Gospel Story Finder

Sophie loved to sing. She sang at school, at her friends’ houses, and at home. Her favorite place to sing was at church.
“Mom,” Sophie asked one day, “I want to learn to sing better. Do you think I could take lessons?”
“That sounds like a fun idea,” Mom said. “Let me see what I can find.”
Singing wasn’t always easy for Sophie. She was deaf and couldn’t hear most sounds on her own. She had a special little device behind her ears to help her hear. Things sounded a little different to her than they did to other people. But Sophie still loved to sing.
“Good news, Sophie!” Mom said a few days later. “I found a class you can join. It’s a choir with other children who are learning to sing together. The teacher said you could start tomorrow!”
Sophie did a little dance. She was so excited!
But that night, she started to get nervous.
“Are you excited for your class tomorrow?” her big sister Kayla asked.
Sophie nodded. “Yes. But I’m also a little scared. I wish I didn’t have to go by myself.”
“You can do it!” Kayla said. “But would it help if I came with you? We can learn to sing together.”
Sophie hugged Kayla. “That would be awesome.”
The next morning, Sophie and Kayla got up early to go to their singing class. Nervous thoughts ran through Sophie’s head as she climbed into the car. What if she couldn’t understand the teacher? What if she didn’t make friends? What if people stared at her?
Mom pulled the car into the parking lot and turned around to look at Sophie. Sophie slid down low in her seat.
“I’m not sure I want to go anymore,” she said.
“What happened?” Mom asked. “You were so excited before.”
Sophie didn’t say anything. She just looked down at the ground and kicked her feet back and forth.
Mom smiled. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But if you get nervous, you can pray to Heavenly Father, and He will help you! Plus Kayla will be there too.”
Kayla held Sophie’s hand. “We’ve got this!” she said.
Sophie gulped. Her stomach felt like it was full of butterflies, but she climbed out of the car anyway. She held tight onto Kayla’s hand as they walked into the classroom.
For the first few days of class, Sophie always sat by Kayla. Then one day Sophie noticed a girl who always sat by herself. Maybe she was scared too. Sophie went and sat next to her.
“Hi!” Sophie said. “Can I sit here?” The girl nodded. Soon they were laughing and singing together. Sophie was glad she had been brave enough to make a new friend.
Singing with the group was so much fun! Sophie loved learning the notes and tapping her foot to the beat of the music. She was even able to teach some of the other kids how to say the words in sign language.
One day the teacher had an exciting announcement. Everyone in the class would get to sing three solo parts in a special program. At home, Kayla and Sophie worked hard to practice their solos. Soon Sophie could sing her first two solo parts. But the last one was really hard! She couldn’t hear all the notes. How would she be able to sing it by herself in front of so many people?
Sophie remembered what Mom said about praying to Heavenly Father for help. She got down on her knees. “Heavenly Father, this last song is very hard for me. Could you help me find a way to sing it and not be so nervous?”
At her next singing class, Sophie’s teacher came up to her. “I know you’re nervous about your third solo. Would you like to sing that one with Kayla? It could bea sister solo!”
Sophie smiled. She felt warm and happy. She knew Heavenly Father was answering her prayer.
At the performance, Sophie sang her first two solos with confidence. When it was time for her third solo, she jumped up and grabbed Kayla’s hand. They walked up to the stage and sang the sister solo loud and proud. Sophie didn’t feel nervous or scared at all! Heavenly Father had answered her prayer in a way she didn’t expect, but she was so thankful that He always heard her.

