Gospel Story Finder

Ever since I was a little girl, I loved sports, especially football. I played whenever I could, and I dreamed of competing someday for Argentina in the Olympics or the World Games.
My dreams were shattered one day when I was 15 years old. I had just visited my sick seminary teacher and was riding my bicycle home when two gangs in my neighborhood started shooting at each other. A stray bullet hit me in the back.
When I woke up in the hospital the next day, I learned that I was paralyzed from the waist down.
While I was healing, family and friends would ask me how I was doing. I could see that they all felt bad for me, so I would console them by saying I was OK. Comforting others helped me, but I knew I wouldn’t walk again and had to learn how to live with being paralyzed.
At the time, I had started going to seminary and was becoming active again in the Church. Seminary was the pillar that supported me in coming back and in not getting mad at Heavenly Father over what had happened to me.
In seminary our teacher taught us that when bad things happen, we shouldn’t ask, “Why did this happen to me?” She said the question we should ask is, “What can I learn from this?”
It was hard to keep going and to always be positive, but my seminary teacher’s question gave me a lot of strength. When I lost hope and when doubts filled my mind, I always returned to that question: “What can I learn?” That helped me get up every day, and it carried me when I felt like giving up.

Correction, hopefully gentle, can come from one’s spouse. Elder Richard G. Scott, who just addressed us, remembers a time early in his marriage when his wife, Jeanene, counseled him to look directly at people when he spoke to them. “You look at the floor, the ceiling, the window, anywhere but in their eyes,” she said. He took that gentle rebuke to heart, and it made him much more effective in counseling and working with people. As one who served as a full-time missionary under then-President Scott’s direction, I can attest that he does look one squarely in the eye in his conversations. I can also add that when one needs correction, that look can be very penetrating.

I went on a fathers and sons’ campout with my ward. My friends and I hiked down a canyon. We chose the oldest boy, Hunter, to be our leader. When we came to a curve in the canyon, Hunter warned us that we shouldn’t go around the curve. He had a feeling that something bad would happen if we did. So we turned around and walked in the other direction. Later, when we were hiking with our dads and we went around that curve, Hunter’s dad almost stepped on a rattlesnake! A rattlesnake’s rattle is a warning, but the Holy Ghost can warn us about all kinds of danger. I am thankful Hunter listened to the Holy Ghost so we could all be safe.

His humility also brings him close to the Lord. I can tell this experience because he expanded upon it in general conference in 1989 (see David B. Haight, “The Sacrament—and the Sacrifice,” Ensign, November 1989). I had interviewed him at his office, gathered my notes, and had my hand on the door to leave. Suddenly he stood and with a faraway look described the details of the Lord’s Last Supper as if he were there. When he finished, I slipped out, thinking, “I have heard an apostle of the Lord speak as in vision.”

Pres. Monson spoke of this when he told the following story.

“Many years ago, on an assignment to Tahiti, I was talking to our mission president, President Raymond Baudin, about the Tahitian people. They are known as some of the greatest seafaring people in the world. Brother Baudin, who speaks French and Tahitian but little English, was trying to describe to me the secret of the success of the Tahitian sea captains. He said, ‘they are amazing. The weather may be terrible, the vessels may be leaky, there may be no navigational aids except their inner feelings and the stars in the heavens, but they pray and they go.’ He repeated that phrase three times. There is a lesson in that statement. We need to pray, and then we need to act. Both are important.”

