Gospel Story Finder

I think of a young man whose mother died when he was twelve and whose father responded to that loss by locking his son in his room, then drinking alcohol and entertaining women in the house. When he would come to let the boy out, he would beat him senseless, sometimes breaking bones and causing concussions.

As might be expected, the young man grew up full of confusion, self-hate, and resentment. Yet the Lord did not leave him so, but provided friends and opportunities for growth. Today, through a series of spiritually healing miracles, this young man is preparing for a temple marriage to a good woman. Together they are committed to bringing children up in righteousness and gentleness and love.

Henry Machado tugged the top of his sleeping bag over his tousled hair, rolled over, and tried to rationalize a few more minutes of sleep. Somehow, though, the sun stole its way past the folds of fabric and pried his eyelids open.
It was cozy inside the bag, and his stiff muscles, still aching from 70 miles of pedaling the previous day, urged him to rest as long as he could.
Henry was just one of a group of Explorers from Post 263, sponsored by the San Jose Tenth Ward, San Jose California South Stake. The post members were waking up to the second day of a 480-mile bicycle trip, and even though they had trained for three months to prepare for the effort, they knew they had been through a workout.
“We would get pretty tired sometimes,” Kurk Bakow recalled later, reminiscing about the trip with others in the post. “Some of the big hills nearly wore us out, especially when they came at the end of the day. But the work was worth it for what we got to see and for the closeness it brought to us, working together and pulling for each other.”
Henry knew the struggle was worth it, too. But it was cold outside the covers. Rousing himself, he unzipped the bag and ran to join the others clustered around the supply van as a mildly chilling breeze tickled the tails of their T-shirts. It was time for the daily briefing, an agreed-upon-in-advance procedure for the 11-day trip. Each morning the riders would review the agenda for the day (including the route to be followed, the menu for meals, cooking and clean-up assignments, and locations for lunch), review safety tips (such as wearing helmets while riding), and pray. They would also inspect the mechanical condition of each bike before breaking camp.
On the day the Explorers left San Jose, a ham-and-egg breakfast was served by the Mia Maid and Laurel classes, and then Brother Jensen, a member of the bishopric, gathered the cyclists around him, thanked the Lord for his goodness, and asked him to bless them with a safe trip.
“Most of us work together as a teachers quorum as well as in Scouting. It was reassuring to have the bishopric ask the Lord for his blessing before we left,” Danny Case explained.
Besides briefings and morning and evening prayers, the rest of each day followed a tight timetable, too. Travel began by 8:00 each morning and ended upon arrival at a predetermined camp for the night around 3:00 in the afternoon. There was always time to just lounge around, swim, or play football on the beach, but there was also an evening meal to prepare, and it didn’t take much coaxing to get everyone to bed early. They knew they would need the rest to have energy for the next day.
Some days were scheduled as long rides, consecrated to covering territory so that other days could be spent casually, touring at will. “The neatest part was being able to see so much at one time,” Mike Powell said. “We were out in the open, traveling through mountains and fields, sleeping on beaches, and were able to take time just to enjoy nature. It didn’t rush by like it does in a car. We were part of it. It helped me appreciate the love Heavenly Father must have for us to give us such a beautiful place to live.”
The distance covered daily averaged 65 miles. A one-day rest stop was planned Sunday so the Sabbath could be observed at Arroyo-Grande Ward, Glendale California Stake, in Pismo Beach. Another day was planned for the train trip home (nobody wanted to turn around and pump his bike the same distance the other way), and a day and a half were set aside for Disneyland. This left eight days of pedaling to travel 480 miles.
“It’s important to remember we just didn’t start out cold,” David Sackett said. “Sixty-five miles is a lot of bicycling for one day. We worked for months getting in shape.” The training program required each Explorer to cycle 300 to 325 miles a month for the three months prior to the trip. Each participant had to ride at least four days a week. In addition, once each month the trainees pumped the pedals through a 75-mile practice run.
Squeezing in training around a summer job might seem like a burden, but Steve Fowler managed it well. “Kevin Jolley (the post president) and I would get up early, around 6:00 A.M., and go out on his paper route. When the route was done, we’d just keep on going. I had a late night job, so I could go home and rest before work. When it got hard practicing so much, I’d think that if I didn’t push myself, I’d run out of energy during the trip, or maybe I wouldn’t get to go. That made me work harder.”
Training sessions on bike maintenance (including instructions about which parts to carry in a seat or handlebar pack), safety and first aid (a first-aid kit was attached to each bike), and physical care during periods of strenuous exercise were also conducted throughout the summer. A local bicycle shop provided training and parts. The owner kept his shop open late for classes and worked with each boy individually. He wasn’t LDS, but he seemed eager to talk with the group members about their Church-related activities.
Andy Carlstrom described the orange T-shirts the group bought with funds raised for the trip: “We had them silk-screened with the name of our ward, post, and a map of our route on them. The color made us more visible to traffic and worked as a safety factor in our favor, and the shirts also identified the post as a group,” he said.
Nine post members made the trip, along with Herbert C. “Chuck” Carlstrom, post advisor, and Chet Harmer, a post committee man. They were joined at the third stop by the Young Men’s president, Dale Van Horn, and his wife, Beryl. In the “Sag Wagon,” as the supply van was nicknamed, rode Hank and Olga Machado and their two children, Mike and Andrea. Hank is another member of the post committee. Scott Mortensen, a recently returned missionary, accompanied them. Janine Van Horn joined the group in another truck along the route.
Brother Carlstrom, in his daily journal, narrates the contentment he reveled in one evening: “We made camp. Some of us wanted to sleep on the beach, but after a while we were forced to higher ground by the unusually high tide. … The day’s end caught most of us watching the beauty of the coast as wild fowl flew … before us. As the sun sank … , it filled the sky with all shades of reds and oranges, with slight traces of pink. … It was replaced by the moon, almost full, as it came over the mountains in back of us, painting the ocean’s surface with flickering light. It was soon joined by other heavenly bodies and God’s handiwork was displayed before us. We had just received our compensation for an afternoon of hard, uphill riding, and we all were thankful.”
Danny shared similar sentiments. “Being able to see nature and many of the things the Lord has created on the earth strengthened my testimony of the plan of salvation and the creation of the world. I never realized how much there was to see.” Bob Nelson said he felt the most impressive part of the trip was following the road along Pismo Beach. On the left mountains jutted up into the sky. On the right hundreds of feet below, ocean waves hurled themselves into the rocky shoreline, jetting streams of water high in the air. At the tops of hills, the view continued for 15 or 20 miles.
The trip’s itinerary, along with the distance covered each day, included: Monterey (70 miles), Kirk Creek south of Big Sur (65 miles), San Simeon State Beach (40 miles), Pismo Beach (51 miles), Gaviota State Beach (65 miles), McGrath State Beach (65 miles), Santa Monica (55 miles), and Anaheim (46 miles). The route from San Jose to Anaheim was part of a 1,000-mile Bicentennial bikeway that stretches from Oregon to Mexico. Many of the stops retraced—only backwards—the route taken by the founders of San Francisco, led by Juan Bautista de Anza from Mexico.
The journey offered glimpses into the past, reflecting the colonizing efforts of Spanish, Russian, and Mexican explorers. Forts, lighthouses, missions, and old mining and lumbering areas were passed on the road. The route also showcased the modern agricultural bustle of northern California.
The cyclists divided themselves into sub-groups of two or three. “It was the buddy system used all the time in Scouting,” Andy explained. “Each person is responsible for the others with him. That way no one gets lost or left alone.” Kevin noted that those who were fast or slow were paired together.
Brother Harmer said he felt the Lord had protected the group. “It’s interesting that we went about 6,500 man-miles with only one slight tumble as an accident,” he noted. Others chimed in their agreement, noting that all the flat tires occurred on level ground instead of on steep downhill grades, and most of them at the end of the day, just as the group pulled into camp.
Still, there were a few difficult moments along the way. One morning during the first part of the trip, the cyclists were enshrouded in a damp fog. They had to stop and dig deep in their gear to find jackets. One night they reached the scheduled campground and found it closed. A friendly ranger let them camp a mile away on the beach at a picnic ground.
Later, anticipating an easy trip on flat land, the riders were buffeted by strong headwinds, which slowed their progress almost as much as an uphill grade. Another time they battled two large hills, one 15 miles long and rising 1,500 feet, in temperatures that exceeded 100 degrees F. at 10:00 A.M. What was worse, the road veered inland, away from the cooling effect of the coastal waters.
“We learned to appreciate the ocean more after that,” Mike Powell said. “When we got back to the beach that night, just about everyone went swimming to cool off.”
The rough spots were worth enduring, though. “There’s not one person who went on the trip, including the leaders, with whom I don’t have something in common now,” Danny said.
The final Saturday, having put the bikes on the train the day before, the weary travelers boarded to return home. There was plenty of room to stretch out and relax, and soon they were snoozers, not bikers.
Somehow, though, when the train finally halted in San Jose and they had to remount their cycles for another seven-mile jaunt to the chapel, they seemed almost eager to be riding once again. Soon they would be home recuperating, sharing a slice of their saga with their families.

