Gospel Story Finder

But then came the day my young husband was called to be a bishop and I was finally convinced that our not having children was not because of our unrighteousness. Some don’t understand that. A good man in the ward who had desired that position came to him privately with strong emotion and said, “What right do you have to be a bishop, and what do you know about helping a family? Don’t ever expect me or my family to come to you for anything!” In time my husband helped that man’s family through a serious crisis, and through it we forged a lasting bond of love with them.

Pablo wasn’t much different from any other investigator I had taught as a missionary in Paraguay, except for one thing: he couldn’t hear. That sometimes made it difficult to communicate. Because he didn’t know sign language, our discussions were usually a mix between lip reading and writing notes back and forth.
During the week, Pablo lived alone. His wife worked as a housekeeper and could only come home on weekends. He really enjoyed our company but was becoming less and less interested in the Church. My companion and I wondered what we could do to help Pablo progress. One day my companion said: “You know, Pablo’s birthday is next week. Maybe we should get him a card.”
It sounded like a good idea, so on Pablo’s birthday we headed to his house with the card. He saw us crossing the lawn and came out to welcome us. “Happy birthday, Pablo,” we said, exaggerating our lip movements and showing him the card. For a moment he didn’t seem to know how to respond. A tear came to his eye.
As we stood there on Pablo’s front patio, something changed in him. With his wife gone for the week, we were the only people who had remembered his birthday. Though no real conversation took place, we came to an understanding we hadn’t had before. Pablo started “listening” more closely to our messages, and he even went to church the next Sunday. He couldn’t hear the words spoken there, but he felt the Spirit testify of the truth of it.
Within a short time, Pablo was baptized and later ordained to the priesthood. The Church has made such a big difference in his life. His wife joined the Church, and they are now preparing to be sealed together in the temple.
I never would have guessed what a difference that card would make. Simple love and kindness had helped a man who couldn’t hear to accept the gospel. Sometimes it’s by the simplest means that the greatest things are brought to pass (see Alma 37:6).

Today we are in the presence of one who epitomizes the yielding of one’s heart to God. This man is President Rex E. Lee. I first became acquainted with President Lee thirty-six years ago, when I came to BYU as a student. He was a returned missionary from Mexico serving as the student body president. Even then one could tell he was destined to become a great leader. He was confident but not pompous, friendly, and without guile. It was here that he met the beautiful Janet Griffin, and their friendship soon turned to love. He took the courageous step of inviting this sophisticated city girl to come home with him to St. Johns, Arizona, to meet all of his cowboy relatives. As they approached the thriving metropolis of St. Johns, Rex stopped the car in front of an isolated one-room shack on the outskirts of town. With a deadpan look on his face, he calmly opened up the trunk of the car and started taking out the luggage. Janet’s anxiety turned to panic, thinking of the prospect of spending a glorious weekend in this little shack with all the relatives. Suddenly Rex burst into laughter, and she realized she had been the subject of heartless Arizona humor. They loaded up the luggage and his guitar, and they headed for his real residence.

Thirty-three years ago, I received my call to serve as a missionary in the Utah Ogden Mission. Of course, because I was coming from Europe, some local Utah traditions like “green Jell-O with carrots” and “funeral potatoes” were a bit peculiar to me!
However, I was deeply impressed by the devotion and discipleship of many of the Saints, the sheer number of people attending Church meetings, and the scale of fully functioning Church programs. When my mission came to an end, I wanted to make sure that the joy I felt and the spiritual strength and maturity I observed would also be available for my future family. I was determined to return quickly to live my life in the “shadows of the everlasting hills.”
However, the Lord had different plans. On my first Sunday at home, my wise bishop called me to serve as the Young Men president in our ward. Serving this wonderful group of young men, I quickly learned that the joy that comes from being a disciple of Christ has very little to do with the size of Church meetings or the scale of programs.
So when I married my beautiful wife, Margret, we joyfully decided to stay in Europe and raise our family in our home country of Germany. Together we witnessed what President Russell M. Nelson taught many years ago: “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.” When the focus of our life is on Christ and His gospel message, we can experience the full blessings of discipleship wherever we live.