Paul, 11, was exhausted. He was almost too tired to look up from the river in which he was wading to the cliffs that surrounded him.
The red sandstone walls loomed high over the riverbed, spanning it like a pair of giant legs, 2,400 feet straight up, or twice the height of the Empire State Building. They seemed so close to each other that Paul felt like Jason about to steer the Argonauts between the monolithic Cyanean rocks, which crashed together and squashed ships that dared to pass through.
Moving his 80 pounds against the swift current while he looked, Paul suddenly slipped, but an older, bony hand grabbed his and held him up.
“Once when I was walking through here with some other fellows, I fell right in,” Paul’s 74-year-old grandfather, Otto Fife, said to him. “That was the first time I knew you could hear sounds underwater; I could hear all the other birds laughing at me!”
Paul giggled, and the two continued to ford the Virgin River, now hand-in-hand.
It was one of many experiences during an exhilarating two-day hike through the Narrows of Zion National Park in southwestern Utah. The trip, a family get-together in one of nature’s most supreme wonders, was one that Otto and his seven grandchildren would always remember.
For Otto, too, it was historic.
Years ago, when only a few men had tried the tramp through the huge, long defile in the Markagunt Plateau known as the Zion Narrows, he had ventured down its course. It had a lure that pulled him into its depths as surely as a cactus plant sucks up moisture in desert sand. “There’s something about the Narrows I can’t get away from,” Otto tells his grandchildren. He has hiked the Alps, the Matterhorn, the Sierra Nevadas, across the Grand Canyon, and “all over America,” but nothing compares to Zion Canyon, with its awe-inspiring combination of narrowness and depth.
Otto has hiked it 49 times—far more than any other man—and planned his 50th trip as a gala event. He invited his two daughters’ families to join him. From Beaverton, Oregon, came his son-in-law, Don Woodlief, and the Woodlief children—Donna, 15; Bruce, 13; and Graydon, 12. The Jones family arrived from Tustin, California, including Nadine, 22; Chris, 18; Richard, 14; and Paul. Only Nadine and Chris had been through the Narrows before.
On a sunny Saturday morning, early, Otto and 16 others met on a private ranch at the top of the Virgin River’s North Fork to begin the rugged, 15-mile hike. Grassy meadows and sandy flats greeted the adventurers’ first steps as they followed the meandering stream.
Paul announced enthusiastically that he would carry anyone’s pack if they got tired, but he soon relinquished his own load to his father.
The panoramic backdrop that unfolded as Otto’s companions on his 50th trip rounded the first of a thousand bends and twists in the river was stunning. “It is impossible to describe adequately the grandeur,” wrote Grove K. Gilbert in his 1873 diary of the first recorded trek down the Narrows.
Only ten years before, young Joseph Black, a Mormon pioneer, had sung the canyon’s poetic beauty from its clifftops and been laughed at by his friends. They called the place, deridingly, “Joseph’s Glory,” just as those who heard John Colter’s eulogy of Yellowstone named that park “Colter’s Hell.”
Nadine, a self-described artist, was awed by Joseph’s rainbow canyon of color through which she was walking—even though she’d been through it before. “I wonder if it could be painted,” she paused once and mused.
Not even Van Gogh, though, might have attempted to capture Zion’s picture … of brilliant-colored rocks in shades of chocolate, vermilion, lilac, maroon, blue and yellow … of white alpine fir trees, maple hardwood, ponderosa pines, or golf-course green Aspen trees, shimmering in the breeze … of the canyon’s traffic: wrens, chattering squirrels, orange and black butterflies, and water ouzels …
“Gosh!” That’s all 12-year-old Graydon could say about it, and maybe that said it all.
After about two hours out, the whole group halted in a grove of pines as the younger members began calling for lunch. The perspiring hikers made a rite of the midday meal—salami, oranges, crackers, fruit punch, and sandwiches of all sizes and fillings. Richard finished early and poked his walking stick in the riverbank mud. “Anyone for golf?” he shouted, as he took a swing at the water and doused Donna. She hastened back to the safety of more peaceful picnickers, and Richard went off by himself to drill in the mud for oil.
“How many more miles do we have to go?” Paul asked, a little tuckered-out.
Grandfather Fife looked at him, and winked. “About 100 miles!”
With a second wind, the group pushed out again, this time wading in the water. Marching through the Narrows is one excursion where everybody gets their feet wet. There’s no way to avoid baptizing those walking appendages—eventually. In places the water is knee-high, and waist-high in others. To wee-er ones, that translates to neck-high, and a little swimming or piggyback is required.
Once, when Otto was leading a San Fernando, California, LDS Boy Scout Troop, he gave a small, laughed-at lad the important task of notching his stick with a nail each time they crossed the river. Faithful to the task, the boy scratched 252 marks on the stick by the trip’s end. (Brother Fife, now choir president of the Cedar City [Utah] 5th Ward, has led 1,060 LDS Scouts through the Narrows in all.)
“My feet feel like squeegees,” Paul piped, as he sloshed along a riverbank and up on a little pine-cone strewn plateau.
Many obstacles appeared before the hikers along the path—upturned redwood trees spanning the canyon and huge, wedgelike rocks, some so square they looked like massive beef bullion cubes. Potholes and brief caves offered extra enticement to those with spunk and spirit. Bruce was off into a series of caves that burrowed through one sandstone wall like an anthill before anyone could call him back.
About mid-afternoon the 17 hikers found an obstacle that stymied them—a 20-foot rocky waterfall. When it appeared there was no other way down, Otto asked for a volunteer, while veteran Nadine quietly smiled over this trick she’d seen on her last Narrows trek. Graydon stepped forward and, imitating the beginning of a leap, was held back by the all-knowing Otto: “There’s another way.”
He took the group through some trees and bushes on the left bank to a small crack in the rock, barely three feet wide. As they descended the hidden, natural cleft staircase, Otto was laughing with his arm around Graydon. “I did have to jump that the first time I went through,” he explained. “But the next trip I saw deer tracks leading up here. I followed them, and found this crevice.”
By this time it was late afternoon, and the distance between the weary hikers, whose packs had grown heavier and heavier, began to widen. Bruce, deacon’s quorum president in his home ward, surged in the lead. “This is what they mean by getting away from it all,” he told Richard, when the hikers reassembled. “I like to be where no one else is—to see everything before everyone else.”
The hikers had gathered at the Y-shaped confluence of the North Fork and Deep Creek—known locally as Crystal Creek because of its sparkling-clear water, as compared to the muddy Virgin. The area was a natural, red-and-white temple set off by emerald-green cottonwood and the bright, yellow beams of the sun, which were slanting on the tall walls. From this waterstop on, it was a race to the campsite for the night. Caution was always required, as the marchers felt around on the riverbottom with their walking staffs for safe footing or took care to avoid soggy sand along the bank.
At one point, Graydon and Donna, who had been bringing up the rear with their father, stepped into some quicksand—more accurately, water-saturated sand. Graydon quickly leaped free, but Donna struggled too hard and was soon in the bog up to her waist. Graydon and his father couldn’t pull her out, and the others were too far ahead. But Chris Jones, who had arrived later in the day and started the hike with a friend, caught up to them from behind like the Cavalry. Between the four men, a branch, and stepping stones that kept sinking in the mud, she was extricated, a little shaken after the half-hour ordeal. “Guess I don’t have to find those scissors to cut your legs off,” Chris laughed, trying to cheer her up.
Fires were lit and sleeping bags set up at the Grotto, a sandy, flat alcove in the canyon wall. Boots and sneakers were propped up on sticks next to the fires, wet clothes tossed over tree branches, and some of the cousins took off to find some drinking water—after a change into dryer clothes.
Following a meal of hot dogs roasted over the flames, the group sat on logs and viewed the hasty Zion Canyon sunset, too tired to move. Walls turned the shades of sunset, becoming ghostly cliffs of greenish-white sandstone as the moon shone on them, “The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork.” Thoughts like the 19th psalm came easily there.
Donna was whispering to her cousin, “It’s so beautiful, all of it. It makes me appreciate what God has given us.”
A spoonful of fruit cocktail in his mouth, Otto overheard.
Women had spoken this way in this place before. An adventurous group of University of Utah coeds in 1920 had made international headlines by exploring the entire Zion Park in pants-and-boots fashion. One of their group had noted in her diary: “Zion Park is a beautiful world of its own, a good world. For when one looks upon the gigantic grandeur of it all, it makes one wonder if anything vile or criminal could ever happen in its surroundings. One can only think beautiful thoughts amid such splendor.”
None of these latter-day adventurers could disagree as they bedded down for the night, tucked in by the rush of the river, the whispering leaves. A blaze of stars shining down into the canyon insured peaceful dreams.
Richard was the fastest riser the next day. Others tumbled out, sleepily, behind him.
None but Otto seemed to look forward to a plunge in the cold stream again, since sunrise doesn’t warm the Virgin River until after 10 A.M. when the sun is more directly overhead and can get into the canyon. Breakfast quickly vanished, though, and packs were donned to begin the tramp again, this time more quietly.
The Narrows hike can be made in a day—only weeks before, Otto had done just that. But it’s an arduous hike and should be taken slowly, unless expediency requires it. One early pioneer reported that he was out of the canyon by sunset “after spotting fresh cougar and bear tracks along the way. I didn’t want any of them critters for sleeping companions.”
It wasn’t long before the hikers entered one of several sets of Narrows. The defile was more than 2,000 feet high and demanded the walkers stare up at the faraway clifftops nearly straight above the base of the river. “To all the aches and pains that must be endured on this walk, you have to add a kinked neck from looking up,” Otto said.
At one spot, Otto encouraged his family to toss rocks into a pothole scooped out of the sheer wall, about 12 feet above and across the river. Only a few could keep the stones inside the hole. That accomplished, they continued to amble along the winding walls that are the hallmark of the park—and as impressive as vaulted Medieval cathedrals like London’s Westminster Abbey.
When the dark, narrow canyon opened out again, Otto’s family was again stunned by an array of colors and sheer beauty that make even adjectives about it sit up and take notice. Even though Otto has been through the Narrows far more than any other person in the world, it is always new to him, he said. “It always surprises me. Something different about it every time.”
The real Narrows were reached by noon. Because of potential flash floods, those who attempt these must check weather reports and go after the cloudburst season is over, in September or October. Inside the Narrows, which extend several hundred winding yards, the tall walls stand shoulder to shoulder. In places they are only 20 feet apart and give an Alice-in-Wonderland sensation—something like a flea would feel on the scrimmage line between the Dallas Cowboys and the Washington Redskins.
Paul clasped his grandfather’s reassuring hand tighter as the group unconsciously sped faster into the dim and echoing corridor.
Throughout the Narrows, it was wall-to-wall water they hiked in, except for a few gravel beds. The powerful Virgin River has alone cut this deep, knife-gash gorge into the park. For ages the grit-bearing water has eaten its way like acid through the sandstone. Even now it carries out millions of tons of silt a year, at the rate of 80 railroad boxcar-loads a day.
Once past the Narrows, the family who came on Otto’s Golden Anniversary trek began to meet packless hikers walking upstream on short outings. Yet even toward the end of this trip, Otto’s grandchildren still saw sights that were new. They saw the “hanging gardens” of Zion—bright, green moss growing out of the water seepage that wetted and blackened the river’s awesome perpendicular partitions.
A closer look revealed Rhysa Zionis, little pinhead-size, freshwater snails, peculiar to this canyon only, that cling to their vertical homes and look like so many black dots.
As they sloshed out of the water for the last time at the beginning of a paved tourist trail leading to the parking lot (CARS! No more walking!), the hikers heaved their soggy packs onto the wet sand. Both mothers were there to meet, and hail, their hardy children, soon to whisk them back to comfortable homes and beds in California and Oregon.
Otto set his pack down somewhat reluctantly.
He wondered if his tired grandchildren had learned what there was to learn in this land of Zion he could not leave. Like Antaeus, the mythological giant who drew his strength by touching the earth, Otto somehow pulls philosophy and poetry from that canyon.
Had they understood what one pioneer felt in his very veins? He was a Mormon who had written about his turn-of-the-century trek:
“I was now thankful for every condition which had combined to bring me into this mighty thought-inspiring solitude, this place called Zion, where the stars shine by day and brighter by night. Where earthly achievements and thoughtless, indefinite desires appear as things not worth while, if they are to be charged to our eternal account; where simple, silent thought comes to be regarded as the highest and most perfect expression of prayer; where man learns to fear God, to pray to God, to rely on God. Where man can stand without the support of his fellow men when he feels that he is right; where hope and faith in the universal scheme of things is inspired; where man is made to feel that if he is anything, he is the humble servant of God.”
Perhaps it was too much to understand, Otto thought, and said his goodbyes. But in later letters came the verdict: “When can we go back again? When can we?”
“Zion Canyon is a great symphony I want to hear over and over again,” Otto had said. “When I can’t go down it anymore, I’d better be six feet underground!”
And the family was with him.

