Gospel Story Finder

Meg wanted to be perfect. She brushed her hair until it was perfectly shiny. She kept her hands perfectly clean. She kept her clothes perfectly neat.
Meg didn’t like messy sandboxes. She hated it when one shoelace was longer than the other. And she really didn’t like dirt. Playing tag looked like fun … but she might mess up her hair or get her shirt dirty!
On Meg’s birthday, her mommy and daddy gave her a special gift. It was a puppy! He was tan with white paws and soft brown eyes.
“Oh, I love him!” Meg said. “I’m going to call him Mittens.”
The next day, Meg played with Mittens in the yard. She threw the ball over and over again. They had so much fun. Then Mittens jumped into Meg’s lap. With dirty paws!
“Eww!” Meg yelled. “Mommy! Mittens got me dirty!”
Mommy came outside. She gave Meg a hug. “Puppies are messy,” she told Meg. “I know it’s hard for you. But I hope you can have fun with Mittens, even if it means getting a little dirty.”
Meg looked down at Mittens. She wanted her clothes perfectly clean. But she also wanted to keep playing with her puppy. She loved him!
“I guess it’s OK to get a little messy sometimes,” Meg said.
Days went by. Meg kept playing with Mittens. Sometimes he drooled a little on her clothes. Sometimes he drooled a lot on her clothes! After a while, Meg worried less about the mess. Mittens was fun to play with! He was always happy to see her.
Soon Meg started trying other new things. She waded in the lake with her family. She played in the sandbox. She played tag at recess.
One day, Mommy even had to remind Meg to change her dirty clothes! But Meg didn’t mind. Things didn’t need to be perfect for her to feel happy.

One day in Nauvoo, the Prophet Joseph Smith was in the yard, playing with his children Joseph and Frederick. A gentlemen in a carriage drove up to the gate, looking for him. Greeting the Prophet, the man drove his horse and carriage up to a tie post, but did not tie the horse up. Leaving the lines lying loose, he got out of his carriage and came up the steps of the house.
“Mister,” Joseph said, “I think you would do well to tie your horse; he might get a scare and run away and break your carriage.”
The gentleman, thinking he knew best, responded, “I have driven that horse for some years and never tie him. I am a doctor and cannot afford to tie him up at every place I call.”
Joseph persisted. “You had better tie him all the same. Your horse might get a scare and run away.”
The doctor told Joseph not to worry, that there would be no problems with his horse.
Entering the house, the men sat down to talk.
Within moments, the horse became startled. It bolted down the street, towing behind it the carriage. A wheel struck against a post, and pieces of the carriage were scattered for a block or more.
The doctor rushed to the street and saw the trail left by the frightened horse. He turned to Joseph and said, “I’ll be … if you aren’t a prophet.”3

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.

Here is another example from recent times. In a southern community a baby fell into a wellhole. The hole was 60 feet deep and only 13 inches across. A boy could go down, a man could not. Elbert Gray, a black boy, volunteered. He was let down on the end of a rope. Sharp rocks cut his face and his bare feet. He reached the baby and managed to grab its shirt, but the cramped position kept him from getting a good hold. They pulled him up, and he volunteered to go down again; this time head first so he could take hold of the child with both hands. Shaking with cold, blood pouring from his numerous cuts, he brought the baby back. He was awarded a bronze medal, symbol for heroism, by the Carnegie Fund Hero Commission.

A number of years ago a friend of mine called me on the telephone and asked me if I would come to the hospital and give him a blood transfusion. Then as I lay there and watched the blood run out of my arm, I asked the nurse how many blood transfusions I could safely give in the course of a year, and she said that it would be perfectly all right if I gave four. That is, if it were necessary, I could save the lives of four people each year by a transfusion of my blood.
A few years later I found myself on the other end of this great miracle of transfusion. During and after some major surgery, I was given nine blood transfusions wherein a majority of my total blood supply was exchanged. One afternoon when the intern wasn’t very busy, he figured out for me that in this process I had received 27 billion white corpuscles, and as he described their function, I thought of these 27 billion little medical men dressed in white uniforms going throughout my system killing the disease and fighting the infection that otherwise might have terminated my life. But then, in addition to that, he pointed out that I had also received 18 trillion red corpuscles. These were the little engineers that carried oxygen and nutrition to every one of my locations to keep me in business. And all of this came for just the few dollars that I had previously put into the blood bank. (Incidentally, I asked the intern if he would figure out how much money I was paying per corpuscle, but he thought that problem would be a little bit complicated.)