Fifty-two years ago, in July 1964, I had an assignment in New York City during the time the World’s Fair was hosted there. Early one morning I visited the Mormon Pavilion at the fair. I arrived just prior to a showing of the Church’s film Man’s Search for Happiness, a portrayal of the plan of salvation which has since become a Church classic. I sat next to a young man who was perhaps 35 years of age. We spoke briefly. He was not a member of our Church. Then the lights dimmed, and the show commenced.
We listened to the voice of the narrator as he posed the poignant and universal questions: Where did I come from? Why am I here? Where do I go when I leave this life? All ears strained to hear the answers, and all eyes were fixed on the images portrayed. A description of our premortal life was given, along with an explanation of our purpose on earth. We witnessed a touching depiction of the passing from this life of an elderly grandfather and of his glorious reunion with loved ones who had preceded him to the spirit world.
At the conclusion of this beautiful portrayal of our Heavenly Father’s plan for us, the crowd silently filed out, many visibly touched by the message of the film. The young visitor next to me did not arise. I asked if he had enjoyed the presentation. His emphatic response: “This is the truth!”
Our Father’s plan for our happiness and our salvation is shared by our missionaries throughout the world. Not all who hear this divine message accept and embrace it. However, men and women everywhere, just like my young friend at the New York World’s Fair, recognize its truths, and they plant their feet on the path that will lead them safely home. Their lives are forever changed.
Essential to the plan is our Savior, Jesus Christ. Without His atoning sacrifice, all would be lost. It is not enough, however, merely to believe in Him and His mission. We need to work and learn, search and pray, repent and improve. We need to know God’s laws and live them. We need to receive His saving ordinances. Only by so doing will we obtain true, eternal happiness.
We are blessed to have the truth. We have a mandate to share the truth. Let us live the truth, that we might merit all that the Father has for us. He does nothing save it be for our benefit. He has told us, “This is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.”1
From the depths of my soul and in all humility, I testify of the great gift which is our Father’s plan for us. It is the one perfect path to peace and happiness both here and in the world to come.