The audience cheered as the large clock at the front of the stage neared the 22-hour mark. The teens in the Ottawa Ontario Stake youth choir were exhausted. After all, they had been singing for almost an entire day.
Finally, the clock read 22 hours and three minutes. The 53 young men and young women had just broken the world record for the longest concert performed by a choir.
Even though the record was officially broken, the youth didn’t stop singing. They had a hymn to finish. They filled the gym with the jubilant strains of the fourth verse of “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2).
The quest to break a world record began as an idea from Ben Lowater, a counselor in the Young Men presidency in the Riverside Ward. Brother Lowater gets the book Guinness World Records every year as a Christmas gift, and when he saw the entry for longest choir concert, he knew it was a record the Ottawa youth could break.
The youth were excited about his idea. Riley Jones, 17, says, “I always wanted to be a world-record holder. But before this activity, I could never figure out what record I could break.”
But in the end, the teens gained more from the activity than a spot in the record book. For their record-breaking concert, the youth sang all 341 Church hymns, and they even learned to sing some of their favorite hymns in parts. The choir began practicing for the concert two months in advance so they could learn the hymns they weren’t familiar with.
The youth were even given a CD so they could listen to all the unfamiliar hymns at home or in the car. Katarina de Savigny, 15, is a country music fan, but because of her experience with the choir, she has been switching her favorite country CDs for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.
Spring Pruner, 18, says she learned to love a lot of hymns that she hadn’t heard before. Of the new hymns she was introduced to, her favorite is “The Wintry Day, Descending to Its Close” (Hymns, no. 37). She says, “I sort of found hymns bland before, but as I got to learn them, I got to like them.”
Kenny Kyle, who plays the piano in priesthood meeting, says that learning all the songs in the hymnbook will help him on his mission. He also says the youth choir helped the youth in the Ottawa stake get to know each other better. “We grew a lot closer together because of this experience,” he says.
The Ottawa youth are different because of their experience with the stake choir. Some have cut down on the rock, country, or rap music they listen to. Many say they have a greater appreciation for the hymns of the Church, and several youth even joined their ward choirs.
What’s the reason for all of these changes? As chorister Rachelle Wride explains, “When you have taken part in a choir that sang hymns for 22 hours, you don’t look at the hymnbook the same way anymore.”

