Gospel Story Finder

Thank you for publishing the New Era. Every story has a special message in it that helps me always feel the Spirit. One day I decided to read the Message. I used to only read the short articles, the Mormonad, and the Mormonisms. When I read the Message, I could feel the Spirit. I now read every article in every magazine. I even told one of my nonmember friends about the magazine, and the next day she told me she had read a lot of it. Thank you for this inspirational magazine.
Loni HawkinsKingsville, Texas

While in Hawaii, Joseph experienced hardship after hardship. At one point in his mission, his apartment and all his belongings were consumed in a fire. The only thing he had left was his missionary certificate, which had been miraculously preserved. Because of the fire, Joseph and his companion only had one suit between the two of them. This situation called for a creative solution. Since both elders couldn’t proselyte at the same time, one would go out proselyting in the suit, while the other one stayed home. Then they would switch clothes and the other would begin his turn proselyting.

Joseph once said that “experience is better possessed than to be gained. It is like a bruise, it feels better after it quits hurting” (Life of Joseph F. Smith, 188). After his mission, Joseph must have felt like he had a lot of “bruises.” But because of his faith, he was able to turn his trials into learning experiences that forced him to rely on the Lord for strength. And it was because of his reliance on the Lord that he could stand fearless when asked at gunpoint, “Are you a Mormon?”

While serving with her husband, George C. Pingree, as he presided over the Nigeria Port Harcourt Mission, Sister Pingree focused some of her efforts on promoting literacy, especially among auxiliary leaders. “I’ll never forget how joyful the sisters were when they learned to read. When they stood up in training meetings and read simple sentences about their leadership responsibility, the other women there would clap for them, they were so happy,” says Sister Pingree. “It opened up a whole new world.”

Another Latter-day Saint in the same stake, Richard G. Murray of the First Ward, was honored with a similar plaque from the same organization for saving the life of an automobile accident victim. When his family heard a noise behind the house, they rushed outside to find a car upside down and filling with water in a drainage ditch. Brother Murray scaled a six-foot fence and slid down the embankment to rescue a woman caught in her seat belt. Moments more and the woman might have drowned. Sister Murray tied a garden hose to the fence and threw it down to help both victim and rescuer climb up the slope to safety.

A student who sat in the back of my classroom, walked in one day wearing a Quicksilver surfing t-shirt with the words "Eddie would go". He was a rather quiet student, but when I asked about his shirt, he explained. "Sister Bergstrom there is an important story about this I need to tell you."

This is a man who understood and believed. Eddie Aikau was a great surfer and a lifeguard legend in Hawaii. The saying came from the fact that Eddie would go when no one else would, or could. Eddie just did. In 1968 he became the first lifeguard hired by the City and County of Honolulu to work on the North Shore. Not one life was lost while he served as lifeguard of Waimea Bay, as he braved waves that often reached 30 feet high or more. In 1971 Eddie Aikau was named Lifeguard of the Year. He loved guarding when he wasn't surfing and chasing the waves himself.

Tragically, he lost his life in 1978, at the age of 31 during a voluntary re-creation of the Polynesian voyage between Hawaii and Tahiti. In huge seas, the voyaging canoe capsized. Eddie paddled off on a surfboard in an attempt to reach help for his fellow crewman. He was never seen again, but his spirit and legacy of how "Eddie Would Go" lives on.

Eleven-year-old George Monk attended the temple dedication with his mother and grandmother. He saw “a man appear at the south-east circular window of the assembly hall of the Temple.” When he told his mother, he was surprised to hear her say she could not see him. As the meeting continued, he saw “two other [angelic personages moving] … across the upper part of the hall from south to north … and five others [who] had entered the large compartment and were ranged upon the wide ledge which runs along the wall under the row of circular windows.” He described them as “the prettiest men” he had ever seen. Just prior to the benediction, he said, “Mamma, look at that one under the clock, he is the prettiest of them all. See! he is holding up both his hands like this.” Then George held up his own hands to show his mother. In all, he saw eight angelic personages and described them as “dressed in loose flowing white robes” and “most, if not all, had long and somewhat wavy hair.”

