Gospel Story Finder

As you can imagine, remaining active in the Church was challenging for a teenager whose lifestyle had just changed and whose family was not taking the same path.
As I was trying to adjust to my new life, a new culture, and new friends, I felt out of place. I felt alone and discouraged many times. I knew the Church was true, but I had a hard time feeling part of it. While uncomfortable and uncertain as I tried to fit into my new religion, I found the courage to participate in a three-day youth conference, which I thought would help me make new friends. This is when I met another saving angel, named Mônica Brandão.
She was new in the area, having moved from another part of Brazil. She quickly got my attention and, luckily for me, accepted me as a friend. I guess she looked at me more from the inside than the outside.
Because she befriended me, I was introduced to her friends, who then became my friends as we enjoyed many youth activities I attended later. Those activities were so critical to my integration into this new life.
And by the way, that young angel girl, Mônica? After we both served missions, she became my wife.

When I taught seminary years ago, I wanted to show the youth the power of the word that Alma described. I wanted to show them that if they would make the word of God (as found in the scriptures) a part of their lives, it would change them. I didn’t know exactly how to do that, but I tried this way.

On the first day of class I gave them a blank sheet of paper and said to them, “Be honest in your writing here. I’m not going to look at this. This is for you only. Write down your honest feelings about religion—about God, Christ, Joseph Smith, the First Vision, the Church, or anything you want. Fold it over, staple it, and put your name and date on the outside. I will file it away and save it for you, but I will give it back to you at the end of the year.”

For the next nine months we studied the scriptures every day. We marked them. We noted them. The students were challenged to pray every day, morning and night, on their knees, out loud, and read a chapter of scripture each day on their own for nine months.

On the last day of class I gave them a sheet of paper (I don’t even know if they remembered doing this at the beginning of the year), and I said, “Now don’t try to impress anybody here. Just be honest. Write your feelings about God, the Church, Christ, the gospel, or anything you’d like.”

When they got done, I handed them back their previous papers from nine months earlier. They opened them up and made a comparison.

I hadn’t intended to read any of them, but a girl named Julie came to me with tears in her eyes and said, “I want you to see this.”

Here was her first response:

I guess I sometimes wonder if Christ really does live. I don’t know for sure, and I have always wondered since I was old enough to even think about it. . . . I also wonder if this is the true church or not. Everything we are told to do seems right, but I still have doubts.

After nine months of studying the scriptures in seminary, she wrote, in part:

I know God lives and His Son, Jesus Christ, is my Brother and He knows me and He cares about me. Through prayer I know He will guide us and show us the right way through His prophets, who I know are called of God. I know He loves each of us in a very special way.

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true church, and I know it without a doubt. It was restored by Joseph Smith, who I know was a true prophet.

I counted nine times that she said, “I know.” That is the power of the word in a young lady’s life.

Your article on tallness gave me an added friendship—a girl in my Laurel class whom I was never close to but who has now become a great friend. I recently recovered from viral meningitis. While in the hospital for two weeks I found that my copy of the New Era gave me added courage to fight on and endure. The magazine made me feel closer to the General Authorities and closer to members of the Church. The article on war answered many questions and gave me added courage to be obedient to the laws of my country.
Marily WilsonBurbank, California

I begin by describing an event that happened here on campus. About fifteen years ago, a group of newspaper editors from various western states came to Salt Lake City to learn more about the Church. They visited with Church authorities, went to Temple Square, saw the welfare program in action, and then came to BYU.

At dinner in the Wilkinson Center, I sat with an editor from California. He was immensely impressed with what he had seen. “You Mormons really know how to do it,” he said. Then he praised the various things he had seen. I enjoyed his positive reactions to everything.

Later, he asked the location of the nearest rest room and excused himself. When he returned he had a triumphant smile on his face. “Well, I found out that you Mormons are just like everyone else,” he said. In response to my question, he explained.

“When I go into a rest room in another public place, I find there are things written on the wall. When I went to the rest room here in the Wilkinson Center, I found it was just like other rest rooms. There was something written on the wall.”

