Before each game at BYU the captains of the two teams meet at the center circle with the referees and go through a meaningless ritual where nothing of real significance is said. But on the day we played Notre Dame, a referee friend of mine said something during that meeting that really hit home with me. He said, “Men, we referees are going to work hard tonight. We’re going to make some mistakes, but you work hard too.”
I remembered his words, and the game began. During the last few minutes, I went up for a rebound, and a bigger Notre Dame player knocked me to the floor. As I lay there, I looked up, and the referee pointed down and indicated that the foul was on me. Surprised at his decision. I got up off the floor. I smiled at the referee and said, “You know, you were right in what you said before the game.”
He looked at me with a puzzled expression. I continued, “You said you were going to make some mistakes tonight, and you just made a big one.” We looked at each other, and we both had a good laugh and continued to play.
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Talk of the Month:Missions—Only You Can Decide
Summary: Before a BYU game against Notre Dame, a referee admitted the officials would make mistakes. Late in the game, the speaker was knocked down but was called for the foul. He reminded the referee of his earlier comment, and they both laughed, then continued playing. The story highlights graciously handling others' errors.
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👤 Other
Friendship
Humility
Kindness
Pride vs. Humility: Are You Looking Sideways or Looking Up?
Summary: A young woman and her friend join a camping trip in Colorado despite her discomfort with camping. After a rainy, discouraging first night and days of worrying about embarrassment, they step outside on the final night. As her friend points out constellations, she looks up, feels humbled, and shifts from self-focus to appreciating God's creations. The moment becomes an enduring lesson in seeking humility to counter pride.
Camping is not my thing.
Which is why everyone who knew me was surprised when I, along with a good friend, signed up for a weekend camping trip to Colorado, USA, with a bunch of strangers for no reason other than that I wanted to get out of my comfort zone and feel a little more adventurous.
It was about 3 a.m. the first night when it started pouring rain. I stared up at the paper-thin walls of my tent, mentally begging them to keep me dry and sincerely regretting my decision to come. I spent the rest of the trip enjoying the views but mostly trying not to embarrass myself; I was less outdoorsy than most of the people I was traveling with, and I worried constantly that I would look incompetent.
On the final night of the trip, my friend and I ventured outside to try to enjoy the nature that we’d traveled so far to see. As we stood outside our tent, my friend surprised me with her astronomy knowledge, pointing out Taurus, the Pleiades, and Cassiopeia, tracing her finger along the sky as she told me stories about the clusters of stars. It was a beautiful, peaceful moment.
The longer we stood there, heads tipped back, the more I forgot about my own discomfort. Looking up at the vast, starry sky was humbling. For probably the first time during that trip, I was able to fully appreciate something beautiful instead of worrying about myself and getting caught up in my own silly pride.
I felt the difference between these two feelings on that camping trip. For the majority of the trip, I was self-absorbed, worried about how I looked and smelled and how comfortable I was. But there was a brief moment, during that evening under the stars, when I was able to look outside myself and realize that there is so much more to living in this miraculously beautiful world than what I was experiencing.
That night, I learned to look up when I wanted to stop thinking about myself, and that’s proven to be a pretty effective antidote to pride. As the famed Christian writer C. S. Lewis explained: “In God you come up against something which is in every respect immeasurably superior to yourself. … As long as you are proud you cannot know God. A proud man is always looking down on things and people: and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you.”3
That trip didn’t change my mind about camping—it’s still not my thing. But I’m grateful that I learned an important lesson about “walk[ing] humbly” (Doctrine and Covenants 11:12) that night, because it taught me something that I not only needed on that trip but will need for the rest of my life. It’s normal to struggle with pride—it’s an inherent part of our mortal experience. But acknowledging it in ourselves and working to overcome it by seeking humility can bring us closer to Christ and help us live happier lives.
Which is why everyone who knew me was surprised when I, along with a good friend, signed up for a weekend camping trip to Colorado, USA, with a bunch of strangers for no reason other than that I wanted to get out of my comfort zone and feel a little more adventurous.
It was about 3 a.m. the first night when it started pouring rain. I stared up at the paper-thin walls of my tent, mentally begging them to keep me dry and sincerely regretting my decision to come. I spent the rest of the trip enjoying the views but mostly trying not to embarrass myself; I was less outdoorsy than most of the people I was traveling with, and I worried constantly that I would look incompetent.
On the final night of the trip, my friend and I ventured outside to try to enjoy the nature that we’d traveled so far to see. As we stood outside our tent, my friend surprised me with her astronomy knowledge, pointing out Taurus, the Pleiades, and Cassiopeia, tracing her finger along the sky as she told me stories about the clusters of stars. It was a beautiful, peaceful moment.
The longer we stood there, heads tipped back, the more I forgot about my own discomfort. Looking up at the vast, starry sky was humbling. For probably the first time during that trip, I was able to fully appreciate something beautiful instead of worrying about myself and getting caught up in my own silly pride.
I felt the difference between these two feelings on that camping trip. For the majority of the trip, I was self-absorbed, worried about how I looked and smelled and how comfortable I was. But there was a brief moment, during that evening under the stars, when I was able to look outside myself and realize that there is so much more to living in this miraculously beautiful world than what I was experiencing.
That night, I learned to look up when I wanted to stop thinking about myself, and that’s proven to be a pretty effective antidote to pride. As the famed Christian writer C. S. Lewis explained: “In God you come up against something which is in every respect immeasurably superior to yourself. … As long as you are proud you cannot know God. A proud man is always looking down on things and people: and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you.”3
That trip didn’t change my mind about camping—it’s still not my thing. But I’m grateful that I learned an important lesson about “walk[ing] humbly” (Doctrine and Covenants 11:12) that night, because it taught me something that I not only needed on that trip but will need for the rest of my life. It’s normal to struggle with pride—it’s an inherent part of our mortal experience. But acknowledging it in ourselves and working to overcome it by seeking humility can bring us closer to Christ and help us live happier lives.
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👤 Young Adults
👤 Friends
Creation
Gratitude
Humility
Jesus Christ
Pride
Scriptures
Love Is the Power That Will Cure the Family
Summary: A father overhears his eleven-year-old son speaking harshly to his younger sister and feels immediate anger. He silently prays for help, feels peace, and greets his son with love instead of reprimand. They talk openly, the son breaks down in tears and confesses, and the father comforts him. What could have been a confrontation becomes a powerful bonding and spiritual experience.
In closing I want to share with you a personal experience. One day when circumstances made it necessary for me to be at home at an unusual time, I witnessed from another room how our eleven-year-old son, just returning from school, was directing ugly words towards his younger sister. They were words that offended me—words that I had never thought our son would use. My first natural reaction in my anger was to get up and go after him. Fortunately, I had to walk across the room and open a door before I could reach him, and I remember in those few seconds I fervently prayed to my Heavenly Father to help me to handle the situation. Peace came over me. I was no longer angry.
Our son, being shocked to see me home, was filled with fear when I approached him. To my surprise I heard myself saying, “Welcome home, son!” and I extended my hand as a greeting. And then in a formal style I invited him to sit close to me in the living room for a personal talk. I heard myself expressing my love for him. I talked with him about the battle that every one of us has to fight each day within ourselves.
As I expressed my confidence in him, he broke into tears, confessing his unworthiness and condemning himself beyond measure. Now it was my role to put his transgression in the proper perspective and to comfort him. A wonderful spirit came over us, and we ended up crying together, hugging each other in love and finally in joy. What could have been a disastrous confrontation between father and son became, through the help from the powers above, one of the most beautiful experiences of our relationship that we both have never forgotten.
Our son, being shocked to see me home, was filled with fear when I approached him. To my surprise I heard myself saying, “Welcome home, son!” and I extended my hand as a greeting. And then in a formal style I invited him to sit close to me in the living room for a personal talk. I heard myself expressing my love for him. I talked with him about the battle that every one of us has to fight each day within ourselves.
As I expressed my confidence in him, he broke into tears, confessing his unworthiness and condemning himself beyond measure. Now it was my role to put his transgression in the proper perspective and to comfort him. A wonderful spirit came over us, and we ended up crying together, hugging each other in love and finally in joy. What could have been a disastrous confrontation between father and son became, through the help from the powers above, one of the most beautiful experiences of our relationship that we both have never forgotten.
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👤 Parents
👤 Children
Children
Family
Forgiveness
Holy Ghost
Love
Parenting
Peace
Prayer
Repentance
Samu’s Talking Bird
Summary: Samu, a ten-year-old African boy, hears a parrot mimic sounds and decides to teach a crow to talk. He patiently befriends and feeds the crow for weeks, but it never speaks. After counsel from Old Mwanza, Samu learns that parrots and crows have different abilities, and he shifts his goal to training the crow to do things it can learn.
Samu, a ten-year-old African boy, walked slowly down the village farm road. He smacked at the hedge with every step, trying to spear a leaf on the pointed tip of his msasa stick.
When he finally reached the gate in the hedge, he paused hopefully. Then he reached out and swung the gate open and shut, open and shut. The gate was badly in need of oil and squeaked loudly as Samu swung it backward and forward.
Soon Samu heard the same loud squeak come from the old woman’s front porch. It was the bird—the clever talking bird!
“Squeeeeeeeeek, squeeeeeeeeek! Naughty boy! Who’s there?” called the bird in the yellow cage. Then it barked shrilly like the old lady’s Pekinese dog.
Samu clutched the gate and giggled. “Hello, hello!” called Samu.
“Hello, hello!” replied the bird.
Samu felt very clever. He ran to his home in the village and told his mother that he was teaching a bird to speak. His mother laughed, because she knew nothing of talking birds.
“I will show you, Mother,” Samu said excitedly. “As soon as I get a bird of my own, I will teach it to talk!”
Mother was busy pounding corn into mealie, and she just laughed at Samu’s promise and told him to run away and play.
Samu asked some of his friends to help him catch a bird. “I will teach it to talk,” he told them. But his friends only laughed, for they had never heard of a talking bird.
Next Samu spoke to Old Mwanza, who sat all day by his hut warming his old bones in the sun.
“Birds do not talk. Men talk—and they talk too much,” said the old man, shaking his grizzled head at Samu. “Why teach birds to add to the chatter?”
Samu wandered off into the bush by himself, wondering how he could catch a bird and train it to talk as the old woman’s bird did. He had almost given up hope when he saw a black crow sitting in the branches of a msasa tree hoarsely croaking about nothing in particular.
Why don’t I try to make friends with this bird by feeding it? he thought. I will bring it some of mother’s cooked mealie every day at the same time until it knows me.
Samu quickly ran home and begged for some hard-cooked porridge. His mother gave him a handful, and back he ran to the msasa tree and spread lumps of mealie on the ground. Then he hid in the bushes. After a lot of surprised scraaaking, the crow hopped down and began to peck at the mealie.
Every day for three weeks Samu took a handful of porridge and fed the crow. It no longer flew up into the tree with a scraaaaak of fright when Samu arrived. Now it hopped up close to him and jumped up and down in the dust, waiting for Samu to spread the porridge.
At first when Samu tried touching its feathered back, it hopped out of reach and looked at him with bright beady eyes as it scolded, “Quraaaaaaack?”
But in another week Samu could stroke the crow’s back gently while it pecked up the food.
Now! he decided triumphantly. Now I can teach it to talk.
“Say hello,” Samu told the crow. “Hello, hello, hello.”
“Scraaaaaaaak!” replied the crow.
“You will have to do better than that,” Samu said patiently. “Now try again. Say hello. Hello, hello, hello.”
“Scraaaaaaaaak?” repeated the crow, putting its head to one side and blinking at Samu with curious eyes.
“Look,” scolded Samu. “If the other bird can say it, so can you. You’re not trying.”
“Crraasquk,” squawked the crow as it flew up to the lowest branch of the msasa tree.
Samu walked home through the bush, dragging his bare feet and feeling miserable. Why wouldn’t his bird even try to talk?
He went back to see Old Mwanza and told him that the crow refused to learn to talk.
“This bird that talks with many voices and barks like a dog and squeaks like a gate,” said the old man, “must have two tongues. Perhaps your bird only has one tongue.”
I guess my crow does have only one tongue Samu thought sadly. But I will try once more! So back he went to the msasa tree with a handful of mealie. He fed his crow and then squatted down in the dust beside it. “Hello!” he said loudly. The crow danced sideways for a moment and then hopped on to Samu’s knee.
“Squaaaaako!” said the crow, and again it flew up into the tree.
Samu felt quite sorry for himself. All of his work for nothing!
Behind him the old man chuckled. He had followed Samu to see how he was getting along with teaching his bird to talk. “Samu,” he said, “it’s good to try hard to do something. But it is foolish to try to do the impossible. Would you try to teach a hen to swim like a duck or a dog to crow like a rooster?”
