Gospel Story Finder

My great-great-aunt Laura Clark Phelps was the first member of the Clark family who joined the Church. She was a woman who uniquely demonstrated a faith in the Lord that stands fast, nothing wavering.
Laura’s legacy teaches much about the doctrine of faith as “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” She received her patriarchal blessing from Joseph Smith Sr. In it she was counseled to be faithful and she would have an inheritance in Zion. She was further told to “call upon God in faith, and if thou wilt thou shall have all of the desires of thine heart.”
Laura and her husband knew the Prophet Joseph Smith. On one occasion, the Prophet and his brother Hyrum came running to their farm outside Far West, Missouri, where Laura hid them behind the clothes curtain. She calmly faced the mob leaders who rushed in shortly afterwards in search of the Prophet.
Laura experienced the joys and privations of the early Church members in this dispensation. Her faith deepened as she was driven from her homes and separated from her husband on various occasions. As an efficient midwife, she worked and traveled day and night in all kinds of weather to help provide for her family. This overexertion and exposure took their toll. She died at the young age of 34, leaving behind her husband and five children. She did not live to see her children, her grandchildren, or her great-grandchildren following her in faith. She did not experience the blessings of receiving her own temple endowment in this earth life, blessings I believe she would have cherished.
Laura’s faithful life bears witness of this verse from Hebrews: “These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them, and confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims on the earth.” Faith lived in Laura, and Laura lived her faith.

While serving as district president on Tarawa, Tune also filled an appointment as principal of Moroni High School, an LDS high school that resulted from the missionary work of Grant Howlett and his wife, Pat. When the Howletts came to Tarawa in 1976, the AKAS school was having financial and leadership problems. The Howletts supplied the leadership and petitioned the Church to buy the school. Eventually, the Church agreed.
Unfortunately, there was some opposition from people in the government. But the Lord had an agent in place. Baitika Toun, a member of the Church elected to parliament, helped convince several key lawmakers that a school run by the Church would be of great benefit to the I-Kiribati. The Church purchased the school and called the campus Moroni Community School (now Moroni High School).

A story is told that during the bombing of a city in World War II, a large statue of Jesus Christ was severely damaged. When the townspeople found the statue among the rubble, they mourned because it had been a beloved symbol of their faith and of God’s presence in their lives.
Experts were able to repair most of the statue, but its hands had been damaged so severely that they could not be restored. Some suggested that they hire a sculptor to make new hands, but others wanted to leave it as it was—a permanent reminder of the tragedy of war. Ultimately, the statue remained without hands. However, the people of the city added on the base of the statue of Jesus Christ a sign with these words: “You are my hands.”

