Gospel Story Finder

When I was called as president of the Young Women organization in my branch, I was afraid I would not be able to get close to the girls or to help them. I knew I would have to become more sociable and overcome my shyness.
At first, I was overwhelmed and didn’t know how to begin. Quite a few of the girls in my branch, the Simón Bolívar Branch, Valledupar Colombia District, were not active. The small group of active girls was not difficult, but they seemed distant and a little indifferent. I feared that nothing was going to go well.
Then one day, not long after I began serving, Nora, one of the young women, came up to me, hugged me, and told me she was happy that I was going to work with her and the other girls. I felt my Father in Heaven’s love in that hug. My doubts turned to confidence, my shyness to security, and my fears to sincere love for those young women.
Little by little, I learned to understand them, to accept them as they are, and to be proud of each of them. I earned their trust and acceptance, which gave me the courage to reach out to those who were less active and to help plant in them a more positive feeling toward the Church.
Not long ago Nora received her Young Womanhood Recognition award. She has a strong testimony of the gospel and gives unqualified support to her Church leaders. Thank you, Nora, for living so well the principles the Young Women medallion symbolizes!

I sat in the temple waiting to do baptisms for the dead, and I prayed. I was 20 years old, and I wanted to know: Should I serve a full-time mission? I had a feeling the answer was no, but I wanted to ask once and for all.
Suddenly I shivered all over, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over me. No was the impression I felt. No mission for me.
Although I knew the expectation for young women to go on missions is not the same as for young men, I was confused. Why did the Spirit encourage me not to serve? Wouldn’t I be good at spreading the gospel?
As some of my friends received mission calls, I sometimes wondered what my future would hold. My 21st birthday was approaching, and I couldn’t help thinking, “There’s still time to be interviewed and submit my mission papers.”
I was studying in England when my parents called me. I could hear my mother crying as she told me the devastating news: She had been diagnosed with cancer.
A month later when I came home to the United States for the summer, chemotherapy was making Mom weak. I started helping around the house, learning to manage chores and meals. I also spent hours talking to Mom, fearful that I might lose her. I learned that managing a household is complicated, time-consuming work, and I gained a new appreciation for Mom’s efforts over the years. I barely managed to put decent dinners on the table.
Fortunately, ward members and others in the community helped us.
Mom’s treatment went on, and meanwhile our family grew closer. Mom told us stories about her youth, and we played lots of board games. We talked about the scriptures. My dad shared his fears with me as well as his testimony.
During that summer, I learned eternal lessons. I knew my place for now was at home with my family. My testimony grew as I felt Heavenly Father’s love all summer long. I became better friends with the ward members I had known all my life. My family grew closer, comforted by the knowledge that our family ties would last beyond death. I thanked the Lord for answering my question about serving a mission, guiding me to serve my family.
Editor’s note: Since her treatments, the author’s mother has recovered her health.

Throughout my youth, I attended a lot of firesides. I admit, I don’t recall everything, but one talk has always stuck with me. One of my leaders, who was previously an Air Force pilot, shared his experience with hypoxia—the lack of oxygen to a person’s body, which impacts their brain.
The leader explained that Air Force pilots are at risk of becoming hypoxic, so they undergo training where they are exposed to it. In one training session, he was instructed to take his oxygen mask off and then to put it back on when he felt himself becoming hypoxic. But he never put his mask back on—his friends had to do it for him.
After the training, his friends explained that they watched him suffer all the signs of hypoxia—bad decision-making, incoherent speech, and confusion. He said he hadn’t felt any of those symptoms and thought he had been acting normal, even though his friends could see that he was in danger.