For over a year I tried to memorize the Articles of Faith, but I was having a hard time because I’m deaf. I worked on it every Sunday, but I just couldn’t do it. I wanted to give up many times, but I kept on trying.
I decided I needed help, so I went into my room and knelt down and prayed to Heavenly Father. When I got up, I started trying to memorize the Articles of Faith again, and it was so much easier. I finished all 13. My mom was amazed at how well I had memorized them. I know now that whenever I need help I can pray to my Heavenly Father, and He will help me.
Sam McGrath, age 9Mesa, Arizona

Once again, Relief Society can help. Sister Elsa Bluhm, who is 102, knew the gospel was true. She loved the Lord. She met a good man and married him. He was from Germany, and he was not a member of the Church. Her husband had never been taught to pray. When Elsa knelt beside the bed each night, she would take his hand in hers and pray. After many years he joined the Church, and they were sealed in the temple. Before his passing, Brother Bluhm became an instrument in the hands of God by researching his German ancestors.

This happy ending began with one woman’s insistent, loving, righteous example. Elsa invited the Spirit into their home and marriage by loving her husband and loving the Lord. She was both faithful and filled with faith, even when at times she felt alone. She was an instrument in the hands of God in her own home.

The third key relationship we have is with our fellowman. We build this relationship one person at a time—by being sensitive to the needs of others, serving them, and giving of our time and talents. I was deeply impressed by one sister who was burdened with the challenges of age and illness but decided that although she couldn’t do much, she could listen. And so each week she watched for people who looked troubled or discouraged, and she spent time with them, listening. What a blessing she was in the lives of so many people.

From this pulpit years ago, President Marion G. Romney recounted reading the Book of Mormon aloud, alternating paragraphs with his young son, he on the bottom level of a double-decker bed and his son on the upper. He thought his son was catching a cold but then learned that the tears came from his son feeling testimony that the book was true. And because they read together, both were blessed. (See Conference Report, Apr. 1949, 41.)

Months later, I was experiencing turmoil in my own life. Pressures at work, a baby on the way, and an upcoming move overwhelmed me. I found myself frustrated, anxious, and afraid.
I prayed earnestly about my worries, sins, and frustrations. As I prayed, the Spirit testified of the Savior’s importance in my life. It was as if He said to me:
“Don’t worry about all the things that could happen. That’s my job! It’s what I’m here for. I suffered all things to know what to do about this. Have faith in me, and we’ll get through this together. If you’ll follow my instructions, you can again be whole. Trust me and let me take those spiritual burdens. Then you can focus all your efforts on becoming your best self.”
With this realization, my worry, guilt, and frustration were lifted. Faith in Him removed unproductive feelings that blocked my progress. I could focus on the things in my control. I could live the gospel and turn to the Savior in my challenges.

I woke up really early one Saturday, which was weird—I usually sleep in. But I felt an urgent prompting to walk downstairs, like I was being led.
My mom was alone downstairs. I found out that she’d suffered a miscarriage that morning, so I cried with her and massaged her shoulders and feet. Despite the sadness, I felt at peace. All my thoughts were quiet, and I felt calm and comforted.
My mom told me I must have healing hands, because the massage made her really happy and peaceful. I was so thankful that I was able to comfort her and learn how it feels to be led by the Spirit.
This experience taught me that I don’t need to do extraordinary things to minister to others. I just need to let go of my pride and worries and focus on God’s love, and He’ll use me to be His hands and bring His light to other people.

