Gospel Story Finder

“It is my own life story because it really is a portrayal of me. I faced the same problems in my life,” said Raymond Tracey, a young Navaho Latter-day Saint from Ganada, Arizona, and star of a new motion picture, Indian.
Tracey (most of his friends call him by his last name) portrays a young Navaho who lived on a reservation with his grandparents until he was old enough to be taken out of his Indian world and educated in the white man’s world. After high school his life is at a crossroads. He was born an Indian, has the blood and looks of an Indian, and yet doesn’t feel like an Indian.
He wonders whether he should stay in the world that he has become used to, or if he should go back to the reservation and try to become an Indian once again. He gets in his jeep and begins a journey to talk to other Indians before he can decide who he is and where he belongs. He works hard to discover what being Indian really means.
Tracey has a natural feel for the character in the film. He could understand many of his concerns and confusion because he left his own home and parents when he was ten to live with another family and attend school on the Church’s Indian placement program.
“I had some ideas about the two very different worlds of the main character in the film,” said Brother Kieth Merrill, producer-director of Indian. “As we shot footage of Tracey each day, new insights and feelings would keep presenting themselves. Finally we reached a point where it was hard to tell where the story line I was carrying around in my head stopped and the story of Tracey’s own life began. The plot of Tracey’s life was so strong and universal that it merged with the story line of the film.”
The film portrays specific experiences that differ from those that actually happened to Tracey, but most of the emotional conflicts and discoveries are identical to those he experienced while he was growing up.
Before the main character in the film leaves the reservation for school, his grandfather tells him, “Always remember, my son, that you are an Indian. Don’t forget it. Gain an education, but be proud of your Indian heritage at the same time.”
Tracey’s parents felt the same way about sending him on placement. “My parents always wanted the best for me,” he said. “I didn’t know we were poor when I was small, but now I know it. We lived in a one-room house with a dirt floor. I didn’t see my father very often because he would leave for work at five in the morning. He had to hitchhike into town and then go to work driving a logging truck all day. He came home at night after I was in bed.” His father did this summer and winter. Both parents hoped and planned and worked, and taught their children.
“They planted some important ideas deep inside our minds while we were very young.”
They taught Tracey and his brothers and sisters the gospel and English while they were small children. Tracey went to kindergarten speaking English when most of his friends spoke only Navaho. He also learned that he was special in the sight of his Father in heaven. It was easier for him to adjust to placement because of this background.
“The gospel has always been a force in my life. In addition I never had to think in Navaho and then translate it into English. I grew up thinking in English, and that is an asset. I was called on a mission to my people before I learned to speak Navaho and think the way Navahos think.”
Leaving home and family was hard for young Tracey, but he adjusted well.
“Once I got over seeing everyone as either a brown skin or a white skin, I really got a lot out of placement. I wasn’t treated as a foreigner. All my brothers and sisters and my new mom and dad made me welcome. But I was no guest to be pampered. I was a total part of the family. I had to take out the trash, wash dishes three times a week, and carry my own part of the responsibilities just like everyone else.”
Tracey’s participation in sports helped his natural shyness to fade and gave him confidence in all of his abilities. “Without confidence I would never have been able to perform in front of a camera and crew, with a hundred people on the set watching me,” he said.
His increasing knowledge of the gospel also gave him confidence.
“My foster parents taught me the value of a really good, stable family life. I grew up with good families. We had family prayer, family home evening, and we went to church together. These are all examples I hope to follow with my own family,” he said.
In the film Tracey travels across America talking to other Indians. He asks, “What is an Indian? What does he do? How does he think?” And, of course, each person he talks to gives a different answer. He met and talked to many interesting people. This is exciting to him because it has given him a chance to help accurately portray Lamanites and give them some identity and credit.
“They deserve a better image of themselves than what they have seen in the movies. I’ve grown up seeing my people portrayed only as scalping savages.
“While I was still living in Arizona, we would get to see movies in elementary school. There were a lot of cowboy, cavalry, and Indian films shown. Indians would invariably sweep around the bend and wipe out a whole wagon train. They were savages. Then the cavalry would dash after the Indians, and that whole theater of Indian kids would shout and cheer for the cavalry. No kid wants to identify with the bad guy, and yet we never saw a film where Indians were any good. I was always a cowboy when we played cowboys and Indians. Cowboys rode white horses, carried shiny guns, and always won. Indians weren’t smart enough to win,” Tracey said.
Yet deep inside himself Tracey knew he could win. His parents had taught him that winning depends on the individual. They had taught him that if you want to win, you can win. “Feeling inferior is terrible, and I felt it quite often during junior high school,” he said.
By the time he got into high school, however, Tracey knew he was breaking out of his inferiority feelings. He ran cross-country for the track team, and he was elected student body vice-president.
“By then I felt great,” he said. “I remembered the teachings of my own parents. I knew I had a Father in heaven who loved me and that in his eyes I was just as good as anyone else. I knew I would be judged on my own abilities and what I was able to do with them.
“Now, through the medium of film, I can help other Indians gain a realization of these same true principles.”
Tracey also feels that many of his childhood teachings would be beneficial for all men to know. When he was young, he learned to notice the order and balance of nature. “My father had me look at a bee, and he would say, ‘Look at that little stinger and how it comes out. It can be used for two things, good or bad. If you hurt him or threaten him, he will sting you with the stinger. But if you let him alone, he’ll use that stinger to gather pollen and nectar from the flowers. And he’ll take it back to his home and make honey out of it. You have the knowledge to destroy him or to use him for your own benefit. He is your brother.’”
Tracey learned to respect every living thing. The trees, the animals that lived in them, and even the land they grew on were respected as if they were his brothers and sisters. Years before he heard the word ecology he had learned to look at the full cycle of nature. He knew the Navahos built hogans (wooden framed mounds covered with dirt) because they didn’t want to add to nor detract from the landscape. They just wanted to fit in and be a part of the land.
“At first,” he said, “Navahos didn’t even want windows in the hogans because when you look at one from a distance it should blend right in to the landscape. When a hogan has a window, it causes reflections that look unnatural and it draws attention to itself, and this isn’t pleasing to a Navaho.”
Tracey also explained that many young Indians are taught to run and exercise because they believe if your body is physically fit then your mind works better and there will be no room for dark thunderclouds in it. These kinds of teachings are also part of the gospel and he hopes to be able to give them to his children.
“When my son is out in nature and he notices something beautiful, I want him to feel like I do about it. He will stop and look and appreciate and give thanks, and he’ll know it couldn’t have happened by chance. And wherever he walks, he will leave beauty behind him and see beauty before him.”
At the end of the film, Tracey, after traveling coast to coast, talking and probing his identity with other Indians, finally comes home. By this time his grandfather has died, and so he goes to the grave and reports.
“Grandfather, I’ve done what you wanted me to do. I’ve been to the white man’s school. I got my education, and yet I’ve never forgotten that I am an Indian with a heritage that I am proud of. I met a boxer who is an Indian. I met a journalist who is an Indian. I’ve met politicians who are Indians. I met all kinds of people who are Indians, and now I know what it is to be an Indian. Grandfather, what I want to be is myself. To be me. To be whatever I want to be. I want to take what you have planted in my heart and give it to someone else. I want to take my education and give it back to my people.”
Tracey lived these moments for the cameras. Yet to him it was more than acting because he had made the same discoveries once before.
“A time came,” he said, “when I didn’t think of myself as an Indian and my foster family as being white. We were all treated the same, and I just thought of myself as me. This was reinforced as my testimony became stronger. I began to realize that part of being me meant that I was also a son of God. I knew the Church was true during my first year of college. At the same time I wanted to go on a mission. I was really integrated. I was an Indian with a different cultural background, and I knew the technology of the white man. But I had also learned to communicate with my Father in heaven. I knew he loved me. He helped me discover that I am a son of God, and that is my true culture as it should be for all Latter-day Saints.
“It was easier then to say, ‘These white-man teachings fit here, those Indian teachings fit there.’ And I understood what I should throw away in both cultures because the gospel became the real living force in my life. It brought the two pads of my past together and gave my life true meaning.”
Since he finished Indian, Tracey has starred in another motion picture called Joe Panther, which tells the story of a young Seminole Indian seeking his place in modern society.
Although his acting career is just starting, Tracey is already receiving praise for his ability. He is also drawing attention to his way of life. Wherever he has worked, he has influenced other members of the casts and crews. On one occasion a cast member told him, “Everybody on this set is searching for what you already have.” A cast member of Joe Panther wouldn’t even drink coffee when Tracey was on the set. “I’ve taken up drinking orange juice because that is what you drink,” he said.
Ray Tracey and Caroline Wuneka, from Crystal, New Mexico, were married in the Salt Lake Temple just before filming began on Joe Panther. Since this film was shot in the Everglades, they enjoyed a nice Florida honeymoon.
Tracey hopes to do more acting in movies. However, he stressed, “I’m not going to do any movie that will discredit my race or my church, or in any way make people ashamed of me.” Tracey hopes he can be an example for other young people. He is working to accomplish the tasks spelled out for him in his patriarchal blessing.
“I hope to be an instrument in the hands of the Lord to bring the gospel to many of my people. I hope I can be worthy to do this, and right now it seems that part of the answer lies with the media. That is one way I can reach many of them,” he said.
Like the characters in his films, Tracey displays courage, perseverance, and sensitivity. He knows that life gives you an opportunity to overcome difficulties, and that by doing this you get stronger. Most of all, he knows that the gospel gives direction and meaning to everyone who will embrace it.