“Please, Rachel!” Zack begged his older sister. “Please play one more game with us!”
“I can’t, Zack. I have homework,” Rachel said. “Maybe tomorrow night.” She walked out of the room.
“You never play with me anymore!” Zack said, a little louder than he meant to.
“Zack,” Dad said, “let her do her homework.” He passed out the different pieces for the game while Zack slumped in his chair. It seemed like Rachel was always doing homework. And next year she would be at college! He would hardly get to see her at all.
“Zack, your turn,” Mom said.
Zack moved his game piece and waited for his next turn. He looked at Mom’s phone. He had an idea. Zack picked up her phone and quickly typed a text.
Hi, Rachel. You are a big, bad, rotten meanie. Love, Zack.
There. Zack grinned and hit send. He sat back in his chair. Now to win the game.
A few turns later, Mom’s phone buzzed. She read the screen.
“Um, Zack?” she said. “I think this is for you.”
Zack smiled. He wondered what Rachel’s comeback would be. He took the phone and read the text.
Hi, Zack. You are a divine son of God! Love, Sister Stewart.
Zack’s stomach flipped. “OH NO!” he gasped. “Oh no, oh no, oh no!”
“What?” Dad asked.
Zack hadn’t texted his sister Rachel. He had sent the text to Sister Stewart! Rachel Stewart. He had told Mom’s ministering companion that she was a big, bad, rotten meanie! Zack buried his face in his hands. He wanted to crawl under the table and stay there for a hundred years. Maybe a thousand.
“What’s going on, Zack?” Mom asked.
“I sent a rude text to Sister Stewart instead of to Rachel. I didn’t mean to!” Zack quickly texted Sister Stewart again.
I’m so sorry, Sister Stewart. That text was for my sister.
Zack bit his lip, waiting for her reply. Was she going to be mad? Sister Stewart was always so nice to everyone. What if he had hurt her feelings?
Mom’s phone buzzed.
Zack, I forgive you! I was happy to hear from you, even if the words were a bit unlike you. I’ve known you for a long time, and I know you are a good boy who will do great things someday. Maybe you will even do something great tonight!
Zack let out a breath. He felt a so much better now.
“Is everything OK?” Mom asked.
“I think so,” Zack said.
“You’re lucky you texted Sister Stewart and not someone else,” Mom said. “She is always quick to forgive.”
Zack nodded. Sister Stewart was a good example. And he knew he shouldn’t have sent that text anyway, even to his sister. He knew it was important to use his words to say kind things, not to hurt others.
He jumped up. “I’ll be right back. There’s something I have to go tell Rachel!”
Illustration by Mike Laughead

President Joseph F. Smith became an ardent defender of the faith on his first mission. On his second, he learned the importance of avoiding contention and proffering peace. In 1896 he described to his son Hyrum an incident that occurred during his mission to England in the early 1860s. “I was speaking, and I said that ‘the authority of the Apostles of today was the same as that held by the Apostles of Christ’s day, and that the word of the modern Apostles was as good as the word of the ancient Apostles.’ Somebody in the audience cried out ‘blasphemy!’ This was too much for my boyish temper to bear.”

The spirited young missionary argued fiercely with his opponent and “stirred up the emissaries of his Satanic Majesty until they were red-hot.” President Smith described learning “a good lesson” from his outburst. “Thereafter I moderated my fervor—became more diplomatic in the presence of a mixed crowd, and avoided showing any temper when reviled. In fact I learned to be reviled without reviling back again, to take an insult without retorting, except in meekness and gentlemanly candor.” He summarized, “I always tried to make my hearers feel that I and my associates were peacemakers, and lovers of peace and good will, that our mission was to pave, and not destroy, to build up and not tear down.”15

While in high school I watched my classmates play a special classroom game. The students were matched against the teacher. The name of the game was “How to pass the answers in an examination from one side of the room to the other without the knowledge of the teacher.” One boy in the middle of the room was the “quarterback.” He had a special knack and skillfully and joyfully carried out the process. The game was so much fun that many of the students participated, not thinking themselves dishonest, but merely playing a game. I tried it myself a time or two, though I felt little need of help in answering the questions. On one such attempt the teacher caught me, and the embarrassment and overpowering sense of guilt put an effective stop to my participation.

Sometimes we are faced with keeping our covenants when there seems to be no logical reason to do so. I listened to a single sister tell of her experience of “coming to trust the Lord completely.” Her life had not worked out as she had expected. Sound familiar? This period of soul-searching was marked by changing jobs, new financial pressures, tugs from worldly philosophies. Now listen to what she did. She sat down with other sisters in her ward and found that they too were searching to find the peace the gospel brings. She asked for a priesthood blessing. She valiantly carried forward in her calling. She studied and tried to more fully commit her love, appreciation, and conviction to Jesus. She prayed. “I cried to the Lord,” she said, “and told Him I would do whatever He would ask of me.” She did all this despite those difficulties. And do you know what happened? No, her eternal companion did not appear on her doorstep. But peace made its way into her heart, and life got better.

