Gospel Story Finder

Carla reached into the hat and took out a small paper. Quickly she unfolded it.
“Lane eight, heat one,” she read. Great!
She looked around the room, her eyes inadvertently landing on the starting block that loomed majestically over the end lane. That was her favorite position, and for this meet she needed all the advantages she could get. She had to win this one!
Carole, the girls’ team coach, walked over. “Which lane and heat?” she asked.
“Eight, heat one,” Carla answered.
“Good. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“I wish you’d loosen up. I’ve never seen you so tense. You can’t win like that. Any problems?”
“No,” Carla said too quickly, and then added, “It’s just that this race means a lot to me. It’s my last chance. The Western Division Trials only come every four years, and next time around I’ll be too old.”
“But it means a lot to the girls in the other seven lanes, too. Remember that.”
“Wow! What encouragement!” Carla tried to joke.
“All anyone can do is try her hardest, but if you don’t loosen up, you won’t stand a chance. You’re wasting good energy!”
Carla laughed as Carole walked away, but she knew that what Carole said was true. However, it didn’t change how she felt. This was more than a race, more than just a question of proving herself.
For five years she had been preparing for this one race, and finally it was here. Now was her chance to prove herself or find out if her five years had been wasted.
The hollow mechanical echoes of the huge natatorium seemed deafening. Carla kicked her foot into the water as over the loud speaker a deep voice boomed, “Attention, swimmers.” And the room hushed to a murmur. “The girls’ 200-meter breaststroke qualifying heat number one will be next. Swimmers, report to your lanes.”
Carla took a deep breath. It was now or never!
“Good luck.” She jumped at the voice from behind.
“Oh, Dave,” she said. “You scared me!”
“Sorry! I just wanted to wish you luck.” He smiled, and for the first time all morning she felt almost at ease.
“Thanks.”
Quickly Carla hurried to her lane, removed her sweatshirt, and started shaking her arms, trying to loosen the tense muscles. There would be four qualifying heats, and to make the final round she had to have one of the eight fastest times. In this heat she would be racing time, not the other swimmers, so she couldn’t judge too much on her position.
“Judges ready?” the starter shouted, and 16 hands popped up at the ends of the pool. “Swimmers, take your mark.”
Carla climbed onto the block and curled her toes around the edge. “Get set.” She stooped precisely, her arms back as if she were about to take off in flight.
“Bang!” the starting gun fired, and Carla threw her arms forward, pushed with her feet, and strained each muscle to get every inch she could out of the dive. Her arms and legs slapped the water to keep her on top as she landed, and then in a precise, four-count rhythm she started stroking.
It was a good start that put her out in front, but she knew her turns were weak. She had to make time in the stroke. Her arms pulled at the water as if it were something that could be conquered, and her legs pushed powerfully as she spurted down the lane.
At the end of the fourth lap she still had the lead, but the girl in lane three was barely behind. Carla pushed a little harder, even though she knew she had to save something for the last two laps. Two more laps and lane three passed her by half a body length and lanes one and six were too close for any assurances.
She made the next to the last turn and then gave just a little more. Lane one slowed, lane six spurted, and lane three began to pull out even farther. The last turn. Carla’s muscles ached, but she wasn’t yet aware of it. Forcefully she now gave it everything she had. Lane three had pulled out too soon and was now lagging, lane one slowed even more, but six was suddenly a contender. Carla pulled wide and hard as she drew three more strokes then slapped the bank with both hands. Six had come on fast, but her spurt wasn’t soon enough. Carla finished first.
Her teammates gathered around the starting block and pulled her out of the pool.
“Good work!” Dave grinned.
“Thanks.” She smiled. “Do you know the time yet?” She was panting for breath, but she was too excited to stop and catch it.
“Two minutes, forty-seven and two-tenths seconds! You’re sure to qualify with a time like that.”
“Think so?”
“I know so.”
“What time does your heat start?”
“We’re next.”
“I’ll wish you luck, but to tell the truth, I don’t think you need any. There’s not a soul here who can beat you.”
The other girls on the team began to crowd around. Ann put a towel over Carla’s head and pulled it back and forth.
“Way to go!” she shouted. “What a time! Hope I do as well.”
“You will.”
Carla pulled the towel down to her shoulders, grabbed her sweatshirt, and ran into the locker room. She had two more events, freestyle and the team relay, but they weren’t for another hour. She lay down on the bench and waited uneasily for the results. Finally the loud speaker clicked on. Carla jumped up and ran out to the pool.
“The eight best times for the girls’ 200-meter breaststroke are Kathy Winn 2:46.6, Leslie Jacobs 2:47.1, Carla James 2:47.2 …”
Carla didn’t hear anymore! She had made it.
That night Dave came over after dinner.
“Thought you might like to go for a little ride,” he said.
“Sounds great.”
They got in the car and rode awhile without saying anything. Then finally Dave spoke.
“Are you a little more relaxed now?”
“Yes.” She paused before she went on. “You know for some reason those time trials are more frightening than the final race!”
“You’re not upset about not qualifying in the freestyle?”
“Not too much. I’m weak in freestyle. I was hoping to qualify, but at least the relay team qualified, and two out of three isn’t bad.”
“I agree.” Dave laughed.
“But I will be upset if I don’t win that race tomorrow!”
“Be careful! You can’t let the whole world ride on one race.”
“My whole world already does.”
“Oh?” Dave feigned hurt.
“Oh, you know what I mean. Besides, I feel good about tomorrow. I’ve trained harder than any of the others, and I’ve been at it longer. I deserve to win.”
“This doesn’t sound like you, Carla.”
“Oh, I don’t know how to explain it! It’s not that I mean to be conceited. It’s just that … well, like Kathy Winn. She’s only been competing for three years, and you and I both know that she jumps in and out of training like a hopscotch pro!”
“But she had half a second on you this morning.”
“But I’ve got faith. I’ve done everything just the way I should. That’s got to mean something.”
Dave smiled at Carla, his soft brown eyes full of concern. “I hope you’re right. But after hearing your philosophy, I’d better get you home before you break curfew tonight.”
“Me and my big mouth!” Carla laughed. “And how do you feel about your races tomorrow?”
“I don’t! That’s one of my secrets. If I win, I win; if I don’t, I don’t.”
“Even with a race as important as tomorrow’s? I just don’t think it’s that easy.”
“It is, though. All I can do is try my best. If that doesn’t work, then I at least have the satisfaction of knowing I did all I could.”
The little blue Pinto pulled into Carla’s driveway.
“End of sermon!” Dave laughed.
“Thanks for coming by,” Carla said as they walked to the door. “I really appreciate the talk.”
“Well, just think about it. And now, fair lady, I bid adieu!” Dave made a sweeping bow, his tall, thin body almost graceful.
“See you in the morning, goof!” Carla laughed.
“All right. I’ll pick you up at 7:00.” And Dave left.
By 10:30 the next morning, Carla’s relay team had failed to qualify for the Western Division Trials by just four-tenths of a second. Dave had qualified in the 400-meter backstroke and missed the 200-meter freestyle by three-tenths of a second, but his relay team had qualified, with him as the advantage-giving backstroker.
Of all things, Carla’s race was the next to the last, and she had drawn lane four. She hated that middle spot. Then to top it off, by the time the race was announced Carla was so nervous that the entire natatorium seemed to have taken on an electrical charge. Try as she might, she couldn’t lose the thought; this was her last chance to win a spot in the division trials.
She shook her arms and legs impatiently as she quickly scanned the gallery for her parents and then the decks for Dave. He wasn’t hard to find. His tall, browned body and sun-blonde hair stood out. He waved and she nodded back.
“Judges ready?” the starter began. “Swimmers, take your mark.” Carla climbed onto the block. “Get set.” Bang!
Her start was stiff, which lost her some time, but that could be overcome. Kathy Winn in lane six, Leslie Jacobs beside her in lane three, and a girl in lane eight were all ahead of Carla. In her mind she counted a rhythm, pushing a little harder than she should at the beginning. One, two, three, four.
Laps one, two, and three passed with the swimmers seemingly in a precision drill, then Kathy began to pull ahead of Leslie, lane three began to lag, and then one of her own teammates, Ann, in lane seven passed Carla.
Carla had to finish first or second to qualify, and she had to gain at least the third spot now or she’d be in no position to pull ahead in the last lap. She pushed a little harder, but the tense muscles were showing.
However, after lap six she had managed to pull into the third spot just behind Kathy and Ann. Leslie was close behind and gaining. Carla made the last turn and let go with everything she had, but it wasn’t enough. She finished third.
Carla’s eyes stung as she climbed out of the pool. Her muscles felt like jelly, and there was a sickly hollow spot where her stomach should have been. Her teammates buzzed excitedly around Ann, and she knew what she should do, but she just couldn’t bring herself to congratulate Ann.
“It can’t be!” she kept thinking. “It just can’t be. I’ve worked so hard for this. It isn’t fair!”
As fast as she could, she made it to the locker room, and, half-stunned, she dressed and left without even drying her hair. She caught the bus at Second Street and sat down with a sigh of relief at having managed to avoid Dave and her teammates. By the time the bus stopped, however, she felt very foolish. But it was too late now. Slowly she walked the two blocks home, but she didn’t go in. She sat on the step to think, even though she felt as if there was nothing to think about anymore. It was just a habit by now. Everything was over. Five years wasted, five years of exercise, practice, and training. She wished she had waited for Dave. He would understand, but by now he’d be at the banquet. He was a winner, and winners had to be there.
Suddenly a small, blue car screeched into the driveway. Carla sat up and smiled as she recognized it. Then she frowned as Dave slammed the door and jumped disgustedly out of the car.
He walked over to her, gruffly handed her her sweatshirt, and then spoke in a harsh whisper-voice. “Here, you forgot this.”
His soft brown eyes had turned hard, and his face looked sad. She’d never seen him like this, and it scared her. Then fright turned to scorn. She wanted understanding, not this. What kind of friend was he anyway?
“Thanks, but I don’t need it anymore.”
“Going to run out, huh?” Even his face was different.
“I’m not running out. I’ve wasted five years trying for something that in less than three minutes slipped through my grasp. I’m not running out. It ran out on me!”
“Wasted? Carla, I watched you last summer teaching those underprivileged kids from the east side how to swim—the look on your face! It was then I knew you were more than just a girl on the team. This summer I watched you teach those mentally retarded kids not to be afraid of water, and it made me feel good just to think you were my girl. I watched you save a little boy’s life out at the lake, and I watched you teach your own sisters to race. You call that a waste? You’ve got the talent. It’s you running out, Carla, and all because of one race. I thought you were bigger than that.”
Dave threw the sweatshirt down and stalked away.
“But I explained it last night. I deserved this win. I earned it!”
“Life doesn’t work like that,” he said without looking back. The car door slammed, and he drove off.
Carla sat, stunned, as hate slowly melted to despair, then pity, then scorn, and finally thoughts mellowed as tears gushed wildly and she realized how wrong she had been.
Now the tears came, not because of her own wounded pride, but because she suddenly realized how immature she had been. And now besides a race, she’d probably lost a friend, too.
“Why is it that things are so easy to see when it’s too late,” she whispered. Then slowly a blue Pinto came to a stop in front of the house.
Dave walked to the porch, his eyes soft, his walk slow and deliberate. He picked up the sweatshirt, folded it, and sat down next to Carla. Silently they sat, not needing to speak. But Carla felt a relief that showed in a whisper of a smile.
Finally Dave spoke. “The banquet hasn’t started yet.”
“I can be ready in five minutes.”
“I’ll give you six,” he said, “but I expect you to be my partner at the winners’ table.”
An arrow of pride struck at Carla’s heart, but she hesitated only for a moment. “I can make it in four.”
“Then get ready,” he said, but she had already gone in.

