Gospel Story Finder

During the next few days there were special moments at camp like singing “Onward Christian Soldiers” as a group, loud even though it was off-key. And we played a puzzle game which could not be done without all of us sharing our pieces. That taught us charity and selflessness. We also read our scriptures and retraced some of the journeys made by the ancient prophets.

When I was about 11 years old, a man came to our little town to teach at the Church academy. He played the violin a little, and we hadn’t had anyone there for a long time who had played the violin. My mother was impressed and picked up a little violin, I guess at some little rummage sale somewhere, and decided that I should learn to play the violin.
Even though I had never seen anyone play the violin in public, he came to our house and started giving me some little simple lessons on playing the violin. I was coming along fairly well by the time we graduated from the eighth grade in grammar school, and for the graduation exercises held in the high school I was asked to play a violin solo.
I’d carefully practiced the little number “Träumerei,” as I remember the name. My sister who was four years older than I and was then one of the popular girls in high school was my pianist. At the graduation exercises, Connie McMurray was the valedictorian. Girls are always smarter in school than boys. As she was giving the valedictory address, there was a little pedestal with a pitcher of water and a glass on it for the school board. The school board was on the stand, plus a little handful of us who were graduating from the eighth grade.
As Connie McMurray was giving her famous valedictory address, near the end of it we noticed the little doily under the pitcher of water on the pedestal was moving over a little bit towards the edge, and over it fell with the pitcher and glass of water! Connie McMurray fell in a dead faint.
In the scurrying around of cleaning the water off the stage and rearranging the chairs, they announced that we would now have the violin solo from David Haight. I walked over to the little old piano, and my sister came up from the audience. I took that little simple violin out of that wooden case as my sister sat down at the piano and sounded an A. I said, “Go ahead and play.”
She said, “David, you’d better tune it.”
I said, “No, no, I tuned it at our piano at home.” We had an old Kimball piano at home. You know, homes in those days—if you had a piano and books, that’s all you needed for the family. I had carefully tuned the strings by twisting those ebony pegs of that violin, but I didn’t know that all pianos weren’t the same. So as my sister said, “You’d better tune it,” I said, “No, no, it’s all tuned. I tuned it at home.”
So she went ahead and played the introduction, and then I came down on the first note. We were off about two notes.
As she slowed down, I said, “Keep playing,” because I couldn’t imagine anyone would take the time of a famous audience like I was playing to—you know, 100 people in that little high school auditorium. You wouldn’t hold up Carnegie Hall while you tuned your violin! That would be shop work. You would do that in the back room so that when you would start to play, why, you’d be all ready to play.
She slowed down. I said, “Keep playing.” We finished it, and she didn’t speak to me for days following that show.

I just wanted to say thank you for “Giving up the Ball,” the article in the January New Era about athletes who have gone on missions! I have a missionary who also gave up basketball for two years. He is currently serving in the Canada Calgary Mission. He had lots of doubts before he decided to go. But with the Spirit of the Lord and the examples of others, he is now serving in the mission field.
So to all those who are trying to decide to go, remember what the prophet has asked us to do. I know you’ll be richly blessed.
Kathy RileyOceanside, California

“Being the oldest of six children, I was often left in charge of the others,” says Ruth Ann Wheelwright of Fort Worth, Texas. “I seemed to find it difficult to ‘preside’ in peace, so I yelled a lot. I even yelled at my friends. My parents didn’t like my yelling, and I didn’t like it, either. I tried not to yell, but there were times when I felt I would self-destruct if I didn’t yell at someone.”
When Ruth Ann went to Brigham Young University, her religion teacher challenged the class to read the scriptures for thirty minutes every day. However, they were not just to read the scriptures; they were to feast on them. Being an avid reader, she accepted the challenge easily.
“When I went home for the summer,” Ruth Ann says, “I continued my scripture reading during the week. But on Saturday and Sunday I neglected my reading. Guess what happened? I began yelling at my brother and sisters again. I was shocked. I immediately spent thirty minutes reading the Book of Mormon. The rest of the day went fine. Over the summer, my impulse to rid myself of my frustrations by yelling began to fade, and our family life was much calmer. I could not have conquered my yelling sprees without the help of the Book of Mormon.”

For the longest time in my life, I felt as if I was all alone. At first, loneliness was a new feeling for me, because I come from a family of five, so as a kid, I always enjoyed the crowd and noise around me at home. I knew I wasn’t alone.
Sadly enough, in my teenage years, my parents split up. After that, I really started to feel alone. I tried to figure out what to do, going out of my comfort zone to make friends at school. I was hoping I could enjoy the familiarity of lots of people at school, like I used to at home. But even though I was surrounded by people, I still felt alone. This feeling lessened a few years later when I found the Church.

I grew up in Zwickau, in the former East Germany. When I was about 11 years old, my father fell under increased scrutiny as a political dissenter, and my parents felt that the only safe choice for our family would be to flee to West Germany. It was decided that the safest plan was to leave at different times and follow different routes to the West, leaving all our belongings behind.

Since my father was at greatest risk, he took the quickest journey, through Berlin. My older brothers headed north, and each found his own way west. My sister—who would have been the age of many of you here today—together with Helga Fassmann, her teacher in Young Women, and some others took a train that passed briefly through West Germany. They paid a porter to unlock one of the doors for them, and after the train crossed the West German border, they jumped from the moving train to freedom. How I admired my sister for her courage.

