Gospel Story Finder

Many other leaders helped me throughout my life. One of my Primary teachers gave me extra help to finish my requirements to graduate from Primary. She also taught my class the Articles of Faith, and she taught us about the lives of the members of the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Little did my teacher know that one day she would be my mother-in-law—I married her youngest daughter!

A few years ago I applied for a job at a local zoo, thinking it would be a great adventure. When I was offered the job, I took it, even though it meant I would have to work every Sunday. For the next several months, I did not attend church, and I had no contact with ward members. I hadn’t completely gone off the path of righteousness; I wasn’t drinking or experimenting with drugs, like some of my friends at work, and my moral standards were intact. Still, deep down, I wasn’t really happy, and I didn’t feel close to Heavenly Father.
In addition, my grades were slipping, and I was difficult to get along with. My friends at the zoo seemed to like me, but they wanted me to participate with them in things I knew were wrong.
In the midst of my problems my mother told me that my old choir teacher had been sustained as the Young Women president. The next week, the phone calls began. The new Young Women president was like a recruiter for the army. She called me for every activity my class was having and for every service project they did. After several weeks of excuses, I finally agreed to dinner with my class. As we drove to the restaurant, the girls in my class talked about boys and the coming school year. Our leader often joined in their conversation. I rode along with them in silence.
As I watched their happy faces, I felt pain—the kind of pain you feel when you are missing out on something great. By the time the activity was over and we were back at my house, I was close to tears. Those girls had something in their lives that I wanted. They knew who they were and where they were going. They were close to Heavenly Father. I knew he heard their prayers. My leader seemed to know what I was feeling and reminded me I was always welcome at church and she would always be there for me.
That night I knelt by my bed and poured out my soul to my Father in Heaven—something I hadn’t done in a long time. I realized how much I had missed him and how, little by little, the distance between us had grown because of the choices I had made. More than anything, I wanted another chance. I wanted to fill the emptiness within my soul. I wanted to find the kind of friends who lasted forever. I wanted to come back to church.
After that experience, I realized that there were people who cared about me. I saw the way to come back. It wasn’t easy, but I returned to church activity. Since then, the gospel has enriched my life and given me hope. The best thing I ever did was to come back to the Church.

I was at my friend’s house, and he wanted us to ride our bikes to the church. One of our family rules is that if we go somewhere other than where we told our parents we would be, we have to call and let them know.
I told my friend that I needed to call my mom, and he told me not to. He didn’t want to wait, and he said, “Let’s just go.”
I said I needed to call my mom first, and then he started calling me names and being mean to me. I didn’t go with him. I went home instead, even though I felt left out. I knew that I was supposed to obey my mom.

Taking a stand wasn’t easy for Sarah Koyle, a Laurel who lives in Rancho Cucamonga, California, but she knew it was the right thing to do. When a teacher at her school showed a movie that Sarah felt was inappropriate, she made her opinion known.
After Sarah’s bold move, there was little room for doubt by her peers as to what Sarah believed was right. Then a local newspaper interviewed Sarah about her stand on R-rated movies. Again, Sarah was able to voice her opinions without reservation.
Was all the attention worth it, especially when Sarah seemed to be the only one who felt that the movies were wrong?
“If I were given the chance, I would definitely do this again,” says Sarah. “Standing for the prophet’s words is something I can’t do enough of. It wasn’t easy, but it was right.”

I recently spoke to a professor of evolutionary biology from a very elite university who identifies as an atheist. She has spent her life studying the male and female body and the role of hormones in our unique development. She asked me what my experience is like teaching about gender at BYU. I looked at her and simply said, “We believe that we are the literal children of a divine mother and a father, born in their image.” As I said these words, her eyes filled with tears. She looked at me and said, “I do not know why I am crying. That is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.”

