Gospel Story Finder

In 1976 Elder Robert C. Oaks, then a colonel in the United States Air Force, was a member of the Incidents at Sea negotiating team. They were guests at a dinner hosted by the Leningrad Naval District. About 50 senior officers of the Soviet Union and the United States were present as the host led the group in toasts before dinner. They stood for the first toast and raised their glasses, most of which were filled with Russian vodka. Brother Oaks had pink lemonade in his glass, which was immediately noticed by the admiral leading the toast. He stopped and demanded that Brother Oaks fill his glass with vodka, stating that he would not proceed until he had done so. Brother Oaks declined, explaining that he was happy with what he had in his glass.

A significant tension began to build, and even his own team members, most of whom were senior to him, were growing uneasy over the impasse. Brother Oaks’s Soviet escort hissed in his ear, “Fill your glass with vodka!” Brother Oaks uttered the shortest prayer of his life: “God, help me!”

Within seconds, the Soviet interpreter, an army captain with whom he had previously discussed religion, whispered to the host admiral, “It is because of his religion.” The admiral nodded his head, the tension immediately diffused, and the program moved on.

Elder Oaks had decided years before that he would never drink alcohol, and so in the moment of trial he did not have to make this choice again. Elder Oaks was convinced that more harm would have come to him if he had compromised a tenet of his faith than the harm that would have come from drinking the vodka. Incidentally, adhering to his religious principles did not hurt his career. After this incident he went on to become a four-star general.

I grew up in the city of Minas, Uruguay. When I was six years old, my mother and older sisters were baptized into the Church. My father never joined the Church, but he was always happy that we went to church. He even kept the Word of Wisdom and paid tithing.
Our branch was very small, and we did not have a church building. We met in a rented house. The house had a small swimming pool outside that we used for baptisms.
As my eighth birthday got closer, I was excited about being baptized. But on the day of the baptism, it was raining and very cold. My mom said that maybe I shouldn’t be baptized that day because of the cold weather. But it was my birthday, and I wanted to be baptized on that day.
I remember putting on my white clothes and getting into the pool to be baptized. I knew that the water would be cold, but I did not feel cold. I knew that I was doing the right thing, and I had a warm feeling.
A short time later a chapel was built for our branch. At that time Church members could help build the meetinghouses. My job was to pick up nails and screws that had fallen on the ground so they could be used again. It was a simple job, but it was very important to me. It taught me how to serve, and it helped prepare me for future Church service. Remember that even though you are young, the things you do now matter.

Our third child was born while we were living in Germany and Bruce was serving as branch president. I had three children under the age of three to care for while he served. I often felt isolated and alone. One Sunday after teaching a Relief Society lesson, I received a clear impression: “The Lord loves a plodder.”
That gift of personal revelation let me know that the Lord recognized my struggle. It gave me the hope and strength I needed to keep going, even if I was just plodding along.

Just as Joseph could not possibly have understood why the Lord needed him in Egypt, as a slave and then a prisoner, we may have experiences that, without faith and humility, make little or no sense to us. Margaret and I had just such an experience about nine months after returning from our three years presiding over the England London Mission. Reflecting on these unusual events is extremely humbling, as it shows that the Lord trusted us to trust in Him, even though we could not see the divine destination where He would lead us. Let me share the events I’m referring to.

Before leaving for London in July of 2000, Margaret and I sold our Boston home, as we planned to retire to Utah after our mission. But near the end of our mission we felt strong promptings to change our plans and return to Boston to continue my career at Harvard for a few more years. Because we had sold our family home, we needed to find a place to live. After an extensive search, we purchased a small home; just right for the two of us, about a mile from where we had lived for over 20 years before our mission. We moved into this home and immediately went to work, renovating and improving it like we had done to prior homes several times before. For the next eight months, we lived there comfortably.

Then, one Sunday afternoon, while waiting to meet with the Stake President, I received a strong impression from the Spirit that we needed to move. I was shocked! Another move was not in our plans and it made absolutely no sense, given my limited perspective. Yet I knew I had been told that we needed to move!

After my meeting that afternoon, I drove down the street we had lived on for so many years before our mission. I hadn’t been on that street for nearly four years. But as I followed the gentle guidance of the Spirit, I noticed a home for sale across the street from the home we had raised our family in. The thought quickly crossed my mind – “I wonder if that is the house the Lord wants us to buy.”

For two weeks I pondered the impression I’d had, wondering why we needed to move. Unable to make sense of it, but trusting in the Lord with faith and humility, I concluded I just needed to act upon the prompting, and so I told Margaret what had happened. She, too, was shocked, but we both felt we should do as the Lord had prompted, so we put our home on the market and began looking for another.