“No,” said Samu sheepishly. “But the old woman’s bird talks. Why shouldn’t mine?”
“I have found out about the old woman’s bird,” explained Old Mwanza. “It is a parrot—a talking bird. Your crow will make a fine pet. Why don’t you teach it to come when you call and to hop after you when you go for walks. Then you will be teaching it something it is able to learn.”
“One day I will get a talking bird,” said Samu. Then he started to laugh. “Teaching a crow to talk is like teaching a dog to crow!” he said.
The crow looked at him with its bright beady eyes and said, “Squarrrrrrrrk!”
When he finally reached the gate in the hedge, he paused hopefully. Then he reached out and swung the gate open and shut, open and shut. The gate was badly in need of oil and squeaked loudly as Samu swung it backward and forward.
Soon Samu heard the same loud squeak come from the old woman’s front porch. It was the bird—the clever talking bird!
“Squeeeeeeeeek, squeeeeeeeeek! Naughty boy! Who’s there?” called the bird in the yellow cage. Then it barked shrilly like the old lady’s Pekinese dog.
Samu clutched the gate and giggled. “Hello, hello!” called Samu.
“Hello, hello!” replied the bird.
Samu felt very clever. He ran to his home in the village and told his mother that he was teaching a bird to speak. His mother laughed, because she knew nothing of talking birds.
“I will show you, Mother,” Samu said excitedly. “As soon as I get a bird of my own, I will teach it to talk!”
Mother was busy pounding corn into mealie, and she just laughed at Samu’s promise and told him to run away and play.
Samu asked some of his friends to help him catch a bird. “I will teach it to talk,” he told them. But his friends only laughed, for they had never heard of a talking bird.
Next Samu spoke to Old Mwanza, who sat all day by his hut warming his old bones in the sun.
“Birds do not talk. Men talk—and they talk too much,” said the old man, shaking his grizzled head at Samu. “Why teach birds to add to the chatter?”
Samu wandered off into the bush by himself, wondering how he could catch a bird and train it to talk as the old woman’s bird did. He had almost given up hope when he saw a black crow sitting in the branches of a msasa tree hoarsely croaking about nothing in particular.
Why don’t I try to make friends with this bird by feeding it? he thought. I will bring it some of mother’s cooked mealie every day at the same time until it knows me.
Samu quickly ran home and begged for some hard-cooked porridge. His mother gave him a handful, and back he ran to the msasa tree and spread lumps of mealie on the ground. Then he hid in the bushes. After a lot of surprised scraaaking, the crow hopped down and began to peck at the mealie.
Every day for three weeks Samu took a handful of porridge and fed the crow. It no longer flew up into the tree with a scraaaaak of fright when Samu arrived. Now it hopped up close to him and jumped up and down in the dust, waiting for Samu to spread the porridge.
At first when Samu tried touching its feathered back, it hopped out of reach and looked at him with bright beady eyes as it scolded, “Quraaaaaaack?”
But in another week Samu could stroke the crow’s back gently while it pecked up the food.
Now! he decided triumphantly. Now I can teach it to talk.
“Say hello,” Samu told the crow. “Hello, hello, hello.”
“Scraaaaaaaak!” replied the crow.
“You will have to do better than that,” Samu said patiently. “Now try again. Say hello. Hello, hello, hello.”
“Scraaaaaaaaak?” repeated the crow, putting its head to one side and blinking at Samu with curious eyes.
“Look,” scolded Samu. “If the other bird can say it, so can you. You’re not trying.”
“Crraasquk,” squawked the crow as it flew up to the lowest branch of the msasa tree.
Samu walked home through the bush, dragging his bare feet and feeling miserable. Why wouldn’t his bird even try to talk?
He went back to see Old Mwanza and told him that the crow refused to learn to talk.
“This bird that talks with many voices and barks like a dog and squeaks like a gate,” said the old man, “must have two tongues. Perhaps your bird only has one tongue.”
I guess my crow does have only one tongue Samu thought sadly. But I will try once more! So back he went to the msasa tree with a handful of mealie. He fed his crow and then squatted down in the dust beside it. “Hello!” he said loudly. The crow danced sideways for a moment and then hopped on to Samu’s knee.
“Squaaaaako!” said the crow, and again it flew up into the tree.
Samu felt quite sorry for himself. All of his work for nothing!
Behind him the old man chuckled. He had followed Samu to see how he was getting along with teaching his bird to talk. “Samu,” he said, “it’s good to try hard to do something. But it is foolish to try to do the impossible. Would you try to teach a hen to swim like a duck or a dog to crow like a rooster?”
“No,” said Samu sheepishly. “But the old woman’s bird talks. Why shouldn’t mine?”
“I have found out about the old woman’s bird,” explained Old Mwanza. “It is a parrot—a talking bird. Your crow will make a fine pet. Why don’t you teach it to come when you call and to hop after you when you go for walks. Then you will be teaching it something it is able to learn.”
“One day I will get a talking bird,” said Samu. Then he started to laugh. “Teaching a crow to talk is like teaching a dog to crow!” he said.
The crow looked at him with its bright beady eyes and said, “Squarrrrrrrrk!”
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👤 Children
👤 Parents
👤 Friends
👤 Other
Children
Education
Friendship
Humility
Kindness
Patience
FYI:For Your Information
Summary: On the eve of a deadly World War II assault, a chaplain warned soldiers to prepare to meet God. After the first six groups were destroyed, Paul H. Dunn’s group reached shore, where he prayed in a foxhole and received a powerful spiritual confirmation of God, Christ, and Joseph Smith. The account appears in his book You and Your World.
It was World War II, and in a crowded ship in the Pacific Ocean 3,000 soldiers sat listening to the chaplain. Tomorrow they would attack an enemy-held island, and the chances of many of them surviving the battle were slim. “One-half of you will be standing before your Maker tomorrow morning at 8:00,” the minister said seriously. “Are you ready?”
The next day the first six groups to approach the island were completely blown out of the water. Paul H. Dunn, in the seventh group, miraculously reached safety. He recounts his feelings: “I crawled ashore … dug a small foxhole … knelt down with my head bared … and asked my Heavenly Father very simply, ‘Do you live? Are you real? Is Jesus Christ really my Savior? Was Joseph Smith a prophet of the Church like I’ve heard all my life and can’t quite understand?’ And then it came, that sweet inner commitment and verification, spirit touching spirit, saying in a silent voice, ‘It is so.’” (P. 135.)
In You and Your World, Elder Dunn, member of the Presidency of the First Quorum of the Seventy, relates this story and many others, as he counsels Church members in five areas: Building Commitment, Strengthening the Home, Gathering Souls, Refining a Testimony, and Mastering Self. A selection of 24 addresses given by Elder Dunn, the book is a compilation of scripture, poetry, stories, and spiritual experiences that discusses gospel principles in an uplifting and inspiring manner.
The next day the first six groups to approach the island were completely blown out of the water. Paul H. Dunn, in the seventh group, miraculously reached safety. He recounts his feelings: “I crawled ashore … dug a small foxhole … knelt down with my head bared … and asked my Heavenly Father very simply, ‘Do you live? Are you real? Is Jesus Christ really my Savior? Was Joseph Smith a prophet of the Church like I’ve heard all my life and can’t quite understand?’ And then it came, that sweet inner commitment and verification, spirit touching spirit, saying in a silent voice, ‘It is so.’” (P. 135.)
In You and Your World, Elder Dunn, member of the Presidency of the First Quorum of the Seventy, relates this story and many others, as he counsels Church members in five areas: Building Commitment, Strengthening the Home, Gathering Souls, Refining a Testimony, and Mastering Self. A selection of 24 addresses given by Elder Dunn, the book is a compilation of scripture, poetry, stories, and spiritual experiences that discusses gospel principles in an uplifting and inspiring manner.
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Other
Faith
Miracles
Prayer
Revelation
Testimony
War
Harold
Summary: Harold, a duckling, repeatedly sinks during swimming lessons despite his parents’ instruction and a visit to Doctor Quack. He practices faithfully and even pretends to swim to ease his parents’ worries. One morning he is found in the middle of the pond swimming successfully. His parents attribute it to patience and practice, while Harold knows it also took time.
Mr. and Mrs. Duck had five new ducklings. Their names were Dora, Dolly, Dinah, Daphne, and Harold.
When it was time for their first swimming lesson, Mrs. Duck took them to the pond. She showed them how to float. She showed them how to wiggle-waggle their feet.
“Now,” she said, “away you go!”
And splish-splash! Away went Dora and Dolly.
Splash-splish! Away went Dinah and Daphne.
Glub-glub-glub! went Harold. And he sank straight down to the bottom of the pond.
“No, no, no!” cried Mrs. Duck, as she fished Harold out. “That’s not right at all! You float like this. You wiggle-waggle your feet like this. And away you go!”
And away Harold went, glub-glub-glub! Straight to the bottom again.
It happened the next time he tried to swim, and the next, and the time after that. By the end of the day, poor Harold had seen more of the pond’s bottom than he’d seen of its top.
When Mrs. Duck told him the news, Mr. Duck roared, “Harold can’t swim? Nonsense! You must have been doing something wrong, my dear. Tomorrow I will teach Harold.”
And the next day he took Harold to the pond.
“You float like this,” said Mr. Duck. “You wiggle-waggle your feet like this. And away you go, Harold! Harold?”
“Glub-glub-glub!” said Harold.
By the end of that day, the fish were getting to know Harold very well.
“Hello again, Harold,” they said.
“Glub-glub-glub!” said Harold, on his way to the bottom.
Mr. and Mrs. Duck took Harold to the family doctor.
“A sinking feeling?” said Doctor Quack, as he stroked his chin. “Straight to the bottom, you say? Hmmm!” Then he said, “I can’t find anything wrong with him at all. He’ll learn to swim soon, you’ll see.”
But Harold didn’t learn to swim, not that day, nor the next, nor the one after that.
Harold didn’t seem to mind at all. He practiced floating when his mother asked him to. He practiced wiggle-waggling his feet when his father asked him to.
And sometimes, because he knew his parents were worried, he pretended to swim in the shallow water. But he always kept one foot on the bottom.
Then early one morning, Harold disappeared. Mrs. Duck couldn’t find him anywhere.
She set up a terrible fuss.
“Don’t anyone leave this duck pond!” she shouted. “Someone has stolen my Harold!”
“I saw a duckling in the middle of the pond,” said a frog. “Don’t ask me who he is. All you ducks look alike to me.”
Mr. and Mrs. Duck dived and dived under the water. They found a rubber tire, some rusty cans, and an old boot. But they didn’t find Harold.
“I shall never hear his little glub-glub-glub again!” sobbed Mrs. Duck.
“Glub-glub-glub?” asked a voice behind them.
And there was Harold.
“Harold’s floating!” gasped Mrs. Duck.
“Harold’s wiggle-waggling his feet!” cried Mr. Duck.
“Harold’s swimming!” shouted Dora, Dolly, Dinah, and Daphne.
And he was.
Mr. and Mrs. Duck watched proudly as Harold swam with his sisters.
“Sometimes things just take patience,” said Mrs. Duck.
“Sometimes things just take practice,” said Mr. Duck.
But Harold only smiled.
Little as he was, he had known all along that sometimes things just take time.
When it was time for their first swimming lesson, Mrs. Duck took them to the pond. She showed them how to float. She showed them how to wiggle-waggle their feet.
“Now,” she said, “away you go!”
And splish-splash! Away went Dora and Dolly.
Splash-splish! Away went Dinah and Daphne.
Glub-glub-glub! went Harold. And he sank straight down to the bottom of the pond.
“No, no, no!” cried Mrs. Duck, as she fished Harold out. “That’s not right at all! You float like this. You wiggle-waggle your feet like this. And away you go!”
And away Harold went, glub-glub-glub! Straight to the bottom again.
It happened the next time he tried to swim, and the next, and the time after that. By the end of the day, poor Harold had seen more of the pond’s bottom than he’d seen of its top.
When Mrs. Duck told him the news, Mr. Duck roared, “Harold can’t swim? Nonsense! You must have been doing something wrong, my dear. Tomorrow I will teach Harold.”
And the next day he took Harold to the pond.
“You float like this,” said Mr. Duck. “You wiggle-waggle your feet like this. And away you go, Harold! Harold?”
“Glub-glub-glub!” said Harold.
By the end of that day, the fish were getting to know Harold very well.
“Hello again, Harold,” they said.
“Glub-glub-glub!” said Harold, on his way to the bottom.
Mr. and Mrs. Duck took Harold to the family doctor.
“A sinking feeling?” said Doctor Quack, as he stroked his chin. “Straight to the bottom, you say? Hmmm!” Then he said, “I can’t find anything wrong with him at all. He’ll learn to swim soon, you’ll see.”
