Gospel Story Finder

But as they say, never say never—especially when the Lord has work for you to do. Twenty-five years later I retired after an enriching career with a large global tech company. Another company recruited me to Arizona, where Dana and I began to build our retirement home. Everything was falling into place as we worked through the transition. But for some reason the Lord had something else in mind for me.

Our family had been in Arizona for just over a year, and something about our “perfect” plan felt off. That year I also was diagnosed with cancer. Reflecting on that time, I see the Lord was preparing me for a significant change in the direction of my life. As I was going through this challenging period, I met a friend of my mother-in-law who had worked at the University of Arizona. She asked if I had ever considered working in higher education. That idea had never crossed my mind, but I felt prompted to explore job opportunities at BYU and found an exciting position in the BYU Marriott School of Business. I was still recovering from cancer surgery but felt directed to travel to Provo and meet with Dean Lee T. Perry in person. As soon as I met with Lee, I knew I needed to be at BYU. Fortunately, he felt the same and took a chance on me. Lee was another special person who the Lord put in my life to help me return to BYU.

It was not the first time I had met Lee. I had had the opportunity to take a class from then-Professor Perry as an undergraduate student. He was a new, young faculty member at BYU and brought great energy and passion to his class. Who would have known that this inspiring young professor would one day play a significant role in my life? Lee ended up being a great mentor to me as I began this new second career that offered me an opportunity to give back and to learn the important role BYU plays in developing disciples of Jesus Christ.

It was a major transition to BYU after years at a big corporation where the primary focus was driving business results; the pace and purpose were very different. Starting meetings with prayer, openly bearing testimony, and discussing the gospel while at work was unique, exciting, and refreshing. Over the past 12 years, I have also cherished the opportunity to mentor and work with amazing young people, watching them grow and develop.

With perspective I lacked as a young person, I now understand that the Lord led me back to BYU not only to recognize the important role of this sacred university but also to assist in the great work of developing disciples of Jesus Christ.

