Gospel Story Finder

“Hurry and finish breakfast, Tom,” David cried impatiently. “If the farm trucks go by, we won’t have a ride out to the strawberry fields and we’ll miss work today.”
Tom moaned as he stood up and reached for his straw hat. He was so stiff and sore from squatting and crawling along the rows that he only wished the delicious berries grew on trees instead of slithering along so low on the ground. At first Tom had been enthusiastic about his job, but he hadn’t realized what hard work it would be. He was from the city and was visiting his aunt and uncle. His cousin, David, was used to farm work, but Tom certainly wasn’t.
Tom thought about his friend, Mike, whom he had met yesterday while picking berries. Mike had to work hard every day. His whole family were migrant farm workers who traveled all over the country to harvest crops when they were ripe. Even their small children helped in the fields. They were very poor and lived in tents or whatever shelter was provided by the people they were working for. The family moved from job to job in an old pickup truck. The children were seldom in one place long enough to go to school, and that was the only thing he had heard Mike complain about.
Tom and David climbed onto the back of a big truck that stopped for them. It was already crammed with pickers so they sat on the tailgate. Most of the workers were boys but there were also a few women and girls, all eager to earn extra money during the short picking season.
The area around the packing shed was crowded but Tom searched until he found Mike. He wanted to work beside him again today. Each worker was given a flat carrier with eight empty strawberry boxes. Tom envied Mike’s speed. His nimble fingers finished a tray of boxes while Tom was still filling his third box. Mike’s younger sisters were fast workers too. They often laughed and teased each other, but they never stopped working.
Tom stood up and groaned as he straightened his aching back. Mike had gone for more empty boxes when Tom heard a strange sound and glanced down at his feet. He froze. A large rattlesnake was coiled between the rows, head raised, only a few inches from his tray! Afraid to move, Tom stood still, his heart pounding with fear.
“What’s wrong, Tom? What is it?” Mike shouted. He had started back from the end of the row when he noticed Tom’s white face.
“A rattler! A big one!” Tom called back tensely, still standing perfectly still. Perspiration was trickling down his forehead and stinging his eyes but he was afraid to move and wipe it away.
Mike dropped the boxes and grabbed a heavy stick, then raced toward his frightened friend. He leaped into the next row and warily approached the snake. After Mike had killed the snake, he lifted it with the stick and carried it to the edge of the berry patch. Tom sagged down and wiped his face with his sleeve. His breath came in ragged sighs and he was ashamed of his trembling. He had never been so afraid.
When Mike returned, he could see that Tom was embarrassed about being so frightened. To put him at ease, Mike said, “You did just right, not making any sudden moves, Tom. That snake was in striking position. I’m used to them and I wouldn’t want to kill a ‘good’ one because they eat grain-stealing mice and other pests, but I’m deathly afraid of rattlers and any other poisonous snakes.”
Tom appreciated his new friend’s tactfulness. Someone else might have laughed and made jokes about his fear. I owe Mike my life! he thought, shuddering.
He and Mike worked side by side for two weeks. After work they sometimes went to the large fenced area where the big geese were kept. Tom had been surprised when Mike told him that the big birds saved the growers a lot of work. They ate the weeds but would not bother the berry plants.
Tom’s muscles gradually adjusted to all the stooping and duck-walking between the long rows. He also became much better and faster at the work. His sunburn had peeled and now his face, arms, and legs were nearly as tanned as Mike’s.
Besides the physical benefits gained from his first job, Tom had learned a lot about people, not only about Mike and his family but about the other migrant workers as well. He had learned respect for the hardworking, nomadic people and had gained a new appreciation for his permanent home and the opportunity he had of going to school regularly. He had never really thought of these blessings before meeting Mike.
“I have enough money for my new bicycle, for the county fair, and some for my savings account,” David said on payday, proud that he had earned it himself. “How much do you have, Tom?”
“None,” Tom said softly. He had been staring out their bedroom window. He knew Mike and the other pickers had moved on north during the night. He would never see his friend again.
David was surprised. “How could you work for two whole weeks without getting paid?”
“I didn’t collect any pay,” Tom mumbled awkwardly.
“Why not?” David persisted. “You earned it and it was hard work. We’d better go over to see Mr. Grant and collect while he still has your work record.”
“He doesn’t owe me any money,” Tom said. “I didn’t want to tell anyone, but I gave it all to Mike. You see, his family is trying to buy a house where his grandmother lives so he and his sisters can stay in school. They hope to have enough money by this fall. Mike saved my life and I wanted to help them. I told Mr. Grant to give his parents all my pay.”
David looked down at the bills and change scattered across his bed. He was silent for a minute, thinking of all the hard work Tom’s money represented. Then he said thoughtfully, “I guess I could have given them some of mine too. I hope you won’t be sorry.”
“Don’t worry,” Tom said cheerfully. “I’ve never felt so happy about anything in my whole life. It’s the first time I’ve ever helped anyone all by myself and that’s a good feeling.”