Hour after hour he rocks there, this beautiful little three-year-old stranger who is our son. Through the window the afternoon sun highlights his well-formed body and flawless features. Brothers and sisters run by, calling his name. He stares, riveted in his rhythmic rocking. Repeated attempts to hold him or share his world are stiffly rejected. … At night we lay him in bed, and our good night kisses are pushed away. … Half sleeping in the bedroom above, we hear the light switch being flicked on and off, on an off, by his tiny hand. Morning comes all too quickly, but he does not call or reach out for us. … We dress him and the cycle begins again. The English poet Alfred Tennyson unknowingly described our son Brian when he wrote, “He is so near and yet so far.”
As we watched our baby Brian develop, we grew uneasy with his unusual behavior. We were confused because he seemed so bright in some ways, and yet we could not reach him. His physical, social, and intellectual development were very irregular. Brian could hum the melody perfectly to “Softly Now the Light of Day” after hearing it only once, and yet he could not ask for a glass of milk. Even though he could undo latches and locks very rapidly, he had difficulty using a fork.
We also observed abnormalities in Brian’s responses to sensations. At one time he paid no attention to smells, and yet another time he would not taste any food without smelling it first. Sometimes oblivious to sudden loud noises such as the dropping of a cooking pot, at other times he could hear his father unwrapping a piece of candy in the next room. Similarly, Brian might exhibit no reaction to a hard bump on the head, but might arch his back as though burned when I touched him with my hand. I felt terribly frustrated when he would not allow me to comfort him at such times. I seemed only to add to his pain.
Our concern deepened with the passing months when Brian’s speech did not develop normally. When he talked, and he rarely did, he sounded very much like a robot, echoing back what other people had said but seldom expressing an original thought. Words were only meaningless collections of sounds to him.
Perhaps most frustrating to the family was Brian’s seemingly non-caring attitude toward others. He did not want to join in family activities, he did not respond to outreaches of brothers or sister, and he did not develop a respect for others’ property. Brian kept the family in a constant turmoil destroying mechanical equipment, tearing up books, and dropping things in our small fish aquarium. When he could find a screwdriver we had hidden for safety, he would use it on heating vents, door hinges, and electrical outlets. One day he managed to leave the house with a repairman’s screwdriver and had the taillights and rear view mirror removed from the repairman’s truck before the startled man could begin fixing the dishwasher!
It became necessary to have a lock on every door in the house to prevent him from destroying everything. Additional locks were installed on the outside doors to prevent him from running toward cars in the street. Unable to comprehend danger, he showed no change in expression as cars were suddenly brought to a halt to prevent hitting him. Heights also captivated him at one time, and we often found him standing on a second-story window ledge. Dealing with such frightening experiences daily left us exhausted and emotionally drained.
Looking back, we should have sought medical assistance much earlier; but it is difficult to see problems clearly when they develop slowly in a beautiful, seemingly “normal” little baby. He seemed like such a “happy” baby, never crying to be picked up. Later behavior problems were interpreted as an acute case of the “terrible twos,” the normal behavior of a developing two-year-old child. The slow speech was blamed on a premature birth and four older brothers and sisters who did all of Brian’s talking for him, while his inability to react socially with others was labeled an “independent streak” not uncommon in our family. We assumed that if we continued to love and care for him, he would somehow “grow out” of his problems.
Finally, when Brian turned three years old and the situation was still worsening, we sought medical help.
We went from expert to expert searching for a diagnosis. We heard Brain labeled “emotionally disturbed,” “abused,” and simply “a very unhappy little boy”—labels that were devastating to us because we loved and so desperately wanted to help our son. Other diagnoses of “mentally retarded,” “minimally brain damaged,” and “improperly developed nervous system,” were less shocking but no more helpful to us. Nothing seemed to fit, and no one had any specific suggestions for altering his behavior.
We had heard the term “autistic qualities” mentioned, so in desperation we attended a day-long autism workshop which we had read about in the newspaper. To our mingled relief and dismay, we agreed that Brian truly fit the characteristics and the symptoms of autism. We learned that autism is a lifelong developmental disability with 95 percent of its victims having to be placed in special care facilities. Our dreams of a mission and marriage for Brian suddenly disappeared as we realized the extremely limiting nature of this problem.
Even though this news was terribly discouraging, we were relieved to know at last the nature of his struggle. Feeling bewildered and alone in our situation, we took great comfort in meeting other parents of autistic children and sharing experiences with them. Their empathy and humor in examples of events similar to our own calmed our hurt spirits and made us realize we would not have to face this problem alone. Equally important, these parents offered us home care techniques, sources for written information, the names of doctors familiar with autism, and referrals to programs in the community designed to educate children like Brian.
Most significant, these parents made us feel better about ourselves. Once we met other parents of autistic children, we rapidly concluded that they were about as normal a group of individuals as we would find anywhere. These new friends, expressing their frustrations, fears and hopes, had feelings very similar to our own. Moreover, they seemed intelligent, compassionate, and levelheaded. This helped to remove any feelings of guilt that we had that we were somehow to blame for Brian’s condition.
We learned that there was no effective medical treatment for autism, but we were encouraged when we read of a certain kind of behavior therapy that had helped improve behavior in autistic children. However, we soon discovered that to enroll Brian in the only such program in the area would mean a wait of several years before he could start school.
In the meantime, my husband and I developed our own plan. We decided to provide a program at home until a placement in a school was possible. An understanding bishop gave me a prayerfully requested release as Relief Society president so my full energies could be focused on this challenge.
While persevering grandmothers babysat, I volunteered to work at the school for autistic children in order to gain some training as a therapist. Remodeling plans for our house halted, and money for new furniture was used to hire two therapists to work with Brian at home. The three of us worked in shifts, involving father and the other children where possible.
As Brian was taught the steps in paying attention, we were amazed at his progress and celebrated each little, hard-won success. This home approach was excellent for the immediate future because we were finally having positive interactions with Brian. However, in giving so much time and energy to Brian, we also realized that we must not neglect the other children.
Brian has now entered a school for autistic children, but our work with him at home is far from finished. Enthusiastic hopes have been replaced with more realistic thoughts of the future, and “flexibility” has become a motto. The class or techniques that work for him today may not be appropriate next month or next year. Undoubtedly, Brian will have extremely difficult teenage years, and he will never be “normal” like his brothers and sister. Nevertheless, he is developing his potential, and we all share the rewards of his progress.