Paul, 11, was exhausted. He was almost too tired to look up from the river in which he was wading to the cliffs that surrounded him.
The red sandstone walls loomed high over the riverbed, spanning it like a pair of giant legs, 2,400 feet straight up, or twice the height of the Empire State Building. They seemed so close to each other that Paul felt like Jason about to steer the Argonauts between the monolithic Cyanean rocks, which crashed together and squashed ships that dared to pass through.
Moving his 80 pounds against the swift current while he looked, Paul suddenly slipped, but an older, bony hand grabbed his and held him up.
“Once when I was walking through here with some other fellows, I fell right in,” Paul’s 74-year-old grandfather, Otto Fife, said to him. “That was the first time I knew you could hear sounds underwater; I could hear all the other birds laughing at me!”
Paul giggled, and the two continued to ford the Virgin River, now hand-in-hand.
It was one of many experiences during an exhilarating two-day hike through the Narrows of Zion National Park in southwestern Utah. The trip, a family get-together in one of nature’s most supreme wonders, was one that Otto and his seven grandchildren would always remember.
For Otto, too, it was historic.
Years ago, when only a few men had tried the tramp through the huge, long defile in the Markagunt Plateau known as the Zion Narrows, he had ventured down its course. It had a lure that pulled him into its depths as surely as a cactus plant sucks up moisture in desert sand. “There’s something about the Narrows I can’t get away from,” Otto tells his grandchildren. He has hiked the Alps, the Matterhorn, the Sierra Nevadas, across the Grand Canyon, and “all over America,” but nothing compares to Zion Canyon, with its awe-inspiring combination of narrowness and depth.
Otto has hiked it 49 times—far more than any other man—and planned his 50th trip as a gala event. He invited his two daughters’ families to join him. From Beaverton, Oregon, came his son-in-law, Don Woodlief, and the Woodlief children—Donna, 15; Bruce, 13; and Graydon, 12. The Jones family arrived from Tustin, California, including Nadine, 22; Chris, 18; Richard, 14; and Paul. Only Nadine and Chris had been through the Narrows before.
On a sunny Saturday morning, early, Otto and 16 others met on a private ranch at the top of the Virgin River’s North Fork to begin the rugged, 15-mile hike. Grassy meadows and sandy flats greeted the adventurers’ first steps as they followed the meandering stream.
Paul announced enthusiastically that he would carry anyone’s pack if they got tired, but he soon relinquished his own load to his father.
The panoramic backdrop that unfolded as Otto’s companions on his 50th trip rounded the first of a thousand bends and twists in the river was stunning. “It is impossible to describe adequately the grandeur,” wrote Grove K. Gilbert in his 1873 diary of the first recorded trek down the Narrows.
Only ten years before, young Joseph Black, a Mormon pioneer, had sung the canyon’s poetic beauty from its clifftops and been laughed at by his friends. They called the place, deridingly, “Joseph’s Glory,” just as those who heard John Colter’s eulogy of Yellowstone named that park “Colter’s Hell.”
Nadine, a self-described artist, was awed by Joseph’s rainbow canyon of color through which she was walking—even though she’d been through it before. “I wonder if it could be painted,” she paused once and mused.
Not even Van Gogh, though, might have attempted to capture Zion’s picture … of brilliant-colored rocks in shades of chocolate, vermilion, lilac, maroon, blue and yellow … of white alpine fir trees, maple hardwood, ponderosa pines, or golf-course green Aspen trees, shimmering in the breeze … of the canyon’s traffic: wrens, chattering squirrels, orange and black butterflies, and water ouzels …
“Gosh!” That’s all 12-year-old Graydon could say about it, and maybe that said it all.
After about two hours out, the whole group halted in a grove of pines as the younger members began calling for lunch. The perspiring hikers made a rite of the midday meal—salami, oranges, crackers, fruit punch, and sandwiches of all sizes and fillings. Richard finished early and poked his walking stick in the riverbank mud. “Anyone for golf?” he shouted, as he took a swing at the water and doused Donna. She hastened back to the safety of more peaceful picnickers, and Richard went off by himself to drill in the mud for oil.
“How many more miles do we have to go?” Paul asked, a little tuckered-out.
Grandfather Fife looked at him, and winked. “About 100 miles!”
With a second wind, the group pushed out again, this time wading in the water. Marching through the Narrows is one excursion where everybody gets their feet wet. There’s no way to avoid baptizing those walking appendages—eventually. In places the water is knee-high, and waist-high in others. To wee-er ones, that translates to neck-high, and a little swimming or piggyback is required.
Once, when Otto was leading a San Fernando, California, LDS Boy Scout Troop, he gave a small, laughed-at lad the important task of notching his stick with a nail each time they crossed the river. Faithful to the task, the boy scratched 252 marks on the stick by the trip’s end. (Brother Fife, now choir president of the Cedar City [Utah] 5th Ward, has led 1,060 LDS Scouts through the Narrows in all.)
“My feet feel like squeegees,” Paul piped, as he sloshed along a riverbank and up on a little pine-cone strewn plateau.
Many obstacles appeared before the hikers along the path—upturned redwood trees spanning the canyon and huge, wedgelike rocks, some so square they looked like massive beef bullion cubes. Potholes and brief caves offered extra enticement to those with spunk and spirit. Bruce was off into a series of caves that burrowed through one sandstone wall like an anthill before anyone could call him back.
About mid-afternoon the 17 hikers found an obstacle that stymied them—a 20-foot rocky waterfall. When it appeared there was no other way down, Otto asked for a volunteer, while veteran Nadine quietly smiled over this trick she’d seen on her last Narrows trek. Graydon stepped forward and, imitating the beginning of a leap, was held back by the all-knowing Otto: “There’s another way.”
He took the group through some trees and bushes on the left bank to a small crack in the rock, barely three feet wide. As they descended the hidden, natural cleft staircase, Otto was laughing with his arm around Graydon. “I did have to jump that the first time I went through,” he explained. “But the next trip I saw deer tracks leading up here. I followed them, and found this crevice.”
By this time it was late afternoon, and the distance between the weary hikers, whose packs had grown heavier and heavier, began to widen. Bruce, deacon’s quorum president in his home ward, surged in the lead. “This is what they mean by getting away from it all,” he told Richard, when the hikers reassembled. “I like to be where no one else is—to see everything before everyone else.”
The hikers had gathered at the Y-shaped confluence of the North Fork and Deep Creek—known locally as Crystal Creek because of its sparkling-clear water, as compared to the muddy Virgin. The area was a natural, red-and-white temple set off by emerald-green cottonwood and the bright, yellow beams of the sun, which were slanting on the tall walls. From this waterstop on, it was a race to the campsite for the night. Caution was always required, as the marchers felt around on the riverbottom with their walking staffs for safe footing or took care to avoid soggy sand along the bank.
At one point, Graydon and Donna, who had been bringing up the rear with their father, stepped into some quicksand—more accurately, water-saturated sand. Graydon quickly leaped free, but Donna struggled too hard and was soon in the bog up to her waist. Graydon and his father couldn’t pull her out, and the others were too far ahead. But Chris Jones, who had arrived later in the day and started the hike with a friend, caught up to them from behind like the Cavalry. Between the four men, a branch, and stepping stones that kept sinking in the mud, she was extricated, a little shaken after the half-hour ordeal. “Guess I don’t have to find those scissors to cut your legs off,” Chris laughed, trying to cheer her up.
Fires were lit and sleeping bags set up at the Grotto, a sandy, flat alcove in the canyon wall. Boots and sneakers were propped up on sticks next to the fires, wet clothes tossed over tree branches, and some of the cousins took off to find some drinking water—after a change into dryer clothes.
Following a meal of hot dogs roasted over the flames, the group sat on logs and viewed the hasty Zion Canyon sunset, too tired to move. Walls turned the shades of sunset, becoming ghostly cliffs of greenish-white sandstone as the moon shone on them, “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.” Thoughts like the 19th psalm came easily there.
Donna was whispering to her cousin, “It’s so beautiful, all of it. It makes me appreciate what God has given us.”
A spoonful of fruit cocktail in his mouth, Otto overheard.
Women had spoken this way in this place before. An adventurous group of University of Utah coeds in 1920 had made international headlines by exploring the entire Zion Park in pants-and-boots fashion. One of their group had noted in her diary: “Zion Park is a beautiful world of its own, a good world. For when one looks upon the gigantic grandeur of it all, it makes one wonder if anything vile or criminal could ever happen in its surroundings. One can only think beautiful thoughts amid such splendor.”
None of these latter-day adventurers could disagree as they bedded down for the night, tucked in by the rush of the river, the whispering leaves. A blaze of stars shining down into the canyon insured peaceful dreams.
Richard was the fastest riser the next day. Others tumbled out, sleepily, behind him.
None but Otto seemed to look forward to a plunge in the cold stream again, since sunrise doesn’t warm the Virgin River until after 10 A.M. when the sun is more directly overhead and can get into the canyon. Breakfast quickly vanished, though, and packs were donned to begin the tramp again, this time more quietly.
The Narrows hike can be made in a day—only weeks before, Otto had done just that. But it’s an arduous hike and should be taken slowly, unless expediency requires it. One early pioneer reported that he was out of the canyon by sunset “after spotting fresh cougar and bear tracks along the way. I didn’t want any of them critters for sleeping companions.”
It wasn’t long before the hikers entered one of several sets of Narrows. The defile was more than 2,000 feet high and demanded the walkers stare up at the faraway clifftops nearly straight above the base of the river. “To all the aches and pains that must be endured on this walk, you have to add a kinked neck from looking up,” Otto said.
At one spot, Otto encouraged his family to toss rocks into a pothole scooped out of the sheer wall, about 12 feet above and across the river. Only a few could keep the stones inside the hole. That accomplished, they continued to amble along the winding walls that are the hallmark of the park—and as impressive as vaulted Medieval cathedrals like London’s Westminster Abbey.
When the dark, narrow canyon opened out again, Otto’s family was again stunned by an array of colors and sheer beauty that make even adjectives about it sit up and take notice. Even though Otto has been through the Narrows far more than any other person in the world, it is always new to him, he said. “It always surprises me. Something different about it every time.”
The real Narrows were reached by noon. Because of potential flash floods, those who attempt these must check weather reports and go after the cloudburst season is over, in September or October. Inside the Narrows, which extend several hundred winding yards, the tall walls stand shoulder to shoulder. In places they are only 20 feet apart and give an Alice-in-Wonderland sensation—something like a flea would feel on the scrimmage line between the Dallas Cowboys and the Washington Redskins.
Paul clasped his grandfather’s reassuring hand tighter as the group unconsciously sped faster into the dim and echoing corridor.
Throughout the Narrows, it was wall-to-wall water they hiked in, except for a few gravel beds. The powerful Virgin River has alone cut this deep, knife-gash gorge into the park. For ages the grit-bearing water has eaten its way like acid through the sandstone. Even now it carries out millions of tons of silt a year, at the rate of 80 railroad boxcar-loads a day.
Once past the Narrows, the family who came on Otto’s Golden Anniversary trek began to meet packless hikers walking upstream on short outings. Yet even toward the end of this trip, Otto’s grandchildren still saw sights that were new. They saw the “hanging gardens” of Zion—bright, green moss growing out of the water seepage that wetted and blackened the river’s awesome perpendicular partitions.
A closer look revealed Rhysa Zionis, little pinhead-size, freshwater snails, peculiar to this canyon only, that cling to their vertical homes and look like so many black dots.
As they sloshed out of the water for the last time at the beginning of a paved tourist trail leading to the parking lot (CARS! No more walking!), the hikers heaved their soggy packs onto the wet sand. Both mothers were there to meet, and hail, their hardy children, soon to whisk them back to comfortable homes and beds in California and Oregon.
Otto set his pack down somewhat reluctantly.
He wondered if his tired grandchildren had learned what there was to learn in this land of Zion he could not leave. Like Antaeus, the mythological giant who drew his strength by touching the earth, Otto somehow pulls philosophy and poetry from that canyon.
Had they understood what one pioneer felt in his very veins? He was a Mormon who had written about his turn-of-the-century trek:
“I was now thankful for every condition which had combined to bring me into this mighty thought-inspiring solitude, this place called Zion, where the stars shine by day and brighter by night. Where earthly achievements and thoughtless, indefinite desires appear as things not worth while, if they are to be charged to our eternal account; where simple, silent thought comes to be regarded as the highest and most perfect expression of prayer; where man learns to fear God, to pray to God, to rely on God. Where man can stand without the support of his fellow men when he feels that he is right; where hope and faith in the universal scheme of things is inspired; where man is made to feel that if he is anything, he is the humble servant of God.”
Perhaps it was too much to understand, Otto thought, and said his goodbyes. But in later letters came the verdict: “When can we go back again? When can we?”
“Zion Canyon is a great symphony I want to hear over and over again,” Otto had said. “When I can’t go down it anymore, I’d better be six feet underground!”
And the family was with him.

