Gospel Story Finder

I didn’t try to answer his question then. I could sense his worry and sympathize with him. Shortly after that my sons, Matthew and John, and I spent time at a toy store. Above us a red Santa Claus spun slowly and I heard a mother’s teeth-clenched whisper float over the stacks of toys to our aisle: “Don’t tell me what your brother did to you. I saw everything. Do you want me to hit you right here in the store? Now you go outside and sit on that bench. And you stay there. If you don’t I won’t get you a thing.” John and I shrugged and smiled at each other as we moved on, and I hummed inwardly, “’Tis the season to be jolly …”

I remember how happy I felt. In all my 12-year-old life, I had never had this much fun. I had gone to an amusement park with a friend and her family where we proceeded to eat (so it seemed) several hundred pounds of junk food, ride every ride at least twice, get sunburned, and just generally have a great time. At the end of the day we were ready to take a break, so we chose a lazy, gondola-type ride.
We got into a car with two other girls who seemed to be about our age. We smiled at them, said hello, and continued the conversation we were having before we got on the ride. I could sense the two girls were staring at us.
“Hi,” I said again, uneasily trying to force a smile on my face.
“We were hoping no one would be on this car with us,” said one, shooting me an ugly look. “Well, do you mind if we smoke a joint?”
I glanced at my friend. She wasn’t moving or saying anything; she just looked at me as if to say, “What do we do now?”
I wanted that girl to vanish. I wanted to run away. My mind was racing. What she was suggesting was not only against my standards; it was against the law. I searched for the right words, but I was so nervous I just started blurting things out.
“No … I mean yes … Of course we would mind … What I mean is DON‘T DO IT.”
When the ride finally touched down, my friend and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. As soon as we were out of earshot, my friend turned to me and said, “Well, I guess you told them.” Then she winked at me.
We both started to laugh. I had probably looked pretty silly, but I got my point across, and I felt good about that.
On that ride, I didn’t have the presence of mind to think about what I was doing. My actions that day were a direct and automatic result of what I had decided long before—to mind my parents and, more importantly, to mind my Father in Heaven. My commitment as a young Primary girl to stand up for what I knew was right had come to my rescue that day, several years later, high above the ground.

I remember a luncheon with a man and his large family. He had in his early years promised the Lord that any surplus would go to the kingdom of God. Now the married children gathered as the father and the mother gave away what in any other family might have been seen as the very large and rightful inheritance of the children. I remember that luncheon every time I am tempted to say, “Well, we can always pay it out of the endowment,” as if somehow those funds were less precious and less the Lord’s.

The Lugo family of Valencia, Venezuela, learned that this new approach of starting small and being consistent can pay big dividends. After listening to general conference, Brother Omar Lugo, a Church member in the Falcón Venezuela District, felt inspired to begin his own home storage. He discussed the matter with his family, and they agreed to follow the prophet’s counsel.
They began setting aside food, water, and money, a little at a time. At first the difference was hardly noticeable. But after a while the Lugos found that they had accumulated a substantial reserve. Several months after they began building their home storage, a worker’s strike in Venezuela put many local workers’ jobs in jeopardy. Brother Lugo was among those who eventually lost their jobs.
For a time his family lived on savings. Seven months later the Lugo family was relying exclusively on the food they had stored. It took nearly two years for Brother Lugo to find work again, but his family was able to survive the difficult challenges of unemployment. They had built their reserve gradually, and when adversity struck, they were prepared and the Lord blessed them.

With the tools we now have at our disposal, temple and family history work can be a regular part of our participation in the ongoing Restoration. I have been interested and involved in family history work for years, but online tools have greatly enhanced my success in taking family names to the temple. I have sacred memories of sitting at a table in our apartment in Ghana and finding names of my European ancestors that my wife and I could take to the Accra Ghana Temple. That joyous opportunity has followed us to other places that we have been sent.