Marcela Endrek, a native of Córdoba, Argentina, was sick and sad. It weighed heavily on her. In the midst of feeling there was no way out, she heard a conference talk that spoke of prayer. The thought came directly to her heart to pray earnestly about her troubles.
She began praying regularly for relief. Praying brought her peace and comfort even though her health didn’t improve. In fact, her condition worsened until she could no longer work. Now she had the additional stress of not being able to afford medical expenses.
Out of necessity, she started to investigate how she might cope with her health problems some other way. She felt prompted to focus on changing some eating habits and was surprised at how much it helped. Her recovery was so impressive that she began studying nutrition in depth.
Sometime later, she met a young woman named Evelyn in the same condition as Marcela had been—sick, sad, and desperate for answers. Marcela saw herself in her new friend. She shared some of what she had been learning about food choices and nutrition. She also shared with Evelyn her witness of the power of prayer. She invited Evelyn to pray so that she would also feel God’s love and know that He was aware of her.
A few days later, Marcela was thrilled to see Evelyn again. A change was already apparent physically and spiritually. Evelyn let her know that her life was changing and that she could feel God’s love for her.
From her trials and challenges, Marcela gained both compassion and information she needed to help others.

About this time, a seminary teacher in our branch challenged me to write in my journal every day for 20 days. She said if I did, it would become a habit. I decided to try it.

Writing was hard at first, but it got easier. I found that by writing down my feelings and thoughts, I naturally included feelings and thoughts of a spiritual nature. I made my record fun by trying to include information I thought my children might be interested in someday—for example, how much things cost. I figured it would be interesting for them to see what daily life was like when I was young.

I received my 20-day challenge five years ago. I’m still writing in my journal every night. I get it out before I go to bed. I read my scriptures; then I write in my journal. Now it’s automatic, and I plan to keep writing in it throughout my life.

Taking a break from the welding work he is doing, Byron Iquic raises his visor and wipes the sweat from his brow. President Iquic, president of the San Juan Branch, Guatemala City Florida Stake, is building a new home for his wife, Etelvina, and their four children.
He loves his family and wants the house to be comfortable, but he also wants it to be safe and strong. Locks, lights, and a sturdy roof and walls are just some of the features meant to protect his family from man and nature.
As he talks about protecting his precious family, he pauses. Because President Iquic is familiar with the legend of Mixco Viejo, he understands that regardless of how well the house keeps things out, the greatest dangers to his family could come from what the family lets in.
President and Sister Iquic are trying to preserve their family and fortify it against the world, also a difficult task but possible through family prayer (see D&C 10:5), family scripture study (see 1 Nephi 15:23–24), family home evening (see 2 Nephi 25:26), and teaching the importance of obedience (see D&C 88:34).
President and Sister Iquic are also teaching repentance because they understand that even after all they and their family do to protect themselves, there may be more doors than can be guarded. And in a moment of weakness caused by distraction, someone might fall.
In preparation for those moments, President and Sister Iquic recognize that they must teach their children not just faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement but also repentance (see D&C 68:25) so that when their children make mistakes, they will recognize the breach in the wall and know how to fix it.
“Temptation will always be there,” President Iquic says. “We must recognize our mistakes and repent quickly, or they will impede our progress and keep us from the protection of the Spirit.”
With daylight fading and the legend of Mixco Viejo in mind, President Iquic puts his tools away and calls his family together for evening prayer against the gathering darkness.

When he finally returned home, Elder Poulter felt discouraged and embarrassed about the meagre results of his three years in the mission field. In time, his perspective changed and some 40 years later, he was inspired to share this experience in a Sunday School class.
“I bore my testimony that our part in the Lord’s plan is not always apparent. I never learned what had become of the Hu family, [but] I don’t have to; doing the Lord’s work is its own reward.”
Three days later, Elder Poulter received a letter that had been forwarded to him via a missionary in Taipei. It was from a Mr. Hu Wei Yi. In the letter, Brother Hu, now in his 80s, recounted his family’s baptism and reported that he had been a patriarch, a temple sealer and was even set apart by President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) to be a translator.
The list of titles Mr. Hu translated included all the books Elder Poulter had given him, plus many more, “and then I read, The Book of Mormon. I couldn’t believe my eyes,” Elder Poulter writes. Yes, the Book of Mormon, the revealed word of God was translated into the second most spoken language in the world, by a humble man who had been prepared by the Lord to meet a pair of faithful missionaries.