Some years ago, while attending a luncheon, I sat next to a very able and perceptive young attorney. I had come to know this young man quite well. I knew him to be a member of a Christian faith other than our own. He knew that I was an active Mormon.
After a few superficial niceties, he asked me some serious questions. He first asked, “Is the Mormon Church Christian?” He added that his question was a theological rather than a moral one; he wanted to understand the role of Jesus in Mormon theology.
Such a broad question overwhelmed me. As I paused to collect my thoughts and to formulate an answer, I realized than any explanation of the role of the Savior in Mormon belief had to begin much earlier than with Christ’s mortal mission. I answered my friend by briefly telling about twelve roles of Jesus the Christ.
First, I explained in brief terms our belief in the eternal nature of man by paraphrasing and explaining several verses of the ninety-third section of the Doctrine and Covenants, where Jesus informed the Prophet Joseph Smith of the eternal nature of the intelligence of man: “I was in the beginning with the Father, and am the Firstborn.
“Ye were also in the beginning with the Father …”
“Man was also in the beginning with God. Intelligence, or the light of truth, was not created or made, neither indeed can be.
“Behold, here is the agency of man.” (D&C 93:21, 23, 29, 31.)
Second, I described the great council in heaven where all the Father’s children met to learn of his plans to further our eternal development. Jesus was the Father’s advocate for that plan which protected that agency of man inherent in the concept of beings possessing an uncreated and eternal existence. Lucifer wanted to alter the plan and eliminate the agency of man. (See Moses 4:1–3.)
Third, we discussed the role of Jesus as the creator of this and countless other worlds, in furtherance of the Father’s plan, which was accepted by the majority of his children. I quoted from the great vision given to Moses:
“And by the word of my power, have I created them, which is mine Only Begotten Son, who is full of grace and truth.
“And worlds without number have I created; and I also created them for mine own purpose; and by the Son I created them, which is mine Only Begotten.” (Moses 1:32–33.)
This view of Jesus in relationship to the universe was entirely new to my friend and left him deeply impressed.
The next role of Jesus, though known and preached by the early church, again was foreign to my friend. I explained that Jesus was Jehovah, God of the Old Testament, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and he who gave the Law of Moses. Jesus informed the Prophet Joseph of this fact in the Kirtland Temple (D&C 110:1–4) and had long before explained his role to the Nephites:
“Behold, I am he that gave the law, and I am he who covenanted with my people Israel; therefore, the law in me is fulfilled, for I have come to fulfill the law; therefore it hath an end.” (3 Ne. 15:5.)
This view of Jesus as Jehovah, the God of the Old Testament, prior to his birth in the flesh, was preached by the early church for four hundred years before being superseded by apostate doctrines. A constant affirmation of the early Jewish Christians as they were accused of subverting the Law and the Prophets, was that what was preached was not new but very, very old, having been preached by Jesus himself to the prophets from the beginning. Arthur Cushman McGiffert, (U.S. theologian, 1861–1933) in his edition of The Church History of Eusebius, notes that this first great church historian held to the same view as did all the early Fathers, that Jesus was the personage who appeared to the prophets in the divine appearances in the Old Testament.
“Eusebius (Palestinian theologian, church historian and scholar, A.D. 260?–340?) accepts the common view of the early Church, that the appearances of God of the Old Testament were appearances of Christ; that is, appearances of the second person of the Trinity. Augustine (early Christian church father and philosopher, A.D. 354–430) seems to have been the first of the Fathers to take a different view, maintaining that such appearances of Christ were not consistent with the identity of essence between Father and Son.” (McGiffert, ed., The Church History of Eusebius, 1890.)
It was only at the point of the fifth great role of the Master that my friend’s knowledge gave us a common background in our discussion of the role of Jesus in Mormon theology. We agreed in our belief that Jesus was born of a virgin, Mary, in fulfillment of prophecy; that he taught the gospel to the people of his day (in our belief, he once again taught the gospel to his people, in direct fruition and fulfillment of his earlier teachings to the prophets) and was crucified. I explained that Mormons believe that Jesus established his church with priesthood power while he was on the earth; that the church was not the creation, as some believe, of Jesus’ followers after the crucifixion. The Master ordained his apostles, sent out the seventy on missions, and had an organization of identifiable officers prior to the crucifixion.
The central role of the Master, of course, that role which could not be performed by another, was that of Jesus the Christ, who was crucified for the sins of the world. I bore testimony to my friend that I believed this is the most literal way. I told him that though I did not fully understand how one could take upon himself the sins of others and thereby bring into effect a universal resurrection, I knew with all my heart that it was so and that this part of the plan is self-operative and need nor be understood to be effective.
I knew that our belief regarding the sixth role of Jesus would be entirely new to my friend and, because of its peculiar nature, probably alien to his understanding or appreciation. I explained as best I could the mission of Jesus Christ to hades, or hell, or the underworld, the place of departed spirits. Once again I affirmed that this mission was well known to the members of the early church. This mission was true and of critical importance to the Father’s plan.
Jesus told of his intention to his apostles as he spoke to them at Caesarea Philippi just prior to the transfiguration. The Prophet Joseph Smith said that Peter, James, and John received important keys and endowments at the time of the transfiguration, which fact would make more meaningful the Master’s previous comments to Peter regarding binding and sealing powers. (History of the Church: 3:387). After hearing Peter’s great confession, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God,” in response to the Master’s question, “Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?” The Savior said to Peter that the “gates of hell shall not prevail” against the church (See Matt. 16:13–19).
Hell did not mean to the King James scholars who translated the New Testament what it means to some people today. It did not denote the place where bad people go, the domain of Satan. Rather, it was a synonym for hades, the place of the dead, where all the spirits of all people went at the time of death. Further, “the gates” of a city referred to the outer defenses of the city, keeping those within it separated from those without. Therefore, what the Master was saying to those disciples was simply that the gates, or the outer defenses or boundaries of hades, the place of the dead, would not be able to prevent the church from penetrating hades and freeing those people there bound by death. He was, in effect, announcing his descent into hades, the introduction of the gospel there, and his triumph over the lasting effects of death upon mankind.
I reaffirmed that his belief was among the most ancient beliefs of the early church, the complete knowledge of which had been restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. In one of the great priesthood sections of the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord revealed to Joseph that he had a plan of salvation sufficient that “not only those who believed after he came in the meridian of time, in the flesh, but all those from the beginning, even as many as were before he came, who believed in the words of the holy prophets, who spake as they were inspired by the gift of the Holy Ghost, who truly testified of him in all things, should have eternal life.” (D&C 20:26.)
The same message was taught by Irenaeus, a second century Christian scholar, in language surprisingly close to that used by Joseph:
“For it was not merely for those who believed on Him in the time of Tiberius Caesar that Christ came, nor did the Father exercise His providence for the men only who are now alive, but for all men altogether, who from the beginning, according to their capacity, in their generation have both feared and loved God, and practiced justice and piety towards their neighbors, and have earnestly desired to see Christ, and to hear His voice.” (Irenaeus, book 4, “Against Heresies,” in The Writings of Irenaeus, vol. 1, Ante-Nicene Christian Library, 1867, pp. 454–55.)
I explained that this doctrine of universal opportunity of salvation involved the introduction of the gospel into hades. Clement of Alexandria writing in the second century, stated:
“Wherefore, the Lord preached the gospel to those in Hades. Accordingly the Scripture says, ‘Hades says to Destruction. We have not seen His form, but we have heard His voice’ … But how? Do not the scriptures show that the Lord preached the gospel to those that perished in the flood … The apostles, following the Lord, preached the gospel to those in Hades. For it was requisite, in my opinion, that as here, so also there, the best of the disciples should be imitators of the Master; so that He should bring to repentance those belonging to the Hebrews, and they of the Gentiles … the Lord descended to Hades for no other reason but to preach the gospel … For it is not right that these should be condemned without trial, and that those alone who lived after the advent [of the Savior] should have the advantage of the divine righteousness … If, then, He preached the gospel to those in the flesh that they might not be condemned unjustly, how is it conceivable that He did not for the same cause preach the gospel to those who had departed this life before His advent” (Clement of Alexandria, book 6, “The Miscellanies,” in The Writings of Clement Alexandria, vol. 2, Ante-Nicene Christian Library, 1867, pp. 328–34. Italics added.)
A similar knowledge was given by revelation to a modern prophet, Joseph F. Smith, as he earnestly sought the meaning of Peter’s account of Christ preaching to the spirits in prison (see D&C 138).
Many of the fathers of the early church emphasized time and again that Christ descended into hades and organized a missionary force from among the prophets, his disciples from the time of the Master’s mission as Jehovah.
I mentioned to my friend that an ordinance necessarily related to this function of the Master was that of baptism for the dead, or baptism by proxy. I noted that this was what Paul was referring to when he cited this ordinance to the saints at Corinth as proof of the reality of a physical resurrection: “Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead?” (1 Cor. 15:29). This practice of proxy baptism survived in the rural parts of the Roman Empire, relatively uncorrupted by the philosophies of the urban centers, until well into the fourth century and perhaps longer.
My friend’s background permitted us to talk of the seventh role of Jesus with common understanding. We discussed the resurrection, the appearance of Jesus to Mary, to Peter and the brethren, to the two on the road to Emmaus, to Peter and others fishing in Galilee; and finally the ascension of the Lord. I pointed out to my friend that the Lord undoubtedly used this time to further instruct his apostles. Whatever the subjects of those teachings, he left indisputable lessons to us all on the literal nature of the resurrection (his appearance to the brethren: “Behold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself: handle me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have” [Luke 24:39]) and the promise of an equally literal return (at the time of the ascension: “Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven” [Acts 1:11]).
The eighth great mission of the Master again found my friend in ignorance. I described the ministry of the Lord to the Western Hemisphere, in fulfillment of his statement to the Jews: “And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.” (John 10:16). I told my friend that the Father introduced his Son to the people of this continent: “Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him.” (3 Ne. 11:7.) I described how Jesus organized a church like that which he had established in the East. Twelve disciples were called and ordained; great miracles were performed—the blind were made to see, the lame to walk. Children were blessed with miracles not matched by those in the East. A dissertation was given by Jesus on the nature and functions of the House of Israel unequaled by any other single scriptural reference. The sacrament was instituted and the Holy Ghost bestowed. Finally, after a three-day ministry, Jesus ascended.
I mentioned a ninth mission of the Master about which we know very little other than that it occurred. Jesus, in speaking to the Nephites, stated that he had yet other sheep who would also hear his voice (3 Ne. 16:1–5). Consequently, there must have been other people who enjoyed a personal ministration of the Master, though we do not now have the records of such a ministry.
The tenth mission of the Master was the ushering in of the restoration through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I described, through my own testimony of the occasion, how Joseph Smith asked God to direct him to the true church. I related the events of the First Vision: that the Father and the Son appeared to Joseph, and from the time of that event other angelic ministrations occurred to Joseph Smith sufficient to restore the knowledge of the gospel and the priesthood power to again establish the Church of Jesus Christ upon the earth as it had been when the Master personally established his church at the meridian of time.
I grouped together as the eleventh mission of the Master several appearances of the Savior to different people, from Joseph Smith, subsequent to the First Vision, to others of the prophets, including Lorenzo Snow, pointing out to my friend the reality of the Master’s direction of his church today as in time past.
Finally, I described to my friend the final and yet unfulfilled role of Jesus Christ in the great plan of his Father. I stated that Mormons believe in the literal second advent of the Master, to rule over the earth that he, under the direction of the Father, created.

Bishop David Day of Aylesbury Ward in the Watford Stake decided that 2021’s Mothering Sunday needed to be different and certainly needed to reflect the technical journey on which most members have been during COVID restrictions.
Every year, the Aylesbury Ward has given all sisters a small gift on Mothering Sunday, hoping that they would understand how much they are appreciated. Sometimes it has been a flower, and sometimes chocolate. Last year everyone received an Easter egg.
As COVID-19 has caused many ward meetings to go online and delivering a physical gift in person would go against the spirit of current government advice, the Bishopric turned to a digital gift for the first time.
The primary children and youth in the ward were asked to send the bishopric a video explaining why they loved their mothers, or why mothers were amazing. This was done without their mothers being aware—the children enjoyed recording each other with their dads’ phones!
Bishop Day then edited the videos and used them to prepare a short video presentation, which included quotes from Church leaders. At the end of the ward’s Zoom sacrament meeting, he asked the sisters to check their email inbox for the link to the video.
Many sisters immediately reported back to him, expressing their joy at receiving this video, which included loving messages. It was a fabulous surprise from their children.