As Sarah walked quickly down the street, she thought about her problem. Mother’s Day was only a few weeks away, and she wanted to give her mother a present. She already knew what she’d like. At the garden shop Sarah had seen her mother admiring the illustrations of some beautiful irises above a tangle of iris roots. But today when Sarah counted the money in her china bank, she realized that she didn’t have enough for the iris roots. How can I earn some more money? she wondered.
“Oh, well,” she sighed, “maybe I’ll think of something. It’s only Monday.” Then she hurried into the thrift shop where her mother volunteered her time one day each week.
“Hi, sweetie,” Sarah’s mother greeted her. “How was school today?”
“Fine as usual,” answered Sarah. “Did you get any interesting new donations?”
“Yes we did, and I’m glad you’re here to help me. You can sort through that big box in the corner. Put the dresses on hangers and match up the shoes. You know the routine.”
Sarah enjoyed looking through the boxes of rummage items that had once been treasured by someone. The new box seemed to be full of old clothes, shoes, and kitchen gadgets. Near the bottom Sarah spied a black leather purse that looked quite new. She picked it up and examined it carefully. As she opened the clasp, she saw a five-dollar bill tucked into a side pocket.
Without stopping to think, Sarah took the money out and put it into her skirt pocket. She laid the purse aside and finished sorting the clothes. Now I have enough money for mother’s present, she thought. But for some reason she couldn’t explain, she didn’t feel very happy about it.
“You’re quiet today,” Sarah’s mother said coming up behind her daughter.
“Mom, where did this box come from?”
“It was picked up at Mrs. Peterson’s. She’s a widow who lives over on Green Street. Why?”
“Well,” said Sarah, “I found this purse in the box and it doesn’t look old like the rest of the things.”
“I’ll call Mrs. Peterson and ask if she meant to give it away,” Mother said. During the telephone conversation, Mrs. Peterson explained that she had misplaced the black purse that morning and had been looking all over for it. She guessed it must have fallen into the box she was preparing for the thrift shop.
“My daughter Sarah found your purse, and she will bring it over to you,” Mother promised Mrs. Peterson on the phone.
As Sarah walked to Mrs. Peterson’s home, she argued with herself. I could just keep the money. She would never know where it went. Mother would love to have the iris starts. But then Sarah remembered what they had been studying in Primary—Jesus would know, and I’d know too! She opened the purse, replaced the money, and closed it. She felt so relieved that she skipped the rest of the way to Mrs. Peterson’s house.
“You look happy,” said Mrs. Peterson when she opened the door. “And I’m happy too, because you found my missing purse. Thank you very much.”
Sarah noticed that Mrs. Peterson had a hard time walking. Suddenly she found herself asking, “Do you need any help around your house? I’m a good worker and can do all kinds of jobs.”
“What a dear child,” responded Mrs. Peterson. “I do have a hard time with my arthritis, but I couldn’t pay you anything. I only have a small pension.”
“That’s OK,” said Sarah with a smile. But she was really disappointed. Instead of finding a paying job, she had agreed to work for nothing.
Sarah offered to help Mrs. Peterson after school each Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. She swept the walks, washed windows, vacuumed, and carried trash. Afterward she’d have juice and visit with Mrs. Peterson. They quickly became good friends, and Sarah enjoyed listening to the wonderful stories that Mrs. Peterson told of her youth. One day Sarah felt glum as she realized Mother’s Day would soon be here.
“What’s your problem, Sarah?” asked Mrs. Peterson. “You seem preoccupied today.” Sarah slowly began telling Mrs. Peterson about her plan for a Mother’s Day gift that hadn’t worked out.
“I think I can help you there,” Mrs. Peterson suggested happily. “My iris bed hasn’t been cleaned in years, and the roots need dividing. If you could do the digging, I could help you separate them. Some of them are pretty enough to be show winners.”
Sarah placed a chair for Mrs. Peterson beside the flower bed and found a hand trowel and a box for the roots. She carefully dug into the dirt and lifted clump after clump of the bulbous roots, and Mrs. Peterson helped her sort and divide them. Then Sarah replanted many of the roots in Mrs. Peterson’s flower garden.
In the house, Mrs. Peterson found a pretty box and some pink ribbon. Carefully they prepared the gift for Sarah’s mother. As they worked, Sarah counted the roots and was excited to see that she had over two dozen, more than she had ever hoped to buy.
“Thank you so much for helping me with my spring housecleaning and garden work,” said Mrs. Peterson as Sarah prepared to leave.
“Thank you!” said Sarah happily. “You have given me far more than I ever hoped to earn, and besides, now I have a wonderful new friend!”