But Harold didn’t learn to swim, not that day, nor the next, nor the one after that.
Harold didn’t seem to mind at all. He practiced floating when his mother asked him to. He practiced wiggle-waggling his feet when his father asked him to.
And sometimes, because he knew his parents were worried, he pretended to swim in the shallow water. But he always kept one foot on the bottom.
Then early one morning, Harold disappeared. Mrs. Duck couldn’t find him anywhere.
She set up a terrible fuss.
“Don’t anyone leave this duck pond!” she shouted. “Someone has stolen my Harold!”
“I saw a duckling in the middle of the pond,” said a frog. “Don’t ask me who he is. All you ducks look alike to me.”
Mr. and Mrs. Duck dived and dived under the water. They found a rubber tire, some rusty cans, and an old boot. But they didn’t find Harold.
“I shall never hear his little glub-glub-glub again!” sobbed Mrs. Duck.
“Glub-glub-glub?” asked a voice behind them.
And there was Harold.
“Harold’s floating!” gasped Mrs. Duck.
“Harold’s wiggle-waggling his feet!” cried Mr. Duck.
“Harold’s swimming!” shouted Dora, Dolly, Dinah, and Daphne.
And he was.
Mr. and Mrs. Duck watched proudly as Harold swam with his sisters.
“Sometimes things just take patience,” said Mrs. Duck.
“Sometimes things just take practice,” said Mr. Duck.
But Harold only smiled.
Little as he was, he had known all along that sometimes things just take time.
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👤 Other
Children
Education
Family
Parenting
Patience
Be Ye Therefore Perfect—Eventually
Summary: Leo Tolstoy relates an episode where a congregant criticizes a priest for not living up to the principles he teaches. The priest admits his failures but defends the truth of the path he follows, comparing himself to someone walking home unsteadily. He pleads that others not gloat at his stumbles but offer help to those trying to return to God.
In that regard, Leo Tolstoy wrote once of a priest who was criticized by one of his congregants for not living as resolutely as he should, the critic concluding that the principles the erring preacher taught must therefore also be erroneous.
In response to that criticism, the priest says: “Look at my life now and compare it to my former life. You will see that I am trying to live out the truth I proclaim.” Unable to live up to the high ideals he taught, the priest admits he has failed. But he cries:
“Attack me, [if you wish,] I do this myself, but [don’t] attack … the path I follow. … If I know the way home [but] am walking along it drunkenly, is it any less the right way simply because I am staggering from side to side?
“… Do not gleefully shout, ‘Look at him! … There he is crawling into a bog!’ No, do not gloat, but give … your help [to anyone trying to walk the road back to God.]”13
In response to that criticism, the priest says: “Look at my life now and compare it to my former life. You will see that I am trying to live out the truth I proclaim.” Unable to live up to the high ideals he taught, the priest admits he has failed. But he cries:
“Attack me, [if you wish,] I do this myself, but [don’t] attack … the path I follow. … If I know the way home [but] am walking along it drunkenly, is it any less the right way simply because I am staggering from side to side?
“… Do not gleefully shout, ‘Look at him! … There he is crawling into a bog!’ No, do not gloat, but give … your help [to anyone trying to walk the road back to God.]”13
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👤 Other
Charity
Humility
Judging Others
Mercy
Ministering
Repentance
Truth
Snickerdoodles
Summary: After visiting the circus, Brett tries to create magic using a homemade kit with paper ears and funny glasses. Exploring a meadow, he delights in sounds, sights, smells, and feelings until he falls and breaks his props. His brother Ryan explains the true 'magic' is Brett’s senses given by Heavenly Father. Grateful, Brett recognizes the wonder of his body and races home for cookies.
It would be fun to be magic, Brett thought as he snuggled into his warm bed and dreamed of dancing bears and enchanted rabbits. He and his family had just returned from a trip to the circus. They had enjoyed the funny clowns, the animal acts, and the daring acrobats, but Brett thought that the magician was the best part of the evening. He had performed exciting tricks with hoops and ropes and had even pulled a rabbit out of an empty hat.
Brett was still daydreaming about magic the next morning during breakfast. “It’s a beautiful day,” Brett’s big brother, Ryan, said as he helped clear away the dishes. “Do you want to come with me for a walk through the meadow?”
Brett shook his head. “I’m going to try to make some magic of my own.” He went to his room and began searching in drawers, cubbyholes, and corners. He rummaged through his toy box and even peered under his bed. Now and then he would stuff something into his backpack. When it was full, he zipped it up. “There’s my magic kit,” he said. “Now all I need is a magic word. How about … snickerdoodles! They’re my favorite cookies, so it’s a word that’s sure to work magic.”
Sitting outside under the big oak tree, he began the test. He remembered Mom telling him often, “Brett, you need to put on your listening ears!” He reached into his magic kit and pulled out a sheet of pink paper and a pair of scissors. Carefully he cut out two very large ears and placed them over his own.
“Snickerdoodles!” Brett whispered with his eyes closed. “Now let’s see if these ears have any magic.”
He walked into the meadow by his house, then stopped suddenly as he began to hear wonderful things. Close by, a squirrel chattered, bees hummed, and a bird whistled a happy tune. Listening very carefully, Brett could even hear Mom singing as she worked in the kitchen.
“My listening ears are magic!” Brett shouted.
The day was beginning to get warm, so he slipped off his shoes and socks and put them on a big rock where he could find them later. “Snickerdoodles!” he said brightly as he continued his walk barefoot. “Let’s see what other magic I can make.”
The grass tickled his toes like a tiny forest. The uneven ground became mountains and valleys to his bare feet. “I’m a giant!” he said with a giggle. Suddenly he felt something cool and squishy, and when he looked down, he found that he was standing in mud.
Brett liked all the new feelings—especially the thick, creamy mud oozing up between his toes. “Even my feet are magic!” he decided.
Reaching into his magic kit, he took out some toy glasses with a big, funny nose attached. “Snickerdoodles! I bet that with these on I’ll be able to see some neat things and sniff all kinds of fantastic smells.”
Sure enough, he smelled something wonderful right away and looked up to see a cherry tree covered with snow-white blossoms. A flash of silver caught his eye, and he saw a brook splashing merrily through the meadow. His big fake nose turned toward home as he smelled cookies baking—mmmm!
Filled with excitement, he ran to the top of the hill, where he could see Ryan in the distance. “Hey, Ryan, wait for me! I have something magical to show you!”
Sprinting toward Ryan, Brett tripped and tumbled head over heels down the hill, sprawling in a heap at the bottom—and on top of his now-crumpled magic ears and smashed magic glasses. The rest of his magic kit was scattered all around him.
“Oh no!” he wailed. “I’ve ruined my magic!”
Brett was still crying when Ryan came running up to help him. Between sobs, Brett explained about all the magical things he had discovered and how sad he was to lose them.
Ryan helped Brett to his feet and began gathering up the scattered treasures. “You silly boy,” he said kindly. “The magic isn’t in paper ears or funny glasses. It’s in your own body. Heavenly Father gave us sight and smell and hearing and taste and touch so that we can enjoy His beautiful world. You’ve had them all along.”
Brett sniffled. “Really, Ryan? Are you sure?”
“Look, don’t you still see the brook? Can’t you still smell the wildflowers? Don’t you still feel the wind on your cheek and the ant crawling on your hand? Why, if you listened hard enough, I bet you could hear Mom filling the cookie jar right now. How about trying out your sense of taste on a fresh-baked cookie?”
Brett jumped to his feet. He looked all around and drew in a deep breath. “You’re right, Ryan!” he exclaimed. “I’m the magic! Come on, I’ll race you for the first taste!”
They galloped side by side across the meadow. “Thanks, Heavenly Father! Thanks for my marvelous, magical body!” Brett shouted to the sky.
And guess what? The cookies were snickerdoodles!
Brett was still daydreaming about magic the next morning during breakfast. “It’s a beautiful day,” Brett’s big brother, Ryan, said as he helped clear away the dishes. “Do you want to come with me for a walk through the meadow?”
Brett shook his head. “I’m going to try to make some magic of my own.” He went to his room and began searching in drawers, cubbyholes, and corners. He rummaged through his toy box and even peered under his bed. Now and then he would stuff something into his backpack. When it was full, he zipped it up. “There’s my magic kit,” he said. “Now all I need is a magic word. How about … snickerdoodles! They’re my favorite cookies, so it’s a word that’s sure to work magic.”
Sitting outside under the big oak tree, he began the test. He remembered Mom telling him often, “Brett, you need to put on your listening ears!” He reached into his magic kit and pulled out a sheet of pink paper and a pair of scissors. Carefully he cut out two very large ears and placed them over his own.
“Snickerdoodles!” Brett whispered with his eyes closed. “Now let’s see if these ears have any magic.”
He walked into the meadow by his house, then stopped suddenly as he began to hear wonderful things. Close by, a squirrel chattered, bees hummed, and a bird whistled a happy tune. Listening very carefully, Brett could even hear Mom singing as she worked in the kitchen.
“My listening ears are magic!” Brett shouted.
The day was beginning to get warm, so he slipped off his shoes and socks and put them on a big rock where he could find them later. “Snickerdoodles!” he said brightly as he continued his walk barefoot. “Let’s see what other magic I can make.”
The grass tickled his toes like a tiny forest. The uneven ground became mountains and valleys to his bare feet. “I’m a giant!” he said with a giggle. Suddenly he felt something cool and squishy, and when he looked down, he found that he was standing in mud.
Brett liked all the new feelings—especially the thick, creamy mud oozing up between his toes. “Even my feet are magic!” he decided.
Reaching into his magic kit, he took out some toy glasses with a big, funny nose attached. “Snickerdoodles! I bet that with these on I’ll be able to see some neat things and sniff all kinds of fantastic smells.”
Sure enough, he smelled something wonderful right away and looked up to see a cherry tree covered with snow-white blossoms. A flash of silver caught his eye, and he saw a brook splashing merrily through the meadow. His big fake nose turned toward home as he smelled cookies baking—mmmm!
Filled with excitement, he ran to the top of the hill, where he could see Ryan in the distance. “Hey, Ryan, wait for me! I have something magical to show you!”
Sprinting toward Ryan, Brett tripped and tumbled head over heels down the hill, sprawling in a heap at the bottom—and on top of his now-crumpled magic ears and smashed magic glasses. The rest of his magic kit was scattered all around him.
“Oh no!” he wailed. “I’ve ruined my magic!”
Brett was still crying when Ryan came running up to help him. Between sobs, Brett explained about all the magical things he had discovered and how sad he was to lose them.
Ryan helped Brett to his feet and began gathering up the scattered treasures. “You silly boy,” he said kindly. “The magic isn’t in paper ears or funny glasses. It’s in your own body. Heavenly Father gave us sight and smell and hearing and taste and touch so that we can enjoy His beautiful world. You’ve had them all along.”
Brett sniffled. “Really, Ryan? Are you sure?”
“Look, don’t you still see the brook? Can’t you still smell the wildflowers? Don’t you still feel the wind on your cheek and the ant crawling on your hand? Why, if you listened hard enough, I bet you could hear Mom filling the cookie jar right now. How about trying out your sense of taste on a fresh-baked cookie?”
Brett jumped to his feet. He looked all around and drew in a deep breath. “You’re right, Ryan!” he exclaimed. “I’m the magic! Come on, I’ll race you for the first taste!”
They galloped side by side across the meadow. “Thanks, Heavenly Father! Thanks for my marvelous, magical body!” Brett shouted to the sky.
And guess what? The cookies were snickerdoodles!
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👤 Children
👤 Youth
👤 Parents
Children
Creation
Family
Gratitude
Kindness
Comment
Summary: A woman who regularly read the Liahona met a young man on a bus who recognized the magazine and asked if she was a Church member. They later saw each other more through a regional choir for a prophet’s visit and eventually married and were sealed in the Guatemala City Temple.
My family joined the Church when I was seven years old, and it was because of my reading and valuing the Liahona that I met my husband.
When I receive the monthly issue of the magazine, I take it with me everywhere so I can read it. One day I was calmly reading it on the bus to work when a young man stopped at my side and asked, “Are you a member of the Church?” I didn’t quite trust him, so I answered yes, then asked him what stake he belonged to. (I assumed if he wasn’t a member he wouldn’t know what a stake was.) He told me the name of his stake, and we talked until we got off the bus.
Some time after this, a regional choir was organized to prepare for the visit of the prophet. That was when this young man and I started to see each other more frequently. Later we were married and went to the Guatemala City temple to be sealed. We’ve been married for almost three years. The gospel has given me the opportunity to have a very special husband, who is faithful in the Church. I am very happy to have the gospel in my life.Rebeca Sierra de Zelaya, Fraternidad Ward, Tegucigalpa Honduras Stake
When I receive the monthly issue of the magazine, I take it with me everywhere so I can read it. One day I was calmly reading it on the bus to work when a young man stopped at my side and asked, “Are you a member of the Church?” I didn’t quite trust him, so I answered yes, then asked him what stake he belonged to. (I assumed if he wasn’t a member he wouldn’t know what a stake was.) He told me the name of his stake, and we talked until we got off the bus.