I have been blessed to have a mother who has spent her life preparing to meet God. She understands the principles of creating, learning, and serving in this life. Her motto has been “Welcome the task that makes you go beyond yourself, and you will grow.” Let me tell you a few highlights from her adventure-filled life. In her youth she lived in the wild Uinta Mountains, where her father worked. She learned to cut tall trees, fish, and camp in the outdoors. During the winter she attended school in the city, played on a basketball team, and learned to play the trumpet. She went to the university and became a nurse. After she was married, she went on a mission with her husband to Brazil, where she learned to speak Portuguese. She has traveled to many countries and has taught the gospel to thousands. She studies the scriptures daily, has written several family history books, works in the temple, keeps track of 62 grandchildren, and can cook 600 doughnuts in one morning!
My mother has stayed in the Savior’s path with unshaken faith in Him (see 2 Nephi 31:19) all the days of her life. She wakes up every day looking forward to new adventures. For her, life is so interesting, and she still has so much to learn.

I’d like to tell you about the time I and other family members crossed that Canadian-U.S. border with our dad and mom on our way back home, knowing for Dad it would be the last time. As we cleared customs, Dad raised up from his sick bed in the back of the car and commented, “This prairie has never looked so beautiful. It’s at it’s very best for my last inspection.”
During our brief stay in our old hometown, we sauntered haltingly down the gravel road past the tall cottonwood trees where the old school had been. Dad took the lead. “It was the old bell,” he said, and we all looked in the same direction, seeing it clearly in our mind’s eye. “The school bell kept us in line. There were two bells,” he went on. “A fifteen-minute bell would ring six times, giving ample warning before the final five-minute bell sounded a simple dingdong—and you’d better be there.” His weakened voice increased in intensity as he added, “It’s important to listen for the bell.”
As we mused together in silence for a time, I pondered the possibility of my own inner bell being silenced, if only for a moment, just a rest break maybe. In years since, rather than wishing to silence the bell within, I feel myself strain a little that I might hear it more clearly.
After our trip to Canada, Dad talked about going home on that final journey and we talked together of the border crossing. His body was less than 100 pounds, and his mortal journey was coming to a close. Dad talked about the sweetness and sacredness of these times and spoke of the nearness of the Lord, the Holy One of Israel, the gatekeeper. Life had presented plenty of struggles, and he had used them to prove himself worthy and to cleanse the soul. And he was ready for the border crossing.
That last day, Dad spoke of Addison, his younger brother who had gone on before him. I wonder if his brother, and maybe his mother and father, were standing at the window an hour before his expected arrival, anxious for his safe return home.
By midafternoon I had decided to sit with Dad. It seemed his eyes were open, yet he wasn’t seeing me. I took his hand in mine, a hand that had spanked me and blessed me and caressed me throughout my life. “Dad,” I whispered. He didn’t respond. “If you know I’m here, please squeeze my hand.” I wasn’t sure if there was a squeeze, but it didn’t seem like it. I bent over and put my cheek to his very bony cheek, with my hand on the other side of his face. I waited just a second, then straightened up. He looked at me just a moment, and in his eyes I saw complete peace. Joy, trust, confidence, and anticipation all mingled together in that look. He was ready for the border crossing and the gatekeeper, the Holy One of Israel. A tear escaped the corner of his eye. I pressed my cheek to his again. There are things we cannot find words or even sounds to express, but in that moment, I had some sense of what that final crossing might be and the ecstasy that we’ll never fully understand in this life.

I am always grateful to follow Sister Eyring when we speak to you at devotional. In baseball terms, she is the leadoff hitter, the top of the lineup. I fully realized that only when we had been married for several years. I was serving in a university ward bishopric. The bishop, Garth Hanson, was one of my professors. I assumed that he had chosen me for my performance in his class.
But Bishop Hanson soon revealed a key reason for calling me. During a bishopric meeting, he made the statement, “You married well.” Taking that as a compliment, I proudly said, “Thank you.” He looked at me solemnly and said, “No, you really married well.”
I was reminded of that in a similar way several years later when we were living in Massachusetts. I was serving as a high councilor in the Nashua New Hampshire Stake, and Sister Eyring, still in her twenties, was the stake Young Women president. Once, when the full stake leadership was meeting on a weekday night, she and I were unable to get a babysitter for our three young children.
I called the stake president, Ned Wheeler, and asked which of us should attend the meeting. He emphatically replied, “Oh, send your wife!” That’s about the size of it, and I’m grateful.