Mr. Samuels smiled as he carefully steered the big school bus along the busy streets. It was the first day following a holiday vacation, and he was glad that the bus was running smoothly. When he had entered it this morning, he’d discovered that one of the rear windows had been left open. There were twigs and dried grass on the floor, but he found no signs of any damage.
A little later Eric and Steve, third-graders at Lakeview School, were sitting together near the rear of the bus. Suddenly they saw a pigeon flying alongside it.
“That pigeon wants to ride with us,” said Steve.
“He’ll have to get a bus pass,” Eric joked.
When the bus stopped for traffic lights, the pigeon perched on a tree branch in easy view of the boys’ closed window. When the traffic moved forward again, the bird kept pace with the bus.
“It not only wants to ride this bus, it also wants to sit in our seat,” Eric said, laughing.
The pigeon began squawking as it flew. People on the street turned and stared. Motorists in passing cars pointed at the funny sight. Some of them honked their car horns. The children on the bus howled with laughter.
“Maybe it sees its reflection in the window and thinks it’s another bird,” said Steve.
Eric waved his hands at the pigeon. “Shoo, bird! Fly away! You’re causing a traffic jam.”
The determined pigeon kept flying alongside them.
When the bus finally arrived at Lakeview School, Eric reached under the seat to get his books. “Mr. Samuels!” he shouted. “I’ve solved the mystery! There’s another pigeon under the seat, and it looks as if it’s been building a nest, because there’s a lot of grass and twigs down here.”
“So that’s it,” the bus driver replied. “I see now—they must have come in through the window I found open this morning. I guess the birds wanted to make their home in our bus. But they can’t live here, that’s for sure.”
Eric and Steve ran to get Mrs. Kappas, the principal, and Mr. Carter, the school custodian. Soon Mr. Carter brought a ladder, and Eric slipped a piece of cardboard under the partially built nest and handed it to Mr. Carter. Then the custodian climbed the ladder and carefully placed the nest on a sheltered ledge under the eaves of the school-house.
“I hope the pigeons will like it there,” Steve told Eric.
At recess time the children saw that the pigeons did like their new home. Busily they swooped back and forth, carrying bits of this and that to finish building their nest.
Eric noticed that one pigeon seemed to be resting a great deal between swoops. Turning to Steve, Eric said with a grin, “Well, I guess if I’d flown as much as that pigeon has this morning, I’d be tired too!”