Some time after this, a regional choir was organized to prepare for the visit of the prophet. That was when this young man and I started to see each other more frequently. Later we were married and went to the Guatemala City temple to be sealed. We’ve been married for almost three years. The gospel has given me the opportunity to have a very special husband, who is faithful in the Church. I am very happy to have the gospel in my life.Rebeca Sierra de Zelaya, Fraternidad Ward, Tegucigalpa Honduras Stake
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👤 Young Adults
👤 Church Members (General)
Conversion
Dating and Courtship
Faith
Family
Marriage
Music
Sealing
Temples
Matt and Mandy
Summary: At a family dinner, returned missionary Anthony (Elder Edwards) is asked about his mission. He explains it was very hard yet wonderful, and that as a called missionary God worked through him to accomplish more than he could as just Anthony. He invites a younger family member to study Preach My Gospel with him.
Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Great news, guys. Your cousin Anthony is home from his mission, and we’ve been invited to a family dinner this Saturday.
AT THE DINNER
Was your mission fun, Anthony—I mean … er … Elder Edwards?
Yes, it was! Fun and rewarding and inspiring and wonderful!
And was it ever … hard?
Absolutely! Hard and sometimes scary and discouraging and just about impossible. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
That bad?
Bad? Not at all! Great things are never easy. Why should they be? Almost every day I faced challenges that I didn’t feel up to. And sometimes I wasn’t—at first. But do you know what I learned?
What?
That Elder Edwards could do things that Anthony could never have imagined. Because Elder Edwards had been called of God and given authority to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. You see, I wasn’t just Anthony anymore.
It wasn’t really me doing those things. It was mostly Heavenly Father working through me, and He can do anything. I just had to be willing and do my very best. He did the rest. Sound like something you’d like to try someday?
Yes! But I think I’ve got a lot to learn first.
I’ll get you your very own copy of Preach My Gospel, and we can look at it together.
Great news, guys. Your cousin Anthony is home from his mission, and we’ve been invited to a family dinner this Saturday.
AT THE DINNER
Was your mission fun, Anthony—I mean … er … Elder Edwards?
Yes, it was! Fun and rewarding and inspiring and wonderful!
And was it ever … hard?
Absolutely! Hard and sometimes scary and discouraging and just about impossible. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
That bad?
Bad? Not at all! Great things are never easy. Why should they be? Almost every day I faced challenges that I didn’t feel up to. And sometimes I wasn’t—at first. But do you know what I learned?
What?
That Elder Edwards could do things that Anthony could never have imagined. Because Elder Edwards had been called of God and given authority to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. You see, I wasn’t just Anthony anymore.
It wasn’t really me doing those things. It was mostly Heavenly Father working through me, and He can do anything. I just had to be willing and do my very best. He did the rest. Sound like something you’d like to try someday?
Yes! But I think I’ve got a lot to learn first.
I’ll get you your very own copy of Preach My Gospel, and we can look at it together.
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👤 Missionaries
👤 Youth
👤 Church Members (General)
Adversity
Courage
Faith
Missionary Work
Priesthood
Young Men
Your Jericho Road
Summary: As a boy, the author received an electric train for Christmas and envied an oil tanker car in a neighbor boy’s wind-up set. After taking that car for himself, he felt guilty when they delivered the rest of the gift and saw the neighbor’s joy. He ran home, retrieved the tanker and another car, and returned them, experiencing lasting joy from sharing.
My second example comes from my own experience along my own Jericho Road. In about my tenth year, as Christmas approached, I yearned as only a boy can yearn for an electric toy train. I didn’t want the less expensive wind-up model train; rather, I wanted one that operated through the miracle of electricity. Economically, those years were very difficult, yet Mother and Dad, through some sacrifice, I am sure, presented to me on Christmas morning a beautiful electric train.
For hours I ran the train, watching the engine first pull its rail cars forward, then push them backward around the track. Mother entered the living room and said to me that she had purchased a wind-up train for Mrs. Hansen’s son Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see the train. The engine was short and blocky—not long and sleek like the expensive model I had received. However, I did take notice of an oil tanker car that was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and I began to feel pangs of envy. I put up such a fuss that Mother finally gave in to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker car. She said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.
Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen, who was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, and was overjoyed as it pulled the little train around the track. Mother wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?” I felt a keen sense of guilt and became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a moment—I’ll be right back.”
As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran to our home, picked up the oil tanker car, plus an additional car of my own, ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, and said joyfully to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars that belong to your train.” Mark coupled the two extra cars to his train. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track and felt a supreme joy difficult to describe and impossible to forget.
Some remember Mother for the little poems she would make up and recite, others for the music she played, songs sung, favors given, or stories told; but I remember best that day we together traveled homeward along our Jericho Road and, like the good Samaritan, found a cherished opportunity to help.
For hours I ran the train, watching the engine first pull its rail cars forward, then push them backward around the track. Mother entered the living room and said to me that she had purchased a wind-up train for Mrs. Hansen’s son Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see the train. The engine was short and blocky—not long and sleek like the expensive model I had received. However, I did take notice of an oil tanker car that was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and I began to feel pangs of envy. I put up such a fuss that Mother finally gave in to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker car. She said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.
Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen, who was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, and was overjoyed as it pulled the little train around the track. Mother wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?” I felt a keen sense of guilt and became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a moment—I’ll be right back.”
As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran to our home, picked up the oil tanker car, plus an additional car of my own, ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, and said joyfully to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars that belong to your train.” Mark coupled the two extra cars to his train. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track and felt a supreme joy difficult to describe and impossible to forget.
Some remember Mother for the little poems she would make up and recite, others for the music she played, songs sung, favors given, or stories told; but I remember best that day we together traveled homeward along our Jericho Road and, like the good Samaritan, found a cherished opportunity to help.
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👤 Parents
👤 Children
👤 Friends
Charity
Children
Christmas
Family
Kindness
Parenting
Sacrifice
Service
A Spoonful of Gratitude
Summary: A high school student woke up in a bad mood and noticed a plaque that read, “Blessings brighten when you count them.” Intending to prove it wrong, she began listing small blessings, starting with her spoon, bowl, and chair, then recognized many more, including family, home, and gospel blessings. As she counted her blessings, her mood lifted and she felt peace and gratitude.
I woke up one morning during my junior year in high school in a rotten mood. It was 5:30 a.m., it was cold, and it was a Tuesday—a day with a heavy class load. I’d already decided it was going to be a miserable day.
I bumbled around the kitchen and got my lunch ready. Then I plopped down at the table for some plain cereal and milk. Grumpy, I dug my spoon into the bowl and took a huge bite of breakfast. I scowled at the wall.
A small plaque caught my attention. My mother had received it from her visiting teachers. In cheerful letters it said, “Blessings brighten when you count them.”
“No,” I thought darkly. “I’m in a bad mood today and nothing is going to change it.”
In my head, I started an argument with the plaque.
“Absolutely nothing can brighten this day,” I thought. I took another bite of cereal and crunched it angrily. But my eyes were drawn back to the white writing: “Blessings brighten when you count them.”
“You won’t work,” I told the plaque. “You can’t work. I’m pretty sure even a box of puppies couldn’t make me happy today.”
“You don’t like puppies,” my brain argued.
“Exactly,” I said.
I like to be right all the time, and the plaque was challenging me. “Fine!” I said out loud, “I’ll prove you’re wrong.”
I looked around the kitchen, daring myself to find something I was grateful for. The obstinate part of me was still being unreasonable.
“It is 5:43 in the morning. I have nothing to be grateful for.”
I crunched another bite of cereal. Then suddenly I had a thought.
“It would be mighty hard to eat your cereal without a spoon.”
I stopped. I looked at my spoon. Then I looked at the cereal in my bowl.
“I guess you’re right,” I thought reluctantly. “It would be pretty hard to eat cereal without a spoon.”
“Now,” the thought came to mind, “imagine trying to eat your cereal without a bowl.” I actually smiled a little at the thought of a big puddle of milk and cereal on the table.
“What about without a chair to sit in?” I thought.
I felt the chair beneath me and gripped my spoon a little tighter, looking at the simple utensil with appreciation. My gaze drifted back to the plaque that still said, “Blessings brighten when you count them.”
This time, I gave a tiny smile. “I have a spoon. I have something to be grateful for. And a bowl. And a chair.”
I started to see dozens of things I was thankful for. Not only did I have food, but there was also food in the pantry and downstairs in the storage room. I would probably never have to go hungry. My parents worked hard to feed my siblings and me. They also worked hard to create a safe house for us to live in. And they loved me.
All of a sudden, many things gained new meaning: It was cold outside, but I lived in a warm house. It was early in the morning, but I had the opportunity to go to seminary and to school. I was eating breakfast alone, but Tuesdays were my dad’s temple days, so I could rejoice that he was in the house of the Lord. I could be grateful that I had parents who were devoted to the gospel. Many times they got up early to go and serve.
“So, plaque, I guess you were right. My blessings did brighten as I counted them.” The dark mood from minutes before had evaporated. It had been replaced with a spirit of peace.
“No hard feelings,” I thought. I realized that I’d only scratched the surface of understanding how blessed I am. In fact, I was so busy feeling blessed that I was nearly late for seminary. As I walked out of the house, I was full of gratitude—for my family, my Heavenly Father, a wooden plaque, and the women who had given it to my mother.
And, yes, I was grateful for something as small and easily overlooked as a spoon.
I bumbled around the kitchen and got my lunch ready. Then I plopped down at the table for some plain cereal and milk. Grumpy, I dug my spoon into the bowl and took a huge bite of breakfast. I scowled at the wall.
A small plaque caught my attention. My mother had received it from her visiting teachers. In cheerful letters it said, “Blessings brighten when you count them.”
“No,” I thought darkly. “I’m in a bad mood today and nothing is going to change it.”
In my head, I started an argument with the plaque.
“Absolutely nothing can brighten this day,” I thought. I took another bite of cereal and crunched it angrily. But my eyes were drawn back to the white writing: “Blessings brighten when you count them.”
“You won’t work,” I told the plaque. “You can’t work. I’m pretty sure even a box of puppies couldn’t make me happy today.”
“You don’t like puppies,” my brain argued.
“Exactly,” I said.
I like to be right all the time, and the plaque was challenging me. “Fine!” I said out loud, “I’ll prove you’re wrong.”
I looked around the kitchen, daring myself to find something I was grateful for. The obstinate part of me was still being unreasonable.
“It is 5:43 in the morning. I have nothing to be grateful for.”
I crunched another bite of cereal. Then suddenly I had a thought.
“It would be mighty hard to eat your cereal without a spoon.”
I stopped. I looked at my spoon. Then I looked at the cereal in my bowl.
“I guess you’re right,” I thought reluctantly. “It would be pretty hard to eat cereal without a spoon.”
“Now,” the thought came to mind, “imagine trying to eat your cereal without a bowl.” I actually smiled a little at the thought of a big puddle of milk and cereal on the table.
“What about without a chair to sit in?” I thought.
I felt the chair beneath me and gripped my spoon a little tighter, looking at the simple utensil with appreciation. My gaze drifted back to the plaque that still said, “Blessings brighten when you count them.”
This time, I gave a tiny smile. “I have a spoon. I have something to be grateful for. And a bowl. And a chair.”
I started to see dozens of things I was thankful for. Not only did I have food, but there was also food in the pantry and downstairs in the storage room. I would probably never have to go hungry. My parents worked hard to feed my siblings and me. They also worked hard to create a safe house for us to live in. And they loved me.
All of a sudden, many things gained new meaning: It was cold outside, but I lived in a warm house. It was early in the morning, but I had the opportunity to go to seminary and to school. I was eating breakfast alone, but Tuesdays were my dad’s temple days, so I could rejoice that he was in the house of the Lord. I could be grateful that I had parents who were devoted to the gospel. Many times they got up early to go and serve.
“So, plaque, I guess you were right. My blessings did brighten as I counted them.” The dark mood from minutes before had evaporated. It had been replaced with a spirit of peace.
“No hard feelings,” I thought. I realized that I’d only scratched the surface of understanding how blessed I am. In fact, I was so busy feeling blessed that I was nearly late for seminary. As I walked out of the house, I was full of gratitude—for my family, my Heavenly Father, a wooden plaque, and the women who had given it to my mother.
And, yes, I was grateful for something as small and easily overlooked as a spoon.