Excitement thundered through Mariano Palermo’s veins as he and his teammate rowed past the 1,000-meter mark in first place. They were halfway to his dream of winning the 2003 Argentine national rowing championship in men’s pairs and a shot at participating in qualifiers for the 2004 Olympics in Athens, Greece.
They had settled into a great rhythm—their strong strokes catching the water in perfect harmony and propelling them ahead of the competition.
However, a few hundred meters later, Mariano’s excitement chilled when fatigue began to slow his teammate’s pace.
Mariano eyed the second-place boat not far behind. Would the lead they had built up be enough to get them to the finish line first?
Mariano’s twin sister, Lucía, had her own doubles race to concentrate on a little later that day, but she made sure she was there to watch her brother compete. She was thrilled when his team leaped out to such a quick lead. But her heart sank when she saw their pace drop off.
The Palermo twins have always been very close. Being the same age and involved in many of the same activities, they have always spent a lot of time together.
“Mutual, seminary, school,” Lucía lists. “Now that we’re older, it’s a little different, but we still train together.”
The twins, members of the Pacheco Ward, Buenos Aires Argentina Litoral Stake, are also united by other interests. They both enjoy working with their hands—Lucía doing handicrafts or sewing and Mariano working on cars.
“I love to cook,” Lucía adds.
“And I like to eat, so we’re a good team,” laughs Mariano. “I like to cook with her. I’m not very good at it, but it’s fun.”
While the two get along really well—“We can talk about anything,” says Lucía—Mariano says most people don’t realize they’re twins. The two don’t look alike.
“And we don’t know what the other is thinking,” Lucía says, joking about how twins are sometimes portrayed. “But we’re very affected by what happens to the other, whether in school or in competition. We are very united. It’s a beautiful thing.”
When Mariano felt his teammate’s pace slowing, he knew it didn’t matter how strong he felt. If Mariano pulled his oar harder or faster than his teammate did, the unbalanced effort would send the boat off course.
He matched his teammate’s pace and watched as the competitors started gaining on them.
As twins, Mariano and Lucía share many things. Among them is a fierce drive to train hard and give their best individual effort to reach their goals. But in team rowing, individual effort alone won’t get you across the finish line first. The twins have learned that if you aren’t in sync with your teammates, you won’t win.
“The effectiveness of the boat depends on unity,” Mariano says. “We’ve got to be thinking the same, whether it’s a team of two, four, or eight.”
“If we’re not working together—” begins Lucía.
“Precisely,” Mariano interjects.
“—the boat won’t work,” she finishes.
It’s a principle the two understand not only as rowers but as twins and as members of the Church.
“When the team is focused on the same objective, it’s much easier to obtain,” Mariano says. “It’s the same with our family. We have the same goal to be together forever. That helps a ton.”
The two understand that working together is essential not only in rowing but in reaching our ultimate goal to become like Jesus Christ and return to our Heavenly Father’s presence. The Lord said, “Be one; and if ye are not one ye are not mine” (D&C 38:27).
Once we’ve learned that life is not a singles competition but a team event, each of us faces a very important spiritual decision.
As the second-place team pulled alongside Mariano’s boat, it took real discipline for him not to give in to the temptation to row as hard as possible. The finish line was so close. But Mariano knew that rowing at his own pace could be disastrous. At best it would only slow them down; at worst it would send them off course and possibly out of the race.