Illustrated by Mike Eagle
The McKay family loved music and learned to play instruments. President McKay’s son Lawrence played the violin beautifully.
President McKay: What a beautiful song.
Years later, when Lawrence became a husband and a father, he sold the violin to help make ends meet.
Lawrence: Mildred and I need the money, Father, but how I hated to give up my violin! Playing it often comforted me when I was far from home.
President McKay didn’t hesitate to solve the problem.
President McKay: I understand my son recently sold you this violin. I’m here to buy it back—I prize it too greatly to let it leave our family.
President McKay composed a poem about how much he valued his son’s musical talent and the memories they had made playing music together. A few months later, he put the violin and poem in the mail.
Lawrence: Look, Mildred, a package from my father. What do you think it is?
When Lawrence recognized his beloved violin, tears streamed down his face. He played all of his favorite songs late into the night and vowed never to part with his father’s precious gift again.

“We saw that designer clothes, furniture, and even nice houses can be ruined. Material things don’t matter much,” says Samantha Adams, 17. Following the hurricane, she spent a lot of time working in the bishops’ storehouse. “When I saw people come in who had lost practically everything, it didn’t seem important to worry about how my hair looked or if I had makeup on. I was just glad to help them.”

Samantha, along with Ashley Clarke, and her brother Thomas, 17, worked day after day in the storehouse. “They knew the landmarks and locations, and they understood computers,” explains Mike Dohm, field operations coordinator for the command center that was set up there. “We gave them responsibility for mapping out locations so work crews could get where they needed to go. They saw a need, recognized they could do it, and showed up every day to get it done. There’s just no way we could have done as much as we did without them.”

Having grown up as a practicing Catholic in Maryland, Jean Gardner always thought of bishops as full-time professional clergymen. So when she moved to Utah, she was naturally surprised to learn that her neighbor across the street was not only a truck driver but also the bishop of a local Latter-day Saint ward. Baptized in 2005, Sister Gardner now appreciates belonging to a church with a lay ministry (people who serve part-time and without pay).

As a missionary in France, Chris Ivie served in a small branch where no investigators had attended church in at least a year. Moreover, members couldn’t remember the last time someone had been baptized.
Elder Ivie and his companion prayed about what to do and felt prompted to make sure that each family in the branch had—and was using—a copy of Preach My Gospel. At that point in early 2006, the “Guide to Missionary Service” had been available for just over a year. Elder Ivie and his companion acted on their prompting and ordered and distributed copies of the book.
That was the beginning of big changes for the branch. Although Elder Ivie was in the branch for only two more months, he watched Preach My Gospel transform the attitudes of Church members—youth and adults alike—about missionary work.
“It was working!” remembers Chris. “Members were thinking about missionary work and trying to share the gospel and having great experiences. There was more missionary activity than the branch had seen in years.”
Members began reporting regularly to the missionaries about gospel conversations they were having with family members, friends, or colleagues. When those friends agreed to come to branch activities, other members welcomed them warmly. For Elder Ivie and his companion, that meant they were knocking on doors less and teaching the gospel more. One of the investigators they began teaching was later baptized.
“Sometimes we have this misperception in the Church that missionary work is only for missionaries to do,” says Chris. “But when the members of this branch were prepared through studying Preach My Gospel, they came to realize that they had a role in finding people to be taught. Preach My Gospel helped give them the missionary spirit.”
Chris has now been home in Medway, Massachusetts, for nearly three years, but he still uses Preach My Gospelin his daily study as a gateway to the scriptures. “It helped me be a better missionary. It has helped me be a better gospel teacher. And it is helping me be a better, more Christlike person,” he says.

In 2018, at the University of Utah, a special professorship was created called the “Dr. Russell M. Nelson and Dantzel W. Nelson Presidential Chair in Cardiothoracic Surgery”—cardio, meaning “heart,” and thoracic, meaning “chest.” It honored President Nelson’s important work as a heart surgeon and the support he received from his late wife, Dantzel. This professorship was paid for by a fund designed to last into the future. The individual selected for this type of prestigious professorship receives recognition, salary support, and research funds.
The first surgeon chosen to hold the professorship was Dr. Craig H. Selzman, a skilled heart surgeon who is not a member of our church. At the ceremony to award this professorship to Dr. Selzman, many important guests were in attendance, including President Nelson and his wife Sister Wendy W. Nelson. During the meeting, President Nelson spoke modestly of his pioneering surgical career.
Then Dr. Selzman shared what it meant to him to be appointed to this professorship. He related that four days earlier, after a long day in the operating room, he discovered that one of his patients needed to go back to surgery. He was tired and disappointed, knowing he would have to spend another night in the hospital.
This evening, Dr. Selzman had a life-changing conversation with himself. In the moment, he thought: “On Friday, I will be appointed to a professorship named after Dr. Nelson. He was always known as someone who kept his emotions in check, treated everyone with respect, and never lost his temper. Now that my name will be linked with his, I need to try to be more like him.” Dr. Selzman was already a very considerate surgeon. But he wanted to become even better.
In the past, his surgical team might have been aware of his fatigue and frustration because he may have let it show in his manner and tone of voice. But in the operating room that night, Dr. Selzman made a conscientious effort to be especially supportive and understanding of his team. He felt it made a difference and resolved to continue trying to be more like Dr. Nelson.
Five years later, President Nelson donated his professional papers to the University of Utah. Dignitaries from the university came to formally thank President Nelson. During this event, Dr. Selzman spoke again. Referring to President Nelson’s initials, RMN, he said, “There is an ‘RMN’ ethos that now pervades the Division of Cardiothoracic Surgery at the University of Utah.”
In frustrating situations, Dr. Selzman explained: “I do what we now teach our trainees to do—focus, get over it, and do the best you can. This ethos lives in us every day. We give lapel pins to every member of the division and each new trainee. At the bottom of the pin are the letters ‘RMN.’ The RMN ethos is foundational to our training; we teach it to everyone.” Dr. Selzman had intentionally improved his prior attitude and aspirations because his name was now linked to that of President Nelson.