Frequently the heavenly virtue of patience is required. As a bishop I felt prompted one day to call on a man whose wife was somewhat active, as were the children. This man, however, had never responded. It was a hot summer’s day when I knocked on the screen door of Harold G. Gallacher. I could see Brother Gallacher sitting in his chair reading the newspaper. “Who is it?” he queried, without looking up.
“Your bishop,” I replied. “I’ve come to get acquainted and to urge your attendance with your family at our meetings.”
“No, I’m too busy,” came the disdainful response. He never looked up. I thanked him for listening and departed the doorstep.
The Gallacher family moved to California shortly thereafter. Many years went by. Then, as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, I was working in my office one day when my secretary called, saying, “A Brother Gallacher who once lived in your ward is here in the office and would like to talk to you.”
I responded, “Ask him if his name is Harold G. Gallacher who, with his family, once lived at Vissing Place on West Temple and Fifth South.”
She said, “He is the man.”
I asked her to send him in. We had a pleasant conversation together concerning his family. He told me, “I’ve come to apologize for not getting out of my chair and letting you in the door that summer day long years ago.” I asked him if he was active in the Church. With a smile, he replied: “I’m a counselor in my ward bishopric. Your invitation to come out to church, and my negative response, so haunted me that I determined to do something about it.”
Harold and I visited together on numerous occasions before he passed away. The Gallachers and their children filled many callings in the Church.

Let me begin by relating an experience to you that I had many years ago when my children were young. One evening while my husband and I were entertaining another couple in our home, the wife began telling us of several "spiritual experiences" she had had. They were comprised of dreams and visions and audible messages sent to her from God. As I listened, at first I was amazed. I didn't really question her experiences--and I still don't--because that is not my place. But as she talked, my feelings went from amazement of her experiences to doubt in myself, because I had never had manifestations of the Spirit that were like that. I began to question my faith, my spirituality.

Now, I knew that she was a good–really good–person. But I knew that I was really trying to be good as well. I was reading my scriptures, praying regularly, trying to keep the commandments, serving in the Church, working to be true to all the covenants I had made with the Lord. In short, I was like many of you--trying hard. I was not by any means perfect, but I felt worthy and I was working at it. I had felt that I was pretty much on the same level as my friend. But I was not seeing the heavens open to me in the same way she was describing and I really began to question myself.

Later in the evening, I began to ask my husband the same questions I am asking you to ask yourselves today. Am I a spiritual person? What is spirituality? What should I expect it to feel like and look like in my life?

Over the years since that time, I have learned a lot about myself, and about my Heavenly Father, and about spirituality. I would like to share some of what I have learned with you today.

