Gospel Story Finder

“Prairie gum!” exclaimed Roxanna. “Would you like to go out and get some prairie gum?” “Oh, yes,” Rachel said. She had just walked the few kilometers between her soddy—a home built of grass, or sod—and Roxanna’s, but her six-year-old legs were eager to go on if the reward was prairie gum, a sticky substance that gathered on the broken tops of the tall rosinweeds dotting the land.
In the spring, the weed blossomed like a little yellow sunflower, but today it was fall, and the rosinweed, like everything on the prairie, was brown and dry. The little wildflowers, which had once added splashes of red, orange, and purple to the sea of grass, were all gone.
The girls walked hand in hand through the dry grass. They felt lucky to live so close to each other; most families on the prairie did not have neighbors nearby. The golden land was vast, and homes were spread out. As Rachel and Roxanna walked, they could not even see another soddy.
They trotted from weed to weed, their long braids dancing behind them. Picking off a bit of the colorless gum here and a bit there, they tried to gather enough of it to make a chewy lump. They were so focused on spotting the next rosinweed and scraping off its gum they didn’t realize they had walked another kilometer. When a faint cry rang out, the two best friends froze.
“Listen! What is that?” Rachel’s brown eyes widened with fear. Both girls strained to make out the sound. Then in the distance they saw Roxanna’s father running toward them. “It’s your father! He wants us to do something. What is it, Roxanna? Can you hear?” Rachel asked, frightened.
“Run! Run! Run!” Roxanna’s father was yelling frantically. “Run to the breaking!” Roxanna quickly spotted the place where her father had turned over the prairie sod with the breaking-up plow. Land on the prairie could not be cultivated the first year; it had to be broken up, then left to lie and rot. During the fall and winter, the tough grass roots rotted away so a common plow could get through them. Roxanna grabbed Rachel’s hand and began running the half kilometer to the breaking. They stumbled through the tall, dry prairie grass.
“Run to the breaking! Run! Run!” Roxanna and Rachel could see the blur of a blue shirt as Roxanna’s father waved his arms desperately. “Run! Run!” His frantic voice was still faint, but the words were distinct.
“Roxanna, what is it? What’s the matter?” Rachel asked between frenzied breaths.
“I don’t know,” Roxanna gasped. Neither girl stopped running. Their parents had taught them to obey immediately, so they stumbled on as fast as their little legs could carry them.
The prairie grass felt like claws snatching at them again and again, trying to trip them. Roxanna stepped into a gopher hole, but Rachel pulled her up. Rachel’s lungs ached, and she felt she did not have another breath in her, but she kept going.
At last they reached the edge of the breaking. Roxanna’s father came running up from the opposite direction. Seizing both girls in his arms, he dragged them into the middle of the bare black clearing.
“Get down!” he gasped, throwing his body over theirs as protection. The black soil was hard and scratched the girls’ faces.
“What is it?” Rachel panted.
A crisp, crackling sound was her answer. She turned her head to see large flames sweeping across the prairie. The orange fire swiftly swallowed up the dry grass and weeds in its path, including where Rachel and Roxanna had stood just minutes before! The flames shot high into the sky, sizzling like wicked laughter. The air over them grew thick with gray smoke and flying red cinders. Roxanna’s eyes and lungs burned from the smoke. Rachel thought her skin would melt from the intense heat that enveloped them.
“Hold on, girls,” Roxanna’s father urged.
And then the danger was over. The fire moved swiftly down the prairie, leaving Rachel, Roxanna, and Roxanna’s father untouched because there was no grass around them to burn. They sat up and stared at the moving fire. Rachel wiped the sweat and dirt from her face with the back of her hand. Roxanna let out a big sigh of relief.
“That was close,” Roxanna’s father gasped, “but we made it!” He looked back to see a stretch of black extending down the prairie, marking the fire’s path. The ground around the breaking was black and still sizzling. He inhaled deeply. “We made it because you quickly obeyed my shouts.” Then he bowed his head and gave thanks to Heavenly Father that the girls had been obedient and that none of them had been hurt by the fire.

While I was stationed in Manila, Philippines, during World War II, I would often meet with a small group of other LDS servicemen to hold sacrament meeting. During one meeting I noticed a Filipino woman at the back of our bombed-out building peering through an opening that had once been a door. I wondered if our singing had attracted her. While our eyes were closed for the benediction, she quietly slipped away.
During one of her subsequent visits, we invited her to join us. Her name was Aniceta Fajardo, and she enthusiastically accepted our friendship. As she continued attending our meetings, she learned about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
With Christmas approaching, we decided to bless Aniceta and her family with some Christmas presents. We gathered canned milk, meat, and vegetables; a couple of blankets; and a medical kit, including penicillin to treat Aniceta’s sick grandson.
On Christmas Eve we loaded up the gifts and went to Aniceta’s home. She lived with her daughter and grandson under sheets of corrugated metal that leaned against a brick wall—a remnant of a building that had been blown apart. We wondered how they could survive with such little protection during the tropical rains so prevalent that time of year.
One of our men pulled a branch from a mango tree and stuck it in the ground. We found bits of litter to decorate the branch.
Aniceta and her family looked on with delight and amazement. When they saw the gifts we had brought, their delight turned into tears of happiness and appreciation. They hadn’t seen or eaten such food in a long time, and they wept so much that for a time they couldn’t speak.
Because it was Christmas Eve, our thoughts turned to home and loved ones. I thought of the cablegram I had received just two days before, informing me that I had become a father. We shared our feelings, ending with our testimonies of the Savior and the restored gospel.
We assured this wonderful family of the Savior’s love for them. They found comfort in our words, and a feeling of peace warmed the night air. Then we bid our dear friends good-bye and wished them a merry Christmas.
Soon afterward I was transferred to a new area, and I never saw Aniceta or her family again. But years later I opened the Church Almanac to a section on the Philippines and read that Aniceta Pabilona Fajardo was the first Filipino to join the Church in the islands.1 What a wonderful blessing to think of the seeds that were planted during that Christmastime in 1945.

