Gospel Story Finder

On a typical shopping day, you might see Valerie and Julia’s mom in the grocery store, pushing a cart loaded with twenty loaves of bread or fourteen gallons of milk. But she’s not buying food for the next ward party—she’s just doing the usual shopping for her family!
There are twenty people in the Mackey family. Valerie and Julia (both 9) became sisters nearly five years ago when their parents married in the Arizona Temple. Valerie’s mom, Eileen, had six children, and Julia’s dad, Jim, had nine. Later, the family was blessed with three more boys—Jimmy (3), Adam (1 1/2), and newborn Samuel.
Needless to say, the Mackey household is a lively one. All the children live at home except Stacy, the oldest, who’s on a mission in Brazil. There’s always someone bringing friends home or running off to athletic practice, a job, or another activity. In spite of the different schedules, the family usually manages to eat dinner together. Every day Julia and Valerie set the long table with eighteen place settings, then clear it when dinner is through.
The two sisters love to do things together, like jump on one of the two trampolines in their backyard, and race through a field near their home. They also like to swing on their swing set and to ride their bikes. The warm Arizona weather lets them play outside almost all year round.
They share a room with Shirley (6) and Jimmy (3). Sometimes they curl up on the top bunk and read together. They like reading books from their school library, and they especially like it when Mom reads to them from a book of children’s Bible stories.
The busiest day of the week at the Mackey house is “Terrible Tuesday.” That’s when Julia and Valerie help fold and bag the newspapers their brothers deliver. It’s also when they take piano lessons, along with Jill (14), Joseph (14), Orrin (12), and Trevor (11). The two girls have been playing for nearly two years, and they like it.
“They practice every morning and don’t ever complain,” their mom says. Another thing they do each morning is read scriptures at 5:30 with the rest of the family—at least, with all those who can read.
Julia and Valerie aren’t just sisters—they’re good friends. At home they’re almost always together. “Their personalities blend well,” Mom says. Valerie is the more “motherly” of the two. She’s been changing diapers since she was four years old and likes to help take care of her little brothers. When she grows up, she’d like to take care of other people’s children as well. She also likes to sing, and she even makes up some of her own songs.
Julia is dramatic and full of energy. She has an excellent memory—Mom says she can hear a song once or twice and have it learned. She loves animals and likes to take care of Belle, the dog that she and Valerie own.
So what’s the best thing about having such a big family? Julia and Valerie’s sister Mandy (16), says, “You’re never alone.” There’s always someone around to tease, play basketball with, or just talk to. And the worst thing? “You’re never alone,” Mandy says with a laugh. After all, with five kids sharing one bedroom, four in another, four in another, and two in still another (Adam sleeps in Mom and Dad’s room), privacy is hard to find.
But Valerie and Julia wouldn’t have it any other way.

At one point, my normally resilient self was rocked with depression. While not as bad as many people experience, it occasionally left me in a dark place, curled up on the floor wondering how I would be able to go on. I struggled for quite a while, with no one knowing—just carrying on as so many do. As I pled with the Lord to know what to do to combat the continual flow of mud in my brain, the thought came: “Listen to the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ.” So, I started. Every moment that I was not actively using all of my brain for something constructive, I listened to the Book of Mormon. As I drove, cleaned, folded laundry, and waited in lines, I let the teachings of Jesus Christ wash over me. This continual flow of sand was sufficient to provide a break in the darkness so that I could then begin to work on the other types of sand I mentioned today.

