Gospel Story Finder

The enthusiasm the dogs have for pulling is obvious the minute Tawnya walks outside with harnesses in hand. The dogs prick up their ears and begin barking and jumping. They’re eager.
“I learn lots of things from these dogs,” Tawnya says. “Enthusiasm for what you’re doing is one of them. Another is obedience. You don’t use reins with them, just voice commands. If they didn’t listen to what I told them, I could have had some really bad accidents. Once, if the dogs had followed their instincts and kept running, rather than stopping right when I told them to, we would have gone right between a mother bear and her cub. I don’t think any of us would have survived that.”

“My attitude toward the law of tithing was set in place by the example and words of my mother, illustrated in a conversation I remember from my youth.

“During World War II, my widowed mother supported her three young children on a schoolteacher’s salary that was meager. When I became conscious that we went without some desirable things because we didn’t have enough money, I asked my mother why she paid so much of her salary as tithing. I have never forgotten her explanation: ‘Dallin, there might be some people who can get along without paying tithing, but we can’t. The Lord has chosen to take your father and leave me to raise you children. I cannot do that without the blessings of the Lord, and I obtain those blessings by paying an honest tithing. When I pay my tithing, I have the Lord’s promise that he will bless us, and we must have those blessings if we are to get along.’”2

Years later, he and his brother and two sisters packed a wagon full of vegetables, bottled fruit, flour, pots and pans, and clothing and moved to Salt Lake City to attend the University of Utah.
Mother: Good luck! We’re so proud of you all.
David: Thank you, Mother. We’ll write often.
David made time for both studying and having fun. He joined the university’s first football team.
Coach: Nice play, McKay!
He ran for class president.
Student: Congratulations, David! You won the election.
And when he graduated, he was the valedictorian—an award given to the person with the highest grades.
School president: Congratulations, David. You’ve worked hard.
David: Thank you.

Like Jim, as a young man I was privileged to have “goodly parents” (1 Ne. 1:1). They taught gospel principles and values to our family by precept and example. As a young boy I thought I had a testimony. I believed! Then came some personal spiritual experiences through faith, prayer, scripture study, and especially father’s blessings in our home that caused me to think more seriously about the principles I had been taught and believed—but even more deeply about what I was beginning to feel. I will be forever grateful to parents who helped coach me through those precious spiritual experiences. They have had a lasting impact on me and on the strength of my testimony.

When the pumpkins and corn had been harvested, Governor Bradford declared, “We will hold a harvest feast of thanksgiving so we might all rejoice together!”
The colony bustled in preparation. An invitation was sent to the friendly Indians. Chief Massasoit and ninety braves came, bearing five deer to be barbecued. Hunters returned from the forest laden with wild turkeys, geese, and ducks. The women busied themselves with baking, while the children tended the roasts on the spits over open fires. Long tables were spread outdoors, and everyone sat down together. Besides the game from the forest, the table was spread with fish, clams and other shellfish, succulent eels, journeycake, corn bread with nuts, succotash, pumpkin stewed in maple sap, dried berries, plums, grapes, leeks, watercress, and various other herbs.
The celebration lasted three days. Elder Brewster gave a prayer of thanksgiving, and Captain Standish staged a military review. There were games of chance—the Pilgrims competing with flintlocks, the Indians with bows and arrows. There were songs and expressions of worship and praise. After the celebration, the Indians returned to the woods and the Pilgrims to their duties of enlarging the colony and making it snug for winter.
Contentedly, Ellen watched the dancing lights cast by the flickering fire upon the cabin walls. A steady wind whistled outside in the starlit darkness. Sighing softly, Ellen said, “The celebration is over now, but thanksgiving goes on and on. I’m thankful that I’m a Pilgrim and live in America and that Sarah and Roger came so we can all be together.”
Her father patted her hand. “The Lord is good. America is good. She is our sweet land of promise.”

Realizing what faults you had and taking steps to overcome them was something that each person experienced. Larry had participated in a perfect week campaign and also a perfect day experiment on his mission. “Like many returned missionaries, I had fallen down on my study habits. There just always seemed to be so many other things to do. So when I received this call from the bishop, I decided I needed to regain that closeness to the Lord I had felt on my mission.
“Things didn’t quite work out like I had planned them. I ended up having a painful wisdom tooth removed, but still I don’t feel my day was a failure. I was conscientiously trying to live perfectly—no matter what the circumstances. I was trying to upgrade myself in normal, everyday circumstances. And I relearned some very important things.”

Photographs courtesy of Melanie Garcia
On a cold but beautifully sunny day last March, youth from one Texas ward volunteered in their community’s benefit run to help raise awareness for colon cancer. The young men and women were put in charge of providing directions and handing out bottled water and bananas to the runners and walkers. The young men and women also released hundreds of balloons to start the race and to mark the run’s halfway point. “I loved seeing how happy the runners and walkers were when they saw us cheering them on and seeing 300 balloons fill the sky as we let them go,” says Thomas G., a deacon who helped out.
The Latter-day Saint youth were easy to spot since they all wore special volunteer shirts that read, “Arise & Shine Forth Volunteer 2012.” The event’s coordinator spoke highly of the youth and their willingness to serve, saying, “I couldn’t have done this event without the ‘Arise & Shine Forth’ volunteers.”
Rachael D., one of the Laurels at the event, summed up the experience saying, “It felt like we were standing out and making a difference in our own lives and other people’s lives. A lot of people had a blue event shirt, but ours had our Mutual theme on it. I felt like I was wearing a banner that said, ‘I stand up and help where I can and whenever I can.’”