Ana’s boots slurped on the slushy sidewalk as she hurried to school, hugging a large paper bag against her coat. Her brown eyes were calm, but inside she was excited. Today her class was filling the Christmas box.
Ahead, waiting for her under the usual tree were Lem and Kyle. Pulling her coat around the bag, she lowered her eyes and kept walking. Whump! The expected snowball hit her arm. Splat! Another exploded on her shoulder.
“Tell the teacher,” Lem taunted.
Kyle threw another snowball, brushing her long dark hair and just missing her ear.
They knew she wouldn’t tell. Talking wasn’t one of her favorite things—not at school. At home Ana talked in a whirl of words that rolled off her tongue and spilled into the happy, noisy world of her family. But that was Spanish. The English they expected at school just refused to come out. For months she had attended this new school in near silence. A few snowballs wouldn’t make her talk now.
Entering the school yard, Ana opened the sack and took a last peek at her gift for the box. It was beautiful! She smiled, knowing how wonderful it would make someone feel. Two years ago, when her family had first moved from Mexico, someone had left a Christmas box on their doorstep. In it were oranges; a ham; hot chocolate mix; chewy caramels; and soft, white mountains of divinity, which melted into nothing on the tongue. Six homemade Christmas socks, one for each family member, were filled with surprises. And now she could share the same thrill with someone else.
Standing in the classroom door, Ana watched Mrs. Manning set a large, brightly wrapped box on the desk. Entering eagerly, Ana hung up her coat and pulled off her boots. She was sitting on a footstool, tying her tennis shoes, when Mrs. Manning said, “Everyone who has gifts for the box can bring them up now.”
Ana turned to watch as the others carried up their gifts. Elizabeth had a can of tuna; Marc, two cans of chicken noodle soup. Lorene brought a puzzle she had received on her birthday. “Only one piece is missing,” she said. Jean had some candy canes; Eric, a box of stuffing; and Neil, an obviously used stuffed animal. Most of the kids hadn’t brought anything. Ana’s eyes lost their sparkle.
Then Lem and Kyle went to the front of the class. Lem was flexing his arm muscles. “Look what we got for the basket,” Kyle shouted, commanding everyone’s attention. Opening his backpack, he unloaded a number of cans onto the desk. He barked like a circus announcer: “Spinach, lima beans, brussels sprouts, rutabagas, and parsnips. We cleaned out the cupboards of all the vegetables we can’t stand!”
Ana tried to imagine a family finding this box on their porch. She could picture the children pulling out can after can of vegetables and later putting the puzzle together to find a piece missing. It was wrong!
She jerked her shoelace and tied it too tight. She had spent a whole Saturday and four afternoons carefully layering papier mâché, paint, and finally crepe paper. They’ve never had a Christmas box, she decided.
“Ana, do you have something for the box in your bag?” Mrs. Manning asked.
Ana nodded and carried it up to the desk. Twenty-seven curious faces turned to see what she had brought. They were quiet as she gently tugged a star-shaped piñata from the bag. Then everyone was wowing and oohing and talking to each other.
“It’s beautiful, Ana!” Mrs. Manning exclaimed.
Ana had thought that she would feel proud and happy when the class saw her piñata. She didn’t. Instead, warm tears slid down her cheeks. She hadn’t cried when they moved here, even though it was her third new school in two years. She hadn’t cried when no one spoke Spanish, or when they laughed at her English, or when she decided not to try to be friendly with them anymore. But now the tears came.
Words came too. She tried to push them back, but they were too strong. “I made it,” she said clearly.
The class was instantly silent. Ana could talk!
“We come from Mexico. The first Christmas in our new country … , we are very sad. Then a box—a Christmas box—was left at our house. The note says, ‘Merry Christmas and a Happy New Country, from your secret friend.’ ‘Thank you,’ we shout to the night. ‘Thank you.’”
Mrs. Manning hugged Ana close, and everyone started clapping. A few kids chanted, “Ana talked! Ana talked! Ana talked!”
Ana brushed the tear tracks away and placed her piñata in the box with the vegetables.
Lorene raised her hand. “Mrs. Manning, could I take the puzzle home and bring something else tomorrow?”
“Me, too,” Marc said. “I think I can do better than soup.” A half dozen voices joined in, and heads nodded agreement.
“OK, class,” Mrs. Manning said. “We’ll keep the box here for another day. Anyway, I wanted to bake some cookies for it and didn’t get them done.”
Ana wore her boots home and carried her tennis shoes in the brown sack, even though the sun had dried the sidewalk and reduced snowmen to crusty mounds. Lem and Kyle were waiting as she, Jean, and Lorene passed the tree. Ana, laughing and talking so fast that her language mixed into “Spanglish,” was explaining how to make a piñata. The boys scraped some snow from under bushes to throw at them, but the giggling girls ran off together.

He knew they would be looking for him, so David scrunched down in his seat on the bench behind Brother Johnson. He figured the deacons quorum adviser wouldn’t be able to see him way back there even though the chapel wasn’t very crowded and it would be difficult to remain unseen. He knew if they found him he would be asked to pass the sacrament, and he didn’t want to. He was a priest now and a six-foot player on the high school basketball team. It was embarrassing to stand at the front of the chapel with those little 12-year-old deacons.
His father had been watching him from the stand, and David felt his disapproval. Much to his surprise, however, he wasn’t asked to assist the deacons. Before they could ask him, Brother Hensley volunteered.
Brother Hensley was a new member of the Church, not much older than David, and newly ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. Everyone had been excited when they learned he was taking the missionary discussions. He had been very popular in high school just two years before and was now attending college.
He stood tall alongside the deacons. He walked proudly and passed the sacred emblems with dignity.
A group of members were talking in the lobby after the meeting. David couldn’t help but overhear their conversation, especially when he moved closer so he could hear better.
“Thanks for helping us out today,” someone was saying. “I hope it didn’t bother you to work with the young deacons.”
“Not at all,” David was surprised to hear him say. “I consider it a great honor. You know who the first person to ever pass the sacrament was, don’t you?” Then answering his own question, he continued. “It was Jesus Christ when he passed the sacrament of the Last Supper to his Apostles. It is my understanding that our Apostles and prophets today administer and pass the sacrament to one another just as we did today. I guess if they can consider this a privilege, well, so can I.”
David moved on quietly as he reflected upon what he had just heard. The following Sunday, he decided he would sit in plain sight. He would sit where they could find him.