The dorm was quiet Saturday night because nearly everyone except Carol was on a date. She studied until 10:30 and went to bed.
A little past midnight the overhead light flashed on, and her roommate Natalie bounced in and gleefully announced her engagement to David. For the next 15 minutes she sat on Carol’s bed and gave a complete playback.
Finally she stopped, looked seriously at Carol, and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. How must you feel listening to me go on and on?”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s not fair that I’m a junior and engaged and you’re a senior with no prospects. You must hate me.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“How can you be? This is your last semester. If you don’t find anyone now, what’ll become of you?”
“Don’t worry,” Carol said nonchalantly.
“You’re so brave,” Natalie said, “but don’t worry. Now that I’m engaged, I’ll devote my efforts to helping you find someone. Now don’t fall asleep because while I brush my teeth I’m going to plan it all out.”
As soon as she left, Carol’s smile vanished. What would she do if nobody ever asked her to get married? She never used to think about it, but lately it kept surfacing, like some Loch Ness monster in her mind.
A minute later, smelling of toothpaste, Natalie returned. “I’ve got it all figured out. You can date David’s roommate—his name is Tom. He’s a senior too, so he must be as desperate as you.”
Natalie spent the next few days coaching Carol, teaching her stock phrases designed to boost a guy’s ego. Carol didn’t find it strange that Natalie believed they were necessary to impress a guy, but what did surprise her was that for the first time in her life, she was trying to fit someone else’s mold, because she very much wanted to find a husband.
David and Tom were invited for supper on Saturday evening. Carol hoped that Tom would not be too much like David, who never seemed completely human to her. She could imagine that he was a cleverly made robot, and that someone plugged him in at night to recharge his battery pack. Also there was his smell—the aroma of the chemistry lab always permeated his clothes.
At least Tom was not a chemistry major, Carol thought. He was a civil engineering student specializing in concrete, one who had brought fame to the school by designing and building a concrete canoe which actually floated and had won a race against other colleges.
By the time Saturday night arrived, Carol was wearing Natalie’s dress, sporting her hair style, and mouthing the guaranteed phrases.
Finally the time arrived and so did David and Tom. Carol’s first reaction to meeting Tom was to inhale sharply, trying to find out if the rancid smell coming from the pair was from David or Tom. Was it nitric acid or sulfur dioxide, she wondered, trying to remember back to her high school chemistry class.
“Well, let’s get acquainted, shall we?” David said heartily, attempting to be warm and human. “Carol, I keep forgetting—what’s your major?”
“Music education,” she said, repeating the answer to the question David asked each time he came to pick up Natalie. It was his version of conversation.
“Oh sure,” he said with a superior grin. “You came to college to learn how to sing songs and play games—right?”
“Actually,” Carol said, fighting to maintain her pleasant smile, which Natalie stressed was a necessity for the evening, “it’s a difficult discipline.”
“Oh sure. I bet you have to learn how to use the pitch pipe, don’t you?” David said, laughing at his little joke.
Tom turned to her and said, “I’m sure there must be more to it than just singing songs.”
She liked him for rescuing her from David’s superiority complex. She leaned toward him and took a whiff. He was not the one who smelled like rotten eggs. It must be David.
“Yes, there is,” she said.
“Would you like to tell me about it?” Tom asked.
“Oh, there’s not much to tell. Besides, I’m dying to hear about your concrete canoe. I heard about you winning the race against the other schools.”
“Well, it floated. That’s one of the most important things you want in a canoe.”
“And you built it yourself?” she said, gushing the way Natalie had taught her.
“It wasn’t that hard.”
“Oh, I could never do anything as complicated as that. You must be so smart.”
Natalie winked at her to tell her she was doing well with Tom, and then she left to borrow something from another apartment. David sat down and played with his $700 programmable calculator.
A few minutes later Tom again asked about her major, and she offered to show him what she was doing that semester. She went to her room and returned with a tuba mouthpiece.
“Where’d you get that?” he asked.
“Brass workshop,” she said.
His eyes widened in astonishment. “You made that in a brass workshop?”
“No,” she laughed, “a brass instrument workshop. I have to learn to play every instrument, and right now it’s the tuba.”
She showed him how to hold his lips for the mouthpiece.
“I’ve always wanted to play the tuba,” he said.
“I brought it home for the weekend. If you want, I’ll bring it out for you to try.”
In a minute she was back from her room with the tuba.
“Play me a song first,” he said.
“This will be ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’,” she said, preparing to play. With some difficulty, she made it through.
“When I hear that song on the tuba,” he said, “I picture a two-ton lamb who roams the fields scaring the socks off the local coyotes.”
He’s got a sense of humor, she thought approvingly.
Just then Natalie returned, took one look at the tuba, and said icily, “Carol, could I have a word with you in private?”
They went to their room.
“What on earth are you doing?” she asked. “Do you think a guy will fall in love with a girl tuba player?”
“He seems interested in it.”
“Oh sure, he’ll say he’s interested, and he’ll let you make a fool of yourself, but let me tell you, when it comes to taking a girl home to meet his parents, it won’t be the girl with the tuba. No sir!”
“Why not?”
“Tubas aren’t feminine! You can play the piano or the violin or the clarinet for him, but the girl who plays the tuba will never marry.”
If there had been anyone else waiting in the kitchen, she might have argued with Natalie about the tuba, but she felt a deepening interest in Tom, and in the worst way didn’t want to harm her chances.
“What should I do?” Carol asked.
“I’ll get David to put the tuba away. Here, you put on this crocheted shawl of mine and go in there and imply you made it.”
“Imply?”
“Just go in and ask him how he likes your homemade shawl. Say to him, ‘Alhm made this shawl.’”
“I don’t want to lie.”
“It’s not lying. There’s a lady down the street, her last name is Alhm, and she made it, so you can tell him that Alhm made this shawl.”
A few minutes later Natalie coached Carol in the kitchen with the shawl.
“Are you cold?” Tom asked, looking at the shawl.
Carol wasn’t sure what she should answer so she looked at Natalie who nodded her head. “Yes, a little.” Then her conscience got the best of her. “No, not really.”
“It’s pretty.”
Natalie looked sharply at Carol and waited.
Finally she did it. “Alhm made this shawl,” she whispered.
“I can’t hear you. What did you say?”
“Alhm made this shawl.”
“Really? You made it?”
She looked down at the floor and knew she was blushing, and then shook her head and said, “No, not me, a Sister Alhm made it. I don’t know anything about crocheting.”
Natalie cleared her throat and asked to see Carol again. They both returned to their room.
“Why can’t you just do what I say? Then he’d fall for you. Don’t you like him?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Then just do what I say.”
“I’ve never lied like that. It makes me nervous. And I don’t like the idea of putting up a phony image.”
“Everyone does it—it’s a part of life to hide things from others. Listen to me. I can make him fall in love with you if you’ll just cooperate. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, but who would he love?”
“He’d love you.”
“Which me—the real me or the phony one?”
“What does it matter as long as he asks you to marry him? Okay, we’ll forget the shawl, and I won’t ask you to lie. I’ll go in and ask you to drain the spaghetti, and David and I will leave to borrow some dessert goblets. You say to him, ‘Tom, this pot of spaghetti is so heavy. You’re so strong. Could I get you to lift it from the stove and help drain it?’ And after he does it, you tell him how wonderful he is.”
“I’ve drained spaghetti by myself since I was ten years old,” Carol said quietly.
“I know, but men need to feel strong and masculine, especially these days when they’ve been replaced by electricity. Besides, what’s the harm? Men are supposed to be strong, aren’t they?”
A few minutes later Tom lifted the large pot off the stove onto the counter next to the sink.
“You’re so strong,” Carol said, nearly choking at the words. She dumped several pitchers of cold water on the noodles to rinse them out, and then asked him to tip the pot so the water would run out.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“A little more.”
He tipped it too much, causing the noodles to rush into the kitchen sink, at the same time spilling water all over their shoes.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it. Just think of the mess I would’ve made if I’d tried to do it myself.”
She went to her room, found another pair of shoes for herself, and decided the only thing she had that he could wear was her ancient slippers with the bunny face on each toe. They were well worn with all but one of the button eyes missing and one bunny ear gone.
“Golly, look at them,” he laughed as she brought him the slippers.
“I got ’em as a joke my first semester here. I’ve worn them for nearly four years now.”
“Poor bunny rabbit,” he said, looking at the one eye on one of the slippers. “Do you ever write imaginary talks?” he said. “Brothers and Sisters, each of us in life is given a new pair of bunny slippers. But what do we do with them? For some of us, the little ears have come off, and we haven’t got around to sewing them back on. Brothers and Sisters, what have you done with life’s bunny rabbit slippers?”
She smiled and told him he was clever. She wanted to say more but was afraid it might be the wrong thing.
They had left the water on to let the spaghetti rinse itself out, and soon heard the water overflowing onto the floor.
Tom turned the water off and scooped the noodles out and plopped them back in the pot. The entire drain pipe was crammed shut with noodles.
Just then David and Natalie returned with the dessert goblets.
“Why are you both looking down the drain?” David asked.
“It’s clogged,” Tom said.
“Let me take a look,” David said, scooting Tom and Carol out of his way. After carefully examining the situation for a while, he summed it up, “There’s noodles in your drain pipe. That’s your problem.”
Carol backed away from David. Maybe it was hydrochloric acid she was smelling.
“Somebody forgot to put the stopper in the drain,” David said ominously.
“I always put the stopper in the drain,” Natalie said self-righteously.
“Well, somebody forgot,” David said. “If the stopper had been where it belongs, the drain pipe wouldn’t now be full of noodles.”
Natalie and David looked with silent accusation toward Carol.
Tom took a large knife and stuck it down the drain pipe, trying to cut the noodles into little pieces.
“No, no, that’s not the way!” David barked. “If we’re going to do a job, then let’s do it properly. We’ve first got to remove the trap down below. Let me show you.”
With a flair for the dramatic, David opened the cupboard below the sink and pointed. “You see that bend in the drain pipe there? That’s what we call the trap. Do you see it there, Natalie?”
“Oh yes,” she said, “there it is. Oh, David, you’re so smart. How did you ever know about that? I’ve never noticed it before. So that’s the trap.”
“I’ve got a pair of pliers in my car,” Tom said.
“No, not pliers,” David said, on his knees looking at the trap. “Pliers would be the very worst thing to use. Let me give you some advice. In plumbing, if you use the wrong tool, you can harm your threads. Do you know how many people end up buying new fixtures because they’ve harmed their threads?”
Carol wanted to put her hand on Tom’s arm and tell him she didn’t care about plumbing threads, but she didn’t say anything. Natalie hadn’t coached her about what to say when the drain is clogged.
“You know,” David continued, “it’s a good thing I always carry a set of tools in my car. Natalie, will you take this key, go out to the car, open the trunk, and bring me a pipe wrench?”
“I can get it for you,” Tom offered.
“No, no. Natalie and I are a team, aren’t we, dear?”
“With you telling me what to do, we are.”
“While you’re doing that, I’ll clear away this junk down below so we can get to the trap.”
“You’re so smart,” Natalie said before leaving.
A minute later she returned with the wrench.
David, whose head was in the cupboard, pushed himself out, took one look at the wrench and scowled. “No, dear,” he said, his voice grating, “this is a crescent wrench and I asked for a pipe wrench. Can you go out again and get me a pipe wrench?”
Natalie smiled faintly and looked as if she were going to cry.
“Now what’s wrong?”
“I left the keys in the trunk.”
David sat up on the floor and stared at her. “Why would you do a dumb thing like that?”
“I had to go through the entire tool chest, and I must’ve set the keys down while I was looking.”
“You left the keys in the trunk and then closed it?”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Sorry isn’t going to open the trunk, is it? Without the keys, how am I going to get back to the lab and check my experiment? Well, we’ll just have to get the keys, that’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” Natalie pleaded.
“I have to watch you all the time, don’t I?”
That’s when Carol realized that if you play the role of being less than you are, then before long people will treat you that way. Suddenly she didn’t want to play the games Natalie had set for her, even if it meant that Tom was turned off by it, because she realized that she was important and if she didn’t treat herself with respect, nobody else would.
From now on, I’m going to be me, she thought. And if that turns the guy off, then that’s tough.
Natalie started to sniffle. “I’ve ruined the whole evening, haven’t I?”
“Maybe next time you’ll remember to make sure you have the keys with you when you close the trunk,” David continued.
“Yes, dear, I will.”
“Well, it’s water under the bridge, isn’t it? We’ll have to take out the back seat, crawl in through there, get the keys, and fix the drain. We might as well get going.”
“I don’t think I want to go out and watch,” Carol said.
“Aren’t you going to help us?” David said.
“I don’t think so. We’ll just stand around watching you do everything, and I don’t want to do that.”
She realized that Tom was looking at her with a bewildered expression on his face.
“The least you can do is come out and show some interest,” Natalie said. “It’s your fault the drain was clogged anyway. The least you can do is show appreciation to David for making things right.”
“Maybe David will need some help,” Tom said, trying to smooth things over.
“All right,” she said, walking over to the tuba.
“I hope you aren’t planning on taking that outside,” Natalie said.
“I am,” she answered.
“You’ll never get married,” Natalie whispered as she marched past her. Carol followed after her playing “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”
To watch David giving a detailed description of everything he was doing one would have thought he was the first man on the moon.
Tom and Carol sat on the hood of the car and traded off playing the tuba. Every few minutes, Natalie would look up from her reverential attention to David’s work and give them a withering glance because they were not paying sufficient homage to his efforts.
After David had retrieved the keys, fixed the drain, and cleaned out the trap, he decided to return to the lab to check on his experiment. Natalie left with him.
Carol and Tom sat in the kitchen, talked, and played the tuba.
“You know,” Tom said contentedly, “this is a picture, isn’t it? Me here in these bunny slippers, you playing songs on the tuba. I think I could do this forever.”
“That won’t be possible,” she said, finding enough courage to tease him.
“Why not?”
“Next Wednesday I have to turn in my tuba, and it’ll all come to an end.”
“And then what?” he asked, looking as if he had a little more than tubas on his mind.
She looked at him for a second, smiled, and said, “The trombone.”
“Ah, the trombone,” he repeated with a grin. “One of my favorites.”
Two weeks later, if you had been standing on the shore, you might have marveled at the sight of the handsome couple in a concrete canoe, the guy paddling slowly along the shoreline while the girl happily played a love song on the trombone.
Well, it wasn’t actually a love song. It was “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” But it was played with deep feeling.