After a few days of looking, we felt that the house across the street from our previous home was the one we should buy. Now if you knew the Boston housing market, especially at that time, you would have known as I did that this was not a wise financial decision! We had been in our other home for less than a year, and now we were selling it and buying a home larger than the two of us could need, but we felt strongly prompted that it was what the Lord wanted us to do. We were grateful for the Lord’s guidance, even if we did not understand it.

The day after we moved in, Margaret walked next door to the elderly neighbor she had been acquainted with when we had lived on this street before our mission. You might say that Margaret engaged. She knew that this 80-year-old woman, Barbara, had been raised in the Church but had become inactive in college and hadn’t been back to church for over 60 years. When Margaret entered her kitchen that morning, Barbara threw her arms around her and began telling her about her 40-year-old daughter, Karen. Karen was dying of stomach cancer, and she and her husband were now living with Barbara so she could help with Karen’s care.

Before Margaret could even think, she opened her mouth and said, “Barbara, do you think that Karen would like a priesthood blessing?” Without hesitating, Barbara said, “Yes, I know that she would.”

That night a close friend from the ward joined me and we gave Karen a priesthood blessing. It was then that Margaret and I began to understand why the Lord needed us to buy the house next door to Barbara and her dying daughter. A mile away would not have been sufficient for what the Lord needed us to do. Our trust in the Lord had created an amazing opportunity for us.

Within a week, we started sharing the gospel with Karen. She had always wondered about the Church because she knew that her cousins in Utah were members and they were always so happy. We visited with her almost daily, teaching her and comforting her and her mother in any way we could. Karen started attending church with us and loved the people in the ward and everything she was learning. She felt like she was coming home! Within a couple of months she was baptized.

Karen said that the day she was baptized was the happiest day of her life. Even though she only lived three months after her baptism, and she was in daily pain, she was filled with joy and happiness and peace from the Lord. Those last few months of her life were truly a gift from the Lord to her and all of those around her.

We felt in a very small way like Joseph of Egypt. We didn’t know the Lord’s plan, but we trusted Him. And with His guidance we were able to help save a small family struggling with spiritual hunger at a critical time in their lives. That experience became a milestone in all we had learned previously about trusting the Lord.

The story is called The Dot and the Line: A Romance in Lower Mathematics, by Norton Juster, who is also the author of The Phantom Tollbooth. The book tells of a love triangle between a dot, a line, and a squiggle. Much of the humor and wit of the story is packed in the pictures. So, with the publisher’s permission, I will show the illustrations as I read. So, sit back and enjoy; it’s story time.
The Dot & the Line: A Romance in Lower Mathematics.
Once upon a time there was a sensible straight line who was hopelessly in love with a dot.
“You’re beginning and the end, the hub, the core and the quintessence,” he told her tenderly, but the frivolous dot wasn’t a bit interested, for she only had eyes for a wild and unkempt squiggle who never seemed to have anything on his mind at all.
They were everywhere together, singing and dancing and frolicking and laughing and laughing and [who] knows what else. “He is so gay and free, so uninhibited and full of joy,” she informed the line coolly,
“and you are as stiff as a stick. Dull. Conventional and repressed. Tied and trammeled. Subdued, smothered and stifled. Squashed, squelched and quenched.”
“Come around when you get straightened out, kid,” the squiggle added with a rasping chuckle, as he chased her into the high grass.
“Why take chances,” replied the line without much conviction. “I’m dependable. I know where I’m going. I’ve got dignity!”
But this was small consolation for the miserable line. Each day he grew more and more morose. He stopped eating or sleeping and before long was completely on edge.
His worried friends noticed how terribly thin and drawn he had become and did their best to cheer him up.
“She’s not good enough for you.” “She lacks depth.” “They all look alike anyway. Why don’t you find a nice straight line and settle down?”
But he hardly heard a word they said. Any way he looked at her she was perfect.
He saw things in her that no one else could possibly imagine. “She is more beautiful than any straight line I’ve ever seen,” he sighed wistfully, and they all shook their heads. Even allowing for his feelings they felt this was stretching a point.
And so he spent his time dreaming of the inconstant dot and imagining himself as the forceful figure she was sure to admire.
The line as a celebrated daredevil.The line as a leader in world affairs.The line as a fearless law enforcement agent.The line as a potent force in the world of art.The line as an international sportsman.
But he soon grew tired of self-deception and decided that perhaps the squiggly line might have the answer after all.
“I lack spontaneity. I must learn to let go, to be free, to express the inner passionate me.”
But it just didn’t make any difference, for no matter how often, or how hard he tried, he always ended up the same way.
And yet he continued trying and failing and trying again. Until when he had all but given up, he discovered at last that with great concentration and self-control he was able to change direction and bend wherever he chose. So he did, and made an angle.
And then again and made anotherand then anotherand then anotherand then anotherand then anotherand then another
“Hot stuff,” he shouted, much impressed with his efforts. Then in a wild burst of enthusiasm he sat up for half the night putting on an outrageous display of sides, bends and angles. “Freedom is not a license for chaos,” he observed the next morning. “Ooh, what a head.” There and then he decided not to squander his talents in cheap exhibitionism.
For months, he practiced in secret. Soon he was making squares and triangles, hexagons, parallelograms, rhomboids, polyhedrons, trapezoids, parallelepipeds, decagons, tetragrams and an infinite number of other shapes so complex that he had to letter his sides and angles to keep his place.
Before long he had learned to carefully control ellipses, circles and complex curves and to express himself in any shape he wished–
“You name it, I’ll play it.”
But all his successes meant nothing to him alone and so off he went to seek the dot once again. “He doesn’t stand a chance,” muttered the squiggle in a voice that sounded like bad plumbing. But the line, who was bursting with old love and new confidence, was not to be denied. Throughout the evening he was by turns.
Mysterious.Clever. Dazzling.Profound.Complex. Erudite.Eloquent.Versatile. Enigmatic.Compelling.
The dot was overwhelmed. She giggled like a schoolgirl and didn’t know what to do with her hands. Then she turned slowly to the squiggle, who had suddenly developed a severe cramp.
“Well?” she inquired, trying to give him every chance. The squiggle, taken by surprise did the best he could.
“Is that all?” she demanded.
“I guess so,” replied the miserable squiggle. “That is, I suppose so. What I mean is I never know how it’s going to turn out. Hey, have you heard the one about the two guys who– “
The dot wondered why she had never noticed how hairy and coarse he was, and how untidy and graceless, and how he mispronounced his L’s and picked his ear.
And suddenly she realized that what she had thought was freedom and joy was nothing but anarchy and sloth.
“You are as meaningless as a melon,” she said coldly. “Undisciplined, unkempt and unaccountable, insignificant, indeterminate and inadvertent, out of shape, out of order, out of place and out of luck.”
With that she turned to the line and shyly took his arm. “Do the one with all the funny curves again, honey,” she cooed softly as they strolled away.
And he did. And soon they did, and lived–if not happily ever after, at least reasonably so.
Moral: To the vector belong the spoils.