For an entire year Brother Assard fruitlessly sought employment. The strain of providing for his family weighed heavily upon him. He did not, however, let the difficulty of finding a job prevent him from moving the work of the Lord forward. He and Sister Assard sent letters to members on the list they had received in Germany. The Lucien Affoué family of Abidjan was the first to respond. Both families rejoiced to know they were not alone. Other members in Ivory Coast also responded but were too remote to meet with them.
As Lucien Affoué traveled with his family to Lyon, France, to study industrial arts, he had no idea the most important education he would receive there would be spiritual. Lucien; his wife, Agathe; and their two daughters embraced the gospel soon after full-time missionaries knocked on their door in 1980. The Bordeaux Branch welcomed the family into the Church, and after proving faithful, the Affoués and their daughters were sealed in the Swiss Temple.
When they returned to Ivory Coast in 1984, the Affoués, now with an infant son, were disappointed not to find any other Church members. Nevertheless, they diligently held meetings in their home, praying for the fellowship of another Latter-day Saint family.
Despite their difficult economic situation, the Affoués rejoiced in April 1986 when they received a letter from the Assards. The two families soon began holding joint Sunday meetings in the Assards’ backyard. As they worked, worshiped, and prayed together for employment, the families grew close and strengthened each other spiritually. Sister Affoué and Sister Assard became as close as sisters.
The Affoués had their prayers answered when Brother Affoué found a teaching job in Bouaké, the nation’s second largest city, located approximately 370 kilometers northwest of Abidjan. They had to leave the growing Church group in Abidjan. But with strengthened testimonies and faith, the Affoués helped establish the Church in Bouaké in 1988. There the family spread the gospel, eventually receiving welcome help from a missionary couple assigned to the area.
Brother Affoué served as branch president for four years, then continued as branch president after the branch was divided. Today he serves as a counselor to the mission president. Sister Affoué served as Relief Society president, while the children taught classes and helped out their small branch in other ways.
The Church’s first chapel in Ivory Coast was dedicated in April 1997, a decade after the country was dedicated for the preaching of the gospel and shortly before the creation of the country’s first stake. A chapel of their own represents a milestone for Ivorian Latter-day Saints, including the Affoués and the Assards, who have longed for a chapel in their native land since the two families first met under a tree in their home village 11 years ago.

Let me give you an example.
After President Wilford Woodruff joined the Church he desired to serve a mission.
“I was but a Teacher,” he wrote, “and it is not a Teacher’s office to go abroad and preach. I dared not tell any of the authorities of the Church that I wanted to preach, lest they might think I was seeking for an office.” (Leaves from My Journal, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office, 1882, p. 8.)
He prayed to the Lord, and without disclosing his desire to any others, he was ordained a priest and sent on a mission. They went to the Arkansas Territory.
He and his companion struggled through a hundred miles of alligator-infested swamps, wet, muddy, and tired. Brother Woodruff developed a sharp pain in his knee and could go no further. His companion left him sitting on a log and went home. Brother Woodruff knelt down in the mud and prayed for help. He was healed and continued his mission alone.
Three days later he arrived in Memphis, Tennessee, weary, hungry, and very muddy. He went to the largest inn and asked for something to eat and for a place to sleep, although he had no money to pay for either.
When the innkeeper found he was a preacher, he laughed and decided to have some fun with him. He offered Brother Woodruff a meal if he would preach to his friends.
A large audience of the rich and fashionable people of Memphis gathered and were quite amused by this mud-stained missionary.
None would sing or pray, so Brother Woodruff did both. He knelt before them and begged the Lord to give him His Spirit and to show him the hearts of the people. And the Spirit came! Brother Woodruff preached with great power. He was able to reveal the secret deeds of those who came to ridicule him.
When he was finished, no one laughed at this humble holder of the Aaronic Priesthood. Thereafter he was treated with kindness. (See Leaves from My Journal, pp. 16–18.)
He was under the guiding, protecting power of his Aaronic Priesthood. The same power can be with you as well.

Then President Pulman related this story. He, along with the advance party for the conference, had arrived a day early to prepare everything. The first person they saw was a porter of the university, who asked them to sit down a moment as he had something to say.

This porter had about 500 young people in his wing of the college every year. He said about 60 percent were not very well behaved. But for the last three years there had been a truly exceptional student who had never put a foot wrong and had been a wonderful example to all around her. He had learned that she was LDS, so he had decided to give the Latter-day Saints a welcome on behalf of the staff.

Then President Pulman called on the soloist to stand up, and stated that she was the student the porter had spoken of. I realized why I had been so impressed with the beautiful young lady who had proved such a worthy representative of the Church. I hope that as other LDS youth leave home, whether for a university or a youth conference, they will live so that they too can be outstanding examples.