This choice to follow someone else’s pace rather than our own in order to reach our goal is an important principle when applied to life on earth. We cannot return to our Heavenly Father’s presence on our own (see Romans 3:23).
Fortunately, the Savior was willing to put Himself in our boat through the Atonement (see Alma 7:11–12), providing the way to the finish line, where our Heavenly Father is.
But as in rowing, in order to win the prize we must be willing to give up anything that would keep us from rowing in harmony with the Lord. Atonement means to be reconciled or restored to harmony. Achieving harmony requires being willing to give up all our sins (see Alma 22:18), put off worldly desires, and do the Lord’s will (see Mosiah 3:19).
That’s not always easy, but the Savior knows the “race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1), and He knows exactly what we need in order to return to our Father’s presence.
If we choose not to follow Him, preferring to do things our own way, we are out of sync and in danger of slowing our progress or even putting ourselves out of the race.
In life as well as in athletics, some would rather set their own pace, believing that individuality is the way to true freedom. They choose to row through life alone, not realizing that with Jesus Christ, they could achieve so much more (see Mark 10:27).
In the rowing world, it is well-known that “a team working together can go much faster than an individual,” Lucía explains.
On the standard 2,000-meter course, a good time for a single male rower at his best pace is under seven minutes (the world record is 6:35.40). On a team of eight, however, that same rower, even though he may be matched with slower individual rowers, could go even faster. The world record for a team of eight is 5:19.85.
Just as it would be difficult for a single rower to beat a unified team, without the Savior, we cannot obtain our eternal goals.
Mariano and his teammate refused to give up. But shortly before the finish line, they were passed, leaving them in second place.
Lucía was at the boat ramp when Mariano pulled his boat out after the race. She had her own race coming up to think about, but when she saw his disappointed tears, she broke down herself.
“I knew how hard he had worked,” she says. “I couldn’t bear seeing him so disappointed. I had never seen him like that.”
Together, the twins sorrowed in Mariano’s disappointment. Finally, Lucía’s coach separated them, worried that she wouldn’t be able to focus on her own race. But when the time came, Lucía and her teammate won their pairs race and later the South American championships, earning the right to compete in the 2004 Olympics.
And just as they had shared sorrow in Mariano’s disappointment, they rejoiced together in Lucía’s success.
“I was so excited when she won the opportunity to compete in the Olympics,” Mariano says. “She earned it.”
At the Olympics, Lucía and her teammate ended up ranked 17th. Like Mariano’s results, her finish wasn’t exactly all she had dreamed about. Still, their goals remain high. In the short-term, they want to qualify for an Olympic medal. In the long run, they want to qualify for eternal life.
Both goals will require sacrifice and a willingness to work as one with someone else.
But while the world rewards only one winner (see 1 Corinthians 9:24), no matter how united each team is, the prize the Lord offers can be obtained by all who qualify. Nephi said that “many of us, if not all, may be saved in his kingdom” (2 Nephi 33:12; emphasis added), but we must first “be reconciled unto Christ” (2 Nephi 33:9) by sacrificing our worldly desires in order to follow Him.
The Palermo twins are united in the hope that their faith and sacrifices will be enough to win the one race that matters most of all.