Four-year-old Jayde Cluff’s sixty-cent donation to help victims of the 11 September 2001 terrorist attack touched hearts across the nation and inspired others to donate, too.
When Jayde, who was living in Utah, saw a news broadcast of the attack, she was very sad. Three days later, while walking to preschool, she gave her mother a handful of dimes and said, “Mommy, this can help the people who were hurt in those towers.” Her mother knew that Jayde had been saving her ten-cents-a-week allowance for a long time. “That’s the money you’ve been saving for your doll,” she reminded Jayde. “Send that money to New York,” Jayde said.
So the next day, Jayde and Mommy taped the six dimes to a letter to the New York City mayor, Mayor Rudolph Giuliani. Mommy wrote, “I know this contribution is only pennies, but we are a family of little means, and this is my daughter’s greatest treasure. Please send it where it can help someone.”
Word of Jayde’s sacrifice reached the manufacturer of the doll she wanted, and they sent her 17 dolls and clothing and other things for them in a box taller than she was. Moments after opening the box, Jayde drew out a particular doll and told her mother, “This is the doll, Mommy. This is the one I want to give to the little girl who lost her daddy,” referring to a firefighter’s little girl whom Jayde had seen on television. Jayde’s parents were able to locate the girl and send her the doll so that it arrived on her birthday.
A hotel worker heard about what Jayde was doing, and his heart was touched. He sent her another doll. A New York police officer sent her some police badges and another doll. More dolls came from other people whose hearts were touched. Altogether, she received 46 dolls and other toys and gifts!
Jayde gave all of the things to grieving families and to other needy children. Mommy talked to the families to learn which doll would be best for each child. If there was a boy in the family, a different toy was sent for him. Children who lived as far away as Washington and Arizona received dolls from Jayde. Some went to the local Toys for Tots organization.
And Jayde’s effort to be like Jesus Christ inspired her sisters, too. They have raised money by doing chores. Jayde’s sixty-cent donation came from her heart—and touched the hearts of many people all across the nation.

During a recent multistake dance I attended as a chaperone, I decided to make friends with another chaperone. I learned that we had met briefly before, that she lived in a different stake, and that we had friends in common. I also learned she was from Rochester, New York, USA, where her family had lived for many years.
I told my new friend, Sara, that my mom was born and raised in Rochester. Sara asked for my mother’s maiden name. I insisted there was no way she’d know her. My mother was not a member of the Church back then.
I explained that Mom had joined the Church her freshman year while attending college in Missouri. In high school, she had had a high school teacher she respected. He was always kind to her and was a great example of the Savior’s love.
My mother found out he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When she left for college, she wanted to learn more about his religion.
“My dad was an English teacher in Rochester for 35 years,” Sara said. “What high school did your mom attend?”
I quickly texted my mom, asking what school she attended and the name of the teacher who had influenced her to seek out the Church.
“Eastridge High, David Anderson,” she replied.
Sara’s father was David Anderson!
We enjoyed a special moment as my mother explained the wonderful things life had brought her since she joined the Church—a temple wedding, missionary service by four of her eight children and many of her grandchildren, and numerous other blessings.
When Sara shared my mother’s story with her father the next day, he wept with gratitude. He had joined the Church after getting married and had wanted to serve a mission himself, but he was a widower who had lost two wives. Hearing my mother’s story helped him feel that he truly had a wonderful life.
My family is grateful for Mr. Anderson, the covenant-keeping high school teacher whose example inspired an 18-year-old girl to seek truth and change her life and the life of generations to come.
With the gospel of Jesus Christ, life can be wonderful for all those willing to follow the Savior and honor their covenants.