“And the winner of our school reading contest is Joshua Hawkins!”
Marcus watched his friend Josh high-five his way to the podium. The principal, Mrs. Houston, shook his hand and gave him a certificate. Marcus knew Josh deserved to win. He could read a book in one afternoon that would take Marcus two weeks to finish.
Next, Trina got an award for winning the science fair. Then Mrs. Houston gave out awards for straight As and for the highest scores on the state achievement tests. Marcus kept listening, but Mrs. Houston didn’t call his name.
Marcus hoped the assembly would be over soon. He was tired of sitting, and his hands were getting sore from clapping. Most of all, he was disappointed. He wished he could be the best at something.
Finally, Mrs. Houston adjusted her glasses and smiled. “Our last awards are for perfect attendance,” she said. Marcus slumped in his seat. Last month he had chicken pox, so he wouldn’t be getting an attendance award either.
On the way home, Ari leaned over the bus seat and poked Marcus on the arm. “Hey, Josh got three awards, but Trina only got two,” he said. “How many did you get?”
Marcus’s face felt hot. “None,” he said.
Marcus got off the bus and kicked a rock up the driveway to his house. Mom was in the garden pulling weeds. “How was your day?” she asked.
Marcus frowned. “We had an awards assembly, but I didn’t get any awards,” he said. “I’m not the best at anything.”
Mom put down her weed digger. “Well, maybe it seems that way,” she said. “But who does your teacher ask when she needs someone trustworthy to take a message to the office?”
“Sometimes she asks me,” Marcus admitted.
“And who always reminds us when it’s time for family home evening?”
“I do,” Marcus said.
“Who found a ten-dollar bill at the store and turned it in, even though he was saving money to buy a soccer ball that he really, really wanted?”
“I did,” said Marcus.
Mom ruffled Marcus’s hair a little. “And who can make your little brother laugh when no one else can?”
Marcus couldn’t help smiling when he thought about his brother’s goofy laugh. “Me,” he said.
“Well,” said Mom, “you may not think you’re the best at anything, but you’re doing your best to be the kind of boy Heavenly Father wants you to be. And I wouldn’t be any prouder if you had come home with a whole armful of awards.”
Marcus gave Mom a hug. He noticed how hot and tired she looked. “Do you need some help with the weeding, Mom?”
“Thanks, Marcus. You’re the best.”

My father died when I was a young boy. Through my early years, other men stepped in to provide love and examples to help compensate for the loss of my father. I think of Bishop Aaron Angel, a small man in physical stature but a giant to me, as he extended love and thoughtfulness to me as an awkward teenager. Another was a great young men’s leader and home teaching companion, Wayne Parkinson. At first we young men all looked up to Wayne because he had a cool car and a beautiful wife, but gradually I looked up to Wayne because I knew that he cared about me and took time out of his busy life for me. I also had an older college roommate when I attended here who extended love to me as a pre-missionary. Brad would wake me up so that I could get to our priesthood meeting that started early each Sunday. I regret that I wasn’t always appreciative of Brad’s efforts at the time, but I look back on his efforts with a grateful heart. Some of these efforts may seem minor to you; but they made a difference in my life then and inspire me still to look for opportunities to serve others.

For most of the four years I played high school basketball, I’d been a starter and never missed a game. So when my coach told me that I wasn’t doing enough for the team and wouldn’t be starting the next game, something inside me broke. I’d been benched.
Trying not to cry, I ran out of the gym and, for the first time in my life, felt like giving up. And right then, for some reason, the word fortitude came to mind.
Fortitude means “courage in pain or adversity.” I lifted my head. Fortitude. No one was asking me to do this alone. Hands shaking, I opened my phone and searched the lyrics to “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30). As I read the words, I felt I was being gently reminded of two things.
First, the lyrics ask, “Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard? ’Tis not so; all is right. Why should we think to earn a great reward if we now shun the fight?” And I remembered to be grateful.
Then, second, I read, “Gird up your loins; fresh courage take. Our God will never us forsake; and soon we’ll have this tale to tell—all is well! All is well!” And I remembered to be brave.

It was just a few days before Christmas, and we were newlyweds traveling home for the holidays. It was a 42-hour drive by car, but that didn’t discourage us at all because we were so excited to be home with our families again! We had been on the road all day and most of the night when we came upon a terrible snowstorm. We found ourselves in a blinding blizzard, and the snow was growing deeper on the highway with each passing moment. The night was pure black. We couldn’t see where we were going, and because of the deep snow we couldn’t see the lines on the road. This was a frightening situation!

Suddenly in front of us we began to see a huge semitruck going slowly and steadily ahead. We could barely make out his taillights, but seeing them gave us hope. My husband, who was driving, fixed his eyes on the lights from the truck, and we drove along in the tracks it made through the deepening snow. Our panic subsided somewhat with that guide up ahead, because he knew the route, he sat up higher than we and could have a better view, and surely he had communication equipment if it was needed.

With prayers on our lips and white-knuckled hands holding on, we followed that light through the storm. We passed many cars off both sides of the road before we sensed that the truck was slowing down and pulling off the highway. In an act of faith, we followed him and soon found ourselves, to our great relief, in a place of safety, a place of refuge. We were so very thankful! We could hardly wait to tell the driver of the truck how grateful we were for his help—for leading the way.