“It’s not like we were on a date, Bishop,” said Paul. “We were just hanging out.” Fifteen-year-old Paul was trying to explain why he was having moral problems with a young lady whom he had never “dated.” When the bishop spoke with the young lady, she, like Paul, failed to grasp the seriousness of what they had done because, after all, they weren’t “dating.”
Young Latter-day Saints know the guidelines for dating. Most can recite them by memory: don’t date until age 16, date in groups, and only date those who share your same high standards. But more and more LDS teens aren’t dating in the traditional sense. Sure, they may attend a few proms or other formal dances at school, but most young people today prefer to just hang out. “We just get together at someone’s house,” one teenager explains, “and watch videos, play games, or talk. No one asks anyone. Word just spreads that we’re getting together and everyone comes.” Another said, “Sometimes we pile into cars and just drive around. It’s fun.”
Of course hanging out can be fun. It’s casual and informal. There’s no pressure, and it takes very little preparation. Most parents and Church leaders are happy to see young people gather with positive friends and stay in groups. Such activities can promote feelings of acceptance and inclusion that are necessary and good. However, the casualness and lack of accountability that accompany hanging out can sometimes open the door to problems and put young people in situations where their safety—both physical and spiritual—is in jeopardy.
As a bishop in a BYU student ward, I asked some of the young people I work with for their advice. Is it possible to hang in there with gospel standards and covenants while hanging out with friends? Here are their responses and suggestions:
Plan activities in advance. Josh Smith from San Antonio, Texas, says, “I know it takes a little effort, but it really is better if your friends know what they are going to do. Say, ‘Hey, we’re going to make some cookies and deliver them, or we’re going to play volleyball.’ Just so everyone isn’t sitting around saying, ‘So, what are we going to do now?’” Josh is right. It’s easy to go with the flow, but if we are not careful the flow usually takes us in only one direction—down. Dustin Coffman from Lake Charles, Louisiana, says, “Everyone finds it harder to resist inappropriate videos, music, and activities when such things are thrown at us at the last minute and we haven’t thought about what we could do instead.”

For example, as a young missionary in Brazil, I decided to learn to speak and read Portuguese 100 percent. Returning home from my mission, I didn’t think I would be using Portuguese again. But two years later I took the medical school entrance exam, and, lo and behold, my Portuguese was extremely helpful because Portuguese is a strongly influenced Latin-based language—as are many medical terms. Twenty years later I returned to São Paulo, Brazil, with my family as a mission president, and 35 years after that original decision, my wife and I returned to serve in the Area Presidency in the north of Brazil. Even today the joy of speaking another language without having to interpret word for word in my mind is a mystery and a blessing.

Twenty-five years ago I found myself in my first nursing course at St. Benedict’s Hospital in Ogden, Utah. My clinical instructor, Dr. Helen Farr, lined me and other students up against the wall to inspect our clean, white, crisp nursing uniforms early that first morning. With stethoscopes around our necks and confidence abounding, we were assigned our first patients. We could hardly wait to care for our patients—to do those skills that we had practiced so long and so hard in the nursing lab. We were excited to take our first blood pressure, give our first medication, and start our first IV.
I remember my first patient, a man in his fifties who had been diagnosed with bladder cancer—a terminal disease. I completed the technical skills with precision and, after giving what I thought was good care, walked out into the hallway to be met by Dr. Farr. She asked how I was doing. I reported all the tasks I had completed, including giving her a report of the patient’s current blood pressure and pulse.
With a worried look she asked me if I had taken the time to talk to the patient and really listen to understand his concerns and worries about his health problems. She told me to go back into the room and not come out until I had talked and then listened intently to my patient.
With my tail between my legs, I turned around and headed back into his room. I felt uncomfortable as I entered. I cannot remember what was said to break the tension, but I soon found out this patient’s physician had told him of his terminal condition that morning. The man shared with me his concern and his fears about the terminal diagnosis. How was he going to be able to talk about this to his wife? He told me he was scared of being in pain. He shared his concerns about leaving his wife and told me how important she had been to him. Tears came to his eyes as he spoke about how much he wanted to be with his children and grandchildren, to go fishing and camping with them. We spoke for a long time that day. At times no words were spoken, but communication occurred soul to soul.
Even though I felt I had been scolded by Dr. Farr that morning, I was taught an important and valuable lesson that day: to be still and listen. That lesson has helped me more throughout my nursing career than anything else I have learned since.

My mother passed away last November. For the last six years of her life she needed full time caregivers due to her cognitive decline. In her earlier years she was a middle school earth science teacher. It was hard to watch her struggle with memory loss and the inability sometimes to express herself or to even make simple daily living decisions. It was very hard for me, her daughter, to switch roles with her. It was hard for her too. I knew she was not going to get better. Sometimes our mortal bodies have done their work and they experience what they are meant to experience in mortality.

At my father's graveside service, six years before my mother's death, a friend brought about 20 homing pigeons whose wings had been dyed beautiful colors of the rainbow. They were released at the end of the service and we marveled at the beautiful ribbon of color they made as they flew in a beautiful pattern on their way home.