Our third part of the formula is: Fill your heart with love. I remember watching on television a very exciting baseball game between evenly matched teams. One of the teams had one of the greatest home-run hitters of all time. After the game a reporter interviewed him. He didn’t talk too much about home runs or runs batted in. He talked about his father. The ball player was Hank Aaron. He did not have very much of this world’s goods when he was a young boy, but he loved baseball. It consumed his life. He said that he and his father used to sit in an old, abandoned car that was in the rear of their lot and talk for hour after hour.

One day Hank said to his dad, “I’m going to quit school, Dad. I’m going to go to work so I can play baseball.”

And Herbert Aaron said to his son, “My boy, I quit school because I had to, but you’re not going to quit school. Every morning of your young life I’ve put 50 cents on the table, that you might buy your lunch that day. And I take 25 cents with me, that I might buy my lunch. Your education means more to me than my lunch. I want you to have what I never had.”

Hank Aaron said that every time he thought about that 50-cent piece that his father put on the table every day, he thought how much that 50 cents meant to his father. It conveyed to him how much his schooling meant to his father. Hank Aaron said, “I never had too much difficulty staying in school when I reflected upon the love my father had for me. As a result of reflecting upon the love of my father, I obtained my schooling and played a lot of baseball.”

That was putting it mildly from the greatest home-run threat that ever stepped up to a baseball diamond—Henry Aaron.

“I love to write about the things I love. One night I wrote about my horse, Missy. I had been having a hard time keeping her in the pen. The dogs were barking, so I went out to check on Missy, and she was out. It was a beautiful night with lots of stars. I could see her clearly, and she stood quietly while I put the halter on. I started to cry, I was so disappointed. It was like I was seeing how my parents feel when I disobey. I just hurt inside because I don’t like to tie her up. I explained that to her, and I felt she understood me and was sad that she had disobeyed. I forgave her and told her how much I love her. I know that my Father in Heaven loves and cares about me and how I feel. I am grateful to have Missy to help me learn the things I need to learn in life. I am grateful Heavenly Father has given me the family that he has and am grateful for each one of them and all they have done for me.”
Camille KenisonNephi Utah Stake

When Ivanessa Romero, 15, found herself starting to follow the example of friends in using bad language, she knew she needed to change. One day she told them, “From now on, whenever anybody says a bad word, I’m going to charge a penny.” After a few days, she had collected four dollars! Her friends said, “Iva is going to be a millionaire!” Using For the Strength of Youth, Ivanessa encouraged her friends to clean up their language. “They’re making progress,” she says. In the meantime, she learned something about example. “I realized my friends are looking for the light. Every little thing we say or do is an influence on others.”

David recalls his father’s willingness to sacrifice for his children. Once Jeffrey Holland took several days out of his BYU schedule for a one-on-one trip to southern Utah with his younger son. Later, when the family prepared to move after Elder Holland was called as a General Authority, he drove an hour out of his way each day for nearly two months to take David to football practices at his new high school.

One mother reinforced these points in a family home evening lesson. She began by showing a picture of the Salt Lake Temple and one of a gambling casino. The family discussed how architects strive to harmonize form and function as they design buildings. They noticed how the towering spires of the Salt Lake Temple lead the eye upward toward the heavens, inviting reverence and awe. “I explained that the temple’s outer dignity and grandeur accurately reflect the sacred purpose of the building—to lead us toward God,” the mother says.

Then the family discussed how the casino’s exterior reflects the purpose of that building. “We could see how the gaudiness of that building indicates excess. It beckons people to seek worldly pleasures,” this mother continues. The family talked about how building materials, colors, and design all contribute to the overall purpose of a building.

“When I held up pictures of a person in modest clothing and one in immodest clothing, our children immediately made the connection that clothing can reflect the purpose of a person,” she explains. The family could see that immodest clothing draws attention to the body of the person wearing it. They could also see that modest clothing allows the spirit of the person wearing it to radiate. “We ended by discussing how the way we dress can either contribute to or detract from our divine purpose as children of God,” she concludes. “I challenged our family to make sure that the way we dress accurately reflects who we really are and what we are about.”

I have been speaking of institutional frontiers. Of course, there are also personal, spiritual frontiers for each of us individually. I remember a time when Sister Gilbert and I were living in Boston and President Hinckley extended a challenge to the whole Church to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year.[7] Sister Gilbert and I had already been searching for direction in several career choices, and we took this invitation as a gift to go further in our own efforts to be close to the Spirit. It was during this very season that we received an unplanned call from Elder Kim B. Clark to consider coming to BYU-Idaho. In hindsight, Christine and I believe we were ready for such an invitation because we were searching for the frontier in our own lives. Each of you will have opportunities to go to your own spiritual frontiers. Remember, the Lord's pioneers go to the frontier. They are not satisfied to stay where they are or to stay who they are. The Lord's pioneers change, they repent, and they go to the hard places the Lord needs them to go.