After graduation Franklin received an appointment to the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland. He wondered if he accepted the appointment if he would ever serve a full-time mission. It was a difficult decision to make. Elder Richards said, “I think unknowingly I was following the advice of the Lord to Oliver Cowdery:
“‘Behold, I say unto you, that you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right’ [D&C 9:8].
“In effect, I was doing that, I thought about a mission and about my grandfather, and I wondered, Do I want to go to Annapolis and tie myself up or don’t I? So I studied it out, talked to several people, and reached the decision that I would prefer to go on a mission. I made it a matter of prayer, expressing my feelings to the Lord, and the Holy Ghost bore witness to me that my decision was right.”

Peter walked into the Primary room and sat down with his class. But he wasn’t thinking about Primary. Peter had just turned eight, and he was thinking about how excited he was for next Saturday, when he was going to be baptized.
Peter wondered what his baptism would be like. Would he still be able to remember it when he was as old as Brother Lancaster?
When Saturday came, Peter looked at the baptismal font, filled with clean, warm water. He wouldn’t have to wade through icy water like Brother Lancaster or be baptized in a frozen stream like the pioneers.
Peter looked at all the special people who had come to watch him be baptized. The bishop and Brother Lancaster were there, along with his family’s home teachers, his Primary teacher, and the Primary presidency.
Peter held on tight to Dad’s hand as he stepped into the baptismal font. He felt the warm water on his feet and legs. Then Peter’s father baptized him a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When he came up out of the water, Peter felt his heart could almost burst with happiness.
After he had changed into dry clothes, Peter walked back to the room where his family and friends were waiting. When Brother Lancaster reached out to shake his hand, Peter smiled and said, “I’ll remember this day for the rest of my life.”