Kathy Solomon thought carefully about whom her gift subscription should go to and felt impressed to choose a girl who was suffering a great many problems in her life and was not very popular at school. “When I said, ‘I want to give you a gift subscription to the New Era,’ she just started crying right there. She couldn’t believe that anybody would want to give her a gift.” When the first issue arrived, the girl read it from cover to cover and came to school with a lot of questions about it. Sometimes the least likely prospects turn out to be the most receptive. Sherilyn Oakey and some friends were feeling crestfallen one day because a friend had just refused a gift subscription. “Well, I’ll take it,” a voice behind them said. They looked and then they had to look again. The voice belonged to one of the most anti-Mormon students in the whole school. She hasn’t shown much interest in the Church yet, but she now reads and enjoys the New Era.
Lynne Nielsen has been sending the New Era to some nonmember relatives in England for three years. These relatives gratefully report that when they finish reading each issue, they send it to their cousin in Cheshire who reads it and then takes it to work where clients and fellow workers read it.
Perry Christensen sent a subscription to an inactive young man who received it with real gratitude.
Patti Mackelprang sent her gift to an old friend in Florida. She received a letter telling how much enjoyment the first issue had brought.
Kelly Manning gave the New Era to some girls who had received the missionary discussions in his home but didn’t feel they could join the Church at the time because of family loyalty. The girls came by his house and told him that they and their family both enjoyed it.
When looking for someone to give the New Era to, don’t overlook your school or public library. If they do not subscribe presently, you could expose a lot of people to gospel principles for the first time by subscribing for them. You might also want to give a subscription to a barbershop, doctor’s office, beauty parlor, or any other place with a waiting room.
So the who is really no problem, but what about the how? Basically all you have to do is fill out one of the subscription blanks in this magazine and send it in along with your money. But that still leaves you three possibilities: you can tell the recipient you are sending the subscription before you send it; you can just send in the subscription with your name as donor and a gift card will be sent to the recipient; or you can send the subscription anonymously. The seminary leaders suggested that the students check with their friends in advance to assure that no subscriptions would be wasted on someone who didn’t want one, but in practice everybody did it his own way. Kelly Manning, who was mentioned above, asked that his name be listed as donor but said nothing to the girls in advance. He felt that the element of surprise made the gift even more exciting. Shanna Grayson, on the other hand, sent an anonymous subscription to her nonmember cousins. A week later when visiting them, she saw the New Era on their coffee table and asked if they were reading it. They said they were and that they really enjoyed it.
Fawn Burrell found still another option. She sent a subscription to an inactive girl but did it in the name of her whole Mutual class. In the meantime somebody sent an anonymous gift subscription to her little brother who is a nonmember. He became an immediate fan and now reads every word as soon as a new issue comes, even if it means reading all night. He no sooner had the June issue open than he made Fawn sit down and play the leadership game with him. He is currently taking the missionary discussions.
Carrie Buffat told her friend in advance that she would be receiving a gift subscription. The friend was so excited that she kept coming back every few days, asking when the first issue was going to arrive. By the time it did, anticipation had whetted her appetite to a fine pitch. Many students reported this side-benefit of telling the recipient in advance, although some also said that if the magazine was late in coming, the person could get a little irritated.
In short, there doesn’t really seem to be a wrong way to send the New Era. You’ll have to examine each case on its own merits.
If you do decide to tell the lucky person in advance, what do you tell him? Vickie Owen simply said, “I’m giving you a gift subscription to the New Era magazine. I really enjoy reading it, and I think you will too.” Others explained in more detail what the New Era contained. Some mentioned specific articles they had enjoyed.
Just as we’re not all Captain M, we’re not all Mister Rich either, so we’re providing a special service for those with echoes in their pockets—a special six-month gift subscription for two dollars, in addition to the regular four dollar year’s subscription. Isn’t it worth giving up one movie in order to give your friend a six-month smile?
When your friend has received an issue or two of the magazine, you can mention specific articles from time to time in your conversation with him or her. If you feel there is a growing interest in the Church, you might want to follow up with some more direct missionary approaches. Be sensitive, use wisdom, and rely on the Spirit in making those decisions. Do not try to push the gospel down anyone’s throat. Missionary work requires love, not salesmanship. The gospel should be shared, not sold. We think that you, like the youth of Pocatello, will find it easier to share than you ever suspected, even if you’re not yet Captain M.
Although we at the New Era wholeheartedly recommend this program to you, we must humbly admit that it was not our idea. Ever since the first issue was published, many wise readers have been sharing the magazine with their nonmember friends through gift subscriptions. In fact, it was their success that inspired this program in the first place.
We’d like to share with you a little of their success through a few of the many letters we’ve received from nonmember readers.
Barbara Lemke of Sacramento, California, wrote: “This month marks my year-and-a-half anniversary. Since Christmas 1974 I have been receiving the New Era every month, and I’ve enjoyed each issue thoroughly. A very dear friend gave me a subscription as a gift, and I’m so glad she did. It keeps my Christmas spirit alive each month, renewing my awareness that Christ lived and died and rose again as an expression of our Father’s love for us. It reminds me that this isn’t just for a day in December, but for every day, every month, and every year of our lives, and the life hereafter. It also makes me happy to read about so many people who are in love with the idea of loving each other. Thank you for a wonderful magazine. Even though I’m not a Mormon, I can appreciate the love and thoughtfulness that go into every issue.”
Cindy Shufeldt of Jackson, Wyoming, demonstrates the missionary potential of the New Era in her letter: “The New Era really brightens my day. Just recently I read one through from cover to cover and then lent it to a girl friend. She quickly devoured every word, and then I took it to my place of employment—the Jackson Hole Playhouse Theatre—where it was passed around one evening. One of the guys in the cast adopted it, and I haven’t seen it since! I am an investigator of the Church, and I can’t express in words how much the New Era has helped me in my studies. In fact, you may wish to know that I plan to be baptized.”
In giving the New Era, you should always keep in mind that the personal example you set for your nonmember friends may have the largest influence of all on their attitude toward the Church. When they read the New Era, they will learn what the standards of an LDS youth should be. If you yourself are not living those standards, your gift may be in vain. If you are living those standards, the New Era’s effect will be multiplied.
Consider this letter from Kathleen Garvey of West Sacramento, California: “I am not a member of the Mormon church, but I really like the New Era and the inspiring articles it has each month. However, I wouldn’t be enjoying the New Era if it weren’t for my Mormon friend who has given me several subscriptions to your magazine. In addition to giving me the magazine, she has given me an even greater gift. She has set such a fantastic example for me by living the Church’s high standards that she has really helped me in leading a clean and spiritual life, which I might not have done otherwise. So thank you, Vicki, and thank you, New Era.”
“If it weren’t for my Mormon friend,” Kathleen wrote. Perhaps there is someone who will never have the opportunity of getting to know the gospel through the New Era, unless you give it to him.