I enjoyed the article “We Are His Hands” in the July 2010 New Era. In October 2005 I arrived in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, as a humanitarian missionary. One of my assignments was to take the Cambodian LDS Young Adults into the provinces to poor or remote government schools and put on a puppet show to teach the children how to stay well through good hygiene—clean water, clean hands, and clean food. I realized on our first outing that I would have the privilege of seeing what so many thousands of people Churchwide have never seen—the recipients of the hygiene kits, which were distributed at the end of the puppet show.
At one location I noticed that almost all of the children had something in their hands, around their necks, or even on their heads. I asked what they were, and was told, “Those are the hand towels in your church’s hygiene kits.” The kits had been distributed two months earlier. Almost every child there had their towel and used it much like you would a “blankie” or a comforter. It was also used to shield them from the hot sun. I wanted to cry with joy when I understood their appreciation and love for that which was given to them by His helping hands around the world.

The day after returning from his mission, Ben Jansen remembered a promise made to his last companion. Rummaging through his wallet, he found the scribbled number and dialed.
“Hello, is this Sue Hopkins?” he asked after she answered.
“This is Susan Hopkins.”
“I’m Ben Jansen.”
After a long pause, she asked, “Should that be important to me?”
“Until yesterday I was Elder Wallace’s companion.”
“You were David’s companion?” she squealed with delight. “How is he?”
“Just fine. He asked me to call and say hello, except he said your name was Sue.”
“Since he’s been gone, I’ve decided I like Susan better. How long were you with him?”
“Six months four days and eight and a half hours.”
“So you must have gotten really close to him.”
“Oh yes, he was a wonderful companion. So neat and clean. We painted the kitchen four times while I was with him—couldn’t get the right shade at first.”
“Did he tell you about me?” she asked.
“You like catsup on your scrambled egg sandwiches.”
“He told you that?” she asked.
“We were discussing odd eating habits. He couldn’t understand the way I ate.”
“Oh,” she said politely. “Why? Do you eat funny?”
“I had a few stomach problems while I was with him and ate a lot of yogurt. I was afraid of getting an ulcer.”
After a long pause, she asked, “Didn’t you get along as companions?”
“Oh, did I give you that impression?” Ben chuckled. “We got along just fine. Oh sure, there were problems at first, but with the help of our mission president, we worked them out.”
“What problems?” she timidly asked.
“Nothing really. I grew to love the guy.”
She gave a sigh of relief. “That makes two of us. After he’s released, we plan on getting married.”
“You can be proud of him. He’s a wonderful missionary.”
“I know.”
“One thing you should know—he snores like crazy.”
“Very bad?” she asked uneasily.
“Unbelievable. It shook the entire apartment, but I adjusted to it.”
“You did?” she asked, her voice betraying her concern. “How?”
“I slept on the porch. Of course, in the winter it was cold, but they say it’s healthy.”
After another long pause, she asked, “What else did he say about me?”
“He talked about how you two were a team, and how you’d bake bread and raise a garden and sew his clothes and raise chickens and milk cows and work as an auto mechanic and a secretary while he finished college.”
“Oh,” she said, clearing her throat. “Of all the companions you had, how would you rate David?”
“For cleanliness,” he said emphatically, “I’d rate him the very highest.”
“But as far as being able to get along with others, how would you rate him?”
Seconds slipped by as he desperately tried to find a diplomatic answer.
“Hello?” she said. “Are you still there?”
“Just thinking.”
“Was it that bad living with him?” she asked.
“No, really. It was fine.”
“Would you have wanted to spend more time with him?”
“Gee,” he stammered, “I learned so much from him. I don’t think I could have learned another thing.”
“Please, will you tell me the problems you had with him?” she pleaded.
Suddenly his fight for diplomacy was lost. “Have you ever painted a stupid kitchen four times in six months?” he exploded. “Other elders played basketball on diversion days, but not us. No, we went to paint stores and compared color swatches!”
He realized his sudden outburst had stunned her, and he felt rotten. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. I love him like a brother, and I wish you both every happiness. Good-bye.”
“Don’t hang up! I have more questions.”
“I’ve been unfair to him. We had good times, too. It was just a little personality conflict, but I’m sure you’ll get along with him just fine. One word of advice though—decide on the color of your apartment before you marry him.”
“Can you come over to my dorm so we can talk?” she asked.
It was an hour’s drive from his home to her dorm. When she answered the door, he had a hard time recognizing her from David’s description. Instead of a timid clinging vine, he was met by a confident, athletic-looking girl. They said their hellos and sat down on the couch in the dorm living room.
“You’re a lot different than I pictured you,” he said.
“How did you picture me?”
“Shy and dependent, always leaning on David for protection. But you don’t look like a leaner to me.”
Her warm smile made him feel very comfortable.
“I was only 17 when I met David my first semester here. Being from a small farming community, I guess I was scared, and he helped me so much. He even helped me pick classes to take.”
“Like what?”
“Just before he left, he had me taking typing, auto repair, and midwifery. He wanted me to learn practical skills to bring in money after we were married and he was in college.”
“Auto repair?” Ben asked. “Could you look at my car? It’s got a little pinging sound.”
“I didn’t take any more courses like that after he left,” she said. “I switched to physical education. I’m on the swim team.”
“You look like a swimmer—very sleek, like you’d slide through the water easily.”
“Do you play sports?” she asked.
“Football. I’m going out in the fall.”
“You look like a football player—very powerful, like you’d slide through the other team easily.”
Ben returned her smile and realized he was out of practice at flirting.
“Tell me about the problems you had with David,” she asked.
“You must think we were at each other’s throats, but missionary work is too important to let personality conflicts slow it down. Actually we hardly argued at all. I just learned to adjust. I’m sure the experience will make me a better husband. In fact, every potential husband should have a chance to live with him for a while to learn to adjust.”
“Give me an example,” she asked.
He gave her an embarrassed look and said, “You’ll think it’s such a little thing.”
“If it was important to you, I’d like to hear about it.”
“Well, one time I made a special dessert, a plum pudding. It took half our diversion day, but it turned out great.”
“I’d like to get your recipe,” she said.
“David just wolfed it down, didn’t say a word, and then left the table for me to clean up.”
“And that made you feel unappreciated, right?”
“He could’ve said something,” Ben grumbled. He noticed the worry on her face and added, “But I’m sure he’ll compliment you on your cooking. You’re probably a very good cook.”
“I don’t know how to make plum pudding,” she confessed.
“Take my advice—don’t bother to learn.”
“What else did he say about me?”
“He kept saying he was the sunshine of your life, like in the song, and how much you needed him. It sounds nice, but to tell you the truth, it’s not my ideal. I want my wife to be a partner.”
“Oh, I agree,” she said quickly.
They found themselves looking at each other with a puzzled expression.
“Did you have someone waiting for you during your mission?” she asked.
“Yes, she’s married now.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Have you dated much while David’s been gone?” he asked as innocently as he could.
“Not up to now, but …”
“Yes?”
“Maybe I should, just in case.”
“Oh, but I wouldn’t want you to date just anyone. You know how returned missionaries are on this campus. No sir, for David’s sake, I’d better take you out a few times—just until he gets back, of course.”
“That’d be nice,” she purred.
And so they dated. Their common interests in sports led them to go skiing and play racquetball and swim and go dancing. And that was just on their first date.
It didn’t take more than a month before he realized he was in trouble. The social standing of a returned missionary who goes home and falls in love with his companion’s girl is just above that of a snake—except snakes are held in much higher regard among missionaries.
The night before David returned, they took a long walk.
“I guess I won’t be seeing you much after tomorrow,” he said.
“Maybe not.”
“He’s a lucky guy.”
“You’ve been a real friend to me,” she said.
“Susan, I’ve never told you how I feel about you. I promised myself that until David got back and you decided about him, I’d just be a friend. The last thing I wanted to do was take his girl away from him.”
“I can’t be transferred like the title to a car. You can’t take me away from him, can you? It’s a decision I make myself, but I owe him a certain loyalty, at least until tomorrow.”
The plan for David’s return was that his family and Susan would meet him at the airport. Unfortunately, three hours before the plane was to arrive, his family called her to say they had all come down with the flu. They asked if Ben and Susan could pick him up.
The plane was on time. As David came into the terminal from the plane, he saw them, rushed forward, and was buried in their hugs.
As they left the airport, David suggested they drop by Temple Square. They walked around for an hour and then decided to have something to eat at the coffee shop of the Hotel Utah.
“Hey, Elder Jansen,” David said, giving the waitress the menu after they’d ordered, “this is just like old times, isn’t it—us eating together again?”
“Yes,” Ben said, wondering if he should order some yogurt.
“Ben and I had some great times as companions, Sue.”
“Her name is Susan,” Ben said.
“He worked hard when he was with me. I made sure about that.”
“I always worked hard,” Ben added, anxious that Susan not think he had been lazy on his mission.
“Yeah, but you let down once in a while,” David said, grinning smugly.
“When?” Ben challenged.
“When I suggested we paint the living room.”
Ben took a long drink of water before he trusted himself to speak again.
“I never complained, elder. I even held my tongue when you said you developed an allergy to washing dishes.”
“Please,” Susan said, “don’t argue.”