That night he had a dream. In his dream he was fishing from a boat with Jed as they had done many times. It was the same lake in the mountains that they had been to that summer. At first he was catching fish, laughing with Jed, having a good time. Then the dream changed, and he was alone in the boat. The boat was leaking, and all he had was a plastic drinking cup. At first he was able to stay ahead of the water, but then it got worse. He bailed furiously to keep the boat from sinking, but he could see the water filling the boat. When he looked up, he saw Kim and Fitzie on the shore laughing at him, yelling for him to let the boat sink.
Suddenly he wrenched free of his dream. He was sweating, and his covers were in disarray. He got out of bed, turned on his light, and looked at the time. It was 12:30.
He lay down and tried to go back to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. All the offending thoughts poured down upon his mind in rapid succession.
He threw back the covers and got out of bed. Putting on a pair of slacks and a shirt, he walked outside on his front steps and sat down. The sky was free of clouds, and he could see the stars clearly. He found himself identifying some of the constellations that he had learned in Scouting.
Sitting there, he relived in his mind what Jed and he had gone through in order to both earn their Eagle Scout rank. He remembered how Jed was always in front, leading the way.
Suddenly he found an answer to his problems: “I’ll call Jed and ask if I can move out with his family!” His mind raced, picturing himself back again with his friends.
He hurried inside and went into the family room where there was an extension phone. He dialed the number of Jed’s home.
The sleepy voice of Jed’s mother answered the phone. He apologized for calling so late and asked if he could talk to Jed.
Jed answered the phone, and they talked for a few minutes about small things. Then Jed asked, “Is anything wrong?”
“I want to move back there. Do you think your parents will let me move in with your family? I could get a job and pay them for room and board. My parents would probably help too.”
“I’ll ask them in the morning,” Jed answered. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t like it here. The people are really different.” He told Jed about the drugs and loose morals, painting it in as bad a light as he could.
Jed was unimpressed. “So what? I can find the same attitudes back here in our high school. Have you forgotten?”
Kevin felt as if his last hope was being yanked away. “No! It’s different. I’ve got to get out of here, or I’ll end up being just like them.”
“Why don’t you try to set a good example?” Jed asked.
“I can’t. They’ll laugh at me. Let me come back.”
“Okay, if you need to, we’ll work it out. But Kevin, maybe you’ve got some missionary work you can do there.”
“No, not me. How can I convert them? They’ve nearly converted me.”
“Look,” Jed continued, “since we were in grade school, you’ve been somebody I’ve looked up to for help. You practically dragged me through to become an Eagle. You were always the one who was out ahead yelling for us to catch up.”
Kevin was stunned to hear Jed say that. “No, not me. You were the leader.”
“I had to hustle to stay up with you,” Jed insisted. “Didn’t you know that? Now find some friends there who will lift you up the way we helped each other.”
Kevin pictured in his mind the way the halls overflowed during a class change. “How will I find them? There are 2,000 kids in the school.”
“I don’t know. You’ll find a way. You always have before when you faced a challenge.”
They said good-bye, and Kevin hung up. He walked slowly to his room, lost in thought. Kneeling down by his bed, he began a long prayer: “Father in Heaven, I’ve got a problem …”
The next night after supper he went with Fitzie and some of his friends to play basketball in the school gym. They played for two hours.
Afterward they were all in the locker room. Kevin had already showered and was just putting on his shoes. The others were in various stages of getting dressed.
Suddenly the lights went out.
“Okay, who’s the clown?” Fitzie yelled. “Turn the lights back on!”
“I didn’t turn ’em off,” someone answered. “Where’s the light switch anyway? … Ow! My toe! … The switch doesn’t work.”
“There aren’t any lights anywhere in the building,” another voice added.
“Oh no,” Fitzie groaned, “another blackout. Do any of you guys have a lighter?”
“I do,” someone volunteered. “It’s in my shirt pocket if I can find it.” Kevin could make out a figure fumbling in a locker near him. “Here it is.”
A small glimmer of light shone in the otherwise dark room.
“Hurry up, you guys! I’m low on lighter fluid.” Kevin sat on the bench and watched unknown figures make use of the small light as they finished preparing to leave the room.
“Man, I never thought I’d be glad somebody had a cheap lighter,” a voice drawled.
“What do you mean, cheap lighter? It cost me two bucks.”
“Yeah, well it sure seems bright in here.”
Finally they were ready. “Kevin, what are you doing sitting there? Let’s get out of here.”
On Sunday Kevin went with Jenny to class, mainly to be with her. He had already discounted any possibility that their teacher could teach him anything, so he sat with his shoulders hunched over, his head down, wrestling with his problems.
It wasn’t until Sister Mattson called on him that he looked up. “Kevin,” she said, then read aloud from the manual, “this can best be seen by examining what the Savior said. Will you read Matthew, chapter 5, verses 14 through 16?” [Matt. 5:14–16]
Jenny loaned him her Bible and helped him find the reference. “‘Ye are the light of the world,’” Kevin began mechanically. “‘A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid. Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light …’” He stopped and stared at the words on the page.
“Yes, go on,” Sister Mattson urged.
“‘… and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.’”
“Kevin, there’s one more verse,” Jenny quietly prompted.
“‘Let your light so shine before men,’” he read slowly, “‘that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.’”
“Yes, and what can we learn from this scripture?” Sister Mattson asked.
He didn’t say anything. He pictured the small light in the darkened locker room and the dim figures of people moving around, each attracted by the light and using it as their reference point.
“Jenny, do you know what we can learn from this scripture?” Sister Mattson asked, thinking that Kevin did not have an answer.
“We can learn a lot,” Kevin said quietly, almost to himself. “The first thing is that in order to be a light, we have to live the commandments. You have to set your standards. You can’t re-decide what to do every time someone asks you to do something wrong. You’ve got to make a mental list: This is what I will do. This is what I won’t do. You have to decide what your life is going to mean, or it won’t mean a thing.”
“Thank you,” Sister Mattson said. “Now we should get on with the rest of the lesson.”
Kevin interrupted. “The problem is, I keep thinking that if I didn’t live here, it would be easier. It doesn’t really matter where you live. What matters is that you set your standards once and for all. If you do that, you can be a light.”
“Yes, thank you, and now we’d better get on to Ephesians,” Sister Mattson said.
“You’ve got to be a light to the people around you. Do you know how much light one small lighter can throw in a completely dark room?”
“No,” Jenny replied.
“Enough. That’s the point. Enough for everyone in the room to find his way out of the darkness. And the darker it is, the more the light is noticed. And people who enjoy the light will come nearer to it. That’s how I can find friends who will help me live my standards! We can gather friends around us who will help us, and the light will get even brighter.”
Sister Mattson by now was just looking at both of them.
“Do you know what I’m going to do?” Kevin burst out. “I’m going to memorize jokes from my brother’s Boy’s Life magazine. It has some of the corniest jokes in the world. Every time I hear someone starting a dirty joke, I’m going to bombard him with corny jokes. And I’m going to have a party of my own, at my house, with kids from school and the missionaries. In a nice friendly way, they’re going to know I’m a Mormon.”
“Thank you, Kevin,” Sister Mattson broke in. Turning to Jenny, she asked confidentially, “Jenny, what did he say?”
Jenny put her hand on his arm and answered proudly, “He said that he’s going to be okay.”
“How nice,” Sister Mattson said. “Well, we’d better get on with the rest of the lesson.” She looked at the page of the manual, paused, and then shut the book.
“No. I think Kevin’s story can teach us the same thing. What were you saying about the light in the dark room?”