Jason dipped a rag into the quart of dark walnut stain and slid it across the unfinished top of his new oak desk. The wood jumped to life, the grain standing out like a picture coming into focus.
“That looks great!” Jason’s foster father, Jim Spence, was standing in the garage doorway, beaming. “I’m glad we could finally get you a desk of your own.”
Before Jason had come to live with Jim and Anna Spence, he’d been in and out of foster homes all his life. He’d never felt wanted—until now.
And until now, Jason had never called any of his foster parents Mom and Dad. The next day was Father’s Day, and Jason wanted to give Dad something special.
After he finished the desk, Jason washed up and changed his clothes. As he was tucking in his shirt, Dad and Mom knocked at the door and came in. Their faces looked serious.
“We just got a call from the welfare people,” Dad said. “They want us to take another boy, a ten year old. His name’s Rob. After his mother died last year, he had several scrapes with the law and has been in three foster homes. He can’t seem to adjust. You know the story.”
A sick feeling churned in Jason’s stomach. He knew the story all right. It was like his own. Every time he’d gotten into trouble, he’d been moved to another foster home. Nobody really cared. Until the Spences! If another kid comes, they won’t have time for me, Jason thought. Maybe they’ll even like him better!
He stared at the floor, unable to say anything.
“It will be like having a younger brother. You can play baseball with him and teach him your pickoff move to first base,” Dad said.
“I don’t want a brother,” Jason croaked, his voice a whisper. “Why can’t things stay the way they are?”
Mom sighed and looked hurt. “This boy needs our help—Jim’s, yours, and mine. We’re counting on you.”
Dad glanced at his watch.
“He’ll be here in a little while. We’d like your help—will you at least pray about it?”
Without answering, Jason pushed past them and headed for the front door.
“Where are you off to?” Mom asked.
Jason grunted something and left. He didn’t know where he was going, or even if he was coming back. He needed to figure things out. He started running and found himself heading toward town.
He passed people and didn’t see them. Someone said hello, but Jason didn’t notice who it was. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he’d finally found a caring home, and now some new kid was going to ruin it.
Soon he was on the other side of town. It reminded him of places that he’d lived in before. He could tell that the people who lived here had a hard time making enough money to live on, and a lot of the kids here probably learned to grow up hating others.
He passed a flashing video arcade. Both younger kids and teenagers drifted in and out, drinking sodas, leaning against the brick walls, and wandering back inside again. Some of them stared at him and laughed. Jason felt out of place—he’d changed a lot since the Spences had taken him in.
He’d been pretty hostile toward Anna and Jim at first. But it had been impossible to not warm up to them. Dad had found out that Jason played baseball and gotten him into Little League the very first week he was with them. Then he and Mom had come to almost every game. And could they yell! It made Jason feel as if he really were their son.
“Why can’t things stay like that?” Jason thought aloud. “Why’d some new kid have to show up and spoil it?”
As he wandered past a drugstore, he thought of Father’s Day cards. It made a lump grow in his throat. He’d really looked forward to buying one this year.
Just then, three boys spilled out the store’s door and burst into laughter.
“That guy’s so dumb,” one boy said.
“He has an IQ below freezing,” another boy chortled. He held up three packages of bubble gum. “Look what I swiped from right under his nose!”
They ran off with no idea as to where they were headed. But Jason knew. He knew all too well. And if it hadn’t been for Jim Spence, he himself might be headed for a juvenile detention center by now.
Who’s going to help these kids? he prayed silently.
Then he asked himself, Who’s going to help Rob?
Jason felt selfish for wanting all his foster parents’ love for himself when so many kids needed to be loved.
He knew that the Spences loved him. Everything they did for him proved that. Like buying him a desk. They’d saved for quite a while to be able to get it. And all he’d done to show his thanks was to run away!
He hurried into the drugstore and bought a Father’s Day card—the first one he’d ever bought—then hurried home. He still didn’t know what to give Dad for Father’s Day, but he was going home, and that was all that seemed to matter.
He thought of the kids back at the store, ripping off other people and not knowing that they were really ripping off their own happiness. Jason would never have known that if it hadn’t been for Dad. The world needed more fathers like him.
Suddenly he knew what to give him for Father’s Day.
Jason tried to act cool as he strode up the walk and into the house, but it wasn’t easy. He was so glad to be home again! After apologizing to his worried foster parents, he met Rob, a boy with long blond hair, who was leaning against the door casing, trying to look tough.
Jason smiled at Dad and handed him the card, adding, “I know this is a day early, but it’s the right time to give it to you. And there’s something else I want to give you, Dad.” He tilted his head slightly in Rob’s direction. “I want to help.”
Dad gave him a bear hug that would have bruised another bear! “Thanks, Jason.”
Smiling proudly, Mom suggested, “Why don’t you and Rob take a walk and get acquainted while we fix supper.”
“Want to?” Jason asked.
Rob shrugged. “Where?”
Jason thought, then said, “The unfinished-furniture store.”
Rob looked at him as if he’d just jumped off a spaceship.
Jason had to laugh. “We can look at the desks,” he explained. He jerked his head toward the kitchen. “They’re big on desks.”

Mom wasn’t surprised at all, and she told me a story: “When you were a tiny baby and round all over, your daddy brought you this blanket. He held you and the blanket in one arm and said, ‘Blanket, blanket,’ lots of times. You said, ‘Ginky.’ Dad smiled and said, ‘Blanket.’ Both of you were talking about the same thing.”
I had to laugh at that.
“Pretty soon,” Mom went on, “we all got used to calling your blanket Ginky, the way you did. ‘Here’s Ginky,’ your daddy or I would say, or ‘Won’t you let us wash Ginky just once, real quick?’ But you never wanted Ginky to be washed.”
“I didn’t want Ginky swooshing around in all that soap,” I told her.
Now Ginky smells kind of stuffy and dusty from being in the drawer so long. Ginky used to be soft. I remember stroking my cheek with Ginky and wrapping it around my arm (the one with the good-tasting thumb) before I went to sleep.
At first Ginky had a satin edging that I could curl around my fingers. I could make a scratchy noise on it, too, with my fingernail. But the satin is almost all worn off now.
Lots of babies have blankets. But there isn’t another Ginky.
You know, I took Ginky to bed with me last night—just for remembering. I didn’t really need to. I tried wrapping Ginky around my arm. I tried scratching the worn-out satin. I even tried sucking my thumb.
But my thumb just doesn’t taste good anymore. After a while, I got all tangled up in Ginky. I wanted to go to sleep, so I folded Ginky carefully beside me. “Good night,” I said.
This morning Ginky was still there, looking kind of raggedy on my pillow. I packed Ginky away in my special box. Mom says that when I’m a big person, we’ll open my box and look at all the things I saved as I was growing up.
My picture album and my doll without any hair and a drawing I made of a fire engine were in my box already. I think Ginky belongs there with those other things.

When I joined the Church, I attended a small branch in the Philippines where the members were very close and worked in unity.
Gradually, the branch grew and prospered. New chairs came, then a new sacrament table. Then we moved to a spacious apartment and even had a new organ. Three years later, some land was purchased for our future meetinghouse.
During this period of growth, the unity of our branch was occasionally tested. After some particularly hurtful gossip reached me, I decided to leave the Church. For the next six Sundays I did not attend any meetings, although I wished I were there. I especially wanted to partake of the sacrament and renew my covenants.
One day I knelt in prayer and asked for strength, courage, and enlightenment. Still on my knees, I caught sight of a book on the floor. I picked up a dusty and neglected volume of scripture and began paging through it, hoping to find some lines that would ease my pain. I stopped at D&C 136:29–30: “If thou art sorrowful, call on the Lord thy God with supplication, that your souls may be joyful. Fear not thine enemies.”
After reading the verses, I felt lighter in spirit, and my courage returned. I would go back to church.
But the next Sunday, as I neared the meetinghouse, I felt apprehensive. Would they welcome me again? Would I hear whispering behind my back? Or would they ignore me altogether? My feet dragged the closer I got to the door.
Then I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder, and before I could turn around, an arm encircled me in a tender embrace. Then another hand reached out to clasp mine. Other friends burst from the door with warm smiles, each one expressing joy for my return.
As we sang the opening hymn, “Though Deepening Trials” (Hymns, number 122), a feeling of peace filled me, and the feelings of hurt and resentment melted away. Warm tears blurred my vision, and I could no longer see the words in the hymnbook. I closed my eyes tightly and gratefully whispered, “Father, thanks for leading me back to the fold.”

