over half my body weight. That’s 12 dress sizes smaller! I have now maintained that weight for over three years.
I feel healthy. I no longer have blood-sugar spikes when I’m hungry, and I can’t remember the last time I had a headache. I don’t have to take medications. While losing weight has contributed to my overall feeling of well-being, my new lifestyle does also.
Controlling the things I eat is part of overcoming the natural man (see Mosiah 3:19). In turn, it tweaks my spiritual discernment, allowing me to receive the promise that I “shall find wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures” (D&C 89:19). Giving up fast food for wisdom is a good trade-off.
I am most grateful to a loving Heavenly Father who heard my simple plea and gave me insight into the Word of Wisdom. I know the Word of Wisdom is revelation. I know it can change lives.

1. The Venice Project in Los Angeles. For the past two years Mormon students at UCLA have held successful Christmas parties for underprivileged children in Venice, near Los Angeles. First, they contact the California State Service Center and receive the names of seventy-five children between five and twelve years of age. The day of the party, all seventy-five children are gathered by the center at one locale. Merchants donate cookies, ice cream, and presents. Decorated trees are given to the children’s families after the party. Said one student leader, “We learned that many people outside our own group were anxious to help. We also learned that you need plenty of games to hold the interest of everyone.”

Adjei Kwame was guided into the Church by spiritual promptings he felt when he took a teaching position in Zimbabwe. “I had been searching for the true church,” he says. “I kept having dreams about a church building. When I went through Kwe Kwe, Zimbabwe, I saw it and wanted to go in to find out what kept coming into my dreams all the time.” When he visited the church one Sunday, he says, “I felt I was actually with some people that I knew a long time ago who had been good friends.”

As part of the service, members of the Kwe Kwe Branch bore their testimonies. Brother Kwame went to the pulpit. He said that he believed in God and wanted to be a member of the Church. He later met with Sister Hamstead, the wife of the mission president. “What actually descended upon the two of us I cannot explain. I became aware that I was weeping. I can’t explain the feeling. I was released of all burdens. I felt that I had gone to a place where I visited often, but now I was at home.”

Imagine that your mom asks you to tell your brothers and sisters to come to dinner. You are to speak for your mom, delivering a message for her to your family. Will they listen?

1 The Prophet Joseph Smith, Sidney Rigdon, Edward Partridge, and other Church members went partway to Missouri by boat. When they got there, Joseph traveled the land by foot to better see the sacred country. They walked three hundred miles to Jackson County, where they met the missionaries from Kirtland.

When the Hinckleys began the trip home, they learned that the plane would refuel on the island of Saipan. President Hinckley asked if there were any missionaries on Saipan and was told that there was a small number. Although he was at the end of an exhausting trip, he wanted to meet with those few missionaries: “I asked if we might somehow get word to them that we would land in Saipan about 7:00 p.m. and would try to come out at the airport to greet them.”
Hours later in Saipan, 10 missionaries and about 60 Church members were there to greet the Hinckleys. “They threw their arms around us,” President Hinckley recorded. “They were so grateful to see us, and we were grateful to see them. We could spend only a very short time with them since only a brief time was needed to refuel the plane. We left our blessing with them and went back to the plane.”12

Name a town?
In a small town in Kentucky, USA, the very first postmaster didn’t think much of his own handwriting. He figured that if a town had a number as its name, then it’d be easier to read and understand that name on an envelope even if somebody had bad handwriting.
He reached into his pocket, counted the loose change (88 cents), and Eighty Eight, Kentucky, was born. The town name stuck and has been used ever since.1

Another convert said, “I used to pray, not often, but I did pray before we became members. I prayed that someday my husband and I would grow closer together. I never thought it would come to be, but the Church was my answer. We found the power of prayer. I’m so thankful for the Church.”