My mother remarked to me, "At my funeral, forget the flowers, I want those birds." So when it came time for my mother's graveside service we made arrangements for the birds. After the dedication of the grave, the birds were released. We watched them fly together against the dark green backdrop of the beautiful Koolau Mountains and then were shocked to see the birds form the shape of a heart. The funeral director was standing next to me and she said in a hushed voice, "Did you see that! The birds made a heart!" I wasn't quite sure I had seen it myself, but when she said that I knew that I had seen it. For me this was a message of renewal from my mother and my Heavenly Father. My mother was renewed. She was free.

The stranger had a bushy beard as red as his hair. It was Christmas Eve when he knocked on the door, asking for food. We had not been outside all day. For weeks it had snowed almost every day, soft fluffy feathers that were fun to play in. Now the snow was up to the top of the fence and piled in high drifts, and the wind howled and sang around the corners of the house and under the eaves. Papa said it was a blizzard.
Mama had spent the day making the special food we had only at Christmas, and for days before that, she’d baked bread of all kinds, Christmas bread frosted with white icing, filled bird-shaped rolls, and cookies by the dozen. We had no gaily trimmed tree or other holiday decorations at our house, nor presents waiting to be opened. But the spirit of Christmas was in the air.
Besides Mama and Papa, there were four of us children. We were on our best behavior at this time of year. There was no arguing about toys or books or crayons—who could be grumpy or cross at Christmastime? All that day we watched Mama at the stove, our mouths watering as she fixed Christmas dinner. Christmas Eve was our big feast; there would be no cooking on Christmas Day. That was OK—the cupboard was filled with good things to eat already made.
Best of all was the candy. Instead of only one or two pieces, we could have almost as much as we wanted. There were hard candy that you could suck on for a long time, sweet raspberry-filled candy, candy canes, and homemade chocolate-covered nuts and raisins. In the evening we cracked nuts while sitting by the glowing red heater as the wind howled and slapped snow against the windows.
Grandma and Grandpa were across the ocean in Poland, so there was just the family at Christmas. When the knock sounded on the door as Mama was putting the food on the table, it was a big surprise. Who could be out in such weather on Christmas Eve?
The redheaded stranger stood at the door, and we hid behind Mama’s skirts. He had tattered clothes, and his hands and face were red with cold. Papa asked him to come in quickly and shut the door so as not to let in the cold. The stranger’s coat was covered with snow, and bits of snow clung to his beard.
It was easy to see that he was hungry. Papa told him that we were just getting ready to sit down to eat dinner and that he was welcome to join us. Mama pushed the chairs closer together to make room for him. The stranger’s eyes were watery, like he was crying.
Papa said the blessing, and Mama passed the bowls of soup. We were extra quiet during dinner. Only Papa and the stranger talked, but not very much. The redheaded stranger was busy eating and hardly looked up from his plate.
As I watched him, I wondered why he was out in a blizzard. Didn’t he have a family or a warm house? He didn’t live here, I knew. We lived in a very small town, and everybody knew everyone else, and this fellow was a stranger, for sure.
Papa said we were having a depression. We didn’t understand much about it except that many people had no food and no job. Men wandered from town to town, looking for work, and many passed by our house. We lived between the railroad tracks and the highway, and in the summer we saw them walking by on the road. Some came asking for food, and Mama always gave them something, even if it was only a piece of bread and jelly. She made the best bread in the world, and the jam was from the chokecherries we picked in the summer. They were bitter to eat, but Mama made jelly from the berries, and on pancakes it was better than syrup.
Although he scared me with his red hair and beard, I felt sorry for the stranger. So did we all. Just looking at him made me want to cry. Mama always said we mustn’t stare at people, and I tried not to. It was hard to do.
Our Christmas Eve dinner was splendid, the best food I could think of. After the soup came the boiled wheat—red Durham, grown on the prairie farms around us. It was my favorite part of the dinner, but we could have only one small bowlful. Papa said it would grow inside us if we ate too much. I was pretty sure he was teasing, but I didn’t ask for more, just in case.
Then we had fish—a whole one Mama had baked with stuffing inside. It took a long time to eat because we had to be very careful not to swallow any bones. Next we had stuffed cabbage rolls and small boiled dumplings filled with mashed potatoes. And we had pickles and beets, which had been preserved right from Mama’s garden. For dessert there was Christmas bread as sweet and light as cake.
After dinner, while the redheaded stranger talked with Papa by the stove, we children helped Mama clear the table. I asked Mama where the stranger would go. I knew that he couldn’t stay here overnight. We had a very small house, and when we slept, every corner of it was full. Mama looked at me sadly and said she didn’t know.
I finished helping with the dishes and was going over to sit close to Papa, when the redheaded stranger got up to leave. Papa gave him a pair of mittens for his hands. The stranger said, “Thank you. God bless you. God bless all of you.” I think his eyes showed even more than his words how he felt. Then he left.
I was glad to see that the storm had let up. Only a few snowflakes continued to gently fall. I tried to see where he went, but the windows were covered with frost and I couldn’t. “Where will he go?” I asked Papa.
“He has a cousin who lives on a farm on the far side of the next town. He hopes his cousin will let him stay and work on the farm until times are better.” I hoped so too.
The next day, Christmas Day, was Sunday. The storm was over, and the sun was shining so bright that it hurt your eyes. The snow sparkled like diamonds and crunched under our feet as we walked to church. Looking at the Baby Jesus in the manger in the foyer, I whispered, “Happy Birthday, Jesus.” Then I prayed, “Heavenly Father, thank Thee for a wonderful dinner last night. Please help the redheaded stranger find his cousin and have a good home there. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

