Gospel Story Finder

The first day of my senior year, I felt lucky to discover that Alyce Pringle was in two of my classes. I say lucky because a class with Alyce meant a class with pizzazz. No one ever knew what to expect from her. Alyce was Hollenda High’s school clown, a true comedienne who, with the raise of an eyebrow, could create hysteria. The teachers, therefore, weren’t particularly wild about her, but we, her classmates, loved her.
It was Alyce who was chosen to play the part of the domineering mother in our school play Goodbye Birdie and who brought down the house just by walking out on the stage wearing a gray wig and big sloppy shoes. It was Alyce who ran for cheerleader in her dad’s old army uniform. It was Alyce who outwitted all the candidates for secretary of the school by using portions of all their speeches for her speech. “Did you hear what Alyce did (or said) today?” people would ask each other in the halls. No one asked which Alyce. Everyone knew it was the Alyce.
Why Alyce began picking on me, I’m not sure. Perhaps it was because I was shy and blushed easily. She always mentioned my blushing, which made me blush more. Maybe it was because I was too stoic and serious for my own good. “Here’s Bill,” she’d say, mimicking the way I pushed my glasses back, my nose in a book. Maybe it was because she had found out that I am a Mormon.
One day when Mr. Jackson asked me to work out a problem on the blackboard, I unthinkingly put the chalk in my mouth for a moment. Alyce noticed it right away. “Bill!” she said loudly. “What will people think!” I took the chalk out quickly and blushed as 25 students giggled. When I got back to my seat, I surprised Alyce by joking back. I faked a cough. Alyce liked that.
I didn’t really mind Alyce’s teasing. I’d never been in the limelight before, and it was fun and exciting. If Alyce had been malicious in her teasing, it might have been a different story, but she was never cruel. She never teased behind anyone’s back. Being teased by Alyce, I felt, was a compliment. Because we sat next to each other in one of our classes—algebra—we began talking once in a while before class. At first Alyce only joked, no matter what I said. But then in time she let her mask slip once in a while, and I saw that Alyce wasn’t all clown. I doubted that many people knew that. It was just when I thought Alyce and I might become fairly good friends, however, that I did something that almost ruined our friendship.
Mr. Thorndike had thrown a surprise Spanish vocabulary test at us. It had surprised even me. Usually I was one step ahead of Thorndike and anticipated his tests, but this time he had fooled me. I had only read over the words once and had worked on my physics project the night before instead.
After the test was over, I knew I’d flunked it royally. I’d missed at least 14 of the words. Then, to my humiliation, Mr. Thorndike had us correct the tests in class. He gathered them up and then passed them around haphazardly. I wondered self-consciously who would get mine and think I was a real dunce.
The next day after he had recorded the grades, Mr. Thorndike passed the tests back to us. “Congratulations, Bill. You got the only 100,” he said, as he handed my test back.
“I couldn’t have.”
“Well, you did.”
“No, I …” I looked at the test. It definitely had my name on it, and it also had a big underlined 100 percent in the corner. I controlled a gasp. All the spaces I had left blank had been carefully filled in. Someone had cheated for me. But why? I looked around the room and saw that the students sitting around Alyce were looking at me and giggling. Alyce had her head down but was grinning widely. I realized what I should have known. Somehow Alyce had managed to get my test paper and had corrected it. As a prank she had filled in the right answers. Now what do I do, I wondered. Alyce, why did you have to do that? I thought unhappily. I looked back down at the test. I couldn’t accept an A, and the grades were already recorded in Mr. Thorndike’s roll book. Yet, I couldn’t tell on Alyce either.
“Thought you said you flunked it.” Ralph, my buddy, walked out of class with me. I still had the test paper in my hand, my fingers covering the 100 percent.
“Alyce has really done it,” I said.
“Oh, no.” Ralph began to laugh.
“What can I do? What would you do?”
“I don’t know. Just forget it, I guess.”
“Ralph, I can’t accept an A. I told you, I flunked it.”
“Sneak up and change the grade when Thorndike isn’t looking?”
“Sure.”
“Then just forget about it. You get Alyce in trouble and the whole school will be down on you.”
“But most people know what you and I stand for. They know who all the Latter-day Saints are. Even if I didn’t mind being dishonest personally, and I do, I still can’t cheat because it would put the Church in a bad light.”
“Having everyone in the school hate you wouldn’t help the Church much either, would it?”
“No.”
“Just forget it.”