Nate is hanging out with his friends one evening when one of his buddies brings out some cans of beer and passes them around. When Nate refuses at first, saying, “I can’t,” his friends begin to laugh and tease him. Nate doesn’t want his friends to think he’s not cool, so he considers taking a few sips of beer just to get his friends to stop laughing.

It seems as though no matter where we go in life, whether in person or online, there will be an open window from the great and spacious building nearby with someone ready to point a finger and laugh at the things we value. We have probably all experienced this mockery at different times, and it can be very painful. We know we should react in a Christlike manner, but it’s not always easy. Nobody likes to be laughed at or have deeply held beliefs belittled. Like Nate, we might sometimes respond with a phrase like “I can’t—I’m Mormon,” only to hear others laugh even harder.

Have you ever noticed how mockers always tend to focus on the word can’t? As in, “Why can’t you drink that?” “Why can’t you go shopping with me on Sunday?” or “Why can’t you have sex before you’re married?”

This focus on the word can’t may cause us to feel powerless. It may feel as though we’re weak and spineless. It may feel as though we’re helpless victims of an impersonal God who has locked us up so that we don’t have any fun.

This tactic is very, very old. In fact, Satan has been using it from the very beginning. When God placed Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, He told them, “Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat” (Moses 3:16). Do the words “every tree” sound like a restriction to you? While God told Adam and Eve that there were specific consequences for eating of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, He never physically restricted them. They had the whole garden to themselves and were told, “Thou mayest choose for thyself, for it is given unto thee” (Moses 3:17). That sounds like freedom to me!

So it’s interesting that when Satan comes along later he says, “Yea, hath God said—Ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?” (Moses 4:7). Essentially, Satan was asking, “Why can’t you eat the fruit of that tree?” in the same mocking tone that comes from the windows of the great and spacious building. Satan focused on the one thing that God had attached consequences to, and he made it sound as though God wanted to deprive Adam and Eve. Satan twisted God’s words, adding lies in the effort to convince them to follow him instead of God. In the end, partaking of the fruit had been part of the plan all along. And God provided a Savior to give Adam and Eve and all their children the chance to grow and return home.

And what is it we’re really saying when we say, “I can’t—I’m Mormon”? Are we really saying, “I wish I could, and if I weren’t Mormon, I totally would”? I once had a friend who used to joke about all the things he’d like to do if he weren’t a member of the Church. The problem was, I couldn’t always tell if he was joking.

Rather than focusing on can’t and don’t, we would be much better off if we used the word won’t. As in, “I won’t—I’m Mormon.” Using won’t instead of can’t changes the focus of the phrase and shows that we are empowered to choose for ourselves. By saying, “I won’t,” we’re saying, “I’m choosing not to do that, not because I’m a blind follower or because I’m restricted but because I believe in agency and accountability and I want to do what’s right. I am choosing to act and not be acted upon” (see 2 Nephi 2:14, 26).

Using “I won’t” instead of “I can’t” is also a monumental act of courage. It doesn’t take any courage to follow the crowds down the various paths of the world. Anyone can do that. Standing up for the truth shows real faith. Standing out from the world takes real courage. It shows that we are truly using our agency and really thinking for ourselves. The people in the great and spacious building are always referred to as a nameless crowd, a faceless mob. In the end, their words are hollow and meaningless. By faithfully exercising our agency, we can find the courage to say, as did Lehi and the brave and faithful members of his family, “We heeded them not” (1 Nephi 8:33).

Amid an increasingly wicked world, those who stand up and walk the gospel path truly do stand out. But they are not alone. As President Thomas S. Monson has invited us, “May we ever be courageous and prepared to stand for what we believe, and if we must stand alone in the process, may we do so courageously, strengthened by the knowledge that in reality we are never alone when we stand with our Father in Heaven.”3