When some of the other Smiths chose to stay in Nauvoo, Mary Fielding Smith chose to go west. Her son was now getting older. He was now eight years old. She expected him to act the part of a man, so much so that when he was asked, “What is it like being a child?” he replied, “I really don’t know. I think I was born an adult.”

Mary and her son left Nauvoo and worked their way across the territory of Iowa. They were hoping to go west, but before leaving they needed to find a Captain of Ten. As you read Section 136 in the Doctrine and Covenants, you read about captains of tens, fifties, hundreds, and five hundreds. It was important for Mary to find a captain of ten who would take her family to Zion, which meant the Salt Lake Valley. Mary found a captain of ten who took them only part of the way. He did not want to be responsible for getting them all the way to Zion because he thought they were slowing down the rest of the company. Mary refused to turn around and go back to Iowa or Nebraska. She determined to go on to the valley. She actually arrived in the Salt Lake Valley before that particular captain of ten. She greeted him as he arrived.

I recently had the opportunity to minister to a widowed sister named Franca Calamassi, who is suffering from a debilitating illness. Sister Calamassi was the first member of her family to join the restored Church of Jesus Christ. Although her husband was never baptized, he consented to meet with the missionaries and often attended Church meetings. Despite these circumstances, Sister Calamassi remained faithful and raised her four children in the gospel of Jesus Christ. A year following her husband’s passing, Sister Calamassi took her children to the temple, and they participated in sacred ordinances and were sealed together as a family. The promises associated with these ordinances brought her much hope, joy, and happiness that helped her carry on in life.
When the first symptoms of the disease began to appear, her bishop gave her a blessing. At that time she told her bishop that she was ready to accept the Lord’s will, expressing her faith to be healed as well as her faith to endure her illness to the end.
During my visit, while holding Sister Calamassi’s hand and looking into her eyes, I saw an angelic glow emanating from her countenance—reflecting her confidence in God’s plan and her perfect brightness of hope in the Father’s love and plan for her. I felt her firm determination to endure in her faith until the end by taking up her cross, despite the challenges she was facing. This sister’s life is a testimony of Christ, a statement of her faith and devotion to Him.

Early one morning, without warning, the violent shaking of an earthquake woke us up. After making sure no one was injured, our family went out on the patio of our home to stay away from danger. There was fear that other violent earthquakes, aftershocks, would take place later on. How could we know when they would happen?
My wife came up with the simple idea of detecting tremors by hanging an old pair of scissors from a column in our home. Each time another tremor was near, the scissors would softly rattle, which made them ring like a small bell. This way, we could prepare for the violent shaking of the earth which soon followed.
This same phenomenon will occur on a spiritual level, if you listen. Anything that is contrary to your standards, that goes against correct principles, will trigger a warning, just as the soft ringing of the scissors let us know an earthquake was on the way. When you feel these warnings, get immediately away from danger. The best help you can have during critical moments will be the Holy Ghost. You have the right to his companionship. He will reveal to you what is right and what is wrong, and help you make correct decisions (see D&C 9:8–9 and D&C 45:57). But you must live worthily in order to receive his help. And you must learn to receive this spiritual help through personal revelation.

John was not active in the Church when his bishop visited and told him that the Lord had a work for him to do. He invited John to quit smoking. Although John had tried many times to stop, this time he felt an unseen power helping him.
Just three weeks later, the stake president visited John. He called him to serve in the bishopric. John was shocked. He told the stake president he had just quit smoking. If this meant he would have to abandon his tradition of attending professional football games on Sunday, well, that was just too much to ask. The stake president’s inspired response was simple: “John, I am not asking you; the Lord is.”
To which John replied, “Well, if that is the case, I will serve.”
John told me that these sacrifices to serve were the spiritual turning points for him and for his family.