It’s important to obey the commandments and do what the Lord wants you to do. I learned this at a fairly young age.
When I was eleven years old, I began a paper route and was amazed at the amount of money I made. It was hard work, but I enjoyed it and was still delivering papers six years later.
One day the manager of the newspaper, as a result of my loyalty to the paper, offered me a job as assistant manager of circulation for the newspaper. My duties would include supervising other newspaper carriers and helping them sell subscriptions. In addition, every day after school and after delivering my route, I would spend a few hours at the office, answering complaints on the telephone. Between phone calls, I would be allowed to do my homework. The new job would include a raise—triple what I had been making as a newspaper carrier!
I was thrilled. I had been saving money for my mission, and many of my friends didn’t even have jobs. I really felt that the Lord was blessing me for keeping the commandments, including paying my tithing faithfully and keeping the Sabbath day holy.
A year and a half later, the manager approached me again. Plans were being made to begin a Sunday edition of the newspaper. He indicated with some enthusiasm that I would be able to deliver my papers early on Sunday morning, then come into the office to answer the telephone from 7:00 A.M. to 2:00 P.M. There would, of course, be another pay increase.
The manager saw that I was hesitating. Knowing that I was an active member of the Church, he said, “You may be thinking of not accepting this extra responsibility, but if you don’t take the job, you’ll lose your regular paper route and your weekday job. Many of the other paperboys would give their right arms to have your job. If you don’t take it, you’re fired.”
As I went home that day, I was discouraged and confused. I knew that I had been obeying the commandments, and I couldn’t understand why I would have to make such a difficult decision. I talked to my father and to my bishop, but they both indicated that the decision was up to me. My dad said, “I don’t know the answer, but I know someone who does (meaning the Lord). Ask Him.”
After I prayed and struggled for two days, I knew what I had to do. I knew that while there are some people who have to work on Sunday, I didn’t have to and shouldn’t. When I told the manager of my decision, he was angry, told me I was fired and to come in Saturday to pick up my last paycheck, then stomped away. For the next several days, he hardly spoke to me. I really wondered if I had made a correct decision, as it would have a direct impact on the finances for my mission.
When I went to pick up my last check, I found the manager waiting for me. “Please forgive me,” he said. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have tried to make you go against your beliefs and break a commandment of the Lord. (He was an inactive member of the Church.) I have found another young man who is willing to work on Sunday. You can keep your job. Will you?” He then added. “You will find in your check next week and for as long as you work for me the amount of money you would have received had you worked on Sunday.”
Of course I did keep the job. I felt great joy that afternoon as I went home. I know that the Lord blesses us for keeping His commandments and doing what we know we should. Be careful that you never compromise the principles that you believe in. Remember to always trust in the Lord, and He will bless you for it.

On another occasion two of our elders, rather young and inexperienced, had gone to open a new city to missionary work. The city was almost totally Catholic and was reportedly under the domination of the Catholic bishop who lived there. As these elders went about their work, making contacts and becoming acquainted, people frequently said to them, “Does the bishop know you are here?”
They would answer, “We don’t know.”
“Well, it will be interesting to see what happens when he finds out.”
One day the trouble came. A priest came to their lodging and delivered a letter. It said in substance, “We would like to know by what authority you come into this community and teach your doctrine without having first cleared it with the bishop of this area. Therefore, we ask you to appear at a special meeting that will be held at the central Catholic church.”
The elders called mission headquarters.
“President, what should we do? Can you come and help us?”
I answered, “No, I can’t come, but they have offered you an invitation to explain what we believe. That is what you went there for, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes, but how do we handle this situation?”
I said, “I’ll have my assistant join you. Accept the invitation, but do it on two conditions. Say, ‘We’ll be glad to come if we are treated with courtesy and if you will assure us the opportunity to explain what we believe.’”
In the meeting, the priest in charge, without any formality, stood up and said, “These two young men are here teaching their religion, and we have called you together to hear an explanation of their doctrine.” There were two or three hundred people present representing the influential people of the city.
The elders then stood up and spoke of the Apostasy, the Restoration, and the Book of Mormon. As they finished, they said, “If you people will read this Book of Mormon and pray about it, the Lord will give you a testimony.” A priest in the rear of the hall immediately jumped up and said, “Oh, no, no, no. None of you can read that book.” Everyone laughed. The only problem occurred after the meeting when a Seventh-day Adventist got into an argument with one of the priests. Our elders, on the other hand, had several very pleasant conversations. From then on they caused no problems by proselyting in that city.