Years ago, following a graduate school discussion on American religious history, a fellow student asked me, “Why have the Latter-day Saints not adopted the cross that other Christians use as a symbol of their faith?”
Inasmuch as such questions about the cross are often a question about our commitment to Christ, I immediately told him that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints considers the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ to be the central fact, the crucial foundation, the chief doctrine, and the ultimate expression of divine love in God’s grand plan for the salvation of His children. I explained that the saving grace inherent in that act was essential for and universally gifted to the entire human family from Adam and Eve to the end of the world. I quoted the Prophet Joseph Smith, who said, “All … things which pertain to our religion are only appendages” to the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Then I read him what Nephi had written 600 years before Jesus’s birth: “And … the angel spake unto me … , saying: Look! And I looked and beheld the Lamb of God, … [who] was lifted up upon the cross and slain for the sins of the world.”
With my “love, share, and invite” zeal now kicking into high gear, I kept reading! To the Nephites in the New World the resurrected Christ said, “My Father sent me that I might be lifted up upon the cross; … that I might draw all men unto me, … and for this cause have I been lifted up.”
I was about to quote the Apostle Paul when I noticed that my friend’s eyes were starting to glaze over. A quick look at his wristwatch apparently reminded him that he needed to be somewhere—anywhere—and he dashed off to his fictitious appointment. Thus ended our conversation.

Blessings come from holding true to our principles. When I was the president of the Cottonwood stake, one of our stake patriarchs was Dr. Creed Haymond. He would occasionally bear strong testimony of the Word of Wisdom. As a young man he was the captain of the University of Pennsylvania track team. In 1919 Brother Haymond and his team were invited to participate in the annual Inter-Collegiate Association track meet. The night before the track meet his coach, Lawson Robertson, who coached several Olympic teams, instructed his team members to drink some sherry wine. In those days, coaches wrongly felt that wine was a tonic for muscles hardened through rigorous training. All the other team members took the sherry, but Brother Haymond refused because his parents had taught him the Word of Wisdom. Brother Haymond became very anxious because he did not like to be disobedient to his coach. He was to compete against the fastest men in the world. What if he made a poor showing the next day? How could he face his coach?

The next day at the track meet the rest of the team members were very ill and performed poorly or were even too sick to run. Brother Haymond, however, felt well and won the 100- and 220-yard dashes. His coach told him, “You just ran the two hundred and twenty yards in the fastest time it has ever been run by any human being.” That night and for the rest of his life, Creed Haymond was grateful for his simple faith in keeping the Word of Wisdom.

Our season was ending, and we had one more race in Spartanburg, South Carolina. We stayed at a Marriott hotel, which had a Book of Mormon in every room. I found a teammate reading a copy. When I asked her why she was reading it, she replied that she was interested in what it was about. Excited, I bore my testimony to her of its truthfulness. Many of the other girls on the team had joined us in the room, and they asked me questions about the Book of Mormon.

When we got home I invited my best friend on the team, Rosa, to go to church with me. She enjoyed the meetings and felt peaceful there. After that, Rosa came to church almost every week. It was so wonderful to see the gospel touch her life.

About a month later I received an unexpected phone call from a young man on the men’s cross-country team, Brendan. He told me that he had taken the missionary lessons and was getting baptized in a week! I was so happy and thrilled for him. Both Rosa and I attended Brendan’s baptism. Rosa also took the missionary lessons and later chose to be baptized.

Looking back on these wonderful experiences, I am amazed that so many blessings resulted from joining my college cross-country team. I learned you don’t have to be set apart or wear a badge to be an instrument for Heavenly Father. Through my actions and living the gospel, my teammates wanted to know more about the gospel, which led them to baptism. I found that truly “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).