Making the right choice was not always easy. My father and mother had a difficult time providing for their large family, so those of us who were old enough did our best to help out. When I was 18 years old, I needed to buy a pair of pants, but after sharing my salary with my family, all I had left was the exact amount I owed in tithing. I was tempted to spend that tithing money for those pants, but I paid my tithing, and during the next week I got an extra job that allowed me to buy the pants.

As I waited in the long December checkout line, my ears drifted to the conversation ahead of me. The woman in line must have been in her mid-30s, but her disheveled and stressed countenance added at least five years.
As she vented to the cashier, I learned the cause of this lady’s anxiety. She explained how she despised the holiday months, the time of year she associated with long lines, family drama, and the pressure to decorate and be jovial.
“Pressure?” I thought in disbelief. My heart ached for this woman, who clearly had a skewed view of the holidays. I tried to put myself in this woman’s shoes, and I could see what she meant by pressure. There is food to buy and there are goodies to prepare. There is pressure to buy gifts for the kids. Not only that, but we sometimes think the gifts have to be impressive. However, we each have the choice to rise above the commercial pressure of the holidays.
I can think back to one Christmas in which our family budget was extremely tight. We were supporting one of my brothers on his mission to Chicago, and that required us to skimp on nonessential items. The only gift-wrapped item I got that year was a fleece blanket. Nothing extravagant, just a plain blanket. I tried to talk it up to my friends at school and make it seem like it was a really great gift, but there was no use. It couldn’t compare to a video game console.
Since then, that blanket has come to symbolize much more to me. That gift was one of warmth. Yes, it warmed me on those few cold Arizona nights, but it also warmed me with love. My parents gave me more: they gave me fun family traditions, a firm sense of belonging, and a knowledge that true gifts are ones of service, love, and sacrifice. My parents sacrificed their money for my brother’s mission, but they never sacrificed their love for me, our family, and everyone around them as they served that year.
I wish I could go back to the school cafeteria table when my friends asked, “What did you get for Christmas?” I wish I could have answered them proudly: “I got a blanket, a blanket that warms me with the true love of the most wonderful time of year.”

When twins James and Jeremy Ruesch were eight months old, their mother, Lisa, hurt her arm and was not able to care for the two energetic babies during the day while her husband was at work. When babysitters volunteered to help out until she healed, James and Jeremy were split up between two tenders. They screamed the entire time they were apart. Once back together, the babies were quiet and content. After that, Lisa never tried to separate her boys. For 19 years they have rarely been apart, and even then for no more than a day.

Josh patted his stomach, feeling more than a little full.
“That was so good,” he said, smiling at Mom and Dad.
“Are you done already?” Mom asked. “You must have been really hungry.”
“I was,” Josh said. He eyed the indoor playground in the restaurant where they were eating. “Can I go play now?”
Dad nodded. “Go ahead.”
Josh jumped up from the table, cleared away his trash, and headed to the playground. He knew it wouldn’t be long before his little brother and sister came to join him.
He had just finished climbing to the top of what he imagined to be a giant mountain where he was about to battle a dragon when he heard a voice chirp from far below.
“Joshy?”
That was his sister Anna’s nickname for him. She was almost four. He loved her a lot.
“Just a minute, Anna,” Josh called out as he raced for the twisty slide. In a flash he was down at the bottom, ready to help his sister climb. About halfway up, his younger brother, Brian, joined them. The three of them started off on a grand adventure with dragons and knights and princesses. Anna was the princess, of course. Josh wanted to be the knight, and Brian was happy to be a growly dragon.
It wasn’t long before their imaginary world was interrupted by a group of children coming in to play. Josh didn’t mind. He liked making new friends. After a few minutes, though, he began to wonder if playing with them was a good idea. The kids were nice, but they kept swearing.
Josh had been baptized a year ago, and he had been trying hard to choose the right. Mom and Dad had been talking a lot about choosing which words to use. They had taught him that Heavenly Father didn’t like swearing, mean words, or name-calling.
Josh really wanted to stay and play, but he didn’t like listening to bad words. Maybe the other kids would stop if he asked. Josh turned to the group. “Could you please not swear?” he asked quietly.
“Whatever,” one of the boys said. None of the kids stopped swearing. Josh said a quick prayer asking what to do. Into his mind popped an image of himself dressed in knight’s armor, fighting a dragon. Behind him were his brother and sister. All of a sudden, Josh knew it was more important to protect his little brother and sister from hearing the swearing than to keep playing.
“Come on, guys,” Josh said. “Let’s go see Mom and Dad.”
The three of them went down the slide and ran to their family.
“What are you doing back so soon?” Dad asked, ruffling Josh’s hair.
Josh shrugged. “Some kids in there were swearing,” he said. “I didn’t want Anna and Brian to hear it.”
Dad patted him on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you for watching out for your little brother and sister.”
Josh smiled. It was almost like he really was a knight watching over those he loved while fighting a dragon. Josh also knew he’d done more than protect his brother and sister—he had also protected himself.