I was the youngest child, and my mother decided that she and I would walk across a mountain range separating the two countries. I remember that she packed a lunch as if we were going for a hike or a picnic in the mountains.

We took a train as far as we could and then walked for long hours, getting ever closer to the West German border. The borders were tightly controlled, but we had a map and knew of a time and a place where it might be safe to cross. I could sense my mother’s anxiety. She observed the area intensely to see if we were being followed. With each step, her legs and knees seemed to become weaker. I helped carry her heavy bag filled with food, vital documents, and family photos as we climbed up one last, long hill. Surely, she thought, we had passed the border by now. When she finally felt safe, we sat down and started to eat our picnic lunch. For the first time that day, I’m sure, she breathed more easily.

It was only then that we noticed the border sign. It was still far ahead of us! We were having our picnic on the wrong side of the border. We were still in East Germany!

Border guards could show up any moment!

My mother frantically packed up our lunch, and we hurried up the hillside as quickly as we could. This time we didn’t dare stop until we knew with certainty that we had reached the other side of the border.

Even though each member of our family had taken very different routes and experienced very different hardships along the way, eventually all of us made it to safety. We were finally reunited as a family. What a glorious day that was!

At least once a year, an environmental inspector visits our school district. Typically, the inspector is cordial and small talk is common. Such was the case with Ryan Pethtel. Ryan noticed pictures of my family in my office, so during each visit we exchanged family stories.
During one visit, Ryan noticed a new wedding picture of my son and his wife at the Washington D.C. Temple. Our conversation turned to the temple, the gospel of Jesus Christ, and the Book of Mormon.
“My wife and I have been looking for a church,” he said. “I hope to give my children what you’ve given yours.”
In preparation for Ryan’s next visit, I wrote my testimony inside a copy of the Book of Mormon and took it to my office. But the next year a different environmental inspector came. Ryan no longer worked for the department. My heart sank, but I kept the book in my office in case I felt impressed to give it to someone else.
A year later, however, I received an email from Ryan to set up a visit. He had returned to his old job. When he arrived, our conversation eventually shifted to the Church. When I handed Ryan the copy of the Book of Mormon, he excitedly flipped through it.
A few months later, I joined my husband, Bill, on a high council speaking assignment in Mannington, West Virginia—Ryan’s hometown. Afterward, a sister in the chapel asked me if I knew Ryan and if I had given him a Book of Mormon. She was Ryan’s wife, Stephanie.
Stephanie said she and Ryan had planned to be baptized the night before, but Ryan was sick. What a blessing in disguise! Bill and I were able to attend their rescheduled baptism three weeks later. At their baptism, Ryan mentioned that the Book of Mormon I had given him remained untouched until his wife contacted the missionaries.
My part in their conversion began with placing a picture of the temple in my office. The picture led to a conversation. The conversation led to the Book of Mormon.
Each act was small, but the consequence was great (see Doctrine and Covenants 64:33). My heart swells with gratitude that my small actions made a big difference and led someone to the Savior.

As a full-time missionary I have the opportunity to read the Liahona (Spanish) and to share copies with others.
One time, my companion and I were approached by a young man who asked if we would give him any copies of the Liahona we had finished reading. He explained that he likes to read the Liahona because he learns much from the experiences and counsel published in the magazine.
As we left to get him a copy, we asked him which ward he belonged to. He replied that he was not a member of the Church but had been reading the Liahona for quite some time because members of the local branch had shared it with him. We asked if he wanted to know more about the Church, and eventually, after hearing the missionary discussions, he was baptized.
This new convert continues to read the Liahona because, as he says, the words of the prophets “really apply to our lives.” The messages in the Liahona are not just for members; they are for everyone.
Elder Moctezuma Meza,México Guadalajara Mission

First, the music. Jake Anderson of the Fenton Ward remembered a bad experience with music at his school prom. He said, “They had one line in one song with cuss words in a row. They quieted the music so everyone could scream out the line. The songs were degrading.” But he knew he didn’t have to worry about that happening here. The disk jockey was a member of the Church and was sensitive to what would be appropriate. Plus, he had help in picking out the songs.