A little while ago, one of my followers on Instagram commented on a photo, saying, “How do you look so radiant with two kids, when I can barely handle one?” I immediately laughed and wanted to answer her with a picture of how I looked at that moment.
I responded, “I’ve always thought that I’m pretty careless in my appearance compared to other moms. That’s the effect of social media—we tend to compare ourselves with someone else, while that person is comparing herself with another. But the reality is that I don’t look radiant right now, and I don’t dare upload a photo of how I look. I usually only dress up and look ‘decent’ on Fridays and Sundays.”
I have been sharing about our lives on social media for a few years now. Mostly, I try to show what “real life” is like for members of the Church of Jesus Christ. And in doing so, I’ve had some experiences that have prompted me to think about the virtues and the risks of social media.
This wasn’t the first time somebody had asked me a question like that. The thing is, social media shows only a very small part of people’s lives. In my case, even when I try to be authentic, it’s impossible for me to show everything. And we shouldn’t be comparing ourselves or basing our worth on one beautiful photograph. Making comparisons, especially on social media, can make it harder for us to recognize our God-given strengths.
As Latter-day Saints, we do the best we can to be like Jesus Christ. But the truth is that none of us are perfect. And on social media, we should strive not to make wrong judgments not only about ourselves but also about others. We need to remember that even when we think someone’s life is perfect, we don’t see the personal challenges they might be facing. We never really know what’s going on in people’s lives beyond what they choose to share on carefully filtered feeds.
There’s often so much happening behind the scenes of every family photo you see on social media. Some people might look at those photos and ask themselves, “Why don’t my family pictures ever turn out so well?” But we don’t know what it takes to get those “perfect” pictures.
For example, we once tried to take a family picture after church. This can be complicated with two little children, but I really love to capture these moments and then look back at how much my kids have grown.
While we were trying to get the kids settled down for the photo, I had to take a moment to talk to my two-year-old son, Alvin, who was crying because he wanted me to carry him. I bent down, wiped away his tears, and then begged him to stand up so I could show off our outfits (which I had strategically matched that morning). My three-year-old daughter, Avril, was also asking my husband to hold her because she didn’t want to stand either. They really didn’t want to be taking pictures.
The photography session was unsuccessful—so we gave up. But when I got home, I found something better. My brother (who was taking the photos) captured the moment when all the chaos was happening. Both my husband and I were comforting our children in the photo. It didn’t really show off our outfits, but it was such a tender—and real—moment. I loved it.
When I shared the photo on social media, I captioned it “The reality of a family photo.” I never imagined that so many people would relate to it, but it made me realize that things don’t always need to look perfect. It’s OK to just go with the flow and be real. But it also taught me a larger lesson—that when we believe someone is perfect, we just haven’t seen all the details.
Social media networks are a powerful tool that we can use for so much good. But we have to be careful not to get discouraged or compare ourselves to what we see on social media. As Elder Gary E. Stevenson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said, “Hopefully, we can learn to be more real, find more humor, and experience less discouragement when confronted with images that may portray idealized reality and that too often lead to debilitating comparisons.”1
I know that as we remember our divine nature as children of God, we won’t leave room for painful comparisons or personal judgments. And if we stop listening to those comparisons that try to discredit our potential, we will be able to live fuller lives without worrying about all those seemingly picture-perfect posts out there.

“Hurry up, Mom!” five-year-old Jackson shouted. He grabbed the Book of Mormon story book and sat down on the bright blue chair.
Four-year-old Michelle climbed up beside him. “Story time!” she cried, eagerly clapping her hands.
Mother squeezed between them on the chair and opened the book. “Let’s see. … Yesterday, we were reading about the Anti-Nephi-Lehies, weren’t we?”
Jackson nodded.
“They were Lamanites. And they’d been converted to the gospel, remember?”
“And they were really wicked!” Michelle declared emphatically.
“Yes, they were really wicked. But when they were converted, they wanted to repent,” said Mother. “They promised the Lord that they would never fight again. In fact, they buried all their weapons of war in a big pit—see,” she said, pointing to the picture.
“Wow!” Jackson cried excitedly. “Look at all those weapons. Swords and bows and arrows and all kinds of things!”
“That looks fun!” exclaimed Michelle. “Let’s bury our weapons, too, Jackson!”
Jackson giggled. “Oh, Michelle, don’t be silly. We don’t have any weapons.”
“Hmmm,” Mother said thoughtfully. “You may not use swords and bows and arrows, but sometimes the things that come out of your mouths hurt too.”
Michelle looked puzzled. “What comes out of our mouths?” she asked.
“Words,” said Mother.
“You mean words like stupid and dumb, don’t you?” Jackson asked.
“Right,” said Mother. “Sometimes words hurt as much as a punch on the arm.”
“Then we must bury our bad words,” Michelle urged, “and never use them again!”
“I know what,” said Mother. “You tell me some words that hurt other people’s feelings, and I’ll write them down on slips of paper. Then you can dig a big hole and bury all those bad words, just like the Lamanites buried their weapons.”
“Great idea!” Jackson exclaimed. They found some paper and tore it into pieces. Then they thought of all the unkind words that they knew. Mother wrote them down.
“Come on, Michelle, let’s go dig that pit now,” Jackson called enthusiastically. They took their dad’s shovel out of the shed and hurried to an area behind the house where they could dig.
Jackson dug the shovel tip into the dark, rocky soil. He pushed as hard as he could, but the ground was so hard that he loosened only a small clump of dirt.
“Wow! You’re not very strong,” Michelle teased.
“Well, you’re pretty weak yourself,” he growled back. Then he stopped. “Hey, wait a minute. We’re supposed to be burying those kinds of words! Sorry.”
“Me, too,” Michelle told him sincerely. “How about trying this?” she suggested, handing him a garden trowel that they used in their sandpile.
Jackson took it and chipped at the dirt while Michelle dug with a stick.
Soon they were covered with dust and dirt, but the hole was dug. They put all the papers with the unkind words written on them into the hole. Then they pushed the dirt back.
“Are you finished yet?” Mother called from the kitchen window. “I’ve made some hot muffins for my two hungry Anti-Nephi-Lehies.”
“Yes,” answered Jackson. “Our weapons are finally buried!”
“And,” Michelle solemnly declared, “we won’t ever use them again!”

For Mackena, 15, her testimony did not come until after a very personal, painful trial of faith (see Ether 12:6).

“Until the time I was about 12,” she says, “I had never had a single doubt about the gospel. I knew that the temple was where I was going. I knew that my family could be together forever, that Heavenly Father loves me, and that the Church is true.

“But once I got into middle school, I began doubting a lot. And for three years I didn’t know that the Church is true. It was really hard. It was the loneliest, most terrible, saddest time in my life.”

Then one day her seminary teacher taught, “If you want faith, then it will come.” The message struck a chord with Mackena.

“I decided that I really wanted faith, because I was miserable. So I prayed a lot and I started reading my scriptures by myself for the first time in my life. And I repented. Now I feel that Jesus Christ is my very, very best friend. I know that He knows me and loves me.

“I’m just really grateful,” Mackena says, “because now I know how precious my faith is to me, and I never want to let that go—ever.”

I remember when I was about Beehive age (back when dinosaurs roamed the earth!), my older sister was leaving home to go away to school. I was crying inconsolably. As she tried to comfort me, she said, “Don’t cry, Sharon; I’ll be back.” With tear-stained face, I looked up at her and said, “Oh, I know you’ll be back, but who is going to mop the kitchen floor while you’re gone?” I think that’s called turning your heart to yourself!