Sorry that the man’s gleaming impressions had been tarnished, I began to apologize about how difficult it was to keep current on the maintenance in a public place. He smiled and raised his hand to stop me. “Oh, I’m just kidding,” he said. “It’s true there was something written in there, but I’ve never seen anything like that written on the wall in a public place. It was just one word: repent.”

Remembering an example of love demonstrated, the Cooks’ second son, Joe, recalls that his father was uneasy about Joe’s driving back to San Francisco after finishing his first-semester exams at Brigham Young University. It would be late December, the roads might be snowbound, and he would be tired. At the end of the semester Joe answered a knock on the door of his dormitory to see his father standing there, having flown up from the Bay Area to be his son’s driving companion for the trip home. Joe says that was not only a powerful manifestation of his dad’s love for him but the talk time they had on the trip home—filled with discussions of various gospel principles and repeated testimonies of the Savior—became one of the truly formative moments in young Joe’s vision of what he wanted by way of testimony and for his own future fatherhood.

There is one last scene I would call up for you from my journal. I read it as I wrote it in Nha Trang, Vietnam, in May 1967:
“There was a memorable meeting this morning, which began with a senior military chaplain of another church addressing us warmly as ‘My brothers in Christ.’ This touched me deeply.
“After [the meeting], I walked quietly down the passageway alongside the large room where we had met. As I passed the back door, I looked in and saw three men who had their hands on the head of another who sat on a chair. All four were dressed in battle gear; two had returned from air strikes just in time for the meeting, and one was shortly to go. The three members of the district presidency were giving a blessing to an officer senior to them all, setting him apart as a district missionary.”
This sweet scene affected me more deeply than any priesthood sermon I have heard. Priesthood to them meant the right and the power to serve, to act in the name of the Lord as his agents and in his interests with their fellowmen. This scene I hope I will never forget.

Ivan speaks with great conviction of an experience he had as an 11-year-old. “I had just joined the Church. We were celebrating someone’s birthday at the chapel when all the lights went out. Someone whispered to me, ‘Why don’t you say a prayer, Ivan?’ I knelt down and said, ‘Heavenly Father, please let the lights come back on so we can continue.’ And the lights came back on.
“Children have incredible faith. Now I’m trying to have that same childlike faith. My life went dark. But I have prayed and believed with everything I have, and the lights are back on.”

While serving as a missionary in the Philippines, I met Maria Jocelyn Castillo, or Jocey as she was called.
We taught Jocey and her cousin Nestor the first discussion. The Spirit was strong, and Jocey agreed to read the Book of Mormon in Tagalog, the national language.
On our next visit, we found an excited Jocey and Nestor and about five new faces. We taught another first discussion to Jocey’s sister Julie and some neighboring cousins.
After that the discussions went great. Jocey read all her assignments and started reading the Book of Mormon on her own. She soon committed to baptism. But as we got closer to her baptism, I could feel some concerns. I knew why. Jocey had only one leg and used a crutch to get around. She also wore a handkerchief on her head. On our third visit, we learned that Jocey had cancer and three years earlier had had her leg amputated. That had only slowed the disease. She started painful chemotherapy, and when her hair fell out, wore a handkerchief on her head.
We hesitantly invited Jocey to attend church. I say hesitantly because Jocey lived about two miles from the church at the bottom of the biggest hill in the area. She had only one leg and not a lot of money for transportation; I really didn’t expect to see Jocey at church.
Sunday came, the meeting started, and 20 minutes later I saw Jocey and her cousin walk through the gate. I could see a wince of pain on Jocey’s face with each step. When she saw me, she smiled. I turned away so she wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. I thought of the times I had missed church because my head hurt or I was too tired. I thought of the sacrifice she was making to get to church.
Jocey never missed a Sunday. I knew the cancer was taking its toll as she coughed and tried to cover her pain. When her baptism day came, she told me she wasn’t ready. She wanted to be baptized, but she thought she would be embarrassed to remove her handkerchief with everyone watching. I said a quick prayer and was able to reassure her. She grabbed her change of clothes and a towel, smiled, and said thank you.
I’ve never felt the Spirit stronger than I did at her baptism. Jocey cried, and so did the others in attendance.
Jocey didn’t stop there. She helped the rest of her family, her next-door neighbors, and friends in their conversions. Finally, her mother joined.
Cancer progressed quickly, and Maria Jocelyn Castillo moved on to the next life. It was hard for me to become friends with such a wonderful person, then watch her die. Finally, I realized how blessed I had been to have been able to help such a young woman become closer to the Savior.
On the day of the funeral, the members of her ward helped with the service, showing that great love King Benjamin talked about. As they lowered the casket into the grave, Jocey’s emotional mother fainted and lay unconscious for about 30 seconds. When she came to, she looked up and said softly, three times, “Alam ko na saan,” which means, “I know where now.” And she calmly walked away.
I learned from Jocey how important the Church is, and how much light the gospel can bring to our lives and the lives of our families and friends. I will always remember Jocey.