We gradually picked up the pace as our bikes passed under the arched gateway which admitted us into the heart of the old city. I was always impressed when I saw the massive city wall that was built over 800 years ago to protect the inhabitants of the beautiful city of Luebeck in Northern Germany.
I didn’t have much time to think about the wall though, because I had my hands full just keeping the bike from bucking me off as we clattered over the narrow cobblestone street. The generator attached to my front wheel whined as I raced my companion to our small second floor apartment on Kleine Burg Strasse.
Elder Peterson usually got home first—not because he was the senior companion, but because he had a new three-speed bicycle, and I had what we called a no-speed bike.
We were both almost flying as we turned the last corner and headed toward our place. Elder Peterson braked hard, jumped off his bike, and was halfway up the steps with a look of satisfaction on his face by the time I had pedaled the final distance.
We parked our bikes inside the front entryway, locked the door, and hurried up the narrow stairs to the place we had both called home for about three months. We didn’t talk much as we whipped off our jackets and ties and headed for the small refrigerator that supplied us with our nightly dose of yogurt, not the yogurt we had disliked in the States, but creamy plain yogurt that we ate with canned strawberries, Haferflocken (oats), and raisins.
After a blessing on the food, we savored our homemade snack and discussed the events of the day.
“I think Frau Malchow is going to make it,” Elder Peterson said between mouthfuls of yogurt.
“Yeah, if her husband would start reading the Book of Mormon like he promised, maybe they’d both get baptized.”
“Tomorrow let’s finish the last two streets in the neighborhood over by Sister Sasse and then start looking for a new area.”
“Sounds good to me. I’m not used to doing five or six hours of tracting a day without being able to get in and teach a single discussion,” I responded after a big yawn and a stretch.
We rinsed out our large cups, changed, and knelt for personal prayer. I made a mental note to review one of the discussions the next morning so when we did get in I would be prepared to tell the fine family (I always had goals to teach families) about the plan of salvation.
We quietly crawled into our beds and were soon asleep. About 11:00 P.M. Elder Peterson was awakened by the phone.
“Elder Klomp, wake up, it’s for you. It’s President Schwendimann.”
I tried to shake the sleep from my head before I took the phone. The mention of the mission president’s name did help to bring me back from the world of dreams.
“Elder Klomp,” the president said, “I don’t know exactly how to say this to you, but today I received a call from your sister and she told me that your father had just passed away. She wants you to call her and your mother at your brother’s home in southern Nevada tomorrow at 1:00 P.M. your time.
“You have our deepest sympathies, and if there is anything Sister Schwendimann and I can do for you, don’t hesitate to contact us.”
I mumbled a reply and hung up the phone. I was dazed. I stumbled over a shoe in the dark as I made my way to the tiny kitchen that was perched in the space where the roof angled down from over my head to the floor. I gazed out the window at the stars shining brightly.
Had I really heard what I thought I just heard? I asked myself. The cold tears streaming down my face led me to believe that I was awake and hadn’t imagined those words about my dad. I hadn’t been dreaming. I never had nightmares like that anymore anyway. But then it must be true!
Not my dad. My dad was always so healthy and strong! He was healthy before that stroke that temporarily paralyzed him. He was healthy the whole time I was growing up, even though he was a lot older than most of my friends’ fathers. Hadn’t he given me a big hug and tried to hold back the tears at the airport when I was getting ready to fly to Germany? Hadn’t he been proud of me, the last of his three sons to serve a mission for our Father in Heaven? Hadn’t he told me stories about his mission and taught me that I should prepare myself to be the best missionary I could possibly be? How could he be gone? Not my dad.
I need you Dad—I’m your little boy—help me know what to do, Dad, I thought to myself as I gazed out that little window at the wonders of the night. Dad, you were the one who first showed me Orion and the Pleiades, remember? Look over there—I’ve spotted the Big Dipper and the North Star too.
Please Heavenly Father, give me some kind of sign so I’ll know that my dad is with you and he’s okay. I love my dad. Please, help me!
While I waited for the outward sign that never came, my mind and heart were full of poignant memories. I remembered how proud Dad and I had both been on the day when we met with our priesthood leaders in the stake president’s office. I remembered the strength I felt in the hands as they joined in a circle around me as my father ordained me an elder after the order of Melchizedek.
“Well, Elder Rick,” they said to me afterward as they enthusiastically shook my hand, “we know that you are going to be a terrific missionary.”
As I shook my father’s hand and looked into his misty eyes, I knew that he was also sure that I would be successful.
That memory faded and was replaced with the “D” discussion I had preprogrammed myself to study. The details of the plan of salvation ran through my mind as the tears slowly dried on my cheeks.
I reviewed the premortal existence and the council of heaven and realized for the first time that my father must have been there. I knew my dad had been born to receive a body, like everybody else, and had obeyed the Lord’s commandments to the best of his ability like we all must. He was always the most selfless man I had ever known, and even though he wasn’t the most verbal individual, we always knew by the things he did that he loved Mom and us more than he could say.
Nobody enjoyed being home with his family more than my dad. About the only thing Dad would let take him away from his family was the gospel he loved so much. Few people had served in as many different capacities in the Church as my dad. I knew that he had successfully honored his first and second estates, and could surely expect a promising future with our Heavenly Father.
I tried to imagine my dad’s reunion with his earthly parents and little sister who had died over 50 years ago. It wasn’t hard to picture Uncle Lew and Uncle Vic also waiting with open arms to welcome Dad to his next field of labor, almost like a transfer in the mission field.
These thoughts brought a smile to my heart as I continued to gaze out that tiny kitchen window. I knew I didn’t have to worry about what was in store for my dad.
What about Mom, though? They had been married nearly 40 years. What would she do without him?
My stomach tightened nervously until I remembered that this was the week of the Klomp family reunion in Panaca, Nevada. All four of my older brothers and sisters and their families would be there with Mom to help her through this difficult time. She would be comforted by her children as she so often had comforted each of us. It seemed terribly fair somehow. I realized also that Mom was not a weak, ignorant, or faithless woman. She had helped me gain a better understanding of and love for the gospel of Jesus Christ and would certainly take strength from that same fountain of truth.
I don’t know how long I stood at that window, but I do remember being stiff as my eyelids began to droop again with fatigue. I stretched, still staring out the window, hoping to see something, anything which would show me that everything was all right. It wasn’t until later that I realized that my “sign” had come in the form of the Spirit speaking peace to my heart, calming my fears, and warming me with the love of a faraway family and a God who was very near.
When I finally pulled myself away from the window, I wondered whether or not I should return home, leaving my mission only half served. I remembered scriptures about putting your hand to the plow and then turning away or loving father and mother more than the Savior. I felt confident that Dad would have wanted me to stay and finish the work I had been given to do, but decided that if Mom needed me, I would go home to help her.
I kept the whole thing pretty much to myself the next day and was determined not to let it affect the work. Actually it still didn’t seem real. It seemed like a hazy dream. But I still made plans to make the phone call to my family.
After a busy morning and a quick lunch, we pedaled to the post office so I could make the call. I waited anxiously in the long-distance line. When my turn finally came, I gave the man behind the desk the right phone number, and he directed me to the appropriate plexiglass phone booth in the center of the building.
“Hello, Nancy, can you hear me?” I said when the connection was made.
“Yes, Rick. I’m so glad you were able to call. We’re all here taking good care of Mama and we want you to know that everything is fine. She wants you to do what you think is right.”
After speaking to Mom and some of the rest of the family and hearing that Dad had seemed really fulfilled and happy to have almost all his family around before he died, I knew that I wasn’t really needed at home. I was needed in Germany to do the work a prophet of God had assigned me to do. The still, small voice comforted me, and I was able to complete the second half of my mission in a way that honored my beliefs, my family, and most of all, my dad. He had endured, faithful to the end, and taught me to do the same. Did he ever quit or give up before he finished an assignment? Not my dad!