“You’re probably right.” Sure, I thought, Ralph is right. I won’t make waves. I’ll just forget it. But by the end of the day, by algebra, I still hadn’t been able to forget it. I knew I’d have to talk to Alyce about it.
“Got a 100 on the Spanish test, huh?” Alyce said grinning. Her dark eyes crinkled mischievously. When she wasn’t pulling faces, Alyce was a pretty girl.
“Yes,” I said. “Amazing isn’t it, since I didn’t study?” She could sense my misery.
“You don’t sound very happy for someone who just got an A on a test he didn’t even study for.”
“I’m not,” I said. “Alyce, you’ve put me in a spot. I’ve thought about it, and I can’t accept that A. Now what do I do?”
“Oh, brother! I should have known better. You’re such a bore, Bill, so predictable.” She tried to laugh it off. “Well, go ahead and tell. I don’t care.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“I said I don’t care. Do what you feel you have to do.” I could tell she did care. Talking to her hadn’t made the situation any easier. Then, in the middle of one of the algebra problems, I thought of something. Mr. Thorndike would have no way of knowing that Alyce had corrected my test unless I told him. I could simply tell him that someone had changed my answers and that I deserved an F, not an A. He wouldn’t ask me if I knew who had corrected the test because he wouldn’t think I knew. How would I know? Even if he suspected Alyce, he had no proof. And, if he asked me if I knew who had done it, I’d just tell him outright that I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. After algebra, I smiled at Alyce and touched her arm.
“Don’t worry,” I said.
After school I went right into Spanish and told Mr. Thorndike what had happened. He seemed angry, but he didn’t ask me if I knew who had done it. I stood and watched as he crossed out the A and put an F in its place.
“Next time maybe I’d better be prepared,” I said sheepishly.
“Yes,” he said.
I thought that was the end of it, but it wasn’t. The next day I could tell by the way Thorndike stood up that he was wearing war paint. I held my breath.
“Day before yesterday someone corrected Bill McKinley’s vocabulary test,” Mr. Thorndike said slowly. “That person filled in some right answers and gave Bill a grade he didn’t deserve. Now I want to know who that person is.” The color must have drained from my face. I didn’t dare look to see what Alyce was doing for fear I’d give her away. “Let me continue,” Mr. Thorndike said. “If that person does not identify himself, this whole class will be punished. I don’t know how right now, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. Now who did it?”
I put my head in my hands and began moaning inwardly. Why did this have to be happening. Tension increased in the room as no one spoke. My chest felt thick inside. Then I surprised myself. “Look,” I spoke out. “I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble.”
“Quiet, Bill,” Mr. Thorndike said sternly. “Once again, I ask, who did it?” he said dramatically.
“I said I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble,” I repeated, once again surprising myself and Mr. Thorndike who still had his mouth open and was staring at me.
Before he had a chance to rebuke me, a clear voice said, “I corrected it.”
“Who said that?” Mr. Thorndike looked around the room.
“Me. I did it,” Alyce said bravely. “It was just a joke.”
Mr. Thorndike, who had never liked Alyce much, nodded. Anger flared in his eyes. “I should have known. Yes, I should have known. Well, I’m tired of this kind of thing, young lady, and we’ll have no more of it.” He was speaking loudly. “You’re seniors now, and I’m tired of this kind of business. It’s thoroughly immature. Next year you’ll be going out into the world, and you are still acting like children. Alyce, you’ll see me after class. I’ll have to take measures. I’m sick of it, and I’ll have no more of it. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
The rest of the day I was miserable. I should have listened to Ralph, I thought. It was such a small thing, one lousy test. Such a stupid thing to make such a big deal about, to have been such a stickler over. Why hadn’t I just kept my mouth shut?
I didn’t know what to say to Alyce later when I sat next to her in algebra, and she wouldn’t look at me. She had her head down, and her hair had draped down in front of her face. “Alyce,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d do that. It makes me sick. What did he say after class?”
“Oh, he said it would affect my citizenship for the semester. He was mad.”
“You know I didn’t want anything like that to happen.”
“I know,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.” But it did matter, for my relationship with Alyce changed. Although she still joked with others, she quit teasing me, and though we still spoke, she seemed aloof. At the time I thought it was because Alyce was angry, but now I realize she was probably just embarrassed. It saddened me to have a barrier between us, but I figured that in time, maybe before the end of the school year, our friendship would be back to normal.