My thanks to the fellow who asked a question about his mother’s death in the April 1990 issue. It seems that the New Era knows everything that is happening to people. I am on a mission and my mother died a few months ago. I was given two days to go to the funeral. I came back to the mission field, and even though I knew where she was going, it was hard to endure.
Later, when I was transferred to the city I am at now, the first gift I got was the New Era. I opened it to the Question and Answer column. The ideas and experiences shared by the New Era and its contributors helped me. I very much appreciate the way you answer questions and I hope your magazine will continue, for it provides good services.
Elder Akpan, Okon ImohNigeria, West Africa

Because my mother had suffered so much her entire life, she didn’t believe there could be a God. Throughout my childhood, neither did I. But as I got a little older, I started asking questions about God. I asked myself why my family never had a chance to have a good life and why I never had toys, enough food, or new clothes. Every time I asked these questions, I felt somehow in my heart that I wasn’t alone. This feeling comforted me for many years.
When I was about 13 years old, Latter-day Saint missionaries came to our home. They answered all of my questions and taught me about Jesus Christ. They told me there was a church where I could learn more about the gospel in special classes for people my age. They taught me how to pray. They told me about the Book of Mormon. When I was baptized, none of my family came.
I felt lonely, but I knew I was doing the right thing. I was introduced to a new life—a life of hope, happiness, faith, and love. My peers, I knew, were seeking solace in drugs and immorality. I found mine in a loving Heavenly Father and the gospel of His Son. After my baptism I knew that the Lord had been aware of me my entire life.
I learned a lot about the gospel. I met people who shared my beliefs. Some of the members got to know a little bit about my life when they visited me at home. They generously helped me buy clothes and shoes for church and notebooks for school. I babysat regularly for Church members and made more money than I ever had before. Because I was so young, it might have been easy for me to stray from the gospel. But with the support of Church members, I remained firm in my newfound faith.
The gospel truly changed my life. After I was baptized, I felt I had more energy to learn in school. I learned a lot and became a tutor. If I did not know a subject, I would study until I knew it so well I could teach it. I used the money to help at home.
I received my patriarchal blessing and was counseled to serve a mission because the Lord reserved a special blessing in my mission that would change my life forever. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew I would understand in time if I was obedient.
I served in the Brazil Curitiba Mission from 2000 to 2002. Through my association with a particular companion, I was able to go to the United States to study. I knew this would indeed change my life forever. I knew my Heavenly Father was aware of me and had a specific plan for me. This opportunity to further my education was an answer to my prayers.
I knew that it would be challenging to learn a second language, but I also knew it was possible if I worked hard enough. I studied at the Brigham Young University English Language Center and spent up to 10 hours a day in the library. One of my teachers suggested we pray for the gift of tongues, so every night I prayed and asked Heavenly Father for this gift. He certainly helped me.
After I completed my studies at the English Language Center, I was accepted at several universities. I decided to attend Brigham Young University–Idaho and apply for the nursing program. I heard that it was very difficult to get into the program, especially for international students. So I studied my hardest. My friends teased me, saying I should move into the library because I spent so much time there. Even when it closed, I went home and kept studying.
When times were difficult, I remembered the words of President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008): “You need all the education you can get. Sacrifice a car; sacrifice anything that is needed to be sacrificed to qualify yourselves to do the work of the world.”1 I knew those were the words of a prophet of God, and I took them seriously.
When I was accepted to the nursing program, my heart filled with gratitude and happiness. I knew it would be hard and I would have to continue to make sacrifices, but I knew the Lord would be with me.
While in school, I met my husband, and we were married in 2007. My mother also joined the Church that year. She told me that she had never known why I was so happy, even with all the terrible things that had happened to us. But once she joined the Church, she understood. The gospel of Jesus Christ has blessed my family, and I’m happy to see my mother blessed after all the sacrifices she has made. I will always be grateful for her.
By the beginning of 2010, I was preparing for graduation—and was pregnant with our first child. Two months before I was to graduate from the nursing program, I had complications with my pregnancy, and our baby was born via cesarean section. My teachers told me I should take time off from school and graduate later. But I was so close—only two months away!
So my husband and I carefully organized our time so we could properly balance our priorities and I could complete my education. I scheduled my study time so I could give my husband and our son the attention they needed. Sometimes my husband’s parents stayed with our son while I was in class. Two great classmates helped me review class materials. I felt that the Lord had sent all of these people to support me through this difficult time.
After graduation I passed the state certification exam and started working as a nurse to help support our family while my husband completes his education. Even though I am not planning on working once my husband starts his career, if a tragedy or economic hardship requires me to work in the future, my education helps me feel prepared to do so.
Mom was right: education does have the capacity to change lives. It has changed mine, and it will change the lives of my children. I hope they will realize that I am successful because I followed the Lord’s plan for me. He wanted me to get an education, and He helped me every step of the way. I hope my children learn how to work like I did and that they come to value education as much as I do.