I have a friend who took a long time to get into her professional career. She went to college to get an education but married at the end of her first quarter and was expecting a baby by the end of the second quarter, so she dropped out of school to raise a family. At the time her fifth and last child was one year old, she started taking one class a semester. When her youngest child entered kindergarten, she found she could take a heavier load, and in a period of eight years she finished her bachelor’s degree. She then went on to complete a master’s degree, but even with a master’s degree it took her several years to get into her career. First she worked as a graduate assistant, and then she started teaching part-time. Eventually she was hired to teach full-time. She has had many letters from students who say, “This is the best course I’ve ever had.” My friend has discovered that her genius includes being a loving wife and mother and an excellent teacher.

7. We prepare for the reproof with prayer whenever possible. On one occasion I was called to counsel with a family in trouble. The father had physically punished his wife and children. Several hours before we met together. I thought about what I should tell them. I fully intended to begin my remarks to this unkind husband with some harsh words about his cruelty to his family but the night I met them, I heard myself saying, “Fred, I love you, and I love your wife and family. I’d like to help you build an eternal home.” He was no longer defensive. His wife was no longer interested in finding fault, they were anxious to make new commitments and forget an unpleasant past history. They were teachable and amenable to some very specific counsel.

This story took place in Brazil.
“Now we’ll have a talk by Sister Almeida,” the bishop said.
Gabriel took out a piece of paper and some pencils. He liked to draw while he listened to the talks. So did his sister, Alice.
This time Alice drew a lion. Gabriel drew a dinosaur. He gave it a long neck and a tail.
Then Gabriel looked up. A little boy was walking toward them.
“Oh no!” he whispered to Alice. “Here comes Christian.”
Christian was four years old. He couldn’t talk, and he didn’t sit still. He walked around the chapel during meetings. Sometimes he scribbled on Gabriel’s drawings.
Gabriel hid his pencils behind his back. He didn’t want Christian to get them.
Christian reached for the pencils.
“No! These are mine!” Gabriel whispered, pointing to Christian’s family. “Go sit down.”
But Christian didn’t seem to understand. He kept grabbing for Gabriel’s pencils.
When the meeting was over, Gabriel walked with Mom and Alice to Primary.
“Why can Christian walk around the chapel but I need to be quiet?” Gabriel asked Mom.
“Christian has a different way of thinking,” Mom said. “Walking around helps him feel calm and comfortable.”
“But he always bothers us,” Gabriel said.
Alice frowned. “He just wants to draw.”
“But he doesn’t know how!”
“Maybe we can help him,” Alice said.
The next Sunday, Gabriel sat next to Alice during sacrament meeting. After the bread and water were passed, he pulled out his pencils and paper to draw. Then he saw Christian walking toward them.
Gabriel started to hide his pencils, but he paused. Christian had a big smile on his face. Gabriel remembered what Alice had said. Maybe he could help Christian draw this time!
Gabriel smiled back at Christian. He scooted over so Christian could sit between him and Alice. Gabriel gave Christian a pencil and paper. Alice helped Christian hold the pencil. Together they drew a stick figure.
Christian laughed and clapped his hands. He looked excited. Gabriel was excited too. This time Gabriel helped Christian hold the pencil. Together they drew a dog. Gabriel grinned. Drawing with Christian was fun.
When the meeting was over, Christian had a whole stack of drawings. He hugged the drawings tight and pointed to his family’s bench. Gabriel and Alice led Christian back to his family. Christian showed the drawings to his mom with a big smile.
Gabriel was glad he could draw with Christian. And he was glad he had a sister who was a good example.
Who can you help at church?
Illustrations by Josh Talbot

One Christmas carol was written, set to music, and performed for the first time all in one day. On Christmas Eve in 1818, the organ at a small Austrian church was not working. Knowing music was needed for the evening service, Joseph Mohr, an assistant parish priest in Oberndorf, Austria, wrote the words for a new hymn in a flash of inspiration. He took the lyrics to the church organist, Franz Gruber, who wrote a melody to be played on his guitar. Franz and Joseph performed their beautiful new hymn “Stille Nacht,” or “Silent Night,” that evening. Its popularity spread quickly throughout the world. (See Hymns, no. 204.)