Oliver Wendell Holmes (1841-1935) who was an Associate Justice on the United States Supreme Court from 1902-1932 was riding on a train, and when the conductor came by to pick up his ticket, the Justice couldn't find it. Recognizing Mr. Holmes as being very famous, the conductor said, "I'm sure, Mr. Holmes, that you will be able to find your ticket when you return home. I am certain that the Pennsylvania Railroad can get by without that ticket until you find it. Why don't you just mail it to us?" "Young man," said Mr. Holmes, "You don't understand. The problem is not where is my ticket; it's where am I going?"

On another day when Mehitabel and Grandpa arrived at the park, everyone was eating doughnuts that Mrs. Gray had brought. “I saved some for you two!” she told Mehitabel and Grandpa, passing the doughnuts to them.
Mehitabel was just about to take a bite when Mr. Loomis challenged her. “Hitty, I have a riddle song for you. Listen and riddle me this.”
He took a mouth organ from his pocket and played a short, sweet tune. Then he began to sing:
“I gave my love a cherry
That had no stone.
I gave my love a chicken
That had no bone.
I gave my love a story
That had no end.
I gave my love a garden
That no one needs to tend.”
Mehitabel really didn’t need to ponder this one. She had learned the old folk song in school. But she didn’t want Mr. Loomis to feel cheated, so she pretended to consider the problem. She wrinkled her brow. She scratched her head. She bit her lip. Then she looked up, smiled, and began to sing:
“A cherry in the blossom,
That has no stone.
A chicken in the egg still,
That has no bone.
The story that ‘I love you,’
That had no end.
A garden in a seed pack,
That no one needs to tend.”
The listeners nodded and smiled. They would have liked to stump Mehitabel and get those ice-cream cones, but they were proud that she could riddle the riddle song. Grandpa, of course, was delighted.

Shortly after the flight I had the opportunity to show Sister Sharlene Wells, our Miss America, around the space center. She asked me if it didn’t seem uncomfortable going into space upside down. I explained that in space you always feel right side up and stationary. The earth turns below you. If somebody’s head is pointing toward your feet, he is the one who is upside down. At lift-off, the earth simply rotates to a position above your head, but that is the earth’s problem.
Later at a fireside, Sister Wells made a comment about that situation that I think is very meaningful. In many things we do, the world thinks we are completely upside down. They think our moral values are foolish, our standards are restrictive, and our beliefs are quaint but outdated. The important thing is that we make sure that we keep ourselves right side up, aligned with the Lord, even if it makes the whole world look upside down.

“I grew up on a farm in Salt Lake Valley and learned to appreciate work. I developed a tremendous love for the outdoors, for crops and animals, and for all nature.

“We had a gentle horse that I could put the bridle on by climbing onto a wagon wheel. I was riding that horse the day I was to be baptized, and it slipped and fell in a muddy spot in the orchard. I sprained my leg when it fell, and I couldn’t be baptized until the following month.