I soon discovered it was more than having the floor mopped that I would miss. We need each other. We need to stand by each other.

A good example of compassion and service making a difference is the example of Don and Marian Summers. While serving in England, they were asked to serve the last six months of their mission in the Swindon Branch to teach and assist in activating members. For 80 years Swindon had been a branch with a faithful few and with many good members becoming less active.
Don and Marian wrote: “Our first visit to Swindon Branch was a bit disheartening as we met with the Saints in a cold, rented hall. The congregation numbered 17, including President and Sister Hales and 4 missionaries. Still wearing our winter coats, we all huddled around a small, inadequate heater while we listened to a Sunday School lesson.”
The letter continued: “A branch member approached me one day: ‘Elder Summers, can I give you a bit of advice? Never mention the word tithing to the Swindon members; they really don’t believe in it, and all you will do is upset them.’”
Brother Summers said: “We did teach tithing and all the other gospel principles. With example and the encouragement of a branch president, there was a change of heart, and faith and activity started to increase. The membership records were completely updated as we visited every member’s home. When the leaders started caring, the members began to respond, and a whole new spirit pervaded the branch. The members became excited again about the gospel and helping one another. …
“One young couple had a difficult adjustment to make as their customs, manners, and dress were different. They became offended at suggestions for changes. The couple twice wrote to the bishop [since by then it was a ward] and asked to have their names removed from the Church records. In the last letter they forbade any of the members to visit them, so [we] went to the florist and purchased a beautiful plant of chrysanthemums and had it delivered to the young couple. It was a simple note: ‘We love you; we miss you; we need you. Please come back.’ Signed, Swindon Ward.
“The next Sunday was fast and testimony meeting and our last Sunday in Swindon. There were 103 members in attendance, compared to 17 six months before. The young couple was there, and in bearing his testimony, the husband thanked the Swindon Ward for not giving up on them.”

Over 450 young men and women from four states gathered on the campus of the University of Wisconsin in Whitewater, Wisconsin, for a special youth conference. Three days of activities were planned to help young people and chaperons build friendships and testimonies.
Working with the theme “In His Steps,” the youth committee included both fun activities and workshops to help each participant have a positive experience. The careful preparation paid off. Attendance was good, and many testimonies were strengthened and shared. One girl from northern Michigan summed up her reaction: “It was the best conference I’ve ever attended. I’m the only Mormon in my high school, and it’s been great to be here with people you can talk to. I’m going back home a better person.”

Perhaps his thoughts turned to his good friend Porter Rockwell, now 30, who at the last account was still languishing in the Missouri prison where he had been for seven months. Because Porter was being illegally held, it did not seem likely that efforts on the part of the Saints in Illinois would secure his release.
Apparently the 38-year-old Prophet, who had a reputation for hospitality, spent the remainder of the day with his family and associates. That evening a large group also dined at the Prophet’s house before turning to music, dancing, and other festivities in the tradition of Christmas in that day.
Latecoming guests, dressed in their best, arrived during the evening hours on that Monday. The troubles of the Saints, past and present, were temporarily forgotten as the guests enjoyed the festivities. Then the spirit of the evening was disrupted when a gaunt, seemingly drunk, unwashed Missourian, straggly and unkempt hair brushing his shoulders, forced his way into the room.
Efforts were made to throw the ruffian out, but he was too powerful. In the ensuing struggle, Joseph had a good look at the man. It was his friend, Porter!
The atmosphere cleared as friends gathered around Rockwell and welcomed him home. He explained how he had been honorably released after seven months in prison and had worked his way home through hostile territory. Because his feet were injured and men were seeking his life, it had taken him 12 days. He had just arrived in Nauvoo. The trick he’d played on the Prophet and his guests was merely his idea of fun.
Rockwell’s safe return climaxed the day for Joseph on his last Christmas, the Christmas before the summer guns at Carthage.

Illustration by Allen Garns
On a Saturday afternoon, I was getting ready to go to the beach with my family. They had traveled from Amazonas to La Guaira to spend a few days with me. The sun was bright, the ocean breezes were perfect, and I was happy to see my sisters’ excitement.
Once we were on the road, I remembered that I was in charge of cleaning the church building that day. I now had a choice to make: Should I fulfill my responsibility or continue to the beach with my family? I decided to talk to my mom and sisters about it. They had never been inside an LDS church and enthusiastically offered to help me clean, as long as we headed right to the beach when we finished.
When we entered the church, I explained what needed to be done and how to do it. What we thought would be a quick cleaning job ended up taking four hours because they were so interested! I showed my family each room, the paintings, and the baptismal font. An immense joy filled my heart. I couldn’t believe my family was helping me with something that meant so much to me. While we were there, my teenage sisters, Thalia and Gineska, learned some hymns and asked me questions about the Church.
On Sunday my family attended church for the first time. They were well received in the ward. The young women quickly welcomed my sisters. The sister missionaries met them and set an appointment to meet with them the next day. We held family home evening, and I taught them how to pray. We prayed together often. We also listened to hymns and watched Church videos.
Before my family returned home, I took my sisters to Caracas to see the temple and its grounds. I bore my testimony of temple blessings and encouraged them to find the Church when they returned to Amazonas.
When they left for home, I contacted the missionaries in their area. The missionaries and members of the ward council visited my family and helped them on their way to conversion. My sisters prayed often for our father to give them permission to be baptized.
With great gratitude and joy, I traveled to Amazonas to baptize Thalia and Gineska. The glow in their eyes reflected their hope and their gratitude to Heavenly Father for leading them to the gospel. Through fulfilling an assignment to clean the church, my family came closer together and was strengthened. I will never forget this experience and I know my sisters will not either.

Many Ivory Coast pioneers exemplify a total change of life. Perhaps no story is more typical of such change than that of Mammadou Zadi, a retired border guard.
Before Brother Zadi joined the Church, he was in poor health because of liver problems related to alcohol abuse; nevertheless, he decided to open a bar with his savings. He purchased a good location and was soon enjoying a brisk business. He little realized then how his life would change after his wife, Josephine, met the full-time missionaries. Josephine was impressed with their message, but in Ivory Coast’s culture she needed her husband’s permission to take the missionary discussions. He granted approval but told her he wanted nothing to do with the Church. The life he had chosen to live, he realized, was incompatible with gospel teachings.
Josephine, however, wanted to share her growing gospel knowledge with her husband. It was her fervent prayers, Brother Zadi insists, that brought the influence of the Holy Ghost into his life and prompted him to listen to the missionaries. He, too, was quickly impressed—so much so that he began living the Word of Wisdom. After his health dramatically improved, he became convinced of the truthfulness of the gospel.
With the Zadis’ baptism, membership grew not just by two but, within a short time, by all 18 members of the couple’s immediate family. The Zadi family spread the gospel to many extended family members as well, and now a son and a nephew, as full-time missionaries, are spreading the message of the Restoration to more Ivorians.
Because the gospel became foremost in their lives, Brother Zadi closed his bar and donated the building to be used for Church meetings. Brother Zadi supports his family off a pension and income from rental properties. He and Sister Zadi have donated many hours of service to the Church as well. Brother Zadi has served as a district president, and Sister Zadi as president of the Dokui Branch Relief Society.