What produces light? A candle, a flashlight, a lightbulb, the stars. What is the greatest source of light for us? No, it isn’t the sun. It is Jesus Christ. He said, “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life” (John 8:12).
This light “is given to every man, that he may know good from evil” (Moro. 7:16). Each of us has the Light of Christ to help us choose the right.
Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles reminds us how we can have spiritual light: “When I was a boy, I used to ride my bicycle home from basketball practice at night. I would connect a small pear-shaped generator to my bicycle tire. Then as I pedaled, the tire would turn a tiny rotor, which produced … a single, welcome beam of light. … I learned quickly that if I stopped pedaling my bicycle, the light would go out. I also learned that when I was ‘anxiously engaged’ in pedaling, the light would become brighter and the darkness in front of me would be [forced away].”
Elder Hales explains that “spiritual light comes from daily spiritual pedaling. It comes from praying, studying the scriptures, fasting, and serving—from living the gospel and obeying the commandments” (“Out of Darkness into His Marvelous Light,” Liahona, July 2002, 78).
When we live the gospel and keep the commandments, we can have the Light of Christ with us always.
Trace the picture on page 6 onto plain white paper, and color the traced picture. Brush your picture very lightly with salad oil, and blot it with a towel. Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of Presidency of the Seventy said that when he was growing up, his “chapel had a stained-glass window of Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove. Whenever the sun shone on it, I felt that the story it illustrated and what I had learned in Primary about the First Vision were true” (Liahona, Apr. 1999, F3). Place your picture in a window to remind you of the light the Savior provides in your life.

Summer vacation had always been a wonderful time for spiritual growth. It seemed I could feel the Spirit more when I had more time and didn’t feel the pressures of school.
But this summer was different. A strange emptiness filled me, and I felt confused. I had always heard that Heavenly Father communicates with his children through the scriptures. So I sat on my bed with the Book of Mormon in my hands and began to pray. “Father in Heaven, I thought I was doing everything right. I make good choices so the Holy Ghost will find me worthy of constant companionship, yet this emptiness fills me. Father, let me know what I have done wrong.”
Then I opened my scriptures to Alma 37. The answer to my prayers began in verse 39. Alma was speaking of the Liahona: “And behold, it was prepared to show unto our fathers the course which they should travel in the wilderness. …
“Nevertheless, because those miracles were worked by small means it did show unto them marvelous works. They were slothful, and forgot to exercise their faith and diligence and then those marvelous works ceased, and they did not progress in their journey” (Alma 37:39, 41).
It was as though a voice had spoken to me. Heavenly Father was not angry with me. He knew the desires of my heart were good and pure. But I had become a little slothful in my efforts to maintain my spirituality and to keep my testimony strong and growing. This lack of diligence was slowing my progress “in [my] journey.”
Since my study of the scriptures had not been very focused, I decided to start there. After all, the scriptures are our modern-day Liahona. How grateful I am for a Father in Heaven who cares for us so much that he speaks to us through the scriptures.

In 2008, Charlotte was invited to interview for a position at Brigham Young University–Idaho. In the Rexburg Idaho Temple, she felt the Lord’s prompting to bring her family to the United States.

The decision to leave France was very difficult. Coming into a new culture in Rexburg was also challenging. While most people welcomed and helped the Passe family, at times Charlotte felt that some did not understand why she was working at the university rather than being home with her children.

When their daughter Amélie hesitated to attend Church, Charlotte told her: “Amélie, I go to church to take the sacrament and remember my covenants. Those [who do not understand our situation] do not affect my testimony.”

Charlotte taught her children the important distinction between the Church (with a capital C) and the church (with a small c). She said, “The Church is the Lord’s institution with His prophets and apostles. It will never fail us. The church is the members, and none of us is perfect.”

Her family could have chosen to stop attending because of these challenges, but Charlotte knew that being part of a covenant people means being a covenant person—someone who is faithful to the covenants she has made with the Lord.

While doing her best to be a full-time mom, Charlotte helped with homework and homeschooling as Laurent advanced in his English proficiency. In one journal entry, she wrote, “There is too much work, and trying to take care of my house and my family at the same time makes it a great burden.”

But she moved forward, writing that the Spirit had told her in her prayers: “You must continue working. It will not stop right away. Make the most of the good income you receive to prepare yourself and your home … for what is coming.”