That support group comes through for less dramatic problems, too. Melissa dated a nonmember for a while. Melissa says they were too serious, and she felt that it wasn’t leading her toward the temple marriage she has as a goal.
“I knew I needed to end it,” says Melissa. “It was really tough, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I knew it was the right decision, though, and the girls really helped me through it.”

It was her first day on the job as a dietary aid for a nursing home. Dawn Dyrhaug, 15, of Arlington Heights, Illinois, could have hesitated when she heard the sound of someone choking. What if she did something wrong? She could have held back, but she didn’t.
Dawn went into action. She knew she had only about four minutes to dislodge the food that prevented Clara Lieptz from breathing. Help might not arrive in time. Besides she had been trained to help.
She clasped her hands below the elderly lady’s rib cage in the Heimlich Maneuver. Dawn had learned that in many cases it would be necessary to repeat the procedure. To her relief, however, repeated attempts were not necessary.
In the days following the incident, Clara introduced Dawn as the girl who saved her life. Dawn felt good. For four years during YW girls’ camp with her stake, she had learned lifesaving techniques and first aid.
For having the know-how and exhibiting the courage to use it, Dawn will receive the American Red Cross Certificate of Merit signed by President Reagan and Illinois Governor Thompson.
Dawn is a member of the Northwest Second Ward, Schaumburg Illinois Stake.

After I went home, I didn’t want to lose the connection to the Spirit that I had felt during the conference, so I made a goal to do what was necessary to keep my newfound foundation in the gospel firm and keep the Spirit with me.
Making changes was a little hard at first. I had to stop spending time with certain friends because they were not a good influence on me. I worked to give up some bad habits. I started taking church seriously. Making these decisions helped me fill my life with goodness. What has helped me stay consistently connected to the Spirit is setting aside time each day to study the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon.
The teachings in the scriptures remind me what is really important in my life. When I feel lonely in my faith, especially with so few members here in Bulgaria, I allow the truths of ancient prophets to deepen my faith in Jesus Christ.
One of my favorite verses is Moroni 10:32: “Come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, and deny yourselves of all ungodliness; and if ye shall deny yourselves of all ungodliness, and love God with all your might, mind and strength, then is his grace sufficient for you, that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ.”
It’s scriptures like this one that remind me of the light the gospel offers and keep me strong when I’m having a hard time. The scriptures always strengthen my foundation of faith.

I learned kindness from many people. One of these was my grandmother Amalie Hollenweger Amacher. She joined the Church as a young woman in Switzerland and later immigrated to northern Utah. Although she always spoke with an accent, there was no mistaking her meaning when we grandchildren needed correction. She wanted us to learn to obey and to treat people well, and she wasn’t afraid to tell us so.
Once Grandma caught me speaking disrespectfully to my parents. She let me know that she was not pleased with my tone of voice. I was grateful for the reminder to speak kindly. For years after her death, whenever I was faced with a decision, I asked myself, “What would my grandmother think?” Her love for the Lord and her love for me made me want to follow her example.