Elise wanted to dress up. She put on Dad’s shoes and a fake red nose.
I’m a funny clown.
Elise ran back to her room. She put on a yellow construction hat and grabbed a plastic hammer.
Elise hammered the floor before she ran back to her room.
I’m a strong builder.
Elise put on a glittery purple and silver gown and twirled out of her room.
Elise liked being a princess. She stayed dressed in her gown for the rest of the day.
I’m a beautiful princess.
At bedtime Elise changed into her favorite green pajamas. She walked out of her room and sat on Mom’s lap.
Who are you?
I am Elise. I am a child of God.

Some time ago, I received a faith-filled letter from Laurence M. Hilton. May I share with you that letter’s account of surviving personal tragedy with faith, nothing wavering.
In 1892 Thomas and Sarah Hilton, Laurence’s grandparents, went to Samoa, where Thomas was set apart as mission president after their arrival. They brought with them a baby daughter; two sons were born to them while they served there. Tragically, all three died in Samoa, and in 1895 the Hiltons returned from their mission childless.
David O. McKay was a friend of the family and was deeply touched by their loss. In 1921, as part of a world tour of visits to the members of the Church in many nations, Elder McKay, then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, stopped in Samoa. Before leaving on his tour, he had promised the now-widowed Sister Hilton that he would personally visit the graves of her three children. I share with you the letter Elder McKay wrote to her from Samoa:
“Dear Sister Hilton:
“Just as the descending rays of the late afternoon sun touched the tops of the tall coconut trees, Wednesday, May 18th, 1921, a party of five stood with bowed heads in front of the little Fagali‘i Cemetery. … We were there, as you will remember, in response to a promise I made you before I left home.
“The graves and headstones are in a good state of preservation. … I reproduce here a copy I made as I stood … outside the stone wall surrounding the spot.
“Janette Hilton
Bn: Sept. 10, 1891
Died: June 4, 1892
‘Rest, darling Jennie’
“George Emmett Hilton
Bn: Oct. 12, 1894
Died: Oct. 19, 1894
‘Peaceful be thy slumber’
“Thomas Harold Hilton
Bn: Sept. 21, 1892
Died: March 17, 1894
‘Rest on the hillside, rest’
“As I looked at those three little graves, I tried to imagine the scenes through which you passed during your young motherhood here in old Samoa. As I did so, the little headstones became monuments not only to the little babes sleeping beneath them, but also to a mother’s faith and devotion to the eternal principles of truth and life. Your three little ones, Sister Hilton, in silence most eloquent and effective, have continued to carry on your noble missionary work begun nearly 30 years ago, and they will continue as long as there are gentle hands to care for their last earthly resting place.
“By loving hands their dying eyes were closed;
By loving hands their little limbs composed;
By foreign hands their humble graves adorned;
By strangers honored, and by strangers mourned.
“Tofa Soifua,
“David O. McKay”
This touching account conveys to the grieving heart “the peace … which passeth all understanding.”

“What’s up, Coach?” DeLyle said.
“Come in,” Coach Gardener said. “Sit down.”
DeLyle Condie walked into his coach’s office and pulled up a chair. He held his red basketball jersey in his hands. It was almost time for practice.
“I hear you’re going on a mission,” Coach said. “Let me show you something.” He turned on the projector.
DeLyle blinked in surprise. Coach often showed films of other teams playing. But these were pictures of palm trees and beaches.
“This is Hawaii,” Coach said. “The team’s going there next year. You’re going to miss it.”
“I know. But I’ve already decided,” DeLyle said. “A mission is the right thing to do.”
“Suit yourself,” Coach said. “But if you go, I don’t think you’ll ever play basketball again.”
DeLyle looked at his jersey. “I love basketball,” he said, “but some things are more important.”
“Good luck, then.” Coach sighed. “Now get to practice. You’re not a missionary yet!”
A few months later, Elder DeLyle Condie got on a ship in San Francisco, California, USA. It was 1955, and missionaries often traveled by boat back then. Three weeks later the ship arrived in Sydney, Australia. There, Elder Condie took an overnight train to Melbourne. Two elders were waiting for him.
“Wow! You’re a tall one!” Elder Johnson said. “You’d have been a great Mormon Yankee!”
“What’s that?” Elder Condie asked.
“More like what was that,” Elder Johnson said. “Missionary teams used to play in local basketball leagues. It was a way to help people get to know about the Church. One of the teams was called the Yankees. But we don’t do it anymore.”
“That’s OK,” Elder Condie said. “That’s not why I came on a mission.”
“Well, let’s get to the office,” Elder Johnson said. “It’s time to meet President Bingham, our mission president.”
President Bingham assigned Elder Condie to Tasmania, an island near Australia’s southern coast. There weren’t many Latter-day Saints there. In fact, in all of Australia, there were only about 1,200 Church members.
Elder Condie soon met lots of friendly Australians. But most weren’t interested in discussing the gospel. What they did want to talk about was the Olympics.
“Why are so many people interested in the Olympics?” Elder Condie asked.
His companion grinned. “The games are coming to Melbourne next year,” he said. “It’s a chance to put Australia on the map. Besides, lots of people are sports crazy already. I think that’s why the Mormon Yankees were so popular. I wonder if they’ll ever do that again.”
At the same time, 200 miles away in Melbourne, two men were discussing exactly that.
The coach of the Australian Olympic basketball team sat across the desk from President Bingham. “We need your help,” he said. “I know you used to have teams called Mormon Yankees. Some of your missionaries were pretty good. With the Olympics coming, it’s a long shot that Australia will win any games. We need to practice against players with talent and experience. Some friendly practice games will help people know more about your church, and they will help us get ready for the Olympics. Can you put a Mormon Yankees team together one more time?”
After the meeting, President Bingham found one of his assistants. “Bring Elder Condie back to Melbourne,” he said. “Missionaries will still be missionaries. But we’re going to help Australia prepare for the Olympics. And I’ll need Elder Condie to help choose a team.”
To be continued …