The funeral was over. Almost all the people on High Street had attended it, and I had gone with Mom and Dad. Now I was home sitting on the back porch steps. I glanced over at Mr. Sedgwick’s house and thought it seemed strange not to see him working in his garden.
As the afternoon sun began sinking behind the trees, I stared at the ground and remembered other yellow, sunny days when Mr. Sedgwick was still alive …
“Worms are marvelous creatures, Margaret,” Mr. Sedgwick had said with a quick laugh. “Just trust me and hold out your hand.”
I trusted Mr. Sedgwick, but my nose wrinkled as he placed the squirming, crawling thing in the palm of my hand. After a second or two, I was surprised that it didn’t bother me anymore. “What are they good for?” I had asked as I gently touched it.
“They aerate the soil for one thing,” he explained. “They crawl around in the ground and dig tiny tunnels. Then the rain and air can get down in there and help things grow.”
I thought of Mr. Sedgwick’s body in the ground. Dad said it was in a cement box, and I wondered if it bothered Mr. Sedgwick to be in a box with no light. But Mr. Sedgwick isn’t in that box, I reminded myself. Only his old worn-out body is there. But his body hadn’t seemed worn-out to me. He was always doing something!
I pulled a long blade of grass from beside the steps, then stretched it between my palms and thumbs like Mr. Sedgwick had taught me. When I blew on it, it made a low, funny sound, and Patches barked down by his doghouse. Patches! I hadn’t even thought of him. He loved Mr. Sedgwick too. I knew it was up to me to tell him.
“Mom,” I said, pressing my nose against the screen door, “may I take Patches for a walk?”
Mom came to the screen and smiled at me. “It’s almost time for dinner, honey,” she replied.
“I’d like to take him to the cemetery and explain about Mr. Sedgwick.”
“Would you like your father or me to go with you?”
I shook my head.
“All right, Margaret, but don’t be gone long.”
Patches jumped up and down, pulling on his chain and barking excitedly. I snapped the leash to his collar hook and undid the chain. He was off with a jerk, so I had to make him behave and walk beside me. As we passed Mr. Sedgwick’s house, Patches started to turn in at the gate.
“Come on, Patches,” I said, tugging his leash. “I have something to tell you, but not here.”
We walked through the quiet of the cemetery where shadows rested behind every tombstone. The smell of lilacs was in the air, and the breeze carried the song of the wood thrush. We walked up the slope where I could see the mound of fresh flowers. Patches started sniffing the ground.
I sat on the warm grass, put my arm around his neck, and hugged him tightly. “I don’t know how to tell you, Patches,” I whispered. “I guess the best way is to say it straight out. Mr. Sedgwick died, Patches. He’s buried under those flowers. We won’t see him here anymore. He won’t give you any more scraps … or teach me any more about gardening.”
Tears started rolling down my cheeks. Patches seemed to understand what I said and how I felt, because he turned and kind of smiled at me. Then he started licking the tears from my face and his tail stopped wagging and his ears drooped. I put my head down on my crossed arms and really sobbed. I don’t know how long I cried, but Patches finally wiggled his nose under my arm and started whimpering.
I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and held Patches’s face between my hands. “It’s OK,” I said as I rubbed his ears. “Mr. Sedgwick was a good friend, and Mom and Dad said it’s OK to miss him.”
Patches lay down and put his head on his paws. His brown eyes looked as sad as I felt, and I wished I could cheer him up.
“But you know what?” I said, forcing a smile. “Mr. Sedgwick is with his wife again. Just think how happy they must be to see each other. We’ll see him again, too, when we die. Remember how he always came here and put flowers on her grave? Well, he didn’t have a family, so you and I will have to do that now for both of them.”
Patches sat up and put his paw on my arm. I wiped my eyes again and stood up. It’s a nice place to be buried, I thought as I looked toward the west. Mr. Sedgwick always liked the sunset.
“Come on, boy,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
We walked down the shady street, and when we passed Mr. Sedgwick’s house, Patches glanced in at the gate. I looked in, too, but both of us just kept on walking.
I chained Patches to his doghouse and gave him fresh water; then I sat and combed his hair. He stayed real still, like he was thinking. I was glad I had told him. Soon I heard the screen door open.
“Margaret?” Dad called.
“I’m here with Patches, Dad,” I replied. Dad waved, then sat down on the porch step, waiting.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Patches,” I whispered as I hugged him good night.
He seemed to sigh, then went and lapped up some water from his dish. I walked up to the house and sat on the step beside my dad. He put his arm around my shoulders and hugged me.
“Everything OK?” he asked.
“I told Patches about Mr. Sedgwick.”
Dad nodded. “How did he take it?”
“I think he feels better.”
“Yes, I’m sure he does,” Dad agreed.
“I think I’ll get ready for dinner now,” I said. I kissed Dad on the cheek.
“Mom and I are proud of you, Margaret,” he said quietly.
I smiled at him and said, “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, honey.”