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👤 Youth
👤 Parents
👤 Church Members (General)
Faith
Family
Gratitude
Peace
Temples
On Cheating Yourself
Summary: A young man delayed marriage for education and material pursuits. After finally marrying, he realized the joy he had missed and regretted the wasted years. He compared his earlier choices to trading dollars for pennies.
There have been so many people who have come to me and expressed their remorse for having cheated themselves. There was a young man who had postponed marriage for many reasons: to devote himself unhindered to advanced education, to accumulate material goods, and other reasons. After he finally married, he said, “My life is now so beautiful. Why did I waste so many years without these blessings? I have traded dollars for pennies.”
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👤 Young Adults
👤 Church Members (General)
Agency and Accountability
Dating and Courtship
Education
Family
Marriage
A Little Miracle
Summary: As a boy, Eric befriends Jena, a girl with cerebral palsy, despite teasing from other children, and defends her so kindly that her mother is deeply moved. Later, when Eric is at BYU, he and his family learn that Jena joined the Church after missionaries came to her home because her family remembered, “That’s Eric’s church.” The story ends with Eric remembering Jena as beautiful and not noticing her disability, showing how his Christlike kindness changed lives.
Turning 18 is a very important event. Since Eric was away at BYU for his 18th birthday, we decided to send him something special. Every member of the family had an assignment. Jennifer would make cookies, Dad would send money, Brad (also at BYU) would help him spend it, Jeff would draw illustrations, and I would write verses for a spectacular birthday card.
I got very enthusiastic about my assignment. I decided to write a verse about every year of his life. There would be a verse about the time he took his first trial flight off the garage when he was four, and one about the time he self-medicated his cold with half a bottle of cough syrup to save the doctor’s fee when he was five. And it would end with a verse about his latest venture—refusing to withdraw from a spontaneous football squad even after he saw his six-foot-four, 280-pound opponent. (Yes, they carried him off with a broken collarbone.) That was my Eric! Active, daring, and a little mischievous.
I sat down and wrote the first few verses and laughed. And then I thought about Eric when he was six.
“Eric’s got a girl friend! Eric’s got a girl friend!” I remembered how Brad teased as he and Eric made their afternoon entrance after school. I waited for a typical “I don’t!” from Eric and a “You do!” from Brad.
There was none. Eric was silent. I couldn’t detect a smile, a frown, anything on his cherubic face. He just ignored Brad totally and asked, “Can we eat breakfast sooner tomorrow, Mom? I want to go to school early.”
“Yes,” I answered. I was surprised at his coolness. “Yes, of course. Do you want to tell me about it?”
“No.” He shook his head, smiled, and walked out the back door to play.
“See. I told you!” Brad confirmed.
I’m not a nosy mother—well, only a little nosy. I wanted to know why Eric went to school 15 minutes early and came home 15 minutes late for a week. But he volunteered nothing. I didn’t want to turn Brad into a spy (it only entered my mind twice and I got over it), so I learned nothing.
On Tuesday I had to return library books. I decided to go at 1:50 so I would be driving by the school at 2:20 when school was out. (A mother does have to look out for her children.)
I was late and had to drive almost home before I saw Eric. He was with a girl. From the back I could see she had long, blonde hair and a pretty dress. But something was different. She didn’t raise her left leg far from the sidewalk, and as I passed I could see her left arm was limp. Eric saw me. He grinned widely and waved. As I smiled back my eyes surveyed a beautiful little girl with an enchanting smile and blue eyes.
At dinner I decided it was time to be open about the whole thing. I wanted Eric to know it was acceptable to have lots of friends in the first grade—even if one was a girl.
“I saw your friend today, Eric. She’s pretty.”
“She’s nice,” he added.
“So that’s the reason you go to school early?” his father asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, tell me about her. What’s her name? Where does she live? What does she look like?”
“Her name’s Jena. She lives on Vista View. And she looks like … like … uh … like a girl.”
The family laughed. “She’s very pretty.” I explained. “She has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a radiant smile.”
“What’s radiant?” Eric asked.
“That’s like a heater,” Brad informed him.
“That’s a radiator,” Father clarified. “But it’s like that. It means warm and friendly.”
“What’s wrong with her leg?” Brad asked innocently.
Eric bristled and raised his voice. “There’s nothing wrong with her leg.”
“Brad wasn’t being mean, Eric. She does have a problem with her leg and arm. She has cerebral palsy, Eric. That doesn’t change her being pretty or nice.” I taught physically handicapped children and accepted the fact that everyone has limitations of some kind, but Eric was crushed. His fork clattered to the plate, and he proclaimed loudly in his squeaky, first-grade voice, “There’s nothing wrong with her at all,” and ran into his room.
We said nothing further about it. Eric was a normal boy who ran bicycles into garage doors, played Zorro, and chased strange dogs away. He just went to school a little early and came home a little late every day.
In early December I got a phone call.
“Is this Eric’s mother?”
When anybody started a conversation like that I wondered if Eric had just ridden his bike over someone’s flower bed. “Yes,” I replied. After all, I was responsible.
“This is Mrs. Hamilton. I’m Jena Hamilton’s mother.”
“Oh, yes. Hello!”
“I called because I wondered if you were aware of what Eric has been doing for us—I mean for Jena—but really it affects all of us.”
I was puzzled. “No, I guess I’m not,” I replied honestly.
“Do you know Jena?”
“I saw her going home from school. She’s a very pretty girl.”
“Then you know she has a problem with her leg and arm. She has cerebral palsy.”
“I see.”
“When we moved here last summer and I went to register her, the school said they wouldn’t accept her. Her learning isn’t impaired. It’s just a motor involvement, but they insisted the kids would taunt her until we would be sorry. They asked me to enroll her in the special education program over at Fairhaven. I didn’t want her at Fairhaven. She’d have to ride the bus for over an hour. I insisted they let her try it here. They were skeptical, but I was quite adamant.”
“I understand your feelings.”
“When school started, it was just like they said. Some of the kids wouldn’t quit yelling names and making fun of her. And no one would play with her. After the first week and a half of school, with her coming home in tears every day, I decided to reconsider Fairhaven. Then a little miracle happened—Eric!”
“Eric?”
“He decided enough was enough. He asked Jena if he could play with her at recess. The boys laughed at him and called him names too. But he ignored them.”
“That’s not my Eric,” I thought.
“He walked home with Jena to the accompaniment of jeers. From that day on he has walked her to school, played with her at recess, and walked home with her. The third week of school some boys started throwing rocks at Jena. Eric challenged them to a ferocious fight if they didn’t stop.”
That’s my Eric. He was two inches shorter than anybody, but he was never afraid of a fight if it was necessary.
“I guess he said it so firmly they decided to leave her alone. Jena is doing so well now. Other children are playing with her, and no one seems to be paying attention to her problem.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“There’s more,” she continued. “Yesterday I stopped Eric out in front—I was so happy how things are going—and I said, ‘You’re such a nice boy! How did you ever get to be such a nice boy!’ It was a comment, not a question of course, but he spoke right up and said, ‘Our church teaches all the boys to be nice boys.’”
“Well, I was so surprised, I said, ‘And what church do you belong to, Eric?’
“And he said, ‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes called the Mormon church. Would you like to have the missionaries?’ He’s quite a boy!”
Well, do you want the missionaries? I was hoping my voice would say. But it didn’t. “Yes, I guess he is. I really appreciate your calling me.”
Jena Hamilton didn’t need Eric much after that. They were friends, but he went back to playing with the boys and calling all girls “dumb.” In a year or so Jena moved, and we moved.
I looked down at the birthday card I was making. I decided not to write a verse about Eric when he was six. It was too special.
Later I mailed the overweight birthday card and savored the thought of Eric reading his life out loud to his roommates.
It was almost midnight Friday when the phone rang.
“Mom, this is Eric.”
“Eric, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Are you hurt? Did you wreck the car? Did you …”
“Mom! I’m fine. Just listen a minute.” His voice was exuberant.
“Oh, yes. Today’s your birthday. You got my card! You got the money! You loved them both! But you didn’t have to thank us at this hour!”
“Mom! Listen! And put Dad on the other phone. Okay? Brad and I went out to dinner with the money. We were just sitting around here in the dorm reminiscing when the phone rang. It was a girl.”
She said, “Is this Eric Miller?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this Eric Miller who used to live on Hillview Avenue in San Sebastian?”
“Yes! Who is this?”
“Oh, you probably won’t remember me. It’s been a long time. This is Jena Hamilton.”
“Jena! I can’t believe it! Sure I remember you. Hey, what are you doing here in Provo? Visiting?”
“I’m going to the Y just like you.”
“But why? How did you decide to come here?”
“Well, about three years ago Mom and I were doing dishes when two young men knocked at our door. They said they were representatives of Jesus Christ and would like to leave a message with us. Mom said, ‘No, thank you, we really aren’t interested.’ Then for some reason she asked, ‘What church are you from?’ And they said, ‘We belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes called the Mormon church.’ Mom looked at me, and we both said, ‘That’s Eric’s church.’ There was an unstated courtesy we would extend to someone from Eric’s church. We weren’t interested, of course, but we would be courteous. Well, you know how that goes! We were baptized after the fourth lesson.”
“Jena! That’s wonderful! Hey, it’s my birthday. We’re celebrating! Where are you living? Can we come over?”
Eric ended his story. I wiped a tear off my chin and nose. He paused a long time. “Well,” I demanded, “Did you go over? How is she doing?”
“She’s beautiful!” Eric replied enthusiastically.
“And her leg? Has it improved?”
“Her leg? What was the matter with her leg?”
I got very enthusiastic about my assignment. I decided to write a verse about every year of his life. There would be a verse about the time he took his first trial flight off the garage when he was four, and one about the time he self-medicated his cold with half a bottle of cough syrup to save the doctor’s fee when he was five. And it would end with a verse about his latest venture—refusing to withdraw from a spontaneous football squad even after he saw his six-foot-four, 280-pound opponent. (Yes, they carried him off with a broken collarbone.) That was my Eric! Active, daring, and a little mischievous.
I sat down and wrote the first few verses and laughed. And then I thought about Eric when he was six.
“Eric’s got a girl friend! Eric’s got a girl friend!” I remembered how Brad teased as he and Eric made their afternoon entrance after school. I waited for a typical “I don’t!” from Eric and a “You do!” from Brad.
There was none. Eric was silent. I couldn’t detect a smile, a frown, anything on his cherubic face. He just ignored Brad totally and asked, “Can we eat breakfast sooner tomorrow, Mom? I want to go to school early.”
“Yes,” I answered. I was surprised at his coolness. “Yes, of course. Do you want to tell me about it?”
“No.” He shook his head, smiled, and walked out the back door to play.
“See. I told you!” Brad confirmed.
I’m not a nosy mother—well, only a little nosy. I wanted to know why Eric went to school 15 minutes early and came home 15 minutes late for a week. But he volunteered nothing. I didn’t want to turn Brad into a spy (it only entered my mind twice and I got over it), so I learned nothing.
On Tuesday I had to return library books. I decided to go at 1:50 so I would be driving by the school at 2:20 when school was out. (A mother does have to look out for her children.)
I was late and had to drive almost home before I saw Eric. He was with a girl. From the back I could see she had long, blonde hair and a pretty dress. But something was different. She didn’t raise her left leg far from the sidewalk, and as I passed I could see her left arm was limp. Eric saw me. He grinned widely and waved. As I smiled back my eyes surveyed a beautiful little girl with an enchanting smile and blue eyes.
At dinner I decided it was time to be open about the whole thing. I wanted Eric to know it was acceptable to have lots of friends in the first grade—even if one was a girl.
“I saw your friend today, Eric. She’s pretty.”
“She’s nice,” he added.
“So that’s the reason you go to school early?” his father asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, tell me about her. What’s her name? Where does she live? What does she look like?”
“Her name’s Jena. She lives on Vista View. And she looks like … like … uh … like a girl.”
The family laughed. “She’s very pretty.” I explained. “She has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a radiant smile.”
“What’s radiant?” Eric asked.
“That’s like a heater,” Brad informed him.
“That’s a radiator,” Father clarified. “But it’s like that. It means warm and friendly.”
“What’s wrong with her leg?” Brad asked innocently.
Eric bristled and raised his voice. “There’s nothing wrong with her leg.”
“Brad wasn’t being mean, Eric. She does have a problem with her leg and arm. She has cerebral palsy, Eric. That doesn’t change her being pretty or nice.” I taught physically handicapped children and accepted the fact that everyone has limitations of some kind, but Eric was crushed. His fork clattered to the plate, and he proclaimed loudly in his squeaky, first-grade voice, “There’s nothing wrong with her at all,” and ran into his room.
We said nothing further about it. Eric was a normal boy who ran bicycles into garage doors, played Zorro, and chased strange dogs away. He just went to school a little early and came home a little late every day.
In early December I got a phone call.