Richard had worried ever since Dad first mentioned removing the training wheels from his bicycle. He’d hoped the idea had been forgotten, but on Saturday morning he found Dad kneeling beside the bicycle, with his tools spread out on the driveway.
“But Dad,” Richard said, “I like riding with the training wheels. I don’t want you to take them off yet.”
Dad picked up a wrench and loosened the bolts that held the small wheels in place. At the same time, he spoke in his sure, quiet voice. “I think that you should try riding without them. If it doesn’t work out, I can put them back on.”
“I want to wait until my birthday,” Richard said. But in the back of his mind, he knew that he was the oldest kid in the neighborhood—maybe in the whole world—riding a bicycle with training wheels.
The wheels were just off, when Richard’s younger brother, Russell, appeared. “I want to ride Richard’s bike. I can do it, Dad.”
“You have your tricycle,” Dad said. “We’re going to the park. If you want to go with us, get your trike and come along.”
Dad rolled Richard’s bicycle down the sidewalk toward the park. Richard dragged after him, and Russell followed on his tricycle. When they reached the bike path, Russell climbed onto the bicycle seat. Dad gently lifted him off and said, “You’re too little for this bicycle, Russell, and Richard needs to practice riding it. You ride your tricycle.”
Dad helped steady the bicycle while Richard got on. He wished he wasn’t scared, but he was. He pleaded, “Dad, please hang onto me. Don’t let me go all by myself.”
But Dad gave the bike a little push, and Richard wobbled down the path. The bicycle teetered and tottered more and more. Finally, it tipped over.
Dad hurried over to help him up. “Are you hurt?”
“No, but it was really scary, Dad.”
“Let me try, Dad,” Russell begged. “I’m not a bit scared. I can do it.”
“You have your own wheels,” Dad said. “Richard just needs some more practice.”
On his next ride, Richard stayed on longer, and before it was time to go home, he could ride down the path and back without falling over. He felt great!
All the time Russell kept asking, “Why can’t I have a turn, Dad? I can do it.”
Finally, before they headed home, Dad relented. “All right, Russell, get on. I’ll hold you up.”
Russell climbed onto the seat confidently and, before Dad could get a firm grip on the bike, rode off. He flew along the path, his bright hair standing straight up in the breeze.
Richard and Dad looked at each other in amazement.
“Why does it always have to be this way?” Richard moaned. “He does everything better than I do, and he’s just a little kid.”
“He is doing well for a boy who never rode a bicycle before, isn’t he?” Dad admitted.
“Remember when we went to the lake, Dad? Russell could swim better than I could, and he even dared to dive off the rocks.”
“He had a good time,” Dad said. “But you did, too, didn’t you?”
“He caught a lot of fish,” Richard reminded Dad, “and I only caught one. See what I mean?”
Dad put his hand on Richard’s shoulder. “Just remember that no two people are exactly the same. You have your talents. He has his.”
Richard wasn’t sure what Dad meant. He was sure of one thing, though—Russell had stolen his joy in learning to ride without his training wheels. When they got home, Russell told everyone about his first ride on a bicycle. He repeated several times, “And I never even needed training wheels!”
Richard went to his room. He tried to read a book, but the twins were scrapping right outside his door.
“It’s mine!”
“It is not!” Joyce yelled even louder than Judy.
Richard put his book down and went into the hall. “What’s the problem?”
“This is my book bag,” Judy said.
“It is not!” Joyce argued.
Richard examined the bag. “You’re right, Judy,” he said. “It’s yours.” He turned to Joyce. “Remember when Grandmother gave you both book bags? She put a red dot on the bottom of Judy’s. Here it is—see?”
The twins agreed, and Joyce went to find her bag.
It was quiet in the house again. Richard went back to his room, slumped on the edge of his bed, and thought about Russell. He felt downright miserable. There’s nothing worse than being outdone by your little brother every time you turn around.
Dad knocked and came in and sat on the bed next to Richard. “It’s amazing how much smoother things go when you’re around.”
“Huh?”
“You’re a natural peacemaker.”
“I am?”
“Yes. I noticed how you settled the twins’ disagreement. That isn’t the first time I’ve seen you figure things out for people who were having trouble getting along.”
Richard suddenly felt good.
“I believe that one of the rarest talents in the world is that of smoothing out problems between people. You’re just amazing, Richard!”
When Dad went away, Richard lay on his bed, grinning at the ceiling. He did have a talent! He repeated the words his dad had said, “You’re a natural peacemaker.”
All the dark feelings he’d had before went away. He felt just fine!