I spent my childhood in Dalton, Georgia. It was during my high school years that my family, with the exception of myself, was introduced to two fine Mormon missionaries and subsequently baptized members of the Church. During that time I spent most of my leisure hours shooting pool.
In my senior year of high school I signed up for the marines, and while my classmates were attending graduation exercises, I was in an airplane headed for boot camp at Parris Island, South Carolina. Three months later, I was back home on leave and my parents invited me to attend church.
I had always been a scrappy person, but after graduating from marine corps boot camp, I felt as though I could lick the world and probably would have tried with little hesitation. I accepted my parents’ invitation to attend church services and immediately began preparing my uniform so that I might present an impeccable appearance.
I rose at 0600 that morning to check my uniform to make sure it was in immaculate condition. Sure enough, my brass was so shiny you couldn’t look at it directly, and when you growled at my leather, it was so brilliantly shined, your reflection growled back at you. My swagger would have made John Wayne turn green as we neared the church entrance. I was prepared to lick anyone who met my gaze with anything less than the fear of death. I opened the door and stood aside, letting my mom pass through, and then the rest of the family. I sidestepped through the door so that my shoulders wouldn’t rip the wood from the sides of the door frame. As I corrected my body position to its original stance and faced the occupants of the room, I felt as though I had been slapped in the face.
I was flabbergasted as I stared into a sea of genuinely smiling faces. Everyone present had a light in his eye that I had previously seen in only a few individuals. There was a spirit of happiness and contentment present that was hard for me to comprehend. I think it would have been impossible to provoke one of these fine people into a fist fight.
I never regained my composure after making my way through the tidal wave of handshakes and back pats that met me. I sat meekly through the entire service—like a lamb among wolves, or perhaps the reverse.
Back on duty I took up my usual way of life. Once in a while I thought of the LDS Church back home, especially when letters came from my family as there were always a few lines about their Church activities.
Two years dragged by and my tour in Vietnam drew close. I stopped drinking and smoking and found myself wishing I could wash off my tattoo.
By some stroke of luck, I was selected to be attached to the Department of State for what was to be a year in Nicosia, Cyprus, and a year and a half in Jerusalem, Israel.
I’m sure that gnawing feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you leave home is a feeling you never get used to. It’s worse when you are single, in the service, or on a mission and aren’t sure what to expect. For some reason I was unusually homesick as I waited for my orders. My imagination made my plight seem worse. As I lay on my bunk I envisioned myself as the last of the good guys, alone without a friend in the world, sworn to uphold justice and virtue, a knight in shining armor, the champion of damsels in distress, and a slayer of dragons. Yet there was nothing foreseeable in my future but the “devil and the deep blue sea.”
At the height of my misery a glimmer of hope and truth shone through. Stored in my “gourd” for two and a half years were memories of smiles, love, virtue, warmth, and a strong moral environment. I remembered that the Mormon members possessed all those personal qualities that characterized the knights of old: personal dignity, self-reliance, initiative, and loyalty to their own. I kicked myself mentally as I thought, “You should have joined that outfit before you even thought of going into the marines.”
The next Sunday I looked up the address of the nearest LDS chapel and told the cabbie to take the fastest route. Out of the cab, I raced down the sidewalk and jumped into the foyer. Standing there was a small group of distinguished looking gentlemen. I made a beeline for them and zeroed in on the gentleman with silver-gray hair and piercing eyes. Trying to stop within three feet of him, but having slid to within six inches, I counted three silver fillings as his mouth flew open. I suppose he thought the ward was about to be invaded by the entire marine corps.
I tried to be tactful but had built my momentum to a fever pitch. Standing within six inches of his nose, I caught him by the arm and shrieked, “Sign me up, coach; I don’t smoke!”
I know that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ. How thankful I am for the fine example of the members of the Church for it was that example which brought me into the only true church on the earth.