“Is this Eric’s mother?”
When anybody started a conversation like that I wondered if Eric had just ridden his bike over someone’s flower bed. “Yes,” I replied. After all, I was responsible.
“This is Mrs. Hamilton. I’m Jena Hamilton’s mother.”
“Oh, yes. Hello!”
“I called because I wondered if you were aware of what Eric has been doing for us—I mean for Jena—but really it affects all of us.”
I was puzzled. “No, I guess I’m not,” I replied honestly.
“Do you know Jena?”
“I saw her going home from school. She’s a very pretty girl.”
“Then you know she has a problem with her leg and arm. She has cerebral palsy.”
“I see.”
“When we moved here last summer and I went to register her, the school said they wouldn’t accept her. Her learning isn’t impaired. It’s just a motor involvement, but they insisted the kids would taunt her until we would be sorry. They asked me to enroll her in the special education program over at Fairhaven. I didn’t want her at Fairhaven. She’d have to ride the bus for over an hour. I insisted they let her try it here. They were skeptical, but I was quite adamant.”
“I understand your feelings.”
“When school started, it was just like they said. Some of the kids wouldn’t quit yelling names and making fun of her. And no one would play with her. After the first week and a half of school, with her coming home in tears every day, I decided to reconsider Fairhaven. Then a little miracle happened—Eric!”
“Eric?”
“He decided enough was enough. He asked Jena if he could play with her at recess. The boys laughed at him and called him names too. But he ignored them.”
“That’s not my Eric,” I thought.
“He walked home with Jena to the accompaniment of jeers. From that day on he has walked her to school, played with her at recess, and walked home with her. The third week of school some boys started throwing rocks at Jena. Eric challenged them to a ferocious fight if they didn’t stop.”
That’s my Eric. He was two inches shorter than anybody, but he was never afraid of a fight if it was necessary.
“I guess he said it so firmly they decided to leave her alone. Jena is doing so well now. Other children are playing with her, and no one seems to be paying attention to her problem.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“There’s more,” she continued. “Yesterday I stopped Eric out in front—I was so happy how things are going—and I said, ‘You’re such a nice boy! How did you ever get to be such a nice boy!’ It was a comment, not a question of course, but he spoke right up and said, ‘Our church teaches all the boys to be nice boys.’”
“Well, I was so surprised, I said, ‘And what church do you belong to, Eric?’
“And he said, ‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes called the Mormon church. Would you like to have the missionaries?’ He’s quite a boy!”
Well, do you want the missionaries? I was hoping my voice would say. But it didn’t. “Yes, I guess he is. I really appreciate your calling me.”
Jena Hamilton didn’t need Eric much after that. They were friends, but he went back to playing with the boys and calling all girls “dumb.” In a year or so Jena moved, and we moved.
I looked down at the birthday card I was making. I decided not to write a verse about Eric when he was six. It was too special.
Later I mailed the overweight birthday card and savored the thought of Eric reading his life out loud to his roommates.
It was almost midnight Friday when the phone rang.
“Mom, this is Eric.”
“Eric, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Are you hurt? Did you wreck the car? Did you …”
“Mom! I’m fine. Just listen a minute.” His voice was exuberant.
“Oh, yes. Today’s your birthday. You got my card! You got the money! You loved them both! But you didn’t have to thank us at this hour!”
“Mom! Listen! And put Dad on the other phone. Okay? Brad and I went out to dinner with the money. We were just sitting around here in the dorm reminiscing when the phone rang. It was a girl.”
She said, “Is this Eric Miller?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this Eric Miller who used to live on Hillview Avenue in San Sebastian?”
“Yes! Who is this?”
“Oh, you probably won’t remember me. It’s been a long time. This is Jena Hamilton.”
“Jena! I can’t believe it! Sure I remember you. Hey, what are you doing here in Provo? Visiting?”
“I’m going to the Y just like you.”
“But why? How did you decide to come here?”
“Well, about three years ago Mom and I were doing dishes when two young men knocked at our door. They said they were representatives of Jesus Christ and would like to leave a message with us. Mom said, ‘No, thank you, we really aren’t interested.’ Then for some reason she asked, ‘What church are you from?’ And they said, ‘We belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sometimes called the Mormon church.’ Mom looked at me, and we both said, ‘That’s Eric’s church.’ There was an unstated courtesy we would extend to someone from Eric’s church. We weren’t interested, of course, but we would be courteous. Well, you know how that goes! We were baptized after the fourth lesson.”
“Jena! That’s wonderful! Hey, it’s my birthday. We’re celebrating! Where are you living? Can we come over?”
Eric ended his story. I wiped a tear off my chin and nose. He paused a long time. “Well,” I demanded, “Did you go over? How is she doing?”
“She’s beautiful!” Eric replied enthusiastically.
“And her leg? Has it improved?”
“Her leg? What was the matter with her leg?”
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No Price Too High
Summary: After Elder Dallin H. Oaks challenged youth in Tokyo to serve missions, university gymnast Hidemasa Yatabe chose to leave his All-Japan team to serve. He faced harsh opposition from teammates and his coach, but found strength in prophetic counsel and a spiritual witness as he left the gym for the last time. He later shared his testimony with teammates, received support at a farewell gathering, and gained further confirmation in the temple. Blessings followed, including his parents beginning the missionary discussions.
On 5 February 1989, Elder Dallin H. Oaks of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles issued a challenge to the young men of the Tokyo, Japan, East Stake. “Every worthy priesthood bearer should go on a mission,” he said. “It is his responsibility.”
One young man in the congregation who accepted that challenge was Hidemasa Yatabe* Hidemasa, a student at Tsukuba University near Tokyo, had thought often about serving a mission, but up until then it has been an unfulfilled wish.
As for many young men, it was a difficult decision. For Hidemasa to serve a mission would mean giving up his position on the All-Japan gymnastics team and opportunity to appear in international competition.
“The university had only a few gymnasts,” he says, “and our success was based on team members dedicating a great deal of time practicing together. We even ate together. We became as one technically, mentally, and emotionally. The loss of even one member of a team like that disrupts the entire team. So although I always wanted to go on a mission, I wasn’t sure how I could leave the team.”
Since his baptism in 1981, the only convert in his family, Hidemasa had been a faithful member of the Church. In 1987, Elder Oaks was in Tokyo and visited some of the Saints’ homes, including Hidemasa’s. At that time, Elder oaks blessed Hidemasa that he would be able to serve a mission. Now, two years later, that blessing was recalled and Hidemasa resolved to accept Elder Oaks’ stake conference challenge.
“However, for the next six months, gymnastics and class studies took all my time. I practiced hard to earn the right to attend the All-Japan gymnastics championship.
“But even as I began to prepare mentally and physically for future world-class competition, my desire to serve a mission became stronger and stronger. After the student championship, I was interviewed by my bishop and stake president. In the interview, the stake president said to me, ‘If you plan to go on a mission only when it is convenient for you, perhaps the Lord might bless you only when it is convenient for him.’ I was convinced that I should send in my application right away.”
When Hidemasa announced his intentions to his teammates and coach, he met with immediate opposition. “My teammates all tried to stop me from going,” he says. “It is not an overstatement to say that winning the All-Japan championship was everything my teammates had worked toward in their youth. It would be the most significant event of their lives.”
Teammates began to accuse Hidemasa of deserting the team and blame him for hurting their chances of winning in nationwide competition. “Why can’t you wait for another year?” they asked. “We have worked so hard.” At other times they would say, “Religion should make people happy; so why are you making us suffer?”
“I was grateful for the support the team members had given me in my athletic career,” Hidemasa says, “and I didn’t want to disappoint them. Without their help, I would not have achieved what I did. For me to leave for a mission meant that I would destroy all that we had worked together to build. I knew exactly how they felt. It was painful.”
To ease that pain, Hidemasa looked to the words of Church leaders for consolation. He found it in a statement by President Ezra Taft Benson, which seemed to apply especially to him: “One of the most difficult tests of all is when you have to choose between pleasing God or pleasing someone you love or respect. … We should give God, the Father of our spirits, an exclusive preeminence in our lives. … The greatest test of life is obedience to God.” (“The Great Commandment—Love the Lord,” April General Conference, 1988.)
After reading this, Hidemasa felt strengthened and comforted. Still, there was no way for his teammates to understand the words of President Benson or the mission call. So when his teammates harassed him, he said nothing.
Finally, the last day of practice came—23 September 1989.
“I will never forget that day,” Hidemasa says. “I was practicing and thinking I would like to give something to the members of my team. Suddenly, I was summoned by my coach. He said to me harshly, ‘This is a training area for athletes, and not a place for you. Gather up all your belongings and get out.’”
Saddened, Hidemasa collected his things and prepared to leave. But as the left the practice area for the last time, he received a special witness from the Lord that he had made the correct decision. He recorded in his journal:
“My life as an athlete was finished. I would never again step into the gymnasium as a competitor. At that moment, I realized that everything I had worked toward had ended, and I could not help but cry. Everything, all the gymnastic life that I had worked so hard to build for the past ten years, including the inter-high school championship, the collegiate championship and the All-Japan championship, had come to an end.
“With that very poignant realization, I glanced back at the gymnasium. I felt that nothing remained for me there but an empty darkness. Suddenly, tears flowed freely as if to cleanse me. They were not tears of sorrow, but rather tears of gratitude. I felt the deepest gratitude for the many people who had supported, helped, and encouraged me for the last ten years. And I was sincerely grateful to Jesus Christ for his unequaled love and mercy. I rejoiced in the opportunity to demonstrate my love for him.”
During the next few days, Hidemasa visited the homes of his teammates, sharing with each one his testimony of Jesus Christ. Amazingly, their attitudes changed. “The Lord softened their hearts, and many of them began to understand my situation,” Hidemasa says.
The day before he left the university, his teammates held a farewell party for him. “Almost all my former teammates attended and gave me words of encouragement,” Hidemasa says. “One of them even congratulated me on my decision. I was able to talk to them about the Savior, declare the gospel, and give out copies of the Book of Mormon.”
Even after Hidemasa left the university, it was still painful for him to think of his teammates and what he had left behind. But later, when he went to the Tokyo Temple to receive his endowments, he had another experience that reinforced his decision.
“As I entered the celestial room, I felt a great spiritual awakening, and I understood the magnitude of the blessings our Father in Heaven has in store for us. I realized that, eternally, serving a mission was the best thing for me—and for my family, and for my former teammates.
“I was born again in Jesus Christ. There is power and strength in His name, and Satan is powerless against such strength. This is the testimony I gained in the temple.”
Since then, Hidemasa has never looked back. “Faith always accompanies sacrifice,” he says. “I sincerely testify that no matter how big a sacrifice you make, if you obey your Father in Heaven, blessings will be returned to you perhaps hundreds, perhaps thousands of times.”
One of those blessings is that Hidemasa’s parents are now receiving the missionary discussions. And he still keeps in touch with his former teammates.
What is the price of obedience? For Hidemasa Yatabe, student and gymnast, the price seemed high. But for Elder Hidemasa Yatabe, no price is too high, if it means keeping the Lord’s commandments.
“No matter how valuable things might be, they will never take the place of the great glory and blessings our Father in Heaven has in store for us,” he says. “There will be a time when you will receive an eternal reward no matter how big a sacrifice you pay to become a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
One young man in the congregation who accepted that challenge was Hidemasa Yatabe* Hidemasa, a student at Tsukuba University near Tokyo, had thought often about serving a mission, but up until then it has been an unfulfilled wish.
As for many young men, it was a difficult decision. For Hidemasa to serve a mission would mean giving up his position on the All-Japan gymnastics team and opportunity to appear in international competition.
“The university had only a few gymnasts,” he says, “and our success was based on team members dedicating a great deal of time practicing together. We even ate together. We became as one technically, mentally, and emotionally. The loss of even one member of a team like that disrupts the entire team. So although I always wanted to go on a mission, I wasn’t sure how I could leave the team.”
Since his baptism in 1981, the only convert in his family, Hidemasa had been a faithful member of the Church. In 1987, Elder Oaks was in Tokyo and visited some of the Saints’ homes, including Hidemasa’s. At that time, Elder oaks blessed Hidemasa that he would be able to serve a mission. Now, two years later, that blessing was recalled and Hidemasa resolved to accept Elder Oaks’ stake conference challenge.
“However, for the next six months, gymnastics and class studies took all my time. I practiced hard to earn the right to attend the All-Japan gymnastics championship.
“But even as I began to prepare mentally and physically for future world-class competition, my desire to serve a mission became stronger and stronger. After the student championship, I was interviewed by my bishop and stake president. In the interview, the stake president said to me, ‘If you plan to go on a mission only when it is convenient for you, perhaps the Lord might bless you only when it is convenient for him.’ I was convinced that I should send in my application right away.”