Two years passed. One day I asked Roberta if she would travel with me to the city of Foggia, where I was to receive my patriarchal blessing. She agreed to go, mostly because she hadn’t been on a trip in a while.
While Roberta waited in another room, Brother Vincenzo Conforte gave me a wonderful blessing. Afterward, I was so caught up in the Spirit that I completely forgot about Roberta, who must have been feeling like a fish out of water as she waited for me. But Brother Conforte noticed her. When he learned she was not a member of the Church, he humbly knelt by her chair. Looking into her eyes, he bore a sweet and powerful testimony. God truly lived and loved her, he testified, and she could come to know Him through simple prayer.
That testimony touched Roberta’s heart. And it completely changed the way I thought about sharing the gospel with others. With that simple gesture, the patriarch taught me how to be a true witness of God.
Since I had this experience, many of my friends have come into the Church. My friend Roberta is even considering studying the gospel. And I have learned something I will never forget: Whenever we testify of the Savior and His gospel, we must do so with love.

Scripture study was a welcome break for Angel, even if her friends didn’t understand why she would take time away from her school classes to bother with religion. “A lot of them think it’s strange that I spend time with my church. Most of my classmates don’t have any religious beliefs,” says Angel, who was the only Church member in the Taipei First Girls’ School student body of 4,000-plus. “Some students will discuss religion with me, but most of the time they just think being LDS is strange because it takes me away from my schoolwork.”
One of those classmates is a friend Angel invited to church one Sunday. Angel says her friend had a generally positive experience at church. She even told Angel afterward that she felt religion was good and that she might think about becoming religious herself—after she graduates from the university. “She just didn’t think she had the time for church,” Angel adds.
Even Angel’s father, Liu Chuen Hsin, isn’t completely convinced the time his daughter spends learning the gospel is all that productive. He often questions if Angel’s time wouldn’t be better spent studying or going to the library. When Angel’s mother, Catherine, joined the Church in 1984, Angel was only seven. Although Liu Chuen Hsin didn’t object to his wife’s baptism, he had no interest in joining the Church with her. However, he did allow Angel to be baptized when she turned eight.
“My father is interesting,” Angel adds. “Sometimes he will say, ‘Since you have an exam coming up, maybe you shouldn’t go to church.’ But there are other times when he’ll tell me to hurry up because he doesn’t want me to be late for church.
“My parents have high expectations of me. My father thinks I can have a great impact on our family by continuing my education and doing well,” Angel adds. Angel is quick to point out she can also have a great impact on her family by staying active in the Church.
“In Taiwan, parents who are members of the Church set examples for their children,” says Kent Liang, a former regional representative and stake president. “They go to church and perform their callings, and the children are able to see this. But some kids whose parents aren’t members are often tempted to rest and not go to church on Sundays. And the school competition is so high that school is sometimes all they see. They think, Should I go to church or go to the library? Sometimes they don’t worry that much about church things because they don’t see that far into the future. Right now, many of the kids in Taiwan are worried only about school.”
And that is what is so amazing about Angel. She graduated near the top of her high school class, yet she doubts she could have done it had she not had the gospel’s guiding influence in her life. “The Church was especially helpful to me during my senior year of high school. I noticed a lot of my schoolmates were easily depressed because of school,” she says. “But I knew if I did my best, Heavenly Father would help me. Usually, my grades were better than I expected.”
Today, college life keeps Angel busy as she studies to become a doctor. As Angel returns home from a full day, she still takes time to read from the scriptures. When she closes her scriptures, it’s 10:30 P.M. Angel’s day is over—finally. She can close her eyes knowing she is doing well in school, and, more importantly, she is finding time to include the gospel in her busy life. In less than eight hours, her day will begin all over again. Angel will undoubtedly enjoy a very sound sleep.

Another example of a true disciple of Jesus Christ is a dear friend of ours in Côte d’Ivoire in West Africa. This wonderful, faithful sister suffered terrible emotional, and even some physical, abuse from her husband over a sustained period of time, and eventually they divorced. She never wavered in her faith and goodness, but because of his cruelty to her, she was deeply hurt for a long time. In her own words, she describes what happened:
“Though I said I forgave him, I always slept with a wound; I spent my days with that wound. It was like a burn in my heart. Many times I prayed to the Lord to take it away from me, but it hurt so bad that I strongly believed I was going to spend the rest of my life with it. It hurt more than when I lost my mom at a young age; it hurt more than when I lost my dad and even my son. It seemed to expand and cover my heart, giving me the impression I was going to even die at any time.
“Some other times I asked myself what the Savior would have done in my situation, and I would rather say, ‘This is too much, Lord.’
“Then one morning I looked for the pain that comes from all this in my heart and went deeper, looking for it in my soul. It was nowhere to be found. My mind quickly passed to review all the reasons I [had] to feel hurt, but I did not feel the pain. I waited the whole day to see if I was going to feel the pain in my heart; I did not feel it. Then I knelt down and thanked God for making the atoning sacrifice of the Lord work for me.”6
This sister is now happily sealed to a wonderful, faithful man who loves her deeply.

Realeboha Lesia, a young single adult from Bloemfontein, South Africa, has recently implemented this principle in her own life. While working a full-­time job to support herself, she also started her own business or “side hustle” as she refers to it, in which she hopes to one day replace her income by following her creative interests and passions.

“Coming back home after work, I would be so tired, having worked all day in my job and then working after hours to get my business going,” she says. It meant pushing through fatigue and fighting the desire just to take one night off. It also meant sacrificing some things she enjoyed: “It often meant not going out and doing fun things,” says Rea. “I was staying at home, doing research and meeting people to find out how they started their business and how they made things work.”

For Rea, part of perseverance has meant being flexible and realising that plans and reality often don’t coincide. It’s “seeing that with time, plans change,” she says. But contrary to what we might expect, this change is often for the better. And with every effort, she finds that the process itself helps her progress. “You learn things, you make contacts, you meet mentors, and learn better ways of doing things,” Rea explains.

Rea has found that positive self-talk is extremely important too. “How you speak to yourself is vital,” she says. “You must be careful what you say to yourself, because you are always listening. Tell yourself if you’re positive, it will happen.”

In order to stay motivated and keep going, Rea has identified unofficial mentors. “I chose people who are in the creative sector, I told them this is what I want to do and asked them for their insights.” On a tough day or when things don’t go as planned, she calls a friend and shares her frustrations. Afterwards she finds renewed energy and focus. She also relies on the example of others, such as someone who also started his own business and battled through a tough period before experiencing success.

“When things were going badly, I saw him keeping on going, he didn’t give up and say let me quit and start on a 9 to 5 job or start another project,” says Rea. “I have these people that can advise me and listen to me.”