Several weeks ago I was talking with my 16-year-old granddaughter. I asked her what she would tell the young men of the Aaronic Priesthood if she could speak to them. She said, “Grandpa, I would ask them to show respect for the priesthood and to be priesthood holders seven days a week rather than just one day, Sunday. Some guys do not show respect for the priesthood because they use profanity; some are involved in pornography; and a few are into drugs.” I’m certain, my young brethren, that you’ll agree that profanity, pornography, and drugs should not be a part of the life of a priesthood holder.

The priesthood isn’t something we take off during the week and put on for Sunday. It is a 24-7 privilege and blessing—that is, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

Profanity and crudeness have become commonplace and are accepted by many as a normal part of their speech. Our sense of right and wrong has been dimmed by a constant bombardment of profanity and crudeness. It is rampant in music, schools, sports, shopping malls, and in our workplaces. Much everyday conversation is laced with crude terms and sprinkled with outright profane expressions, sometimes under the guise of humor.

Recently I was in a department store trying on shoes. Four young men were looking at what they labeled missionary shoes. It was evident at least two of the young men had received mission calls and were there to find shoes suitable for missionary service. I was surprised by a barrage of crude terms with a few profanities which seemed to routinely roll off their tongues. When they noticed there was someone else nearby, I heard one say, “Hey, guys, we better clean up our language,” as he motioned with his head in my direction.

President Hinckley has said: “Conversation is the substance of friendly social activity. It can be happy. It can be light. It can be earnest. It can be funny. But it must not be salty, or uncouth, or foul if one is in sincerity a believer in Christ” (Teachings of Gordon B. Hinckley [1997], 494). Profanity and priesthood are not compatible. Neither is profanity compatible with missionary service. Profane and crude terms, if part of our conversation, need to be eliminated from our vocabularies. Conversation is one of the windows to our souls.

During time-out let’s talk about pornography. In recent years pornography has spread like wildfire. We are exposed to it daily. Pornography is as addictive as many substances we would not even consider taking into our bodies. The consequences of pornography are catastrophic. Keep in mind that Satan does not want us to be happy or successful in our Aaronic Priesthood ministry. Make no mistake, he wants us to be miserable. His goal is to capture our hearts by enticing us to participate in terrible things such as pornography. Stay away from it. We must discipline ourselves to avoid books, magazines, music, pictures, videos, DVDs, movies, Internet sites, television programming—anything that contains pornography or sensual material. Pornography and priesthood are not compatible. Respect the priesthood; call a permanent time-out to any pornographic influence.

President Hinckley has reminded us that the “modern drug scourge has become as a plague on the world. … In most cases, the death it brings is not swift, but rather, it follows a long period spent in misery and pain and regret. Unlike the plagues of old, from which there was no known defense, the defense is clear and relatively easy in the case of illicit drugs. It lies in simply refraining from touching them” (“The Scourge of Illicit Drugs,” in Speaking Out on Moral Issues [1992], 127). We would not place our lives in jeopardy by playing with a venomous snake. Drugs are just as dangerous as the reptile’s deadly venom.

Our son returned to his home recently to find his son was sitting at the kitchen table with elbows on the table and his chin in his hands. Another son exhibited a sad countenance as he sat in the living room staring out the window. Their mom was not visible. Our son asked the boys where she might be. They pointed to the bathroom. He quietly knocked on the door and asked, “Honey, are you in there?” She replied, “I’ve put myself in time-out.” Adults need an occasional time-out.

Melchizedek Priesthood holders, please join us in time-out. In the battle of daily living, it is easy to lose focus on our ministries as fathers and priesthood holders. If we are not careful, our vocations, hobbies, recreation, and even perhaps our Church service can adversely impact our responsibility as fathers and husbands.

President Howard W. Hunter had only one opportunity to address a general conference priesthood meeting while he was President of the Church. On that occasion, October 1994, President Hunter entitled his talk “Being a Righteous Husband and Father.” In that masterful address, he outlined a number of standards and expectations for all who hold the Melchizedek Priesthood. I commend the entire address for your review. Tonight, I mention just two. President Hunter said: “A man who holds the priesthood regards the family as ordained of God. Your leadership of the family is your most important and sacred responsibility. The family is the most important unit in time and in eternity and, as such, transcends every other interest in life” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1994, 68; or Ensign, Nov. 1994, 50).

President Harold B. Lee said, “The most important of the Lord’s work you and I will ever do will be within the walls of our own homes” (Stand Ye in Holy Places [1974], 255). We need to honestly search and plumb the depths of our souls. Are we doing all we should do to give our families gospel instruction and governance, or are we leaving this responsibility to others? Leadership in the family often requires us to reorder our priorities in order to find the necessary time. Quality and quantity time are essential.

President Hunter also reminded us, “A man who holds the priesthood leads his family in Church participation so they will know the gospel and be under the protection of the covenants and ordinances” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1994, 69; or Ensign, Nov. 1994, 51). For us to accomplish this we must make certain our personal lives are in order. Hypocrisy has never worked, and it will not work today. We are required to lead out in righteousness and encourage our families to follow our examples. Lead out in family home evening. Lead out in scripture study. Provide priesthood blessings. Lead out in personal and family prayer. President Monson said, “Remember that a man never stands taller than when he is upon his knees” (in Conference Report, Apr. 1964, 130; or Improvement Era, June 1964, 509).

A time-out usually concludes with a little pep talk. Brethren, we can prevail and ultimately win the contest. We can honor and respect the priesthood on a seven-day-a-week, 24-hour-a-day basis. We can banish profanity, pornography, and drugs from our lives as well as any other unwholesome or unclean activity. We can provide our families with the priesthood leadership and the spiritual direction they require. We can do all this and much more if we will draw near to the Savior, honor the sacred priesthood we hold, and be faithful to the covenants we have made.

I testify we are on the Lord’s errand. He is our Savior. He is our Redeemer. He has atoned for our sins. He is our Advocate with the Father. He lives. He loves us unconditionally. We are bearers of His priesthood. I love President Hinckley, his counselors, the Twelve, and my fellow General Authorities, and I testify of their goodness, their greatness, and their authority. I love you, my fellow holders of the priesthood, and pray for our success. In the holy name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Earlier I mentioned Sister Andersen and her Beehive Girl’s Handbook. She is the wife of Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Presidency of the Seventy [now a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles], a mother, and a grandmother. I love the thought that even though she has moved so many times, she has always known where to find her Beehive Girl’s Handbook and achievement bandlo. Sister Andersen has stood by her husband and taught the gospel all over the world. She has also exemplified womanhood and goodness as a faithful member of the Church.