Youth in the Manly Ward, Sydney Australia Greenwich Stake (above), celebrated by researching the Prophet’s life and teachings and then compiling a book about their findings. They used Mutual time to do the project.
The book has 13 chapters, each based on an article of faith, and is titled Praise to the Man (see Hymns, no. 27). The youth and their families plan on using their copies of the completed work to share the gospel with friends. They will also send copies of the book to missionaries serving from the Manly Ward.
The youth learned more than facts from writing their book. “I learned that when we have trials we need to trust in God like Joseph Smith did,” says Losi Motuliki, a teacher.
“Joseph Smith was a really great man,” says Antoinette Hilario, a Mia Maid. “He was able to translate the Book of Mormon, which is another testament of Jesus Christ. We are so blessed to have this scripture in our lives today.”

Shortly after my father began walking again, I received a letter from my mother. She had returned to Japan and was working in a factory in the city of Fukui. “Come to Japan,” she wrote. “I can get you a job.” I became excited about living in the land of my ancestors and decided to go.
When I arrived in 1992, I was intrigued by the technology and other conveniences available in the country. But I also faced many new challenges. I had a job, and although I looked Japanese, I couldn’t speak Japanese. I struggled to learn the language. My coworkers were not always patient with me.
Despite my Christian background, I had never attended church nor read the Bible regularly. But now, as I faced these obstacles, I remembered how my father’s faith had given him strength. My thoughts turned increasingly to God.
One day I was walking in downtown Fukui when two young men walked up to me. One of them didn’t look Japanese, but he spoke Japanese when he introduced himself.
I said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Japanese. Do you speak English?”
He answered, “Of course! I’m American!”
The young man started speaking English, which I had learned in school. He told me he and his companion were missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They talked briefly about Jesus Christ and invited me to church. I hesitated but finally agreed to go.
The first meeting I attended was a fast and testimony meeting. I came late, and as I walked into the chapel, a young woman was crying and talking about how the gospel helped her with her problems. After listening to her and to some of the other members, I realized that all of them had problems. They weren’t perfect, and they knew it. But I could also see they had something strong inside them. Their faith in God was helping them. With that kind of faith, I thought, maybe I could overcome my problems, too.
I continued attending church, and I pondered often what I learned there. I also read the Book of Mormon. One day I accepted the invitation to ask God if what I was learning was true. As I prayed, something strong touched my heart, and I thought, This is the right way. I already believe in God. It’s time to follow Him.
As I continued to pray and attend meetings, the Spirit continued to guide me. Finally I told the elders I wanted to hear the discussions. I wanted to follow God and return to His presence one day. I was baptized on 21 June 1993.
As a member of the Church, I found new strength in meeting the challenges of life in Japan. And after preparing earnestly, I was called on a mission. To my surprise, I was called to serve in São Paulo, Brazil. I was very excited about sharing the gospel in my homeland.
When I look back at my old life, I realize how blind I was. We can go through life the right way or the wrong way. At first I chose the wrong way. I knew God existed, but I wasn’t ready to follow Him. Then the gospel touched my life. Now I know that following our Savior is the only way to true happiness.

I still remember how anxious I was as I prepared to see my bishop about serving a mission. I wondered if I was good enough. Like the Prophet Joseph Smith, I wasn’t “guilty of any great or malignant sins” (Joseph Smith—History 1:28), but I was nervous just the same.

I was nervous because I couldn’t help but think about my friend Danny.* For months Danny had been talking about how much he looked forward to serving a mission. But that changed after he met with the bishop.

Because Danny had engaged in unworthy behavior with several young women, he later told me, he had disqualified himself from full-time missionary service. He was no longer free to choose a mission.

Danny, in the words of President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, had fallen to Satan’s temptation “to misuse [his] moral agency.”1

True freedom, as For the Strength of Youth teaches, comes when we use our agency to choose obedience. Loss of freedom, as Danny learned, comes from choosing disobedience.

“While you are free to choose your course of action, you are not free to choose the consequences. Whether for good or bad, consequences follow as a natural result of the choices you make.”2

Because the scriptures teach that we are “free to choose,” “free to act,” and free to do things “of [our] own free will” (2 Nephi 2:27; 10:23; D&C 58:27; see also Helaman 14:30), we often use the term “free agency.”

But did you know that the phrase “free agency” does not appear in the scriptures? Instead, the scriptures teach “that every man may act in doctrine and principle … according to the moral agency which I have given unto him, that every man may be accountable for his own sins” (D&C 101:78; emphasis added).

Elder D. Todd Christofferson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles has taught: “The word agency appears [in scriptures] either by itself or with the modifier moral. … When we use the term moral agency, we are appropriately emphasizing the accountability that is an essential part of the divine gift of agency. We are moral beings and agents unto ourselves, free to choose but also responsible for our choices.”3

President Packer adds, “Agency is defined in the scriptures as ‘moral agency,’ which means that we can choose between good and evil.”4 This God-given gift means we are “free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death, according to the captivity and power of the devil” (2 Nephi 2:27).

Because moral agency plays an important role in the plan of salvation, Satan sought to destroy it in the premortal world. He was cast out for his rebellion and now seeks “to deceive and to blind men, and to lead them captive at his will” (Moses 4:3–4).

Satan wants us to make choices that limit our freedom, lead to bad habits and addictions, and leave us powerless to resist his temptations. The beauty of the gospel is that it makes us aware of our choices and the consequences of those choices. Wise use of agency keeps our choices open and improves our ability to choose correctly.

When the plan of salvation was presented in the Grand Council in Heaven, the Savior showed us how to use our moral agency correctly. He said, “Father, thy will be done, and the glory be thine forever” (Moses 4:2). Because He was willing to do the will of the Father then and later in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the cross (see Matthew 26:39; Luke 22:42), Jesus paid the price for our bad choices and provided a way for us to be forgiven through repentance.

If we follow the Savior’s example, instead of saying, “I do what I want,” we will declare, “I do what the Father wants.”5 Using our moral agency this way will bring us freedom and happiness.

As I went to see my bishop for my first mission interview, I was grateful I had made good choices. A few months later I was serving the Lord in Guatemala—teaching others the plan of salvation and the vital role moral agency plays in that plan.