But most importantly, she’s seeking direction and support from God. “Besides talking to these mentors, I’m also talking to my Heavenly Father,” she says. “Always remembering that I’m not alone, and it would be far better to let Heavenly Father be my partner in my goals.”

Sister Moulder went to a training center in New York State for more than three weeks. She and Buddy learned there how to get along together. On their first Sunday together in our ward, Sister Moulder taught us how to help Buddy adjust to his new home and friends. Did you know that it helps Buddy if we do not look in his eyes, pat his head, or rub his ears? When he wears his working harness, he must not be distracted. If we invite him to play, we will be undoing the good training he has been given. We help him best by ignoring him. We must never call him by name or offer him food. He should take commands and food only from Sister Moulder. She takes good care of Buddy, and she trains him to behave nicely around people. He takes good care of her, showing her the way through the chapel door, down the hall, and into the Relief Society room.

A decade passed before the president of the Samoan Mission, Thomas A. Court, sailed to the Vava'u Group on March 19, 1907 to determine if it was suitable for missionaries but also to buy horses for the mission farm.

According to the book Unto the Islands of the Sea - A History of the Latter-day Saints in the Pacific by R. Lanier Britsch, "When President Court returned to Samoa, he reported that the prospects were ‘very bright’ and he intended to send elders there soon. ... President Court told ... missionaries that friends he made in Vava'u had asked the Church to send elders to open a school and preach the gospel. According to Ermel J. Morton's account of the Tongan Mission, the man who asked President Court to send missionaries to Vava'u was Iki Tupou Fulivai, harbor master" (434-435).

Here’s my great-grandfather Iki Tupou Fulivai, harbor master of Neiafu, Vava'u, which was one of the busiest and most beautiful harbors in the Pacific. Until recently, this was the only portrait of him that existed, probably taken in the late 1800s in Sydney, Australia because he was educated there. Iki was well traveled, working on ships that took him to China, Europe, and even to America - rare among Tongan men at that time. He especially loved the Orient, and as a little boy, I remember playing on his estate Esia, which I didn't realize until I was an adult is the Tongan transliteration for "Asia." Tonga was so remote that it was also rare for Tongans to wear Western clothing, but Iki is sporting exactly what was fashionable at the time in London, New York, and Philadelphia right down to the handlebar mustache. As the son of a nobleman, Iki and three of his peers were sent to Australia to study because the Tongan government hadn't yet established public schools. The other three boys grew homesick and returned to Tonga, but Iki stayed and learned to speak English, although he didn't complete his education - he simply dropped out to travel. Because he was fluent in English, the governor of Vava'u later appointed him harbor master, piloting the tow boat that brought large ships into Vava’u’s scenic Port-of-Refuge harbor.

Presumably, that's how Iki met President Court, whom he invited to stay in his home when he learned he was a minister looking to buy horses. The next morning, Iki took the mission president to a neighboring village and introduced him to a family friend who owned horses. President Court selected two plow horses for purchase. Iki later recalled that President Court produced a handkerchief in which he saw gold coins that he offered for the horses. But true to the Tongan custom of the day, the friend refused the money. President Court was so indebted that he asked Iki how his kindness could be repaid. Iki responded by asking President Court if he could send teachers to educate his children. According to family lore, President Court famously replied, "I will send you two teachers."

Two months after President Court returned to Samoa with his horses, he sent Elders William O. Facer and Heber J. McKay to Vava’u on June 13, 1907. They lived with Iki’s family, teaching all of his children to read and the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. The youngest of Iki’s 14 children is my grandmother Toa'ila, who wouldn’t be born for another 13 years and is alive today at age 94.

As a nobleman, Iki was pressured by the Tongan monarchy, who were mostly members of the Free Wesleyan Church, to remove the missionaries who lived in his home and to cease teaching his family and neighbors the restored gospel. He refused at great personal cost. Until the 1930s, when public schools were established in Tonga, Iki charged the Church $1 per year for the school property on his estate where missionaries taught in order to satisfy a Tongan law, making it affordable for the Church. Generations of Tongans learned to read and write and were baptized because of Iki Tupou Fulivai.

In the final story, Verinda, a vibrant young Apache girl, was accepted into the Indian Student Placement Service. She later gave this testimony:
“When I first participated in this program eight years ago, I got off the bus with only the clothes on my back and a few small possessions in a shoebox. I came from a humble home. My people are humble. But you have opened your hearts unto me. For that I am thankful. Now I can go home with a brand new suitcase of clothes. But that is not my wealth. I am wealthy because that which is inside of me is as precious as all of the wealth in this world. I have a testimony of the gospel. I know that Jesus is the Christ and that God lives and answers prayers. I now have a goal—something I can strive for.”

When our son Grant was four-and-a-half years old, he came home from church with a “choose the right” ring—one of the adjustable little rings with a CTR crest. Grant was ecstatic. He showed it to his brothers and sisters. His dad and I chuckled at how much he loved this little ring. Well, shortly after church Grant lost the ring at home. He was despondent. A couple of days later, as I was cleaning the family room, I found Grant’s CTR ring under a couch cushion. Grant was so happy to have his ring back! Not much later, as Grant and his little brother Noah were playing upstairs, I heard a thud and then Noah crying. My practiced mother’s ears knew that those sounds meant Grant, normally a very kind child, had shoved Noah into a wall.