I think, for example of my dear nephew Clark who is just your age. Last year he fell in love with a beautiful girl named Megan. Clark was shy at first. He needed a little encouragement. After their first date Megan told him: “This was fun. You should ask me out again.” Well he did, and they got married in the Bountiful Temple last December. They were so in love, so full of hope. But three weeks later Megan was killed in a car accident while they were driving to a reception in Arizona and Clark was badly injured.

Over the past five months as he has been recovering from his injuries, physical and spiritual, Clark has had to cling to ultimate hope. His former proximate hopes for the reception, his return to school with Megan, a life together with her, etc. have all been dashed. Yet he still has ultimate Hope, through the atonement of Christ, in a glorious resurrection and reunion.

This past Fast Sunday Clark returned to BYU where, I was told, he blessed the sacrament and bore testimony of the hope he feels through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. His new single student ward did not know about Megan. Only his cousins in the audience knew the tragic experience that made Clark’s sweet, simple expression of hope so poignant. They knew that Clark had hope through the Atonement that he would be with Megan again and eventually understand the Lord’s purposes in his afflictions. They also knew, however, that this reunion and this understanding would likely not come in this life.

When I arrived in the Peru Chiclayo Mission, my only desire was to be obedient and work with great fervor to find those who would accept the gospel. Each morning, my companion and I knelt to pray for help in finding those who were seeking the Savior. Many times our prayers were answered.
About 18 months into my mission, I was assigned to the Los Proceres Ward, Chiclayo Peru El Dorado Stake. My companion and I began to work in the same way he and his former companion had been working. One morning as we went out to work, we discovered we didn’t have any appointments, so we decided to collect some referrals from the members.
On our way to a member’s home we passed a certain street, and I felt a very special sensation. I realized that the Lord wanted us to knock on the doors of the houses on that street. I told my companion what I was feeling and proposed that we tract there. He agreed.
We knocked on the first three doors on the block—and were rejected at all three. This response discouraged my companion so much that he wanted to go back to our first plan of getting member referrals. Seeing how he felt, I agreed, but I could not deny the feeling I had.
Later that month, my companion was transferred and Elder Meyhuay was assigned to work with me. I helped him get settled the first night, but the first thing the next day I took him to the street where I had received the impression. I told him about my feeling, and he agreed to help me knock on every door on that street.
And so we began. As before, the people in the first few houses rejected us. But we were determined to endure to the end. Then we arrived at the house of the Quesada Zerita family. The woman who answered the door invited us in, and we taught her the first missionary discussion. She was very moved by it. We returned two days later in search of her husband. He also agreed to listen to us, and we taught another discussion. This time the whole family was there.
So began a beautiful experience. As time went by, many of the families on that street wanted to hear the discussions. In order to accommodate them all, we had to set up benches outside and project our filmstrips in the street. As we spoke to the large numbers of people who gathered to hear our message, we felt like the Apostles in ancient times. All of this gave us great joy.
Going to church was exciting; we had to stop four or five taxis to get all the people to the meetinghouse, and the people from this street filled up four pews in the chapel. In the three months my companion and I worked together, we baptized about 50 people. Their names are written in my journal and in my heart.
I have since learned that the street, which we called “Mormon Street,” is now part of a new Church unit. The families we baptized are still active in the Church, and this especially fills me with joy.
Now that I have completed my mission and returned to my home in Ica, Peru, I still have challenges. But the experiences I had in the mission field give me strength. On my mission I learned to listen to the Lord. I learned that, like Nephi, when I seek to do the Lord’s will, I can be “led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do” (1 Ne. 4:6).

Years ago, when our four-month-old son had an operation, I felt forsaken and alone in a hospital waiting room. Another mother there was particularly comforting to me. She took me down the hall to meet her twelve-year-old daughter, who was suffering from leukemia. I found her to be like her mother, peacefully and cheerfully accepting this fatal illness. The girl was busy knitting dishcloths for her nurses. Her brightness helped me put my own concerns temporarily aside.
A few days later, our little one, now at home, was much better. I received a note from this mother. The affliction had taken my new young friend back to her Heavenly Father, but before she died, she asked her mother to send me a hand-knit dishcloth.
What a beautiful example they were to me of “good cheer” even in such a difficult circumstance. They had learned to accept those things they could not change and remembered the Savior’s words, “Be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you” (D&C 68:6).
I, too, remembered the Savior’s words, “They who have endured the crosses of the world, … shall inherit the kingdom of God, … and their joy shall be full forever” (2 Ne. 9:18).

I was once invited to speak at graduation services at a university. The university president had wanted President Gordon B. Hinckley to be invited but found that he was unavailable. So by default I got the invitation. I was then a junior member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
The person who invited me to speak became anxious as she learned more about my obligations as an Apostle. She called me on the phone and said that she now understood that my duty was to be a witness of Jesus Christ.
In very firm tones she told me that I could not do that when I spoke there. She explained that the university respected people of all religious beliefs, including those who denied the existence of a God. She repeated, “You cannot fulfill your duty here.”
I hung up the phone with serious questions in my mind. Should I tell the university that I would not keep my agreement to speak? It was only two weeks before the event. My appearance there had been announced. What effect would my failing to keep my agreement have on the good name of the Church?
I prayed to know what God would have me do. The answer came in a surprising way to me. I realized that the examples of Nephi, Abinadi, Alma, Amulek, and the sons of Mosiah applied to what I was. They were bold witnesses of Jesus Christ in the face of deadly peril.
So the only choice to be made was how to prepare. I dug into everything I could learn about the university. As the day of the talk grew closer, my anxiety rose and my prayers intensified.
In a miracle like the Red Sea parting, I found a news article. That university had been honored for doing what the Church has learned to do in our humanitarian efforts across the world. And so in my talk I described what we and they had done to lift people in great need. I said that I knew that Jesus Christ was the source of the blessings that had come into the lives of those we and they had served.
After the meeting the audience rose to applaud, which seemed a little unusual to me. I was amazed but still a little anxious. I remembered what happened to Abinadi. Only Alma had accepted his witness. But that night, at a large formal dinner, I heard the university president say that in my talk he heard the words of God.