Now, like most eleven-year-old boys, Steven loved basketball. One afternoon he went with his friends to watch a game on television. Thirty minutes later, he returned home. His mother was surprised because she knew the game wasn’t over. When she questioned Steven, he said the boys had decided to watch a different program, but the program made him feel dark inside. That feeling had helped Steven recognize he was in a setting where the Spirit could not be present, and he was too uncomfortable to stay.

The young women of the Chennai Second Branch, Chennai India District, wanted to encourage branch members to hold family home evening. It didn’t take them long to come up with a simple but practical idea. They made family home evening wheels: charts with a spinner to keep track of assignments like saying prayers, giving the lesson, and preparing a “sweet.”
The paper wheels were simple but colorful. They were assembled at a Young Women activity at the meetinghouse one night, each one personalized with photos of the family it was made for. Two of the young women, Sushmitha Santhosh Kumar, 15, and her sister Sujeetha, 14, were especially excited when they learned that as new members of the Church, they and their family would receive the first wheel.
“After Mutual we went as a group to their apartment and presented the wheel to their father,” says Daisy Daniel, 16. “The whole family seemed pleased.” The family had already talked about family home evening with the full-time missionaries, and the wheel gave them an added incentive to follow up on what they had learned.
The young women also made enough wheels to give one to each of the families of the Primary children in the branch. Then they made additional wheels for the full-time missionaries to give to new converts.
“Many of us in the branch are new members, and we aren’t used to holding family home evening,” Daisy says. “But I have a testimony that family home evening will help children and parents to pull together, and I hope that whenever these families see the family home evening wheel, they will think, ‘OK, our Church members love us, and they gave us this reminder, so let’s have our family home evening.’” She predicts that soon family home evening will be a weekly event for many people in the branch.

Many years ago, our family was driving home to São Paulo, Brazil, after visiting relatives. Just as we drove up a steep road, our car broke down.
We tried to restart the car for several minutes. But it wouldn’t start. Car after car passed us. No one stopped to help.
Finally I told my family that we should pray. My six-year-old son, Moroni, said, “Don’t worry, Daddy. I already prayed.”
“What did you pray for?” I asked.
“I prayed to Heavenly Father that the right person would come by to help us,” he said.
Soon two bright lights appeared behind our car. It was a tow truck. The driver was a mechanic.
“You’re very lucky,” he said. “I finished my work for the day and was heading home.”
He fixed our car. Then he followed us to make sure we got home safely.
I asked Moroni if he knew how special this experience was. “Of course,” he said. “Heavenly Father heard my prayer. So now I have my own testimony! I don’t have to borrow it from you anymore, Dad.” My heart was touched by Moroni’s faithful example.
Moroni is grown now, but I still remember his good example from when he was small. Even as a child, you can be an example to your family and friends.