The morning is quiet. On his way out of the house to feed the horses, Brother Gines glances at the shelves of trophies and stops. He stands there, silent, silhouetted against the early morning light, looking at Neal’s basketball trophy and remembering the long hours Neal practiced to prove that he wasn’t clumsy. As he stands there, he recollects the times he and Neal have spent together.

“Back when Neal was younger, we milked the neighbor’s cows. It was Neal’s job, but I went anyway, figuring that it was important to be with him. We talked about horses and football and bulldogging and the Church. We grew closer together, understanding each other, becoming best friends.

“When Neal started bulldogging, I became the hazer (the one who guides the steer in a straight line). It’s kind of symbolic, both of us coming out together, with me hazing to keep the steer from running wild so Neal can grab him and throw him to the ground. We work well together, we’ve done it for so long. I can tell if Neal is hurt, how bad it is, whether it is just another scrape to add to his scars, or whether the horns have dug deeper this time. I never say much, but I’m right there.

“As Neal grew older, we didn’t stop doing things together. My wife teases us about being inseparable, but a father likes to know that his son wants to spend time with his old dad,” Brother Gines adds with a smile.

On cool fall nights they work outside together, joking, trying to hurry and get the wood stacked so they can go in and eat. They spend long hours hauling hay; taking trips to the saw mill to gather shavings so the animals can have the “softest beds”; walking quietly through the just-fallen snow, tracking down pheasants; going downtown to get a malt. They are still inseparable, still best friends.

“Need some help feeding the horses, dad?” Neal asks as he walks into the room.
Brother Gines turns to see Neal all dressed, ready to help. “Sure,” he replies.
Together they walk out into the bright morning.

After two difficult years at Winter Quarters, Nebraska, Mary Fielding Smith was anxious to follow the Saints west with her family. Besides the children of her martyred husband, Hyrum, Mary’s household included several others for whom she felt responsible. By the spring of 1848 Mary had managed to acquired seven dilapidated wagons, pulled by mismatched teams of calves and young steers yoked together with a few oxen. Urged on by her faith and determination, the caravan hurried to catch up with the other emigrants, three days away at Elk Horn.
At Elk Horn the man in charge said …
“You will be a burden on the company the whole way, and I will have to carry you along or leave you!”
Not knowing Mary’s faith, the man was surprised and resentful at her answer …
“I will beat you to the valley and will ask no help from you either.”
Midway between the Platte and Sweetwater rivers, one of the Smiths’ plodding oxen lay down in the yoke as though it had been poisoned.
“I told you that you would have to be helped and that you would be a burden.”
But Mary calmly asked her brother and a neighbor to administer to the ox.
Within a few moments, the animal was up and pulling his load. Two other times the Smiths’ animals were administered to and healed.
It was a difficult journey under the hot blistering sun …
But eventually the company struggled to the top of east mountain.
“Look mother, there it is!”
That night the company camped at the base of Little Mountain.
When the order was given to roll in the morning, the Smiths met with still another disappointment—most of their teams had strayed away. The supervisor, anxious that Mary’s promise not come true, ordered the company to leave anyway.
“Forward, ho!”
Although it was a beautiful sunny September day, a dark thundercloud formed over the final hill the company was ascending before entering the valley.
Suddenly, a violent storm broke! The teams became unmanageable and the supervisor ordered them to be unhitched. Frightened, the untethered animals escaped.
Meanwhile, the Smiths’ strays were rounded up and hitched to their wagons and the storm had quieted down. When Mary’s brother Joseph asked if they should wait for the company to reassemble, she replied with well-earned independence:
“They have not waited for us, and I see no necessity for us to wait for them.”
True to her promise, Mary Fielding Smith reached the valley ahead of the company and without any help from them. She had placed her faith in the Lord, and had overcome every obstacle.
Note:
Mary’s 10-year-old son, Joseph Fielding, who drove a team to the valley as well as any man, later became the sixth president of the Church.

After six years of work in Salt Lake City, Joseph was called to the Swiss-German mission and departed in October 1911. Upon arriving in Zurich, Switzerland, he was overwhelmed at the task that faced him. “I was really quite concerned when I saw those big German sentences across the tops of the shops and so forth,” he recalls. “I wondered how I would ever learn that language.” But he absorbed German rapidly, thanks to “the gift of tongues”—along with much prayer, hard work, tracting, and studying. His companion taught him to speak a new sentence every day: first he learned to say, “Bitte lesen Sie dieses” (Please read this) as he handed tracts to German families. “I had more investigators come out to meetings before I could learn the language than afterwards, I think,” he reflected.