Band class was ending. Miss Strand, my teacher, said, “Remember that chair tests are tomorrow.”
Miss Strand used chair tests to decide which order we sat in. Each band member played for the whole class, and the one who played each instrument the best sat “first chair” for that instrument.
But I wasn’t too worried. I had been first chair in the clarinets ever since I started playing last year. I had a perfect record.
“Are you nervous?” my friend Jason asked me. Jason had started learning the clarinet at the same time I had. He had always been second chair.
“Not really,” I answered.
“I’m going to go home and practice,” he said. “I’m not ready for the test yet.”
I don’t need to practice, I thought as we packed up our instruments. I’ve been first chair all year.
After school I did my homework and played with my friends. I didn’t even think about the test.
Before I knew it, I was in class the next day and Miss Strand was saying, “Let’s start the chair tests with the clarinets.”
I was a little nervous as I played—I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I was. But when I finished, I was sure that I would be first chair again.
When all of the clarinet players had finished, Miss Strand announced the test results.
“First chair: Jason. Second chair: Darcie …” Miss Strand continued, but I had stopped listening. I was second chair! I looked up at her in shock, and I realized she was waiting for me to move.
Slowly I switched chairs with Jason. I felt my face turning red, and I blinked hard to keep my tears back. My perfect record was gone!
“You did a good job,” Jason said. I just nodded. If I spoke, I was afraid I would burst into tears.
When I got home from school, I ran straight to my room and cried.
Mom came in and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Jason got first chair today,” I sobbed. “How am I supposed to be the best clarinet player now?”
Mom hugged me. “Did you practice last night?” she asked.
“No,” I said.
Mom looked at me and asked, “Do you think you would have played better if you had practiced?”
I nodded. Mom was right. I hadn’t practiced, but Jason had. He had been more prepared for the test.
Mom continued, “Even if you had practiced hard and still gotten second chair, that would be OK. Being in band is not about being the best; it’s about doing your best. You shouldn’t worry if you’re doing the best you can do.”
The next day Miss Strand started class by saying, “I want you all to know that I’m proud of you. You are all working hard so that our band can play beautiful music. Our band sounds great when everyone works hard together.”
Miss Strand’s words made me feel a little better about sitting second chair. I should want all the band members to do their best so the band can keep getting better and better, I thought.
I smiled at Jason. He looked happy to be first chair. I realized that I really wanted him to play well too.
It was OK if I was a not-so-perfect clarinetist. It didn’t matter where I sat as long as I was doing my best.

“And what do Mormons believe about marriage?” my high school Spanish teacher asked me.
All of my classmates turned in their seats, listening for my answer. I gulped as I wondered how our class discussion had wandered from Don Quixote and Dulcinea to dating and marriage.
There wasn’t another member of the Church in the class. What should I say? How much detail should I give? Would everyone make fun of me if I talked about eternal marriage?
“We, uh … ,” I stammered, still uncertain what to say.
Just then, my friend Denise came to my rescue. “Mormons have a beautiful view of marriage,” she said. “They believe that marriages performed in their temples can last forever.”
“That is beautiful,” our teacher replied. Even my classmates seemed satisfied.
With that, class resumed and I was left wondering why I had been sweating over a question that my nonmember friend answered so easily.
As more people hear about the Church, Latter-day Saints will have more opportunities to answer questions about the gospel. In high school, I learned that we don’t have to give long answers, and we don’t have to be afraid. The beautiful, simple doctrines of the gospel speak for themselves.