“Economically, our family had its ups and downs. Like many Americans, we did well during the 1920s. My father started making lots of money in real estate, in addition to his other businesses. For a few years we were actually wealthy. But then came the Depression.
“No one who’s lived through it can ever forget. My father lost all his money, and we almost lost our house. I remember asking my sister, who was a couple of years older, whether we’d have to move out and how we’d find somewhere else to live. I was only six or seven at the time, but the anxiety I felt about the future is still vivid in my mind. Bad times are indelible—they stay with you forever.” (Lee Iacocca and William Novak, Iacocca: An Autobiography, New York: Bantam Books, 1984, p. 7.)

I remember standing before the bier of a young man whose life had been bright with hope and promise. He had been an athlete in his high school, and an excellent university student. He was a friendly, brilliant young man. He had gone into the mission field. He and his missionary companion were riding down the highway when a car, coming from the opposite direction, moved into their path and crashed into them. He died in the hospital an hour later. As I stood at the pulpit and looked into the faces of his father and his mother, there came then into my heart a conviction that I had seldom before felt with such assurance. I knew with certainty, as I looked across his casket, that this young man had not died, but had merely been transferred to another field of labor in the eternal ministry of the Lord.

“The last year that he lived, he took me into the living room and showed me a picture that had appeared in the Church News. The picture showed him and Grandma and their eleven children with their spouses in front of the Salt Lake Temple. They had all gone through a temple session together for my grandparent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary. Before the session had begun, a temple worker had introduced my grandfather to the rest of the people who were there. This had been the happiest day of Grandpa’s life. Seeing how happy it made him to have everyone together in the temple helped me to see how important temple work is.

My standing here today is a miracle. I am humbled by this opportunity and pray for the Spirit to assist me as I address you today--that the Spirit will teach all of us according to our individual needs.

Exactly three years ago, my wife and I arrived at this university full of joy and dreams. It was quite an accomplishment to be finally accepted at BYU-Hawaii after three unsuccessful attempts. But, we soon realized that the journey was not going to be easy as we soon became aware of the challenges and difficulties ahead of us. The language barrier was obviously the primary one. It was literally impossible, at the time, for me to make a complete and correct sentence in English. We walked out of our first sacrament meeting asking ourselves if we were at the right place. Yet, three years later I am standing here at a campus devotional giving a talk in English! It is a miracle!