The immigrant’s youthful eyes shifted to Mosiah Twiggs, the big, bearded Mormon who had rescued him that fateful night. Waves of love and gratitude rolled up the shores of Lao Moy’s sore heart and washed away his tears.
Mosiah, too, had been ensnared by dreams of gold, so he left the Salt Lake Valley settlement in ’49 to fall prey to the same misfortune that had beset so many others—empty pockets and broken dreams.
After his father’s death, Lao Moy had agreed without misgivings to return with Mosiah to Salt Lake City, feeling a loyalty to the soft-spoken stranger who had risked his life to save someone he didn’t even know.
It had been a hazardous journey by wagon from the goldfields of California to the Salt Lake Valley, and they had encountered countless perils. But Mosiah’s promise that the God of Israel would protect them had planted the seeds of a testimony in the boy’s heart. Lao Moy wondered about this man who dutifully paid 10 percent of his earnings to his church for tithing.
Yet standing in the way of Lao Moy’s spiritual progress was that old bitterness born in the goldfields. It crouched like a great beast over his peace and challenged his moments of newfound joy. He had long wished to rid himself of it, to strike out against it, but something or someone always seemed to stand in the way.
Mosiah gazed curiously in the direction of the boy’s unbroken stare. “Autumn leaves die beautifully, don’t they, Lao Moy?” he said, his face lifted into the leaf-spattered wind.
“Yes,” answered Lao Moy, his hurtful thoughts suddenly scattered by his guardian’s grand vision. Autumn was indeed a beautiful time of year, especially in the canyons. Lao Moy’s eyes raced up the huge, yellow red chasms with renewed excitement. He loved these mountains. Mosiah had told him many times about them. How the erosion of long ages had cut deep canyons. How huge glaciers, descending with unyielding power, had broken loose and carried countless boulders, many of goliath size, down the immense mountain furrows. It was these isolated blocks, called erratics, that provided the supply of building stones for the Salt Lake Temple.
In these canyons, Mosiah, Lao Moy, and many other faithful Saints worked tirelessly to divide the boulders with hand drills, wedges, and low-power explosives. The rough blocks were then transported by oxteam—four yoke required for each block—and every trip was a difficult three- or four-day journey to the temple site some twenty miles away.
Mosiah touched Lao Moy’s shoulder and brought him out of his reverie. “I’m going to set off the blast, Lao Moy,” he cautioned, and then shouted a warning to the nearby workers. Mosiah lit the fuse and sprinted with Lao Moy for cover.
Two other workmen held a team of oxen. One of them was fourteen-year-old Corey Atwood. Corey, a tough, stout boy, had long taken pleasure in cruelly funning Lao Moy because of his broken English, his long queue (braid), and his quiet and obedient ways. It was often Corey who kept Lao Moy’s bitterness alive, but the Chinese boy had held it all inside, even when the troublesome Corey had once grabbed Lao Moy’s queue and threatened to cut it off with a knife.
The blast erupted like the sound of cannon fire over a Virginia cottonfield, and the big piece of granite split in two. Cheers went up, and Mosiah scrambled up the rocks to view his accomplishment. Lao Moy started up, too, but was soon held fast by Corey, who held onto his queue.
“What’s the matter, Lao Moy,” he chuckled, “somebody got your tail?”
Suddenly something exploded inside Lao Moy with no less force than Mosiah’s dynamite blast. He turned and struck Corey in the face so hard that the big boy was lifted off his feet and thrown backward in front of the team of oxen. The wide-eyed Atwood looked as surprised as Lao Moy. He wiped at the blood on his mouth and started to lift himself up when a clap of thunder suddenly boomed. As the already spooked oxen lurched forward, Lao Moy sprang for Corey and rolled him out of the path of pounding hooves and grinding wheels.
For a long moment the two boys just lay there, staring at each other. Finally, a smile broke across Corey’s dusty, blood-smeared face. Lao Moy smiled back, and all the old bitterness in his heart seemed to melt away like ice in a summer sun. A new peaceful feeling assured him it would not return.
Lao Moy was forty-five years old when the Salt Lake Temple was finally dedicated on April 6, 1893; Mosiah, seventy-six; and Corey Atwood, forty-seven. Corey sat close beside Lao Moy as President Wilford Woodruff offered the dedicatory prayer. A friendship had grown between them, a friendship as strong as the temple granite they had helped to cut. And like that granite, it would last forever.

Living in Pennsylvania puts Andrew’s family close to many of the Church history sites. A few years ago, the family visited the Palmyra New York Temple. While there, the family also visited the Sacred Grove. Andrew says, “I remember walking around and looking at the trees. I wondered where Joseph was praying when he saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.” His family has also visited the Nauvoo area where he saw Carthage Jail and learned about how the Prophet Joseph was martyred. “It was sad,” he says softly.