My grandparents weren’t members of the Church. After they passed away, my family was able to serve as proxies for their baptism and temple ordinances. It’s amazing to know that even though those loved ones we had here on earth are gone, we can still be with them in the next life. Before entering the baptismal font when I was a proxy for my grandma, I was overwhelmed by the Spirit, and I knew that what I was doing was right—not just for me, but also for my grandma. After the baptisms for them, my parents and I felt the Spirit much stronger, knowing that our ancestors can be with us in the next life. I miss my grandparents, but I know that we can all be together one day in the presence of God.

It was going to be a rough night. I figured I had about three hours of homework to do, including chemistry and Spanish homework, which I dreaded. I had just enough time to study, eat, and still get to bed at a (somewhat) decent time.
As I sat down to start my chemistry homework, my mom reminded me that I hadn’t practiced the piano for an entire week and that I needed to get some done tonight. Grudgingly, I sat down at the piano, frustrated because practicing now meant I was going to get to bed a half hour later. I played through some hymns, but I was just going through the motions without really paying attention to what I was playing.
After I’d practiced for a bit, I started to play “Where Can I Turn For Peace” (Hymns, no. 129). It hit me that I was definitely not feeling much peace; in fact, I rather felt like I was going to explode. I realized that if I wanted to feel peace, then I needed to turn to my Heavenly Father and ask Him for help. So I did. After my prayer, the Holy Ghost testified to me so strongly that it brought tears to my eyes.
I continued to play the hymn, but I was now feeling grateful that I could play the hymns and that I could experience the Spirit that comes with them. Afterward, I was able to sit down and finish my homework, eat, and somehow still get to bed around the time that I’d originally estimated.
I know that Heavenly Father was watching out for me, just as He is watching out for all of us. He wants to help us; all we need to do is ask. I am very grateful for my mom and for her reminder to practice that night; otherwise, I may not have experienced my Heavenly Father’s love like I did at that moment. I’m especially grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who knows each of us personally and wants the best for us.

A modern parable portrays a farmer who had a wheat crop that surpassed any he had known before. According to the account, he could think of nothing but the treasures he could buy with the money from his crop. Every day he would visit his fields, gloat over the wonderful sea of golden grain, and then come home and proudly tell his family how rich he would be.
This farmer had a little boy who was ill and who begged his father to take him to the fields so that he could see this vast expanse of ripening wheat. The father consented, bundled his son up, and took him out. Absorbed in the treasure that lay before him the father did not immediately notice that his son was no longer by his side. Some time passed before he noticed the child missing and began searching about in the wheat, which was taller than his boy. Not finding him, the frantic father rushed to the village to summon the help of his neighbors. All rallied to his call, formed a huge circle by joining hands, and walked slowly forward, trampling the dense stalks until the body of the boy was found. Brokenhearted, the father mourned over the death of his son who was so dear to him. He realized the greater worth of one individual over the worth of monetary possessions. (Sidney H. Alexander, Jr., “Today’s Crises,” Vital Speeches, 1 Jan. 1963, pp. 185–86.)

Have you ever asked yourself any of these questions? Are you entertaining any of these questions now? If you are, rest assured that most people have contemplated these very questions, including me. Let me illustrate by sharing with you the following tragic event that happened to me when I was three or four years old. It happened on a peaceful day when my older brother and I were milling around the backyard, looking for something to do. My brother came upon the idea of exploring my father's cupboard in the garage that was, by the way, strictly off limits. I reluctantly followed my brother into the garage and watched as he climbed upon the workbench and pulled the stick from the latch on the cupboard.