As I got upstairs, I found Noah whimpering a little but not hurt and moving on to play. But Grant was sobbing and pulling off the ring on his finger. He threw the CTR ring down the hall with all his little boy might and through tears yelled, “That thing does not work!”

I sat on the floor and gathered Grant into my arms and asked, “Did you think that if you wore that ring that you would only choose the right?”

He nodded, “Yes.”

I then said, “Oh, sweet boy, it doesn’t work that way. Heavenly Father gave us the greatest gift in that we can choose how we act and what we do. The CTR ring is a reminder, but you choose.”

As I once again set foot upon the field and walked once more a jungle path, in my mind I heard again the stutter of the machine gun, the whistle of shrapnel, and the clatter of small arms. I saw again the bronzed, youthful faces of friends who “gave the last full measure of devotion” (Abraham Lincoln, Gettysburg Address). And I thought of one in particular and one day—a single day, April 3, 1966, Palm Sunday, the Easter season—42 years ago almost to this very day.
Our infantry battalion had been in Vietnam for several months. I was a lieutenant, the leader of a rifle platoon. We were involved almost constantly in combat operations. That day dawned with our battalion deep in hostile territory. Very early we sent out a reconnaissance patrol of about 10 men. One of them was Sergeant Arthur Morris. Several of the men were wounded in a firefight, including Sergeant Morris, who received a slight flesh wound. Eventually the men of the patrol limped back to our lines.
We radioed for a medical evacuation helicopter. Loading the wounded men on the chopper, I urged Sergeant Morris also to get aboard. He demurred. Again I urged him. Again he demurred. Once again I admonished him. Once again he refused. Finally I said, “Sergeant Morris, get on that chopper.”
He looked at me, his eyes earnest, pleading. “Please, sir,” he said, and then these words that will forever haunt me: “They can’t kill a tough old bird like me.”
The entire scene is etched in my mind like a battle tableau: the jungle clearing; the impatient, throbbing rotor blade of the helicopter; the pilot looking at me expectantly; and my friend begging to stay with his men. I relented. I waved away the chopper with its lifeline to Tomorrow. Before the sun had set that very day, my dear friend Sergeant Arthur Cyrus Morris lay dead upon the ground, felled by hostile fire. And echoing in my mind over and over again, I hear his exclamation, “They can’t kill, they can’t kill, they can’t kill …”

Joseph kicked his legs and arms and tried to stay afloat in the stormy sea. But not knowing how to swim, he knew he probably wouldn’t last long. The rain made it impossible for him to see what had happened to his ship, and the waves kept pushing him deeper under the water. As he waved his arms around, hoping someone would see him, his hand hit something. It was a wooden barrel that must have gone overboard with him. He grabbed it and hung on, knowing that it was his only chance for survival.
After what seemed like several hours, the storm calmed, and Joseph saw his ship coming for him. After his men helped him on board, he went straight to his cabin. He changed into some dry clothes and lay on his bed in exhaustion, thinking about what had happened. He knew that finding the barrel had been a miracle.
Joseph remembered the Bible story of Jonah, the prophet who had run away from what God had commanded him to do. Jonah had tried to sail far away from the wicked people he was supposed to preach the gospel to, only to be thrown overboard and swallowed by a whale. The whale spat him out on a beach three days later. Jonah repented and went to teach the wicked people.
God saved Jonah from drowning because He had a job for Jonah to do. Did God save Joseph from drowning because Joseph had a job to do? Joseph thought of the missionaries who had wanted him to go to Nauvoo. He thought of how he had stayed in the harbor instead. Joseph asked Heavenly Father for forgiveness, then went on deck as the ship arrived at its destination on the other side of the harbor.
After a few days, Joseph found a buyer for his damaged ship. Along with his life savings, he had $2,600 in gold coins, which made him a very rich man. But Joseph wasn’t tempted to spend the coins on himself. Instead, he put the money in some small cans, tied them around his waist, and headed for Nauvoo.
It took three weeks of wagon rides and walking to get there. During the hot, rough journey Joseph looked forward to meeting other members of the Church. He imagined Nauvoo as a beautiful community with friendly people who would welcome and accept him.
But when he arrived in Nauvoo, the town was in disarray. The people were poor, and a half-built temple stood at one end of town with hardly anybody working on it. The people were certainly friendly, and they did accept him, but Joseph began to wonder why God wanted him in this broken-down town. He missed his ship and the open water—what was he supposed to do now?
To be continued …

At the age of 18, Olivia Nez has been around the longest of any of the girls in the Young Women program on the reservation. She has played a large part in helping to plan this first girls’ camp, working closely with the leaders to make sure that all the girls had the equipment and skills necessary to have a great time. Even though her senior year was chock-full of activities, including being the student body president, Olivia made time to act as the youth camp director.
“Since I just graduated [from high school], this is my first and last camp with our branches,” she says. “The girls in my branch and the other branches face a lot of challenges, and this is a good opportunity to learn more about the gospel and recommit ourselves.”