Eric couldn’t stop grinning as he walked off the soccer field, the field where his team had just won the league championship. Eric was hot and tired but he knew he had played his best.
As he picked up his bike, he thought of his dad’s familiar words: “Not much of what is important in life comes easily,” his father said. “Our effort puts a shine in things—such a shine sometimes that they glow for years and years in our hearts.”
“This game will definitely glow for years!” Eric thought.
“Hey, Eric!” a voice called from behind him. He turned around and grinned at his teammate, Clay. “Where are you going?” Clay asked. “The victory party is at the coach’s house.”
“I can’t go,” Eric said. “I promised Davy I’d come over right after the game. I was going to spend the rest of the day and evening with him.”
Clay looked upset. “How much fun can you have with someone who’s sick all the time, and can’t even leave the house? We just won the championship, Eric. Isn’t that worth something?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Coach said a reporter is coming to the party. He’s going to take our pictures and interview us. We’re going to be in the newspaper!”
Eric’s eyes widened. “Really?” Clay’s excitement was contagious. “I guess I could just see Davy later tonight,” he said.
“You can’t,” Clay said. “Don’t forget the coach said if we won the game he would take us on an overnight campout to Big Bear Falls. Well, the campout is tonight. You don’t want to miss out on that, do you?”
“No way!” Eric said.
“Davy’s just a sick kid with nowhere to go and nothing to do, except ruin somebody else’s fun,” Clay said, spinning a soccer ball on his finger. “Come on, Eric. It’s time to celebrate!”
Eric eyed the spinning soccer ball. The more he looked at it the more his mind began to spin, and he got caught up in the moment. “OK, let’s go!” he said. He jumped on his bike and headed across the field toward the rest of his team.
During the reporter’s interview, Eric looked at the clock in the coach’s living room. It was three o’clock. He had promised Davy he would be to his house by one. He knew Davy would be disappointed. He always looked forward to Eric’s visits with excitement. But because of school, homework, soccer practice, and family and church activities, it was hard for Eric to spend a lot of time with Davy. But today Eric was going to spend the whole afternoon and evening, and Davy had been marking off the days on the calendar for weeks.
The reporter asked each boy how it felt to be part of a winning team. When Eric’s turn came, he didn’t answer. He was thinking of the time he and his father were hiking in the Big Bear Mountains. They had come to a three-way fork in the trail and had to decide which path to follow. “Like most things in life, Eric,” his dad said, “it comes down to choices. It’s getting late, so …”
Eric studied the three paths. One was overgrown and hard to see in the evening shadows. It looked jungly and mysterious. The second was straight, narrow, and clearly defined, but uninteresting. The third trail was wide and curving with room to wander.
“What will it be?” Eric’s dad asked.
“The wide one, I guess,” he said. “There are lots of turns so it will be more exciting, not knowing what’s ahead.”
They started down the path, but 20 minutes later it ended at the edge of a cliff. Below them in the distance they could make out the small lake where their family had set up camp. Shadows crept across the woodlands below and the sun had sunk behind the mountains.
“Now which path, Eric?” his dad asked.
“How about the jungly one?” Eric suggested. “It looked cool.”
They made their way back to the original path, then started down the dark, overgrown trail.
After a few minutes, though, the path was lost in the tangles of underbrush. “What do you think we should do now?” Eric’s dad asked. “It’s getting dark and we’re no closer to camp than we were two hours ago.”
Eric pulled a thorn from his shirt and rubbed a scratch on his arm. “I guess we better get back to the path we were on in the first place.”
His dad nodded, and the two started back. They finally set their feet back on the original path and faced the trails at the triple fork. It was dark now, but the stars lit up the final path. “What do you say we take that third trail, Eric?”
Eric glanced around uneasily at the darkening woods and took hold of his father’s hand. “Yes,” he said. “I can see the path clearly because it’s straight, and it’s narrow so we won’t wander off it.”
As they made their way through the night, Eric’s dad spoke up. “The Savior said that we should always take the straight and narrow path for the very reasons you pointed out. We can clearly see our way and won’t stray from the path unless we choose to. This path is like the iron rod in Lehi’s dream, isn’t it? Straight and true. And look,” he said, pointing toward the stars. “They light the path, like the prophets we have to guide us back to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.”
They paused on a small knoll above the lake, and looking down they could see a glowing light in the darkness where Eric’s mother had started dinner over the campfire. “Kind of looks like the tree of life in Lehi’s dream, don’t you think?” his dad asked. “A welcome sight to any weary, faithful traveler on the road of life. And just like the food your mom is preparing, the Lord has filled His living tree of life with sustenance to nourish our spirits and lift us up in our darkest hours.”
Eric squeezed his father’s hand, and his eyes filled with warm tears.
“What are you crying for, Eric?” Clay laughed. Eric looked around and suddenly realized he was still in the coach’s living room surrounded by his teammates.
The reporter quickly wrote on his notepad and said, “It’s his way of saying what it feels like to be part of a winning team.”
“What it is,” Eric said, “is my knowing that I want to be a part of another winning team, as well.”
The boys looked confused. “Another winning team?” one of them blurted. “What team is that?”
Eric whispered something to the coach, waved good-bye, and left the room.
“What did he say, Coach?” Clay asked.
Their coach smiled. “He told me the name of the other team he wanted to be a part of—the Lord’s team. And he said to be a part of it, he needed to be somewhere else. Any of you boys know where that is?”
“Davy’s place, I think,” Clay said slowly.
The coach’s smile deepened.
Two weeks later, Davy passed away quietly in his sleep.
A few weeks after that, Eric and his father were hiking in the Big Bear Mountains. When they reached that familiar triple fork in the trail, Eric paused and studied the straight, narrow path. He took his dad’s hand and they stood quietly for a few moments.
“Which path do you want to take, Eric?” his dad asked.
“The straight and narrow one, Dad,” he said.
“You’re sure?” his father asked, smiling.
“It’s one thing I am sure about,” Eric smiled back. “It is the right way.”