As he opened the cupboard door, he quickly located the test tubes of chemicals that my father kept there. I began to feel very uneasy and ran for the back door of our house. Unfortunately, the back door to our house was difficult to open. And weighing a mere 40 or 50 lb., there wasn't a chance that I was going to get it opened. I cried out to my mother while pounding on the door, but she, at that very moment, was vacuuming the floor and was not able to hear me.

After a few moments, I resolved to return to the garage to see what my brother was doing. He had, while I was away, secured a test tube, climbed down from the workbench, and removed the tube's lid. He motioned for me to come and smell its contents. I reluctantly moved forward. As I drew near to him, he--not knowing the bottle was filled with dangerous acid--threw it on me. I was badly burned and rushed to the hospital. I still vividly remember the ambulance ride. My mother later said that she had never heard a child scream so loudly. I ended up spending many days in bed, wrapped in white bandages. And I still carry the scars of those burns to this day.

That was a traumatic experience in my life, one that was followed by a number of others. Time will not permit me to relate those. Nevertheless, it is sufficient to say that I seemed to be a magnet for tragic events. And many times I have had the occasion of crying out to Heavenly Father for comfort and for answers. Let me share with you some of the things I have learned. I hope that you will find them helpful.

Years ago when I was serving as a bishop, a recently converted family moved into our rural Utah community. These good people had joined the Church in the eastern United States and had been warmly fellowshipped and put to work in a small branch there. When they came to our larger, more-established ward, they somehow slipped through the cracks. Some of the family members, particularly the father, became disenchanted with the Church and its members.

One Sunday morning when I noticed the father was missing from priesthood meeting, I left the meetinghouse and drove to his home. He invited me in, and we had a very honest conversation about the struggle he was having with his new faith and neighbors. After exploring various possibilities for responding to his concerns, none of which seemed to appeal to him very much, I asked him with a tone of frustration in my voice just what we could do to help him. I’ve never forgotten his reply:

“Well, bishop,” he said (and I will need to paraphrase here slightly), “for heaven’s sake, whatever you do, please don’t assign me a friend.”

I learned a great lesson that day. No one wants to become a “project”; we all want spontaneously to be loved. And, if we are to have friends, we want them to be genuine and sincere, not “assigned.”

“When I was small and our leaders spoke to us of marriage, all the stories were happy ones,” says Ruth Silva. She realizes that “happily ever after” takes work, “but I feel that those stories were true. The largest blessing of being married in the temple is the happiness I feel in knowing that we are united as an eternal family.”
Her example helped her father enter the waters of baptism in 2008 and then take his family to the temple, where they were sealed a year later.