She was young and beautiful—young enough to be largely unaware of the grace that unfolded with bashful uncertainty as the days passed. But in the third month of her 17th year, she died, cut down by a rare disease.
He was 18 and her friend. They never really dated. She had always seemed too young for him to consider her seriously.
They both lived in a small town in the State of Montana. To the east was prairie, and to the west a range of mountains.
Because of the few LDS students in the high school, Dave and Cathy attended early morning seminary. Each morning at 5:00, he jabbed at the buzzing alarm clock, struggled out of bed, showered, dressed, ate a hurried breakfast, and drove the car to her home to pick her up. She often kept him waiting, but finally she would rush out—a book, a purse, a piece of toast in one hand, a hair brush and a coat in the other.
One evening in April, her mother phoned Dave to say, “Cathy won’t be going to school tomorrow, so you won’t need to pick her up for seminary. She isn’t feeling well.”
That was the beginning.
Dave graduated from high school in May, was ordained an elder in June, and began working in a clothing store in order to earn money for his mission. Each day after work he visited her. On the days when she was feeling better, he found her in the backyard.
Her backyard had once been mostly lawn. But through the years the vegetable garden had been enlarged until now there was left only a small strip of lawn in front of the patio. Even with the threat of losing all the lawn to the needed vegetables, her mother always insisted that a patch of flowers be preserved.
One day when he came, Cathy was lying on the lawn, her chin propped up by her two hands, intently studying the determined efforts of several bees that were working the flower garden. Dave paused at the gate and quietly watched her. She wore a pair of Levis and a western-style shirt. Since he had visited her last, her long hair had been cut into a more practical summer style.
When he finally went through the gate, she turned and sat up.
“I wish I could spend all day watching flowers grow,” he teased.
She stood up and came over.
“Who cut your hair?” he asked.
“My mother. Do you like it?”
“I like it fine.”
They walked together, inspecting the long straight rows of beets, lettuce, and tomatoes.
“Did you have a date last night?” she asked.
“Yes, with Karen. We played miniature golf.”
“Do you like her?”
“I don’t know. She’s okay. It’s hard to get involved with anyone when I know I’m going on a mission in four months. Maybe she’ll write to me.”
He picked a small flower for her from a bush that clung to the trellis by the house.
“Will you write to me?”
“What do you want, a fan club?”
“‘Dear Elder Dave, you are so great! All us girls at home are just sighing our lives away until you return.’ Is that right?”
“It’ll do,” he grinned. “And I’ll write each of you a mimeographed letter. ‘Dear Sister Friend, We baptized 500 last week. I’m trying to remain the humble self that you’ve all grown to love. I hope that none of you are dating while I’m away.’”
“Is that the way it’s going to be?’” she asked.
“I guess not,” Dave replied.
“Dave,” she said, suddenly serious. “You will be a good missionary, won’t you? You’ll remember the Savior and represent him properly?”
“I hope so,” he answered.
They sat on the lawn chairs on the patio.
“I was sitting here this morning,” she said, “looking at the flowers in the garden. I remembered what the Savior said: ‘Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow.’ Where’s that found in the Bible?”
“I thought I was finished with scripture chasing when I graduated from seminary,” he teased.
“Okay, I won’t interrogate you. Anyway, that’s not my question. I had a picture in my mind while I was thinking. I want to tell you about it.”
She held the flower he had given her in both hands and studied it carefully.
“It’s early morning,” she began. “There are mists still hanging over the Sea of Galilee. A lone man walks along a path leading away from a small fishing village. It’s the Savior. He walks up the slope away from the water. As he walks, he comes upon a patch of wild flowers. He kneels down to get a closer look. He reaches out and touches the petals. He bends over to examine the insides of the blossom. My question is, what does he see?”
“A flower.”
“Is that all? Just a flower?”
“What else could he see?”
“Jesus was given the responsibility by Heavenly Father to create this earth. At one time, he knew the purpose of every feature of that flower. Did he remember all of those details? Or did his great mind understand the function of each part of the flower just by careful observation? That’s my question.”
“I can’t answer that.”
“I know, neither can I. But I don’t believe that he ever considered anything to be common. I think he valued the beauty of every sunset, each view of the Sea of Galilee—in sunshine or in rain. I believe that he was sensitive to beauty. When he said, ‘Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow,’ I believe that he had considered those lilies in greater detail than most of us ever will.”
Her father, home from work, came through the gate and began to pull some weeds from the garden. He was a quiet man who took pride in straight, neat rows of vegetables. Often when he worked, he whistled a tune with no recognizable melody.
He picked half a dozen strawberries, washed them off with the hose, and brought them over for Dave and Cathy to sample.
“They’re coming along nicely, aren’t they?” he asked.
In June Cathy spent a week out of town undergoing tests at a university medical center. When she returned, she didn’t look any better, and her parents were strangely evasive when asked what the specialists had found.
As the summer passed, Dave could see that she was slowly getting worse. Often when he came, she was in bed. Sometimes he only stayed a minute because she looked tired. But she enjoyed seeing him, and some days she felt good enough to talk.
“Dave,” she said on one of his visits, “I found a scripture for your mission.” She reached for the triple combination on the table by her bed, and, finding the place, read aloud:
“‘Therefore, O ye that embark in the service of your God, see that ye serve him with all your heart, might, mind and strength, that ye may stand blameless before God at the last day.’ (D&C 4:2.) How’s that?” she asked.
“You’re determined to make me a good missionary, aren’t you?” he asked.
“There’s so much to be done. I wish I were going to be alive to help.”
He looked up, trying to read her face.
“I know what’s happening. I’m dying.”
“No, you’re not.”
“We traveled a thousand miles to see a team of doctors. After two days, we came home. My parents never say anything about the results. They won’t talk about it. Now my dad asked me about taking a vacation to California. He wants to cash in his life insurance to get the money so we can all fly down. We’ve never gone on a big vacation like that before. When my parents come into my room, they’re both so cheerful. But yesterday I heard my mother in her room crying. And the worst part is that we can’t talk about it. We spend 20 minutes talking about the weather, clinging to the topic as if it were a life raft.”
Just then her mother came in the room with another vase of flowers. Cathy’s bedroom was filled with potted plants and cut flowers given to her by friends. Her mother picked up two vases of old flowers and left the room.
Cathy continued, “Dave, I need you to talk to. I can’t talk to my parents yet. I need to tell someone how I feel so I can define it in my mind and see the limits of my fear and measure it.”
They talked for a long time. Mainly he listened as she tried to find out if she could face her future.
“I know that none of us can be guaranteed a long life and that Heavenly Father won’t deny me any blessings. But I don’t want to leave this earth. I like it here.”
Before he left, she asked, “Will you give me a priesthood blessing?”
“Shouldn’t your dad do that?”
“He’s already administered to me. I need a priesthood blessing so that I can face it and so that my parents and I can talk.”
“I can have the bishop come over,” he said weakly.
“No, you’ve got all the priesthood you need. I want you to give me a blessing.”
“I’ve never given a priesthood blessing.”
“It doesn’t need to be today,” she said.
“Do you mind if I talk to your dad and the bishop about it? If they approve, I’ll be glad to.”
Sunday afternoon he arrived prepared. He had spent two days in reading. He had talked to Cathy’s father and the bishop and asked for their help and counsel. They had encouraged him to respond to Cathy’s special request. He had fasted and prayed since Saturday morning.
When he came, she was waiting for him, sitting in a chair in her bedroom.
He stood behind her. The room was silent except for the outdoor sounds coming through the open window. He placed his hands lightly on her head, touching the silky texture of her hair. Closing his eyes, he paused and then began, “Catherine Edmonds, by the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood which I hold, I place my hands on your head to give you a priesthood blessing …” The words seemed to flow easily and naturally. He blessed her that she would be comforted and that she would be able to talk openly to her parents about her condition.
When it was over, they both felt peaceful. He helped her into bed, sat down in the chair, held her hand, and talked with her until she fell asleep.
Monday afternoon when he came again, she was lying outside in a recliner. Her father was building a screened-in room with a covered roof so that she could spend more time outside.
“Daddy,” she asked, “could we move those potted plants from my room out here? I’d like them planted in the garden with the other flowers.”
“I don’t see why not,” her father answered. “Are you getting tired of them in your room?”
“No, I just want them to be here in the sun.”
The next day when Dave arrived, her plants had already been transferred to the garden.
“Don’t they look good?” she asked him. “I’ve been watching them all day. The bees have been visiting them. Out here they have the sun and the warm soil. I’m glad they’re out here. Look at all they’d miss if they were still cooped up in the house.”
Saturday he worked in the morning, but he took the afternoon off so he could be with her. They sat together in the enclosed patio.
In the late afternoon, dark clouds, which had been building to the west of them all day, finally moved in.
Her father gently asked “Don’t you want to come inside? It looks like rain.”
The summer storm struck with fury. The large drops were driven almost sideways by the wind.
Then the hail came. At first it was just one or two scattered, marble-sized stones striking the grass and bouncing back. But as the storm approached, the crashing of the hail on the green fiberglass roof of the patio sounded like hundreds of cannon rounds.
In a few minutes it was over. The lawn was covered with a layer of white.
Her father stood up and walked out into the garden. Standing in the light rain, he silently observed the damage. He picked up a broken stem from a tomato plant, examined it, and then let it drop back to the ground. He slowly made his way to the flower garden. The flowers had been flattened to the ground.
“Maybe we shouldn’t have moved these plants out here,” he said. “They would have been safe inside.”
She stood up and, with some difficulty, went to her father.
“No, Daddy. I wanted them here in the garden. They were safe inside, but out here, even though it was only for a few days, they’ve had the warm sun and the bees and the gentle summer wind at night. I’m not sorry we brought them here. It was worth the chance just to have them in the garden—even for a short time.”
Somehow they both realized that now they were talking about more than flowers. He held his daughter close to him while she repeated softly, “Daddy, I’m not afraid.”
The next day she told Dave that she and her parents had finally talked about the future.
Two weeks later she was admitted to the hospital.
Three weeks later she died.
Some who attended the funeral may have wondered why, instead of the customary wreath of flowers on the casket, the family placed there a bouquet of flowers from their garden—flowers that had endured the hail and yet lived on.