Troy knocked on the door of room 803.
Mrs. Palmerton, his high school teacher, opened the door, but only a crack because of the chain lock.
“Yes?” she asked, her voice weak.
“I got the Alka-Seltzer you wanted.”
She opened the door wide enough to take the package. Troy could see beads of sweat on her forehead.
“Are you still throwing up?” he asked.
“Twice since you left for the medicine. Maybe it’s the flu—or food poisoning. Except we both ate the same thing on the plane, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, whatever it was.”
“Troy,” she said, her voice momentarily resuming the authority of a teacher, “be sure to practice your presentation tonight. Remember you give it tomorrow morning at 11:00. If I get to bed now and rest, I’ll be okay by then. Now here’s 20 dollars for supper. You can eat downstairs in the hotel restaurant. But don’t go outside by yourself tonight, will you? New York isn’t a place you can just walk around in. There are pickpockets and gangs and who knows what else waiting out there to prey on tourists like us. So just stay in your room tonight. But tomorrow, after your presentation, we’ll take one of those nice bus tours where you don’t actually have to get out …”
She would have continued but got sick again and had to leave him.
His room was next to hers. All expenses were paid for by the school board back home in Idaho as a reward for winning the state competition.
He entered his room and chained it the way Mrs. Palmerton had told him. Then he walked to the window and looked out. Across the street was a building with cubicle offices stacked in endless rows and columns. There were people in the offices. He wondered what they did all day.
Half a block away stood a huge billboard of a girl wearing designer jeans. She was winking at him.
Farther away, down a side street, he could see a flashing neon sign outlining a woman’s form. It flashed consecutively in oranges, reds, and pinks.
On the street, January winds swooped through the concrete canyons, giving momentary life to the cardboard and plastic litter. Taxis and buses and black limousines driven by men in dark suits honked and intimidated their way home.
It was 4:30 New York time, but only 2:30 on his watch, which was still set to Mountain standard time.
He took one last disapproving glance then turned from the window.
At least I can always watch TV, he thought.
On top of the TV he discovered a small metallic black box. In front there was a white button and, below that, three black buttons marked “A,” “B,” and “C.”
A poster on the box told about full-length uncut movies available to hotel guests. All you had to do was to push the white button then one of the lower buttons to make a selection. The cost was only five dollars and was automatically added to the bill.
A booklet described which movies were being shown that day. Two of them, the ones designated by “A” and “B,” he had seen, but not the third one. Movie “C” was X-rated.
The booklet said that by turning to channel 3 he could see a preview of the three movies available that night.
He decided it wouldn’t hurt to see the preview.
When the preview was over, he realized he was in trouble.
He wanted to watch movie “C.”
He watched the preview one more time, then became ashamed for even watching that, and then turned the TV off and began to pace the floor.
The white button and then the “C” button, he thought. That’s all there is to it. It’s all done with a computer. Nobody even knows.
Mrs. Palmerton will know when she pays the bill, he thought.
No she won’t. The bill will just say I saw one of the three. I can tell her I saw the “A” movie. There’s nothing wrong with the “A” movie. She doesn’t need to know. Besides, it’s her fault I’m trapped in this room tonight anyway.
In his hometown there was a theater that only showed X-rated movies. People had tried to close it down but had never succeeded.
One time in priesthood meeting, the priests’ adviser asked if they had ever thought about going to any of the movies at that theater.
“Troy, how about you?”
“I guess I’ve thought about it, but I’d never go.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just my luck you’d drive by just as I was going into it,” he said, only half joking.
“Is that the only reason you don’t go?”
“No. I don’t go because I know it’s not good to have that stuff in your mind.”
He stood before the black box, touching its smooth surface. Nobody would know, he thought. It’s all done with a computer. Nobody knows what you watch.
He turned the TV on to see what was on the network channels. News and reruns and a cooking show with a lady plucking a goose.
Nothing good on, he thought, turning it off again.
He returned to the window. The girl in jeans was still winking at him.
But she winks at everybody, he thought. Millions of people a day.
He went back to the TV and looked up the movie schedule. The next showing of movie “C” was at 5:30, just 15 minutes away.
It’s just a movie, he thought. It’s not going to kill me to see a movie.
He looked outside and thought how dirty everything looked.
Finally he took some hotel stationery from the desk and sat down and drew a long line through the middle of the page. On the left he put a heading, “Why I should,” and on the right another heading, “Why I shouldn’t.”
Quickly he wrote down the reasons why he should watch movie “C”: (1) Because I want to. (2) I don’t have anything else to do. (3) Nobody will know. (4) How do I know it’s bad unless I see for myself?
Then he listed the reasons why he shouldn’t watch it.
The first reason he listed was: Karen.
Karen was a girl in his ward. They had dated for the last few months.
“Do you know when I like you most?” she had asked a few weeks ago.
“When I wear my aftershave and my sweater and get to use my dad’s car,” he answered.
“No, not then,” she smiled. “It’s in sacrament meeting when I watch you break the bread and bless the sacrament. You look so, well, clean.”
He grinned at her. “After all the money I’ve sunk for aftershave, you tell me that.”
“It must be neat to hold the priesthood, to realize that the Savior was the first one to give that prayer and that in a way you’re standing in for him.”
“I’ve never thought about it like that before,” he said quietly.
Another time he had driven her home from church. They sat in the car while she told him about her lesson that day. The bishop’s wife had come to talk to the Laurels.
“She said one thing that really impressed me,” Karen said. “‘You never know but that the guy you’re dating may some day turn out to be your bishop. It happened to me, didn’t it? You treat him like a future bishop.’ So that’s what I’m going to do, Troy.”
He wasn’t sure if he really wanted that or not, but it turned out okay. She still let him kiss her, but now only on the steps to her house, not in a parked car.
The second reason he listed was: The bishop would find out.
He’d find out because I’d end up telling him, he thought.
It was only a month ago since he had had an interview with the bishop.
“Are you morally clean?”
“I think so.”
The bishop didn’t leave it at that. “What does it mean to you to be morally clean?”
“Well, you know,” he stammered, “keeping your body clean, and things like that.”
“Okay—what kinds of things?”
Bit by bit Troy told what he understood. With each new addition to the definition, the bishop had asked, “And are you free from that problem?”
At that time the bishop was satisfied. But if he pushed the “C” button, the next interview would be different, because he knew he wouldn’t lie to the bishop.
The bishop would be disappointed in me, he thought, staring again at the “C” button.
The third reason on the list was: Dad.
It was just over a year since his father had ordained him a priest. He still remembered part of the ordination. “Always remember the priesthood isn’t like clothing you can take off when you enter a room. The priesthood goes wherever you go. Don’t take it into places or situations where it doesn’t belong.”