Marty glanced at his shoes self-consciously. No one looking at the brightly polished leather could tell that the insides were caked with mud. But Marty knew. He couldn’t wait for Primary to end, so that he could go home and take them off. I won’t go near the canal this time! he vowed to himself.
Last Sunday it had sounded like fun when his brother challenged him to jump over the canal on the way home from church. He’d almost made it, too, but not quite. Conrad had had to pull him out, wet and muddy from head to toe. When they reached home, Mother looked them over. “I think it’s time you boys learned how to do your own laundry,” she said. “And don’t forget to clean your shoes.”
But Marty had forgotten until just a few minutes before church started. He’d gotten the outsides cleaned and polished, but not the insides. Now his feet hurt after sitting three hours with mud in his shoes.
“Can anyone tell me the steps of repentance?” Sister Wilson’s voice brought him back to the present. “Yes, Shelly.”
“Recognize that what you’ve done was wrong. Ask the Lord for forgiveness. Ask for forgiveness from the people you’ve hurt. Repay what you can. Never do it again.”
“That’s right. What happens if you leave out one of these steps? Have you truly repented?”
“No,” the class answered in unison.
“I want you to think about repentance this week. Choose some mistake you’ve made, and honestly try to apply all the steps of repentance. Then pay close attention to how it makes you feel.”
The ringing bell told Marty that there were just a few minutes left before he would be free of his shoes. He didn’t hear most of the closing prayer. At the sound of “Amen,” he was off to the car. Once inside, he took off his shoes and wiggled his toes. Who’d have thought that a little mud could make you so uncomfortable?
“Marty, will you take this pile of clothes up to Emily’s room,” Mom called out Tuesday afternoon. As he was setting the clothes on Emily’s bed, the collection of perfume bottles on her dresser caught his attention. He picked them up one by one, read the names out loud, and sniffed them. How do they come up with the names for these things?
“Marty!” Conrad called from the hallway. “Come play ball.”
Conrad’s voice startled Marty, and he dropped the bottle he was holding. It fell over, and most of the contents spilled out before he could right it. An overpowering scent filled the room. Marty grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on Emily’s dresser and started to mop up the mess.
“What are you doing in here,” Conrad asked as he stuck his head in the doorway. “Give me a gas mask, I’m suffocating!”
“I spilled one of Emily’s perfumes. I didn’t mean to; I was just looking at them.”
“Boy, that’s the expensive one Richard just gave her for her birthday,” Conrad said, coming over to help wipe up the spill. “She’s going to hit the roof when she finds out about this.”
“What can I do?”
“Well, first, don’t throw the tissues in her garbage can. That would tip her off the minute she walked in. We’ll wrap them in a plastic bag and throw them in the garbage can outside. Next, open the windows to air the room out. She won’t be back until late, and the smell should be gone by then.”
Marty nodded in agreement and scooped up the tissues. He was careful to hold them away from his shirt so that it wouldn’t absorb the smell. After he stuffed them into a plastic bag and pushed the bag to the bottom of the trash, he went back to Emily’s room. “Whew—it still smells pretty bad, doesn’t it? Maybe I’ll bring the fan from the family room in here to help blow the smell outside.”
“That was a great idea,” Conrad said when Marty plugged the fan in. “We can leave it on until we go to bed tonight. I bet Emily will never even notice that there was a problem.”
“Except for one thing.” Marty pointed to the almost-empty bottle.
“Maybe if you rearrange them and put that one in the back, she won’t notice it. She has so many that by the time she thinks of wearing that one again, she probably won’t remember how much she used of it.”
“She’ll remember,” Marty moaned. “Hey, I have an idea! I’ll be right back.”
A few minutes later he returned with a glass of water and the box of food coloring from the kitchen. “I bet I can color this water to look just like that perfume. Then I’ll just fill the bottle. It was so strong, she’ll never notice if it’s diluted a little.”
By the time Emily returned home, her room was aired, the fan returned to the family room, her windows closed, and the perfume bottle filled. Conrad and Marty lay wide awake in their bedroom across the hall, listening for Emily’s cry of alarm. When her bedroom light clicked off, they knew they were in the clear, at least for a while. I should feel relieved, Marty thought as he lay awake in the dark, but I feel miserable.
Every time Marty looked at Emily for the next few days, he felt awful, even though she never seemed to notice that her perfume was diluted. Marty resolved he would never again touch Emily’s belongings without her permission. He even stopped his usual teasing. He opened doors for her, carried things for her, did anything he could to be helpful to her. Still, he didn’t stop feeling guilty inside.
“What am I doing wrong?” he asked in his prayers. “I’ve talked to Thee about my problem with Emily’s perfume. I’ve done everything I can to be nice to her. But I still feel horrible. I feel like my Sunday shoes, clean on the outside but muddy inside. How can I feel all the way clean?” Marty knew the answer. He rose from his knees, crossed the hall to Emily’s room, and knocked on the door.
“Come in.” Emily was sitting on her bed, studying history.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Have a seat.” She nodded toward the end of the bed.
Marty sat down, but he had a hard time looking at Emily. Help me, Heavenly Father, he prayed silently. Finally looking up, he blurted out, “I spilled your bottle of perfume from Richard.”
Emily got up and walked over to her collection of perfumes. She picked up the bottle and looked at it. “This one?”
Marty nodded.
She removed the lid, sniffed, and replaced it. She sat back down on the bed next to Marty. “Is that why you’ve been so nice to me lately?”
“Yes,” Marty admitted. “At first, I just wanted to keep you from getting mad at me, so I filled the bottle with colored water. Then I felt really awful and wanted to be a better brother to you. But no matter how much I tried to help you and no matter how much I prayed about it, I never stopped feeling guilty. I knew I had to tell you what I’d done before these awful feelings would go away.”
Emily put her arm around Marty’s shoulders. They sat in silence for a few moments. “You know, Marty, when you spilled the bottle, you wasted only what had spilled. But when you added water to what was left, you ruined all of it.”
“I’ll buy you another bottle, Emily, honest. Just tell me how much it costs, and I’ll save all my allowance until I can buy another one.”
Emily smiled, “Marty, if you want to get me something to replace it, I’d rather have a tube of my favorite hand cream. It would take several months of your allowance to replace that perfume, and I wouldn’t really feel good about letting you do it. Do you know why?”
Marty shook his head.
“Because as much as I appreciate it as a gift because Richard gave it to me, I don’t really like it. It’s much too strong for me. Of all the perfumes I have, if you were going to spill one, I’m glad you spilled that one.”
They both laughed hard for a few minutes. It feels so good to be able to laugh with Emily, Marty thought.
“I probably never would have used it again, little brother,” Emily confided affectionately. “Why didn’t you just wait until I said something? You would have gotten away with it completely.”
“I couldn’t live with the way I felt any longer,” Marty explained.
“The Holy Ghost may whisper softly,” she said, “but it’s a pretty piercing whisper at times, isn’t it?”
Marty nodded. “Do you forgive me?”
“Yes, I forgive you, Marty. And I’m happy to know that you’re listening to the Holy Ghost so carefully. It must have been very hard to come to me. I have just one more question—does this mean you’re going to stop being nice to me?”
Marty grinned. “How could I stop being nice to you, when you’ve been so nice to me? Anyone who thinks having a big sister is a big pain doesn’t have a big sister like you.”
Marty didn’t watch his feet during Sister Wilson’s lesson that Sunday. His shoes were clean on the outside and the inside. And so was he.