Lots of children dream of being movie stars. But Matthew Krok of Castlereagh, Australia, has already been one—a very successful one—for several years. In fact, Matthew may be one of the best known actors in all of Australia.
Although he’s only 11 years old, Matthew has already been in a number of commercials and a feature film, and for four years has had a supporting role in a television comedy called Hey, Dad. He’s the winner of two People’s Choice awards and has been interviewed in and appeared on the covers of numerous national magazines.
But the two things that truly seem to impress people when they get to know Matthew may surprise you. First, they’re impressed that he’s from a big family (five children) with strong values, something that’s all too rare in the acting industry. Second, they’re amazed at how humble he is, despite all the attention stardom can bring.
Maybe it’s because he understands that fame doesn’t last forever.
“We’re not really concerned about how long Matt’s success in acting continues,” explains Matt’s father, John. “If it continues, great. If not, he’s doing well in school, and he’ll go on to something else.”
“I only got into acting because we were trying to earn some spending money,” Matthew explains. “First we were gathering cans for recycling, but all that driving around ended up costing Mum a lot of money in petrol.”
So when his sister Lisa talked about a friend of hers who had done some TV work, “we thought we might have a go at that. We went to an agency. I auditioned and got a commercial. From then on, they kept asking me to do commercials. It was slow at first, and then it started getting faster and faster. Then there was a break, and that led me to doing the television series.”
Hey, Dad is the story of a widowed father who is struggling to be both mum and dad to his children. Matthew plays the part of a neighbor, the son of a single mother. There are lots of lessons learned, lots of discussions about family values.
“But the family on the show is a lot different from our family, because their lives are so disjointed,” Matthew’s father says. “I think that sometimes Matt finds it hard to relate to the situation.”
Maybe that’s because Matt knows families can be—and should be—forever. He talks reverently about receiving a priesthood blessing from his father. He’s excited that he’ll soon turn 12, because it means he’ll have the opportunity to receive the priesthood himself. It also means he will be able to do baptisms for the dead in the Sydney Australia Temple, about an hour’s drive from his home. He’s pleased that his family was shown on a national news program having prayers before dinner. He’s excited to have four cousins serving full-time missions—and would like to serve one himself. And he has a great love for his parents and his brother and sisters.
“My brother, Ethan, teases me a lot,” Matthew jokes, “but that’s what older brothers do!”
Seriously, he adds, “I know my Heavenly Father loves his children and that we’re in families to feel that same kind of love.”
When you visit Matthew and watch him play with his friends, you realize that he’s a normal 11-year-old Australian. He lives in the country, jumps on the trampoline, helps his dad and brother with chores, and likes to ride his bicycle.
He will probably continue to do well as an actor. But as one director wrote in a letter to the Krok family, “If in time he gets out of acting, I wouldn’t worry. He has a solid set of values that will see him through.”

“My brother drove an ox team for a widow and her little girl. The little girl was very sweet and amiable, the mother rather peculiar. He said that she would ask more questions in a day than ten men could answer in a week. He was a born joker and could no more help joking than he could help breathing. He could never tell her anything so absurd or ridiculous but what she believed it. He got so tired of her questions, such as ‘Riley, I wonder how far we have traveled today?’ and ‘I wonder how far we will travel tomorrow?’ ‘I wonder if we will get to water?’ ‘I wonder if we will see any Indians?’ and ‘I wonder what they will do?’ ‘Will they be friendly or savage?’ Her wondering got so monotonous he could hardly stand it.
“At last he had his revenge when we came in sight of Chimney Rock. Anybody who has crossed the plains either by wagon or rail will remember seeing this—a land mark—it is very tall and shaped something like a smokestack and probably centuries old. At the rate we traveled it could be seen several days before we reached it. [When] she began her speculations about the rock, he told her in a most confidential way that as soon as we got to it, he was going to push it down, that he was sick and tired of hearing so much about Chimney Rock, that it had stood there long enough anyway. As soon as he got his hands on it, over it would go. Well, she begged and implored him to let it stand that other emigrants might see it who came after us, but he was obdurate. She then threatened him to tell Brigham, when she got to the Valley. That was always her last resort. Well, he kept her anxiety at fever heat for two days until we were within about a half mile of it. He then gave in to her pleadings and said he would let it stand. She was so delighted that she gave him an extra good dinner and supper that day.”

I remember my first Mutual activity. I went as a guest or investigator a couple of days after my 12th birthday, before I was even a member.
To be honest, I really didn’t want to be there. My excuse was that I didn’t know anyone who claimed they went to this Church. At the time, I was attending a different Christian program that was just mainly fun. I really liked my friends there and the competitive games provided by the youth directors. So technically I was comparing the two church programs to see which one I liked best, and I was sure that I already knew which one I preferred and didn’t need to prove it by going to Mutual.
Or so I thought.
After my mom pleaded and begged, I found myself the following Wednesday night dragging up the concrete steps and opening the door for the first time.
I was instantly welcomed by many girls my age and even some older. “Strange,” I thought. “They don’t even know me and yet, they’re going out of their way to be extra nice.” There was this warm, sweet peace enfolding me as I timidly sat down in a chair in the room where the Beehives were meeting. I don’t really remember much from my real first encounter with the Church, but I do remember one thing—how I felt.
I do recall the Beehive activity was being read out of a cute periwinkle-colored book. I participated to the best of my ability and passed off my first value experience. I didn’t know at the time that this little Personal Progress book, and what it guided me to learn, would reach the depths of my heart and only four months later help me want to enter the waters of baptism.
Now, almost four years later, I have gained a humble testimony of my Savior through the teachings and powerful messages located right in that same cute little book I was introduced to years ago. This book helped me understand and live the gospel by studying and heeding the scriptures and words of modern prophets.
I am so grateful that I followed the counsel of Jesus Christ and came unto Him. I shudder to think of where I might have been drifting if I had stayed with what I thought was just a fun church program so long ago.

“Put your foot inside this shoe,” seminary teacher Tatyana Mutilina said, holding out a boot nearly large enough for Goliath. Her student, Anzhelika Kovalova, placed her foot timidly inside.
“Now,” the teacher said, “put it here on the table where everyone can see.”
That got the class’s attention.
“Don’t go on a journey wearing shoes that don’t fit,” Sister Mutilina said. Then she taught the Kharkovsky Branch youth a powerful lesson from the seminary manual, reading scriptures, discussing questions, and bearing her testimony about how important it is to be prepared when the Lord calls upon you. The point?
“That the future of the Church in Ukraine will require youth like us to step forward,” Anzhelika says. “We need to be ready for the challenge.” She is not the only young LDS woman here with such an understanding. Others share similar views.