The fourth reason was: It won’t tell the truth about love.
Three years ago his mother had brought home from the hospital her sixth baby, a girl named Becky. He had held her that first day she was home and touched her tiny fingers and toes. She was beautiful to him.
His mother nursed Becky, and Troy sensed that experience was good for the baby, to have the time and closeness with her mother.
Troy knew his mother and father loved each other very much, even more than they loved any of the children in the family. They kissed and hugged in front of the children and held hands sometimes in church.
That was love, he thought, not like movie “C.”
The fifth reason was: God would know.
Even though I am alone in the room, He would know what I do. I can’t hide anything from Him.
The last reason: I would know.
He finished the list and stood up. It was 6:00. He had missed the time for the 5:30 showing of movie “C.”
I’ve won, he thought. I am strong. Nothing can weaken me.
He decided to go down to the lobby and look around. There was a store in the lobby, and he decided to buy some gum.
At eye level, there were magazines with pictures on the covers like none he’d ever seen in the small grocery store in his hometown.
I could buy one of those, he thought.
No, I’d be too embarrassed to buy one. The lady at the cash register would wonder what kind of person I am to buy something like that.
It doesn’t matter. I’ll never see her again.
I’ve got to get out of this rotten place, he thought, leaving suddenly.
He walked around the lobby and watched people and tried to imagine what they were doing in the hotel. Some had French or German accents.
A few minutes later he returned to his room.
He turned on the TV to see what was on the regular channel. More news and a mayor telling people to fix the drips in their faucets.
I’m strong, he thought. I could watch the preview again and still not push the “C” button. Nothing can weaken me.
He watched the preview again, and the same battle erupted all over again.
The next showing was at 7:30—just 45 minutes away.
Then after that, he thought, there’s one at 9:30, then 11:30. I’m going to give in sometime—it might as well be now.
He glanced at his list on the desk, read it again, then crumpled it up and threw it away.
Looking outside, he saw the flashing lights blinking on and off outlining a woman’s form in harsh reds, oranges, and pinks.
Then he watched the preview again.
Finally he turned it off. Except for the noise from honking taxis, the room was quiet, but inside his head a battle raged on, and he knew he was losing.
He walked to the set and glared at the buttons as if they were the enemy. The white button and then the “C” button. That’s all there is to it.
The TV was off, and he knew it didn’t count, but he pushed the white button and then the “C” button.
Now just turn it on and do that, he thought. It’s so easy. Nobody will ever know. lt’s done by a computer, and computers don’t care what you do.
“No!” he said loudly.
He turned and sunk to his knees by the bed.
“Father in Heaven, I need help, and I need it now.”
He pleaded with the Lord for help and, when it was over, he decided he had to leave the room until 7:30 had passed.
He put on his jacket and went downstairs.
I should eat sometime, he thought, walking aimlessly around the hotel lobby. lt’s 5:30 in Idaho—Mom is fixing supper.
On his third lap around the lobby he noticed a list of churches on a bulletin board. He decided to see if the Mormon Church was listed. It was.
If I skip supper, I can go there and see what it’s like.
In his pocket he felt the 20 dollar bill Mrs. Palmerton had given him for supper. He remembered she advised him not to go out because of the bad things that lurked outside, but they didn’t seem as threatening as what lurked in his own room.
He walked outside. A man in a red uniform asked, “You want a taxi?”
He nodded his head.
The man put a whistle to his lips and blew hard. A taxi, one of a long line, pulled up. The man in the uniform opened the door and Troy got in.
“2 Lincoln Square,” he said, faking confidence.
They drove very fast through the streets. He enjoyed looking at the passing buildings.
In a few minutes they were there. The ride only cost three dollars.
He stepped out and looked around and wondered where the church was.
There he saw two girls, talking quickly in Spanish. They entered a door of a building on the corner.
They look like Mormons, he thought, following them inside. The first thing he saw was a display case telling about the gold plates. A nice lady sat at a desk and smiled at him.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“I’m a Mormon from Idaho.”
“How nice. My husband and I are serving a mission here, but we’re from Pocatello.”
When her husband came down, she let him take over while she showed Troy the visitor’s center. There was a lifelike scene of the Prophet Joseph Smith in the grove.
When they finished the tour, he asked about the two girls he had seen.
“They belong to the Spanish-speaking ward that meets here also. They have activity night tonight. If you’d like to look in, we can get on the elevator and I’ll show you where to go.”
When he stepped out of the elevator, it was just like any Mormon meetinghouse. They were having a dance in the cultural hall. He walked inside and sat down to watch.
A lady was teaching the group how to dance the rhumba.
Their only problem was a lack of guys.
A girl walked up to him, and in a machine-gun-like stream of Spanish, asked him something.
“What?” he grinned.
She started to laugh.
“I’m from Idaho,” he said.
She didn’t seem to understand, so he tried another word she might know. He pointed to himself. “Cowboy.”
“Cowboy?” she asked in awe.
“Cowboy.”
She called one of the guys over and pointed to Troy and said, “Cowboy.”
“Cowboy?” the guy smiled. He knelt down, challenging Troy to an arm wrestling contest.
Before long they all gathered around and watched. The two were evenly matched, but finally Troy’s arm began to ache, and he lost.
His opponent laughed and began slapping him on the back.
A minute later, the girl grabbed his arm and took him out on the dance floor.
He didn’t understand the words of the dance instructor, but he could watch and learn. Before long he had it down.
Then it was time for refreshments. He and the girl ate and giggled.
The bishop came over and introduced himself. He spoke English too. The girl’s name was Maria, and the guy he’d arm wrestled was her brother. They’d come to the states only a few months ago. Maria and her brother had been members of the Church only three weeks.
Maria began talking very seriously, and although he couldn’t understand the words, he knew she was bearing her testimony.
They danced for half an hour more; then they had a closing prayer.
Before they left the cultural hall, Maria gave him a huge crepe paper flower used as a decoration for the refreshment table.
They went down to the first floor. When the bishop came, Troy asked him how he could get a taxi.
“Easy,” the bishop smiled. He walked a little ways into the street and stuck his arm straight up. A few seconds later, a taxi pulled up and stopped.
Troy got in the taxi, waved at them, and said with a cheerful confidence, “Take me to the New York Hilton.”
A few minutes later he entered his room. It was 10:00.
The phone rang. “Troy, is that you?” Mrs. Palmerton said. “I’ve been calling for the past hour. I was so worried. Where have you been?”
“I took a taxi down by Lincoln Center and went to a dance. I learned to do the rhumba and the bossa nova.”
She gasped. “You went outside?”
“I took a taxi.”
“But who were you dancing with?”
“Friends.”
“You have friends in this town?” He smiled and thought about the Church. “I have friends in every town.”
She gave him a parting list of instructions, then hung up.
He placed the crepe paper flower on the TV. It was so big it covered up the black box.
A few minutes later, his teeth brushed, pajamas on, he took one last look outside.
Nice town, he thought to himself.