Consider how we are taught as children. Small children require constant reminders to help strengthen their understanding of what their parents have already taught; on the playground, a toddler may need to be reminded over a dozen times not to put dirt in their mouth. However, as they grow and mature, so does their understanding of those principles, and their parents can help them learn something new.

“To be honest, I started out kind of afraid of Heavenly Father and Christ. I’d gotten into the mindset where I was convinced if I didn’t do everything the way They wanted me to, I’d be letting Them down. I felt myself drawing away from Them out of fear. This experience has helped me to remember the most important things about Them—that They love me without exception. That They know how much I worry about letting them down, but They also have an incredible work for me to accomplish here. I feel closer to Them now and more submissive to God’s will.”—Gabrielle Lyn Shiozawa, Washington, USA

Daniel C., age 12, Zulia, Venezuela, reads the Friend in Spanish. He likes to give the magazine to his friends!

Parley and Orson Pratt’s love for their ancestors helps them mend their relationship.

One year when I was about eight years old, Dad told my brother, my sister, and me that there would not be much money for Christmas gifts. He suggested we use our imagination and talents to make gifts for each other.
I made gifts for Dad, my sister, and my brother, but I had trouble thinking of a gift I could make for my mother. I thought for a long time.
Finally, I came up with a plan. My mother was well known for her sponge cakes with orange-peel frosting. She often made them for fundraisers, and everyone loved them. But making a sponge cake took a lot of egg yolks, and this year there had not been enough eggs. I wanted to give my mother a dozen eggs for Christmas.
Dad had put me in charge of taking care of the young chickens. Usually, these chickens would start laying eggs in January, but I figured if I took extra special care of them they would start earlier.
Twice every day, right on time, I fed the chickens by hand. I carried warm water from the house for them to drink. I covered the windows with burlap to keep the chicken coop warmer. I even cleaned the coop and made six nests with fresh straw.
Every day, I checked the nests for eggs. December came, and there were still no eggs. In my prayers, I began to ask for the chickens to be blessed.
Finally, 12 days before Christmas, I found an egg! I kept checking every day, and carefully collected the eggs in a carton.
Two days before Christmas, my father announced that we would leave early the next morning for Grandma’s house. My heart sank. I only had 11 eggs! I was one egg short of my goal.
All night I tossed and turned. I got up early the next morning and ran to the coop to see if there was another egg. There were none.
At Grandma’s house, I wrapped the 11-egg surprise in pretty paper and ribbon and put it with the other gifts under the tree. I wondered if my mother would be disappointed about the missing egg.
On Christmas morning, my curious mother unwrapped the carton. A look of amazement spread over her face. Then happy tears filled her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. She looked at me lovingly and told me what a special gift I had given her. There were just 11 eggs, but I had done my best to show my love.

Emma Lou and Joseph Slagowski could not speak Spanish but were called to the Peru Lima South Mission. They participated in a trial pre-mission language project for mature couples that assists them in learning language skills in their own homes prior to entering the Missionary Training Center for their training. Sister Slagowski writes:
“When our stake president asked us [if] we would be willing to take part in [a new] pre-mission … language learning project, we were concerned, but accepted,” she said. “I am now 66 years old, and school was [never easy] for me.
“Without the pre-Missionary Training Center Spanish program, it would have been impossible, … [but] before [we arrived at] the Missionary Training Center I could read Spanish quite well, … could pray, and bear testimony of God the Father and Jesus Christ. To me it’s a miracle.
“We plan on another Spanish-speaking mission after this one if health permits.”