I think of another missionary who came to us before we left on our mission. He said, “If you ever get an opportunity to talk to missionaries, you might tell them my story.” Now, that was interesting—I wondered what his story was. He said he thought all missionaries ought to hear about it. This is what he said: I was a failure on my mission. I only participated in one baptism. I had been in the mission field two weeks, and we baptized a fellow that I hadn’t even taught. During the remainder of my mission I had no baptisms. I worked hard, but I never got anyone to be baptized. I came home a failure, and had been one for seventeen years. Then in the early hours of the morning I received a telephone call. At the other end of the line was a woman’s voice. Her words were startling to me. She said, “Is this Elder Bradford?”
“Which Bradford do you mean?”
“Is this the Bradford who was on a mission in Texas about seventeen or eighteen years ago?”
“Well, yes.”
“You may not remember me,” she said, “but you and your companion came to my door, and you bore your testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. You said that there was a Savior, and at that moment there came into my heart an understanding of what you’d said. My testimony began right then, but I was too fearful to continue. I just wanted to call you and let you know that I have just been baptized. I thought you might be interested.” That young man had been a success, not because that woman became baptized. She was but an evidence of the effectiveness of his teaching. How many others did not bother to call? How many others received his service and grew without ever knowing how to contact him or let him know of their success and their achievement in coming into the Lord’s kingdom?

Your lives are like the life of that missionary. As you go about doing the things that our Heavenly Father would have you do, as you keep foremost in your attention achieving your purpose here in life—which is to be a true son or daughter of our Heavenly Father, to bring yourself before him worthily, to receive the greatest blessing that he can give, eternal life—you affect the lives of other people for the better. That’s the importance of having goals to live by.

“Personal Progress hasn’t taught me only about the Church,” says 16-year-old Andrea Navas of the Cincuentenario Ward. “It has helped me realize who I am, that we’re daughters of God.”

Secure in that knowledge, these young women are more comfortable trying new things because they aren’t worried about what others will think if they try and fail. Knowing their value in God’s eyes also helps them reach out to others.

That knowledge motivated Andrea to write a thank-you note to a sister missionary serving in her ward who helped teach her to play the piano. It motivated Melissa to spend time at a local care facility for older people, talking with them and doing things for them that they can no longer do for themselves. And it gave Mayka Moreno of the Marcasa Ward the courage to teach a school friend about the plan of salvation.

When I became part of a new ward in Guatemala, I was surprised at a call to serve in Primary. I had not worked with children for a long time and was happy to accept the call.
Among my first duties was preparing the children for their annual sacrament meeting presentation. Of all the music I needed to teach the children, my favorite became “I’m Trying to Be like Jesus” (Children’s Songbook, 78–79). The problem was, I couldn’t seem to memorize the words well enough to teach them.
One afternoon I set aside some time to listen to the music while concentrating on the words. As I repeated the words over and over, I began to recognize the deep meaning of the doctrine they expressed. A warm, wonderful feeling grew inside me. My eyes filled with tears, and a lump formed in my throat. Still, although I spent several days trying to learn the song, I couldn’t do it. I started to feel desperate. Why can’t I get this song right? I asked myself. Why is it so hard for me to learn? And then, unexpectedly, I answered my own question: Perhaps it’s because I’m not really trying to be like Jesus.
At that moment I committed myself to acting more as the Savior would have me act—to be, as much as possible, like Him. I continued to practice the song every day, but in addition I practiced its message. From that day to this, I have tried being kinder and more gentle, more loving, and more helpful. On my face is a warm smile, and on my lips are encouraging words. I visit the sick and give to the needy. Each month I go out into my community with a backpack of clothes, toys, and cookies, looking for those in need. Each day I try to find some way of showing my love to a friend or neighbor. Each morning I wake up happy, knowing the day will give me more opportunities to follow my Savior.
Today, I know the song well. I know it because, with all my heart, “I’m trying to be like Jesus; I’m following in his ways.”

You may have heard a report from Osaka, Japan, about the Kansai International Airport’s world record—something almost unbelievable. After 30 years of operation and processing hundreds of millions of pieces of cargo, carry-ons, and cases, this airport has not lost one item of luggage.
Not one single piece!
How is such a thing possible?
Tsuyoshi Habuta, the airport chief of baggage operations, believes losing luggage should never happen “because luggage is precious to passengers.” That attitude permeates through his entire staff. The airport’s success, he says, is all part of a commitment to “thoroughness and an attention to detail.”
The Japanese people have developed a reputation for such attention to detail. They have a principle, kaizen, that encapsulates a mindset of constantly searching for and implementing minor improvements. This practice requires a quiet discipline of always looking for small ways to make processes better. They take pride in the fact that these improvements almost always come from those doing the everyday work.
Over the years, the staff at Kansai Airport has developed a process that makes the goal of not losing passengers’ bags a reality. They train employees rigorously and constantly ensure that every bag is counted, tracked, and cared for. They make meticulous and multiple manual checks that complement a sophisticated automated system.
Fragile items such as musical instruments are often hand-delivered to passengers. Staff members do small things such as placing bags on conveyor belts with handles facing outward for easier retrieval by passengers.
When you hand off your luggage at Kansai Airport, you get a sense that they are saying to you, “We have your precious belongings. We are responsible for them now. We will return them to you.”