A neighbor once told me that as a missionary in earlier days he and his companion were walking along a ridge in the mountains of the South. They saw people gathering in a clearing near a cabin some distance down the hillside. They had come for a funeral. A little boy had drowned, and his parents had sent for the preacher to “say words.” The minister, who rode a circuit on horseback, would rarely visit these isolated families. But when there was trouble, they would send for him.
The little fellow was to be buried in a grave opened near the cabin. The elders stayed in the background as the minister stood before the grieving family and began his sermon.
If the parents had hoped for consolation from this man of the cloth, they were disappointed. He scolded them severely because the little boy had not been baptized. He told them bluntly that their little son was lost in endless torment, and it was their fault.
After the grave was covered and the neighbors had gone, the elders approached the grieving parents. “We are servants of the Lord,” they told the sobbing mother, “and we’ve come with a message for you.”
As the grief-stricken parents listened, the elders unfolded the plan of redemption. They quoted from the Book of Mormon, “Little children need no repentance, neither baptism” (Moro. 8:11) and then bore testimony of the restoration of the gospel.

It’s Saturday morning, Shannon McNally is wide awake, and she’s still snoring. Listening to her and egging her on is Shannon’s younger sister, Landis. It looks strange, really. But it’s not. It’s what Landis likes. So Shannon indulges her mentally retarded sister.
“She likes for me to snore for her,” Shannon says with a shrug. Shannon doesn’t know why Landis likes that, or why she likes her big sis to play “The Wedding March” on the piano. “That’s just one of Landis’s things too.”
Shannon, 15, and Landis, 12, share a bedroom in their Union Bridge, Maryland, home. And despite Landis’s disability, the two sisters are just that. “We’re like regular sisters who have special things between them,” Shannon continues. That would explain the snoring and “The Wedding March.”
It would also explain why Shannon is such a big help to her mother when it comes to dealing with Landis. “Right now, Landis throws a lot of tantrums, she pulls hair, she spits, and she scratches. She’s also speech-disabled,” says the girls’ mom, Anjela McNally. “Shannon probably understands [Landis] a tad better than I do. I’ll say, ‘Shannon, what’s Landis trying to say?’ Shannon knows her sister very well and can usually tell me.”
That doesn’t mean it’s always easy for Shannon, a Mia Maid in the Westminster Ward of the Frederick Maryland Stake. When Landis gets upset, she’ll begin, as Shannon describes it, “trashing the house.” Once Shannon was heating up some leftover pizza, when Landis decided she wanted pudding instead. When Shannon told her she’d have to eat the pizza, Landis began throwing her food around the kitchen and knocking things off the counter.
“I get frustrated a lot over the things she does. I don’t mean to get mad but sometimes I do. Then I feel bad because I know she doesn’t quite understand why I’m yelling at her,” says Shannon. It’s at moments like these that Shannon will give Landis a hug, or sit with her in a chair, look at a magazine, and just rock back and forth. “It helps my anger to go away.”
“What is so incredible about Shannon is she’s able to not let what Landis does get her down too much. She has a great sense of humor about it,” says Sister McNally, a single parent who also has two sons, K. C. and Lucas, still at home. “Shannon is always willing to help, and she’s very kind to Landis. And Landis turns to Shannon for help as much as me or maybe even sometimes a little bit more than me.
“Shannon is a good role model for Landis,” Sister McNally continues. “But I think she’s more of a hero for Landis. Shannon has always been really pleasant and easygoing. I call her ‘my cheerful giver.’”
Even with all the help she provides her mother, Shannon still finds time for seminary, and school activities, which include her participation in color guard, a precision performing group that twirls flags. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, days Sister McNally is at school, Shannon is there to help Landis get off the bus. She also helps Landis get dressed, and will occasionally help with her bath.
There are moments when Shannon stops and considers her sister’s plight. She’ll think about times when Landis cries and doesn’t stop, and how hard it is to see her sister sad and not be able to find out what’s wrong. There are other times when Shannon will think about the gospel, and specifically about the Resurrection. “Landis has been this way for as long as I can remember. It’s hard for me to imagine her being perfect, her being able to speak,” Shannon explains. “I can’t really imagine her that way, but I know she will be someday.”
Sister McNally says, “I try to teach Shannon that she won’t always be recognized here for the help she’s given Landis, or for the way she’s been kind to Landis and helped make Landis’s life easier. But I also teach her that someday Landis will be able to come up to her and talk, and that this is not a permanent condition. As a family, we have had to do a lot of soul searching and a lot of studying of the purpose of life.”
For now, Shannon will continue caring for Landis. Like the nights when Shannon wakes up and makes sure her sister has blankets on her, or when she takes Landis outside to ride her bike. Those are the times when Landis will smile and so will Shannon. And one thing will be readily apparent. They’re sisters, and they love each other very much.