Every year it was the same. They drove from their home in Ohio to attend the family reunion in Utah, stayed a few days, then drove back again.
By the time Bryan was 17, he thought he was bored with it all. He pleaded with his parents to let him stay home and work, but they said it just wouldn’t be the same without him. So he came to yet another family reunion.
The reunion was held at his grandparents’ farm in northern Utah. Their family was given use of a camp trailer that an uncle who lived in town had made available for the reunion.
The morning after they arrived Bryan got up early and watched families as they went about the business of making do. The farmyard looked like it had been invaded by a band of gypsies. There were trailers, tents, and camper-trailers everywhere. Inside his grandparents’ home, kids were sprawled asleep on the floor in every room.
There was a girl his age sitting under a tree reading a book. He recognized her from the reunion two years ago but couldn’t remember her name.
He walked up to her. "Hi. We must be cousins, right?"
She looked like she’d made up her mind to have a miserable time at the reunion. "Do we have to be?"
"Well, this is a family reunion, which means that you’re either a cousin or an aunt. But if you’re an aunt, why haven’t you been sending me Christmas presents every year?"
"Because I’m not Santa Claus."
This was going to be a little tough.
"I see that you and I share the family nose," he said. "How’s it been working for you?"
She was still trying to be grumpy, but Bryan caught a faint smile. "Not very well today," she said. "Usually I can smell a rat."
"Hey, I’m the future of America."
"That’s it. I’m moving to Canada."
He studied her face. "Where did you get your eyes? They’re supposed to be blue. Yours are brown. Are you an imposter?" He sat down next to her. "What grade are you in?"
"I’ll be a junior," she said.
"I’ll be a senior, so I’m older and wiser." He patted her on the head. Then, trying to sound like one of his uncles, he added jokingly, "You know, I remember you when you were just this high."
She closed her book with a smile. "I’m not going to get much reading done with you around, am I?"
"Not much. But, hey, talking to me is a lot better than reading a book. My name’s Bryan. What’s yours? You weren’t at last year’s reunion. How are we related?"
"I had to work during last year’s reunion. My name is Kim. I’m your mother’s Aunt Ruth’s granddaughter if you want to locate me on your family group sheet."
"Aunt Ruth—is she the one who makes fruitcakes for Christmas and sends ’em out to everyone in the family?"
"No. That’s Aunt Melba. What do you do with yours? We store ours in the freezer for a year and then throw it out."
"We usually give ours to the home teachers."
"And they keep coming?"
He paused. "Let me guess—you weren’t too thrilled about coming to the reunion."
"Right. All I ever do at these things is stand around and watch my chubby uncles make fools of themselves playing softball. Two days of that is enough to drive anyone crazy."
"This year you’re in luck. Come on." He took her hand and pulled her to a standing position.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"On a family reunion search for adventure."
"Why don’t we just go in Grandma and Grandpa’s house?" she replied. "It’s getting hot out here already, and there isn’t a lot of shade."
Inside the house he pointed to the fruit room just off the kitchen. It smelled of mildew.
"They say there’s a teenage girl buried in there," he spoke eerily. "She died when she was 16. Sometimes at night she walks the halls crying out for a driver’s license. It’s so sad."
Several younger cousins, still lying on the living room floor trying to wake up for the day, looked around to see who was waking them.
Kim giggled. "Quit teasing," she whispered. "Why did you drag me in here anyway?"
"I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, you dragged me in, didn’t you?"
"You’re crazy."
"I suppose that’s a possibility." He walked to the fruit shelves and looked around. "Want to try some peaches canned ten years ago? They’ve been known to cause insanity."
They found a stack of old magazines, some going back 40 years. He set up a couple of rickety folding chairs and talked her into glancing through them with him.
A few minutes later they went back into the kitchen for some cookies and two glasses of milk.
"This will spoil your supper," he said.
"If last night’s supper is anything like what it’ll be tonight, I hope it does."
They began to show each other interesting things they were reading.
"Look at this girl," he said, showing her a picture of a fashion model.
"Woman, you mean," Kim corrected. "What about her?"
He checked the cover to find out when the magazine was printed. "Now she’s 46 years old. I wonder if she ever looks at this picture and gets depressed because she doesn’t look this way anymore. Or if she ever has any regrets."
"What kind of regrets?"
"About how her life turned out?"
Kim stood up. "Let’s go outside, okay? This place is getting to me."
They decided to go for a walk. There were cousins and aunts and uncles everywhere. Near the top of a hill they stopped to rest. He found himself staring at her face.
"Something wrong?" she asked.
"You know what? If I were a girl, I’d want to look just like you."
She appreciated the compliment. "You would, huh?"
"You bet. And I probably would too." He started speaking in a high-pitched nasal tone. ‘That’s because we’re like two peas in a pod.’ I heard Aunt Melba say that once. Well anyway, we are a lot alike, coming from the same ancestors and all. Same eyes, except yours are the wrong color. Same nose, same double-jointed wrists, same crazy sense of humor …"
"Same humility," she teased.
"Well, yeah, that too."
At lunch Aunt Melba announced that the family variety show would be held that night. She invited anyone who wanted to show off their talents to sign up. Usually the same people volunteered every year. Bryan asked Kim if she wanted to go in with him on a skit, but she said no.
After lunch Bryan and Kim played volleyball with a whole group of relatives, but she quit after a while because one of the uncles kept running in front of her to take any ball heading her direction.
They decided to take another walk. "Can I talk to you about something?" she finally said after a few minutes.
"Sure."
"There’s this guy I’ve been going with," she began. "His name is Rob. He just graduated from high school." She paused. "My parents don’t like him very much."
"Why not?"
"Well, he doesn’t go to church much. And he drinks once in a while, not much now though because I got him to cut down. We haven’t done anything bad. And I think I can get him to come back into the Church. But now he’s going into the army on Monday, so this family reunion couldn’t have come at a worse time. I tried to talk my parents out of making me come up here, but they said I had to." She paused. "The thing is, my parents don’t know this, but Rob’s driving up here tonight."
Bryan smiled. "Oh good. He’ll be just in time to see the variety show. It’s so seldom you get to hear Uncle Harold play Lady of Spain on an accordion. Just once a year since we were little kids, that’s all. It should be a real treat for Rob. I know it will be for me."
"Rob doesn’t even like being around my family. He wants me to go away with him."
"Are you going to do that?"
"What do you think I should do?"
"If you went away with Rob, how long would you be gone?"
"I might be gone a long time."
Bryan swallowed. "You mean like all night?"
"Yes."
"You must really think you love him a lot."
"What do you mean, ‘think?’ I know I love him."
"Enough to go against what you’ve been taught all your life?"
She sighed. "I don’t know. I can’t decide."
"When is Rob coming?"
"Around eight o’clock. He told me to meet him at the old schoolhouse. At the crossroads."
"What about your parents? They’ll be wondering where you are after the variety show."
"I’ll tell them I’ve decided to sleep in the TV room in the house. There’s so many cousins packed in there I don’t think my parents will notice I’m gone." She paused. "Rob’s been really patient with me, but with him going away, well …" She stopped talking. "I really do love him, you know. I really do."