The day before my husband and I were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple we gave each other wedding gifts. To my complete surprise my gift was a state of the art fishing pole, complete with lures, reel, and all the tackle equipment a novice would need to get started into a lifetime of fishing the local lakes and streams. As someone who had never even looked at a fishing pole, let alone held one in my hands I hardly knew what to say, but as I glanced at Cal’s anxious and excited eyes I did manage a thank you.
I knew Cal loved to fish, but until this moment I didn’t know quite how much. As we dated he had alluded to his hopes to teach me how to fish and told me of his favorite and out of the way fishing holes. The fishing pole even went on our honeymoon. Now I know all the men in the audience are hoping my next sentence will be that over the forty plus years we have been married, Cal has been able to look down many a beautiful trout stream and see his beloved wife casting and reeling in gorgeous rainbow trout with expertise and artistry. But unfortunately, this tale has a different take.
Cal has been able to look down the stream and see his wife at his side, but with a book in her hands instead of a pole. The state of the art fishing pole has ended up in his collection, but how I treasure the memories of bright sunrises and spectacular sunsets with a man who has taught me much about the world God has given us to enjoy. Sunrises and sunsets are when the fish bite best, you know.
River banks are wonderful, quiet places to ponder and reflect about the things that matter most. You have the magnificent Teton River running close to this fine university. As it continuously runs over rocks and splashes and reflects the sun’s rays the sound of the water is mesmerizing. In the first few days of our marriage as Cal and I sat and listened to the water running and the birds’ melodies, we shared our dreams of the future. We imagined and hoped. We knelt in a lovely verdant green forest and thanked our Heavenly Father for the life we were beginning. We invoked His blessings on our righteous desires. The river spoke peace to our hearts about a life just beginning.
We didn’t know about the challenges ahead and we also didn’t know about the sweetness and peace and joy that can come in the morning after a difficult night with a very sick child, or a lost job, or so many other unexpected and unplanned events. But we were coming to know about the continuous love of the Lord, like a continuous river.

Mike Downey of the Arlington Texas First Ward, Fort Worth Texas Stake, smiled as he listened to his newfound 93-year-old friend talk about turn-of-the-century dating customs. Down the hall, Diane Honeycutt of the Second Ward, and Kelly Molen, a First Warder, listened with interest to anecdotes and memories shared with them by 71-year-old Grace Minor. Twenty-five other young men and women in the stake were elsewhere in the building taking notes and recording reminiscences of members of the local nursing home in Arlington. It was all part of a unique and very successful service project originated by stake clerk (and genealogy enthusiast) David Hedgpeth.
A few days later, each of the 16 nursing home residents was presented with family group sheets, pedigree charts, a cassette recording of his personal history, and a copy of the Book of Mormon. Inside each book was a photograph taken during the interview and the handwritten testimonies of the interviewers. In addition, 42 new genealogy sheets were sent to the Genealogy Department in Salt Lake City and the genealogical section of the Fort Worth Public Library.
The experience was a rewarding one for everyone involved. Said Second Ward member DeAnn Boyer, “It was exciting to see the joy in the older people’s faces when they saw that there were young people who cared about them.” Another added: “The experience made me feel good all over. I learned a lot about real values in life.”
About a month was spent in preparing the questions and interviews. Topics of discussion included such questions as “What have you learned from life that you feel would help others?” and “What special memories do you have of your grandparents and parents?”
“I want to do an interview with my own grandfather,” decided one of the young men after the completion of the project. “I’ll bet he has many exciting stories he could tell about our own family.”

Some time ago, we were in the kingdom of Tonga. A family home evening, with music and spoken word, was arranged by President Muti in his stake center. The home evening was in honor of His Majesty King Tupou the Fourth, the reigning monarch of Tonga. The king, his daughter, and granddaughters graciously attended, as did many of the nobles and diplomatic representatives in Tonga. Our members put on a superb program of song and verse. One of the king’s granddaughters sang a little solo entitled “How Much I Love My Grandfather.” Elder John Sonnenberg and I were invited to respond briefly, which we were pleased to do.
After the program was over, the king ignored the usual royal protocol and came over to graciously greet us and our wives as an expression of appreciation for the performance of his subjects who are members of the Church. Social protocol is observed in many places, but the expression of kindness is universally appropriate.