Celebrating Christ’s life during the Christmas season brings both families and friends closer together. Jennifer Adams, of Pleasanton, California, discovered this when she went away to school.
She and her roommates knew they would spend most of the time leading up to Christmas away from their families. But they didn’t want to miss out on the traditions and special experiences of home, so they started some of their own.
They took a long candle, decorated it with numbers from 1 to 25, and placed it in the center of the living room. Every night they lit the candle and let it burn down one number.
While the candle burned, they sang traditional Christmas hymns and shared stories of service and giving. Some nights, they bore testimony of the Savior and talked about what Christmas meant to them.
It only took 15 minutes a night and made for a meaningful holiday season. It became a tradition Jennifer will one day incorporate in her own home. It also brought the roommates closer together and created a feeling of having a family even while they were away at college.

There was an old man in our ward who was visually impaired and couldn’t come to church. He is good friends with my dad, and I felt prompted to help him.
One of my friends and I got permission from my bishop to take the sacrament to him every Sunday. While I was doing that, I realized that sometimes he needed someone to iron his clothes. Then I realized he wasn’t able to do Come, Follow Me or read the Book of Mormon, so I read aloud to him.
The more I tried to be aware of ways to serve, the more I found things I could do to make a difference. This man has now moved away to be with his daughters, but I felt peace when I served him.
When Christ came to earth, He came to serve. I know that by serving this man, I was getting closer to my Savior.

One of my fondest childhood memories is shivering in our car with the windows opened a bit as we waited and listened for our neighbor. My family had spent hours painting cute figures on giant barrels, and we had secretly delivered them to a young boy with muscular dystrophy. He would use them to do special exercises to build his muscles. We heard squeals of laughter and joy as he discovered the surprise on his front porch. I was excited as well to be a little girl who had helped make that boy so happy. I had discovered the joy of service.

On February 4 of 1990, our third son and sixth child was born. We named him Tyson. He was a beautiful little boy, and the family greeted him with open hearts and open arms. His brothers and sisters were so proud of him. We all thought he was the most perfect little boy who had ever been born.
When Tyson was eight months old, he aspirated a piece of chalk that he had found on the carpet. The chalk lodged in Tyson’s throat, and he quit breathing. His older brother brought Tyson upstairs, frantically calling, “The baby won’t breathe. The baby won’t breathe.” We began to administer CPR and called 911.
The paramedics arrived and rushed Tyson to the hospital. In the waiting room we continued in fervent prayer as we pled to God for a miracle. After what seemed a lifetime, the doctor came into the room and said, “I am so sorry. There is nothing more we can do. Take all the time you need.” She then left.
As we entered the room where Tyson lay, we saw our lifeless little bundle of joy. It seemed as though he had a celestial glow around his little body. He was so radiant and pure.
At that moment it felt as if our world had come to an end. How could we return to the other children and somehow try to explain that Tyson wasn’t coming home?
I will speak in the singular as I relate the rest of this experience. My angel wife and I experienced this trial together, but I am inadequate in expressing the feelings of a mother and would not even try to do so.
It is impossible to describe the mixture of feelings that I had at that point in my life. Most of the time I felt as if I were in a bad dream and that I would soon wake up and this terrible nightmare would be over. For many nights I didn’t sleep. I often wandered in the night from one room to the other, making sure that our other children were all safe.
Feelings of guilt racked my soul. I felt so guilty. I felt dirty. I was his father; I should have done more to protect him. If only I would have done this or that. Sometimes even today, 22 years later, those feelings begin to creep into my heart, and I need to get rid of them quickly because they can be destructive.
About a month after Tyson died, I had an interview with Elder Dean L. Larsen. He took the time to listen to me, and I will always be grateful for his counsel and love. He said, “I don’t think the Lord would want you to punish yourself for the death of your little boy.” I felt the love of my Heavenly Father through one of his chosen vessels.
However, tormenting thoughts continued to plague me, and I soon began to feel anger. “This isn’t fair! How could God do this to me? Why me? What did I do to deserve this?” I even felt myself get angry with people who were just trying to comfort us. I remember friends saying, “I know how you feel.” I would think to myself, “You have no idea how I feel. Just leave me alone.” I soon found that self-pity can also be very debilitating. I was ashamed of myself for having unkind thoughts about dear friends who were only trying to help.
As I felt the guilt, anger, and self-pity trying to consume me, I prayed that my heart could change. Through very personal sacred experiences, the Lord gave me a new heart, and even though it was still lonely and painful, my whole outlook changed. I was given to know that I had not been robbed but rather that there was a great blessing awaiting me if I would prove faithful.
My life started to change, and I was able to look forward with hope, rather than look backward with despair. I testify that this life is not the end. The spirit world is real. The teachings of the prophets regarding life after death are true. This life is but a transitory step forward on our journey back to our Heavenly Father.
Tyson has remained a very integral part of our family. Through the years it has been wonderful to see the mercy and kindness of a loving Father in Heaven, who has allowed our family to feel in very tangible ways the influence of Tyson. I testify that the veil is thin. The same feelings of loyalty, love, and family unity don’t end as our loved ones pass to the other side; instead, those feelings are intensified.
Sometimes people will ask, “How long did it take you to get over it?” The truth is, you will never completely get over it until you are together once again with your departed loved ones. I will never have a fulness of joy until we are reunited in the morning of the First Resurrection.