I also went to Philadelphia, Mississippi, as I had been prompted. There, on the Choctaw reservation, I learned the story of the Nanah-weya. Archaeologists think that the Choctaw are probably of Mayan descent—from Central America—because their language, customs, and culture are similar to those of the Mayans. Choctaw legends tell of their migration from their old lands, where they had been persecuted. A prophet had told them of a land waiting for them, where they would be safe. Two brothers, Chataw and Chickasaw, led the people out of the old land.
The people followed the “leaning pole,” a sacred pole placed in front of the leaders’ camp each night. Some legends say that a sacred medicine bag was tied to the pole. Each morning, the people traveled in the direction the pole leaned. They carried their ancestors’ bones with them.
When they reached the area that is now Northern Mississippi, there was a tremendous rainstorm. The people thought that in the morning they would find the sacred pole flat on the ground because of the rain. Instead, the pole stood straight, its shaft buried deep in the mud.
That is where the people stayed. In the new land they held a great council to decide what to do with their ancestors’ bones. The decision they made was to build a large mound and bury them there. This mound, called the Nanah-weya, means “leaning mountain,” or “mother mound.”

They finally asked Andy to be in the Third Street Tigers. His best friend, Michael, was already in the club. If only he wasn’t afraid to climb up to the tree house where they had the meetings! Wooden planks were nailed up the trunk like a ladder, but whenever Andy tried to climb anything, he got a funny feeling in his stomach.
One day he decided to try climbing while no one was looking. On the fourth step, his stomach did a double flip, and he dropped to the grass. Turning to go home, Andy found Montgomery blocking his way.
“You’re afraid! You’re afraid!” teased Montgomery.
“What do you mean?” Andy gulped.
“You chickened out. I saw you! You’ll never be a Tiger.”
“Leave me alone!”
Laughing, Montgomery pushed Andy. “Maybe you should join the preschoolers. They meet in the sandbox.”
In the morning, Andy told Michael what had happened. “It’s no use,” Andy sighed. “I’ll never get all the way up. Montgomery was right.”
“But you have to be a Tiger,” Michael said. “Best friends are always in the same club.”
“Yeah, but Montgomery …”
“Forget Montgomery. I know something that might help you build up your courage. Meet me at the gym after school,” Michael said as he headed back to class.
All day long, Andy wondered what Michael’s plan was and if it would work. He wanted to be in the Tigers more than anything.
The gym was crowded when Andy found Michael in a corner, watching a girl do a somersault on the balance beam.
“What’s the plan?” Andy asked.
“The balance beam.”
“You’re not getting me up there. I saw what that girl was doing.”
“Not the high beam,” said Michael. “There’s a lower beam over there.” As he talked, Michael pulled Andy across the room.
Andy put one foot on the beam, then jerked it down again. He hoped the Tigers were worth all this trouble. With Michael guiding him, Andy finally walked to the other end. Then he saw Montgomery watching him.
Andy stepped down to the floor. “What do you want?”
“I came to see if you’re still afraid.”
“Let’s go,” Michael said to Andy. “We’re done here, anyway.”
As they left, Montgomery shouted, “Hey, Andy, maybe you can join the Tigers when you grow up.”
On Friday, Michael talked Andy into trying to climb the tree again. As he got close to it, Andy felt a familiar flutter in his stomach. Hitching up his pants and crossing his fingers once for luck, he started up the tree.
First step, no problem. Second step, fine. By the third step, Andy felt as if he could make it. Then the plank pulled away from the trunk, and Andy tumbled to the ground.
Andy and Michael were both thinking the same thing: Montgomery must have loosened the step. “I’m going to find him,” Andy raged. He headed for Montgomery’s favorite hangout, the city park. By the time he got there, he’d cooled off. What’s the use? he thought. No matter what I say, Montgomery will never leave me alone.
He turned to go back to Michael, when he heard yelling and a dog barking. Andy ran toward the sound and found Montgomery backed up against a fence, his arms covering his face. In front of him stood a large, barking dog.
Wow! Tough Montgomery is afraid of dogs! Andy wanted to run and tell Michael, but then he remembered how he had felt halfway up the tree. I guess everybody’s afraid of something.
Andy grabbed the dog’s collar. “Calm down, Montgomery! Don’t you recognize Mr. Henry’s dog, Skipper? He only wants you to play with him.”
“Keep him away from me!” cried Montgomery.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” Andy told him. “Let him smell your hand.”
“No way! I’m getting out of here.”
“Watch me.” Andy bent down and held out his hand. The dog sniffed, then licked it. “Now you try,” Andy said.
Cautiously Montgomery put out his hand while Andy held the dog. When Skipper licked it, too, both boys began to laugh.
“It tickles,” said Montgomery.
The boys heard someone calling Skipper, and the dog ran off.
Montgomery jammed his hands into his pockets and played in the dirt with his shoe. “Thanks for saving me. Are you going to tell?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know,” Andy said. “It doesn’t seem right.”
“I’m sorry for picking on you,” Montgomery apologized. “If you want, I’ll help you climb the tree tomorrow—no tricks, I promise.”
“How come?”
“Isn’t that what friends are supposed to do?”
In the morning, Andy and Montgomery went to the giant tree early. Andy took a deep breath, then looked up. The Third Street Tigers clubhouse was up high!
“You can do it,” Montgomery said. “I’ll be right behind you. If you get scared, stop and rest.”
Andy swallowed hard. With shaky hands he grabbed the bottom plank. Nervously he pulled himself up. Counting to three, he moved on to the second step, then the third, which had been nailed on tight again. He bit his bottom lip and stopped to gather his courage.
Andy forced himself to continue from each step to the next. When he saw the opening of the tree house, he heard Montgomery say, “I knew you’d make it!”
They pulled themselves inside to wait for the rest of their friends. Andy could hardly believe that he’d done it. When Michael arrived, he asked, “What happened? How’d you do it?”
Andy and Montgomery just looked at each other and grinned.