When Hidemasa announced his intentions to his teammates and coach, he met with immediate opposition. “My teammates all tried to stop me from going,” he says. “It is not an overstatement to say that winning the All-Japan championship was everything my teammates had worked toward in their youth. It would be the most significant event of their lives.”
Teammates began to accuse Hidemasa of deserting the team and blame him for hurting their chances of winning in nationwide competition. “Why can’t you wait for another year?” they asked. “We have worked so hard.” At other times they would say, “Religion should make people happy; so why are you making us suffer?”
“I was grateful for the support the team members had given me in my athletic career,” Hidemasa says, “and I didn’t want to disappoint them. Without their help, I would not have achieved what I did. For me to leave for a mission meant that I would destroy all that we had worked together to build. I knew exactly how they felt. It was painful.”
To ease that pain, Hidemasa looked to the words of Church leaders for consolation. He found it in a statement by President Ezra Taft Benson, which seemed to apply especially to him: “One of the most difficult tests of all is when you have to choose between pleasing God or pleasing someone you love or respect. … We should give God, the Father of our spirits, an exclusive preeminence in our lives. … The greatest test of life is obedience to God.” (“The Great Commandment—Love the Lord,” April General Conference, 1988.)
After reading this, Hidemasa felt strengthened and comforted. Still, there was no way for his teammates to understand the words of President Benson or the mission call. So when his teammates harassed him, he said nothing.
Finally, the last day of practice came—23 September 1989.
“I will never forget that day,” Hidemasa says. “I was practicing and thinking I would like to give something to the members of my team. Suddenly, I was summoned by my coach. He said to me harshly, ‘This is a training area for athletes, and not a place for you. Gather up all your belongings and get out.’”
Saddened, Hidemasa collected his things and prepared to leave. But as the left the practice area for the last time, he received a special witness from the Lord that he had made the correct decision. He recorded in his journal:
“My life as an athlete was finished. I would never again step into the gymnasium as a competitor. At that moment, I realized that everything I had worked toward had ended, and I could not help but cry. Everything, all the gymnastic life that I had worked so hard to build for the past ten years, including the inter-high school championship, the collegiate championship and the All-Japan championship, had come to an end.
“With that very poignant realization, I glanced back at the gymnasium. I felt that nothing remained for me there but an empty darkness. Suddenly, tears flowed freely as if to cleanse me. They were not tears of sorrow, but rather tears of gratitude. I felt the deepest gratitude for the many people who had supported, helped, and encouraged me for the last ten years. And I was sincerely grateful to Jesus Christ for his unequaled love and mercy. I rejoiced in the opportunity to demonstrate my love for him.”
During the next few days, Hidemasa visited the homes of his teammates, sharing with each one his testimony of Jesus Christ. Amazingly, their attitudes changed. “The Lord softened their hearts, and many of them began to understand my situation,” Hidemasa says.
The day before he left the university, his teammates held a farewell party for him. “Almost all my former teammates attended and gave me words of encouragement,” Hidemasa says. “One of them even congratulated me on my decision. I was able to talk to them about the Savior, declare the gospel, and give out copies of the Book of Mormon.”
Even after Hidemasa left the university, it was still painful for him to think of his teammates and what he had left behind. But later, when he went to the Tokyo Temple to receive his endowments, he had another experience that reinforced his decision.
“As I entered the celestial room, I felt a great spiritual awakening, and I understood the magnitude of the blessings our Father in Heaven has in store for us. I realized that, eternally, serving a mission was the best thing for me—and for my family, and for my former teammates.
“I was born again in Jesus Christ. There is power and strength in His name, and Satan is powerless against such strength. This is the testimony I gained in the temple.”
Since then, Hidemasa has never looked back. “Faith always accompanies sacrifice,” he says. “I sincerely testify that no matter how big a sacrifice you make, if you obey your Father in Heaven, blessings will be returned to you perhaps hundreds, perhaps thousands of times.”
One of those blessings is that Hidemasa’s parents are now receiving the missionary discussions. And he still keeps in touch with his former teammates.
What is the price of obedience? For Hidemasa Yatabe, student and gymnast, the price seemed high. But for Elder Hidemasa Yatabe, no price is too high, if it means keeping the Lord’s commandments.
“No matter how valuable things might be, they will never take the place of the great glory and blessings our Father in Heaven has in store for us,” he says. “There will be a time when you will receive an eternal reward no matter how big a sacrifice you pay to become a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Missionaries
👤 Young Adults
👤 Parents
👤 Other
Apostle
Bishop
Conversion
Missionary Work
Obedience
Priesthood
Revelation
Sacrifice
Temples
Testimony
Young Men
Look Right
Summary: The writer nearly stepped in front of a London taxi because he looked left instead of right, then learned to follow the painted warning “Look Right.” He uses that experience as a lead-in to describe the Hyde Park Ward youth in London, who have also “looked to the right” by choosing the Church and a gospel-centered lifestyle despite the city’s many competing influences.
“Watch out!”
Startled, I jerked my head up to see a square, black London taxicab hurtling toward me, horn blaring, but with no squeal of brakes. It wasn’t going to stop!
Stunned by the danger I was in, I was frozen in midstride until a surge of adrenalin helped me leap to the curb, my coat just brushing the taxi as it sped by. My close call was not the fault of the taxi driver. My own unconscious habits had placed me in that pickle. I always thought I looked both ways when crossing a street, but I don’t. As an American I have a habit of glancing to the left and, if nothing is coming, stepping into the street. In England, where they drive on the left side of the roads, you won’t live very long using that method to cross streets.
After my brush with the taxicab, I noticed that on several busy intersections in London, the advice “Look Right” is painted directly on the asphalt. It became a little chant I would say to myself before I stepped off a curb, “look right, look right.”
One intersection where “Look Right” is painted directly on the street is the one I crossed to go to the Hyde Park chapel in downtown London. Somehow the words “Look Right” seemed to mean something more in that location. The youth of the Hyde Park Ward have indeed looked to the right. In a city as diverse and cosmopolitan as London, these young men and women have made a choice not only about religion but about lifestyle.
With people of all races and religions settling in and around this capital city, there are a lot of different lifestyles to choose from in London. It is not uncommon to see a young person with pink hair and fashionably baggy clothes seated next to a turbaned, bearded man in a three-piece suit on public transportation. The mix creates some interesting situations. For example, Sheryl Boydell, 15, lives with her parents and two brothers and sister in London. She attends a school where students speak 36 different languages, and her closest school friends are Muslim. Consequently, she encounters very little opposition or even interest in the fact that she is LDS. The students at her school represent so many different religious beliefs worldwide that hers is just one more. But because of this religious tolerance at her school, Sheryl’s beliefs and lifestyle choices are respected, and she tries to teach her friends about the Church when she has the opportunity.
Sheryl is grateful that the Church is such a major force in the lives of her family. “How do I feel about the Church? I was brought up with it. When I see friends at school who are in one-parent families or in a special home because they don’t have any parents or have to go home to fights and arguments, there is just no comparison to the happiness our family has because of the gospel.”
Yet Sheryl had to gain a testimony for herself. “The time I started wondering about the Church was when I started seminary because one of the first questions you had to answer in the home-study booklet was, ‘Do you have a testimony of the Church?’ I started thinking about it seriously. I think it is hard to know if you’ve gained a testimony when you are brought up in the Church because you don’t notice a change in yourself. When you come in from outside, you can notice the difference. But when you’ve been brought up in the Church, the feelings seem natural. It’s harder to recognize a testimony for what it is.”
Church is a big part of Sheryl’s life. She said, “A lot of my social life is church. Family home evening is on Mondays. I go to seminary on Tuesdays, Mutual is on Wednesdays, and sports night on Thursdays. Then there are other activities on Saturdays. There isn’t a lot of time for anything else.”
And one of those special Saturdays was a stake sports day. The youth of the London England Hyde Park Stake were meeting for stake competition in five-sided football and volleyball. Five-sided football is a fast-paced indoor version of soccer with goals marked on the walls on either end of the cultural hall. Before the action got started, the referee went over the rules with the ward teams. When he got to the rule about no physical contact between players, everyone just laughed. Spectators were out of the way up on the stage, and it was soon evident that that was the only safe place to be since the side walls took the brunt of flying footballs and bodies.
With feet flying, sometimes hitting the ball or the opposing team’s shins, lots of coaching from the sidelines, cheering at every good move by both defensive and offensive players, and a few dives against the walls to gain possession of the ball, one ward team emerged battered and bruised but victorious. So much for “no physical contact.” The stake championship team would go on to play in regionals. After the good-humored intensity of competition, the young men were willing to talk about the Church.
John Allen of the London North Ward said, “My parents have been members about 12 years. I was away from home for a while, but when I moved back, I was reintroduced to the Church. I had a special experience that confirmed to me that the Church is true, and I had to join after that.”
Keith Barker, Hyde Park Ward, grew up in London and has been a member most of his life. “My Mum has always been a strong member. There was a time I came to church for the social part, to meet my friends, but when you believe something is true, your instincts just tell you.”
While the girls were waiting for the volleyball to start, Carol Lindsay of the London North Ward talked about her conversion. “I read a book written by a Protestant minister about the trek west led by Brigham Young. I thought when I read that there must be something to this church if they would walk all those many miles for it. I walked into a chapel in Edinburgh and said, ‘Here I am, what are you going to do with me?’ I got impatient during the missionary discussions waiting for them to challenge me to baptism.”
Mandy Young, 19, just moved from a little branch to the London North Ward. Her conversion story is just a little different. “I used to think Mormons were people with shaved heads and long, white robes,” she said. “But my Mum’s sister was a member, and she wasn’t like that. She didn’t go very often, but the home teachers would visit. We talked about a lot of things, and they invited us to church. My family went one week before I did. My family told me it was quite nice, and people participated instead of listening to one preacher at a big pulpit. The second week, I went and thought it was nice. I thought the lesson situation was very nice.” Now Mandy attends the London North Ward, and her 18-year-old sister serves as the Primary president in her home branch.
The Hyde Park chapel is on a busy street near the Victoria and Albert Museum and just down the street from Hyde Park, the large park in the center of London. To get to the Hyde Park chapel, you can take the Piccadilly, District, or Circle Line on the underground to South Kensington station. Or hop on a red double-decker bus, a typical sight in London. That’s how the London youth come to church meetings, to Mutual, and to activities. But they have the habit of looking right, which stands them in good stead when learning gospel truths and crossing busy London streets.
We use the same words, but sometimes the meanings of what English speakers from opposite sides of the Atlantic say get lost in the crossing. Here are a few clues to the differences in English and American usage:
English
American
Clothing
jumper
pullover sweater
pinafore
dress jumper
braces
suspenders
ladder
run in your nylons
tights
nylons
trainers
running shoes, sneakers
wellingtons
rain boots
nappies
diapers
knickers
children’s underpants
plus fours
knickers
pants
underpants
trousers
pants
Food and Home
liquefier
blender
lounge
living room
telly
television
wash up
do the dishes
flat
apartment
dust bin
trash can
serviette
napkin
banger
sausage
chips
French fries
crisps
potato chips
sweets
candy or dessert
jelly
Jello
scones
biscuits
biscuits
cookies or crackers
tea
a meal
salad cream
salad dressing
ice lolly
Popsicle
squash
fruit punch
hoovering
vacuuming
Cars and Highways
underground
subway
subway
underground walkway
dual carriageway
divided highway
petrol
gas
lorry
truck
zebra crossing
crosswalk
fly over
overpass
car park
parking lot
silencer
muffler
windscreen
windshield
indicator
blinker
bonnet
hood
boot
trunk
overtake
pass a car
soft verges
soft shoulders
pavement
sidewalk
lay by
rest area
give way
yield
motorway
interstate
central reservation
median strip
Other Phrases
On your bike!
Get lost!
Cheerio!
Good-bye!
Will it do?
Is it okay?
Have a go!
Take a chance!
creasing up
doubled over with laughter
A to Zed
A to Z
wind him up
putting him on
wonky
crooked
lift
elevator
pinched
stolen
lie in
sleep in
fortnight
two weeks
holiday
vacation
homely
friendly and easy to be with
fringe
bangs on a girl’s hairdo
toilet, loo, or WC
rest room or bathroom
body popping
break dancing
do it up
fix it up
dear
expensive
way in
entrance
way out
exit
Startled, I jerked my head up to see a square, black London taxicab hurtling toward me, horn blaring, but with no squeal of brakes. It wasn’t going to stop!
Stunned by the danger I was in, I was frozen in midstride until a surge of adrenalin helped me leap to the curb, my coat just brushing the taxi as it sped by. My close call was not the fault of the taxi driver. My own unconscious habits had placed me in that pickle. I always thought I looked both ways when crossing a street, but I don’t. As an American I have a habit of glancing to the left and, if nothing is coming, stepping into the street. In England, where they drive on the left side of the roads, you won’t live very long using that method to cross streets.