I would like to begin by honoring my dear wife. When we met 5 years ago, I was poor, alone, and my future was uncertain. All I had were my dreams and the desire to work hard to achieve them, but she willingly joined me in my eternal journey. I want her to know that I am grateful for her support, love, patience, and hard work. Without her, nothing would have been possible. She has been my faithful companion and partner every step of the way. To our 11-month-old son, I would like to say how much we are grateful to have him in our lives. He is a giant spirit, and the responsibility to raise him is both an honor and a privilege. We love him so very much.

My life is full with what the scriptures refer to as “the tender mercies of the Lord.”

I was born and raised in Cote D'Ivoire, West part of Africa. In the course of my life, I experienced what is called child slavery. After a family tragedy, I found myself working in cacao farms to survive. I began working when I was 6 years old and worked 10 hours a day clearing weeds with machetes, planting seeds, harvesting beans, and carrying heavy loads on my head and back. I did this for 6 years. It was a difficult and painful experience. Every day was the same. We learned to live each day as if it was our last. I eventually escaped and was able to have gone to school, met the missionaries, joined the Church, served a mission, and then was married in the House of the Lord. These blessings came because of so many “tender mercies of the Lord.”

At this time in our lives, my father had drifted into inactivity from the Church, so my mother relied on ward priesthood leaders to help raise us. Ned Brimley was our home teacher. One Sunday I was passing the sacrament and I went into the foyer with a tray of water, we had already passed the bread. A woman was just walking into the building late so, I approached her with the tray and she took the water. Mind you, the bread had already been passed. Brother Brimley happened to be in the foyer with his young daughter. As I made my way back into the chapel, Ned pulled me close and whispered, “NEVER PASS THE WATER TO SOMEONE WHO HASN’T TAKEN THE BREAD. THE SACRAMENT IS SEQUENTIAL. I’LL EXPLAIN WHEN I VISIT THIS WEEK.” I did NOT know what the word “sequential” meant but I was intrigued.
Later in the week when Brother Brimley visited, he came with a lesson about how the earth was created in seven days and how God created it in “sequence.” God started by separating light from darkness, the waters from earth, plant life, animals and so forth before Adam and Eve. Then he rested on the seventh day. The creation was “sequential.” He explained the priesthood is also ordained in sequence. Aaronic before Melchizedek. Each office within those priesthoods is sequential, deacon, teacher, and priests. Elder, high priests, Bishop and so forth. It’s sequential. Faith precedes the miracle. Sequential. Baptism is followed by the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost. Sequential. The sacrament? Sequential. The bread is always blessed and taken before the water. Brother Brimley ended by searing these words into my heart as a 12-year-old deacon: “Vai, God’s House is one of order. He expects you to live your life with order; sequentially. Serve a mission. Go to college. Get married. Then have children. If you have children BEFORE marriage, your life will be out of sequence, out of order and you will have problems. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir Brother Brimley. I do.”
I understood the word “sequential” at age 12 in a powerfully personal and unforgettable way that many of my peers, even ones much smarter than me, could ever know it. Guess what? These lessons stayed with me. In time, when I was on a date with a cute girl, I remembered, “Sequential. College. Mission. Marriage. Children. College. Mission. Marriage. Children.”