A few years ago our stake youth went on a pioneer trek to Martin’s Cove, an area in Wyoming where the stranded handcart pioneers took shelter from the storms and waited for help to arrive. As a stake we had planned and prepared for this experience for months. On the second morning of the trek, around 4 a.m., I awoke suddenly with terrible stomach pains from food poisoning.
In the early morning hours I slowly paced back and forth in significant discomfort. I sat for a while on a wooden bench and watched the sun begin to peek over the horizon. I knew that it was very unlikely that in just a couple of hours I would be able to walk with the youth from our campground to the cove.
All morning I had had a prayer in my heart that I would be able to accompany the youth. However, at one point I stopped and specifically prayed that I would be healthy and able to go to Martin’s Cove. I told Heavenly Father that after all the months of planning and effort, I really wanted to go and have that experience.
At approximately 6 a.m. I received a message that a member of the stake presidency wanted to give me a priesthood blessing. To be honest, I had not thought about asking for a blessing, but I readily accepted the offer. In that blessing President Smith told me that Heavenly Father was mindful of me. He blessed me that my body would rid itself of what was making me sick and that I would be able to fulfill my responsibilities with the youth.
By 10:30 a.m. I was able to leave camp, meet the youth at the cove, and fulfill my responsibilities as promised. I then walked back to camp, a distance of about four miles. I had the strength to do this despite the fact that I had been sick, had slept only a few hours, and had eaten very little food.
I had often wondered why the Lord allowed those faithful handcart Saints to suffer so much. Surely he could have intervened and tempered the storms. As I stood in Martin’s Cove and pondered the pioneers who lived and died there, the Spirit whispered to me that just as the Lord was mindful of me that day, He was mindful of those pioneers in 1856. He knew of their suffering and pain. Just as those pioneers came to know the Savior in their extremities, I too have a testimony that when we have trials and challenges, we can, if we are willing, draw close to the Lord and that He will strengthen and bless us by the power of His almighty hand.

For 14-year-old Tien Pham and his four young traveling companions—none of whom could swim—this was not your average back pack and river outing. Tien, his scratched and aching arms draped over a gallon plastic bottle, was trying to cross the Mekong River in Laos, far upstream from his Vietnam homeland. He was literally holding on for dear life.
Tien’s Vietnamese family was living in Laos, where his father had been a diplomat. When the South Vietnamese government fell from power, so did Tien’s father. And the government in Laos was unfriendly to the South Vietnamese now, too.
Life became very difficult very fast. Tien’s family had lived in a large home with many maids. His father had a private helicopter and many business connections in foreign countries. Their home was taken over by the new government, and the family was forcibly moved. Suddenly poor and without employment, they walked to another part of Laos.
Tien’s father knew that there was no future for Tien in Laos. Tien would not be allowed to go to school after the eighth grade without government approval. There would be no approval because of his father’s position with the previous government. In addition, he would not be able to find employment because the government was the only employer. For these and other reasons, Tien and his companions decided to take a hike, so to speak, to freedom in Thailand.
The group of boys packed no food or provisions. They did not wish to raise the suspicions of officials as they left town. The journey to the Thai border could have been made in a day under normal circumstances but it took three days for Tien and his friends. They traveled only by night to avoid detection by military patrols. In the daytime, they slept in trees and remained quiet. They lived on bananas and wild fruits as they meandered through a jungle shared with occasional snakes and panthers and a constant supply of insects. The boys, all between 10 and 14 years of age, had already zigzagged through 30 miles of Laotian jungles when they reached their biggest obstacle: the Mekong River.
The Mekong River is the Mississippi of Southeast Asia. It flows for over 2,000 miles through China, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam before it nourishes the Mekong Delta near Saigon and empties into the South China Sea. On the other side of the Mekong, about a half-mile wide at this spot, Tien and his companions could at least see Thailand through the moonlight. It was almost morning. The boys, although afraid to cross, reasoned that they would be killed anyway if they were found by patrols in the morning, and they decided to make the attempt.
While walking along the river, they found the help they needed. Tien and a friend found a pair of plastic bottles discarded near the river. The other boys found plastic sacks. With the floating aids, they thought they had a chance for a successful crossing. Tien and his friend hugged their bottles and waded into the water. With similar hopes, the other boys paddled out into the swift current clutching inflated plastic garbage bags. The water level was high from late summer rains.
As two of the makeshift floats snagged on branches and debris in the river, the plastic easily split and the bags deflated. Without floating aids, Tien’s nonswimming friends first struggled and finally drowned in the murky Mekong water. Tien and the others, unable to come to their aid, could only look on with horror and helplessness. Due to the swift current and their lack of swimming skills, it took Tien and the others three long, exhausting hours to reach the other side. Widely separated during that time, the boys managed to find each other. They had reached the western bank sobered but not shattered; after resting, they pressed on.

In the first week of August I went to the Idaho Falls Temple to be sealed to my parents for time and eternity. While my parents went through a session before the sealing, I sat in the youth waiting room of the temple. This was a time for quiet reflection, and while I sat there, I read through the entire September 1978 issue of the New Era. This was very inspiring to me. I especially enjoyed the story “Religion, Rebellion, and Rebecca.” When I returned home from the temple, I dug out all the New Eras from the past year or so and began reading them. Since then the New Era has become an important part of my life, and I look forward to it each month. I was surprised to find that one of my best friends is also an avid reader of the New Era. We have been trying to get others to read this fine Church magazine.
Lonny NorthrupOntario, Oregon