“We’re not arguing,” Ben said. “We’re discussing; that’s all. While I was with him on my mission, we concentrated on working together, but there were always a couple of things I wanted to discuss, and now we can. I just want to say one thing, David. I slaved all day making you a nice plum pudding and what thanks did I get?”
“Plum pudding?” David asked. “What plum pudding?”
“Oh yeah, and I suppose you forgot the nice lemon sauce on top of it too?”
“David,” Susan suggested, “I think you should thank Ben for his pudding.”
“I don’t remember any pudding.”
Ben realized his face was beet red. Susan placed her hand on David’s shoulder and pleaded, “I’m sure it was a wonderful pudding. What harm is there in thanking him?”
“It must not have been that great if I can’t remember it, right?”
Susan turned next to Ben. “Aren’t you forgetting something? You haven’t thanked David for all he did for you. I bet he must’ve cooked some yummy dishes for you.”
“That’s just it,” Ben grumbled, “he never cooked anything. He said he was allergic to the kitchen. I cooked everything, I washed everything, and what thanks do I get?”
Susan nervously wiped her forehead and sighed, “Good grief! I feel like a marriage counselor. Look, let’s just drop the subject of puddings, okay?”
At that point the soup and crackers arrived. They all were relieved to be able to concentrate on the food. Once Ben looked up to see David grabbing half a dozen crackers and crumbling them into his soup, leaving one cracker for Susan and himself to share.
He didn’t even look up as David slurped his soup.
After the meal was over, they walked around the lobby of the hotel.
“Sue, you really deserve an award for waiting for me,” David said, looking at a five hundred dollar necklace in one of the hotel shops, then moving on.
“Her name is Susan.”
“Typing up all my notes and sending cookies once a month.”
“Cookies?” Ben asked. “What cookies? I never saw any cookies while I was with you.”
“Oh, well …” David stammered.
“You held out on cookies?” Ben asked, shocked and disappointed.
“Well, I …”
“Is that what kept coming in those packages? When did you eat ’em?”
“Well, I may have nibbled on one or two in the morning while you were in the shower.”
“How could you hold out on cookies?” Ben asked.
“I didn’t want you to get cavities,” David lamely explained.
“Well, what about your cavities?”
“I was raised in an area with natural fluoride. I don’t get cavities.”
Ben looked forlornly at Susan and muttered quietly, “He ate cookies without me. That’s the lowest thing a companion can do.”
“No, it isn’t,” David said. “We talked about that once after a zone conference, and we decided the lowest thing an elder can do is go home and fall in love with his companion’s girl.”
Ben started to cough. When he could finally speak again, he looked at Susan and said, “He ate your cookies without giving me a single one.”
“Look, if you want,” she said, “I’ll make some just for you.”
“I hardly think that’d be appropriate,” David objected.
“Why not?” Susan asked.
“It’s not right for a girl who’s engaged to bake cookies for another guy.”
Susan touched David’s hand gently. “I think we need to talk about that some more.”
David pursed his lips thoughtfully and gave in. “Okay, one batch of cookies.”
“That’s not what we need to talk about,” Susan said.
“We’ll talk about cookies later,” David said. “Right now I want you to remember back two years when we were here for supper. It was the night before I entered the mission home. Remember, my neighbor, the one who used to work here, gave us a tour of one of the bridal suites because he knew we were planning on marriage after my mission. Do you remember that, Sue?”
“Her name is Susan,” Ben glumly said.
Before Susan could object, David was at the desk making arrangements for the manager to show them the bridal suite.
On the way up in the elevator, Ben stood close to her on one side, with David next to her on the other side.
“Planning a wedding, huh?” the manager asked.
“Sure are,” David grinned.
The confused manager looked at the three of them and asked, “Which one is the groom?”
“That’s funny!” David roared. “Sue, he thinks Ben’d marry you. No, I’m the groom, and Ben here is just an old missionary companion.”
The manager let them into the vacant suite.
“Will you look at that?” David said, looking at the walls. “Sue, look, they’ve painted the room since we looked at it two years ago.”
“It was painted last spring,” the manager explained.
“What’s the name of the color?” David asked.
“I’m not sure,” the manager said.
“It could be honey butter … but it might be toasted coconut too,” David said.
“Nobody’s ever asked about the color before,” the manager said.
“Hey, Sue, what do you think if, after our honeymoon, we paint our bedroom this same color?”
“Oh, no,” Ben moaned, shaking his head.
“Of course, we’d want to get it the same exact shade.”
“You poor girl,” Ben said, patting her on the back.
“Hey, this’d be a super time to make it official, to announce our engagement,” David said cheerfully.
“David,” Ben said, “you’ve only been home from your mission for an hour. Wouldn’t you like to go home and at least unpack before you get engaged? You need to get to know her again.”
“Sue and I know each other.”
“If you knew her, you wouldn’t call her Sue.”
“Sue, Susan, what’s the difference?”
“David,” Susan said gently, “you’re not the sunshine of my life anymore in the way you used to be.”
“I’m not? Who is?”
“Me.”
“Boy, talk about conceited.”
“With you I was always little Sue, the shy girl you helped sign up for auto repair and typing. But I’ve grown up and overcome my fears. I can’t go back to being Sue again.”
“You’re not my little Sue?”
“I’m afraid not.”
David whipped out his handkerchief and energetically blew his nose. “Excuse me,” he blurted out, “I’ll be waiting in the car. I need some time to think.” Then he rushed out of the room.
“Well, that’s it,” Susan said, shrugging her shoulders. “Two years to the day, and now it’s over.”
“You waited for him. You sent him cookies. Nobody could’ve done any better.”
“I’d like to close up the room and get back to the desk,” the manager announced.
“Susan,” Ben said, wiping away a tear from her cheek, “I told you I wouldn’t say anything until you made up your mind, and now you have.”
The manager looked at his watch. “I really must get back.”
“Could we see the view of the temple from the window?” Ben asked, trying to set the stage.
Reluctantly the manager opened the drapes. “I love you, Susan. Let’s get married in the temple and reserve the room for a month from now.”
Susan sat down quickly on the couch. “I’ve heard of people being fast on the rebound after breaking up, but this is ridiculous.”
“Will you marry me?” Ben asked.
“What about the other one?” the confused manager asked, “the one who said he was going to marry her?”
“The reservation will be just for her and me,” Ben said.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Susan said, shaking her head. “Give me a little time to think.”
Down at the car, David sat and brooded as they traveled along the interstate. Finally he said, “Sue, I have something to say. I know you waited for me, but I don’t think this is going to work out. I think we should break up. Now I know this is a shock for you, but I’m sure it’s for the best.”
“Okay, David,” she said, “if that’s what you think.”
David spent several minutes consoling her for losing him.
Finally Ben interrupted. “I have a little something to say too. After you left, I asked her to marry me.”
“You asked Sue to marry you?” David gasped.
“In the five minutes I was waiting in the car?”
“That’s right,” Ben said.
There was a long pause. Finally David snapped, “You’re just trying to get back at me because of the cookies, aren’t you?”
“That’s not it. I love her.” Nobody spoke for five minutes.
“Are you going to marry him, Sue?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Don’t do it, Sue! Look, I lived with him for six months, and the most sickening sight I ever saw on my mission was watching him use dental floss. And his dirty socks—he just throws ’em on the floor and expects me to pick ’em up.”
“But at least he knows me the way I am now,” Susan said.
“So you might end up marrying him?”
“Yes, David, I might.”
“This is the lowest thing a companion can do!” David said, turning to accuse Ben.
Another five minutes of silence.
“Well, let me tell you something!” David barked. “While I was waiting in the car, I had a chance to remember back. And you know what?”
“What?”
“THE PLUM PUDDING WAS AWFUL!”
They rode several more miles in silence. Finally David turned to Sue and said, “It’s not too early to begin thinking about the color for your kitchen.”
“I made up my mind!” Susan cried out.
“All right!” Ben shouted. “I’ll make the hotel reservation as soon as I get home, and we’ll need to get temple recommends.”
“Rats!” David complained.
“I’m going to do what I always wanted to do, and that’s go to BYU in Hawaii next semester. It’ll give me time to decide about marriage. Besides, I may never get another chance to go there. Ben, will you take me home first?”
They all sat in silence until they reached her dorm.
“I’ll write every day,” Ben said, as she entered the dorm.
“I will too,” David added.
Then Ben continued south to David’s house.
“You ought to have Sue look at your motor to see what that funny noise is,” David suggested.
“I already asked. She says she doesn’t know anything.”
“Are you going to college?” David asked, breaking the silence again.
“Yeah.”
“Living at home?”
“No, I decided to live in Provo. It’s an off-campus apartment.”
“Any vacancies in your apartment?” David asked.
“One,” Ben said, biting off the word.
“One vacancy,” David said. “Mind if I move in next semester?”
“I don’t think it would work out,” Ben said glumly.
“There are laws against discrimination,” David said.
“It’s not discrimination! I just don’t think it would work out!”
Two minutes of silence.
“Why not?”
“Because I love Susan and so do you. That’s why.”
A minute of silence.
“Well, then we have something in common, don’t we?”
“We don’t have anything in common!” Ben roared.
Another minute of silence.
“Well, what about the time we fasted and prayed for the Sorenson couple? And what about the Johnson family we taught and baptized? We have that in common, don’t we?”
Ben remembered back to the times they had shared which were spiritual, when they had felt the influence of the Holy Ghost. That influence had united them in spite of their individual differences.
Several minutes later, Ben quietly said, “All right, you can move in.”
“Thanks.”
“On one condition. If you mention, even mention painting a room, you’re out. Do you understand that?”
“Clear as a bell,” David said.
After letting David out at his home, Ben drove back to Provo. On his way, he stopped by a grocery store to pick up some yogurt. He wondered if he’d be using it on a regular basis now.