The story is told of a 14-year-old boy who had come to Nauvoo in search of his brother who lived near there. The young boy had arrived in winter with no money and no friends. When he inquired about his brother, the boy was taken to a large house that looked like a hotel. There he met a man who said, “Come in, son, we’ll take care of you.”
The boy accepted and was brought into the house, where he was fed, warmed, and given a bed to sleep in.
The next day it was bitter cold, but in spite of that, the boy prepared himself to walk the eight miles to where his brother was staying.
When the man of the house saw this, he told the young boy to stay for a while. He said there would be a team coming soon and that he could ride back with them.
When the boy protested, saying that he had no money, the man told him not to worry about that, that they would take care of him.
Later the boy learned that the man of the house was none other than Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet. This boy remembered this act of charity for the rest of his life.2

I was born in the town of Sharon, Windsor County, Vermont, on the 23rd of December, A.D. 1805. When ten years old, my parents moved to Palmyra, New York, where we resided about four years, and from thence, we moved to the town of Manchester. My father was a farmer and taught me the art of taking care of animals. When about fourteen years of age, I began to reflect upon the importance of being prepared for a future state, and upon inquiring about the plan of salvation, I found that there was a great clash in religious sentiment; if I went to one society, they referred me to one plan, and another to another; each one pointing to his own particular creed as the supreme good from which all others are derived of perfection. Considering that all could not be right, and that God could not be the author of so much confusion, I determined to investigate the subject more fully, believing that if God had a Church, it would not be split up into factions, and that if He taught one society to worship one way, and administer in one set of ordinances. He would not teach another, principles which were diametrically opposed.
Believing the word of God, I had confidence in the declaration of James—“If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.” (James 1:5.) I retired to a secret place in a grove, and began to call upon the Lord, while fervently engaged in supplication, my mind was taken away from the objects with which I was surrounded, and I was enwrapped in a heavenly vision, and saw two glorious personages, who exactly resembled each other in features and likeness, surrounded with a brilliant light which eclipsed the sun at noon day. They told me that all religious denominations were believing in incorrect doctrines, and that none of them was acknowledged of God as His Church and kingdom: and I was expressly commanded “to go not after them,” at the same time receiving a promise that the fullness of the Gospel should at some future time be made known unto me.

It hasn’t been all fun and laughter, though. There have been some major setbacks along the way.
Val remembers hitting his own personal rock bottom. He’d been working for several years designing cheese and hot-dog labels for an advertisement company. Then that company went out of business. He’d attempted college four different times without finishing a single term. He was close to bankruptcy and running out of options. He didn’t know what to do next.
So he went to the temple for guidance. While there, he picked up the Book of Mormon and opened to Helaman 12:2. Val read about how the Lord prospered His people “in the increase of their fields, their flocks and their herds, and in gold, and in silver, and in all manner of precious things of every kind and art.” His eyes landed and stayed on the word art.
“It was an answer to prayer,” Val said. The next day, he launched his cartoon business. He’s been going strong ever since.

I grew up in a small community outside of Seattle, Washington. It was relatively close to a big city but just rural enough that opportunities to earn money for a mission were extremely limited. There were, however, a large number of gentlemen farmers in the area, so my brother and I decided to haul alfalfa hay from the big farms in the eastern part of the state, over the Cascade Mountains, to the small farms in our community. We fixed up an old truck that had fallen into disrepair and prepared it for hauling up to 20,000 pounds (9,000 kg) of hay. We made a number of successful trips with our dad along to make sure we had things figured out before he left the operation to us.
My brother and I left very early one morning for our first solo trip. We made it over the mountains but had some difficulties loading the hay. Eventually we headed back over the mountains with a full load.
The return trip was uneventful until we noticed that it was starting to sprinkle just a bit. We immediately found an overpass on the freeway and parked underneath it just as the sprinkles turned into rain. We had not yet been able to purchase a tarp to cover the hay, and no animals can eat the alfalfa hay if it gets wet because it starts to rot and mold quickly. We knew that if we lost this load of hay, our business venture would probably fail.
We sat under the overpass for quite a while, waiting for the rain to stop. Eventually, we realized that the Lord would help us if we prayed. My brother offered a prayer, and we waited. The rain did not let up. We decided that perhaps I, the elder brother, should offer a prayer. It started to rain harder. We sat there for what seemed an eternity. We knew that once we left the protective cover of the overpass, the next possible shelter was an hour away and home was another hour past that.
Finally, one of us remembered the admonition that faith precedes the miracle, and we realized that we needed to exercise our faith. We put our trust in the Lord and left the cover of the overpass. To this day I remember every drop of rain that I saw land on the hood of the truck as we inched out from under the overpass. It was a severe trial of our faith, but by the time the cab of the truck was out in the open, the rain had stopped. The next two hours were filled with much prayer and thanksgiving.
We made it home with our load in good shape, and as we were pulling the truck into the barn, the heavens released their pent-up downpour. Our business survived, and both of us were able to successfully fund our missionary service.
Not all of my prayers have been answered this way, but I am very thankful for the lesson in faith my brother and I learned sitting under the freeway overpass in the rain.