As a radio reporter Richard worked under considerable pressure covering a wide variety of topics on short deadlines. He soon learned that social drinking was an important way many reporters obtained information. Work became increasingly difficult because he refused to participate in the drinking.
The thought of finding a new job eased his conscience but not his challenges. His radio job had helped pacify his parents after he joined the Church. So when he left the high-paying, prestigious, full-time job for part-time contract work as a guide, his parents were disappointed for a time.
It was another difficult path to choose, but he doesn’t regret taking it because he knows that to be “exalted on high” (see D&C 121:7–8), we must first experience the lows (see D&C 122:5–7).
“We sometimes limit what God can make of us because we don’t want to experience the bad with the good,” he says.
Following the Lord led him to a job he enjoyed. It led him to serve a mission. It introduced him to his future wife, with whom he now has four beautiful children. Despite the trials, there has been no end to the blessings.

My last two years of high school were hard. I had grand plans of preparing to attend a prestigious college. But that screeched to a halt when I started waking up every day and crying at the thought of going to school. I was soon diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety and encouraged to finish school online at home.
Adjusting to this new reality of remote education and depression felt isolating and soul crushing. While my friends seemed to be thriving and moving forward, I felt like I was being left behind.
So, I coped and escaped from my negative thoughts, emotions, and reality with media use.
Every spare moment, and even moments that weren’t spare, I would watch TV, scroll social media, or play video games—hoping for a never-ending distraction.
For me, behind all these behaviors was escapism—the desire to escape an unpleasant feeling or situation.
As Elder Kelly R. Johnson of the Seventy taught: “Discouragement often leads to distraction, or a lack of focus. Various distractions may lead to a lack of diligence. In our day, there are many distractions, including Twitter, TikTok, Instagram, and busy school and work schedules. Distractions can often be good things. The reality is that a distraction doesn’t have to be evil to be effective.”1
I was definitely trying to distract myself from my reality through media. But over time, after I had seemingly streamed every show—once, twice, even five times—all this media seemed to be losing its luster. My difficult feelings were suddenly catching up with me after I had avoided them for so long.
I had to decide—was this going to be my life? Constantly glued to screens? I didn’t want it to be.
But these habits were so ingrained in me that I felt like it was impossible to change, and I lacked a lot of motivation to do so. However, as I pleaded for help from Heavenly Father, the Spirit reminded me:
The Lord has the power to create lasting change in you.
Sister Rebecca L. Craven, Second Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, has taught: “Through Jesus Christ, we are given the strength to make lasting changes. As we humbly turn to Him, He will increase our capacity to change.”2
I started making small efforts toward building better habits. Before turning to streaming, I would read the Book of Mormon and ponder a few chapters each day. I worked to magnify my calling. I served others, and I attended every social and Church activity I could. I also found help for my mental health with spiritual and temporal tools. My bishop referred me to a licensed therapist who understood my faith and my struggles; I followed social media accounts that posted about depression, anxiety, and self-care; and I painted my room brighter colors and opened my window more often.
I turned toward Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ through small means every day, praying that They could help me take charge of my circumstances. I felt Their power working through my actions over time. Every day it became easier to step away from my desires to escape through media. I was gaining more optimism for life.
Over time I graduated, moved out, got married, graduated college, and had two kids. New habits replaced my old ones and brought me closer to the Spirit and to the people I loved. I felt like “a new creature” (2 Corinthians 5:17).
However, I still need renewal through Christ. At times, I’m still tempted to lose myself in media. Who isn’t, when there is access to endless amounts of it in our pockets?
However, I now ask myself a few questions before indulging in media as I try to make my media usage more meaningful:
Do I have a purpose for watching or playing right now?
Can I use this media to connect with someone?
If I am trying to escape my feelings, what else can I do to work through my difficult feelings in a healthier way?
All in all, media use is not inherently bad. But we are counseled to be “temperate in all things” (Doctrine and Covenants 12:8). And Christ can help us use media intentionally to grow, to connect with loved ones, to access spiritual materials, to come closer to Him, and to help us tackle our challenges and become better—not just to escape.
I often remind myself of what He has done for me and what He can do again (and again) as I rely on His grace to build better habits. Through Him, we can face our challenges, be refined, and build a better and more meaningful reality.