Many teens in the South run to Florida beaches for spring break, but cousins Marty Craig, an elder in the Newnan Ward, Jonesboro Georgia Stake, and John ‘Mac’ Williams, a recent convert and priest in the Woodstock Ward, East Marietta Georgia Stake, headed to Honduras.
And it wasn’t for fun and games. They worked hard to help finish a dam for an 11-acre reservoir to power a generator for a boys’ school. Not only that, but they helped collect shirts, hats, candy, and machinery in Georgia to take down to the school. Oh, and of course they milked cows, helped build a new building, and shoveled and bagged rice. The school, “El Sembrador,” is almost self-sufficient now.
They also brought four copies of the Book of Mormon with them and personally presented them to some of the young men at the school. Marty is now continuing his missionary work full-time in the Dominican Republic. Mac will follow him into the mission field as soon as he graduates.

In August 1978 I received an assignment to attend a stake conference in Seoul, South Korea. After priesthood leadership meeting, I was in the hallway when a sister about 60 years old whispered in my ear in Japanese, “I don’t like Japanese people.”
I was shocked and surprised. I turned around and responded in Japanese, “I’m sorry you feel that way.” I wondered what she had experienced in her life that caused her to feel that way. What damage had my people done to her people?
In my talk during the evening session of stake conference, I spoke of the Savior’s Atonement and His great sacrifice. I shared with stake members the story of Nephi and how the Spirit of the Lord took him to a high mountain. There he saw the tree of life, which his father, Lehi, had seen, and there he saw the baby Jesus (see 1 Nephi 11:1–20). Then an angel asked him if he knew the meaning of the tree his father had seen in vision.
Nephi answered, “Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men; wherefore, it is the most desirable above all things.” The angel added, “Yea, and the most joyous to the soul” (1 Nephi 11:22–23).
The love of God can help us overcome all prejudice and misunderstanding. We are truly God’s children, and we can take His love into our souls if we will.
Savior, may I learn to love thee,
Walk the path that thou hast shown,
Pause to help and lift another,
Finding strength beyond my own. 1
Without planning to, I began to share my connection with the Korean people. I told the congregation that I had grown up with nine Korean cousins. They came to our home, and my siblings and I often went to their homes. I ate Korean food and learned Korean songs. My aunt married a wonderful Korean man. They raised their children in Japan, in the same town where I grew up.
In the middle of my talk, I asked someone to play the piano as I sang a Korean folk song with President Ho Nam Rhee, the first stake president in South Korea. Then I asked President Rhee to help me sing the Korean national anthem, though I hadn’t sung it since my boyhood. It had been a long time since I had learned it from my Korean uncle, but the words came back to me. I then asked the congregation to sing it with me. They all stood and sang their beautiful national anthem. Many tears were shed, and it was hard for me to sing. A wonderful and sweet spirit prevailed.
I told the members of the stake that just as I loved my Korean cousins, I also loved them—because we are all God’s children, because we are all brothers and sisters in the gospel, and because of the love of God (see 1 Nephi 11:22, 25). We all felt that eternal love, and almost everyone in the congregation wept. I told them, “I love you as my brothers and sisters in the gospel.”
After the evening session had ended, stake members made a long line to greet me. The last person in line was the 60-year-old Korean sister, who came to me with tears in her eyes and apologized. The Spirit of the Lord was strong. The Savior’s healing wings carried all of us, and the spirit of peace spoke to the congregation. I felt as one with them.