On a dark December night 36 years ago, a Lockheed 1011 jumbo jet crashed into the Florida Everglades, killing over 100 people. This terrible accident was one of the deadliest crashes in the history of the United States.
A curious thing about this accident is that all vital parts and systems of the airplane were functioning perfectly—the plane could have easily landed safely at its destination in Miami, only 20 miles (32km) away.
During the final approach, however, the crew noticed that one green light had failed to illuminate—a light that indicates whether or not the nose landing gear has extended successfully. The pilots discontinued the approach, set the aircraft into a circling holding pattern over the pitch-black Everglades, and turned their attention toward investigating the problem.
They became so preoccupied with their search that they failed to realize the plane was gradually descending closer and closer toward the dark swamp below. By the time someone noticed what was happening, it was too late to avoid the disaster.
After the accident, investigators tried to determine the cause. The landing gear had indeed lowered properly. The plane was in perfect mechanical condition. Everything was working properly—all except one thing: a single burned-out lightbulb. That tiny bulb—worth about 20 cents—started the chain of events that ultimately led to the tragic death of over 100 people.
Of course, the malfunctioning lightbulb didn’t cause the accident; it happened because the crew placed its focus on something that seemed to matter at the moment while losing sight of what mattered most.

Let me share an experience I had when I was about your age that illustrates the choices we face, the broad roads that beckon, and the importance of choosing the strait and narrow path. When I was in high school in Spokane, Washington, I played in a rock band. My friends and I started the band when we were sophomores. By the time we were seniors, we had become pretty good. We started getting jobs to play at dances and began writing our own songs.

In January of my senior year, we were invited to play in a big battle of the bands sponsored by the most popular radio station in Spokane. The contest was held in a big teen club. We practiced really hard and played really well that night. And we won! It was amazing. All of those kids out there in the audience were screaming at us. We had visions of record contracts and big concerts. It was pretty exciting.

On the way home that night, one of my friends turned to me and said, “You know, you are becoming two people. You’re really different when you are around the band.” As we talked, I knew what she said was true. As I thought about it, I realized that I was becoming two people. One person was the young man my parents thought they were rearing: very active in the Church, a leader in my quorums, an Eagle Scout, preparing to serve a mission, a good student, and a varsity athlete in two sports. The other person was the aspiring rock star—sarcastic, cynical, and arrogant. And I was hanging around with a lot of people who were definitely not on the strait and narrow path. Actually, these people were way off the strait and narrow path, wandering in strange roads.

And so I faced a choice. The two people I was becoming were incompatible with each other. I could not be both for very long. I had to choose. I remember very clearly what it felt like to make that decision. I knew deep in my heart that I wanted to be what the Lord wanted me to be. I had tried to live in both worlds, but I knew I could not do that any longer. I needed to repent of pride and arrogance and of the way I had treated people. So I quit the band. At the very moment when all the hard work was paying off, when all the dreams and hopes were coming true, I up and quit. And I did not drag it out. I called up my friends and told them I was finished with the band. They were shocked. They thought I had lost my mind. But, in fact, I had found my heart and my soul. Looking back across these many years since that moment, I know I was guided by the Spirit and blessed to make that decision. I chose the strait and narrow path and turned my back on the lure of the great and spacious building. I said no to the broad roads and the forbidden paths that beckoned.