As an 11-year-old girl, Sister Andersen couldn’t wait to enter the Young Women program. When her birthday finally arrived, she was given the Beehive Girl’s Handbook. Sister Andersen explains:
“In the beginning of the book it said, ‘As a Beehive girl, and for the rest of your life, set your goals high’ (Beehive Girl’s Handbook, 12). I could tell this was going to be a great adventure for me. I took my book home and immediately read it from cover to cover to see what goals I should complete during the next two years.
“I discovered that there were 80 possible goals to choose from. In my excitement, I determined that if I worked hard, I could complete all of the goals in my book—well, all except one: to go to the temple … and be baptized for the dead (Beehive Girl’s Handbook, 140). I [could not] be baptized for the dead because there [was] no temple in Florida.”
Sister Andersen decided to tell her father about her situation. Her letter continues:
“My father hesitated only a moment. We had no family in the West and no other reason to travel to Utah. He thoughtfully said to me, ‘Kathy, if you [will] complete all of the other goals in your Beehive book, we will take you the 2,500 miles [4,000 km] to the temple in Salt Lake City so that you can do baptisms for the dead and complete your final goal.’
“I worked on the goals in my Beehive book for two years and completed 79 goals. My father worked during those two years to save enough money to make the journey to the temple. My father kept his promise to me.
“Air travel at that time was too expensive for our family, and so we traveled 5,000 miles [8,000 km] by car to Salt Lake City and back so that I could complete my last Beehive goal. What joy I felt as I entered the Salt Lake Temple and in proxy was baptized by my father. It was an experience I will never forget.
“I will forever be appreciative for my mother and father’s willingness to make the temple an important part of my life. … They wisely understood that as I worked on my Young Women goals, my faith would be strengthened. My parents’ faith and sacrifice in making the long journey to Salt Lake City significantly impacted me and the generations that have followed” (“I Can Complete All of the Goals—Except One,” unpublished manuscript).

As her ship steamed into the port of Liverpool, England, twenty-one-year-old Inez Knight spotted her older brother William on the docks, waiting in a crowd of fellow missionaries. It was April 22, 1898. Inez and her companion, Jennie Brimhall, were coming to the British Mission as the first single women set apart as “lady missionaries” for the Church. Like Will and the other elders, they would be preaching at street meetings and going door to door, spreading the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.1
In past decades, Louisa Pratt, Susa Gates, and other married women had served successful missions alongside their husbands, though without official mission calls. Leaders in the Relief Society and Young Ladies’ Mutual Improvement Association [now known as Young Women], moreover, had been good ambassadors for the Church at venues like the World’s Fair of 1893. And many young, unmarried women had gained experience teaching and leading in YLMIA meetings, preparing them to preach the word of God.2
After reuniting with Will, Inez walked with him and Jennie to the mission headquarters, a four-story building the Saints had occupied since the 1850s. There they met President McMurrin. “I want each of you to understand that you have been called here by the Lord,” he said. As he spoke, Inez felt for the first time the great responsibility resting on her shoulders.3
The next day, she and Jennie accompanied President McMurrin and other missionaries to Oldham, a manufacturing town east of Liverpool. In the evening, they formed a circle on a busy street corner, offered a prayer, and sang hymns until a large crowd formed around them. President McMurrin announced that a special meeting would be held the following day, and he invited everyone to come and hear preaching from “real live Mormon women.”
As he said this, a sick feeling crept over Inez. She was nervous about speaking to a large crowd. Still, as she stood among the missionaries in their silk hats and black suits, she had never been prouder to be a Latter-day Saint.4
The next evening, Inez trembled as she waited for her turn to speak. Having heard terrible lies about Latter-day Saint women, people were curious about her and the other women speaking at the meeting. Sarah Noall and Caroline Smith, the wife and sister-in-law of one of the missionaries, addressed the congregation first. Inez then spoke, despite her fear, and surprised herself by how well she did.
Inez and Jennie were soon assigned to labor in Cheltenham. They went door to door and frequently testified at street meetings. They also accepted invitations to meet with people in their homes. Listeners usually treated them well, although occasionally someone would mock them or accuse them of lying.
Inez and Jennie hoped to see more women serving missions. “We feel that the Lord is blessing us in our attempts to allay prejudice and spread the truth,” they reported to mission leaders. “We trust that many of the worthy young women in Zion will be permitted to enjoy the same privilege we now have, for we feel that they can do much good.”5