From the time I was a little girl living in Brazil, I dreamed of accomplishing great things. But I was very shy and insecure. I felt incapable of doing anything important. Because of my shyness, I was often misunderstood by others and failed at most projects I attempted.
As the years went by, I felt an increasing urgency to leave the anonymity in which I had hidden myself. I knew that God expected something of me, but I did not know what. And though I sensed that there was a way—a path—out of my inadequacy, I did not know where to find it.
When I married and gave birth to two sons, I became even more worried about finding that path; I had my children’s future to think of now, too. What would they do when they grew up? What could I teach them? All I had to share were the experiences of a shy person who had failed many times.
Then came the day that two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on our door. As they taught us, I began to see a path to a better future. But I still had to find out if it was the right path. It was a difficult decision because, in the beginning, my husband didn’t want to join the Church. After we had received the discussions, we decided to wait to be baptized. But we still continued attending the Church’s activities.
Two years later, my older son was in an accident, and I was reminded how fragile life is and how important it is to prepare for eternity. I decided that I was going to join the Church. When my husband realized I had made a firm decision, he also decided to be baptized. And thus, on 26 June 1976, the four of us were baptized members of the Church.
I had found the path I had been looking for. I knew I had a Heavenly Father who had given me talents and wanted me to develop them. I found myself loved by people who accepted me the way I was and who taught me how to grow as a person, as a mother, and as a wife. I knew that I had a Father who expected something from me and that I could no longer hide behind my shyness.

In my freshman English class, the professor insisted that, to describe a situation, one of the students must substitute a crude expression for one gentler. I was jarred at an expression which I had seldom heard and never in harmonious circumstances. Years later in graduate school I had a conversation with a friend who argued that one should be, as he called it, direct, even if rude and insensitive to others’ feelings
Unfortunately, the spirit animating these incidents has taken firm hold on society and is found even among the Saints. Over the years, there has been an increase in sexual innuendos, raucous humor, violent expressions, and great noise in talk, in music, in gestures. Much around us is crude and rude, with a corruption of moral behavior and sensitivity. Society has not been improved by our “light speeches” and our “light-mindedness” (D&C 88:121). Instead, our expressions have polluted our communities and corrupted our souls.
In contrasting the importance of some of the weightier things of the kingdom with the dietary code of ancient Israel, Jesus told His disciples: “Not that which goeth into the mouth defileth a man; but that which cometh out of the mouth, this defileth a man.
“… Those things which proceed out of the mouth come … from the heart; and they defile the man” (Matt. 15:11, 18). Our words and external expressions are not neutral, for they reflect both who we are and shape who we are becoming.
At Winter Quarters, as the Saints were in the midst of an arduous exodus, the Lord commanded, “Let your words tend to edifying one another” (D&C 136:24). Nephi declared that the fruit of receiving the Holy Ghost and listening to the promptings of the Spirit is that we may speak with “the tongue of angels” (2 Ne. 32:2). Thus we create a spirit of reverence and of revelation.
I recently overheard a conversation among some of our young grandchildren. One of them apparently used the word stupid. Eight-year-old Nicholas, recently baptized, commented that perhaps one should not say that, as it was a “bad word.” It was evident that there had been some good influence from Mom and Dad. I know there had been similar discussions about other expressions. Now some might think that these are small matters compared to the far more foul and demeaning expressions all around us. Yet, in small and in great ways, our words create an atmosphere in which we build or demolish.
I recently commented to a friend from New York City that I thought the atmosphere had improved markedly in the city over the past years and wondered why. He noted that his wife is a municipal judge, and they were enforcing the little things, like ordinances against spitting and jaywalking, and the big things were being affected thereby. So in our daily speech and acts of edification, the Lord said, we invite the spirit of truth and righteousness in which we “may chase darkness from among [us]” (D&C 50:25).
President Spencer W. Kimball warned of vulgarity of speech and expression and particularly counseled against speaking of sex glibly, which he associated with immodesty. “Lewd talk and jokes,” he said, “constitute another danger which lurks seeking as its prey any who will entertain it as the first step to dirtying the mind and thus the soul” (The Miracle of Forgiveness, 228).
What we say and how we present ourselves not only betray our inner person but also mold that person, those around us, and finally our whole society. Every day each of us is implicated in obscuring the light or in chasing away the darkness. We have been called to invite the light and to be a light, to sanctify ourselves and edify others.
When we speak and act, we should ask whether our words and expressions are calculated to invite the powers of heaven into our lives and to invite all to come unto Christ. We must treat sacred things with reverence. We need to eliminate from our conversations the immodest and the lewd, the violent and the threatening, the demeaning and the false. As the Apostle Peter wrote, “But as he which hath called you is holy, so be ye holy in all manner of conversation” (1 Pet. 1:15). The expression conversation refers here not only to speech but also to our entire comportment. As Nephi, he is inviting us to so live that we may speak with the “tongue of angels.”
I bear witness that God is indeed holy. He is our Father, we His children. We are His heirs and co-heirs with Jesus Christ of His glory, and He has invited us to be as He is and to edify in word and in deed. I pray we may do so.

Out on the field, Richard makes the game look simple. He feints, counterfeints, and passes. He sees an opening and sprints for it, waving his hand to let fellow players know he’s in the clear. On defense he shouts instructions and directs traffic as though he’s been playing all his life—which is just about the truth. His expertise, along with his scholarship in school, have qualified him for two trips abroad with soccer teams—one to Glenrothes, Scotland, another to Den Haag, Holland. While there, Richard lived with families and attended school, as well as playing exhibition soccer.
Of course, there have been embarrassing times, too. Like slipping and falling in the mud, or getting clobbered with a lopsided score, or losing every game during the season when Dad was the head coach. But some of that has to be expected.
How Richard plays in a particular match is determined by two things: which position he’s playing (he plays three), and which team he’s playing for at the time (he plays on four). On the ward team the ages vary significantly. So do the skill levels. But there, playing is mostly for fun. On the all-star team or in league competition, games are closely contested, and each move makes a difference.
Richard and John will talk for hours about their favorite sport. John plays forward, an offensive position that puts him on the front line of attack. Richard usually plays halfback, the midfield position, which challenges him by requiring both offensive and defensive skills. However, Richard has also played forward, as well as fullback (the last defender between the ball and the goalie).
They disagree about which is the ideal position to play. John says forwards have the most enjoyable job on the field because they go where they want. “It’s kind of like playing hide-and-seek with the defense,” he says. But he also notes that forwards often take the blame for missed goals. Richard counters that halfbacks have the fun of playing at both ends of the field, which, though it demands endurance, allows them power to control the tempo of the game.
John says fullbacks get the most rest, that their main task is to steal the ball and relay it to the opposite end of the field. Richard notes, however, that the defense is often outnumbered, and the fullback’s role is vital in preventing goals. Both agree, however, that the goalie may have the roughest assignment. He’s expected to analyze each shot-on-goal correctly and position himself properly to block or deflect it, often diving face down on the turf in the effort.
The two young men also discuss dreams, like playing on a professional or Olympic team, or even more immediate wishes, like attending a soccer clinic at BYU.
At a home evening recently, Richard brought out a scrapbook he keeps; it’s full of his souvenirs. He passed it around the family circle, describing photos he took himself and clippings from newspapers. The rest of the family joined in with other stories, laughter, and warmth. It was clear that they were all involved in learning lessons through their Church activity and through sports. They were learning about brotherhood by working together; they were learning to plan their time to be able to do things they enjoy and still meet school, Church, and household responsibilities; they were learning about family love, caring, and sharing; and they were learning about fixing goals for themselves. It was clear that they’re involved with soccer—and with each other—for more than just the kicks.