Craig MacDonald carefully eased his bad leg out of the car and slowly stood up. “Take your time; we’ve got plenty of time,” Wayne, his home teaching companion assured him as they walked slowly across the parking lot into one of the Heritage Hall apartment buildings and up the stairs to room 201.
A freckled girl opened the door. “Our home teachers are here,” she called out. “Clear the deck.”
They walked inside to the kitchen area. Wayne introduced Craig to the girls in the apartment. “Craig is new in the branch this summer. This is his first time at the Y.”
Craig listened while Wayne gave the lesson; he told about an experience he had on his mission.
“Have you been on a mission?” one of the girls asked Craig.
“No,” he answered quickly.
The girl nervously shot a glance at his leg and blushed.
“Well, girls, is there anything we can do for you as home teachers?” Wayne asked, changing the subject.
“No, we’re all getting along fine,” one of them replied.
After the lesson, Wayne and the girls talked about school and Church activities while Craig sat quietly, his eyes fixed vacantly on the opposite wall. One of the girls looked nervously at the clock and excused herself to get ready for a date. Soon another girl left for the library. Wayne started to get up to leave.
“Now don’t run off without some cake. I made it especially for you two. We always have some treat when the home teachers come,” one of the girls insisted. She was blonde, overweight, and outwardly almost jolly. The other girls called her “Mom.”
“I’ve got to be going,” Wayne replied. “Craig, you can stay if you want, but I’ve got to pick up my date. Is it okay if I just leave now? Can you get back to the apartment all right?”
“Yes.”
Wayne left after the prayer. “How do you like it here at summer school?” the girl who had made the cake asked.
“Okay.”
Another girl excused herself to answer the door. She didn’t come back to the kitchen.
The two sat in silence eating the cake.
Would you like another piece of cake?” she asked.
“Okay.”
She got up and cut two additional pieces of cake for them. Halfway through the second piece she said, “I really shouldn’t be eating this.”
“Then why are you?”
“What?”
“You said you shouldn’t be eating the second piece. Then why are you?”
“What kind of a question is that?”
“You’re already overweight.”
“Thanks, you’ve really brightened my day.”
“Don’t you have any self-discipline?”
“Don’t you have any manners?” she asked sharply.
“No, I guess not.” He grabbed the edge of the table to help him as he got up. She looked away from him in embarrassment as he laboriously boosted himself up. In the process he knocked a plastic glass onto the floor. She rushed to the spot and wiped up the spilled water.
“I’m sorry about the glass.”
“Don’t be; it’s nothing.”
“Can I help you?”
“No, it’s all done,” she said, standing up.
“Are you embarrassed about my leg?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then why did you look away when I got up?”
“I don’t know.”
“I embarrass people. All I have to do is enter a room and people start looking at the floor and mothers grab their children to stop them from pointing.”
On his way out, she opened the door to her room and showed him the large poster-size picture of a young man wearing a white shirt and dark tie.
“That’s my missionary,” she said. “Elder Kirby Jackson of the Dakota-Manitoba Mission. I took his picture and sent it in to be blown up to poster size.”
She walked into the room, while he paused in the hall. “These are his letters,” she said pointing to a couple of shoe boxes on her desk. “I’m keeping his journal for him.”
“Is that a picture of you with him before his mission?” Craig asked, looking at a slender girl with flowing blonde hair standing beside a tanned 19-year-old guy on a Honda.
“Yeah,” she answered. “I’ve put on a little weight since that picture was taken.”
“How much? Forty pounds?”
“You were on your way out. I shouldn’t keep you.”
He said good-bye to the only other girl in the apartment and walked out. The blonde came out with him.
“I forgot your name,” he said.
“Paula Miller.”
“Good-bye, Paula.” He started slowly down the stairs.
“Let me walk with you,” she asked.
“I don’t need your help.”
“I know, but is it okay if I come for a little while?”
“Why?”
“I can’t face another Friday night in that place alone.”
They made their way outside. He walked slowly; several couples passed them on the sidewalk heading for the Wilkinson Center.
“It’s 30 pounds, not 40 pounds, that I’ve put on since he left.”
“I was pretty close,” he replied.
“He’s coming home at the end of the summer. Last week he wrote and asked me to send him a picture. My roommate and I tried all day to get a pose that wouldn’t give me away. It was useless.”
“What did you do?”
“I sent him a picture of me that was taken before he left on his mission.”
“‘We believe in being honest.’”
“Okay, it wasn’t honest. But I can’t let him know until I have to.”
They waited for the traffic light to change so they could go.
“He wrote back and said I hadn’t changed a bit,” she added.
The light changed, and they started across. About halfway across, the light changed again. The line of cars waited while they got across.
“Quit eating cake,” Craig said.
“That’s easy to say. On the weekend all my roommates have dates, and I’m all alone in the kitchen. I usually decide to fix a little snack for them when they get back. Sometimes it’s all gone before they return.
“At first I ate because I missed him. Now I eat because I’m depressed that I’m fat. The more depressed I get, the more I eat.”
They walked into the Harris Fine Arts Building and looked at some artwork on the first floor.
“When people talk about me anymore they say, ‘She has a sweet spirit.’ That’s the only part of me that’s not overweight.”
“Can’t you date until he comes back?”
“I’ve dated. After the second date, l make my little speech about waiting for a missionary and can’t we be friends.”
They stopped in front of a large oil painting.
“He asks me about Kirby and tells me how much he admires any girl who will wait for a missionary. Then he takes me to the door and shakes my hand. I never hear from him again. The kids in the branch know I’m waiting, and nobody asks me out any more.”
“Are you going back later and finish off the rest of the cake?” Craig asked.
“You’re really something, you know that? Do you act this suave with other girls?”
“There haven’t been many other girls. My mother’s a widow, and she feels it’s her duty to protect me so I won’t get hurt.”
“I couldn’t imagine anybody could ever hurt you,” Paula said.
“Last year when all my friends went away to school, I stayed home and took correspondence courses.
“She kept saying that if I went to college I’d slip on the ice and not even be able to walk at all.”
They left the building and continued walking in the warm summer evening.
“Finally I talked her into letting me come in the summer, but she still follows the weather report to warn me if any sudden storm blows in. And she calls me all the time and asks me if I’m ready to come home.”
“You do okay,” she said.
“It’s not the walking that’s hard. It’s being around so many people. I spent my high school years in a back bedroom reading old Life magazines. Sometimes here I don’t want to leave the apartment and go to class because people will look at me. I just want to stay in the nice room and hide.”
They sat down by the reflecting pool in front of the administration building.
“What do you suppose people think when they see you with me?” he asked. “Do you imagine they admire you for being so noble?”
“Is that why you think I’m with you? To be noble?”
“Yeah. Or is it my charming personality?”
She ignored the question.
“Can you picture me on a mission?” he asked her.
“No. Not because of your leg really, but I think you’d scare people.”
“I can’t picture myself on a mission either,” he said. “But my bishop at home can. He even got me an appointment with a specialist who gave me some exercises. The specialist thought I could complete a mission if I worked at getting stronger.”
They stood up and began to walk toward the library.
“I started on the exercises, but my mother told me that there were plenty of ‘healthy young men’ who could go on missions without sending me. She said I’d only drag my companions down because I wouldn’t be able to keep up with them. Soon after that I quit the exercises.
“Maybe she was right,” Paula said.
“Maybe. I hope she’s not always right. She told me I’d be better off staying home instead of coming here this summer. If I don’t make it this summer in school, then I go back home. This may be my only chance to prove that I can cope with life.”
He stopped and turned to her. “Will you help me?”
“How can I help you?” Paula said.
“Teach me how to get along with people. I don’t know how to dance. I don’t know how to talk to girls very well. I’m always saying something wrong. If you’ll help me, I’ll help you lose weight.
“You know I can’t get involved.”
“We could not get involved together. Just for the summer until your missionary gets back.”
Monday they went to the health center to get advice on a diet for Paula and discuss exercises to strengthen Craig’s leg.
On the way back she went ahead of him half a block and sat down to watch him walk.
“Well?” he asked.