Toby looked down at the ring Jerome had slipped onto his third finger. “It will keep us close while I am on my mission,” Jerome had said, smiling down at his ten-year-old brother.
Toby knew how special this ring was to Jerome. Their great-uncle had made it and given it to him when he was ordained to the priesthood. The band was silver, and Uncle had painstakingly carved “LDS” out of turquoise and soldered it to the band. Toby had never seen the ring off Jerome’s finger. “I won’t take it off my finger until I return it to you in two years,” he had promised the handsome missionary.
“Get up, Wind Wolf,” Grandfather called early the next morning. He used Toby’s Indian name only when he wanted him to hurry. “Today we must plant the corn, and old Grandfather Sun will scorch our backs if we do not begin soon.”
Toby quickly dressed, ate a biscuit, drank a glass of milk, and hurried outside. He loved helping Grandfather plant the corn, and he knew that if he kept busy, he wouldn’t miss Jerome as much.
Grandfather dug holes with the narrow, wooden spade that he had made himself. Toby crawled along the rows, dropping two kernels of corn into each hole from the leather pouch he wore around his neck. The sun caused bright sparkles to dance across the silver band on Jerome’s ring, making Toby squint at times.
When all the corn had been planted, Toby and Grandfather looked around at the large plot, pleased with their work.
Still on his knees, Toby reached up to wipe his forehead. He gasped. “Jerome’s ring! It’s gone!” He jumped up, looking frantically.
Grandfather placed his hand on Toby’s shoulder. “Nothing will be accomplished by acting like a chicken with its head cut off. You walk up and down these rows and look for the ring. I will do the same on the rows over there.”
But they did not find the ring.
“Oh, Grandfather, what can I do? The ring means so much to Jerome.”
“There is One who knows where the ring is,” Grandfather said, kneeling on the ground.
Of course! Heavenly Father knew where the ring was. He would help them find it. Toby knelt beside his wise grandfather.
“Now I am sure that I will find it,” Toby said. He got up and began to slowly walk up and down each row again.
But the ring still couldn’t be found.
“Why doesn’t Heavenly Father show me where the ring is?” Toby asked impatiently. “He knows that Jerome is serving him.”
“We will ask again tonight and look again tomorrow,” Grandfather said.
The next morning Toby was on his hands and knees when the sun cast its first beams across the field. He crawled along each row, looking desperately for the ring. Grandfather found him slumped against the hogan. “Grandfather, I have prayed many times and have gone over every inch of the cornfield. Why doesn’t Heavenly Father show me where it is?”
“Heavenly Father knows where the ring is, Toby. If he wants us to find it, we will—but in his own time.”
“Why wouldn’t he want me to find it right now?”
“Maybe there is something you need to find even more than the ring,” Grandfather answered.
“What would I need to find more than Jerome’s ring?”
“That is something you must find out for yourself.”
Sometimes Grandfather doesn’t make any sense, Toby thought. If my prayer isn’t answered right now, the ring will be lost forever.
But it was not found that day, either.
Each morning Toby got up early and made his way slowly and carefully through the cornfield, hoping to see the turquoise initials popping up through the soil. It did not happen. He was very discouraged, but he continued to ask Heavenly Father to help him find the ring.
“Why don’t you fast about it?” suggested his good friend Vincent.
Toby remembered the lesson his Primary teacher had given on fasting and on how miracles may happen when fasting and prayer are used together. He had thought that that was just for grown-ups. The more he thought about it now, however, the more he liked the idea.
It was hard going to school without breakfast, and even harder when all his friends brought out their lunches, but at the end of the school day, he felt good inside. He did not find the ring as he went through the cornfield that evening, but he did find peace. He felt very close to Heavenly Father.
One early morning a few weeks later, Toby heard his grandfather call, “Wind Wolf, come quickly!”
Toby ran outside wondering what was wrong. “Where are you, Grandfather?”
“Here in the cornfield.”
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
Grandfather pointed at a small, green plant sticking up through the brown soil.
“Jerome’s ring!” Toby fell on his hands and knees to see better. The bright, green cornstalk had grown through the silver band and lifted the ring right out of the ground. “It is as if the cornstalk is handing it to me.” Toby carefully lifted it from the tender seedling.
That evening when Grandfather was hoeing in the cornfield, Toby wanted to be near him. “Grandfather, you are very wise.”
“Many years make much experience; much experience makes much wisdom.” Grandfather smiled at Toby.
“I think I know now what it was that I needed to find more than Jerome’s ring.”
Grandfather sat down and leaned against a fence post. “Tell me,” he said, motioning for Toby to sit beside him.
“Well, if I had found Jerome’s ring right away, I would never have prayed all the times I did. I knew that I really needed Heavenly Father’s help, so I prayed differently than I usually do. I really talked to him. And when I fasted, I felt really good.”
“So what did you find, my grandson?”
“I found Heavenly Father’s love for me, Grandfather.”
Neither Toby nor Grandfather said anything for a time. Then Grandfather said, “Tomorrow you must write to your brother about his first convert.”

Suva 1st Ward, Suva Fiji Stake
In September last year, I travelled abroad on a work-related mission and decided I’d take a couple of weeks off work while I could. Each week while I was away, I kept telling myself I’d pay my tithing when I got back. When I finally returned home several weeks later, I realized it had been three months since I last paid my tithing. My first Sunday back at church I paid my tithing only for the first month I was away and then I struggled in my mind. The festive season was upon us. Did I really need to pay?
To put my mind at ease I messaged my bishop and shared my dilemma hoping he would sympathize with me and tell me what I wanted to hear. He asked, “Do you want to go to the temple or not?” For as long as I can remember, this commandment was a prerequisite.
I knew in my heart that my faith was being tested and I was denying myself of the blessings that the Lord promised those who faithfully paid their tithes: “I will … open you the windows of heaven and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.”
In his talk, “Tithing: Opening the Windows of Heaven”, Elder Neil L. Andersen shared:
“The windows of heaven open in many ways. Some are temporal, but many are spiritual. Some are subtle and easy to overlook. Trust in the Lord’s timing; the blessings always come.”
As a widow, a mother to a beautiful young woman, a single parent, and the first counsellor in our ward Relief Society, I rely profoundly on these promised blessings.
The joy I felt, the peace that overwhelmed me would not have been possible if I had not been honest and faithful in doing what’s right. I know with surety that these promises are certain and despite all the challenges I have endured, my life has been blessed over and over again.