After my brush with the taxicab, I noticed that on several busy intersections in London, the advice “Look Right” is painted directly on the asphalt. It became a little chant I would say to myself before I stepped off a curb, “look right, look right.”
One intersection where “Look Right” is painted directly on the street is the one I crossed to go to the Hyde Park chapel in downtown London. Somehow the words “Look Right” seemed to mean something more in that location. The youth of the Hyde Park Ward have indeed looked to the right. In a city as diverse and cosmopolitan as London, these young men and women have made a choice not only about religion but about lifestyle.
With people of all races and religions settling in and around this capital city, there are a lot of different lifestyles to choose from in London. It is not uncommon to see a young person with pink hair and fashionably baggy clothes seated next to a turbaned, bearded man in a three-piece suit on public transportation. The mix creates some interesting situations. For example, Sheryl Boydell, 15, lives with her parents and two brothers and sister in London. She attends a school where students speak 36 different languages, and her closest school friends are Muslim. Consequently, she encounters very little opposition or even interest in the fact that she is LDS. The students at her school represent so many different religious beliefs worldwide that hers is just one more. But because of this religious tolerance at her school, Sheryl’s beliefs and lifestyle choices are respected, and she tries to teach her friends about the Church when she has the opportunity.
Sheryl is grateful that the Church is such a major force in the lives of her family. “How do I feel about the Church? I was brought up with it. When I see friends at school who are in one-parent families or in a special home because they don’t have any parents or have to go home to fights and arguments, there is just no comparison to the happiness our family has because of the gospel.”
Yet Sheryl had to gain a testimony for herself. “The time I started wondering about the Church was when I started seminary because one of the first questions you had to answer in the home-study booklet was, ‘Do you have a testimony of the Church?’ I started thinking about it seriously. I think it is hard to know if you’ve gained a testimony when you are brought up in the Church because you don’t notice a change in yourself. When you come in from outside, you can notice the difference. But when you’ve been brought up in the Church, the feelings seem natural. It’s harder to recognize a testimony for what it is.”
Church is a big part of Sheryl’s life. She said, “A lot of my social life is church. Family home evening is on Mondays. I go to seminary on Tuesdays, Mutual is on Wednesdays, and sports night on Thursdays. Then there are other activities on Saturdays. There isn’t a lot of time for anything else.”
And one of those special Saturdays was a stake sports day. The youth of the London England Hyde Park Stake were meeting for stake competition in five-sided football and volleyball. Five-sided football is a fast-paced indoor version of soccer with goals marked on the walls on either end of the cultural hall. Before the action got started, the referee went over the rules with the ward teams. When he got to the rule about no physical contact between players, everyone just laughed. Spectators were out of the way up on the stage, and it was soon evident that that was the only safe place to be since the side walls took the brunt of flying footballs and bodies.
With feet flying, sometimes hitting the ball or the opposing team’s shins, lots of coaching from the sidelines, cheering at every good move by both defensive and offensive players, and a few dives against the walls to gain possession of the ball, one ward team emerged battered and bruised but victorious. So much for “no physical contact.” The stake championship team would go on to play in regionals. After the good-humored intensity of competition, the young men were willing to talk about the Church.
John Allen of the London North Ward said, “My parents have been members about 12 years. I was away from home for a while, but when I moved back, I was reintroduced to the Church. I had a special experience that confirmed to me that the Church is true, and I had to join after that.”
Keith Barker, Hyde Park Ward, grew up in London and has been a member most of his life. “My Mum has always been a strong member. There was a time I came to church for the social part, to meet my friends, but when you believe something is true, your instincts just tell you.”
While the girls were waiting for the volleyball to start, Carol Lindsay of the London North Ward talked about her conversion. “I read a book written by a Protestant minister about the trek west led by Brigham Young. I thought when I read that there must be something to this church if they would walk all those many miles for it. I walked into a chapel in Edinburgh and said, ‘Here I am, what are you going to do with me?’ I got impatient during the missionary discussions waiting for them to challenge me to baptism.”
Mandy Young, 19, just moved from a little branch to the London North Ward. Her conversion story is just a little different. “I used to think Mormons were people with shaved heads and long, white robes,” she said. “But my Mum’s sister was a member, and she wasn’t like that. She didn’t go very often, but the home teachers would visit. We talked about a lot of things, and they invited us to church. My family went one week before I did. My family told me it was quite nice, and people participated instead of listening to one preacher at a big pulpit. The second week, I went and thought it was nice. I thought the lesson situation was very nice.” Now Mandy attends the London North Ward, and her 18-year-old sister serves as the Primary president in her home branch.
The Hyde Park chapel is on a busy street near the Victoria and Albert Museum and just down the street from Hyde Park, the large park in the center of London. To get to the Hyde Park chapel, you can take the Piccadilly, District, or Circle Line on the underground to South Kensington station. Or hop on a red double-decker bus, a typical sight in London. That’s how the London youth come to church meetings, to Mutual, and to activities. But they have the habit of looking right, which stands them in good stead when learning gospel truths and crossing busy London streets.
We use the same words, but sometimes the meanings of what English speakers from opposite sides of the Atlantic say get lost in the crossing. Here are a few clues to the differences in English and American usage:
English
American
Clothing
jumper
pullover sweater
pinafore
dress jumper
braces
suspenders
ladder
run in your nylons
tights
nylons
trainers
running shoes, sneakers
wellingtons
rain boots
nappies
diapers
knickers
children’s underpants
plus fours
knickers
pants
underpants
trousers
pants
Food and Home
liquefier
blender
lounge
living room
telly
television
wash up
do the dishes
flat
apartment
dust bin
trash can
serviette
napkin
banger
sausage
chips
French fries
crisps
potato chips
sweets
candy or dessert
jelly
Jello
scones
biscuits
biscuits
cookies or crackers
tea
a meal
salad cream
salad dressing
ice lolly
Popsicle
squash
fruit punch
hoovering
vacuuming
Cars and Highways
underground
subway
subway
underground walkway
dual carriageway
divided highway
petrol
gas
lorry
truck
zebra crossing
crosswalk
fly over
overpass
car park
parking lot
silencer
muffler
windscreen
windshield
indicator
blinker
bonnet
hood
boot
trunk
overtake
pass a car
soft verges
soft shoulders
pavement
sidewalk
lay by
rest area
give way
yield
motorway
interstate
central reservation
median strip
Other Phrases
On your bike!
Get lost!
Cheerio!
Good-bye!
Will it do?
Is it okay?
Have a go!
Take a chance!
creasing up
doubled over with laughter
A to Zed
A to Z
wind him up
putting him on
wonky
crooked
lift
elevator
pinched
stolen
lie in
sleep in
fortnight
two weeks
holiday
vacation
homely
friendly and easy to be with
fringe
bangs on a girl’s hairdo
toilet, loo, or WC
rest room or bathroom
body popping
break dancing
do it up
fix it up
dear
expensive
way in
entrance
way out
exit
Read more →
👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Other
Agency and Accountability
Diversity and Unity in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Faith
Young Men
Young Women
The Joy of Learning
Summary: Archimedes was tasked by his king to determine whether a crown was pure gold. After pondering, he discovered a solution and, overjoyed, ran through the city shouting 'Eureka!' This illustrates the joy of discovery.
On one occasion, an ancient mathematician named Archimedes was asked by his king to determine if the king’s new crown was solid gold or if the goldsmith had dishonestly substituted some silver for gold. Archimedes pondered the solution; finally an answer came. So overjoyed was he by this discovery that, according to legend, he ran about the city crying, “Eureka! Eureka!”—meaning, “I have found it! I have found it!”
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👤 Other
Education
Honesty
Religion and Science
Truth
Overcoming Adversity
Summary: The speaker rushed to help when a friend’s wife faced another threatened miscarriage, but they learned it was too late—her third such loss. He wondered how to comfort them. Soon after leaving the hospital, the woman learned of another sister with the same trial and chose to visit and support her. She transformed her own pain into a blessing for someone else.
Some months ago I heard that the wife of a friend was again threatening miscarriage. I hurried, along with others who were concerned about the baby, to make sure that things would be well. While arrangements were still being made, we were told that it was too late. This was the third time she had gone through this painful experience. I asked myself: What can I say to comfort them? How will the Lord help them overcome this new blow?
The day she left the hospital she heard about another sister from her stake who was going through the same experience. Full of trust in the Lord, she went to visit the sister and give her support. She changed her own tragedy into a blessing of comfort for others.
The day she left the hospital she heard about another sister from her stake who was going through the same experience. Full of trust in the Lord, she went to visit the sister and give her support. She changed her own tragedy into a blessing of comfort for others.
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Parents
👤 Church Members (General)
Adversity
Faith
Grief
Ministering
Classic Discourses from the General Authorities:Miracles
Summary: In a New Zealand hospital, a nonmember woman, tubercular and expected to die if she gave birth, was surrounded by family for a farewell. An elderly member relative insisted she would live; after prayer and a blessing, she later recovered fully and had five children.
I went into a hospital one day in New Zealand to bless a woman who didn’t belong to the Church. She was dying. We all knew she was dying. The doctor even said so. She was having her farewell party. Ah, that’s one thing I like about the natives. When you go they give you a farewell party. They all gather around. They send messages over to the other side. “When you get over there tell my mother I’m trying to do my best; I’m not so good, but I’m trying.” “Tell her to have a good room fixed for me when I get over there and plenty of fish, good meals.” My, it’s wonderful how they send you off. There they were, all gathered around this poor sister. She was about to be confined, and the doctor told her it would kill her. She was tubercular from head to foot.
I had with me an old native, almost ninety. She was his niece. He stood up at the head of the bed and he said, “Vera, you’re dead. You’re dead because the doctor says you’re dead. You’re on your way out. I’ve been to you, your home and your people—my relatives. I’m the only one that joined the Church. None of you has ever listened to me. You’re dead now; you’re going to live.” He turned to me and said, “Is it all right if we kneel down and pray?” I said, “Yes.” So we knelt down. Everybody around there knelt down, and after the prayer we blessed her. The last time I was in New Zealand she was physically well from head to foot and had had her fifth child. She has not joined the Church yet. That’s the next miracle I’m waiting for.
I had with me an old native, almost ninety. She was his niece. He stood up at the head of the bed and he said, “Vera, you’re dead. You’re dead because the doctor says you’re dead. You’re on your way out. I’ve been to you, your home and your people—my relatives. I’m the only one that joined the Church. None of you has ever listened to me. You’re dead now; you’re going to live.” He turned to me and said, “Is it all right if we kneel down and pray?” I said, “Yes.” So we knelt down. Everybody around there knelt down, and after the prayer we blessed her. The last time I was in New Zealand she was physically well from head to foot and had had her fifth child. She has not joined the Church yet. That’s the next miracle I’m waiting for.
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Other
Conversion
Death
Diversity and Unity in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Faith
Health
Ministering
Miracles
Prayer
Priesthood Blessing
Service
In His Own Language
Summary: Ambrose and Louise Massala, whose native language is Tshiluba, had shifted to Swahili during college and early marriage. Prompted by Ambrose, they resumed speaking Tshiluba at home, and their children grew up using it. Years later, when asked to translate Church materials into Tshiluba, Louise realized the earlier decision had prepared them for this service.
As an example, Brother Bishop describes the members the Division found to translate materials into two of the languages of Zaire—Lingala and Tshiluba. Church materials are translated into Lingala by Alfonse and Maguy Muanda, in addition to their being actively involved as stake missionaries and operating their own business.
Tshiluba is the native language of Ambrose and Louise Massala, but in their college days they lived in an area of Zaire where Swahili is spoken, and that became their daily language. Shortly after they were married, Ambrose suggested that they go back to speaking to one another in Tshiluba. Louise thought the suggestion strange because by then they had been speaking Swahili for a number of years. However, they began using Tshiluba again, and their children grew up speaking Tshiluba at home. Surprised when they were asked if they would translate material into Tshiluba, Louise said she finally realized why Ambrose was inspired to return to using a language they had almost forgotten.
Tshiluba is the native language of Ambrose and Louise Massala, but in their college days they lived in an area of Zaire where Swahili is spoken, and that became their daily language. Shortly after they were married, Ambrose suggested that they go back to speaking to one another in Tshiluba. Louise thought the suggestion strange because by then they had been speaking Swahili for a number of years. However, they began using Tshiluba again, and their children grew up speaking Tshiluba at home. Surprised when they were asked if they would translate material into Tshiluba, Louise said she finally realized why Ambrose was inspired to return to using a language they had almost forgotten.
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👤 Church Members (General)
Children
Diversity and Unity in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Family
Missionary Work
Revelation