When Mrs. Johnson’s poodle, Ricky, died, all the children in the neighborhood were sad. Ricky had been a nice dog, and the children loved to pet him and play with him. They thought that the man who ran over him must have been very mean, and they wanted to help Mrs. Johnson get even with him.
One day when Julie and Sandy were on their way home from school, they saw Mrs. Johnson sitting in the swing on her porch. They thought about passing by her house without talking to her because they didn’t know what to say. But Mrs. Johnson called to them, and they knew that it wouldn’t be very nice to just ignore her.
“I guess you heard about what happened to Ricky,” Mrs. Johnson said. Her voice was very sad.
“Yes,” said Julie, “and if we ever find out who did it, we’ll help you get even.”
“We’ll make him sorry that he ever ran over a nice dog like Ricky,” Sandy chimed in.
Mrs. Johnson moved to one side of her swing and asked them to sit next to her. “I don’t want you to get even for me,” she said. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“Wouldn’t be right?” Julie asked.
“After what he did to you,” Sandy said, “I thought that you would want to get even.”
“Oh no,” replied Mrs. Johnson. “I miss Ricky very much. But getting even with the man who hit him won’t bring him back to me.”
“Well, that’s true,” Julie said, “but it should make you feel better to know that you made him feel as bad as you do.”
“Oh no!” Mrs. Johnson said quickly. Then she asked, “How would you feel if you had been the one who ran over Ricky?”
“I would feel awful,” the children said together.
“Well,” Mrs. Johnson told them, “I think that the man who hit Ricky felt very bad too.”
“You mean you talked to him?” Julie asked.
“Oh yes,” replied Mrs. Johnson. “He came to my door right after it happened and told me that he was sorry. I could tell that he really meant what he said.”
Just then a car pulled up in front of Mrs. Johnson’s house, and a young man got out. He was carrying something small wrapped in a blanket. “Mrs. Johnson,” he said softly, “I have something for you. I know that he won’t take Ricky’s place, but I hope that you’ll like him.”
When the young man opened the blanket, the children saw a small black puppy. It did not look like Ricky, but its tail was wagging and it had big brown eyes.
Mrs. Johnson smiled as she picked the puppy up and gave it a hug. “Thank you,” she said. “That was very nice of you.”
“I’m glad that you like him,” said the young man. Then he went back to his car and drove away.
Sandy and Julie stayed to play with the new puppy while Mrs. Johnson went to the store to buy dog food. They were very happy that Mrs. Johnson had a new friend to stay with her now. They were also surprised that the man who had run over Ricky was so nice.
“You know, there is one thing that I’m glad we didn’t do,” said Sandy to Julie after a while.
“What’s that?” asked Julie as she rolled a small rubber ball across the porch for the puppy to chase.
“I’m really glad that we never had a chance to get even,” Sandy replied.

Perhaps you have all heard the story, and it is just a story, of the insensitive man who held two season tickets to the basketball games at the local university. His wife died, and a day or two later he went to the game. The seat previously occupied by his wife was empty. Someone said, “Those seats of yours must be very expensive. Couldn’t you find a member of the family to come and sit in your wife’s seat?” The man answered, “No, they couldn’t come. They’ve all gone to her funeral.”