I guess everybody at some time longs to feel important and to do something that will be remembered by the people of the world—something that will change the course of history and become legendary because of its momentous impact on society. At least that’s the way I felt when I was a teenager.
Of course, I could dream of being rich and famous, or of making a major scientific discovery, or of being the first woman on the moon or in the White House, but somehow I knew those things were not within the realms of probability. At least not for me.
I was not exactly what you might call an outstanding person. I don’t really remember standing out in anything, except maybe the rain. I was a great follower, but never a leader. I knew I’d never be class valedictorian or win any contests or talent shows, and I was too uncoordinated in sports to excel. It’s not that I didn’t try or didn’t care. I was just shy and lacked self-confidence. So how could a person like me possibly make a difference?
I asked my mother what she thought. She said getting through the school year without getting any C’s on my report card would certainly make a difference when it came time for me to go to college. I knew she was right, but that wasn’t the kind of thing I had in mind. I thought of rewriting the school constitution or taking a petition around for people to sign, but I couldn’t think of what to change in the constitution or what to petition for.
When I finally started to run out of ideas and hope, I turned to the Lord. I asked him to help me find something that wouldn’t take any special talents or qualifications, but would help me feel I was making a worthwhile contribution. Nothing earth-shattering just something suited to my capabilities.
It wasn’t long afterwards that I got this genius idea. It was so right for me that I knew it had to be inspired—I never would have thought of it myself. The idea was that I should get to know people’s names—everyone that I came in contact with on a regular basis—and greet them by name whenever I saw them.
I started with my own neighborhood and learned the names of everyone—even the children and pets. Then I went on to memorize the names of all my ward members. When I had successfully completed that, I started on my high school.
It was a big school in a large city and it took me quite a while, but I did it. I didn’t pay any attention to racial or clique boundaries. At first I felt a little strange saying hello and calling people by name that I didn’t even know, and I embarrassed myself quite a few times by accidentally calling people by the wrong name, but I got better at it as time went on.
It became a game to see how many new names I could learn in a day. Once in a while I got some puzzled looks and some questions like, “Are you trying to win an election or something?” But for the most part, everyone acted like they really appreciated it.
Did it make a difference? I think so. Once Brother Barton, the oldest man in the ward said to me, “Young lady, I think you are the only young person in this ward who knows my name. It sure is nice when you speak to me and remember who I am.” Then one day at school I found an anonymous note stuck into my locker that said, “Thanks for saying hi to me today. I’m new at school and I didn’t think anyone even knew my name. Thanks for making me feel welcome.” I even got to like some of the people I’d previously thought were unfriendly or snobbish. When I started being nice to them and calling them by name, they were usually very nice in return.
The greatest difference it made, though, was in me. My whole attitude changed. I didn’t feel average or ordinary anymore. I felt that I was a special person who was doing something worthwhile because I was helping others. I could see them light up inside whenever I said their name and greeted them with a smile. It may have made only a small difference to them, but with the Lord’s help, it made a big difference to me.