Illustrations by Alessia Girasole
“It’s scripture time!” Lila said.
Lila loved reading to her little sister, Ánika, and her baby brother, Svetan. Soon Lila would be getting baptized! To be ready, she wanted to read the scriptures every day.
Lila opened the scripture storybook to the first page. Ánika and Svetan snuggled close so they could see the pictures.
“Listen carefully because I’m going to ask you questions after,” Lila said. Then she started reading the first chapter.
“Before we were born, we lived in heaven,” Lila read. “We didn’t have bodies yet. We were spirits.”
Lila, Ánika, and Svetan looked at the pictures of people dressed in white.
“Ready for your first question?” Lila turned to Ánika. “Where did you come from before you were born?”
Ánika clapped her hands. “Heaven!”
“That’s right,” said Lila. “And where did Svetan come from?”
“He came from heaven too,” Ánika said. Svetan giggled and put his fist in his mouth. Lila and Ánika laughed. Svetan was the cutest one-year-old in Argentina!
“Our whole family came from heaven,” Lila said. “Jesus did too. He came to help us so we can live with Heavenly Father again.” Lila pointed to the picture of Jesus on the page.
After she finished reading, Lila kept thinking about what it must have been like to live with Jesus in heaven. She wanted to be like Him. She wanted to always choose the right!
The next day at school, Lila’s tummy rumbled as she waited in line for breakfast. She could almost taste the empanadas as Señora Ruiz slid them onto her plate. They smelled so good!
Then Señora Ruiz poured Lila a cup of milk. Uh oh, Lila thought. The milk looked darker than usual. Sometimes her school added coffee or tea to the drinks.
“Is there any coffee or tea in the milk today?” Lila asked.
Señora Ruiz waved her hand. “A little coffee,” she said. “You won’t even taste it.”
Lila thought for a moment. She remembered how she wanted to be like Jesus and choose the right. She knew drinking coffee was something the prophets said not to do.
“No, thanks. I won’t have milk today,” Lila said. She gave Señora Ruiz a smile. Then she sat down to eat.
That night, Lila helped Papi wash dishes in the kitchen. She was still thinking about the scripture story. She was thinking about the milk too.
“Papi?”
“Yes?” Papi said.
“Why did Heavenly Father want us to have bodies?”
Papi thought while he rinsed another plate. “Well, He gave us bodies so we could become like Him,” he said. “Your body is a home for your spirit. That’s what we mean when we say our bodies are temples.”
Lila nodded. She sang a song about that in Primary sometimes! “So that’s why Heavenly Father wants us to take care of our bodies?”
“Exactly,” Papi said.
“Today at school, they put some coffee in the milk,” Lila said. “I didn’t drink it, though. I’m trying to take care of my temple.”
“I’m proud of you,” Papi said. He dried his hands on a towel and gave Lila a hug.
Lila hugged Papi tight. She was happy to take care of the body Heavenly Father had given her.
The family in this story lives in Argentina. Turn to page 10 to learn more about their country.

The last experience I’d like to share came when I passed the bar exam. A salty old trial lawyer approached me and said, “Bob, you can’t be a successful, effective trial lawyer and an active member of the LDS Church at the same time.” I considered others who were successful in their law practices and active in the Church, and I determined to be active in the Church. My decision didn’t affect my success as a trial lawyer. In fact, it enhanced it because I had balance in my life. I was trying to do what the Lord had asked me to do, and He gave me additional strength, understanding, and help.

As BYU-Idaho became a university, I must admit that I was quite skeptical about competing with other universities with much more prestige and recognized names, for employment and internship opportunities, especially in the accounting area. Many of our accounting students struggled to find good internships in the early semesters of our transition. Some even had to accept non-paid opportunities just to land an internship.

Then late in the fall semester of 2004, December to be exact, one of our international accounting students was looking around on the internet for internship opportunities for the winter semester of 2005, which was less than a month away, when he discovered that one of the Big 4 CPA firms in New York City was looking for help. He contacted them and they conducted a phone interview with him. They offered him an internship position over the phone and wanted to know if there were others from our school who might be interested. Subsequently, two other students were also phone interviewed and were offered internships for the winter semester. While none of these three would have been considered geniuses in our accounting program, they certainly became pioneers for our department.

In January of 2005, I became the Accounting Department Chair and shortly thereafter, I was asked to assist in accompanying students from the College of Business and Communication on an internship expedition to New York City. In March of that year, I went on my first internship expedition. As part of the trip, I made arrangements to visit our three interning students and their firm.