It seemed like a great way to earn a backpacking merit badge. A five-day trip, 14 miles in, 14 miles out, and a few side trips up canyons to achieve 32 total miles, just what the members of Varsity Scout Team 6475 needed to finish their qualifications. And along the way through the red rock country of the Colorado Plateau, from Hurricane Wash through Coyote Gulch to the Escalante River, there would be some remarkable scenery: Jacob Hamblin Natural Arch, hand-hewn by nature, time, wind, and water; and Lake Powell, Hole-in-the-Rock, and Dance Hall Rock, to be visited by car on the way home.
But as hikes often do, this one turned out to be harder on the trail than it appeared on the map. “It started out dry,” said Rob Perkins, 14, a member of the Orem 75th Ward, Orem Utah Windsor Stake, which sponsors the team. “Then it got drier and drier. Then finally, just when you were wondering if your canteen water would be enough to last, you noticed a trickle of water in the rocks at your feet. Pretty soon we were following a creek and catching tadpoles. Then we were following a river.”
The wash joined the gulch, which dropped deeper and deeper, crossing the path of water which would normally be far beneath the earth. At that point, the water simply flowed out of the ground.
But walking in the sneaker-deep stream presented some problems of its own. First of all, the water was full of silt.
“It would fill your shoes so full you couldn’t walk in them anymore,” said Willie Holdman, 15. “So you’d take your shoes off and walk barefoot. But then you’d come to a place on an S-curve where you could cut across open, sun-baked sand. Was it ever hot! I’ve never run so fast in my life. And at the end of the day, the tops of your feet would be sunburned. That makes it hard to want to put your shoes on anyway.”
Simple walking also created friction, which inflicted additional foot damage. “I felt like the soles of my feet had been rubbed with sandpaper,” Shriedhar Dusara, 15, said. “Sometimes they would get really tender.”
Of course, after a while packs got heavy and it seemed hot all the time. “It wasn’t a killer heat,” Brad Nelson said. “In fact, the farther down the gulch we got, the cooler it got. But anytime you’re carrying a lot of weight, you’re going to get tired.”
And, once again, thirsty. “We had to treat all of the water to make sure it was safe to drink,” Shriedhar said. “But even though it tasted funny, we were sure glad to have it.”
The gulch grew narrower and deeper. The sides became walls, some 50 feet tall and only four feet apart. Then the crevasse opened into a true canyon, with the river running broadly down the middle. Huge cliffs towered high on either side. Holes weathered in some rocks made them look like Swiss cheese. Elsewhere, rocks bore a remarkable resemblance to human faces or animals. In one side canyon, the weather had shaped rocks into small, round, ping-pong sized balls which literally covered the ground.
Brad explained that the Scouts would get their hats wet and let the water drip down and evaporate to cool their skin. He said he remembered being exhausted, then looking up and seeing a tree, the first greenery he’d seen for miles.
“All right,” he said. “Vegetation!”
And the river banks got greener from then on, even though rust red remained the predominant hue.
During the days, the Scouts discovered that there were plenty of grottos along the trail where they could rest in the shade. They learned that water collects at the base of cliffs and in sink holes, that plants often grow in such places, and that frogs congregate in the water. They also found some shallow quicksand and discovered that after they walked on it enough, the water was forced out and it became more solid. Evenings were spent in fireside discussions, lizard chases, games, hiking, showering under a waterfall, looking at cougar tracks, and cooking dehydrated meals over portable burners. One night the Scouts awakened to the sight of hundreds of daddy longlegs mounded together in vibrating heaps.
“We still don’t know where they came from or what they were all doing in one place like that,” Floyd Holdman, the team coach (equivalent to a Scoutmaster) said.
But of all the sights along the way, the Scouts were most impressed by Hamblin Arch.
“How can you not be impressed by something that big?” Shriedhar asked, and the others wondered with him about what hand could have sculpted scenery so monumental.
“You get an almost reverent feeling down there, wondering where it all came from,” Brad said. “It makes you feel so small.”
Brother Holdman reminded his boys of the scripture in Alma 39:44, “All things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it.”
“Yeah.” Willie nodded his head. Floyd is his father, so Willie is used to hearing him quote scriptures. But this passage seemed to mean more out where nature is so prominent. “I guess that’s right,” Willie added. “You sure feel that way when you see all these rocks. And think how long it took for the wind and rain to make an arch. It’s kind of like God is making sculptures, beautiful things for us to enjoy. This is like part of his art gallery.”
Finally the team arrived at the Escalante River.
“On the way, we had to tie ropes to our packs and lower them over cliffs by the waterfalls. Then we had to find our own way down,” Rob explained. “Sometimes on a short cliff we’d just jump down. On one of the highest cliffs, somebody had built a ladder and left it.”
“We’d been wandering around because we couldn’t find a way down,” Willie said. “Then we saw a sign scratched in the rock, ‘Ladder this way,’ with an arrow.”
“If I could meet the guy who built that ladder,” Brad said, “I’d sure tell him thanks!”
That night, the group camped away from river banks where water might rise, unrolling their sleeping bags on higher ground. The precaution paid off.
“We got up the next morning and looked at where we had planned to camp,” Brother Holdman said. “The water had risen a foot. If we had stayed there we would have been wet.”
It was a long, hard hike to make it all the way out the next day, but after coming in, going out would seem anticlimactic. And everyone was eager to make the additional stops at Lake Powell, Hole-in-the-Rock, and Dance Hall Rock. “It’s only 50 miles to Hole-in-the-Rock, once you hike out from Coyote Gulch,” Brother Holdman explained.
“Thinking about the additional things we would see kept us going,” Brad said, “but after five days of dehydrated food, so did the idea of eating the treats we’d left in the car.”
By 1:00 P.M., four hot, tired young men and one exhausted adult leader were snacking on candy bars, then relaxing in a car rolling down the highway.
“If you think you had it bad hiking out of Coyote Gulch, imagine what the pioneers went through,” Brother Holdman said. “The group that went through Hole-in-the-Rock took six months to go 300 miles, through all kinds of country even rougher than this. And they had to build trails and move wagons and cattle over mountains and through canyons.”
The words took on a deeper meaning when the young men actually stood at Hole-in-the-Rock, where in 1879 colonizers dropped down into Glen Canyon through a narrow gorge to cross the Colorado River.
“If you ever come this way it will scare you to death to look down it,” wrote one settler, Elizabeth Morris Decker. “It is about a mile from the top down to the river and it is almost strait down, the cliffs on each side are five hundred ft. high and there is just room enough for a wagon to go down … They put the brake on and rough locked the hind wheels and had a big rope fastened to the wagon and about ten men holding back on it and then they went down like they would smash everything. I’ll never forget that day. … [My son] looked back and cried and asked me how we would get back home” (Miller, David E., Hole-in-the-Rock, University of Utah Press, Salt Lake City, 1966, p. 116).
Shriedhar, Rob, Willie, and Brad had probably never thought so much about the sacrifices others made for the Church as they did looking out at the waters of Lake Powell that day. Although the lake water now covers much of the area the pioneers traversed, the courage of the moment was evident.
“I don’t even know how they did it,” Rob said. “I’d rather go 500 miles the other way.”
“You can still see the stairs they carved in the solid rock,” Willie said. “You can see blasting holes they drilled when they tried to make the opening wider.”
Shriedhar said, “It’s not something I’d want to do. All those rocks and steps to try to take wagons and cattle down. It’s so steep. And that’s just to get you to the bottom where there’s more work to do.”
Later however, as the group visited Dance Hall Rock, they glimpsed another side of pioneer life—recreation. Dance Hall Rock is a huge sandstone formation shaped like a natural amphitheater with a smooth floor. With three fiddlers in the company to supply music, pioneers spent several pleasant evenings dancing. Even today, some expeditions to the area will provide music so their participants can enjoy the acoustics.
“You think of pioneers just being in wagons all the time,” Rob said. “It’s nice to know they danced and had fun too.”
After the stop at Dance Hall Rock, it was time to head home.
During their five-day journey through Coyote Gulch, the members of Varsity Scout Team 6475 hiked enough to qualify for a merit badge, and they were proud of what they’d accomplished. But they also had learned a little bit about history and gained some empathy for colonizing pioneers.
“The next time I hear the names of those places I’ll pay more attention,” Willie said, “because now I’ve been there.”

The other story I should like to tell is about another prodigal son in similar circumstances who also became involved with companions who persuaded him to leave home and family for the so-called freedom from the shackles of what they call “the establishment.” He too went the whole route—alcohol, tobacco, drugs, immorality.

The difference is between the endings of these stories. Something deep within kept the boy in touch with his family. Something stirred his memory of the teachings learned in his youth, and as his family strained to the breaking point to reach out and express their love on those occasions when he made contact with them, he eventually reluctantly consented to attend a family reunion, which was being held during one of his trips home. Unshaven, unkempt, long hair and all, he went.

Although disapproving, the family extended their welcome and their love. The boy felt their deep affection and knew that this was better than the superficial expressions of friendship from his other associates. He later accompanied his family to church and there met a sweet, young girl who showed an interest in him. Soon he was bathed, shaved, properly groomed, and living as he should.

It is honoring one’s parents and conforming to the standards of decency of a well-ordered and God-fearing society that will keep one from wandering into some of the forbidden paths. Generally speaking, we behave in accordance with the way we look and speak. If we want to be a part of a clean, refined group or organization, then we must accept their rules and standards.

Years ago, I felt a lot like young Joseph. I was confused by the “war of words and tumult of opinions” (Joseph Smith—History 1:10) coming from many different churches in Fiji. When I first met the missionaries, I had so many questions. Some have teased that I am a slow learner because I spent eight years investigating the Church. My conversion began through understanding the name of the Church.