One particular experience left a lasting impression on him. While serving as an Area Seventy, Paul was hurrying into the temple when he noticed an older man slowly making his way out. His gaze lingered on the elderly patron, and at that moment, the Spirit whispered to him, “He is a holy man.” Paul had never met him before, and the man held no position of prominence. Yet he was identified by Deity as holy. Paul realized then that when we enter the Lord’s house, even a portion of His holiness distils upon us, and we take that with us when we return to our homes.

Elder Monte J. Brough, formerly of the Seventy, tells of a summer at his childhood home in Randolph, Utah, when he and his younger brother, Max, decided to build a tree house in a large tree in the backyard. They made plans for the most wonderful creation of their lives. They gathered building materials from all over the neighborhood and carried them up to a part of the tree where two branches provided an ideal location for the house. It was difficult, and they were anxious to complete their work. The vision of the finished tree house provided tremendous motivation for them to complete the project.
They worked all summer, and finally in the fall just before school began, their house was completed. Elder Brough said he will never forget the feelings of joy and satisfaction which were theirs when they finally were able to enjoy the fruit of their work. They sat in the tree house, looked around for a few minutes, climbed down from the tree—and never returned. The completed project, as wonderful as it was, could not hold their interest for even one day. In other words, the process of planning, gathering, building, and working—not the completed project—provided the enduring satisfaction and pleasure they had experienced.

But Tavita excelled not only because of his love for the sports, but because he taught himself strict discipline. That discipline helped him learn Cantonese while still preparing to enter the Hong Kong Mission. “When I got my call to Hong Kong, my next thought was, ‘What is a 120-kilo Samoan going to do there?” But I knew that was where Heavenly Father wanted me to serve.”
At the beginning, Tavita had difficulty learning the language. It was frustrating to not be able to communicate his strong feelings about the gospel. “Through patience and prayer I learned to endure. The relationship between my Heavenly Father and me grew closer, more than I ever thought it could. My knees literally had calluses on them.”
Patience and long-suffering helped him succeed on his mission. These attributes have continued to help him succeed in his college studies and football career. During high school, he thought he had to prove something. But now all he feels he needs to prove is his worthiness to his Heavenly Father.

Eric Coulson was the only Latter-day Saint in his high school, and everyone knew it because he was the student-body president.
In his leadership position, he found a way to introduce the whole senior class to the Church.
Every year the graduating class from his high school takes a trip to Washington, D.C. Eric checked with the principal, then arranged for the bus drivers to take the class to see the Washington Temple one night during their visit. While there, Eric explained the purposes of the temple. Everyone was impressed with the sight of the temple lit at night.
Eric is a member of the Boone Ward, Des Moines Iowa Stake, where he served as first assistant in his priests quorum.

This great caring about how we behave toward everyone around us was one of the great lessons President McKay taught. On the trip to Europe to dedicate the temple sites in Switzerland and England, President McKay was surrounded by eager English youth seeking autographs from him. The first in line was a young girl about nine years of age. She asked the President’s son, who was accompanying him, “May I have President McKay’s autograph?” The son, who thought his father was too tired, began to dissuade her, but President McKay, overhearing the conversation, turned to her and asked jokingly, “Do you think I can write plainly enough so you can read it?” The girl wasn’t sure whether he was in earnest and became flustered. At that moment an aide interrupted with a pressing question, and several minutes of conversation ensued. When the President turned to the table to begin writing autographs, the girl had disappeared.
“I have never seen Father more upset,” said his son. “Please find that girl in the blue dress,” President McKay directed. “I’m sure she has the impression that I didn’t want to sign her book. She misinterpreted my remarks. You must find her.” Before long, branch and mission presidents were looking for a little girl in blue. But the search was in vain. Finally, a missionary thought he knew who the girl was. He telephoned the President later that night and then received these instructions: “Tell the girl that I am sorry I missed her and that I have asked the branch president to send her book to me by mail to Salt Lake City; I will sign my autograph and mail it directly back to her.” And he did!

I sat on the airplane Saturday morning enroute to Louisville, Kentucky, with a young friend, a medical person, who said that for years he has been singing in the Tabernacle Choir and has not been able to attend priesthood quorum meeting. Under the new meeting schedule he has been earnestly looking forward to a more consistent attendance. The week before the first consolidated meetings began, he was invited by the bishop to teach Primary. You will discover that that means he cannot go to priesthood meeting again for a while. The incident reemphasizes what I am saying—that sooner or later most of us end up doing some formal teaching, and if we do not we are yet teachers in other ways along the route.