Flora first saw “T,” as she affectionately calls her husband, when she was attending Utah State Agricultural College (now Utah State University) in Logan. He was standing on the corner with his cousin, one of her friends, as she drove by in her car and waved pleasantly. “T” was visiting the campus, taking college courses by home study until he could afford to attend school full-time.
“Who is that girl?” he asked.
“Why, that’s Flora Amussen,” his cousin replied.
“When I come here to school, I’m going to date her.”
“You’ll never make it; she’s too popular for you.” “That makes it all the more interesting,” the future prophet answered. He already knew she was the girl he was going to marry.
But the farm boy from Idaho found rigorous competition for Miss Amussen’s time. During her college years, she was vice-president of the Utah State Agricultural College student body and president of the girls’ athletic club. She also won the girls’ singles tennis championship, was elected to the honorary dramatic fraternity for Shakespearean acting, and was in constant demand for her natural ability to play almost every musical instrument—without having to read music.
President Benson recalls arriving for his first date with the “most popular girl in town.” Through the graciousness of Flora and her “queenly mother,” the farm boy was soon at ease in the large home of culture and refinement.
“As we left the house and she kissed her mother tenderly, I knew I was the escort of a choice girl, and I determined to make the best of it,” he remarks.
“Nothing in Flora’s life impressed me more deeply than her reverent kindness to and deep love for her mother,” continues President Benson. “Their companionship was an inspiration—the sweetest relationship I have ever known between a parent and child.”
Likewise was Flora impressed with this courteous, good-looking, deeply spiritual young man. “I wanted to marry a farmer and learn how to work and cook and sew,” she says, adding emphatically, “and I learned!”