When I was about 14, I had come to the conclusion that trying a beer once would be perfectly all right. Before I had tried one, however, I had an interview with my bishop to go on a youth temple trip. One of the questions was about experimenting with drugs or alcohol. I was glad I could say no, but the question puzzled me. “Wasn’t experimenting okay?” If that question was important enough to ask in a temple recommend interview, it must not be okay. Since then, I’ve realized if you never take the first you will never take the rest. I am grateful to the Lord and a bishop for guiding me and helping me avoid so much sorrow.
Elder Aaron Ellsworth, 20Washington Seattle Mission

Illustration by Katie Payne
This wasn’t what I’d signed up for. I’d been willing enough to help treat my great-grandma’s fence with linseed oil to help protect it. But as the day wore on, sweat trickled down my face and my willingness turned to fatigue in the heat.
My mom suggested a break and a drink before going back to work, but I pouted, determined to be miserable.
“Dallin, there’s no real reward for having a good attitude when everything in life is going great,” she said. “The real test of character and the true reward comes when you can have a good attitude even when everything seems miserable.”
A week later, my grandpa asked if I could treat his fence with linseed oil. His fence was longer, and we’d have to treat both sides.
This time, I determined to work on my attitude even if the job got tough. We started early, but sure enough, we were soon baking in the sun. The work seemed endless as we carried those heavy buckets of sticky, stinky oil. Thorny bushes along the fence pricked our legs. As I remembered what my mom had said, though, I didn’t complain. I didn’t quit. I worked carefully and tried to keep up a good attitude.
When we finished, I looked at the newly treated fence and felt proud of what we’d done. I was tired and sticky, but I knew I’d also passed an important test of character. I learned that I could have a good attitude even when everything seems miserable.
Dallin H., Oklahoma, USA

Although Mary managed to get some additional cattle to help pull the wagons to the Salt Lake Valley, the trek still tested and refined her faith. One day one of her best oxen became very sick, lay down, and was apparently near death. Had this happened, she could not have continued on the journey to the Valley. Mary got a bottle of consecrated oil and asked two brethren to administer to the sick ox. Although administration to the sick had only been used for humans, Mary believed that the Lord would heal the animal that she needed so desperately.

After the blessing, the ox got up and was soon ready to pull the wagon again. Two more times other oxen became ill, and twice more Mary asked the brethren to bless them. Each time, they were healed instantly. Despite all difficulties, Mary and her family arrived in the Salt Lake Valley on September 23, 1848, a full day before the rest of the company.

Miss Fee pointed to the enormous paper tree hanging on the back wall of the fifth grade classroom. “What’s missing?” she asked.
“Leaves,” our class chanted together.
“You’re going to help it grow leaves,” she said as she held up a green paper maple leaf. “Each leaf has a place on it to write the name of a book, its author, and what it is about.”
Some of the kids started groaning, but Miss Fee kept smiling. “It’s going to be a contest,” she said.
“Whoever reads the most books this week and collects the most leaves will win first prize.”
Now she had our attention. Everyone likes contests, especially when there’s a prize.
“First prize is a gift certificate for a large pizza,” the teacher said, and the class started cheering.
“Quiet down, please,” Miss Fee instructed. She gave us the rules on how long the books had to be, and what kinds would be included.
I walked home after school with Susan. We each had checked out a couple of books to read.
“You’ll probably win,” Susan said. “No one reads books as fast as you do.”
“I love reading,” I said. “Once I get started, I can’t stop. In fact, Mom usually has to tell me to shut off the light and go to sleep at night.”
“Look!” Susan whispered to me. “Look at Robert.”
Up ahead, Robert carried a stack of six books. He didn’t have many friends. His shirts were a little too big and worn, and his pants had patches on them. He sat by himself at lunchtime and didn’t ever talk to anyone. Robert ignored all the kids, even when they teased him.
“Do you think you’re going to win?” Susan asked him, laughing.
Robert glanced up at us, then looked down again and hurried past us.
“Let’s go,” I said. I didn’t feel right provoking him, but I didn’t want to admit it.
The next night I stayed after school and headed for the library. I wanted to get a couple of books on fishing, which is the thing I love best, next to reading. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Standing in front of the fishing books was Robert, holding one about trout.
“That’s a good book,” I whispered. “I read it last week.”
Robert nodded and didn’t say anything. I think he was almost afraid of me.
“I want to get a book about making flies,” I added. “Dad said he’d help me learn how to tie one.”
Robert hesitated a second, then bent over and pulled a slim volume out from the bottom shelf. “This is the best book about that,” he said softly. “It helped me a lot.”
“Do you know how to tie flies?” I asked, surprised.
“My grandpa is teaching me. We both like fishing.”
“Me too,” I said. It was a good feeling to find someone else who liked the exact same thing. Susan didn’t like fishing.
“Getting lots of reading done?” I asked as I took the book he offered.
“I’m trying to,” Robert said. He paused for a second. “I want to win the contest so that I can take my mom out for a pizza and surprise her. It’s her birthday this Saturday.”
“That’s a neat idea,” I agreed. “Good luck.”
The next morning, I found a wadded up piece of paper in my desk. I almost tossed it out, when I saw the note:
To Mike,
My Grandpa tied this for you.
Robert
I opened up the crumpled paper, and inside was an artificial fly. I picked it up and examined how it had been expertly put together. After math class, I stopped Robert in the hallway. “Thanks,” I told him. “I can’t wait to try it out.”
Robert smiled. “My grandpa’s taking me fishing along Silver Creek Saturday morning. You’re welcome to come with us.”
Before I could say yes or no, Susan walked up. “Come on,” she said. “I want to show you the book I found about dinosaurs.”
I know I should have said something to Robert, but I didn’t want Susan to start teasing me, so I walked away. My stomach felt funny for the rest of the day whenever I thought about it.
On Friday afternoon, Miss Fee declared the contest over. She asked everyone to get out their completed leaves.
“Who has more than five?” she asked. Eleven hands went up in the air.
“How about more than ten?” Only four hands stayed up.
“More than twelve?” Just Robert and I still had our hands up.
“How many leaves do you have?” Miss Fee asked Robert.
“Fourteen,” Robert said proudly. I could see that everyone in the class was surprised.
At that moment, I decided what I wanted to do. I slipped one leaf back into my desk, and when Miss Fee asked me, I said I had thirteen. I guess I wanted Robert to win more than I wanted myself to. I could imagine him telling his mom about the pizza and how happy they’d both be.
When Miss Fee gave Robert the gift certificate, everyone started clapping. I clapped the loudest. After school, I waited by the front door for him.
“Dad said I could go fishing with you tomorrow if you still want company,” I told him.
Right then Susan came walking up. “We’re going fishing tomorrow,” I told her before I chickened out.
“Don’t you want to come over and play basketball?” she asked.
“Tomorrow afternoon, if I get my chores done after I get home,” I said. “I have to try out this new fly.” I took it out of my pocket to show her.
“Did you make that?” Susan asked.
“Robert’s grandpa made it. I’m going to ask him to show me how.”
“Think he’d show me?” she asked.
“Of course,” Robert said. Then he smiled and waved at us. “I have to get home and tell my mom about our pizza date.”
I waved and smiled too. Robert had the gift certificate, but I still felt like I had won first prize.