Four months after his mission, Kevin Jensen had earned enough money to barely get him through one semester at State College, provided that he room in the basement of his 63-year-old aunt’s home and that he work part-time in the morning as a custodian at the college. There was no money for non-essential items, and with his younger brother now ready to go on his mission, there was no hope for financial assistance from his parents.
On a cold January morning, he left his family, got on a bus, and shivered the 300 miles to the college town. His aunt, who didn’t have a car, had talked a neighbor lady into driving her to the depot to pick him up.
The next day was Sunday. Kevin walked his aunt to church and found himself being introduced to other retired and widowed friends of his aunt, while the Young Adults seemed to be always on the other side of the chapel.
The chorister for Sunday School was a girl his age with a smile that lit up the room, at least for Kevin. Although a common complaint of choristers is that people never look up from the hymnbooks, on that day Kevin didn’t look at the book at all but happily kept his attention on the chorister. Referring to the Sunday School bulletin, he found that her name was Jenny Wells.
On Monday, Kevin registered for classes. Afterwards he went to the college bookstore to buy books. One look at the prices and he decided to check them out of the library.
While in the bookstore, he saw Jenny buying some books. He waited until she got in the long checkout line and then stepped in behind her.
He was still rehearsing in his mind how to start a conversation when she dropped one of her books. He bent over to pick it up for her. Unfortunately she bent over at the same time and they bumped foreheads.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “You stay there and I’ll get it.” He bent over and picked it up for her.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
“This sounds corny, but I think we’re going to be good friends.”
“Are we?” she smiled. “Why?”
“Because we’re both LDS, and we’re both going to college here.”
“You’re LDS? Have you been to church before?”
“Yesterday. I didn’t get to the Young Adult class because the bishop wanted to talk to me. I just got back from my mission.”
“Oh,” she smiled, “that is interesting.”
He walked her home to the dorm. Their breath made little puffs of clouds as they walked.
“Do you like to walk?” he asked.
“Yes, why?”
“In a minute I’m going to ask you out. If you say yes, you should understand that I don’t have a car, so we’ll be walking wherever we go.”
“I definitely like to walk.”
“Good. There’s one other thing. Money is a little tight now, but I’ve budgeted a dollar a week for dating. This means I can either go out once a month and spend four dollars, or go out once a week and spend one dollar. So you need to decide if you want the four-dollar date or the one-dollar date.”
They stopped on a small bridge to look at the icy patterns made by a small stream that meandered through the campus. He turned to look at her, and for a second their eyes met, and he felt they both were communicating much more with their eyes than either of them would dare vocally.
“You’re nice to look at,” he said softly.
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” she said.
A little embarrassed, they continued walking again.
“One other thing,” he continued. “I can’t buy you a hamburger after our date, so eat a big supper before we go out.”
“Do you want me to eat my vegetables, too?” she teased.
“Whatever you’ve been eating in the past will be fine. It’s done wonders.”
“Are you ever going to actually ask me out?” she laughed.
“Okay, will you go out with me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want the four-dollar date or the one-dollar date?”
“The one-dollar date.”
“For the one-dollar date we can go to the art exhibit on campus, or we can go to a seminar on aging, or we can watch the swim team practice, or we can go to the library and read old issues of Life magazine. If you want more action, we can go to the last hour of a dance at the student union building.”
“The last hour?”
“After they quit taking tickets. It’s up to you. The world is at your feet, all for a dollar.”
“I’ll take the art exhibit and the dance.”
“An excellent choice.”
Although they were joking, he found himself more enchanted by her each moment. He thought about just stopping and telling her that he was falling in love, but he was afraid to do that. Besides, the joking was fun.
“Afterwards we can stay on campus and buy a cup of hot chocolate for a quarter a cup, or we can pick up an entire box of hot chocolate mix for 89 cents and go back and mix up two cups in the lobby of your dorm. Your choice?”
“Have you ever worked for Burger King?”
“No, why?”
“I keep expecting you to break into singing, ‘Have it Your Way.’”
It was snowing on Friday night as he walked to her dorm. When she came out of her apartment, he was again taken back by her beauty.
“I’m ready,” she said breezily. “I ate a good supper, I ate all my carrots like a good girl, and I’ve got warm clothes.” She stopped as she saw he wasn’t smiling. “Is anything wrong?”
“You’re such a classy lady. You deserve better than this.”
“Feeling sorry for yourself because you’re not rich?”
“If I just had a car and a little more money.”
“I like you fine the way you are.”
As he helped her on with her coat, she noticed the clipboard he had brought with him.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a clipboard.”
“I know that!” she laughed. “But why did you bring it?”
Suddenly the fun was back with them again. “You don’t know about clipboards?” he asked.
“What’s there to know?”
“You’ll see,” he grinned.
They walked to the art show on campus. It was the first night of the exhibit. Hanging up their coats in the lobby, they entered the exhibit hall and stood in front of the first painting.
“I like the overall balance in the picture, don’t you?” Kevin said, with an official ring to his voice.
“Yes.”
Kevin made a point of writing something on his clipboard. Up and down the exhibit, people respectfully observed them, believing they were the judges for the exhibit.
Kevin stepped back, his hand touching his chin. “Notice how the brush strokes create a definite lifting effect.”
Jenny was blushing a crimson red. A few people came closer to hear what Kevin was saying.
They walked to the next painting, called “Bird in Flight.” It looked as if someone had put paint on tricycle wheels and ridden over the canvas. There was nothing to indicate a bird, or flight, and the entire canvas was one blotch of yellow, red, and blue.
Kevin assumed the art judge pose, hand stroking his chin, and said finally. “Oh, yes. I see the bird, don’t you?”
By this time there were six people directly in back of them, straining to see a bird in the blotches.
Kevin stepped to the canvas and began to randomly assign separate sections of the canvas to parts of the bird, saying with great authority, “This, of course, is the beak, and this is the left wing, and this is a tree, and this is a lake, and this is the right wing.”
None of it, of course, made any sense, but people began to whisper, “Oh, yes, I see.”
Jenny’s face was bright red, and she fought to avoid breaking down with laughter. With some difficulty, she whispered, “May I have a word with you privately?”
They walked quickly out of the exhibit area and up one flight of stairs. There they broke down with peals of laughter.
Finally she gasped, “They think we’re art judges.”
“Why should they think that? I don’t know anything about art.”
“It’s your clipboard, isn’t it?”
“Yes, the magic of a clipboard.”
“That was so funny.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“But is it the right thing to do?”
“I don’t know. We never said we were art judges.”
“No, that’s true.”
“And if somebody came up and asked us if we were, we’d tell them no.”
“Still,” she said, “we’re LDS, and we need to set a good example. Maybe we should go back there without the clipboard.”
“Whatever you say.”