Fourteen-year-old Clara Lacy and her niece could have been killed.
“I was taking her to school in a Blackstone neighborhood,” Clara says. “This boy was throwing gang signs across the street, and some other boys were throwing them back. He ran right in front of me just as they started shooting at him. He got shot in the leg. I almost got shot. Then another boy got a gun he’d hidden in a garbage can in the alley and started shooting back at the boys across the street. I put my little niece on my back and started running.”
Unfortunately, Clara’s experience isn’t that unusual for a teenager growing up in Chicago’s inner city. It is a place of danger, drugs, violence, and fear. Each day is filled with uncertainty. There are few incentives to do well in school. Unwed parents and nonfunctioning families are commonplace. Everyone seems to have been the victim of, or knows someone close who has been the victim of, serious crime.
Of course it’s not that bad everywhere all the time. There are quiet neighborhoods. There are good friends, strong families, and honest efforts to improve. Life goes on. But it is often life in the shadow of fear, the sort of shadow that can make the future seem bleak.
If only someone could open a window and let Clara glimpse a better life. Maybe then hope could grow in place of despair.
Such a window is being opened, thanks to a nonprofit foundation called the Inner City Youth Charitable Trust. Each summer, two groups of 20 boys each, one ages 9–11 and one ages 12–14, attend a three-week camp called Summer Quarters. Facilities are located in farm country 50 miles north of Chicago, and students from Ricks College of Rexburg, Idaho, serve as counselors. Twenty girls ages 12–18 attend the three-week Lucy Mack Smith Summer Jam—Yes I Can day camp, held at the Hyde Park/Ryan Woods chapel but with field trips to various locations. Again, students from Ricks’ Urban Discovery program serve as counselors.
The inner-city youth participants are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or relatives or friends of members. Clara, for example, is a member of the Ryan Woods Ward, Chicago Heights Illinois Stake. Each participant must be interviewed and recommended by a bishop and agree to abide by Church standards. A number of the inner-city youth are repeat participants, having benefitted from the program several summers in a row.
The trust (which was founded five years ago by Church members but involves other business and professional people) also sponsors Career Adventure, a program for about 20 inner-city youth ages 14–18. It includes a one-week exploration of career opportunities and tours of businesses with student counselors who have come to Chicago from Brigham Young University. And it teams up participants with mentors who will help the teenagers acquire job skills and employment opportunities.
The overall program isn’t huge. But it is an effort that is teaching a lot to both streetwise kids and previously sheltered students.
“I think the whole purpose is for the boys to realize that there’s more in life than the violence and the gangs,” says Summer Quarters counselor Hans “Maddy” Madsen. “It’s also to help us as counselors to realize that there are people in need.

“It’s hard for me to imagine the kind of society where you never feel safe,” he continues. “I come from a stable home with both parents. Most of these kids only have one parent or they’re living with their grandma or a cousin or someone else.

“One boy told me of at least 25 incidents where he had seen people shot, stabbed, or killed. Those were just the ones he could remember at the moment. Another boy had his cousin die in his arms.”
Statistics show that 80 percent of inner-city children have witnessed violence first-hand by the time they are four years old, according to statistics the Ricks students receive in their sociology classes.
“They are very mature in some ways,” Maddy says. “But they have witnessed so much that they’re calloused. They’re not used to trusting people. That’s one of the things we try to teach them—that there are people you can trust.”
That trust is built in a variety of ways. Boys and counselors go on bike rides or go swimming together. With adult volunteers from the Buffalo Grove and Naperville Illinois Stakes, they work on school skills, like math and spelling. They sing songs and put on skits. They visit a dairy and a toolbox manufacturer. The boys work one-on-one with counselors on simple projects, like building model planes and toy boats.
“Some of the things we do at camp, like making boats and planes, are good things to do at home when you’re alone or bored and there’s nothing to do,” says Chris Woods, 12, who is investigating the Church. “They’ll keep us off the streets, keep us from getting physical and threatening somebody.”
The girls’ field trips take them to a construction site, a radio station, a bank, and a hotel. During workshops at the chapel, they learn to play songs on the piano and lead music; act in plays; write journals; and sew quilts, pillows, and curtains. They play sports and rehearse for job interviews.
“We learn a lot of practical things,” says Qawi Wafford, 12, of the Chicago First Ward, Wilmette Illinois Stake.
And whether it’s at the chapel in town or at camp in the country, there is also a spiritual level of trust that’s growing.
“Because of the gospel we feel a kinship,” says Elisa McConkie, a Summer Jam counselor. “But a lot of them don’t understand what the Church is all about and what it has to offer them. So we try to explain that. And a lot of them are lacking love, which is something we as counselors can give. We give them moral support, verbal support, a lot of guidance. And we try to encourage them to think about their future, things like, ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’”
“Our lives are centered around eternity, getting married, raising a family, getting an education,” says Summer Jam Counselor Brandi McCoy. “A lot of those ideas are foreign to them. They never think about tomorrow, just today. Making it past the eighth grade is a monumental feat for some of them. One of the girls asked me what it was like to have a peaceful night’s rest, because every night in the city she hears gunshots and sirens. Another asked me if I was always scared in high school, if I’d ever had to run home from school, or if anyone had tried to beat me up.

“Too many times people forget they have souls,” she continues. “But when we were here singing ‘Walk Tall, You’re a Daughter of God,’ I saw the light shining in their eyes. And when we talk about the temple and about eternal families, even though you can tell it’s hard for them to grasp, you can tell it’s something they want to live for.”
“At Summer Quarters we read the scriptures every night,” explains counselor Dan Kolilis. “Just last night we went out to the tents where the boys stay and had pop and chips with them. Then we read in the Book of Mormon about Jesus Christ blessing the little children. All of this year’s male counselors are returned missionaries, so we talked about our missions. Then we read the verse that says: ‘Therefore, go ye unto your homes, and ponder upon the things which I have said, and ask of the Father, in my name, that ye may understand’ (3 Ne. 17:3). It was the last night of the camp. We wanted them to go home, as we will go home, to think about how, with the gospel in their lives, the Lord will help them and guide them.”
The inner-city youth, like a lot of teens, don’t talk at length about what they feel in their hearts. Ask about Summer Jam or Summer Quarters, and their phrases are mainly short ones, like, “I feel safe here” or “I wish we could stay forever.”
But they do say they hope their counselors will write to them. And they do have a very hard time, after the farewell picnic, letting go of the hugs and saying good-bye.
The programs are short, and the inner city is strong. But through an open window comes air and light, enough to keep hope alive.