“My parents were not active in the Church, but they were wonderful people. I remember my mother teaching me how to pray. I also remember her teaching me over and over the principle of obedience. When I received my first pair of roller skates, Mother cautioned me, ‘Now, don’t go down the hill, because it will be difficult for you. The hard, level surface on the east side of the house will be much easier for you.’ But I wanted the thrill of going down the hill, and it was probably only five minutes later that I came in crying, with both knees badly scraped. Mother pointed out that if I had been obedient, I would not have been hurt. I’ve thought about that a lot of times since then, and I think that if we obey our parents and learn to call on our Heavenly Father and obey His prompting, we will avoid many difficulties.”

After I received the missionary lessons, I prayed to know whether the gospel was true. My beloved grandfather came to me in a dream and testified of its truth. At this point, I began to understand my divine obligation to my ancestors. President Henry B. Eyring, First Counselor in the First Presidency, said it this way: “When you were baptized, your ancestors looked down on you with hope. Perhaps after centuries, they rejoiced to see one of their descendants make a covenant to find them and to offer them freedom. … Their hearts are bound to you. Their hope is in your hands.”1
Steven E. Nabor, baptized in Utah, USA, in 1979

“Clinicians, academicians, and politicians are often put to a test of faith. In pursuit of their goals, will their religion show or will it be hidden? Are they tied back to God or to man?
“I had such a test decades ago when one of my medical faculty colleagues chastised me for failing to separate my professional knowledge from my religious convictions. He demanded that I not combine the two. How could I do that? Truth is truth! It is not divisible, and any part of it cannot be set aside.
“Whether truth emerges from a scientific laboratory or through revelation, all truth emanates from God. All truth is part of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Yet I was being asked to hide my faith. I did not comply with my colleague’s request. I let my faith show!
“In all professional endeavors, rigorous standards of accuracy are required. Scholars cherish their freedom of expression. But full freedom cannot be experienced if part of one’s knowledge is ruled ‘out-of-bounds’ by edicts of men.”