“You carry an apology on your face, you know that? And you lower your head when someone approaches you on the sidewalk. Are you embarrassed that they should have to see you?”
“How should I walk?”
“With style, like you have something to offer the world.”
“What do I have to offer the world?”
“Whatever you decide, H.T.” she said, calling him H.T. for home teacher. “By the way, have you got any money?”
“I’m loaded. Why?”
“I’m going to make you a legend in your own time. Let’s walk downtown and get you some clothes.”
It took them two hours to get to the store. They passed a small grocery store on the way, and he bought them two cucumbers. They borrowed a knife from the lady at the counter, sliced the cucumbers, and ate them on the way.
“You like that?” he asked her. “That’s lunch.”
She had the salesman at the store get his measurements, and then she picked out some clothes. She picked out a pair of wine-colored check slacks, a wine-colored blazer, and a new tie.
“How’s this?” she asked him. “Great for a used car salesman. But I like gray.”
“What do you want, camouflage?”
“Gray is conservative,” he said.
“You’re 19 years old. Wear gray when you’re 40, not now. Will you wear it if I show you how to wear clothes with style?”
He bought her a notebook, and she wrote down everything she ate each day. At noon they met in the cafeteria for a light lunch. At that time he looked at her notebook and went item by item through all the food she had eaten during the past 24 hours. She began to lose weight.
At first they walked two miles a day. One day they decided to walk four miles.
“H.T., how many times have I got to tell you? Straighten up. You look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
“My leg hurts. Can we call a taxi?”
“You’re the one who said four miles, remember?”
She started to walk away from him. He followed after her.
“Quit walking away from me!” he demanded.
“Keep up with me. The tough get going when the going gets tough.”
“Is that something your missionary friend at Dead Fish wrote?”
“It’s Deadwood and Spearfish, not Dead Fish. Yeah, he wrote that. Why?”
“It’s the dumbest thing I ever heard in my life.”
“Yeah? Says who?”
“Says me.”
“You wanna fight?” she asked.
“What weight class? Heavyweight?” he taunted.
“Not anymore, H. T. I’m losing.”
“Well, quit walking away from me.”
“No. If you want to be babied, go home to your mother. It’s a cold, cruel world, H.T.”
They were in a residential area of the town. She maintained about a 30-foot lead, not looking back.
A young boy was watering the lawn with a hand sprayer. “Could I borrow your hose to get my friend a drink?” The boy handed him the hose. He adjusted the spray so it sent out a narrow burst of water. He directed it at Paula who was still walking in front of him, not looking back, barking out commands for him to hurry up.
“Aahhhhh!” she screamed when the spray caught her in the back.
There were days when they didn’t mention her missionary, days when they walked in the hot summer sun together, sometimes holding hands. There were days when they talked about themselves. He told her about the comic books his uncle had given him when he was eight. They were Captain Marvel comic books about a crippled newsboy who becomes the world’s strongest man merely by saying “SHAZAM.” He talked about how he used to dream that he was that newsboy, and how he would wake up at night from a dream screaming “SHAZAM!”
There were nights during the weekend when they danced. She taught him every dance she knew. Sometimes she danced close to him on the slow dances.
He always knew when she’d received a letter from Kirby because she drew away from him, becoming more harsh with him.
“Go ask someone else to dance, H.T.”
“No. I don’t want to.”
“Look, you have to. It’d be better if you got to know other girls.”
“I don’t want to know other girls.”
“Maybe I won’t always be around for you.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning Elder Kirby Jackson is coming back.”
“Who’s he? I’ve forgotten all about him.”
“H.T., go dance. I’ll dance every second dance with you.”
He went and asked another girl to dance.
When he came back, she asked as clinically as she could, “Why didn’t you talk to her? We’ve gone through how to talk to girls.”
“Paula, do you mind? Can’t you treat me like a person instead of some project you’re doing for extra credit?”
He told her he didn’t want to dance for a while, and he asked her to come with him to the outdoor overlook on top of the Wilkinson Center. She seemed hesitant but finally went with him.
“Have you been here before?” he asked her as they looked out across the campus.
“Yes. Once.”
“With him?”
“Can you tell?”
“He’s like a ghost that follows me around all over the campus,” he said.
“We came here on our last date before he went into the missionary home.”
“What did he say that night?” Craig asked.
“He said, ‘I hope you’ll wait because I love you.’”
“That’s what he said, huh? How did he say it? Paula, I love you.”
“Can we go back to the dance?” Paula asked nervously.
“No, I’ve got to practice. I want to get it just right. With style. You’re very big on style, aren’t you? Paula, I love you.”
He grabbed her hand. “Did he hold your hand? Paula, I love you. Or did he put his arm around you?”
“My heart isn’t a yo-yo, H. T. Please stop.”
“No. I’ve got to know how he said it. How can a guy say three words, go to Salt Lake, get on a plane, fly away, and leave you standing here for two years, waiting for him to get back?”
“Do we have to put ourselves through this?” she asked.
“What if I told you that I love you?”
“We said we weren’t going to get involved.”
“Is it the wrong accent, or should I say it louder? Paula, I love you.”
“Craig, I’m the only girl you’ve ever known. How do you know you love me?”
“The next thing you say is ‘Can’t we just be friends?’ Don’t say it. I need you, Paula. I can’t make it without you.”
She backed away from him, tears beginning to form. “Oh no! What have I gotten myself into?” She turned suddenly and ran for the stairs. He started after her, yelling at her to stop. But he was only halfway down when he saw her run outside. He sat down on the stairs and buried his head in his hands.
Sunday after church he met with her and apologized.
That night when he got home, he was told that his bishop from his home ward had called long distance for him. When Craig returned the call, the bishop asked him again about a mission.
“I don’t think so. Not now.”
“Physically how are you doing?”
“Better. We’re walking five miles a day.”
“We?”
“This girl and me.”
“Oh. Look, Craig, I’m sending you a copy of the missionary lessons. Why don’t you look them over.”
Paula read the lessons over to find out what Kirby was teaching. They decided to try and memorize parts of the first discussion while they walked. One of them would hold the lessons while the other tried to repeat the lesson plan from memory.
The last dance they went to before Kirby was scheduled to be released from his mission, they were both quiet. During one of the slow dances, he realized he was trying to remember everything about her, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her next to him. She was more beautiful than the picture of two years ago.
“There might be nothing left between you and Kirby now,” Craig said. “Two years is a long time. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll be here waiting for you.”
“Sometimes I wish there were two of me,” she said.
“A few weeks ago, there was almost enough to make two of you. But not anymore.”
The next Saturday she left campus for the weekend to stay with Kirby and his parents at their home in Idaho.
When she got back to school, she called Craig up, and he walked over to her place.
“Well, how was it?”
“It was good, H.T.”
“Are you going to marry him?”
“I think so. Someday.”
He sat for a few minutes, silent and expressionless.
“Well, that about wraps up the summer doesn’t it?”
“I’ll never forget you,” she said.
“It’s funny you know. You told me about Kirby. At first I never believed I had a chance. But near the last I figured he didn’t have a chance. Funny, isn’t it? About a person’s attitude, I mean. It turns out I can do anything I set my mind to … except to keep you,” he said.
She threw her arms around him. He cherished the feeling of having her close.
Suddenly he pushed her away from him, held her hands in his, and said, “Good-bye, Paula.”
He took a long walk through campus. After a while he realized he was walking with a bad limp and that he was slouched over. In his mind he heard a voice barking out at him, “The tough get going when the going gets tough.”
He straightened up and began walking the way they had practiced.
“Hey, Elder Johnson,” somebody called at him from behind.
He turned around, “You talking to me?”
“Oh, sorry. I thought you were a missionary I knew in Ohio. He walked with a little limp too.”
“That wasn’t me.”
He turned around, walked a few feet more, stopped and turned back facing the guy who had called him.
“Hey, this Elder Johnson, was he a good missionary?”
“One of the best.”
“And his limp, it didn’t slow down his companions?”
“Are you kidding? We called him Johnson the Baptist.”
Craig began walking slowly homeward, going over in his mind the first discussion of the missionary lessons.