During the office visit I was able to talk with one of their managers. She said to me, "Where is this BYU-Idaho? I had never heard of it before your students came on board. And where did these kids come from? They are wonderful. They work hard. They are willing to accept any assignment given. They are always helping one another. They are constantly cheerful and have a smile on their faces. And they don't come to work on Monday mornings hung over."

My thoughts quickly turned to President Eyring's prophecy and while fighting back the tears, all I could quietly say to her was, "Come with me to Rexburg!"
A most peaceful feeling came over me and I knew at that time that our accounting students were going to be alright and that our program would be successful.

After the initial placement of those three students, we have experienced continued success in placing our students with this firm and with others throughout the country.

Our majors nearly always receive full-time job offers from their internships. They are also being accepted by excellent accounting graduate schools and in many cases are receiving wonderful financial packages to attend those schools. I humbly testify that the Lord has his hand in this university's affairs and I am so grateful to be a small part of it.

I am ashamed that my trust was lacking in the beginning. I should have known that because of the prophecies given about this university, the Lord would see fit to find a way for them to come to pass. I don't know why I was fortunate enough to have been directly involved in hearing the fulfillment of President Eyring's prophecy, but I am certainly grateful for the experience. Because of it, my trust in the Lord has been greatly magnified.

Let’s listen in on a conversation and the thoughts of a traveler.

While driving through California, I decided to take a detour across Death Valley. I had been warned not to risk getting stranded. So before tackling the valley itself, I pulled into the last lonely filling station to stock up with gas.

The solitary proprietor of the gas station was long, lean, rangy and laconic. His face had been tanned to saddle leather.

I reached my hand out of the window to feel the side of the car and withdrew it sharply with smarting fingertips.

“If it’s like this in April,” I said, “how high does the mercury go in summer?”

“Hundred-forty, hundred-fifty, mebbe.”

“Do you mean in the shade?”

He grinned, his eyes screwed up in a sardonic twinkle, “Ain’t no shade,” he said.

Looking around, I had to admit he was right. “Don’t suppose many cars come through here in the summer?”

“Nope. That’ll be three forty-five.”

“What do you do, then, in the summer?” I asked, fishing a five-dollar bill out of my wallet.

“Prospectin’,” he answered. “Gold, silver, pumice, anything I can find. Reckon I put in around fourteen, sixteen hours a day at it, all summer long.”

“My,” I said, “that sounds like pretty hard work. “

“Tain’t,” he replied. He hesitated as though to add something but then went to get my change. By the time he came back he had evidently corralled his thoughts in words.

“Guess nothin’s really hard work,” he said, “unless you’d sooner be doin’ somethin’ else.”

He counted out into my hand a silver dollar, a quarter, two dimes and two nickels. I must have been too hot to take in what he said. It wasn’t until I’d driven as far as Badwater and got out for a few moments to peer into the small stagnant pool which must have dashed the hopes of so many thirsty pioneers, that I realized that he had handed me, along with those fugitive coins, a lasting piece of wisdom—a nugget of purer gold than any he had ever dug out of the hills.

“Guess nothin’s really hard work,” he said, “unless you’d sooner be doin’ somethin’ else.” [Jan Struther, This Week]

There once was a prince in Thailand who wanted a rare white elephant to ride through the city so he could show everyone that he was as rich as other princes. However, though he sent men into the jungle to hunt, he was unable to obtain such a rare animal. At last he proclaimed that he would give a hundred pieces of gold to anyone who could find a white elephant for him.
In a village not far from the prince’s castle there lived a potmaker who, hoping to receive the reward, went to the prince.
“My neighbor is a famous washerman,” the potmaker told the prince. “He washes the whitest clothes in the world. Even the king sends clothes to him. If you give him a gray elephant, I am sure he can wash it white.”
The prince was excited when he heard this and he sent for the washerman at once.
“One hundred pieces of gold will be yours if you can wash my gray elephant so it is white,” the prince told the washerman.
“But your highness … ,” protested the washerman.
“Say nothing more,” replied the prince. “Go now and prepare. I will bring you the elephant tomorrow.”
The next day the prince brought a gray elephant to the village where the washerman and the potmaker lived.
“I will need a large pot in which to bathe the elephant,” said the washerman.
“Very well,” the prince agreed, “I will ask the potmaker to make one.”
So the potmaker was ordered to make a large pot. He was very frightened, because he had never made such a large pot before. He asked his relatives and friends to help him, and together they worked all day and all night until the pot was finished.
With the prince and all of the villagers watching, the washerman prepared to wash the elephant. He poured water into the pot and led the elephant up to it. But when the elephant put one leg into the pot, the pot broke into a thousand pieces!
The prince was angry. He ordered the potmaker to immediately make a stronger pot.
After many days of hard work, the second pot was ready. The elephant put one leg inside the pot. Nothing happened. Then the second leg went inside, and the pot broke into a hundred pieces!
The angry prince ordered a new pot to be made at once.
In a few days the third pot was ready. The elephant put one leg into it, and nothing happened. Another leg went in, and nothing happened. Finally the whole elephant was inside the pot, and still it did not break. Everyone cheered.
Then the washerman began to make a fire to heat the water in the pot.
“I must now have hot water to scrub the gray color off the elephant,” explained the washerman to the prince.
But the water remained as cold as ever.
“Your highness,” said the washerman, “the water does not get hot because the pot is too thick. I need another pot.”
This made the prince furious. Turning to the frightened potmaker, he cried, “If you do not have the right pot ready in three days, I will throw you into prison.”
Three days later when the prince returned, he was surprised to find the village deserted except for some old women and children who told him that the rest of the villagers had gone to bathe in a nearby river. Hurrying there in anger, the prince found the potmaker, the washerman, and the other villagers scrubbing their hair with all of their might.
“What on earth are you doing?” cried the prince.
“We are trying to wash our hair white,” answered the villagers.
“You must be fools! You cannot turn your hair white by washing!” replied the prince scornfully.
Then the washerman said, “If we cannot turn our hair white by washing, how do you expect me to turn your gray elephant white by washing?”
Then the prince realized that what he had asked the washerman to do was impossible. And sadly he took his gray elephant home.