Last August we took some of our grandchildren to Timpanogos Cave National Monument, one of Utah’s most popular destinations. It is a rather strenuous one-and-a-half-mile (2.4 km) hike to reach the cave but well worth the effort to witness the cave’s beautiful, spiraling formations. I was certain that nine-year-old Ruthie would have little difficulty, but I wondered whether six-year-old Caroline would have the strength and stamina to make it all the way.
We were all very excited to begin the hike, and at first we moved rapidly along the paved trail. One-fourth of the way came quickly, but it took longer to reach the halfway point. Caroline started to get discouraged. Ruthie was doing well and encouraged Caroline to continue. We slowed down so Caroline could keep up. Then it seemed that everything went wrong. Strong winds came up, and the dust from the winds made it difficult to see. It was a little scary, and as if that weren’t enough, we came across a signpost that read, “Rattlesnake Habitat. Stay on the Trail. Stay Safe.”
Slowly we trudged along, three-fourths of the way to our goal, but we still had the steepest part of the mountain to climb. Tired, scared, and doubting her abilities, Caroline sat down and tearfully declared, “I give up! I can’t go any farther!”
We sat down, and we talked about what we should do. We made a plan. We decided to count our steps and see how we felt after 100 steps. Ruthie and I assured Caroline that we would help her. We were to look for something that made us happy along the way and share our discoveries. We even sang some Primary songs.
Things changed. Caroline made the choice to follow the plan. One hundred steps made an impossible task seem doable. Caroline knew we would help her, and as we looked for the good things around us and sang songs, we felt happier.
Young women, choose good friends who will support you in your righteous decision to follow the plan. Like Ruthie, who gave encouragement to Caroline, we know that many of you can do much to strengthen each other. After you receive your Young Womanhood Recognition, it is your turn to be the “big sister.” Earning your Honor Bee will give you opportunities to strengthen another young woman with your righteous example and testimony as you mentor her with her Personal Progress.
Finally, live to be worthy of the companionship of the Holy Ghost. When we helped Caroline, looked for the good around us, and even sang Primary songs, we invited the Spirit. We felt love, joy, and peace, which are fruits of the Spirit (see Galatians 5:22). You will need that peace and assurance when Satan tries to confuse you with winds of doubt, when you are tempted to take another path, or when others are unkind or mock you for your beliefs.

My friend Wendy is a fantastic cook. From the day she moved in down the street from our family, she has been sharing food with us. She always has an excuse: “This won’t fit in my fridge,” or “I made too much!” No matter what she says when she brings her offerings, what I always hear is, “I love you.”
I felt her love for our family particularly after one very difficult day. One of my children had recently been diagnosed with an eating disorder, and everything about food was getting complicated and stressful at our home.
One night my daughter and I were meeting with her therapy team. At this meeting she was given a meal plan, and I was tasked with making and planning three meals and three snacks for her every day. These meals and snacks had to meet certain dietary guidelines that would help restore her weight.
For me, this task was overwhelming. I’m not much of a cook, so receiving such specific guidelines and anticipating trying to get my reluctant child to eat so much food nearly brought me to tears. As we drove home, my mind fixated despondently on one thought: “I don’t have anything that’s right for her evening snack tonight.”
Arriving home, I trudged through the door and immediately smelled something delicious. There, sitting on the kitchen counter, was a loaf of banana bread Wendy had delivered while we were gone. It contained a grain, a fruit, and a fat—perfect for the evening snack we needed! Even better, my daughter ate it willingly.
When I called Wendy later to thank her for the bread, I didn’t share the backstory. She probably wondered why I was a bit emotional over her gift. Wendy didn’t know we were struggling. She had simply made “too much” banana bread and didn’t want it to go stale.
A few months later, as I listened to a podcast about being covenant keepers, I wondered what being a covenant keeper really means. Then Wendy’s gift of banana bread popped into my mind.
When Wendy followed her heart and brought us bread that day, she had mourned with those who mourned and comforted those who stood in need of comfort (see Mosiah 18:9), even without knowing the whole story. And it made such a difference.

The first time I felt the appeal of family history occurred during the Christmas break of my freshman year at BYU. One evening, as the rest of the family boisterously played a board game in the living room, I found myself seated at the kitchen table with my mom and older sister. The conversation soon turned to relatives, particularly my mother’s dad and his parents.

My great-grandparents, Orla and Roger, died in their 20s, leaving my grandfather and his brother in the care of Roger’s family. After Orla’s death, her father, Robert, died of appendicitis. A short time later, her mother fell, cracked her skull, and suffered several strokes, becoming bedridden. Orla’s oldest sisters, Thelma and Ena, then carried the full burden of supporting the family—a difficult task for two young, unmarried women in the late 1920s.

It was all so fascinating to learn about people I felt connected to but had never met. I was amazed by the trials my family had faced. Hearing it all made my own problems seem so small in comparison.