Elder Choules served in the Marine Corps during World War II. “When I returned from the service,” he said, “the bishop talked to me the first Sunday I went to church about going on a mission. As I thought about going on a mission, I thought that when I returned I might be too old to start college. As I look back on the day that I told the bishop that I would go, the things that motivated me the most were my father’s teaching and the fact that I had always planned on going on a mission.”

When I was a teenager, my six-week-old sister, Carol, had whooping cough. Those were the days before antibiotics. I was working then as a grease monkey, or mechanic, at a bus station. I can remember coming home one night after my shift, seeing the lights on in my home, and knowing that it was a bad sign.
As I walked into the house, I saw Carol lying on the dining room table. She was having difficulty breathing and was turning blue from lack of air. We quickly summoned a neighbor, who joined Dad in giving her a blessing. I thought she was going to die, but I watched her stay alive by the power of the priesthood as they got her to the hospital. She stayed there for two or three weeks, and I continued to see the Lord bless her and pull her through. That experience of seeing the priesthood in action impressed itself forever upon my mind.

Sarah sniffed deeply. There was a wonderfully warm and sweet smell on the air. “Come on, Daisy,” she called to her dog. “Let’s go for a walk and find where it’s coming from!”
TRAMP-TRAMP, up a hill they walked.
CLIP-CLOP, down a hill they ran.
They came to a field of flowers. SNIFF-SNIFF went Sarah’s nose. “That’s not what we’re looking for, Daisy,” she declared. “But let’s take some flowers home to Mom anyway.” Sarah picked a handful of flowers. Then she and Daisy started off again on the dusty road.
TRAMP-TRAMP, up a hill they walked.
CLIP-CLOP, down a hill they ran.
They stopped and Sarah climbed on a fence, smelling the air, SNIFF-SNIFF.
“That’s not it. I only smell oats!” she told Daisy.
CLIP-CLOP! Across the field trotted a fine big horse. “Hi, Princess,” called Sarah. Princess walked over to the fence. She sniffed the flowers in Sarah’s hand and took a nibble, then another nibble. CRUNCH, MUNCH, she ate them all up!
Sarah and Daisy walked some more. Soon they were walking between rows of cornstalks. SNIFF-SNIFF, Sarah smelled the air. SNIFF-SNIFF, Daisy did too.
“That’s not it either,” said Sarah. “All I can smell is corn.”
SWOOSH! A little brown bunny streaked across the road and into the cornfield.
WHOOSH! Daisy ran after the bunny. “Come back! Come back!” called Sarah.
Daisy finally ran back to Sarah and together they walked along the winding road.
TRAMP-TRAMP, up a hill they walked.
CLIP-CLOP, down a hill they ran.
Now they were in the middle of Dad’s peach orchard. SNIFF-SNIFF, Sarah smelled the air. “That’s not it,” she told Daisy. “But these peaches smell delicious. Let’s pick some to take home with us.”
Sarah picked a ripe, juicy peach from a low branch, SNAP! She put the peach in her pocket. Then SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! She picked three more peaches.
“I can still smell something wonderful,” she said to Daisy. “But I’m getting tired. Let’s just walk over one more little hill.”
So up a hill they walked, TRAMP-TRAMP.
Sarah stopped and sniffed the air. “The wonderful smell is coming from someplace very close to here,” she told Daisy. They looked down the hill and saw their house. Down the hill they ran, CLIP-CLOP.
The smell was getting stronger and stronger. They stood outside the kitchen window. Mother was working inside.
CLINK! went the mixing bowls.
CLANK! went the oven door.
Sarah and Daisy walked into the kitchen. The whole room was filled with the warm, sweet smell.
“Mmmm!” said Sarah, “Cookies! The wonderful smell is from the cookies Mom is baking.”
And with a CRUNCH and MUNCH, they each ate one.