Another important relationship in a family is that between children themselves. Often an older brother or sister will come to the aid of a younger sibling in a show of love and concern. If there is any doubt about love as a divine inheritance, consider a brief Reader’s Digest story shared by Sister Sharon G. Larsen at the recent Young Women conference. The story is about

twin girls, Brielle and Kyrie, who were born prematurely. “They were placed in separate incubators to reduce the risk of infection. Kyrie, the larger sister at two pounds three ounces, quickly began gaining weight and calmly slept. But Brielle, who weighed only two pounds at birth, could not keep up with her.”

Sister Larsen said Brielle’s condition became critical as her oxygen intake plummeted and her heart rate soared. “Then the nurse remembered a procedure she had heard about. The parents consented, and the nurse slipped the squirming baby into the incubator with the bigger sister. No sooner had the door of the incubator closed than Brielle snuggled up to Kyrie and calmed right down. Within minutes Brielle’s blood-oxygen readings were the best they had been since she was born. As she dozed, Kyrie wrapped her tiny arm around her smaller sibling.” [“Protect Families from Anger, Strife,” Church News, 4 April 1998, p. 5]

One might argue that the relationship formed in the womb was the reason why Brielle snuggled up to her sister and why Kyrie wrapped her arm around her smaller twin. Even then, the bonding reflects a divine spark in both children that reaches back into the eternities.

Allen E. Litster was president of the Andes Mission at the time. From his notes we learn some of the things that took place on the peaceful Sunday afternoon when that great quake shook Peru.
There were sad and tragic experiences for many of the people in Peru, but there were great blessings to some people too. President Litster wrote:
“Late Sunday night sketchy reports of damage along the Peruvian coast began to filter in from the north. Telephone and cable lines were down, and so communication was limited to ham operators and private company radios.
“Monday afternoon urgent pleas began to come in through small private radios located in the beautiful Callejón de Huaylas, a deep narrow valley located in central Peru at the foot of Peru’s highest peak, Mount Huascarán. The communications reported extensive damage in other areas. Ninety percent of the city of Huaraz had been destroyed. Caraz, a city of some twelve thousand, had reportedly disappeared from the map.
“Our concern increased as we considered the missionaries and members.
“By Tuesday morning there was still no communication from either Caraz or Huaraz, nor was there any by Wednesday morning.
“Then lists of survivors and dead began to be relayed to the public through Lima radio stations. Missionaries and members were assigned to listen for news of missionaries and members in those areas.
“Wednesday evening, seventy-eight hours after the earthquake struck, the telephone rang.
“‘This is Colonel Beckett, U.S. Air Force. Would you like some word about some of your long lost friends? Today I flew a chopper into Caraz. Your elders did some translating for me. They are well and happy and wonder if they could help more where they are or somewhere else.’
“Now maybe there was some hope for the missionaries in Huaraz. Suddenly a cheer broke out in one of the upstairs offices where missionaries were huddled around a radio listening to reports from Huaraz.
“‘Attention, Lima. Mormon missionaries in Huaraz are well.’ Grateful prayers welled up in the heart of each one of us. This accounted for all of our missionaries, and most of our members were safe. The Lord had indeed been good!”

Not long after my baptism, I was assigned to record part of a Thai translation of a filmstrip called “The Restoration,” since there was no advanced technology in those days. A sentence that I had to read was “I am a sinner, I need the Lord.” I had pondered why I was selected to read that line. How did the Lord know what I needed? That sentence echoed in my ears silently. I knew the Lord had chosen me as one who really needed Him. He said, “I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”1 The Lord “awakened them out of a deep sleep, and they awoke unto God.”2 I am one of those now awakened. As time goes by, I realize that repentance is a process of learning, growing and improving. Whenever I look back, I see myself as one who has been changed for the better. President Nelson taught repentance with hope, joy and love, saying, “The word for repentance in the Greek New Testament . . . means ‘change’ . . . ‘mind,’ ‘knowledge,’ ‘spirit’. . . . Thus, when Jesus asks you and me to ‘repent,’ He is inviting us to change our mind, our knowledge, our spirit . . . He is asking us to change the way we love, think, serve, spend our time, treat our wives, [and] teach our children.”3 I feel deep gratitude for Church activities that can be implemented in the home as home-centered and Church-supported gospel learning is emphasized. It helps me run to repentance and not away from it.

Another member, Miguel Samudio, joined the Church while studying in Buenos Aires. He made the difficult decision to leave his girlfriend behind and serve a mission. “Her parents wouldn’t let her get baptized, and she didn’t want me to go,” he explains. “But I had to. I had found a great treasure.” Six months later he received a photograph of her dressed in white and standing with two missionaries; he realized she had been baptized. When he returned, they were married in the temple. He was called as second counselor in the Jujuy stake presidency less than five years after his mission.