Amy arrived at the city hall at 7:30 a.m., even before Mayor José Murgia Zannier, Trujillo’s mayor for more than 10 years. After being officially installed in her post, she met with Mayor Murgia to go over the day’s schedule and coordinate some details. Thus began her busy day as mayor.
In the mayor’s official vehicle, Amy made a visit to inspect a park where the city plans to build a sports and recreation center. She then visited a public school, where she met with the principal and surveyed the progress on the construction of two classrooms.
Back at city hall, Amy met with an official from the public defenders office and with the director of the San José Children’s Home. Amy quickly decided to send a group of workmen to the children’s home to make some needed repairs. She also received visits from several other schools seeking funding.
At a press conference, Amy launched her teen leadership program, titled “A Challenge for the Future.” Since her program started, teen leaders from more than 100 schools in the city have met monthly with government officials to discuss the needs of education.
Then Amy presided over the city council meeting, opening the session and calling roll. She also planted a tree at the opening of a newly renovated city park and listened to the requests of neighbors living in the area. That evening, she attended a cultural event in one of the town plazas.
It was a busy day for Amy, a young woman one of the local newspapers described as “outstanding in intellect, sobriety, eloquence, and leadership abilities, but most of all in her great goals and objectives.”
The experience Amy had while serving as mayor for a day opened her eyes to the many needs within her community. One of those needs—education—was already a primary focus of Amy’s plans and programs. But Amy realizes that while school is important, there are other aspects of our lives that should take precedence over a secular education.

When Kristie and I contracted a bad case of Covid-19 just more than a year and a half ago, we found ourselves unable to feel the influence of the Spirit the same way we were used to. Our feelings were dulled, and our minds were not clear, which made it a challenge to recognize the promptings of the Spirit. During this time, we noticed that God was using different means of communicating with us. He spoke to us through verses of scripture, which stood out to us as we studied the gospel. He spoke to us through the actions and words of friends and family members. And He spoke to us through divine intervention, which resulted in coincidences that were too obvious not to notice His hand in them. The communication we received through those divine means, and through that difficult time, brought us here to BYU–Hawaii last year, and we are eternally grateful.

One day I was in the bus line with my friend Mike.* We try to get in line first so we can sit in the very back of the bus. There is this girl named Savannah that is kind of rude to other kids. I’ve known her since second grade. Something I found out was that if you are nice to her, she’s nice back. Mike, on the other hand, thinks that if someone is rude to him, he should be rude back. I admit I’ve done that sometimes.
That day we were at the front of the line. When our line was heading to the bus, Savannah tried to sneak in front of everyone so she could sit in the back. When she was right behind us, we tried to tell her that she couldn’t cut, but she made an excuse that most people make. “We’re all going to the same place,” she said.
When we got to the bus, there was some shoving. Savannah got in first. She quickly ran to the back and put her backpack where she was sitting. “I got here first,” said Savannah. Mike and Savannah started arguing a bit. I told Mike that we could sit somewhere else, but he didn’t listen. I started arguing with Mike. Then I remembered a line from a movie that said when we have a choice between being right or being kind, we should choose to be kind.
So I asked Savannah nicely if we could sit in the seat next to her. Mike doesn’t like sharing seats, but he thought about it. “Only if you guys don’t bother me,” said Savannah. “Fine,” Mike said. On the way home, I had a good feeling inside. You should always be kind, even if it’s hard.