While I was serving as president of the West European Mission I had the opportunity of association with some of the servicemen stationed there. The president of the servicemen’s stake told me an interesting story.
He said that while he was executive secretary in the stake, the general of his army unit called him and told him he would like to have him serve as his assistant, which would require him to accompany the general wherever he went. Recognizing how this would affect his Church position and his responsibilities to his family, the brother told the general he would have to forego this assignment.
The general said, “Do you mean you would turn your back on this promotion because of your family and your Church?”
The brother said, “Yes, that is what I mean.”
The general said, “Well, then, forget it.” But he called back in a few days and said that he still wanted him for the job, that he would make the necessary adjustments for the man to carry out his responsibilities to the Church and to his family.
Another of the servicemen who had served a full-time mission told me he had baptized more converts during a year in the service than he had in two and one-half years on his mission in France. This is how we remember who we are and act accordingly.

In the spring, Jason planted three pumpkin seeds in the corner of the garden. His sister, Ellen, planted three tomato plants, and his brother, Tom, planted a row of corn.
The warm sun shone. The rain fell. All the plants grew, but Jason’s pumpkin vines grew the most. They spread all across the garden and had large, green leaves. By July, they had beautiful orange flowers. Jason kept busy pulling the weeds from around them and watering them with the garden hose.
Ellen’s tomato plants blossomed, too, but they had only small, yellow flowers. Before long, though, little green tomatoes appeared on them. And ears of corn began to grow on Tom’s cornstalks.
“Where are my pumpkins?” Jason asked.
“Look under the leaves,” Tom told him.
Sure enough, tiny green pumpkins were growing there.
Soon the first of Ellen’s tomatoes were large and red. Mother sliced some for sandwiches. Then Tom’s ears of corn grew big and plump, and they roasted some on picnics. The tomatoes and the corn were delicious, and Jason wished that he had planted them, instead.
“Just wait,” Ellen told him. “The pumpkins will get ripe.”
The pumpkins got bigger, but they were still green and hard when Tom and Ellen started back to school. Tom’s corn had all been eaten or quick-frozen for winter meals by then.
One night there was to be a frost, so the whole family went to the garden and picked all the tomatoes—even the green ones—still on Ellen’s plants. They would be made into spaghetti sauce or preserves.
“What about my pumpkins?” Jason asked.
“They’ll be all right. Pumpkins like frost,” Father said.
The next morning Jason ran outside and across the white, frosty lawn. “My pumpkin vine is black and dead!” he cried.
“But look at your pumpkins,” Mother pointed out. “They’re turning orange.”
Soon the pumpkins were bright orange. They were huge. Father cut one from the vine, and Mother made it into delicious pumpkin pies. Then, on the Saturday before Halloween, the rest of the pumpkins were cut from the vines. A couple of them were canned for winter pies and pumpkin bread, then all but three were given to friends.
The last three were for Tom and Ellen and Jason for jack-o’-lanterns. Tom and Ellen made scary faces on theirs, but Father helped Jason cut a big grin on his. Jason was very proud—pumpkins were worth waiting for!

On an afternoon a few months ago, Susan and I inventoried our food storage and emergency supplies. At the time, COVID-19 was spreading rapidly, and a series of earthquakes had jolted our home in Utah. We have worked since the earliest days of our marriage to follow prophetic counsel about preparing for unforeseen challenges, so “examining” our state of readiness in the midst of the virus and earthquakes seemed like a good and timely thing to do. We wanted to find out our grades on these unannounced tests.
We learned a great deal. In many areas, our preparatory work was just right. In some other areas, however, improvement was necessary because we had not recognized and addressed particular needs in timely ways.
We also laughed a lot. We discovered, for example, items in a remote closet that had been in our food storage for decades. Frankly, we were afraid to open and inspect some of the containers for fear of unleashing another global pandemic! But you should be happy to know that we properly disposed of the hazardous materials and that health risk to the world was eliminated.

Two Temple Square missionaries sat in the well-worn pews of the Salt Lake Tabernacle, staring at a computer screen as I taught them how to upload their video footage to a video-editing program.
Then I had this moment hit me: here we were, using the internet and complex software, sitting inside a building that was built in the 1800s. So many amazing teachings have been shared in this building. Over the past 155 years, its audiences have heard from hundreds of notable speakers at its pulpit, including Brigham Young, 12 different presidents of the United States, Susan B. Anthony, and Helen Keller.
And now, in such a historic building, we were embarking on a new frontier in the Lord’s work, an innovation in missionary work: me, a YouTuber, helping missionaries learn how to create video content for social media.

Brandon recalled a touching moment during the technical rehearsal. “The night before the concert, during the FSY Medley, all the lights suddenly went out. But the music and mics kept working, so we kept singing. The audience turned on their phone lights and waved them to the music. It was breathtaking. I teared up as I saw the crowd singing with us. It reminded us that in times of darkness, trust the Lord—He will lead you to the light.” The lights came back on just as they sang the final line: “We will trust in the Lord.”

On vacations, Father would take us to historical sites that were prominent in Church history to build our knowledge and testimonies.
On one occasion, when I was a twelve-year-old deacon, Father asked if I would like to go to the baseball hall of fame in Cooperstown, New York, and to the Hill Cumorah Pageant near Palmyra, New York. This is where Joseph Smith was led to the golden plates which were later translated into the Book of Mormon. Father also took me to the Sacred Grove, where Joseph Smith had prayed to Heavenly Father and was visited in a vision by God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. We prayed together in the grove and expressed our desire to be true and faithful to the priesthood which we held. Father later painted a picture of the place where we had prayed and gave it to me as a reminder of our promises made that day together. It hangs in my office today and serves as a reminder each day of my sacred experience and promises made with my earthly father as well as my Heavenly Father.