During that time, I became friends with members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They invited me to activities, and I always tried to attend every chance I had.
One day at church choir practice, For the Strength of Youth pamphlets were being passed around, and my friend handed one to me. As I read its messages about strengthening my relationship with Jesus Christ, I felt a hunger for truth ignite in me.
I wanted to know more about Him and His gospel. My friend gave me a Book of Mormon and invited me to ask Heavenly Father if its teachings were true, so I accepted her invitation.
When I read 2 Nephi 27:23, I felt so much comfort: “For behold, I am God; and I am a God of miracles; and I will show unto the world that I am the same yesterday, today, and forever; and I work not among the children of men save it be according to their faith.”
This scripture showed me just how powerful having faith in Jesus Christ could be. I wanted to believe in Him again. As I finished the book, I felt the Spirit testify of the truthfulness that Jesus Christ lives and that the Book of Mormon is true. I got baptized soon after and started living very differently than my family.

When Todd was about 15 years old, his father, a veterinarian, took a new job in New Brunswick, New Jersey. At the time of the family’s move, Lindon, Utah, had very few people, so the transition to the more populated setting of New Jersey was a dramatic shift for the entire Christofferson family. Still, the next several years—full of new places, people, and opportunities—would be some of the most formative of Todd’s life.
The only Church member in his high school class, Todd enjoyed friendships and associations with people from a variety of cultural and religious backgrounds, something that would continue throughout his life. Todd discovered that many of his friends felt their beliefs as fervently as he felt his own, which caused him to think deeply and pray fervently about what he knew. “I began to see that the Church wasn’t just nice,” he says. “It was life-and-death important. I began to appreciate what I had.”

I am not very keen in statistics, but as far as I know, our Kolkata Branch of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is one of the smallest branches in India. Despite having few members, we always have high spirits—especially at Christmas when we celebrate the birth of our Savior.
This year, however, we were upset because no missionaries were assigned here in Kolkata, as we had hoped. It was November. We had been fasting and praying together. At last, we realized that maybe it was still not the time according to our Heavenly Father’s plan and decided to have the Christmas party on Sunday, 23 December. We had limited time and many things to arrange. We prayed and started making the arrangements together. We did the shopping, visited the restaurants, invited our friends and families, and decorated the church.
On the 23rd, we started with prayer and partaking of the sacrament followed by Christmas hymns and testimonies. After that, we had games and food. The day was filled with joy and happiness and many queries from friends about our Church. At the end of the day, though we were exhausted physically, our minds were overflowing with glorious warm feelings. I looked around and there was not a single disappointed face there. Every member seemed to be infused with new hope and courage. I quietly stood there as my mind was washed with the light of the new knowledge that we had been rewarded with many gifts on this celebration of our beloved Savior’s birth. The treasured blessings of joy turned into gratitude, happiness turned into hope, and smiles turned into courage.