During His mortal ministry, Jesus Christ established His Church. Over time, the doctrine and priesthood authority of His Church became lost. In our day, Jesus Christ restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith the same church He established when He lived on earth (see Articles of Faith 1:6). He also commanded through revelation, “For thus shall my church be called in the last days, even The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” (Doctrine and Covenants 115:4).

The Church bears the name of Jesus Christ because it is His Church! After eight years, this truth resonated in my mind and heart. I was baptized at age 27 and soon called as a counselor in the ward Young Men presidency and an early-morning seminary teacher. Along the way, my testimony continued to grow.

My life transformed as I taught seminary, attended sacrament meeting, and listened to general conference. I also felt the soothing, comforting, and inspiring influence of the Spirit as I read the Book of Mormon—a tangible evidence and manifestation of the Restoration and the prophetic call of Joseph Smith.

When the Lord called Joseph “and spake unto him from heaven, and gave him commandments” (Doctrine and Covenants 1:17), He showed that He “does inspire men and call them to his holy work in this age and generation, as well as in generations of old” and that “he is the same God yesterday, today, and forever” (Doctrine and Covenants 20:11–12).

The Restoration that began with Joseph continues today. As Latter-day Saints, we are called to speak in the Savior’s name so “that faith … might increase in the earth,” His “everlasting covenant might be established,” and “the fulness of [His] gospel might be proclaimed by the weak and the simple unto the ends of the world” (Doctrine and Covenants 1:21–23). We are blessed to be able to help build up the Church and prepare the world for that day when Jesus Christ returns.

Elder and Sister Wakolo (far right) were endowed and sealed in the Nuku’alofa Tonga Temple in August 1995, a year after Elder Wakolo joined the Church. They are shown here with the temple presidency.

A year after my baptism, my wife, Anita, and I traveled to the Nuku’alofa Tonga Temple to be sealed for time and all eternity. My testimony of the Restoration made going to the temple so meaningful. The restored gospel of Jesus Christ truly means everything! My heart is filled with gratitude for the blessings it has brought to me and my family.

These precious blessings have come to the world through “Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, [who] has done more, save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it” (Doctrine and Covenants 135:3). We must be ever grateful for—and never lose sight of—what we have been given through the prophet of this last dispensation.

I was first introduced to FamilySearch indexing (see page 42) in one of my mom’s Relief Society meetings. I didn’t really understand what it was, but I thought it would be a terrific way to pass off a value project in my Personal Progress booklet. Luckily, my neighbor was able to help me get started.
At first, it was just about getting the 10 hours done. Little did I know that it would be so much more than that. It was so cool to see how old these records were and just have the feeling of helping people find their family history. Now, when I go to the temple, I get an even more powerful feeling than I did before. It makes me feel happy inside.
Indexing also affected my family. My father works in the Church’s Family History Department. When he saw me doing indexing, I could see a spark of excitement go through him. I learned more about his work, and we spent quality time together. Later, I taught my mom how to index and helped with workshops for ward members. After I had finished my 10-hour value project, I found myself still indexing. In about two and a half months, I was able to get over a thousand records done.

In 1898, Inez Knight and Jennie Brimhall were the first two single women called as sister missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Shortly after arriving on their missions to England, the two women went to preach in Oldham, a small manufacturing town near Liverpool.
Inez Knight and Jennie Brimhall prayed for help in their missionary service in England.
Right: photograph courtesy of Jennifer Whatcott Hooton
The two sisters, their mission president, and other missionaries gathered one evening. “They formed a circle on a busy street corner, offered a prayer, and sang hymns until a large crowd formed around them.” Their efforts were so successful that the mission president “announced that a special meeting would be held the following day, and he invited everyone to come and hear preaching from ‘real live Mormon women.’”

That little voice in my head was getting hard to ignore. Here I was at age 28, still single and not really sure of what I wanted to do professionally even though I had a good career as a labor and delivery nurse. I felt like every aspect of my life wasn’t working out. I was doubting life choices and didn’t know which path to take. I just felt lost.
One day when I was feeling particularly down, a friend whom I hadn’t talked to in a while called me. When he asked how I was doing, I explained all those feelings I had been struggling with. He listened and then said, “OK, but how are you doing spiritually?”
“Oh yeah, that’s perfect,” I responded automatically. “I’ve never felt closer to God in my life.”
He replied, “Then you don’t have to worry about anything else.”
Since the conversation, I realized two things. First, I realized that I am so grateful to have a strong testimony of the restored gospel and to be able to live the commandments and feel connected with heaven.
Being spiritually self-reliant is so important to me, and I’m still learning how to open the heavens in my life. Praying and studying the scriptures every morning are two simple things that I feel make the biggest difference in my ability to receive personal revelation. I also feel more connected with heaven when I make an effort to be kind, to live a healthy life so the Spirit can always be my companion, to obey the commandments, and to repent sincerely.
Second, I realized that my response to my friend’s question wasn’t totally right—I thought I was doing “perfect” spiritually, but I needed to have more faith, stop worrying so much, and trust God to take care of the things I can’t control.
Even when some aspects of my life aren’t going as well as I would like, I know that the important thing is to act in faith and show God that I use my agency to make good choices. I’ve learned that when life doesn’t work out the way I expect it to, it’s so that I can learn and grow in ways I wouldn’t be able to otherwise.
I never imagined that in my 29th year I would find myself having doubts about my career and the next stage of my life. Still, even with all these unknowns, I have total confidence that God has a perfect plan for me. He knows exactly what’s happening and what I need, and He will always take care of me (see Matthew 6:28–34). Just as Elder L. Todd Budge of the Seventy taught, “As difficult as it is to understand, especially at the times in our lives when the headwinds are strong and the seas are turbulent, we can take comfort in knowing that God in His infinite goodness is always blowing us toward home” (“Consistent and Resilient Trust,” Liahona, Nov. 2019, 48).
Some days life feels just so difficult, but when I really think about it, I know that I don’t have to worry. Little by little, I have come to realize that I need to trust God a little more and worry less about things I can’t control. The one thing I can control about the future is trusting God and working on growing closer to Him every day.
When I feel lost, there is always enough light for me to take a step into the unknown and move forward. And as long as I exercise faith and keep my covenants, as long as I remember my true identity as a daughter of Heavenly Parents and try over and over again, things will happen when and how they’re supposed to, and that’s really all that matters.

In his ward Dale met a young woman named Ruth. She was the daughter of a member of the stake presidency, Merlin R. Lybbert, who later served in the Seventy. Dale’s recollection is that he mustered the courage to ask Ruth out on a date, but she said no. When he tried again a few months later, she said yes. Ruth’s version is a little different. She remembers that when he spoke in sacrament meeting about his mission, she was impressed. They got better acquainted, and she was thrilled when he asked her to go on a date, but she was hosting a party that required her to decline. She was pleased to accept when he asked again.