Julie and Karen looked at the old clock and compared it with the other clocks on the wall. It looked about the same with its glass windows and ornately painted face, but it seemed to Julie that there was something special about this clock.
“Where did you get this one?” Karen asked.
“The Thompsons found it in the attic of the old house they just bought, and gave the clock to Mother. Isn’t it pretty?”
Karen looked at the old, old clock and reluctantly nodded her head. “I guess so,” she said.
“Someday I’m going to collect clocks too,” Julie explained.
Karen stepped a little closer. “I’d rather have something newer,” she said, still puzzled over Julie’s excitement.
“But just imagine the life this old clock must have had. It must be one hundred years old!”
Karen still couldn’t see why Julie was so excited. “It’s just an old clock,” she said.
“Oh, but listen to the music of the constant ticktock!”
“It’s just an old clock,” Karen repeated.
“Here,” Julie said, determined to make Karen see her point, “now listen to its beautiful chime.”
Carefully she opened the door and pulled the lever to sound the chimes. “Bong, bong, bong, thud!”
“Oh, no!” Julie cried. “What’s wrong?”
“Look!” Karen pointed to a paper caught in the bars.
Julie pulled the paper out and quickly unfolded it. The paper was old and greasy from the clock works. Mehn sind im kutschen haus was written there.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Karen said after trying to read it.
“Mother,” Julie called. “Look what we found in this clock.”
Mother took the paper. “This is written in German.”
“German? Do you think Dad could read it?” Julie asked.
“Well, he used to speak German.”
Julie waited impatiently for her father to come home.
“Dad,” she called, running out the door when his car pulled into the driveway, “can you translate this for me?”
“What is it?” her father asked as he took the paper.
“I found it in the clock Mother got from the Thompsons.”
“German, hmmmmm …” Father looked surprised. “It’s been a long time since I’ve used my German. Come in the house and I’ll see what I can do.”
Julie followed him into the house. “I just know it’s something exciting,” she said.
“Maybe it’s just a shopping list,” Father teased with a twinkle in his eye.
“Oh, Dad,” Julie sighed. “It’s more than that. Someone had to put that paper in the clock for a special reason.”
“Well, let’s see.” Father sat down at the kitchen table and smoothed out the paper. “Hmmmm, this is interesting.”
“What does it say?” Julie could hardly stand still.
“It says, ‘More are in the carriage house.’”
“More what?” Julie asked.
“Maybe more clocks. That’s all it says.”
“It doesn’t say what carriage house either?” Julie asked hopefully.
“No,” he answered. “Not even a clue.”
“More are in the carriage house!” Julie repeated. “It really is a mystery!”
All night Julie wondered about the strange message, and by morning she had an idea. Hurriedly she dressed, ate her breakfast, and did her chores; then she went to Karen’s house.
“Come on!” she shouted when Karen answered the door. “We have a mystery to solve today!” Quickly she tumbled out the words to explain.
Karen was soon ready and they both were off to the Thompsons. They knocked on the huge wooden door and impatiently waited for someone to answer. Finally Mrs. Thompson opened the door.
Julie pulled the paper from her pocket and explained, “Yesterday we found this note in the old clock you gave Mother, and we want to ask you about it.”
Mrs. Thompson took the paper. “What does it say?”
“It’s German, and it means, ‘More are in the carriage house.’”
Mrs. Thompson explained, “We bought this house from a man named Schiller. His mother immigrated to the United States from Germany when she was only twenty. She learned to speak English, but she never could read or write it.”
Julie listened intently to what Mrs. Thompson said. “Do you think she wrote this?”
“Could be,” Mrs. Thompson agreed.
“What about a carriage house?” Julie asked.
“I don’t know,” Mrs. Thompson began; then she stopped. “Wait, I’ll bet it’s that old building out back. Mr. Schiller said it had been damaged in a windstorm ten years ago, and no one has bothered to restore it.”
Julie and Karen jumped with excitement. “Come on!” they shouted.
Mrs. Thompson led them down a hall and out the back door to a building with only two walls standing. A little piece of roof was stretched between them.
If there were anything stored in there, it’s probably ruined now! Karen thought.
Cautiously the girls climbed through the rubble looking for a clue. They removed some of the fallen roof and pulled away the huge weeds that had grown up through the wood.
“Look!” Karen shouted.
Julie and Mrs. Thompson ran to where Karen had picked up a piece of fallen roof that revealed a trap door in the floor of the old carriage house.
“If you’ll hold that a little higher,” Julie said, “I’ll see if I can open the door.”
Mrs. Thompson helped Karen hold the piece of roof as Julie climbed under and lifted the trap door.
“Wow!” she exclaimed. “Here’s a huge old trunk!”
“This must be it!” Karen whispered in amazement.
Cautiously Julie lowered herself into the hole and tried to open the trunk, but it was stuck.
“Dad’s home today. I’ll go get him to help us!” she said.
In a few minutes Julie was back with her father. Mrs. Thompson and Karen had moved the piece of roofing off the door. Julie’s father jumped into the hole and began to pry open the trunk with some tools he had brought with him.
Slowly the lid began to give, and then suddenly it flipped up. Julie’s eyes opened wide as she looked at four beautiful box clocks!
“Here’s another note in German,” her father said, pulling a yellowed paper from between the clocks.
“What does it say?” Julie asked excitedly.
Slowly Father translated. “When I came to this country, I brought many things that were strange to people here. My sons wanted me to throw them out, but I loved these old clocks far too much to throw away. They were my grandmother’s and my mother’s.
“I reasoned that whoever restored my brown box clock would find my message. It would undoubtedly be someone who loves clocks and will take care of them. So to whoever learns my secret, please give these clocks loving and tender care. Frau Schiller.”
“Well,” Mrs. Thompson said, “I guess this means you, Julie.”
“But it’s your …” Julie began.
“Oh,” Mrs. Thompson interrupted, “I never liked old clocks, and Karen has told me she doesn’t either. You are the one Frau Schiller meant.”
“Oh, thank you,” Julie almost shouted. “What a wonderful mystery this has turned out to be!”