But how, you ask, do you get this glimpse of the future that helps you to hang on? Well, for me that is one of the great gifts of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. Is it not significant that early in his life Joseph Smith was taught this lesson three times in the same night and once again the next morning? Moroni, quoting the Lord verbatim as recorded by the prophet Joel, said: “I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions:
“And also upon the servants and upon the handmaids in those days will I pour out my spirit” (Joel 2:28–29).
Dreaming dreams and seeing visions. The Lord’s spirit upon all flesh—sons and daughters, old and young, servants and handmaidens. I may be wrong, but I can’t imagine an Old Testament verse of any kind that could have helped this boy prophet more. He was being called into the battle of his life, for life itself, or at least for its real meaning and purpose. He would be driven and hunted and hounded. His enemies would rail and ridicule. He would see his children die and his land lost and his marriage tremble. He would languish in prison through a Missouri winter, and he would cry out toward the vault of heaven, “O God, where art thou? … How long … O Lord, how long” (D&C 121:1–3). Finally he would walk the streets of his own city uncertain who, except for a precious few, were really friend or actually foe. And all that toil and trouble, pain and perspiration would end so maliciously at Carthage—when there simply were finally more foes than friends. Felled by balls fired from the door of the jail inside and one coming through the window from outside, he fell dead into the hands of his murderers at 38 years of age.
If all of this and so much more was to face the Prophet in such a troubled lifetime, and if he finally knew what fate awaited him in Carthage, as he surely did, why didn’t he just quit somewhere along the way? Who needs it? Who needs the abuse and the persecution and the despair and death? It doesn’t sound fun to me, so why not just zip shut the cover of your scriptures, hand in your Articles of Faith cards, and go home?
Why not? For the simple reason that he had dreamed dreams and seen visions. Through the blood and the toil and the tears and the sweat, he had seen the redemption of Israel. It was out there somewhere—dimly, distantly—but it was there. So he kept his shoulder to the wheel until God said his work was finished.

Illustration by Stephen Sitton
All through elementary school I did well in academics. But I can’t say the same about athletics. I didn’t feel coordinated or confident when it came to sports or games at recess. I was always picked last for the kickball team. By the time I was in junior high, I had convinced myself that I would never be good at anything remotely resembling a sport.
My family lived in a small town. There were about 30 girls in my grade. During our eighth grade year, at the end of each term, we were required to complete a series of fitness tests that included sit-ups, pull-ups, a flexibility test, and a mile-long timed run. I hated the run most of all. I always finished the required four laps around the track, but I was always one of the last to finish.
One of my close friends, Kathy, seemed to be my complete opposite when it came to athletics. She was a beautiful redhead who was flexible and physically coordinated. She loved to run and was always one of the top two or three who consistently finished the mile in around seven minutes.
On the day of the run, anxiety set in as it always did for me. As we jogged onto the grass area in the middle of the track, I confided in Kathy that I hated all things with the word “gym” or “physical” in them. But as we stretched before running, she kept giving me a pep talk. She told me she knew I could do it and do well. I’m sure she was hoping to make me feel better.
Our teacher divided us into two groups to ensure that she could record our times accurately. I was assigned to run in the first group, and Kathy was assigned to the second. The teacher got out her stopwatch and signaled for us to be ready.
“Four laps,” I thought to myself. “I just have to get through four laps.” I decided to run on the inside of the track, figuring that it was just a little less effort than running around the outside—and that maybe it would even help to lower the terrible time I knew I would get.
Right before we began, Kathy stepped up on the grass beside me. She again encouraged me and told me she believed in me. Then, as our group took off, Kathy took off with me. I couldn’t believe it! She ran along the grass right next to me and stayed with me for the entire four laps. All along the way she told me I was doing a great job. To my surprise, the four laps passed quickly.
With Kathy beside me, I finished my mile in 7 minutes and 18 seconds. Never before or since have I run a mile with a time like that! I was elated. I caught my breath and reveled in congratulations from my teacher and my friends.
Then the teacher called for the second group. It took me only a moment to remember that Kathy was in that group. She had just run a mile with me at a tiring speed. Now she had to run again. I don’t remember what her time was on her second mile that day, but I am certain her score was lower than usual because she had already spent the best of her energy helping me.
I remember that day as a turning point in my confidence when it came to athletics. I went on to spend two years on the dance team, play basketball and volleyball with the young women at Church tournaments, and earn my toe shoes in ballet.
Just before my junior year of high school, my family moved to another town about half an hour away. The following summer, one of my old friends called with the news that Kathy had been killed in a car accident. I was devastated. At her funeral, I reflected on my many memories of her. The memory that I hold most dear, however, is of the day when she ran the extra mile with me.
The Savior taught, “And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain” (Matthew 5:41). Kathy’s example reminds me to be aware of others and willingly serve them. When we do so, we truly follow the Savior’s admonition to go the extra mile.