I learned this lesson as a young graduate student. One evening at the beginning of my doctoral program I met my wife Christine for dinner along the banks of the Charles River in Cambridge, Massachusetts. In that setting I confided in her that I didn't know whether I could make it through the program I questioned whether I could keep pace with the academic rigor that was required and wondered if I ought to withdraw and go back to a more familiar work setting where I was confident and had been successful. I will never forget the words of my wife as she looked me in the eyes and declared boldly: Clark, we received an answer that this is where the Lord wanted us to go. We have now moved all the way across the country, we are not turning around. You get back to work and the Lord will bless you because this is where we are supposed to be. Only time would tell how important it was for me to finish the program we started. But I learned a lesson from my wife that when we are on the Lord's frontier, he qualifies us for the work.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted a brother—someone to play with and talk to, someone to share hiding places and cookies with. I can’t count the number of times I asked Heavenly Father if He would please, please send a little brother to our house. So when I found that my mother was going to have a baby, I was overjoyed. I knew it was going to be a brother. I just knew it. And I was right!
Daniel Benjamin was born kicking and screaming on February 14. For a while we called him our special valentine, then just Benny. I got to hold him when he was only three days old, and I was so proud that I nearly popped the buttons right off my shirt! Lots of days, I rocked him in the rocking chair after school. Sometimes I told him about things at school, but most of the time I sang to him. Mom said I was a lot of help, and Dad said I was a great brother.
When the snow melted and the tulips came up, I was allowed to take him outside and push him in his stroller. I was given a new baseball mitt for my birthday, and I let Benny try it on, but he just chewed on it. “When you get big enough, I’m going to teach you to be the best shortstop ever,” I told him. Every day I showed him new things and waited for him to get old enough to play with me. But he never did.
He did get bigger and stronger. He learned to roll over and sit up and finally to walk. But something was wrong. Sometimes he sat on the floor for hours, staring into space and rocking back and forth. I tried to teach him to play with blocks and to roll a ball, but he just pushed the ball away. The blocks he lined up on the windowsill over and over again, always exactly the same way. If I tried to move them, he screamed and kicked. When I talked to him, he looked right through me as if I weren’t there. Mom and Dad tried over and over to get him to say “Mama” or “Daddy”—anything at all—but he just popped his thumb into his mouth and looked away. Once in a while he let Mom or Dad hug him, but whenever I put my arms around him, he pushed me away. That made me feel really sad.
By the time Benny was two years old, Mom and Dad had taken him to nearly every doctor around, but nobody seemed to know what was wrong. Finally they took him to a big hospital far away to see a special kind of doctor. He said that Benny was severely autistic. That meant that he might never be able to talk, or play with me, or be in Cub Scouts, or do any of the things that regular brothers do.
The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. There was a big, empty place somewhere inside me, and an aching that wouldn’t go away. I guess Mom could tell I was hurting, because one day when I was sitting on the couch, she came over and sat beside me. “Want to talk?” she asked quietly.
For a minute I just kept looking out the window; then I swallowed hard and looked up. “Mom, does Heavenly Father really love us?”
“Of course He does,” she answered, putting her arm around me.
“Well, sometimes … sometimes I wonder. Why did Heavenly Father let Benny be autistic? Doesn’t He love Benny?”
“Yes, David,” Mom said, pulling me closer. “Benny is very special to Heavenly Father, just as you are. But I know how sad and confused you must feel, because sometimes I feel that way too. But sad times happen to everyone. They’re part of living. And learning. They can teach us things we never knew before—things about ourselves and about what’s really important in life. Even though they’re painful, these times can help us grow.”
“But Benny’s the only brother I have,” I said, blinking to keep the tears from falling.
“Wait here a minute.” Mom stood up and left the room. When she came back, she had something in her hand. “I want to tell you about another Brother, a Brother who loves you and cares about you and who will help you and be a Friend to you all your life.”
“Another brother?”
She held out a small picture of the Savior. “Our Elder Brother, Jesus Christ, knows how sad we sometimes feel. Sad things happened to Him too. But He has given us a reason to have hope and to live our lives with joy.”
I didn’t see how I could ever feel really happy again, but I kept listening.
“We have a great opportunity to follow the Savior’s example by loving Benny and helping him in a kind and patient way. Sometimes it will be hard, and we’ll get discouraged. But if we keep trying, we’ll grow to love Benny more and more. And we’ll become more like Jesus.”
“I already love Benny a lot,” I told Mom, “so I guess I’m already a little like Jesus.”
Mom nodded and gave me an extra squeeze. Then she told me something I’ll never forget. “Because Jesus loved us so much, He made it possible for us to be resurrected. Do you know what that means?”
“I think I do. It means that when we die, we won’t have our bodies for a while, but then we’ll have them again.”
Mom nodded. “And in the resurrection there will be no crippled bodies or minds. Can you imagine what that means?”
For a long moment I didn’t answer. I was thinking of things I had never imagined before, and a warm feeling was growing inside of me, crowding out the empty, aching place. I looked at Mom. “It means that someday Benny will know me! He’ll talk to me and be my friend and hug me back.”
“Yes,” Mom answered. “And he will love you for all you’ve done for him.”
For a few minutes Mom and I sat there, thinking our own thoughts. Then I went to Benny’s room. He was sitting on the floor in a pool of sunshine, rocking silently back and forth. I knelt beside him, and for a while I just looked at him. His soft hair glistened in the sunlight, but his eyes were empty and far away.
“I love you, Benny,” I said softly. “And Jesus loves you too. We’ll always be your friends, because that’s what brothers are for.” I put my arms around Benny’s shoulders, and for just the smallest moment he stopped rocking and let me hold him.

Another example: A missionary in Pennsylvania came to me and said, “President, there is something I have not confessed—when I was a young man, I often stole.” “How much did you steal, elder?” “Oh, five or six hundred dollars worth of merchandise and sometimes money.” “Can you remember when you stole and from whom you stole?” “Yes, I can.”