We are counseled to seek learning and gain education for several purposes, but one of them is to involve ourselves in a love for and a knowledge of great books. And we ought to be born again a great many times as a consequence. You are involved with a large number of great teachers and important philosophies that will also help you to be born again.

One of the most pleasant and productive experiences in my life happened in 1943 as the Japanese war was taking place. I heard Dr. Adam S. Bennion give a lecture on the value of great literature. You can sell the idea of the value of great ideas to anyone. That is, we all believe that we should be acquainted with great human thought. But almost everyone gets away from its benefit by saying that he doesn’t have time to read. To get away from this objection of not having time, Dr. Bennion said, “Suppose that you were going to be a prisoner in a Japanese concentration camp for the next four years and you could take with you the works of any ten authors. Which would you take, and what would you expect to get out of them?” That is, what are the values of great ideas, of great literature? His idea was to take the ten authors you would most like to resemble and then exhaust each one in turn. That is, you would read every thought and consider every idea that a particular author had ever recorded; you would rethink his every idea. The psychologists say that when you run an idea through your brain, it makes a little groove or engram. If you run through your mind the kind of ideas that went through the mind of Shakespeare or Emerson or the apostle Paul or Moses or Jesus of Nazareth, then your brain will tend to respond as their brains did.

From someplace I got the courage to make the start. I guess Shakespeare comes fairly close to the top of most people’s lists of great authors. So I got out Shakespeare’s 37 plays, his sonnets, and his poems and went to work. Reading them was pretty difficult at first. I read very slowly and perhaps not very comprehendingly. Shakespeare wrote a long time ago, and there were many things that I did not understand. I had to reread some things several times, look up their meanings, and ask people about them. But finally the clouds began to part, a little bit of the sunlight began to come through, and I had a tremendous experience with Shakespeare. Shakespeare looked with clearer insight into human life than do most men. He said his purpose in writing was to hold the mirror up to life, to show virtue her own image and scorn her own likeness. He said, “I your looking-glass will be and will modestly discover to yourself qualities which you yourself know not of.” I had a great uplift as I read his speeches and his arguments for success. And as he pictured life in miniature with his great characters acting and reacting upon each other, I was intellectually born again—a great many times. Each time we discover some inspiring thought, we can be changed, and changed for the better.

I am impressed with the deep humility of President Kimball. Years ago he related an experience that emphasizes that the person in a Church position is not as great as the calling. Elder Spencer W. Kimball gives us this story:
“In a hotel in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania long years ago, I learned an important lesson when the president of the Rotary International said to the district governors in the assembly:
“‘Gentlemen: This has been a great year for you. The people have honored you, praised you, banqueted you, applauded you, and given you lavish gifts. If you ever get the mistaken idea that they were doing this for you personally, just try going back to the clubs next year when the mantle is on other shoulders.’
“This has kept me on my knees in my holy calling. Whenever I have been inclined to think the honors were coming to me as I go about the Church, then I remember that it is not to me, but to the position I hold that honors come. I am but a symbol.” (In Conference Report, Oct. 1958, p. 57.)