They walked back. Aunt Melba saw them and came after them. "I’ve been looking for you two. I need someone to read the family history."
"Why do we do that every year?" Bryan asked.
"It’s one of our family traditions. Kim, will you read it for us this year?"
"I’d rather not." She glanced at Bryan to help her out.
"I’ll do it," Bryan said.
"Oh, good," Aunt Melba said enthusiastically. "This year try putting expression into it. Last year it was done in such a monotone it put everyone to sleep." She handed him several pages then turned to Kim. "Kim, what do we have you doing for the variety show?"
"Nothing, but that’s okay. Excuse me now. I have to run an errand for my mom." She left.
Aunt Melba made Bryan practice reading the family history for her once to make sure he’d do it right. As soon as she was finished with him, he went to the camping trailer Kim’s family was staying in. He knocked on the door. Kim was there. She came outside.
"I thought Aunt Melba was never going to let me go," he said. "What are you doing?"
"Packing a few things, for tonight."
"Kim, I’ve been thinking."
"I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ve decided to go with Rob."
He sighed. "Oh."
"You won’t tell on me, will you?"
He touched her arm. "Don’t do it, Kim."
"Excuse me. I’ve got to go back in and finish packing before my parents come out."
He tried to think of what to say that would help her change her mind, but he couldn’t come up with anything. He looked at the family history he was carrying.
"If I wait until you come back to the house, will you at least listen to me practice reading the family history? Aunt Melba made me promise to practice it in front of someone."
A few minutes later, they met again in their grandparents’ kitchen. She was carrying a small suitcase that she placed in the corner. She took a seat at the table.
Despite the noise from the TV room, he began.
"We are all privileged to belong to a wonderful family. Genealogical research has so far traced our ancestors back to the 16th century, and further research continues to push back the sands of time.
"As far as the branch of the family which belongs to the Church goes, that began a few years after the Church was organized, when a 16-year-old apprentice shoemaker in Scotland heard two Mormon missionaries. He knew from the very beginning that what he heard was the truth. He wrote to his parents and asked for permission to be baptized. They wrote back and said that if he joined the Church, he would no longer be considered a member of the family. The man he worked for told him that if he joined the Church, he could no longer work for him.
"What a difficult choice for a 16-year-old boy to make. He must have agonized over the decision. To lose everything considered of value in life—his family and a chance to earn an income.
"If he had chosen to reject the gospel, this family would not be meeting here this year, all of us members of the Church, all of us committed to upholding the standards of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
"Every person at some time in his or her life must make the same kind of decision. Each of us must decide, once and for all; we must say to ourselves, ‘This is who I am, and these are the standards I live by.’ Until we do that, we are continually tossed to and fro, not knowing what to do when we face difficult decisions.
"Archibald McKinnon made the decision to join the Church. He came to America and crossed the plains with a handcart company. In time he married a beautiful young woman in the Manti Temple, and from their union, all of us have descended.
"And now for the news of the family during the past year. We are proud to have six of our family serving in the mission field. Last year Matthew and Cathy returned home from their missions. We have three young men who will be leaving before we meet next year.
Bryan continued. ‘We are proud so many of our family choose to live worthily of temple blessings. Last year we had 12 temple marriages, and 16 others who went through the temple for their own endowments. Genealogical research continues to be well supported through our family trust which so many of you help support each month. We had four of our young men earn their Eagle Scout Awards this year, bringing the total to 79 over the years.
"In conclusion we have a heritage and a tradition in our family. This is our family. It goes on forever, both into the future and back into the past, and all of us are grateful for the decision of a 16-year-old boy who had a difficult choice to make. And we’re grateful he made it in such a way that it blessed the lives of all of us here today.’"
Bryan looked up. Kim was crying softly. She looked awful. "I don’t appreciate you preaching to me. You’ve never been in love like I am, so you don’t know what it’s like."
"Maybe not, but I know when I do something wrong I always end up feeling bad about it."
"Just go away, will you? I don’t need you telling me how to run my life." She got up and walked out the door. He tried to follow her but she waved him away.
He returned to the volleyball game, trying to figure out when and how to talk to her parents. He quit playing and went looking for them, but in the few minutes before the show, he couldn’t find them anywhere. Then just before the variety show began, Kim came up to him and asked him if he’d walk with her to the crossroads.
"Why?" he asked.
"I need to talk to you."
They walked along a well-worn path. "Our parents used to walk this way to school every day," she said.
"Yeah, right. And from the way my dad tells it, he had to walk through three feet of snow, uphill both directions."
Her voice became serious.
"I’m going to try to talk Rob into staying at the family reunion tonight."
"Oh. That’s good, Kim."
They climbed to the top of a hill, to where they could see the old schoolhouse at the crossroads. Rob’s car was already there.
"Maybe you’d better stay here," she said.
Bryan sat down and watched her walk the rest of the way to the school. It suddenly dawned on him that she wasn’t carrying her suitcase.
"I’m glad you came," Rob said when Kim arrived.
"I’m not going away with you tonight."
"Why not?"
"It’s not right."
"Kim, we’ve been through all this before. You love me, don’t you?"
"Yes."
"Then what’s the problem?"
She paused before saying anything. "My great-great-grandfather joined the Church when he was just 16. Because of that his family disowned him and he lost his job as a shoemaker. He came across the ocean in a boat without any relatives to help him, and crossed the plains in a handcart."
"I don’t care about any of that."
"I know you don’t, but for the first time in my life I think I do."
"Kim, if you don’t come with me tonight, it’s all over between us."
She closed her eyes. "That’s not fair, Rob. We can be together tonight, but not in the way you mean it. Come with me to my family reunion. There’s going to be a talent show and refreshments."
"Kim, get serious. This is my last night. I don’t want to be stuck with a bunch of your relatives. I want to be with you."
"After the talent show, we can take a walk together."
"You know what I mean."
"Rob, I can’t go against what I’ve been taught all my life."
"Why not?"
"Because I’ve got to keep the temple in sight. I know you think it’s not important, but I want to be married there. Please come with me to the reunion."
"You’re hopeless," he said. He got in his car, slammed the door and drove away.
Kim began sobbing. Bryan hurried down the hill.
"That was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do," Kim said between sobs.
"I know. Are you okay?" He put his arm around her shoulders, to let her know she’d be all right.
"I’ll survive," she said. "Besides, you’d have told my parents anyway."
As they made their way along the path their parents had walked as children, they could hear the strains of Lady of Spain being played on the accordion. For the first time either of them could remember, it sounded good.
And they had to hurry back. It was Bryan’s turn to read the family history to everyone.