Mapleton, Utah, where I grew up, was a little farming community. My father was not a farmer; he worked building highways. Our neighbor, Bishop Oscar Whiting, did have a farm, and because my father and mother wanted their children to learn the value of work, they said to him, “If you will put our sons to work on your farm, we will pay you to pay them.”
Our good bishop said, “No, it isn’t necessary for you to pay us; but we’ll put them to work, and we’ll pay them.” So as a boy, from as early as I can remember (I was about seven or eight years old then), I learned to work.
In the summertime we harvested the hay on the Whitings’ farm. Tractors were just coming out then, but the Whitings couldn’t afford one, so they used wagons pulled by horses to do the farm work. My first job, at 15 cents an hour, was to stomp around on top of a load of hay in the wagon (we called it “tromping hay”) to settle it so that it wouldn’t fall out when we took it from the field to the barn, and so that more could be loaded onto the wagon.
Primary was held during the week in those days, and every Monday at three o’clock in the afternoon, Bishop Whiting would say, “Jay, your work is finished for the day; off to Primary.”
In those days, too, the Church did not have a family home evening program like we have today, but my family did have family nights. One of my fondest memories is of sitting on Dad’s lap during family night as he read us stories from the Book of Mormon. It was the beginning of my testimony of the Book of Mormon, and my love for my father and mother grew as well.
After we spent this time together, we played games like Hide the Thimble, and Button, Button, Who’s Got the Button. We played basketball, too. In the winter, when it was too cold to play outside, we’d bend a metal coat hanger into a circle and wedge it above a door. As a ball, we’d use some wadded up stockings. Of course, we couldn’t dribble the ball, but we could shoot it at the hanger-basket, and we could pass it to each other. We loved playing together.
The fifth article of faith had a special meaning to me as a boy, not because it was preached to me, but because our family lived its principles. It says, “We believe that a man must be called of God, by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority, to preach the Gospel and administer in the ordinances thereof.” Mother and Father were loyal to, supported, and loved their leaders. When priesthood leaders asked us to serve, we did, believing that the calls came through them from God.
I remember my missionary farewell. Being the proud young man that I was, when it was Dad’s turn to speak, I thought that he was going to say something about me—what a good missionary I’d be, what a good boy I’d been. But Dad did not say one thing about me. He stood at the pulpit and gave one of the strongest, most powerful testimonies about tithing that I have ever heard. It wasn’t until about halfway through my mission, as I was thinking about his talk, that it dawned on me: Dad had been trying to tell me, “I don’t know how we’re going to support you, Jay, because I don’t have work some seasons of the year. But I have faith that if we pay our tithing, we’ll be able to do it.” And they did. Our priesthood leaders have told us to pay our tithing and to do missionary work, and if we faithfully follow their counsel, we will be blessed.
I encourage each of you children to join your family in family prayer, to join your family in scripture study, to join your family in going to church. I don’t think that anything had a greater impact on me as I was growing up than doing these three things. Just as they strengthened me, they can strengthen you spiritually and help you make important decisions throughout your life.

Some time ago a young girl came into my office. There was anger in her voice and hurt in her eyes. She came to tell me all the things she didn’t like about her mom. I listened and listened until she got it all out. It was a long list. There was silence. Then I asked, “Is there anything good about your mom?” I waited. I think she had refused to let her mind think in that direction until that moment. I asked, “Amy, how do you feel about your mom?”
She raised her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “She is my mom; I love her.”
She had discovered love. Now, there is no magic formula. She still had to go home and work it out day by day, but she let go of the strife in her heart and she wanted to strive together with her mom. And that’s exactly what her mom had been praying for. Miracles can happen when we decide to work together. In Amy’s case, something of a miracle did happen.

Karen Reynolds does have pioneer ancestors—who settled in Utah and in the colonies of Mexico. “I can remember having Pioneer Day celebrations on July 24, followed by pageants about the journey to Mexico. We recounted the early years there, complete with stories of living in caves dug into the river bank,” she recalls. “But I never knew how much I would benefit from the skills my parents taught me—how to work, how to preserve fruit, how to bake bread, how to sew, how to make do with what you have,” she says.

Recently, Karen’s husband had to give up a job with a good salary so they would be able to relocate and help with a family farm because of her father-in-law’s illness. “We don’t regret our choice, but our pioneering skills have really been put to the test,” she says. “Careful budgeting and wise buying have been an absolute necessity for us, not just an experiment in following a Relief Society lesson on provident living.”