Doug shared his parents’ dismay as they left their car and looked around at the littered highway rest area. What should have been a cool, green oasis for weary travelers looked as though it were part of a garbage dump! There were plenty of trash containers, but most of them were practically empty. Around them were scattered cans, paper plates, and plastic cups and utensils. Napkins and old newspapers blew along the sidewalk ahead of them.
“I don’t know how we can possibly eat our picnic lunch in this dirty place,” Doug’s mother sighed. “And just look at that! Vandals have chopped out the center board of the only picnic table left.”
“It’s disgraceful,” Father said angrily. “It costs the government a lot of money to provide these little mini-parks for the public. The trees and lawns are beautiful and well trimmed. Why can’t people appreciate such facilities and care for them?”
“Because they have no pride,” Mother murmured sadly as she fanned flies away from the baby.
“I’ve read that people in some countries don’t tolerate such abuse of parks and other public facilities,” Mother continued. “Bystanders shame any offender into picking up discarded objects. And if that doesn’t work, one of them picks up the rubbish even though he didn’t drop it. Can you imagine what a terrible impression this mess would make on visitors from other countries?”
“Well, we certainly can’t eat here,” Father said. “We’ll use the rest rooms and then try to find a cleaner spot farther down the highway.”
“Why don’t we clean up this one instead?” Doug suggested. “All the others will probably be just as dirty. We need to stretch our legs after the long ride anyway. The exercise will be good for us.”
His parents looked startled but pleased as their dark-haired son began picking up and depositing handfuls of litter into one of the trash cans. They smiled when they saw two other children from a nearby table join him. Soon other boys and girls scrambled after the litter and suddenly everyone made a game of cleaning up.
A station wagon pulled up and parked. The occupants climbed out and headed for the outdoor drinking fountain. A teenage girl watched the children and then returned to the station wagon and took out an overflowing litter bag. She was careful to see that every scrap was emptied inside the trash can. She stooped to catch a blowing paper and deposited it in the container too.
Doug’s mother smiled. “Neatness seems as contagious as littering. I’ll bet I can clean up this pile of litter before you can gather up that stuff over there by the fountain!” she challenged Father.
A few at a time, the people who had eaten at nearby tables began to pick up around them, some a little self-consciously. Even travelers who seemed in a hurry took time to pick up a few cups or bottles before leaving. Children giggled and raced after the few remaining plates and napkins that tumbled about in the wind.
An elderly couple smiled as they watched. In a very short time the rest area was spotless, and the many travelers from different places had taken time to get acquainted with each other. The people in each car honked and waved as they left to resume their journey.
Doug was very hungry by the time the family had all washed up and spread their lunch on a shaded redwood picnic table. A cool breeze rustled leaves overhead, but there were no pieces of litter blowing about. Everyone had a feeling of pride as they ate their lunch and enjoyed the now-beautiful spot.
A young couple parked their van and got out. “What a lovely place, and it’s so much cleaner than the others we’ve seen,” the blond girl said, stopping in the shade. The man tossed his paper cup at a trash can. It hit the rim and bounced off, scattering ice. The girl dropped a pink tissue and shrugged as it tumbled across the lawn. They looked startled and embarrassed as Doug picked up their litter and deposited it in a trash barrel. “This place was filthy, too,” he explained, “but my family and a bunch of other travelers took time to clean it up.”
A big semitrailer truck pulled into the circular drive and parked. Two weary-looking men got out and started up the walk toward the rest rooms. One man dropped a candy bar wrapper. The young couple was leaving now but the blond girl stooped to retrieve the wrapper and place it in the trash barrel. The truck driver glanced down at the tattered road map he had started to toss, then took a few extra steps to drop it into the barrel. “I’ve never seen one of these places so clean. It’s a nice change,” he said. His driving companion nodded in agreement.
“In a way I hate to leave,” Doug murmured, as his mother folded the tablecloth and packed the picnic basket. “We won’t find another place as nice as this.”
“Then we’ll just take the time to make it as nice,” his mother countered. “Look what happened when you started picking up litter. It started a cleanup campaign like a chain reaction. Maybe all those travelers who worked together here today will keep fighting thoughtless pollution wherever they go. Pride in our country has to start somewhere. Who knows, maybe you started it here today!”
They were back in the car, preparing to leave, when a woman put a leash on her dog and started strolling up the grassy slope where the two truck drivers had spread blankets for a nap.
One man raised up on his elbow and called, “What’s the matter, lady? Didn’t you read that sign? There’s a roped-off area over there for walking dogs. How do you expect to keep rest areas clean unless you keep the rules?”
The flustered lady hurried back down the slope and headed toward the area set aside for pets.
“I guess I did start a chain reaction, didn’t I?” Doug remarked with a grin.