One extraordinary example of sharing comes from LDS history. We frequently hear of the faith and determination of the members of the Martin and Willie Handcart companies--more than 1000 poor immigrants who fought all sorts of hardships to make it to the Salt Lake Valley in fall 1856. As most of you remember, they were caught in early snowstorms, and having a horrible time crossing the plains. After hearing of their plight, President Brigham Young stood up in October general conference and told the members there "Go and bring in those people now on the plains."[8] He didn't stop to ask, as we often do: Have they worked hard enough? Do they really need my help?
And the Saints in the Salt Lake Valley heeded the call to help. Right there in general conference, people volunteered to go get the immigrants stuck on the plains. Within three days, sixteen wagon teams had set out and within three weeks, there were 250 wagons.[9] Here's the thing to remember. The people in the Salt Lake Valley weren't having an easy time. The harvests of 1854 and 1855 had been horrible, followed by an even worse winter. One historian put it this way: "The famine of 1855-56 had impoverished [Utah] Territory in its agricultural resources; the handcart emigration had brought to the country several thousand poor people, destitute, after their terrible journey, of even the barest clothing."[10] Remember, that same year three handcart companies full of the poorest saints had already arrived to the Salt Lake Valley, needing help. And there wasn't a lot to go around. Heber C. Kimball wrote to his son that they were rationing food in early 1856. By fall, things weren't much better. By early October, when the call came to help those stuck on the plains, some people didn't even have their own harvests in because winter had lasted so long into the spring.[11] And yet when hearing that there were saints in trouble--somewhere on the trail between Utah and Nebraska--they didn't even know where--they just went.
And what supplies did they take? Their own. Their own food, their own clothes, their own blankets, their own wagons and teams. They took things from their own kids to give them to people they'd never even met. They left their families to get someone in trouble--someone they didn't even know.[12] And those who went traveled from the Salt Lake Valley for Eastern Wyoming. They went back 350 miles. In fact, from Winter Quarters, Nebraska to Salt Lake is 1000 miles. The members of the rescue party made that 1000 mile journey for their families. And then they 700 more miles--350 there and 350 back, in an early winter, to go get people they didn't even know.
When I think of the story of the handcart companies, I think about the people who went back. They risked their own lives and really the lives of the own families to help others. Can you imagine doing that?

I hope we are reading the Book of Mormon with our children regularly. I have discussed this with my own children. They have shared with me two observations. First, persistence in reading the scriptures daily as a family is the key. My daughter in a lighthearted way describes their early-morning efforts with mostly teenage children to consistently read the scriptures. She and her husband wake up early in the morning and move through the blurry mist to grasp the iron railing that lines their staircase to where their family gathers to read the word of God. Persistence is the answer, and a sense of humor helps. It requires great effort from every family member every day, but it is worth the effort. Temporary setbacks are overshadowed by persistence.
The second is how our youngest son and his wife are reading the scriptures with their young family. Two out of their four children are not old enough to read. For the five-year-old, they have five finger signals to which he responds in order for him to participate fully in the family scripture reading. The signal for finger 1 is for him to repeat, “And it came to pass” whenever it appears in the Book of Mormon. I have to admit that I love the fact that the phrase appears so often. Incidentally, for the interest of young families, finger signal 2 is “And thus we see”; fingers 3, 4, and 5 are chosen by the parents based on the words contained in the chapter they are reading.
We know that family scripture study and family home evenings are not always perfect. Regardless of the challenges you face, do not become discouraged.

My mother had a wonderful sense of humor. When I was in high school, unbeknownst to any of us children, Mom and Dad decided to redecorate the living room and kitchen. Upon returning from school one day, we arrived home to find royal purple carpet in the living room and bright blue, green, and yellow flowered drapes in the kitchen. They were not just bright, they were very bright—the Provo version of Hawaiian aloha floral. My mother loved the floral drapes. While none of us children were particularly fond of the drapes, my sister Kristi was very vocal about it and made it quite clear that she thought the drapes were especially ugly.
On most of her visits home to see Mom and Dad, Kristi would tell Mom that she should definitely replace those hideous drapes. Mom in return told Kristi that the kitchen drapes were to be a large part of her inheritance and to be sure to remember to take them when the time came. One day in May 2003, about two weeks before my mother passed away unexpectedly, Mom and I were making plans to redecorate her kitchen. Mom said that when we purchased the new drapes, we should take the old ones down and make shorts out of them for everyone in Kristi’s family, just like Maria did for the von Trapp children in the Rodgers and Hammerstein 1959 musical The Sound of Music.
After Mom passed away, Kristi did in fact receive the drapes as part of her inheritance as Mom had wished, even though it was a joke. At a family reunion the following summer, when Kristi, Jim, and their children arrived at the reunion and got out of their car, they all were wearing “stylish” bright blue, green, and yellow floral, handmade shorts.