They left the clipboard with their coats and returned. As they passed “Bird in Flight,” someone who had watched Kevin was now pointing out enthusiastically to others the various parts of the bird.
At 11:00 they walked to the dance. As Kevin had predicted, the people taking money had long ago shut down. They danced until midnight, then walked to a small store that stayed open all night, bought some hot chocolate mix, and returned to her dorm.
At 1:00 he got up to leave.
“Jenny, thanks. You’ve been a good sport.”
“I’ve enjoyed it.”
“The only expense was for the box of hot chocolate mix.”
“Oh, I’ll get it for you,” she said. “You can take it home.”
“How about if I left it here and we used it on another date.”
“That’d be fine.”
“Would you like the three-dollar-eleven-cent date? That’s how much is left for the month.”
“A certain young man,” Jenny began, sounding like a teacher, “can spend four dollars a month on dating. He can go out twice a month and spend two dollars a date, or four times a month at one dollar. How many times can he go out with the same girl at fifty cents a date?”
“Eight,” Kevin answered.
“At a quarter a date?”
“Sixteen.”
Jenny stopped and smiled. “I’ve never enjoyed mathematics so much.”
Kevin left the dorm and started to walk home, still in a trance. He went over in his mind the way she was, and the excitement and fun he felt just being with her, and the way they had looked at each other a few times during the evening.
“Hey, Kevin, is that you?”
Kevin looked over to the car that had pulled over to the curb. It was Harly Mitchell, a former missionary companion.
“Want a ride, elder?”
Kevin got in the car. “Harly, I didn’t know you were here!”
“One more year.”
“Do you still go to church? I was there Sunday and didn’t see you.”
“We were visiting my in-laws. Showing off our baby.”
Harly enthusiastically told Kevin about his wife and baby and what a financial struggle it was to stay in school. He was just then returning from a night job at a gas station.
“And what about you?” Harly asked. “Why are you up so late, elder?”
Kevin told him about Jenny.
“Do I hear wedding bells ringing?” Harly teased.
“No, we just like each other. Besides, I’m not going to get married until I’m out of school.”
“Famous last words.”
“I can’t afford to be married.”
“Who can? Say, why don’t you bring Jenny over to our place for dinner next week? It’d give us a chance to talk some more.”
Kevin accepted the invitation, but because of previous commitments to home teach on Harly’s night off from the gas station, he had to schedule it for two weeks later.
On Wednesday of the next week, Kevin phoned and asked Jenny to go with him to a movie.
“Can you afford it?” she asked.
“Don’t worry. I’m a big spender.”
On Friday, the auditorium in the Agriculture Building was still only half filled as Kevin and Jenny sat down.
“Our first film tonight,” a man in a western suit shyly announced, “will be ‘Your Modern Poultry Industry.’” Kevin pulled out a large bag of homemade popcorn and shared it with Jenny.
“I’ll never look at a chicken in the same way,” Jenny joked as they left the auditorium after the movie.
Later they went to a dance for the last hour. Once after a song was over, while they still faced each other, he reached over and took hold of both her hands. Their eyes met and he felt himself wondering how he could stand to ever be apart from her again. He felt a sensation as he looked into her eyes of being allowed into a place in her heart she’d never let anyone else enter.
Fighting his feelings, he broke the spell by turning away and making a joke about the band.
“Are we going to talk about it?” Jenny asked quietly.
“About what?” Kevin asked nonchalantly.
“About what’s happening to us?”
“What’s happening to us? We’re just learning about chickens.”
She started to cry.
They stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching others dance. And then the dance was over, and they were alone except for those in the band carrying away their instruments.
“Why won’t you talk about it?” she finally asked.
“I’ve got three more years of school, Jenny. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded her head.
On Saturday he took her to visit her aunt. They helped make bread. When it was finished, they sliced a loaf and had the warm bread with butter and honey and a glass of milk.
Sunday after sacrament meeting they went to a Young Adult fireside.
“I talked to my parents on the phone today. They’d like to meet you.”
“Oh.” He felt himself tense up.
“They like to meet all my friends,” she quickly added.
“They’ll be in town Wednesday, and they’ve invited us out to dinner.”
“What does your father do for a living?” Kevin asked.
“He works in a bank.”
“Teller?”
“Vice-president.”
They ate with her parents, who were not members of the Church, at the most expensive restaurant in town. At the end of the meal, they sat and talked.
“This isn’t too bad a place, is it?” Jenny’s mother said. “I think it was all rather decent food, don’t you?”
“Actually, Jenny and I have been here before.”
“Oh, what did you have?”
“Nothing,” Kevin answered. “See that sign on the wall that says, ‘Ask to visit our kitchen’? Well, that’s what we did.”
“With a clipboard,” Jenny said with a smile.
“But surely you must have had something.”
“Kevin’s on a very tight budget,” Jenny added quickly.
“Oh.”
Kevin was angry at the way he felt. On one hand, he wanted to impress her parents. But he resented the feeling that he was being looked over as a possible future son-in-law. Then, too, he still felt it was ridiculous to even consider the possibility of marriage until he was out of school, and so there was no reason why he should try to impress them at all. Let them see just how poor he was.
“Yes,” he said, “do you suppose I could get a little bag to put the extra food in. That is, unless you want it?”
Aware that he was probably losing points with Jenny’s parents, but angry about their obvious wealth, Kevin dropped every spare morsel of food on the table into the bag the waitress had brought him. Once he looked up from his efforts to clear the table of food to see that Jenny was hurt by what he was doing—trying to discourage her parents from liking him.
A few minutes later, Jenny and her mother left the table to visit a store in the building.
Jenny’s father ordered a second cup of coffee. “How do you think I got to be a banker?” he asked Kevin.
“I don’t know.”
“Hard work. I had to struggle through college the same as you. Don’t ever be ashamed because things are tight.”
Kevin found himself looking at Jenny’s father with new admiration.
“It’ll sharpen your goals and make you ten times more effective than if things had been easy.”
“I appreciate you telling me that,” Kevin said.
“Second, I don’t think you’re in any position to marry, do you?”
“No sir, I don’t.”
“Of course, Jenny hasn’t mentioned it, but after spending all these years studying people who come in for a loan, one gets a little skill in observation, and I’d say you and she were in love.”
“Yes.”
“Marriage now isn’t something I’d recommend. Maybe in a couple of years.”
“I feel the same way,” Kevin replied.
“Good. Don’t make the same mistake we made. We were both headstrong and in love and got married when I was still in college. Can you picture me selling cookware on weekends and mopping floors in the morning? Or my wife working as a seamstress in a clothing store? She’d hate to admit it now, I think. Yes sir, don’t make the same mistake.”
“No, sir.”
“Still,” he said, his eyes wistful, “in some ways those were our happiest years.”
A few days later, Kevin and Jenny went to have supper with Kevin’s former missionary companion and his wife and baby. Harly and Janet Mitchell lived in the basement apartment of a home. The apartment had been hastily built a few years before, when the college appealed to local citizens to help meet the housing needs of a growing student enrollment. The furnace room was stuck in the middle of the apartment, and the ceiling was filled with air ducts carrying heat upstairs. A shower spout stood outside the bathroom in the kitchen, with only a plastic curtain and a drain. Harly explained that they also mopped the floor after every shower.