Elizabeth was always first. She was the first of four children to be born. She was the first one up in the morning, picking the warmest spot by the big stove to get dressed in and warm her cold toes. She was the first one to dinner, the first one to church. She was even the first one to bed—so she could choose the best spot in the middle of the big feather mattress. And when the old cat at the farm had kittens, Elizabeth got first pick.
Anna was only a year younger than Elizabeth, but she wasn’t nearly so quick. When Elizabeth was first to the swing or the river, Anna sometimes stayed behind and rocked little Thomas, or peeled potatoes for Mother, or darned Father’s socks. Anna liked to do quiet things. She even liked to wait for the youngest sister, Sarah, when she tagged along.
After the Mormon missionaries taught her family the gospel, Elizabeth was the first one baptized—even before Father and Mother. The elders smiled at her eagerness.
When Father gathered the family together and told them that they were going to Zion, Elizabeth was the first to cry and to refuse to leave her friends. But when the time came to board the big ship, Elizabeth was the first one up the wide gangplank. She was the first person to get sick on the ship, and the first to get well. She was the first to walk the slippery, lopsided decks and the first to make friends with the grinning sailors. They gave her treats and sang songs for her.
After the ship docked, Elizabeth was the first one to run down the long plank and step onto land, the first one to dance on American soil. Mother and Anna were last. In fact, Anna went back to the ship three times to help Father carry all the family’s belongings off.
When it was time to load the wagon for the journey west, Elizabeth was the first to find a place for her own things: the sweater that her grandmother had knitted, her best blue bonnet, and her wooden doll, Belinda. There wasn’t room for everything the family wanted to take; but Elizabeth had settled her things in the wagon first, so she wasn’t worried.
Elizabeth was the first to give names to the oxen. They were tall, long-boned beasts with beautiful horns. Elizabeth named them Peter and Paul. Anna thought Buttercup might be a good name for the honey-colored one who was so gentle. But Elizabeth had already named them.
The trip was a long one. They crossed rivers and climbed mountains. Elizabeth was always first. She walked ahead of the wagon, never behind in the dust. She found good-natured men on horseback who didn’t mind letting a little girl ride across the swollen streams with them. She found the best spot beside the campfires. She found the best buffalo chips because she was first and picked the old, dry ones, which were easier to gather.
Elizabeth loved the journey. She loved the new things to see each day. She loved the nights when the children played games and the grown-ups danced and sang songs. She loved being first.
As they drew near to the valley, Elizabeth became so excited that she couldn’t hold still. Everyone knew how she felt. And everyone knew who would be the very first to set foot in the valley. Elizabeth was always first.
Early one morning on the last week of the journey, Anna slipped on the wagon tongue. She hit her head and cut her arm and twisted her ankle. She behaved very bravely for a girl of seven. Mother made up a bed in the crowded back of the wagon and laid her there. It was hot and bumpy, but Anna didn’t complain. Elizabeth did though. She didn’t like doing Anna’s work. She didn’t like hauling water or scouring the pans. She wasn’t very good at stirring the soup or feeding the baby. And she wasn’t nearly so patient with little Sarah, who constantly wanted something. Elizabeth was cross and tired. For the first time in her life she didn’t have enough energy to worry about being first. All she could think about was curling up under her mother’s soft quilt and falling asleep.
When they reached Pratt’s Pass, Elizabeth wanted to scamper ahead to be the first to stand on the ledge and look down over layer after layer of purple-blue mountains to the wide valley below. But little Thomas woke up and needed to be fed, and Sarah tugged at her skirts and whined to be taken. By the time Elizabeth reached the ledge, half the company had already seen the valley. Elizabeth hadn’t been first.
Elizabeth felt sorry for herself. Now there were only two days left of the journey. Father had bound Anna’s foot, but she couldn’t walk without help. Anna sat and peeked out from the wagon. Elizabeth scowled and worked and watched while someone else was always first!
The morning of the last day was beautiful. Elizabeth was the first one up, the first one to get water, the first one to bathe and get dressed. She fed the baby as fast as she could and helped with breakfast. She tied Sarah’s laces and told her that if they came undone, it was just too bad. Elizabeth had to be quick. Today was the day. Today they would reach the Salt Lake Valley. Today Elizabeth had to be first!
When the wagons began to creak down the last long descent, Elizabeth climbed into the wagon and crawled back to where her favorite things were. She wanted to wear her pretty blue bonnet when she entered the valley. As she crawled, she heard a strange sound. She stopped. The sound was Anna crying!
Elizabeth froze. She had seldom heard Anna cry. Anna was always calm, always content. Now she was crying as if her heart would break. Elizabeth’s stomach felt sick. She could feel the fast thump of her heartbeat. She crawled over to the bed. "Anna, what is it?"
Anna looked up and blinked wide, wet eyes at Elizabeth. A tear ran down her nose and dropped from the very tip.
"I can’t see anything from in here," Anna sobbed. "I want to see the valley." New tears welled up in Anna’s blue eyes. "I want to wear the dress I’ve been saving and walk into the valley, Elizabeth, just like everyone else."
Something inside Elizabeth started to ache. "You shall, Anna. You shall!"
Anna stared at her. "How, Elizabeth?"
"You’ll see." Elizabeth had already turned and was searching through the neat piles of store goods.
The sun was high in the sky when the wagons pulled to a stop on the valley floor. A crowd had gathered to meet the newcomers. Some of the young people ran ahead and were waiting, dancing and clapping their hands with glee while the wagons pulled up to them. The men from the wagon train took off their hats and wiped their foreheads. The women shaded their eyes and gazed over the lovely valley—their new home at last.
"Where is Elizabeth?" someone shouted. "Wasn’t Elizabeth first?"
"Of course she was first!" another replied with a laugh.
"Then where is she?" cried one of the children.
People began to look. People began to call for Elizabeth.
"Here we are!"
Everyone turned to see.
Down the long line of wagons came the two sisters. Elizabeth wore the blue bonnet, Anna her red dress with lace at the collar. With one hand she held Grandfather’s cane. Her other hand rested on Elizabeth’s sturdy arm. Anna’s steps were slow and painful. But she was walking! With Elizabeth’s arm round her waist, she walked past the wagons and into the Salt Lake Valley. Just like all the others.
"Mother," Elizabeth cried. "I was the last one into the valley, the very last one. But I’m so happy! I never felt this happy when I was first."

Four years ago, he was preparing to submit his mission papers. Then one day while he was lifting weights, his world collapsed. A blood clot in his brain caused him to have a major stroke. His doctors doubted that he would live. The part of his brain that controlled his muscles was severely damaged. He could not move. He could not speak or even breathe on his own.

His ward fasted and prayed for him, and Fernando lived. Eventually he came home from the hospital, but he was still unable to move or speak. His parents, Vilmar and Noeli Gaertner, and his therapists worked tirelessly with him. Fernando grew closer to Heavenly Father as he depended on Him to get through each day. Life was now very serious for Fernando, and he took nothing for granted, especially the gospel. While Fernando worked hard at recovering physically, he also studied the gospel. He learned patience and faith as each new ability took months to develop. After much effort, he was able to sit in a wheelchair. The first time he was able to attend church, tears filled Fernando’s and the ward members’ eyes.