When Julia Wigley arrived in Ireland with her parents nine years ago, she soon found a friend who has stayed by her ever since. This loyal pal was a pony and helped spark her interest in riding, training, and grooming horses, a hobby that has become an enjoyable job as well.
A Laurel from the Cork Branch of the Ireland Dublin Mission, Julia is now assistant trainer and horse breaker at a stable in Macroom, Republic of Ireland. Her responsibilities include exercising some of the horses and showing them in competition. This has resulted in some interesting experiences. For example, when she first began, Julia could mount Sebastian, a good-sized jumper, only when he was saddle deep in the river and she transferred from another horse. She was later the one who showed Sebastian when he took the championship cup at the Ballingeary Agricultural and Horticultural Show in Ireland.
In addition to her equestrian pursuits, Julia is captain of her school’s volleyball team, studies mechanical drawing and building construction at school, is the chorister in her branch, and takes care of the children during the Sunday morning Relief Society.

“Congratulations, José,” Bishop García said. He handed me my new temple recommend.
“Thank you!” I said. I shook his hand and walked out of the office, staring down at the white paper. I could go to the temple to do baptisms!
My abuelos (grandparents) were waiting in the hall. My parents didn’t come to church very often, so I usually went to church with Abuela and Abuelo. They both gave me a hug.
“Are you excited for your first temple trip next week?” Abuelo asked as we walked out of the building.
“Yes!” I said. But I couldn’t help noticing a funny, fluttery feeling in my stomach.
“It will be so nice to go together as a family,” Abuela said with a big smile.
I smiled back, but the funny feeling didn’t go away.
As the day of the temple trip got closer, I got more nervous. I finally talked to Abuela about it.
She was chopping vegetables in the kitchen, but she stopped when I came in. “What’s wrong?” she asked, wiping her hands on a towel. “You look worried.”
I sighed and sat down at the table. “I’m really excited to go to the temple. But I’m also nervous.”
Abuela nodded, like she understood how I felt. “You don’t need to worry. People will be there to help you every step of the way.”
As she spoke, I felt a warm, comforting feeling from my head to my toes. I knew it would be a special day.
Soon the day of our temple trip came. I put on my Sunday clothes and combed my hair. Abuela came into my room.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Excited! I can’t wait to go to the temple.”
Abuela sat on the end of my bed and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket.
“This is a temple ordinance card,” she said. “It’s for my brother. He was very special to me. But he died before he could be baptized. Would you be baptized for him in the temple today?”
Abuela held out the paper to me. I read the name: Ramon Rodriguez. I could tell Abuela loved her brother, and I was glad she trusted me to get baptized for him.
“Of course, Abuela. Thanks!” I carefully put the card in my pocket.
While riding the bus to the Santo Domingo Temple, Abuela told about when she went to the temple for the first time with Abuelo. Back then, they had to go all the way to Peru because there wasn’t a temple in the Dominican Republic.
An hour later, we arrived at the temple. Bishop García was there too. My eyes widened as we walked up to the building. It was so beautiful! I paused to read the words above the doors: Holiness to the Lord: The House of the Lord.
As I walked through the doors, I knew I was entering a special space. All my worries seemed to melt away. Everything was quiet and calm.
After changing into white clothes, I stood in the baptismal font with Bishop García. I listened carefully as he said the words of the baptismal prayer. When he said Ramon’s name, a peaceful feeling filled my body.
Bishop García lowered me into the water. When I came up, I was smiling. I couldn’t wait to do this again!