They had a casserole of macaroni and cream of mushroom soup, a plate of carrots, a bowl of peas, and a jello salad. But the hit of the evening was their six-month-old baby who stole the show.
“Oh, she’s precious,” Jenny said, holding the baby in her arms. “It’s such a nice outfit for her, too.”
“Thanks to grandparents and friends,” Janet said. “Because of them, she’s taken care of for clothes.”
A few minutes later, Harly asked the inevitable question. “What about you, Kevin? About time you got married, too.”
“After I finish college,” Kevin said firmly, his jaws set tightly.
Kevin and Jenny walked home afterwards at a quick pace.
“They have a beautiful baby, don’t they?” she said.
“Every shred of clothes it has came from relatives,” Kevin snapped.
“So?”
“So, I’m never going to be in a situation where my children have to depend on other people for clothes.”
“Funny, the baby doesn’t seem to mind,” Jenny observed quietly.
“They are in no position financially to have a baby!” Kevin said, stopping to confront her.
“The General Authorities counsel that married couples shouldn’t postpone having children, not even for schooling.”
“Then they shouldn’t have married until he was through school.”
“They love each other. Doesn’t that count for anything? I’m sure they didn’t want to wait for two years.”
“What if the baby gets sick? What then?” Kevin asked harshly.
“Then Harly might have to quit school and get a job.”
“And just throw away his schooling?”
“You’re not really that concerned about the baby, are you?” she shot out.
“No, and this conversation’s not really about them either, is it?”
She looked at him for a long time and then said, “No, I guess not.”
“Jenny, I’m going to finish school in three years. Nothing’s going to stand in my way.”
“I see.”
He didn’t kiss her when he said good-bye at the dorm.
He didn’t call her for three days after that.
Finally, unable to stand being apart, he phoned her and asked her to go with him to a Young Adult party that Friday night.
Everything went fine Friday until it came time for the entertainment. The girl in charge gathered everyone close to her in the cultural hall and announced a game. She asked the young people to take off their shoes and put them in a pile.
Kevin got up and quietly walked into the hall.
A minute later, Jenny joined him in the hall.
“Is anything wrong?” she asked.
“I have holes in my socks,” he said quietly.
“Oh.”
“I can’t even afford a pair of socks.”
Jenny touched his hand.
“All I’ve got for shirts are white shirts from my mission, but they’re falling apart. This shirt has a big hole in the sleeve where my elbow has worn through, so with this shirt I always have to wear a sweater, and never take it off.” He pulled the sleeve of the sweater to show her the ragged shape the shirt was in. “I’ve got slacks where the back is getting so thin that I have to wear a sport coat to hide the seat of the slacks.”
“I love you, Kevin, not your socks.”
“But don’t you see, things aren’t going to get any better for three more years.”
“It’ll be okay.”
“Look, Jenny, I know I’ve avoided talking about us. I’d ask you to marry me, but how can I? I couldn’t even afford the license.”
She snuggled against him. “I’ll chip in a couple of dollars,” she whispered. “It’s for a good cause.”
“Your father doesn’t want you marrying a guy who can’t provide for you.”
“It’d only be for a little while. I could quit school and work.”
“You should finish your education.”
Jenny stayed close to him, and he felt a tear fall from her cheek on to his hand.
“There are too many shoulds in all this,” she said.
“It’s going to torment us all the time now,” he said, stroking her hair. “I can’t stand being away from you, and now I can’t stand being with you. If we could just put things on hold for two years and then start it up again.”
“How do we do that?” she asked.
As gently as he could, he said, “Maybe we shouldn’t see each other for a while.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No, but let’s try it for a while.”
He walked her to the dorm, said good-bye, and left.
The days that followed were terrible. He’d sit down to study and find himself looking at her picture 20 minutes later. Whenever he saw a phone, it haunted him, and he had to rush by so he wouldn’t break down and phone her. He’d sit down to outline a chapter and find himself going over the figures estimating how much money he’d need to be able to marry her. The answer was always the same.
In church they could hardly stand to be in the same room. He offered his services to the bishop, hoping to be called to teach a Sunday School class so he wouldn’t have to be in the Young Adult class with her.
Once he rounded a corner in church and found himself facing her.
“Hi, Jenny,” he said brightly. “How are you?”
“Just fine,” she countered quickly.
“Fine,” he said breezily, but then his depression seeped out across his face. Instead of moving on, they stood there silently in the hall, staring at each other, both of them in agony.
“It’s tough, isn’t it?” he asked. “Unbelievable,” she replied. Then he walked away.
He fasted and prayed. He called his father collect and asked for advice. Strangely enough, the answer came in a personal priesthood interview with his elders quorum president.
“Oh, Kevin, before you go, would it be all right if we gave you another family to home teach? I just found out that Bill Morrill is graduating in May, so we need someone to pick up a couple of his families.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. Boy, he’s really had a good job while he’s been in school. It’s been perfect for him and his wife.”
“What job is that?”
“Managing a motel.” Kevin pressed for more details, phoned up Bill Morrill at the motel, visited with him the next day, and applied for the job. The owner hired him, starting in May.
Kevin phoned Jenny from a pay phone next to the motel, but her roommate said she’d gone away for the weekend and wouldn’t be back until Sunday night.
He nearly went crazy waiting for Sunday to end. Between church meetings he spent his time writing a long list of ways to save money. Every possible idea was there. They’d drink straight powdered milk. They could get a free Christmas tree by asking some students in the dorm if they could have their tree when they went home for the holidays.
They’d save money for a room because a small apartment went with the job at the motel. At night all he had to do was man the desk and switchboard. He could get a lot of studying done at the same time. They’d never be able to afford a car, but they could get a small wagon to carry home the groceries from the store. They’d ask his aunt if they could help her with her garden during the summer in exchange for some vegetables.
Sunday evening after sacrament meeting he phoned her again.
“Hello,” she said.
“We can get married!” he shouted.
There was a long pause, and then she said quietly, “I bet this is Kevin. Right?”
“How many other guys have you got about to propose?”
She laughed, and he said he’d be right over.
When she opened the door, he handed her his ten-page list.
“It’s all there. We can do it.”
She sat down and went over the list with him.
“It’s very interesting,” she said.
“That’s all you can say?”
“What should I say?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes to what?”
“Yes to my question.”
“I didn’t hear a question.”
“WILL YOU MARRY ME?” he shouted, causing couples in the dorm to stop their conversation and stare at them.
“Yes,” she laughed.
He kissed her.
A few minutes later they left the dorm to walk to their bishop’s home.
“We’ll be poor,” he warned.
“No we won’t,” she said. “Not us. We won’t be poor. We just won’t have any money.”
They walked quietly, holding hands, happy with the world.
“Wait a minute!” he said. “You haven’t told me where you’ve been this weekend.”
“I went home. My mother taught me how to mend socks.”