“Our summertime baptisms were performed in the irrigation ditch across the street from our chapel; the water wasn’t sparkling clean. My father was the bishop, but he didn’t baptize me. He felt that he should pass the privilege around, so he called a priest in the ward and asked him to baptize me.”

“One of our Young Women leaders is deaf. For New Beginnings, we decided to perform “Embark” [the 2015 Mutual theme song] in American sign language [ASL]. Our leader taught us the chorus of the song, and she signed the verses. I loved this activity because any young woman who wanted to could have a solo in the song while all of the girls signed. I feel good that we’re learning another language that may help someone we may know in our future. Also, I hope it inspired other people to want to learn ASL.”
Piper W., 17, Missouri, USA

One day a dear little woman named Mary Bezjian came in with her granddaughter. She had written a simple version of her personal history. Modest and unassuming, she could not believe that anyone besides her family would be interested in her. Let me tell you her story.

The Bezjians were Christian Armenians living in Turkey. Then near the beginning of the twentieth century they heard the message of the restored gospel and joined the Church. A horrible episode occurred called the Armenian Massacres. Thousands of Armenians were killed. The Bezjians were persecuted because they were Armenians. They were also persecuted by other Armenians because they were Mormons. In order to save their lives, they gathered the few belonging they could carry and fled across the border into Syria.

In Syria they established a rug-making business. Their contact with the Church was irregular. Sometimes a traveling missionary would call on them. Sometimes a church magazine would come in the mail. One of the rugs made by this Armenian family living in Syria is now on display at the Church Museum of History and Art. It is decorated with pictures of temples and prophets, all taken from the magazines.

After World War II life became precarious in Syria. Once again, under cover of night, they crossed the border, this time into Lebanon. From Lebanon they wanted to emigrate to the United States, where they had relatives and could worship according to the dictates of their conscience. But the paperwork seemed overwhelming, funds were scarce, and it proved impossible to go where they wanted to go.

Somehow they managed to move to Switzerland. There they pulled themselves together and arranged the necessary financial support. Finally, they moved to Salt Lake City and were adjusting to the new environment.

This, I thought, is an epic story! It could be made into a movie. It can inspire others. At the very least it deserves to be preserved. Sister Bezjian is no longer alive. I am very glad to have helped preserve her story.I learned that there are people in the Church today whose lives are full of drama and courage and inspiration.

At a time in the early Roman Empire; a long time even before Jesus walked the earth, the Romans were putting up with a rebellious group of people who inhabited the Italian peninsula among whom were a group called the Falerians. The Falerians had declared their independence from Rome and felt comfortable that the Romans could do nothing about it due to the exceptionally strong wall and other fortifications that encompassed their city. After the Falerians' independence was declared, the Romans sent one of their best generals, a man by the name of Camillus, to put down the rebellion and bring them back under Roman rule.

When Camillus saw the great fortifications, he knew he was in for a long and difficult siege. In fact, all he felt he could do was surround the city and wait until something, hopefully in his favor, might occur. But the siege went on and on with no end in sight.

Since the Romans were camped quite far away from the wall, to be out of range of the Falerian archers, occasionally Falerian citizens would venture a little ways outside of the wall for short periods. Sometimes even the children would go outside the walls to play. In fact, all of the Falerian children happened to be under the tutelage of one schoolmaster. This schoolmaster, occasionally, would lead them a little outside the wall so they could get some exercise. However, little did they know that this schoolmaster, who felt that the Romans would eventually win the war, saw an opportunity to gain the Roman's favor by betraying the Falerian children into their hands. Day after day, the schoolmaster led the children a little farther away from the wall, until the time came when he was able to deliver the children to the Roman camp. He explained to the Romans that they could use the children's lives as barter to force the Falerians to surrender their city.

Shortly after their children had gone outside of the wall, the Falerians realized what had happened. And looking afar off, and seeing their children as captives of the Romans, the Falerians experienced unimaginable agony. The city became a site full of weeping and wailing. Parents were screaming, terrified they would lose their children. Also, the Falerian leaders now knew that the war was lost.