To close my talk, I would like to share an experience of mine with you.
When I was a young teaching assistant at the university, I had a beautiful experience that taught me such a great lesson that I can still recall that experience vividly, even now.
At our university at that time, we used to give a physical test to a whole school every spring. One year, I was supervising a 50m running test. We had students line up with a group of eight, had them start running, and timed their running.
One day, after I finished the test of the big group of students, a small group came to the test. Among them, one student came up to me and asked me if his friend can run the very last. Not understanding his intention, I looked at his friend who was standing beside him. Looking at him, I instantly recognized the situation. He was blind. There, I accepted their request, and let this blind student run at the end.
After all other students finished with the running test, that student came up with his blind friend. Although we did not know what to do, we watched carefully what they were doing. As we watched them, this student took the hand of the blind student and had him stand in the middle of the start line. He then went over to the goal line, turned around, and started to make a big clap, extending his arms wide. We watched the moment that the blind student, standing on the start line, started running. As he took off, the stopwatch started. The blind student certainly could not run fast; however, he masterly completed running 50m and run into his friend’s outstretched arms.
They have taught me an important lesson; that is, we all need the help of someone to make a goal.
In our daily lives, of course, there are things that we must do by ourselves. However, there are things that we cannot deal with by ourselves. And that is to reach the goal of eternal life. We need the help of someone who is special. The savior, Jesus Christ is the one and His atonement becomes a great help to us. Except for the Lord, no one can accomplish this work. Only Jesus Christ, our savior, can atone for our sins. Through His atonement, we are cleansed, healed, forgiven, and strengthened.

I first had contact with the missionaries in 1992. From their first discussion, I felt something special in my heart. As the discussions progressed, I learned of gospel principles that I never knew existed. The first time I attended a Church meeting, I was warmly greeted by the members as though they had always known me.
I was the first member of my family to be baptized. Now my two sisters are also members, and my father is reading the Book of Mormon.

God expresses his love for us by providing the guidance we need to progress and reach our potential. Perhaps a simple story will illustrate this point. Recently, a young man purchased a used computer but could not get it to work properly. Soon he became discouraged. His temper grew short and he threatened the inanimate object with painful destruction unless its performance improved. A wise father intervened and took his son to a local vendor, where they obtained an instruction manual. After all, who would know more about a complex computer than the person or company that created it? Who would know most about its capacity and potential? Who would better know the safeguards required to avoid damaging or ruining this fine instrument? Soon the boy enjoyed the full potential of his computer by working within the guidelines given in the instruction book provided by its creator.

Since William’s birth in 1837 his parents had raised him to be a committed Anglican. His mother, a devoted church member, enrolled him at a very young age in an “infants’ school” where, along with the alphabet, he learned “that there was a Savior who died for all men.” Years of Sunday school attendance taught the boy “a reverence for divine things,” as he termed it.

William’s first contact with the Latter-day Saints evidently came when he was about age 13. While doing an errand for his father, he stopped at a window where some curious boys were peering in. A gentleman suddenly ushered him inside where a Mormon meeting was beginning.

“I took my seat in one corner of the room,” he recalled, and “thought it a very funny place, and not suitable for administering the holy sacrament.” But the sacrament was passed, hymns were sung, and speakers preached. The last speaker was British convert Charles Penrose who later served in the First Presidency. His discussion of the Godhead “upset all my confused ideas of God,” William noted. “If ever a sermon touched the heart, this did mine.”

Year by year the challenges to William’s childhood religious beliefs seemed to increase. At age 15 he left home to become a butcher’s apprentice, and his first landlord, religiously an Independent, tried unsuccessfully to convert the young Anglican boarder. That experience, William admitted, “unsettled my religious views very much.” He also discussed religious ideas with Catholic sisters while making regular meat deliveries to a nearby monastery. For a time he even attended morning Catholic services in addition to his afternoon Anglican meetings for many Sundays. By age 17, he later remembered, “I had become unsettled in my mind as to which church was right.” About this time his confusion became enveloped by fear: he heard a sermon in his own church about damnation that gave him nightmares and continually troubled him. But like another religiously confused teenager in upstate New York 40 years before (about whom William knew little if anything), he sought divine help: “I had prayed often and frequently to my Heavenly Father that I might be correctly impressed as to what was right for me to do.”

During this troubled time William learned that his good friend John M. Bridge had joined the Latter-day Saints. William chided John for converting because Mormons then “were held in such bad repute by all the good people of my town.” But after work one evening John explained some principles of the restored gospel to his former schoolmate. William felt that the teachings made sense so he agreed to attend a Latter-day Saint meeting of the Maldon, Essex, Branch. There the fellowship and doctrines impressed him:

“What I there heard I could but endorse and felt assured it was more like the gospel of Christ than my mother’s religion; yet I thought the people treated it with levity, and there did not seem to be any order among them. I had been raised in the strictest order, and even in my Sunday School every mark of respect was always paid the teacher. I thought they were lax in this respect, but the warm brotherly greetings soon removed this feeling and I saw there was a peculiar union existing that I did not find in any other church. I began to feel that I wanted to be in the company of these people in preference to all my old acquaintances.”

Three weeks after John first discussed Mormonism with him, William asked traveling elders Joseph Silver and John Lindsay to baptize him. So in late April 1855 he was baptized at Maldon in the Blackwater River. A short time later he was ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood.