Big teardrops splashed down Bobby’s cheeks as he watched Freddie and Dick lug Freddie’s wading pool over to Dick’s house. All the way home from school, the three boys had eagerly planned making a jungle hideout in a pile of dirt behind Dick’s garage. Dick’s father had said they could.
Freddie’s wading pool would be their hidden lake. The green branches Dick’s father had pruned from his shade trees would be the jungle trees. They would use their stuffed toys and odd-shaped rocks and pieces of bark for animals. Bobby knew where there was a crooked stick, streaked brown, that looked like a snake. He planned to put it on one of the trees for a huge python, just like in real jungles.
They were going to wear their shorts and go barefoot, like Tarzan. They’d creep through their jungle with bows and arrows, looking for wild animals. Oh, what fun they were going to have!
Bobby had rushed into his house to get a snack and to put on his shorts—and there, on the refrigerator door, was the note: DON‘T FORGET, BOBBY! Love, Mom.
He was so disappointed that he didn’t even look to see what she had left for a snack. Who’d feel like eating when he had to weed two rows of corn before he could play!
It didn’t help to remember that it was his own fault. He had fooled around all day Saturday while Dad, Mom, Susan, and Peggy did their weeding. Then, when he was about ready to start, who should come but Aunt Alice, Uncle John, Nick, and Michael.
“We’ll let it go for now. We mustn’t disappoint your cousins. They have come all the way from Bountiful to play with you,” Mother had said, adding firmly, “but you may not play after school Monday until your weeding is done.”
And there was the note to remind him.
Bobby started to cry. He felt awful. He felt even worse when he saw Freddie and Dick go by with the wading pool. They were going to make their jungle without him. And it was his own fault.
Trudging to the garden, he began pulling weeds. He started working fast, hoping to finish in time to play awhile before dinnertime. Then he remembered how Dad had told him to be extra careful to not injure the tender stalks of corn. He couldn’t work fast. He had to be careful.
When he looked down at the row of corn, it looked as long as a road that never ends. And he had two of those long rows to weed before he could play! He’d never get through in time to play jungle with his friends.
Bobby started to cry again, which, of course, only made matters worse—no weeds got pulled while he cried.
He noticed a shadow approaching and looked up. His father was standing behind him.
Usually Bobby was happy when Dad came home. But not today. If Dad was home already, it would soon be dinnertime. That meant no time at all for play.
“My boy seems upset,” Dad said.
Bobby tried to sniff back the tears.
“Those rows must look mighty long to you,” Dad guessed.
“Yes,” Bobby sobbed. “And Dick and Freddie are making a keen jungle—and I don’t get to help.”
“I know a trick,” Dad said.
“What kind of trick?”
“One that makes long rows grow shorter,” Dad answered, his eyes twinkling.
“No trick can do that.”
“Try it and see.” Dad tossed a small stick a little way down the row. “If you don’t look one bit farther than that stick, the row will grow shorter. Go on. Try it.”
Bobby started pulling weeds. In no time he had reached the stick.
“Now throw it a little farther down. But don’t look up,” Dad said.
This time Bobby seemed to reach the stick even faster. Dad tossed the stick again, and Bobby weeded to it. Again. Suddenly Bobby’s head almost touched the fence. He had reached the end of the row! “Wow! The row really did grow shorter!”
“Now do the other row the same way,” Dad suggested.
Bobby tossed the stick, then weeded to it. Again and again he tossed the stick and weeded to it. Then, as if by magic, he was through!
“Now look at the rows,” Dad said.
Bobby was amazed. The two rows weren’t shorter at all. They were as long as the other rows in the garden, just like before.
Then Bobby understood Dad’s “trick”: To make a job go faster, do it a piece at a time and work with a will. He looked up. The sun was still a long way from the mountain. Dad must have come home early. There was still time for play!
“Yippee!” he shouted. He gave Dad a big hug, hurried inside to change his pants, then got his “snake stick” and rushed to Dick’s yard to help transform a pile of dirt into a dark, mysterious jungle full of adventure and fun.

I couldn’t help noticing Kristy, a beautiful brunette I’d had a crush on since my freshman year. She was with some of her church friends. I decided to go see what she was doing.
“Hi. Are you ready for the big game?”
“As ready as I’m going to be. It should be a good game! What are you doing?” I didn’t really care but I wanted to sound interested in what she was doing. I heard girls like that.
“I’m passing out flyers on tips that have made my life wonderful. Do you want one?” Kristy asked in a hesitant tone. Well, I did notice that she always seemed happy and confident. I guess that’s why I was so attracted to her.
“Sure. Why not?” I took a pamphlet, and she gave me a beautiful smile.
I pulled out the flyer and read the title: For the Strength of Youth.
What a strange title, I thought. I’m already strong from weight lifting, but I guess I could use some extra strength. I started reading about standards, dating, language, sexual purity, and other stuff. I had never heard anything so crazy in my life. Why would anyone want to live by these standards? I was, however, curious about some of the beliefs. Like most others my age, I wondered about life and what I was going to do with it.
I talked to Kristy the next day about what I read. I was so amazed at how strong she was about her beliefs in the standards explained in the pamphlet. She then asked me if I’d like to meet two of her friends. Her friends turned out to be missionaries from her church.
During my discussions with the missionaries, I felt something I had never felt before. I had a feeling that told me what they were saying was true. I began to understand why those standards were so important, and how I could, by living those standards, bring more happiness to my life and become a stronger person.
With the help of Kristy and her “friends,” I was soon baptized. I’ll always be thankful for her great example. She helped teach me that being strong is more than building physical muscles. By sharing For the Strength of Youth with me, I learned about standards that helped me develop my spiritual muscles.