I said, “Then pay it back.” The Spirit whispered to both of us that that is what he needed to do. “That means, elder, that you can’t serve as a leader since you can’t have an automobile, because every time you have another three or four or five dollars, you’re to send it home.”

He replied, “I understand, president.” Because of his family and other personal considerations, he said, “I can’t go to the people I stole from until I return. Would you mail the money back to them?” I said yes; and so I sent envelopes to my friends living in Chicago, New York, Pittsburgh, Saint Louis, and other cities, who would then forward the money in plain envelopes postmarked in cities far distant from where this elder was laboring.

About a year ago, I had the opportunity of sealing that young man in the temple; and one of the things he said was that the day his life really changed was when he had made full restitution. The Lord blessed him; he needed him to serve as a leader, but not for many months, because he needed to pay back that which he had taken.

A search for property for BYU was approved as the Jersualem study abroad program continued to grow. Elder Howard W. Hunter made six trips to the Holy Land in 1979. The day before the Orson Hyde Memorial Garden dedication, President N. Eldon Tanner went to see some twenty-six possible land sites. From those he selected seven or eight to show President Kimball. The eventual site of the center on Mount Scopus was not on the list.51

The story is told that a party of twelve people went to look at potential properties. The group included Spencer W. Kimball, N. Eldon Tanner, their wives, six members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and others. The last stop of the day was a site slightly south and east of where the current Jerusalem Center building is now located. At some point President Kimball broke off from the others and began to walk northward along the hillside, looking down toward the Kidron Valley. After he had walked a hundred yards or so to a spot overlooking an empty field, he stopped and said, “This is the place.”
President Tanner, who had been following close behind and was accompanied by the other members of the party, then said, “All in favor raise your right hand.”52 When a prophet asks you to raise your hand, it is hard to refuse.

Suffice it to say that the land President Kimball chose was not for sale.53 It was disputed land located on property designated as green space. The acquisition of the property and the subsequent building of the Jerusalem Center is, in its own right, as miraculous as were Elder Hyde’s travels to dedicate the Holy Land. The project would come directly under the office of the First Presidency, with the university as the chief beneficiary.54 The First Presidency appointed Elder Howard W. Hunter, assisted by Elder James E. Faust, to represent the Church in this building project. The executive oversight committee was chaired by BYU president Jeffrey R. Holland.55 Many others—too many to name—played significant roles in the successful completion of the Jerusalem Center.

One whom I will mention is Robert P. Thorn. Brother Thorn, who had considerable real estate experience, was asked by the Church if he would go to Jerusalem to oversee the acquisition of the property on Mount Scopus. He anticipated being there for a few weeks. It turned out that navigating and getting approval from various politicians and numerous agencies kept him there for one and a half years.56

Construction on the Jerusalem Center started in August 1984 and continued nonstop until 1988.57 An effort to halt the project began as soon as construction on Mount Scopus began and people found out that the Mormons were the ones doing the building. The Haredi Jewish community, a sect of Orthodox Judaism, feared that the center would provide a foothold for the Church to do missionary activities in the Holy Land.58 Every sort of pressure possible was brought to bear against the Church and the university. It became an international news item.59 The Knesset and various government officials and offices were involved. Israelis took both sides of the issue, some supporting cultural and religious diversity and others seeing Mormon proselyting and conversion of any Jew as a loss of Jewish identity.60

After a thorough investigation, the attorney general of the State of Israel determined that everything the Mormons had done had been done correctly.61 In the meantime, the work on the building continued.

As already mentioned, BYU students moved into the Jerusalem Center on March 8, 1987, prior to its completion. The center was dedicated in a quiet ceremony on May 16, 1989, by President Howard W. Hunter. There was no press. Those present included President Hunter, Thomas S. Monson, Boyd K. Packer, Jeffrey R. Holland, personnel of the Jerusalem Center,62 and a few BYU faculty and Arabic-speaking students who happened to be at the Jerusalem Center on the day it was dedicated.63

Once you turn 16, group dating is a great way to build friendships. You’ll want to keep in mind a few things. Follow the example below to see what outcomes your decisions may have.
Start
You worked up the nerve to ask someone out. Great job. Your date asks, “Who else is coming?” You answer:
John and Suzy. (Go to #2.)
No one. (Go to #3.)
Good answer. Group dating is important in your teenage years. What do you have planned for the date?
Go to a movie. (Go to #4.)
Go on a hike. (Go to #5.)
It’s time to rethink this one (see For the Strength of Youth [2011], 4). Your date says she won’t go without a group. What do you do?
Make it a group date instead. (Go to #2.)
Stay home.
A nice idea, but maybe not the best option. You enjoyed the show, but you sat next to each other for two hours without saying a word. What do you do next?
Go home; you’re tired. (Go to #6.)
Make a dessert. (Go to #7.)
Sounds fun! And it will give you lots of opportunities to get to know one another. Did you tell your date what the plan is?
Of course! (Go to #8.)
Whoops! (Go to #9.)
You take your date home, and she thanks you for the nice time. It’s too bad you didn’t really get to know her better instead of just watching a movie.
The group gets ice cream at someone’s home. The dessert is good, and you enjoy talking with everyone. It’s almost curfew. What do you do?
Take your date home. (Go to #10.)
Stay a little longer—you’re having fun. (Go to #11.)
You enjoyed the hike and really got to know everyone in the group. What now?
Make a dessert. (Go to #7.)
Take your date home. (Go to #10.)
Your date wasn’t prepared for hiking, so you wait inside the door for a few minutes while she changes. You’re a little late in meeting up with the group, so the hike ends up shorter than you’d planned, but it’s still fun. What now?
Make a dessert. (Go to #7.)
Take your date home. (Go to #10.)
Your date says she had a great time, thanks you for the evening, and says, “We should do that again sometime!” You smile all the way home.
When you return home after curfew, you and your date both get grounded. Even though you had fun, your date’s dad won’t let you go out again.