But finding religious peace had its price: “It was soon reported that I had become a Mormon; and I was jeered at and called old Joe Smith and old Brigham Young, and many things were charged to them as well as to myself.” Friends, relatives, customers, and former Sunday school teachers tried to “show me my error.” During most of 1855 he accompanied another new priest (later his father-in-law), Samuel Gentry, to conduct open-air preaching services in surrounding villages. William’s relatives sometimes attended these meetings to hear, as they said, “little Billy preach,” although Brother Gentry did the preaching and William assisted by giving prayers. Some relatives ridiculed him openly, but such treatment only made William “cling with a stronger tenacity to the principles of truth.”

Illustrations by Elise Black
Mara loved making people smile. She made her schoolteacher smile when she raised her hand to ask questions. She made her sister, Marcella, smile when she said nice things to her.
Then Mara would smile too. It felt good to help other people be happy.
But there was one time each week when Mara hardly ever smiled. That time was early Sunday morning. That’s when Mara and Marcella were always the most tired. Rushing around to get ready for church made them extra grumpy. Then there was the long walk to church. It was more than a mile away! Mara and Marcella often got there late. They would miss the first part of Primary.
“We miss you when you’re not here on time,” Sister Lima said one day. She was the Primary president of their ward in Brazil.
Mara knew she should get to church on time. But how? Then Mara got an idea. The next Saturday night, Mara decided to try something new.
Instead of sneaking bedtime snacks after dinner, Mara brushed her teeth. Most days Mama had to remind the girls to turn off the TV and go to bed. Even then they would play and whisper under their covers until late at night. Sometimes they stayed up so long they could hardly keep their eyes open. They had to wiggle to keep from falling asleep.
Tonight Mara put on pajamas and hopped right into bed. Mama didn’t even have to remind her. She started looking at the pictures in the front of her Book of Mormon.
“What are you doing?” Marcella asked.
“A test,” Mara said. Her mind was full of happy thoughts. Plus she was already feeling sleepy.
The next thing Mara knew, the sun was peeking through her window. It was almost time to get ready for church. Instead of feeling yucky, Mara felt great. Her head didn’t feel fuzzy. Her body didn’t feel tired.
She got to Primary even before some of the leaders.
“Thank you for being such a good example to the other children,” Sister Lima said.
Now it was Mara’s turn to smile. She decided she would always go to bed early on Saturday. That way she would be able to spread smiles all Sunday long.

Illustrations by Stuart Hill
High school. A necessary evil, I guess. Well, it’s not really evil, but the homework is. Especially in history. In my U.S. history class we’d learned about the Pilgrims and Puritans, the Founding Fathers, and the expansion from the original colonies. It all sounded familiar.
But when we got to the part about Manifest Destiny and the role Mormons played in the settlement of the West, I couldn’t believe what I was reading. I knew that there were some controversial events and even controversial figures in Church history, but it seemed like the authors of my textbook were presenting the most negative interpretation possible rather than a factual overview.
“Mom, is this really true?” I asked.
I pointed to the page I was on, and my mom read the first paragraph and then stopped. “Wow,” she said. “Where did they come up with that information?”
The book had no footnotes, so we started checking some of the statements. It took hours, but we checked in the Doctrine and Covenants, cross-checked manuals online at LDS.org, and found original documents at JosephSmithPapers.org. It was so cool to see the handwritten petition for redress, which Joseph Smith personally delivered to President Martin Van Buren (President of the United States) and to learn more about what really forced the Saints to leave Missouri and settle in Nauvoo. We also searched for a few of the quotes and found more original documents online at the Illinois and Missouri State Historical Societies. They showed what the textbook had taken out of context.
My high school has over 1,600 students, and I’m one of only two Mormons. I didn’t want what we were reading to be the only thing the kids in my class ever learned about the Church. (I also checked and found out that this U.S. history book was first published in 1981, which means thousands of high school students had been taught false information.)
I’m not the type to draw attention to myself, but because I’d found out that so much of what was in our textbook was wrong, I decided to ask my teacher if he would let me make a presentation to my class. My mom helped me type up the corrections, but when I showed my teacher the pages of information, he just glanced at them and said, “When authors have to cover 80 years of history in a couple of paragraphs, they aren’t going to be able to include all the details.”
I was really disappointed. I knew I could talk with my friends and point out specific errors, but there was no way for me to help the 25 other kids in my class—not to mention the kids in my teacher’s other classes—understand the truth about Mormons. I didn’t know what to do.
A week later my teacher changed his mind. He’d actually read the information I’d given him and realized that the authors hadn’t just skipped parts of Church history or shown one side of it; they’d actually made up things that weren’t even based on the truth. He wanted our class to know what was real, and he even wanted to publish what I’d given him so all the teachers in our school district could use it as a resource!
Like the scriptures say, even a little candle, when set on a hill, can give a lot of light (see Matthew 5:14–16).