For years I was nervous that returning to Hungary would be difficult for me emotionally. When I eventually traveled there, it wasn’t until the second day that I realized that not only was I not feeling any pain, I was also feeling overwhelming joy to be back. I knew then that Heavenly Father had given me the opportunity to experience the healing power of the Savior’s Atonement. I now know that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, all things will be made right in the end.

Dian Thomas and her four brothers grew up learning to love the outdoors. Her father was a forest ranger, and the family lived at a ranger station outside of Monticello, Utah.

For Dian it was a wonderful childhood. She and her brothers had a huge area for their projects. One of their favorites was an elaborate chipmunk trap. They learned about how the little creatures built their nests, how they hybernated in the winter, and how they raised their young. If Dian and her brothers wanted to learn about something, they examined the real thing. If they wanted to learn about beehives, there were beehives to observe. “I learned by doing,” said Dian.

Dian’s mother encouraged their projects. “Once we told my mother we wanted a swimming pool. We got some old canvas, and it took Mom a week to sew those old tarps together. We melted wax and colored it blue and painted it on the canvas to make it waterproof. We put water in it, let the sun warm it, and we had our swimming pool. Our mother went along with us and sometimes beyond in helping us create our ideas.”

I had made the commitment to date only members of the Church when I was 12. But when I turned 16, the members I knew didn’t start calling. In fact, no boys started calling. I went through high school wishing for dates and not getting any. I didn’t even get asked to the prom. So when Mark told me he liked me and wanted to go out, I jumped at the chance. But Mark wasn’t a member of the Church. I rationalized breaking my promise, though, because he was the only boy who would ask me out.
Mark seemed perfect in almost every way. He was three years older than me and shared a house with two roommates. He was very cute, fun, and full of ambition. Mark was my dream come true, a singer and dancer working on a music career.
Mark lavished me with compliments, and he introduced me to his friends and family, who were all welcoming and fun. We started to see each other every day. I had explained my standards to Mark, and he said he understood and respected them—at least at first.
But after a while he started to push me to do more with him physically. I resisted but gradually started to give in. I liked him, and the feelings he stirred in me were very strong. We weren’t doing anything too bad, I rationalized.
I started staying out late at his house, and we would always have fun. But then when I would get home, I wouldn’t feel as good. There was something nagging me in the back of my mind, and it kept tugging at my spirit. I was uncomfortable with how physical I was getting with Mark. And though I tried to rationalize, I couldn’t hide from that feeling.
I decided I had to break up with Mark. I talked to him, and he listened to me, telling me I should do whatever I was comfortable with. He did, however, beg me to stay his friend. I agreed.
I thought things were resolved. But they weren’t. After a week hanging out as friends, we started kissing and my problems all started again. I tried to keep myself occupied with other friends, but Mark made me feel wanted and special.
Then Todd asked me to go on a date with him. He was a returned missionary I had met at a student ward. He took me to dinner and then to the local fun center. I have never had so much fun at an amusement park in my life. By the time the place closed, neither of us wanted the date to end, so he took me to get ice cream.
Todd was great. We talked and laughed the entire date. He had me back home by 11:30 and asked if we could go on another date sometime. I felt wonderful. I couldn’t believe how I felt compared to how I felt after a date with Mark. After the date with Todd I felt happy and good about myself. After a date with Mark I felt depressed.
My date with Todd made me realize I hadn’t been feeling the Spirit when I was with Mark. I didn’t expect to have great spiritual experiences while dating, but I had wanted to have the Spirit there to prompt me. I noticed that, because of what we were doing, the Holy Ghost left whenever I would go see Mark. Having a good time with Todd made me realize how much I yearned to feel the Spirit always.
So I again broke up with Mark. It wasn’t easy, but I did immediately feel as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I was used to spending lots of time with Mark, and I still liked him. But I knew I had made the right decision. I wanted to have the Holy Ghost’s presence when I dated, and I was willing to do whatever it took to keep that influence in my life.
Even though I was able to feel the Spirit more often, my life wasn’t suddenly perfect, and the dates didn’t start pouring in. I left for college out of state, and Todd and I were not able to go out any more. And the dates haven’t picked up much at college. But I have been able to feel the Holy Ghost more often, and I am no longer fighting my conscience. That is a wonderful feeling worth the sacrifice.
I have found there is an entirely different spirit when you follow the commandments and date “only those who have high standards, who respect your standards, and in whose company you can maintain the standards of the gospel of Jesus Christ” (For the Strength of Youth, 7). I still have many good friends who are not members of the Church, but I have realized I only want to date people who have the same beliefs and standards that I do. After all, dating is already so complicated. Why add to the confusion?