I still remember one particular afternoon as if it were yesterday. I sat down next to a smiling lady during our Sunday meetings, which at that time were held both in the morning and the afternoon. I took her hand to make sure she would stay with me. But I was only six years old, and I was quite tired. My eyelids began to close, and though I struggled hard to keep hold of that warm hand, I fell asleep. When I woke up, the hand was no longer there. Tears ran down my small face, and my heart was sad.
Her name was Sister Avon Compton. She and her husband, Merlin, were always smiling, and their faces reflected love. When I close my eyes today, I can still see them clearly. I often tell my Primary class about them. Their story is the best way I know to teach my CTR class about love.
They had come to Perú from their own country to be with us for a while. She did not speak our language very well, but her husband spoke it better than some of us. We admired him and knew he loved our language and culture.
I do not remember exactly when I began to love Sister Compton, but I think it must have been that first Sunday in Primary. She taught us the song “When I Go to Church” (Children’s Songbook, 157). She had brought pictures, and as she taught us the words of the song, she taught us about singing. She told us that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ liked to hear our voices raised in praise.
On another occasion, we again sat together during sacrament meeting. We could not say much to each other because of the language difference, but we could communicate. During the meeting, she got out a piece of paper and some crayons. I thought she was going to write something, but she whispered, “Let’s draw Mama.” She drew a small circle. Then she pointed to her eyes and gave me the piece of paper and a crayon. I understood that she wanted me to draw the eyes, and I did. I gave the crayon back to her, and she drew hair. Then I drew the dress, and she drew the arms. Eventually, the two of us had drawn a picture of my mother. I felt so happy! I showed it to Mama, and I gave Sister Compton a big hug.
She always had something to share with us. Often it was a children’s story she had written herself. One day she talked to me about Jesus Christ. Then we colored some pictures she had drawn of Jesus.
The day came when Brother and Sister Compton had to leave. I asked why. Mama told me they had a family who missed and needed them. I thought of Mama and how I could not be away from her for very long. That’s when I knew I had to let Sister Compton go.
Many years have passed since then. The letters between us have never stopped, and our friendship has become stronger. When I think of Sister Compton, I think of the words our Lord Jesus Christ left with His disciples: “This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you” (John 15:12).
I fondly remember summer days when we Primary children made a game of hunting for treasure—a piece of candy, a flower, or a little toy hidden by an older child. How happy we were when we found the treasure! Since then I have found many beautiful and valuable treasures in my life. But one of my greatest treasures will always be the love of two special missionaries—my friends Avon and Merlin Compton.

“The gospel fills my life with such joy!” the young woman at the pulpit in my student ward exclaimed. I could tell it was true, but my own heart was heavy. I had always been a member of the Church, and I believed in the gospel with all my heart. I followed its principles faithfully. But I didn’t feel that there was any true joy in my life, only the never-ending demands of school, Church callings, friends, and family. Why couldn’t I feel the way the girl at the pulpit did?
The question soon began to consume my thoughts. The familiar Book of Mormon scripture echoed in my head: “Men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25). I became determined to find an answer.
“Father in Heaven,” I prayed late one night, “please, oh please. I’m not happy, and I’m not sure why. Where can I find the joy that prophets and others speak of?”
I crossed campus the next day, sure that now I would get the answer to my prayers. Rain had been falling for three days, filling the flower beds and spilling down the sidewalks. As I plodded through the puddles, I peered into the faces of the other students and wondered if they were truly happy.
The day passed as usual, and I was still discouraged. I sat doing homework, more downhearted than ever.
The shrill ring of the telephone shattered the silence of my self-pity.
“Catherine!” It was my dad’s cheery voice. “How are you?”
“Hi, Dad,” I said. “I’m okay.”
“Just okay?” he asked.
Soon I had told him the whole problem. Finally, I asked, “Where can I find true joy?”
He was silent for a moment, thinking.
“When I was in Germany on a mission,” he said slowly, “the sun sometimes shone for only a few hours a day. Depressing darkness would fill the rest of our waking hours. I struggled with the gloominess for some time before I learned that if I wanted to have sunshine, I had to carry it with me in my heart.”
I think back on this conversation with my dad regularly. My answer came then. Joy is something inside a person. It comes from living the gospel, being grateful for the opportunity to do so, and then remembering to simply be happy about it.

When Ben got up that morning, he was very happy. Not only was it Friday, it was his birthday. His mother had told him that three of his very best friends could come home with him after school and spend the night.
Even school that day was fun for Ben. The whole class sang “Happy Birthday” to him, Mrs. Whitaker let him give each of his classmates one of the chocolate cupcakes that his mother had baked, and everybody had fun. Ben felt very special.
On their way home from school, Ben and his friends stopped at Mr. Jeffrey’s store. Ben wanted to show the other boys a watch that he wanted.
“Is that what you’re getting for your birthday?” Frank asked.
“No,” Ben said. “My mom thinks it will mean more to me if I save up and buy it with my own money.”
After the boys had admired the watch, Frank said, “You guys wait for me outside, OK? I’ll be out in a minute.”
“OK,” Ben agreed, placing the watch back on the jewelry counter.
Frank was very quiet when he came out of the store. “Are you all right?” Ben asked.
“Sure,” answered Frank. “I was just thinking about something.”
That evening Ben’s mother had his favorite kind of pizza for dinner. Afterward they had birthday cake, then played games until it was time for Ben to open his presents.
Ben smiled when he opened the new shoes and pants his mom and dad had bought him. He knew that that was what they would give him, because he had tried them on when his mother took him shopping. His little brother, Sam, gave him a plastic snake that crawled up and down a long green stick. Eric gave him a jigsaw puzzle, and Paul gave him a model of the latest space shuttle.
When Ben finished opening the presents everyone else had given him, Frank reached into his pocket and handed Ben a small brown box. “I’m sorry I didn’t wrap it. I just didn’t have time.”
Ben knew what was in the box as soon as he saw it. He had seen it almost every day after school for a whole month. He was so surprised that all he could say was, “It’s the watch from Mr. Jeffrey’s store!”
When the boys finally settled into their sleeping bags for the night, Ben whispered to Frank, “I really like the watch, but that was a lot of money to spend on a birthday present. …”
“You don’t need money if you’re smart,” Frank quietly replied. “Old Mr. Jeffrey will never even know it’s gone.”
Ben thought about what Frank had told him. It doesn’t seem right to keep something that was stolen from Mr. Jeffrey, Ben finally told himself, but I didn’t take the watch, and if I tell, Frank will be in trouble. Maybe if I try especially hard to do what’s right, it will make up for what Frank did that was wrong.
Ben was extra good that weekend. He helped his mother with the dishes without complaining. He took the garbage out without being asked. He played with Sam while Mom fixed dinner. He even cleaned up his room, something he really hated to do. But it didn’t work. He still felt bad about the watch. In Church on Sunday when he tried to think about Jesus during the sacrament, he felt even worse than ever.
On Monday everybody at school admired Ben’s watch. Even Tommy Evans wanted to see it, and there weren’t many things that Tommy liked. The only person who didn’t say something nice about the watch was Frank. “What’s wrong?” Ben asked him at recess.
“Nothing,” Frank said quietly.
“Do you feel bad about taking the watch?” Ben asked softly.
Ben could see that his friend was trying hard not to cry. Neither boy said anything for a minute; then Frank blurted, “I just wanted to get you a nice birthday present, but I know that what I did was wrong.”
“I don’t feel right about wearing it, either, so let’s take it back to Mr. Jeffrey after school,” Ben suggested.
Frank smiled at his friend. “I’d feel a lot better if we did. I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
When the boys walked into Mr. Jeffrey’s store, he was as happy to see them as he had ever been. Ben just handed the brown box across the counter without saying a word.
At first Mr. Jeffrey just looked surprised; then he looked hurt. “How could you do this?” he asked, looking at Ben. “I thought you were my friend, and I trusted you.”
“I’m the one who took the watch, Mr. Jeffrey,” Frank told him. “I’m really sorry. I just wanted to give Ben a nice birthday present, and I didn’t think you’d miss it.”
“And I feel bad because I kept the watch after I found out that it was stolen,” Ben said.
“You know,” Mr. Jeffrey said angrily, “that when something is stolen from the store, I lose the money that I paid for it. So I have to charge a little more for everything else in the store to make up for the loss.”
“I never thought of it that way,” said Frank.
“I’m glad that we brought the watch back,” Ben added. “We really are sorry.”
Mr. Jeffrey’s face softened. “Yes, you did bring it back, and that was a brave thing for you to do. I’m proud of both of you, and I think that you have learned something.”
Ben had a lot to think about as he and Frank walked home together. He still liked the watch in Mr. Jeffrey’s store, and he’d work hard until he saved enough money to buy it. Looking at Frank, Ben was glad that he had a friend who would help him do what was right. And Ben was grateful for a friend like Mr. Jeffrey, who had forgiven him when he had done wrong.