Elder L. Tom Perry last month returned from Tonga and reported as follows:
“I was also extremely impressed with the welfare services missionary couples in Tonga. I am enclosing a picture of Brother and Sister Duane C. Thorn standing behind some sheet-metal ovens he has constructed. Brother Thorn has made over a hundred of these, and his wife has been teaching the women how to use them over a regular bonfire to bake bread. It’s the first time many of these families have had a facility to do any baking. He has also made large tubs for them to do their washing in to improve their sanitation.
“Another couple, by the name of Spencer, has done an outstanding job in improving the harvest of the agricultural farms of Tonga. Brother Spencer invented and taught the local people how to use several machines, including a tapa-cloth machine which has saved them many hours of difficult labor. This machine also caught the eye of the king. He has become a very close personal friend of the king. In fact, for the next month he traveled with the king and his party to all of the islands on an agricultural fair where he was a guest of the king.
“Both of these couples will be returning home within a month.”

Brother Spencer has taught others so that there may be a continuation of these skills. All help given must be in the Lord’s own way under priesthood direction as we saw happening in Alma’s day. Ours is a practical religion based upon the gospel of work that elevates and prospers both the body and the spirit.

Things had not been easy for Todd. He was the only member of the Church in his family. He had come in contact with the Church over a year ago through Lisa.

Lisa was the warmest, most enthusiastic, most Christ-centered person he had ever met. They were in student government together. He was president of the student senate and she was vice president. He’d spent many hours in her home, working on various student projects, and it was like being in heaven as far as he was concerned. Her mother always baked cookies for them when she knew they’d be meeting. And even if the house wasn’t always perfectly neat, there was a good feeling there.

One day he had asked Lisa why she was so different, and she had told him about her membership in the Church. He was interested in what she had to say, and so she invited him to church. Soon he was taking the missionary lessons at her house.

In a month’s time he was ready to get baptized. He asked his parents for permission. They had no religious preferences themselves, so they gave their permission and he was baptized.

A short time later, his uncle heard about what had happened, and he came all the way from Illinois to try to talk Todd out of being a Mormon.

After his uncle had spent half a day being critical of the Church, his parents were finally persuaded to forbid Todd from attending church.

No matter how much Todd complained, his parents would not budge. He could attend any other church, but not that church.

It’s not fair, Todd thought. I’ve never given my parents any trouble, and all I’m asking is for them to let me worship God in the way I want to.

He considered pretending to go on a walk and then sneaking over to attend sacrament meeting. He phoned the bishop and asked for advice. The bishop told him to honor his parents and to set a good example and to try to win their confidence.

Todd followed the advice. At first it was hard to show love to his parents when they wouldn’t let him do the thing he most wanted to do, but he worked on it. He quit talking back to them and tried to be someone they could depend on.

One day Lisa’s family invited them over for a barbecue. It was good for his parents to see that Church members could be very nice people.

Just before Todd turned 17, his mother asked him what he wanted for his birthday. He said, “For you and Dad to go with me to church.”

She looked at him closely. “Is it really that important to you?”

“Yes.”

“All right, we’ll do that as our birthday present to you.”

Once his parents had gone to church, they softened in their opposition and let him attend. Sometimes they would even go with him, especially if he had a talk to give in sacrament meeting.