Mother sighed. “It’s a picture of my cousin Kenny and me. Kenny was my best friend too. We both loved the early spring, when buds began to form on brown branches, green grass peeked out from patches of melting snow, and the river roared through the farm with spring runoff. Kenny was deaf and couldn’t hear it, but he could feel the spring sun warm his back as he played with Bridget, his huge pet sheep who was about to have baby lambs.
“We were both five. We talked to each other with our own made-up sign language. I loved playing with his large collection of farm toys, and he was always willing to share them.
“On that beautiful spring afternoon, the snow had been totally replaced by a carpet of green grass, and the creek had calmed from a roar to a strong, pleasant chuckle. Our mothers decided to let us go fishing.
“I was eager to try out my new bamboo fishing pole. A real fishing pole. Always before I had used a thick stick, like the one Kenny was still using.
“We sat side by side on our little perch, not moving so that we wouldn’t scare the fish. I threw my line into the creek, just the way my mother had shown me, being careful not to get it tangled. Kenny just sat there with his stick-pole, a sad expression on his face. Oh no! I thought. He wants a new pole too.
“Soon he motioned to me in our own private language that he wanted to use my new fishing pole. I shrugged him away, pretending not to understand. He tried again, more insistent this time. I looked away, pointedly ignoring him. Frustrated, he tried to pull the pole out of my hands.
“I pried his fingers off my pole and pushed him away. I wanted to tell him, ‘Just let me use it first for a little while. I’ll let you try it if you’ll only wait until I’m ready.’ But I didn’t know how.
“He was hurt and turned away. I reached over to pinch him, angry because he wouldn’t let me enjoy my new pole even for a moment.
“I looked up to see my mother taking our picture. My face burned with shame. I felt small and little and mean. I didn’t feel like fishing anymore.
“Handing my precious new pole to Kenny, I left to go play with Bridget. I loved to put my fingers deep into her soft wool. I looked back to see that Kenny was offering me his thick stick and motioning for me to come back and sit by him, but I ignored him.
“We had a picnic that day on the vast green lawn, with fancy little sandwiches cut in the shape of hearts, pink lemonade, and Aunt Dorothy’s angel food cake. We laughed when Bridget tried to steal a nibble.
“That was the last time I ever got to play with Kenny. Our mothers had planned this special day for us because Kenny was going into the hospital to have surgery, which the doctors hoped would help his ears.
“But something went wrong. Kenny died. My mother said that Kenny went to live with Jesus. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t stay right here with us.
“I missed him terribly. His mother put away all his farm toys and never got them out again. I wanted to play with them because then I could pretend that he was playing with me.
“Mom’s pictures came back from being developed, and the pinch was in that picture! Mom had the picture made big and ordered several copies so that Grandma and all my aunts and uncles could have a picture of Kenny.
“I have always felt sad about that mean pinch. Every time I see that picture of Kenny and me fishing, it makes me feel bad.”

During this difficult period, Jirí and Olga sought legal permission many times to leave their homeland, citing religious persecution. But their requests only triggered new interrogations and further persecution. Since there was no private enterprise in Czechoslovakia, Jirí was a government employee, devoting his career to agricultural and water research. His own supervisors were summoned by Communist leaders and were told to financially punish him. “Heavenly Father protected us,” says Jirí. “Our bosses were our good friends, so we weren’t harmed financially.”

In 1968 they abandoned their efforts to leave Czechoslovakia. “We felt we needed to stay in our homeland because our brothers and sisters would need us,” Jirí says. “We couldn’t leave them.”

In Alaska, LDS teenagers who live in the towns of Wasilla, Palmer, and Eagle River look at the Anchorage Alaska Temple and know that something of theirs is safe inside. They were fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time to make a promise, sign their names to it, then have those pledges sealed inside the cornerstone of the temple at the dedication.
The promise they signed was quite short. It said simply: “As I prepare for marriage and a mission, I will live the standards of worthiness for entrance into the house of the Lord.” It was a promise that many of them were willing to make, but now that the promise is literally encased in stone in the temple and sealed with mortar, these young people have taken it very seriously.
“This was a goal I had previously made,” says Katie Green of the Eagle River Second Ward, “but had never put on paper. When I was given the opportunity to do so, I jumped at it. I didn’t just sign it; I pondered it. To me a promise is a promise and cannot be broken, especially with our Father in Heaven. Living the standards of worthiness doesn’t mean just not crossing the line. It means that we must live as far away from that line as possible.”
For Amie Uscola of the Wasilla First Ward, making a promise like this one is very personal. “Having my name in the cornerstone of the temple is like an agreement on a personal basis with the Lord. It is like a possession of His, and if you broke it, it is more personal. I actually do think about it every time I come here.”
These teens are thrilled to have a temple so close to their hometowns. Before the Anchorage Alaska Temple was built, these teens only rarely, if ever, had the opportunity to travel to a temple. The trips were expensive and often a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Now they have many more opportunities to do baptisms and to go through the temple for their own endowments before leaving on missions or being married. Ryan Rampton of the Eagle River Second Ward said, “With something as sacred as doing temple ordinances, now I won’t have to go to another state. I can do it in the place I grew up. That actually means a lot to me.”
Having signed a pledge that is now permanently in the temple’s cornerstone makes coming to the temple even better. “The feelings I get whenever I enter the temple,” says ShaLene Grover of the Palmer First Ward, “make the desires of my heart stronger to be a better person. This makes a difference in my life, to always be worthy to go to the temple, so I can always feel the peace I feel when going there.”