Let me tell you about another current, a divine current, that has become a great blessing in my life. I am a convert to the Church. Prior to my conversion, my life’s ambition was to ski and, accordingly, I moved to Europe after high school to fulfill that desire. After several months of what seemed an ideal life, I felt I should leave. At the time I did not understand the source of that feeling, but I chose to follow it. I ended up in Provo, Utah, with a few good friends who, like me, were members of a different faith.
While in Provo I met people who were living a much different life than I was. I felt drawn to them, though I did not know why. Initially, I resisted these feelings, but I soon found a peace and comfort that I had never known. I began to embrace a different current—one that brought me to an understanding of a loving Heavenly Father and to His Son, Jesus Christ.
I was baptized with my friends in 1972. This new current I chose to follow, the gospel of Jesus Christ, provided direction and meaning to my life. However, it was not without its challenges. Everything was new to me. At times I felt lost and confused. Questions and challenges were posed by both friends and family.
I had a choice to make. Some of their questions created doubt and uncertainty. The choice was an important one. Where would I turn for answers? There were many who wanted to convince me of the error of my ways—“riptides” determined to pull me away from the peaceful current that had become a wonderful source of happiness. I learned very clearly the principle that there is “opposition in all things” and the importance of acting for myself and not forsaking my agency to others.3
I asked myself, “Why would I turn away from that which had brought me such great comfort?” As the Lord reminded Oliver Cowdery, “Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter?”4 My experience had been similar. Therefore, I turned, with yet more commitment, to a loving Heavenly Father, to the scriptures, and to trusted friends.
Still, there were many questions I could not answer. How would I address the uncertainty they created? Rather than allow them to destroy the peace and happiness that had come into my life, I chose to set them aside for a season, trusting that in the Lord’s time, He would reveal all things. I found solace in His statement to the Prophet Joseph: “Behold, ye are little children and ye cannot bear all things now; ye must grow in grace and in the knowledge of the truth.”5 I chose not to forsake what I knew to be true by following an unknown and a questionable current—a potential “riptide.” As President N. Eldon Tanner taught, I learned “how much wiser and better it is for man to accept the simple truths of the gospel … and to accept by faith those things which he … cannot understand.”6

A young man approached Socrates and asked him to be his tutor and to teach him what he knew. Socrates took the young man to the seaside and out into the water. Then he pushed his head under the water for almost too long. The young man struggled, came up gasping for air, and demanded the meaning of such an unwarranted action. The great Socrates responded, “When you want to learn as badly as you want a breath of air, only then can I teach you what you want to know.” To understand the gospel of Jesus Christ, one must first have a strong desire to learn and a willingness to study.

My friends and I started to play video games a little each day. Soon we were playing two hours a day. When we talked to each other during the games, things that normally wouldn’t be said were said. I decided that every time my friends would play video games, I would make better use of my time by doing something else. I soon found that I was a lot happier inside. Video games can be fun, but when they’re filled with vulgar language and violence, Satan can corrupt our minds.

Anyone who’s ever been to girls’ camp knows that it’s a lot of fun but also a lot of hard work. For Kelsey Mack of the Safford Arizona Fifth Ward, Safford Arizona Stake, mental and physical handicaps made the challenge of camping even greater.
When Kelsey decided she wanted to go to camp, her mom went to the youth leaders and asked if it would be a possibility. Much to her delight, all the leaders agreed to make it happen. Even more important, the girls rallied around Kelsey and really made her feel a part of all the camp activities.
After five days of crafts, outdoor skills, and other standard camp activities (many of which were tailored to fit Kelsey’s needs) Kelsey returned home happy and excited.
“You know, those girls really love me,” says Kelsey.

When two missionaries knocked on the door of Judy Marie’s home in 1996, they found a humble family, ready to listen to the gospel. “The missionaries spoke about the gospel, the Prophet Joseph Smith, and the Book of Mormon,” she says. Although Judy Marie; her mother; her brother Javier, age 13; and her sister, Marie Carida, age 12, heard the discussions and accepted the gospel together, Judy Marie’s own conversion was a deeply personal experience. “When I prayed, Heavenly Father gave me answers,” she says. “It was very beautiful, and I felt the Spirit very strongly.”
Judy Marie compares the story of the tree of life in 1 Nephi 8 [1 Ne. 8] to her own conversion. “When the missionaries taught us about the gospel, they showed us the fruit and brought us out of the darkness,” she says. “I remember when Elder Joshua Carter baptized me and Elder Joshua Smith confirmed me. I felt I was born again, mentally and spiritually. I know I am a daughter of God.”

I have always been thrifty with my money. My parents taught me to work hard for the things I wanted, and I learned quickly to save every penny, nickel, and dime that I earned. They also taught me the importance of tithing. Though it was difficult at first to part with the money, I quickly learned that God always blesses us for the sacrifice.
When I received my mission call I was thrilled to go but quickly realized I was going to need a lot of supplies. I had saved my money for years, but the cost of each month in addition to the shoes, shirts, ties, belts, scriptures, and other various articles I would need as a missionary quickly added up. As a college student, my finances were already strained.
I knew I needed to serve the Lord, and I knew that He would help me to do it, so I decided to “prove” Him as it says in Malachi 3:10. I always paid a full tithe. I knew God would provide a way, and He did.
With my parents’ aid, I covered all of the expenses I would need, except for one suit. I went to a local second-hand store in hopes of finding one. I often have a difficult time finding clothes that fit because I am rather tall with long arms. After a few minutes of searching the racks I found just the suit I was looking for, and it fit perfectly!
It was a direct answer to a simple prayer. Even though it was a small need, I know that when we pay a full tithe, the Lord will provide a way.