I would like to thank you for publishing the June 1998 special issue. I am the only LDS person in my group, and I was slowly being pushed out of relationships. I hurt, so I finally got down on my knees and prayed for help. Right after school that day, the special issue on friendship was on my dad’s desk, and the stories seemed to be directed at me.
Alissa SmithPark City, Utah

One summer’s day, whilst sitting outside having lunch with some work colleagues, the beginning of a new insight came. I was asked why I always had a soft drink with my meal, rather than a beer like the rest of the group. I answered that it was a life choice, hoping that would suffice. But on this occasion, my interrogator would not let the matter go. The conversation continued, and it wasn’t long before I was being asked questions about what I believed as a member of the Church. My contract was coming to an end that week, so I took confidence that I could weather the inevitable storm of questions for a few more days. I gave them deep meaningful answers to all the questions they asked.

While giving an answer, the penny dropped for me. All my colleagues wanted empirical evidence to be able to believe in God, and I was offering all the evidence I had learned, to help convince them I was right—but it wasn’t enough. I then bore my testimony about what I believed, but that wasn’t enough for them either. I pointed out that proof and faith are on opposite sides of a scale. If you are looking for proof, you are not exercising faith. If you are exercising faith, you don’t necessarily need proof. I realised that if you want to look for reasons to prove or disprove your belief in the gospel, you will find both, but neither one will build your faith. The more proof I found that challenged my belief in the gospel, the more faith I would require to continue believing it is true. “For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things” (2 Nephi 2:11).

Q. What’s always falling but never lands?
A. The moon is always falling and yet it never hits the earth. It revolves in its orbit (path of travel) about 250,000 miles away from the earth. The earth’s gravity is constantly pulling on the moon so that the moon falls about three inches every second. But because the moon is moving so fast at a forward speed, about two-thirds of a mile a second, it isn’t pulled down to the earth. The earth’s gravity is just enough to bend the moon’s path into a circular orbit. Instead of falling onto the earth, the moon falls around it.