“Making do” is not the only thing Karen has learned from those nineteenth-century pioneers. Last year, she and her husband lost a baby. “I thought my heart would break when we laid him in that cold grave,” she recalls. Days later, confined to bed because of medical problems, Karen was still grieving. A ward member brought her a stack of books—including one of pioneer stories. “As I read through that book, I was reminded how many of those women had left their little ones in shallow graves by the trail. My baby has a coffin and a marker, and I can visit the spot. It wasn’t easy, but I started to count my blessings. They went forward in faith, and I can, too.”

It had been a rough freshman year of high school. Jenica B., 17, of Illinois, USA, had ballet training, demanding high school courses, and Church and family responsibilities that were all competing for her attention. She was running on four to five hours of sleep, and it was exhausting. Jenica and her parents all knew something needed to change.

“I would love to have a professional career in ballet,” Jenica says, “but ballet, as many dancers know, is a very fragile world, and it’s very difficult.”

Jenica wanted to keep training her hardest, but she also knew she wanted to make her education a priority. “We’d heard of other dancers who had done online school,” she says. “I knew that we had to find a program that would be perfect for me.”

So her mom found an accredited online school program that would allow Jenica to participate in extracurricular activities, and prepare for college while maintaining a rigorous ballet training schedule. And she’d have time for homework, scripture study, and rest. They jumped on the opportunity.

“That was truly a blessing,” Jenica explained. “That was when I started training [in ballet] in Chicago, and I was still able to attend seminary. And I got so much more time to be with my dad because he also works in the city. I was even blessed with incredible opportunities to share the gospel with friends who were curious. It was a really good experience.”

Jenica and her dad spend time together traveling to the city, sometimes even eating dinner together there.

Some of Jenica’s opportunities to share the gospel have come when dancing has taken her away from home. She has found ways to maintain her standards and even to share her beliefs with friends. One summer, she was able to attend summer ballet trainings in both Arizona and New York City. While in New York City, she posted a picture of the Manhattan New York Temple on social media. She also likes to post dance images on social media with an inspiring quote from a Church leader or an uplifting thought.

“We can all use social media to spread the gospel,” she says. “It doesn’t have to be a big post about everything. It can just be a simple something that sparks interest or hope in somebody.” In the end, she says, “other people will be grateful for our courage to share in such a public space.”

Sharing with her friends and maintaining those friendships has helped Jenica to maintain her standards as well. “They’re very respectful of my beliefs,” she says, “and I’m grateful for that, because it makes it easier for me to live them.”

Even with Jenica’s new schedule and new opportunities, balancing all of her responsibilities isn’t easy. She attends early-morning seminary, catches some time with her dad on the train into Chicago, trains in ballet for the day, and then focuses on homework, scripture reading, and Church activities in the evening.

Attending early-morning seminary is important to Jenica, and her new schedule makes it possible.

So how does she do all of it? “It’s very difficult,” Jenica says. But through all of her scheduling and organizing, she asks a simple question: “What do I want most at the end of the day? Because at the end of the day I want to be the best at ballet that I can be but also maintain my schoolwork and be able and prepared to go to college when the time comes, and so it’s a sacrifice now.”

Photograph courtesy of Jenica B.
She adds, “I had a ballet teacher who stressed that we need to put God and our families and our education first and then ballet, because ordering our priorities that way truly helps us focus on what is most important in this life. Having incredible examples like my ballet teacher and the people who guide the Church has helped me understand how to make this happen.”

Jenica enjoys talking with her friends about anything, including the gospel.

One thing Jenica has decided to keep high on her list of priorities is keeping her standards. Fortunately, most studios she has worked with have asked ballet students to maintain modest dress standards, making it easier for Jenica to uphold her own standards. But outside the studio, she says people notice a difference in what she wears.

“My friends do ask, and I’ve told them what the Church standards are that I hold, and they definitely think that it’s interesting, but they see where I’m coming from and where my beliefs are coming from so it tends not to be a problem.”

Jenica’s friends are very supportive when she talks about her standards.

And people notice differences besides the clothing Jenica chooses to wear.