But before the end of the year, Alyce’s brother Pete was killed in an automobile accident. Such news travels fast. The seat next to mine in algebra was empty for a whole week, and I felt compassion for Alyce. I wanted to write her a note, but I didn’t know what to say. Anyway, I thought Alyce didn’t want to hear from me. The following Monday when Alyce still wasn’t back in school, however, I decided to send her a card. I stopped in Gilbert’s drug store after school and looked for an appropriate sympathy card. Finally I picked out the one I liked best and took it home. I started putting it in the envelope, but before I sealed it, I took the card back out and wrote a few words on it that I though might be comforting. I knew Pete had been dear to Alyce. She had talked about him a few times. Once she had said, “Pete is not like me. He doesn’t joke (tease) as much. He has a quiet sense of humor like you.” Whenever she talked about Pete, I could sense a cheerful pride in her voice.
I decided to mail the card that night before I changed my mind. The least I could do was tell her I was sorry and try to comfort her in some small way. Even if our friendship had changed, it could possibly still help her.
That Friday Alyce was back in her seat next to me in algebra class. “How are you doing?” I asked quietly as I touched her arm. She looked tired and thinner.
“Okay, I guess. Thanks for the note.” The next minute some of her friends came in, and she called to them and said something funny. They laughed, relieved to see that Alyce had recovered. She looked down at her desk and then over to me again. “Could I talk to you, maybe after school?”
“Sure,” I wondered what she wanted to talk about.
“I’ll meet you by the oak tree.”
“Okay.”
She was there after the bell rang and we began silently wandering. “Do you care if we sit down on the grass for a minute?” Alyce asked.
“Of course not.”
She didn’t talk but lowered her head; I couldn’t see her face, but then a tear dripped down to the grass. I handed her my handkerchief. “Let’s go. I don’t want anyone to see me. I didn’t intend to cry.”
We walked around the school until we found an area that was somewhat secluded near the bleachers. She had stopped crying and she took hold of my hand. “You know, you’re one of the few people who has treated me like I’m more than just a funny person. It’s hard to be funny all the time. There’s a lot of pressure.” She began laughing. “That sounds funny, doesn’t it?”
“I think I understand,” I said.
“Like right now. I don’t feel much like being funny, but nobody knows how to react to an unfunny Alyce, so feel I have to joke and tease.” Her lips began to tremble.
“Go ahead and cry if you need to, Alyce,” I said.
She cried then, and I put my arm around her shoulders and felt helpless as her back jerked with each heavy sob. “I’m sorry,” I kept saying. “I’m sorry.”
“I feel so foolish,” she said.
“No, it’s okay. Don’t feel that way.”
Finally, she got control of herself and bit her lower lip. “I’m not going to cry anymore now.” She swallowed hard and tried to smile. “I suppose you’re wondering why I called this little meeting,” she joked. Then she was serious again. “It’s about something you said on the card you sent me, Bill. I memorized it. You said, ‘I have strong faith that Pete still lives.’ “She bit her lip again. “I’ve got to know more about that.” She was whispering in emotional spurts. “My family has never been very religious, and I’ve got to know where he is right now.” She was losing control of her emotions again, and she paused for a moment. “If you believe it, I can believe it too.” She tried to laugh. “Because you’re the most honest person I’ve ever met!” Again she paused and was serious. “And, I know I can trust you, Bill.”
“I’m glad,” I said softly but emphatically. “Because what I said is true.” I was starting to feel emotional, too. “Yes, I’d like to tell you more, Alyce.” Now I felt my eyes beginning to fill with tears, and now I was the one who felt foolish. “Could I borrow my handkerchief back for a minute,” I said as ruggedly as possible. “I think I might need it before this little meeting is over.”
“You know, you’re one of the few people who has treated me like I’m more than just a funny person. It’s hard to be funny all the time.”
“If you believe it, I can believe it too … Because you’re the most honest person I’ve ever met!”