Then in January 1999, the Lindon 17th Ward, Lindon Utah Stake, was created. The new ward members didn’t talk much to Fernando. He was just beginning to speak again, and his words were not clear and came very slowly.
The leaders of the new ward, however, felt very strongly that President Gordon B. Hinckley’s directive that new members of the Church need “a friend, a responsibility, and nurturing with ‘the good word of God’ (Moro. 6:4)”* applied to all the members of their newly formed ward—including Fernando. He was called to be the Primary greeter. That calling has been a great blessing in his life and in the lives of the children in his ward.
Fernando welcomes each child and adult to Primary. “The first time he was there,” said Sister Terris, a counselor in the Primary, “the Spirit was so strong that I had tears in my eyes. He was so excited about his calling!”
That first Sunday Fernando struggled to speak and shake hands with everyone. But each week, his arms and hands grew a little stronger and his speech became a little clearer.
“Even though the little kids don’t always understand him,” Tasha Hansen (11) said, “they feel his spirit and pay attention. You really feel it.”
“He’s nice,” Britton Green (6) added. “He always gets so excited when he sees us.”
“And he knows my name,” Cade Terris (7) said.
“The calling as a greeter let me get to know the little children,” Fernando pointed out. “They are the greatest! Then I got to know their parents. They are all my friends now.”
The children are very comfortable around Fernando because they know that he loves them. Once, the Primary chorister asked him to hold up a poster for a song. Fernando tried, but he did not have the strength to do it. One by one, the children came up and encircled him so that he could rest the chart in his lap and they could still see it.
As they came to know him better, the children wanted to help him recover. They wanted to help him fulfill his desire to serve the Lord with all his heart. They wanted him to be able to serve a mission, which he still hopes to do one day.
“The children are always there to help me. I’m learning to speak better because they are always speaking to me,” he said.
“At first, sometimes I would know what he was going to say and answer him before he finished,” Tasha Hansen said. “But I don’t do that now because I know that he needs to practice talking.”
“Once I walked into Primary and he gave me a special handshake,” Jake Green (9) said. “Now he does it with all the boys.” The children created other new handshakes to help Fernando strengthen all the different muscles in his hands.
One Sunday, when Fernando entered the Primary room dressed as Abinadi, the children suddenly quieted down. Knowing how hard it is for him to speak, they know that each word is important.
Now Fernando has also been called to help teach two classes of eleven- and twelve-year-olds. “He’s getting really good at talking,” said Tori Hansen (11).
But Fernando isn’t the only one with new responsibilities in his ward. Families and individuals, including Primary children, have been asked to help with his therapy. They listen to him read, play with him to exercise his muscles, and talk with him. Or they may take him walking.
Jake Green enjoys playing Chinese checkers with him, “but Fernando always wins. He’s too good!”
“It’s quite a sight when we take Fernando walking,” the Terris family laughs. “We squeeze everyone and everything into the car—his wheelchair, his walker, Fernando, and, of course, all of our family. Then we drive to the place where we walk.”
Once the Green family was walking with Fernando by the Provo River. He stood by a fence and threw a stone into the water. It gave him such pleasure to at last be able to stand balanced against the fence and throw a rock, that Britton and Jake picked up several more stones for him to throw.
“We feel good when we help him,” Jake explained.
“The first time I saw him walk with his walker was really special,” Sammy Whirley (7) said. “We have also tried flying kites. We still need to work on that.”
Shayly Terris (11) was asked to read with him and help him practice pronouncing words. “He asked me questions, and I got to know him better. After we finished reading, my mom and I went to help him get back into bed, and he fell and hit his head. He just said, ‘Shhhh, don’t tell Mom.’ He never complains!”
“He helps me look at other people in wheelchairs differently,” Eddie Terris (14) said. “They really can do a lot of things!”
Meagan Hansen (15) remembered the first time her family took him walking at the track. “There is a chain that prevents people from driving cars onto the track. My Dad asked Fernando, ‘How do you get over that?’ ‘I jump,’ he answered. Dad gave him a look, and Fernando said, ‘Seriously.’ So we wheeled him up to the chain and waited to see what he would do. He just lifted the chain up and rolled under it.”
Conner Hansen (8) said, “Sometimes I think my problems are really bad, but when I look at Fernando’s problems, I don’t complain.”
The Hansens add, “No matter what comes up, we don’t miss walking with Fernando. He’s amazing! He helps us keep an eternal perspective. It’s the best thing we do each month.”
Fernando works hard every single day to improve. “I always believed I would get better. I just take it one day at a time.”
“In time he will get better,” Talmage Hansen (11) declared. “He believes it, and so do I.”
Having so many friends in the ward who love and help him, and knowing that he is an invaluable influence in their lives, has helped Fernando continue trying. His strong spirit and testimony have spiritually strengthened those who have helped him strengthen his physical body.
Fernando may have to wait to serve a full-time mission, but he is touching the lives of the Primary children in his ward right now by his example of faith, patience, and trust in the Lord. And they are touching his with their patience, love, and service. “I hope that the children know that they really can help others,” he said.

Courage counts. This truth came to me in a most vivid and dramatic manner many years ago. I was serving as a bishop at the time. The general session of our stake conference was being held in the Assembly Hall on Temple Square in Salt Lake City. Our stake presidency was to be reorganized. The Aaronic Priesthood, including members of bishoprics, were providing the music for the conference. As we concluded singing our first selection, President Joseph Fielding Smith, our conference visitor, stepped to the pulpit and read for sustaining approval the names of the new stake presidency. He then mentioned that Percy Fetzer, who became our new stake president, and John Burt, who became the first counselor—each of whom had been counselors in the previous presidency—had been made aware of their new callings before the conference began. However, he indicated that I, who had been called to be second counselor in the new presidency, had no previous knowledge of the calling and was hearing of it for the first time as my name was read for sustaining vote. He then announced, “If Brother Monson is willing to respond to this call, we will be pleased to hear from him now.”