When I returned from my mission, I was again blessed by following the counsel from prophets. For example, when I finished my mission, I decided to marry, even though I hadn’t finished my schooling. In Korea, the tradition is to be financially stable and complete your schooling before marrying and starting a family. But I knew I needed to follow the counsel of the prophet and work toward marriage right away. My wife and I had met when we were in the youth program and were good friends before my mission, so we knew each other well. We were married shortly after I came home, even though her friends said, “Are you crazy? You don’t have any money.”
We went against the cultural tradition because we knew we needed to follow the Lord’s counsel. Our lives have been blessed by following the counsel of the prophet, and we have had experiences we might not otherwise have had.

One day, when I was 13 or 14 years old, I went to the grocery store that was a couple of blocks from my school. The store had spectacular ice cream, and my classmates and I went there often during our lunch hour to get ice-cream cones.
One day when we had our ice-cream cones, I looked down at my feet and saw a $10 bill lying on the floor. A U.S. $10 bill more than 50 years ago was really something to a young man. Satan tried to tempt me with: “Think what you could do with this $10 bill.”
Because of the teachings of my parents, I didn’t listen. I took the money over to the cashier and told her I found it on the floor. She said, “Well, you are an honest young man. Let me write your name on this note, and if someone doesn’t claim this $10 bill, I will see that you get it back.”
I left it with her. That afternoon a young man came in to see if she had seen a $10 bill. She said, “Yes, and here is the fellow’s name who found the money.”
This boy looked me up to thank me, and we became close friends.
But that is just the start of the story. Because of our friendship and his good feeling toward me, he introduced me to his family. As the children in the family grew up and married, I became a good friend with their families as well. And over a lifetime, I have been a close friend to 10 or 12 families just because of that $10 bill. I have been in their homes. As a bishop, I have interviewed some of their children. I have been invited to temple weddings and other family occasions during the past 50 years. I have enjoyed great friendships, not only with those kids but also with their parents over that time. They are a wonderful family.
I am grateful that I wasn’t really tempted to keep that $10 bill, because my wonderful father and mother taught me the principle of honesty. I am grateful for the blessings that have come to me throughout my life from being honest—honesty has opened many doors. It is a wonderful feeling to be able to look people in the eye and say, “I have always tried to be honest.”
I have talked to my own nine children about being honest. I told them that when you see a $10 bill, you really don’t know how much it is worth. It has a face value, but my friendship with that family is worth more than a fortune. They are such a blessing in my life.