After not being able to go to church and then experiencing an earthquake in our city, we decided to sing Primary songs to older people in our neighborhood. It was like Christmas caroling but in spring! We knocked on their doors and stood back from the house with a sign saying that we loved them and that they didn’t need to invite us in. They were so surprised and happy to hear us, and it was fun! It helped us feel better when we felt scared.
Emily and Lily D., ages 8 and 4, Utah, USA

Not long after I started using this notebook, I was called and set apart as the Young Women president in my ward, and my notebook began to fill up with thoughts regarding each of my thirty young women. I served in this calling for fifteen months before our family moved out of state for work.

In our new home, my notebook started to fill up with thoughts regarding my new ward members, neighbors, and coworkers. Over the years there were times when I would have a good thought and was able to carry it out immediately. And there were other times when the timing of the thought made it impossible for me to do so.

Some years later I shared this experience in a Sunday meeting back in my home state. A young mother who had been one of my Young Women ten years earlier was present. She leaned over to me afterward and asked, “Am I in that book?”

“Yes,” I responded.

“I knew it!” she said. “Because when you started [doing this specific thing], it changed my life.”

I was so grateful that we could recognize together and remember again the Lord’s love for us.

So why now? Why is this the experience the Lord wanted me to share with you today? I hope that you have received or will receive an answer to this question through the power of the Holy Ghost. What good thought and feeling have you had as you’ve heard me share? I encourage you to take a moment to write it down.

I will share a few of the truths that the Spirit has taught me through this experience.

Not all the entries in my notebook have a follow-up story. For ten years I was unaware of the effect that a prompting had had on that young woman. But my lack of knowing or seeing the effect did not change its occurrence. I have seen enough to know of a surety that every time I act in faith on a prompting from the Lord, His purposes are accomplished.6 I don’t need to know His purpose to be obedient,7 and I don’t need to see His purpose accomplished for it to happen. I am willing to go forward in faith and leave the outcomes to Him.

Today I share an example with you of “how the Lord can help you” that was shared with me many years ago by one of my youth leaders. This man had an enormous personal impact on me growing up and has recently passed away. Thad Carlson was raised in the Great Depression era (in the United States) as the ninth of fourteen children. His family made a living by farming and raising cattle. It was a difficult time financially, and their greatest asset in being able to support their large family was their herd of cattle. In his youth, one of Thad’s responsibilities on the farm was to care for and, when necessary, herd the cattle to assure they found the best feed, a big job for a young boy. He was able to do this with the aid of a smart cow pony who knew exactly what to do with very little direction. The pony was named Old Smoky. Thad described that Old Smoky had one fault – which was that he never wanted to be caught. Whenever this horse was approached to be caught, he would just run away, knowing that he was going to be put to work!

On this day, after Old Smoky was caught, bridled and saddled, young Thad rode out to the pasture where the cattle were grazing. The ground was dry, and so was the pasture, as the whole area was experiencing a drought. Thad noticed that the grass outside the pasture along the sides of the railroad tracks seemed longer and greener. So, he thought they could herd the cows outside the fenced pasture and let them enjoy some of that good feed which was right along the railroad tracks. With the help of Old Smoky, he herded the cattle out of the pasture, where they began to move back and forth along the rail tracks feeding on the better, greener grass. Everything seemed to be working out so well with this plan. The contented cows seemed to be taking care of themselves, so Thad got off his horse, and sat on the reins of the bridle enjoying the surroundings around him, playing and amusing himself. Old Smoky eventually drifted away, his reins slipping out from under Thad, looking to graze in the green grass himself.

This idyllic and peaceful moment came to a crashing and abrupt halt when Thad suddenly heard a loud noise from far away. It was the whistle of an oncoming locomotive barreling down the very rail tracks where his cattle herd were lazily scattered right in front of him! He recognized the consequences could be devastating to the herd and also to his family if he did not act quickly to get the cattle back into the pasture away from that oncoming train. He felt he would never be able to forgive himself for not fulfilling his trusted responsibility. He swiftly jumped to his feet and ran to grab the reins of Old Smoky. Old Smoky saw him coming and quickly danced away from Thad – of course not wanting to be caught. Breathless and desperate, with images of dead cows and family tragedy flashing through his mind, Thad knew he had to act fast.

He later recorded what followed next :
“My primary teacher had taught us to pray, and reinforced teachings learned from my mother. With no other recourse, I dropped to my knees and started to pray for help to clear the cows off the tracks.” He continues, “I didn’t hear a voice, but the clear thought came, “Notice how the cows can walk by Old Smoky and he doesn’t move. So . . . now that you are on your knees, also get on your hands. Play [pretend] like you’re a cow and crawl over to Old Smoky.” I did. He didn’t move. I grabbed his reins, led him to the fence, hopped on his back and we raced like the wind to get the cows back into the pasture. Old Smoky was unusually brilliant at every twist and turn.”

Thad continued to describe that at the time he “didn’t dare tell anyone about this for fear of getting his pants kicked . . .”
He also described that it was sometime later, when he was in high school that it fully dawned on him that he had a very clear answer to his prayer in a critical time of need. He observed that, “angels administered to Old Smoky beyond my ability, and our family was spared a tragedy.”

Later on, he shared: “this was the first of many promptings that was to come to me. ‘And whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold, it shall be given unto you.’”10
He finally quipped, “whenever someone would sing the song ‘On Top of Old Smoky’, I always thought of prayer.”