“People have definitely mentioned to me how they know people in the Church and they’re just very happy—they live happy lives—and they notice the light that we share even if we don’t think that other people are watching. They notice differences. They notice when we choose to not use certain language. They notice when we choose not to use things that would be harmful to us, and for the most part they definitely value our strength to stand for what we believe in.”

Jenica has also found many opportunities to make service a priority in her busy schedule. For her online school’s National Honor Society program, she worked at the bishop’s storehouse and with an international organization to earn service hours. And when she was working toward earning her Young Women Honor Bee, she found a way to incorporate her passion for dancing in her community efforts. She started volunteering for two hours on Saturdays to teach ballet to inner-city children.

“I’ve come to realize my passion for service,” she says. “I love feeling like I can make a difference in the world. Even here in Illinois, when I assemble food packs, I can help someone all the way across the globe—and with my own hands. And it helps me realize—even though I don’t know them—the love that God has for His children.”

Jenica loves having time to enjoy things like ice cream and games with her family.

Through all of her experiences in dancing, finding service opportunities, sharing the gospel, and organizing her responsibilities, Jenica has found a great appreciation for the things that matter most in life.

“There are things that we value in life and that we want to pursue, and I know that Heavenly Father will provide a way for us to do that if we continue to keep our faith in Him,” she says. “Sometimes we can lose our sight on what’s truly important and we lose sight of how much He has helped us in these things that we’ve been trying to achieve.” Jenica says she’s learned that “some things don’t go the way that we planned, but no matter how difficult it is, He has a plan for each and every one of us and if we truly pray and ask Him for help, He will provide a way for us to achieve what we want to if it’s in His plan for us. And we just have to wait and be ready to accept what He wants us to do.”

A story from the National Baseball Hall of Fame may illustrate how a clearer vision gives us an edge in the fight for right. A generation ago, Ted Williams was a household name in America. The veteran slugger for the Boston Red Sox proved his talent, integrity, and commitment year after year. In 1941, after only three years in the majors, Ted was hitting an incredible .39955 entering the last day of the season. Few hitters have ever come near to batting .400 in a season. Ted’s manager, the legendary Joe Cronin, offered to bench him for the last day of the season so that his average would round up to .400, knowing that if he had a bad day he would miss the mark altogether.
Not a chance, Ted replied. If he couldn’t hit .400 all the way, he said he didn’t deserve it. So he played.
Williams got six hits in eight times at bat during a doubleheader on that last day and ended the season with a .406 batting average. That record still stands. During a career that spanned 22 years, interrupted by 5 years of service as a military pilot in two wars, Ted averaged .344 at bat and hit 521 home runs. Even in his last season, at the age of 42, Ted hit .316, an exceptional average for most baseball players.
Ted Williams’s secret was his keen eyesight. After the pitcher threw the ball, Ted could see the stitching on the ball and could tell by the direction the ball was spinning whether it was a curve, slider, knuckleball, or fastball.
Do not suppose that Ted Williams relied upon his exceptional vision alone. He was known as the hardest worker in the major leagues. He combined personal integrity and tireless preparation with his love of the game to become one of the greatest players ever.

“You both know Elder Kempter, don’t you?” I asked. “I received a letter from him awhile back, and among other things he said, ‘Boy, have I got a story for you.’ It went something like this:
“‘Last night after holding a family home evening, we were getting ready to leave when this one girl came out to the truck and asked me if I wanted a goat. I told her it was probably too small to eat and I didn’t have any place to keep it. Now, I don’t know if you are aware of what that means, but afterwards I found out. It is a way of proposing marriage! I about fell over when I found that out—but not to worry, President, there is no attraction on this end!’
“Do you see what I mean about high adventure? Be careful about accepting goats!

When it came time for my mission I had my father give me a priesthood blessing. Before the blessing, he asked if there was anything in particular I was worried about. I told him I was a little concerned that if I didn’t have much chance to play the piano and write, and all the other things I enjoyed doing, when I came home I would be too rusty. Considering I hoped to make my living doing some of these things, my ability to do them was of major concern to me.
My father gave me a wonderful blessing. In the blessing I was told that while it’s true we need to exercise our talents or lose them, that rule doesn’t apply to missionaries; if I served faithfully, even if I never used my talents once in those two years, when I came home my abilities wouldn’t have diminished but would have increased. What a promise.