Janette Kasl lost her father when she was ten. Although she is now the mother of four, she vividly remembers how she wanted people to talk to her about the experience.
“I remember that I went back to school and everybody was studying as usual and I’d just had this trauma in my life and nobody was doing anything different. I just wanted to scream. Don’t keep silent. The more it was avoided, the more I thought that it wasn’t important to anyone else, and it was really important to me, so it was very hard,” she says.

Christmas is a great time to try to help your friend, especially because it is such a family-oriented time and will probably be particularly hard. But don’t forget your friend after the New Year’s parties are over. “That time is a letdown, even for people with normal families,” says Janette. “You can ease the letdown by visiting or just being there. The week after Christmas might be a good time to get someone involved in a service activity or something.”

“Every situation is different,” says Janette. “Something that worked one time might not again. The important thing is that you keep trying to help.”

Softball season was approaching, and we had just enough girls in our ward for a team. Our coach, Sister Bowman, was a busy mother who had been asked to make an unlikely group of girls into a team. Sister Bowman turned out to be the best coach I ever had.
At the first practice, Sister Bowman went over the rules of the game. Then she laid out the “new rules.” She said, “This year we will not only be scored for our runs; we will also be scored for our sportsmanship. I want you to do your best. But win or lose, I want you to have the highest sportsmanship score possible at every game.”
Sister Bowman’s rules went something like this:
Before each game, greet the opposing team and wish them luck.
If a girl on your team makes an error, encourage her. Do not criticize.
If a member of your team or the opposing team falls down, help her up and make sure she’s all right.
Do not say unkind things to any member of your team or the opposing team.
Each girl who shows up for the game will have an opportunity to play, regardless of her ability.
Win or lose, enthusiastically cheer the opposing team and shake each competitor’s hand.
Sister Bowman regularly emphasized these rules.
The first game went well. Though we weren’t the best players in the world, we discovered that encouraging each other boosted the confidence and abilities of the entire team. When we won that first game, we found it was easy to cheer the opposing team. After all, it’s easy to be a good sport when you win.
Our real test came the first time we lost. One of the girls cried because she felt responsible for our loss. We gathered around her and assured her it was all right. We were surprisingly enthusiastic as we cheered the winning team and shook their hands. Even though we lost, we realized we’d had fun. Most importantly, our sportsmanship score was high.
As the season progressed, our focus shifted. We liked winning, but we became as interested in our sportsmanship scores as we were in the game scores. What started as a list of rules was becoming second nature to us.
At the end of the season when the stake leaders reviewed our record—games won as well as sportsmanship scores—we were the stake champions. We would be representing our stake at the regional playoffs.
When the big day arrived, we were ready to play our best. The team we were playing was undefeated, and when we went over to wish them luck, they didn’t seem as friendly as the other teams we had played. As the game progressed we began to realize that these girls were not playing by our rules. It seemed to us that they intended to win at any cost. They laughed at us. They ran into us and knocked us down every chance they got. If one of the girls on their team made an error, they yelled at her and called her names. Even their coach was yelling at them.
In the dugout Sister Bowman continued to encourage us, and we hung in there. Near the end of the game, and only one point behind, we were up to bat. With runners on, we had a hit. One of our teammates came around third base and headed for home plate. In an attempt to keep us from scoring, the catcher stood across home plate. But her efforts didn’t prevent our runner from crossing home plate safe. The score was tied.
Our team was excited, but then we noticed that our teammate was still at home plate. She didn’t get up. She just sat there crying and holding her ankle, which had been cut by the catcher’s cleat. The girls on the other team were too busy yelling at each other to apologize or help her up.
As our injured friend sat on the bench, we scored another run and to everyone’s astonishment, including our own, won the game.
We gathered on the grass for the awards ceremony. First we received our medals for winning the playoffs, then waited for the next award. We were excited. The sportsmanship medal, the award we had worked so hard for all season, was within our grasp!
But we sat in shock as the sportsmanship medal was awarded to the other team. Our faces fell. Our hearts sank. How could this be? We felt we had earned that medal! Had the region leaders felt they could not send the other team home empty-handed? This turned out to be the greatest test of what we had practiced all season. Could we show true sportsmanship by graciously accepting this decision, despite our disappointment? It was difficult, to say the least.
Afterward, Sister Bowman took us out for pizza to celebrate our “victory.” Any casual observer would never have guessed that we had just won the region softball championship.
I still have that medal. I keep it in a box with other treasured keepsakes. It reminds me of what we won. More important, it reminds me of what we deserved to win and of the lessons Sister Bowman taught me that summer. She taught me how to compete and still have fun. She taught me that everyone has value. She taught me that winning is not, and should never be, the most important thing. I suppose she taught me the true meaning of the saying “It’s not whether you win or lose; it’s how you play the game.” That philosophy, I have found, applies in life as well as in softball.

As wonderful as the increased attendance was, it presented a problem. We were meeting in a small building off Chung Cheng Road and did not have room for all who wanted to come. So we moved to a larger building on Chung Shan North Road. Though the building was larger, we did not have enough chairs, and in those days it was difficult to obtain materials through normal Church channels. We felt blessed when a member bought 100 chairs and donated them to our chapel. He also bought a piano to replace the old, dilapidated organ we had found in the building.

Yet we had still another problem: no podium. As we prayed to know how to get one, I learned that a local elementary school had some wood we could use. For days I searched for a carpenter who could build a podium from the wood, but I couldn’t find one. Finally, on a Saturday, I decided to build it myself. I had never carried such heavy objects, and I would never have believed I could finish the podium in one day, but God helped me. The podium was ready for church the next day. All the members were amazed, but not as amazed as I was. It seemed a miracle to me.

Since joining the Church, I have not let one day pass without serving in some way. As a result, my life has been blessed with joy, fulfillment, and spiritual riches. Before I joined the Church, my body was weak, but now I feel strong and healthy even as I grow older. I am able to serve often in the Taipei Taiwan Temple. I am grateful for all of God’s blessings, especially the Book of Mormon. In it are words of great beauty. I know that studying the Book of Mormon can bring us spiritual strength and help us deal with the difficult challenges of our time. I know, too, that serving God, no matter what our calling, results in a multitude of blessings. Sometimes even miracles happen.