Todd stood up. “I’m glad that Jesus has restored the Church back to the earth, and that he’s given us men like our bishop to help us when we have problems …”

Anna’s heart sank as she walked into the room and saw the Christmas tree. The water heater in their house had burst, and water was all over the floor. Dad was still trying to clean up the mess. The few presents under the tree were completely soaked.
Anna and her little brothers grabbed some towels and tried to dry the presents. But it didn’t really work. They were a soggy mess.
Anna’s family was going through a hard time. Her dad didn’t have a job right now. Her mom was going to have a baby soon, and she felt sick a lot. And now they wouldn’t have any presents for Christmas.
That night as Anna got ready for bed, she could hear Mom and Dad talking in the kitchen.
“What are we going to do?” Mom asked. It sounded like she was crying. “We don’t have enough money for the house payment, and now we don’t even have presents for the kids.” Anna had an empty, twisty feeling in her stomach.
“We’ll figure something out,” Dad said.
Anna walked into the kitchen. Mom reached out and gave her a big hug. With her arms around Mom’s tummy, Anna felt the baby move. She smiled. “We have a new baby coming. You always say that a baby is a miracle.”
Mom smiled back. “That’s right. We have a lot to be grateful for.”
“We have each other,” Dad said. He kissed the top of Anna’s head. “It’ll be OK.”
On the way to her room, Anna heard her brothers crying. She sat down on David’s bed.
“Everyone is so sad,” David said quietly.
“And we won’t have any presents,” Robbie said, sniffling.
“It’ll be OK,” Anna said again. “You’ll see.”
Before she got into bed, Anna knelt and asked Heavenly Father what she could do for her family. She didn’t have any money to buy presents, but she still had a warm, comforting feeling in her heart.
The next morning, she stayed in bed thinking for a few minutes before getting ready for school. Then an idea came to her! That afternoon she hurried home and did her chores and homework. Then she found some paper and string and a few markers and stickers she had gotten for her birthday. She took them all to her room and closed the door.
Anna almost laughed when she thought about how surprised her family would be. First she folded the paper and tied it together with string to make four booklets. She chose a star sticker to put on Mom’s booklet and a planet for Dad’s. She put a dog for David’s booklet and a rocket for Robbie’s.
Then Anna started drawing. For Mom she drew a picture of herself sweeping the floor. She drew a picture of herself cooking dinner with Dad, one of her playing football with David, and one of her reading a book to Robbie. It took her several days to fill each booklet with pictures.
Finally it was Christmas Eve, and Anna carefully placed her booklets under the tree.
The next morning, she gave each person in her family a booklet. “I like these pictures,” David said. “I like playing football.”
“They’re not just pictures,” Anna said with a sparkle in her eyes. “They’re coupons! The pictures all show things I’ll do for you.”
“This is the nicest gift you could have given us,” Mom said as she looked through her booklet. Anna was thankful that Heavenly Father helped her think of making Christmas coupons. A new baby was coming, and with Heavenly Father’s help, everything really would be OK.

I know this is true from experience. Many years ago, as a university student, I met a man who worked for one of the largest computer companies in the world. This was in the early days of computing, and it just so happened that his company had sent him to sell computers to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As far as I could tell, this salesman had no religious faith. Yet he said with wonder and exasperation, “In this church they were doing what they called ‘genealogy,’ searching for names of people who are dead, trying to identify their ancestors. People, mostly women, were running around between filing cabinets, searching through little cards for information.” If I remember right, he said the ladies were wearing tennis shoes so they could run a little faster. The man went on, “As I saw the magnitude of what they were trying to do, I realized that I had discovered the reason for the invention of computers.”
Well, he was partially right. Computers would be an important part of the future of family history work—just not the computers he was selling. An inspired leader of the Church chose not to buy his computers. The Church was to wait for technology that at that time had not yet even been imagined. But I have learned in the many years since that even the best technology can never be a substitute for revelation from heaven, like the kind that Church leader received. This is a spiritual work, and the Lord directs it through His Holy Spirit.

Years ago, while I was serving as a bishop, a handsome young man resisted my invitation to become worthy to live with God in families forever. In a belligerent way he told me of the good times he had with his friends. I let him talk. Then he told me about a moment during one of his parties, in the midst of the raucous noise, when he suddenly realized that he felt lonely. I asked him what had happened. He said that he had remembered a time as a little boy, sitting on his mother’s lap, with her arms around him. For that moment while he told that story, he teared up. I said to him what I know is true: “The only way you can have the feeling of that family embrace forever is to become worthy yourself and help others to receive the sealing ordinances of the temple.”

“As I watched the tray come down my row, I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. This Sunday would be the first time in my life I hadn’t been worthy to partake of the sacrament. The tray was quickly coming closer to me, and I was drowning in feelings. What would my parents think when I didn’t take the sacrament? My little brother and sister? I was supposed to be their example.
“When the tray came to me, I quickly passed it on, bowing my head. I felt as if everyone in the chapel was looking at me.
“The week before, I had talked to my bishop. I entered his office and started crying in shame before I even sat down. As I told him everything I had done, I thought he would be angry with me or say I had no hope of being forgiven. Instead, I noticed he was crying too. He let me know he was very pleased I had come to him. It felt good to know that he had been called by the Lord to help me with my problems. It felt good to know that I had someone to talk to while trying to apply the principles of the Atonement in my life. I knew I could trust the bishop and I could share my feelings with him.
“When I finished talking with my bishop, he told me he loved me. ‘I am going to help you as much as I can to get through your problems,’ he said. At that moment I knew everything would eventually be all right.
“My first time not taking the sacrament was hard, and I have to relive that experience every Sunday until the bishop tells me I can once again partake. But I am grateful to have the blessing of repentance in my life. I know I can be clean again through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Because of this experience and the struggles I am going through, I never want to be unworthy again. Not partaking of the sacrament is hard. But it has helped me more fully appreciate my Savior’s sacrifice for me.”