Summer means Summiteer outings. The culmination of the Campcrafter program offers young women a chance to face a new challenge. Summiteers in Bremerton, Washington, took to the water in canoes while the Summiteers in Colorado Springs, Colorado, climbed Pikes Peak.
The Colorado Springs Colorado Stake tackled the trail to the top of Pikes Peak. It was the first Summiteer trip ever attempted by the stake for Young Women. Although the young women were aware of the difficulties, they found the stamina and strength to make the top and received a great sense of accomplishment and love for nature.

You never know what will happen to the seeds you plant. Elisabeth Gambee of the Springfield First Ward, Eugene Oregon Stake, recently found out when she received a letter from a friend whom she’d met at camp and had given a copy of the Book of Mormon to. He had just received his mission call to Boston.

That was the highlight of a year that included many bright spots. Elisabeth graduated from seminary, served as ASB vice president, was in the honor society, was on the varsity cheerleading squad and tennis team, and performed in school musicals. She was also chosen by her school to be Young Woman of the Year.

Evan Payne owned and operated a gasoline and auto repair station in Thousand Oaks, California. He was quick with a smile and even quicker to remember people’s names. He knew his customers, their children, and their cars. Evan worked long hours, six days a week, and was genuinely interested in helping people. He gave jobs to teenagers who had family problems or who were preparing for or returning from missions. He would stay late or arrive early to accommodate a customer. Nearly everyone in town knew Evan Payne and liked him.
Evan was also busy at home and at church. He and his wife, Becky, had five children, ages 7 to 13. He had served twice as a counselor in the bishopric, as bishop, and now as a counselor in our stake presidency.
Evan was young, athletic, happy, and outgoing. He had dark hair and a handsome face. He loved to ski and play Church softball and basketball. So it didn’t seem possible when I heard that Evan had leukemia.
In the months following his diagnosis there were family, ward, and stake fasts. Evan went through chemotherapy and radiation. When Evan’s illness did not go into remission, his brothers were tested to determine if they could be bone marrow donors. None matched. He and Becky got their affairs in order and prepared for the worst, but in spite of the pain Evan remained upbeat and positive. He continued to work nearly every day, although he was clearly suffering.
One day my office phone rang. “Joel,” Evan said, “what are you doing tonight? I want you to come with me to give a blessing to someone in your ward. Can you do it?”
“Sure,” I said. “Who are we going to bless?”
“Sally Carlisle (names have been changed). She is an elderly lady from San Diego. She is in town visiting her daughter, Joan Wilson, who isn’t active. I should be taking the Wilsons’ home teacher, but I don’t know who it is, and she needs a blessing right away. Can you pick me up?”
I had a sudden sinking feeling, and a wave of guilt flooded over me. For many months I had been assigned to home teach the Wilson family, but I had not even called them. Numerous times I had intended to call or stop by, but each time I rationalized my way out. I had not done my duty. I told Evan I would pick him up at 7:00.
As we drove Evan explained that the Wilsons had been customers at his service station for many years. Joan had been raised in the Church but had drifted into inactivity as a young adult. She had married Mike Wilson, who was not a member of the Church, and they had raised their four boys in Mike’s religion. Evan explained that we would be giving a blessing to Joan’s mother, who had the flu. Joan had called Evan at the station and asked him to come. He was the only member of the Church she knew.
When we arrived at the Wilson home, Joan greeted us at the door but excused herself while we visited with her mother. Sally explained how much she wanted her daughter to come back to the Church and how she prayed for Mike and Joan to be able to receive the blessings of the gospel. After we visited for a few minutes, I anointed Sally and Evan blessed her. It was a simple blessing of comfort and good health.
As I drove Evan home, I felt grateful to have witnessed that priesthood blessing. I was also grateful for the introduction to the Wilson family and for spending those moments with Evan Payne, who passed away just a few months later.
In the following years I visited the Wilson home regularly. They welcomed me and remembered me as Evan’s friend. At first we just talked about Evan and what a great power for good he had been in our community. I remained the Wilsons’ home teacher for 15 years, and I tried to be like Evan and help whenever I could. Mike and Joan became my good friends and blessed my life in return.
Although Joan did not return to activity and Mike did not join the Church, I will always treasure their love and friendship. I was serving as bishop when Joan passed away. At the time of her death, Mike donated a large sum to the ward missionary fund. That money supported a missionary from our ward who joined the Church as a teenager and had no family resources to allow him to serve. Mike’s contribution indirectly touched the lives of the many converts that young elder taught.
Although I am certain Evan Payne did not intend to teach me any lessons that night many years ago, I learned that it is no burden to be about the Lord’s business. I try to be, as Evan was, truly interested in and concerned for our Heavenly Father’s children. And as a home teacher I try to be as faithful as Evan was and as the Savior would want me to be.

1. Prayerfully decide on the activity.
A counselor in the stake Young Women presidency was given the assignment of prayerfully searching for youth conference ideas. As she reviewed past activities, she realized that the stake had often tried to entertain the youth instead of getting them involved in a meaningful, testimony-building activity. Her recommendation for a service project was approved by the stake leadership and the search was on for the appropriate activity.
2. Prayerfully select specialists.
Once the project was decided, the stake looked for the technical help required to plan and oversee construction. The Tanners, a new couple in the stake, had knowledge and experience in construction that was vital to the project. For example, five days before construction was supposed to begin, it was discovered that the plans for the house did not meet local government building specifications. Brother Tanner and another builder worked many hours to re-draw the plans. Then the manufacturer of the roof trusses said he couldn’t assemble and deliver them until three days after the youth conference was scheduled. Brother Tanner knew how to negotiate with the manufacturer to get the trusses there on time.
3. Prayerfully decide who you are going to help.
Mr. and Mrs. Ward Roney, well known in the community as active members of the Catholic church, might have rejected the offer of help from Latter-day Saints. However, the Roneys and Brother and Sister Dazey and their family had been carefully, and prayerfully chosen. When a stake high councilor approached Mr. Roney and suggested replacing a barn that was destroyed by a storm, he was overwhelmed. As a result of the stake youths’ efforts, the Roney family allowed their daughter to attend stake girls’ camp, invited the stake to hold activities at their farm, and set up a scholarship fund for stake youth.
4. If the event is newsworthy, invite newspapers and television.
When the television and newspapers were informed about the project they each said they would send a reporter out for a few minutes. Although reluctant at first, the reporters were so impressed with the work being done they stayed for up to three hours. Favorable reports appeared in newspapers and on local television news.
5. Publicize and recruit.
It took time for some of the youth in the stake to get used to the idea of a service-oriented conference. The stake youth leadership held a fireside to build up enthusiasm. One boy, Todd, who at first did not want to become involved in the project, later surprised everyone with his enthusiasm. The builders showed him what needed to be done, and he worked like a professional. Todd also developed a good relationship with another, rather lonely boy, by working with him and showing him how to use tools. The two boys not only established a friendship between themselves but with the adults as well.
6. Hold frequent planning meetings.
The project planning committee met every two weeks for three months prior to the conference. The meetings were needed to make sure that all the arrangements had been made and preparations were going according to plan.
7. Plan fun activities for the evenings.
Even though the youth worked hard during the day, they still had energy left over for evening activities like dancing, singing around a campfire, and even competing with each other trying to climb a greased pole. After each evening’s fun time, the youth went home and came back the next day ready for more work.