We also visited my widowed Aunt Dorothy before she died. She had been very ill for some time, yet she lived on. She waited patiently to be with her husband again after this life. She depended on help from others but lived as fully as possible. She often read the scriptures. A small sign in her home expressed Dorothy’s attitude. It simply said, “Joy.”
Some of the happiest people I know: my mother, Ramona (top), my cousin Dave and Penny Barnes (center), and my Aunt Dorothy (above).
Photographs courtesy of the author
The Keetch family, my mother, Dave, Penny, and Aunt Dorothy are examples of being joyful during trials. They simply live the gospel and look to better days ahead. In doing so they show joy that exceeds the temporary, though painful, trials they face. With faith in God, they follow His plan for them and rely on Jesus Christ and the blessings of His Atonement. This brings joy and peace.

by Carl G. Bechtold
For a while, Scout Troop 258 from Cody, Wyoming, had a seven-foot Eagle Scout. And he didn’t even play basketball! He was, in fact, a bronze statue.
Sculptor Peter Fillerup, who is an assistant Scoutmaster for the troop, was commissioned by the Boy Scouts of America to make a statue for the Philmont (New Mexico) High Adventure Camp. He naturally went to the Scouts in his troop to find models to pose for the statue.
The Scouts also benefited from the occasion by earning their sculpting merit badges, which required them to make clay sculptures of their own.
Kevin Card, 13, served as the main model for the statue, and Shawn Dansie, 14, accompanied Brother Fillerup to the foundry in Lehi, Utah, to see the statue cast.
On June 28, the statue was delivered. So much for the idea of running away with the stake basketball championship with their own seven footer.

I am a 77-year-old returned missionary and graduate of BYU—also a fan of the New Era. I enjoyed “Time Out for a Mission” in the June New Era. I would like to bear testimony to the fact that going on my mission before finishing college was one of the best things I ever did. My eight brothers and sisters and I were born in the shadows of BYU in Provo, and our parents were educators, so we were expected to become college graduates. In many ways I was a “shrinking violet” personality until after I filled my mission. Reentering BYU after returning from my mission, I would head for the front seat in all of my classes. I wasn’t afraid to raise my hand and answer questions. I had become an outgoing, friendly person and received high grades in my classes. I attribute my success to what I gained by being a missionary before I finished college.
Rita D. Williams

I was given the chore of cleaning up our large playroom by myself. I looked at the mess all over the floor and felt sad because I knew I would be cleaning for a long time. My mom teaches me to pray when I feel sad, so I knelt down and asked Heavenly Father to help me clean the playroom and not feel sad. I stood up and had the idea of singing Primary songs as I cleaned. As I sang, I felt much better and was able to clean the whole playroom very quickly. I know that Heavenly Father answers prayers sometimes by giving us ideas in our minds.

Michael slung his backpack over his shoulder. It was the first day of school, and he couldn’t wait! He and his family lived in India. Many children in his city couldn’t go to school. Michael was grateful he had the opportunity to learn.
He liked learning—especially mathematics. He also loved reading magazines. He turned the colorful pages. He read about different animals and places around the world.
One day Michael read a different kind of magazine. It was from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Michael loved reading it. He wanted to learn more.
Michael had gone to other churches before. He liked learning about Jesus. But sometimes he felt confused. Which church was the true church?
Later, he read a booklet about the prophet Joseph Smith. He felt something special as he read it. Joseph Smith had also gone to different churches too searching for the truth. Maybe I’m like Joseph, Michael thought.
Michael wanted to go to this new church to see what it was like. But there were no Latter-day Saint churches in India. Michael was disappointed. He kept learning all he could. He read the Book of Mormon and prayed. He knew it was true! He wanted to be baptized. But he would have to wait.
Years passed. When Michael was 21, a senior missionary couple came to India. Finally, Michael was baptized! Soon he was able to serve a mission of his own in Utah, USA.
More years passed. One day a friend called him. The Church was looking for people to help translate general conference for people in India. Michael was nervous at first. But he was happy to help.
One October afternoon Michael was translating a talk by President Nelson in general conference. He heard the prophet announce that a temple would be built in India! Michael wanted to shout for joy. He cried happy tears.
Michael was grateful for all he had learned at school. But most of all, he was grateful he had learned about the gospel of Jesus Christ. He was happy more people in his country could learn about Him too!
Today, Michael helps translate general conference for people in India.

I have learned to think more about the future and my choices because I was so close to death. At school, I heard girls complaining about how they were having a “bad hair day.” As I was sitting there in my hot pink wheelchair with a wig on my head, I would think, “Well at least you have hair!” Girls would also complain about their feet hurting from walking around in high heels. I would think to myself, “At least you can walk.” Now I try to focus more on the big picture instead of the small things I used to worry about.