As I stood at the pulpit and gazed out on that sea of faces, I remembered the song we had just sung. It pertained to the Word of Wisdom and was titled “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say No.” That day I selected as my acceptance theme “Have Courage, My Boy, to Say Yes.” The call for courage comes constantly to each of us—the courage to stand firm for our convictions, the courage to fulfill our responsibilities, the courage to honor our priesthood.

When I was on a high adventure camping trip, our bishop gave us each a small copy of the Book of Mormon. Every morning, I would grab my camping chair and do a private reading retreat in the middle of the woods.
One morning, I had no idea what to read and thought that maybe Heavenly Father wanted me to know something. I asked God what I should read and if there was something I needed to hear.
Shortly after I uttered amen, I looked back at my scriptures and noticed that the corner of a page in the middle of the book was folded down. Dumbfounded, I flipped open to the page and read the whole chapter. That chapter of Alma talked about the armor the Nephites put on every morning before they went out into battle. I realized that scripture study (which I had been slacking in) could be my spiritual armor. I knew that my prayer had been answered and that I needed to continue spending time in the scriptures.
Sam R., California, USA

As a convert to the Church, it took some time for me to catch on to all the principles of the gospel. Some commandments and doctrines weren’t clear to me until I had been a member for a while. And so it was with keeping the Sabbath.
Before joining the Church I had led my 4-H club in many Sunday afternoon recreational activities, ranging from touch football to kite flying. I saw nothing wrong with it, even after I joined the Church. I felt it contributed to the solidarity of the club and increased camaraderie between the members. But one Sunday afternoon in particular caused me to think about what I was doing.
The club had tried to organize an ice hockey game, but we were short of players. I had a great idea. Why not call the Harrisons—the branch president’s family? Four of their seven kids were old enough to play. That would double our number, and it would be a good way to acquaint the members of my 4-H club with some Church members. I called Les, who was the oldest, and he eagerly agreed.
But as I stepped into the house while I was waiting for them to gather skates and extra jeans, I could sense something was wrong. President Harrison looked at me with a displeased look, and Les was standing there with a bewildered expression, so I knew I had interrupted a discussion between the two of them. Finally the silence was broken when the good president looked at me and said something to the effect that his children had their agency, but he didn’t approve, and did I know it was Sunday? Three of the four went with me, but by the time I left the house I was feeling pretty guilty.
The experience caused me to attack my newly acquired “reference set” to see what the prophets had said on the subject of the Sabbath. When the Ensign arrived that week and was focused on the Sabbath, I read it from cover to cover in a couple of days. I made an elaborate list of “don’ts” for the Sabbath and resolved I was going to make the Sabbath holy, even if it killed me.
The next Sunday I found myself sitting in my room wondering what to do. Something just didn’t seem right. I was following the letter of the law but not the spirit of the Sabbath, and something was definitely missing. The hockey episode took place near Christmas, and January had its share of Sundays, but no Sabbaths.
With February came Keith, and in our small branch one person can make a lot of difference. He was a convert of five months and had the enthusiasm of four new missionaries all wrapped into one person. So when the college we attended announced a foster grandparent program involving a local rest home, Keith approached me with the idea that we, the only LDS students on campus, should join and be good examples. I suggested we visit the two women who were in our branch who lived there. They couldn’t get to church meetings, and they probably needed us. We talked about it but took no action.
Then one Sunday our high councilor couldn’t make the 30 miles to our branch because of a heavy snow, and President Harrison gave what I am sure was an impromptu talk on faith. He said faith was putting your words and beliefs in action. It was that afternoon that Keith and I decided to visit the sisters in the rest home.
Our first visit was a disaster. We visited each sister alone, and didn’t really get beyond “How are you?” “Fine.” As we left we knew two things: first, that they needed us; and second, that we could do better. We had promised them that we’d return. And even though we spent much of the next Sunday afternoon driving home the 150 miles from district conference, Keith and I convinced Les Harrison, his sister LeAnn, and Portia (a nursing student) to visit the women with us.
We wheeled both sisters into a quiet corner. Keith read an article from a Church magazine, Les read a scripture, and Portia offered a beautiful prayer. We felt good about the experience, and the next Sunday we came with seven Young Adults and youth. Les and Keith blessed and passed the sacrament to the sisters. We then wheeled them into a small chapel in the home and sang a hymn. An article from the Church magazines was read, then a poem and a scripture. We had a closing hymn and prayer.
It was three o’clock before we left and we hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, so Les invited us all to his house for soup and crackers. That Sunday afternoon I was again in the branch president’s home, only this time it was under much different circumstances. The faithful president had just come home from working at the church, and he and his wife joined us in our meal. During the week the seven of us were scattered about the town, and many of us were without families in the Church. For two hours we sat around the table and talked with each other and Les’s parents. Jokes, stories, and the problems of being lone Latter-day Saints out in “the field” were shared. It was truly an inspiring experience.
Les and I only had an hour to work on our home-study seminary lesson before I had to be back at the church for a branch correlation meeting. It was a good meeting, and it was ten o’clock before I returned home. I had no time left to work on my genealogy or write a letter to a missionary as I had planned.
When I knelt for prayer that night I realized there were more “dos” for the Sabbath than I could ever fit into one short day. I thanked my Heavenly Father for the special day he had set apart to bless us.