I had never failed a class until Popularity 101. I didn’t know such a class existed or that I was even enrolled until the grades started coming in: kind of nerdy, jokes aren’t funny, uncoordinated, goofy hair, and so on.
The problem with this class is that there’s no teacher, there’s no textbook or study material, and the grading is based entirely on the opinions of your peers. In the beginning I didn’t even know what popularity was. All I knew was others had it; I did not.
The grading got tougher at age 13, when I began junior high school. Apparently, there wasn’t anything cool about me. I was becoming desperate. I was ready to do anything to be accepted. In my math class, I saw popular kids cheating on homework. Everyone was doing it. It seemed a small price to pay to be part of the group.
“Are you cheating?” asked Curtis, the student next to me.
“No,” I lied, amazed at how easily one dishonesty followed another.
I realized two things at that moment. First, “everyone’s doing it” is a poor excuse. What I was doing was wrong no matter who was doing it. Second, not “everyone’s doing it.” Curtis wasn’t cheating, and he had lots of friends.
I started watching Curtis. I tried sitting next to him when we had classes together. He didn’t swear; he didn’t cheat; he didn’t lie; he didn’t make fun of other people. This guy was straight out of the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet. I wanted to be just like him.
Then one day something amazing happened.
It was lunchtime, the worst part of the day. “Cafeteria” was just another name for “Popularity Exam Room.” As I was once again faced with choosing to sit alone or to sit with people who challenged my standards, Curtis invited me to sit with him. His friends accepted me.
I’m convinced that single act saved me. While many of those I could have hung around with passed Popularity 101, many of them are in danger of failing life—having chosen paths that led them into serious problems such as addictions to tobacco, drugs, or pornography.
Through Curtis, I learned I could have fun and keep high standards. I learned that doing what’s right is cool. And I learned a secret about popularity—it’s Satan’s counterfeit for true friendship.
There’s nothing wrong with having friends; what’s important is how we go about gaining them. Popularity 101 (the world’s way) teaches to focus on yourself and what you have to do to be accepted by others—whether it’s swearing, drinking, smoking, or in my case cheating. True friendship (the Lord’s way) teaches to focus on others, to lift them so they feel accepted by you. This is accomplished through love, kindness, sincerity, and, like Curtis, having the Spirit so others feel comfortable around you.
Curtis and his friends weren’t enrolled in Popularity 101; they were enrolled in Living the Gospel. This class has all sorts of helpful textbooks—the scriptures, Church magazines, For the Strength of Youth. Classes are offered at general conference, in seminary, and every Sunday at church. There’s a tutor who will work with you anytime—the Holy Ghost. Best of all, this class is graded by a loving Savior.
I still flunked Popularity 101. But thanks to some guys who had learned to love others as themselves, I’m now studying with the Master Teacher so I can pass life.