Camillus, the Roman general, upon hearing of this betrayal, and seeing the Falerian children and their schoolmaster in his camp, realized that this act would win the war for him and bring him great glory. But Camillus was one of those rare individuals who put honor and integrity before dubious cultural rewards. According to the Roman historian Plutarch, Camillus said, "War, indeed, is of necessity attended with much injustice and violence! Certain laws, however, all good men observe even in war itself, nor is victory so great an object as to induce us to incur for its sake obligations for base and impious acts. A great general should rely on his own virtue, and not on other men's vices."

At that point Camillus ordered the schoolmaster's hands to be bound behind him. He then had his soldiers cut pieces of branches that the children could use to whip their schoolmaster. Camillus then ordered the children to whip their schoolmaster all the way back to the city. Well, you can imagine, the shock and the relief the parents felt when they witnessed their children running happily and laughing as they whipped the schoolmaster back to the city.

Well, after that incident occurred, the Falerians thought that maybe the Romans weren't so bad after all. They opened up peace negotiations with Camillus and the whole affair was soon settled. So, war was avoided and many people ended up being the beneficiaries of Camillus' willingness to put honor and integrity before his culture's strong emphasis on conquest, fame, glory, and victory.

It was a long night, but the youth of the Bloemfontein Branch of the Sandton South Africa Stake kept skating. The youths sponsored the 15-hour roller skating marathon to raise money for their camp programs. Several nonmembers were participating in the marathon, giving the youth lots to talk about as they made the rounds of the basketball court.
The event drew local media attention as well as support from branch members.

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

Years ago, I befriended a group of young men in Boston. While my initial connection to these youth came from a Church calling, the relationships quickly grew to the point where I saw them the way the Lord saw them, and I grew to love them as if they were my family. And, like I would with my own children, I began to counsel and teach them things as a father would. That meant our conversations went far beyond requests to participate in stake activities or attend church. A desire grew in me to teach them so the gospel would sink deep into their hearts. Our conversations expanded to include plans for missions, how to be an effective missionary, college preparation, the importance of marriage, and early careers.
Here is a picture of three of those young men when they were later students at BYU-Idaho and I was visiting as a guest of the university. In that setting, on that day, in this very auditorium, I shared with them counsel about how to succeed at BYU-Idaho and how to become who the Lord wanted them to become.
...
Here is a picture of some of those youth from Boston when they came to our inauguration last year. Most of them are or will be graduates of BYU-Idaho. Many of them have been married in the temple and are starting productive careers and beautiful families. Not all of their lives have been perfect or easy, but they are trying to do their best. I hope they all know they are children of promise.

When he was three years old, he surprised his parents with his Christmas wish: a violin. He had heard his older sister playing her violin and really liked the sound.
For Christmas he got his own little violin, and he surprised everyone by figuring out how to play songs on it by ear. When he was five he got a bigger violin and started taking violin lessons. Then he surprised everyone with how much he loved practicing.
Now Benjamin is nine. And people are surprised because he plays in the high school orchestra. That’s pretty unusual for a fourth grader! Some of his favorite pieces are by Vivaldi and Handel. His favorite Primary song is “A Child’s Prayer.”
Right now Benjamin is trying to learn to compose music. He wants to write a piece that he can play in church.

Illustrations by Scott Peck
I’m open! Pass it to me!
Quit trying to play with us, Sadra. The game is full.
But she always plays soccer with us … What’s going on?
Why did you do that? Sadra’s our friend.
We decided she’s not our friend anymore.
You shouldn’t play with her, either. Not if you wanna hang out with us.
That night …
The next morning …
You’re up early. Have you decided what to do about your friends?
Yes. I’ve been praying about it. I want to be a friend to Sadra.
I’m proud of you.
Later …
Hey, Sadra, I made cookies this morning. Want some?
Sure, thanks!
So, any chance you could teach me some of your awesome soccer moves later?
Sure!
Maybe our other friends will come around too!