Gospel Story Finder

“Please, Mister,” the holdupper half-pleaded and half-threatened as he cocked the pistol pointed at the head of the tall American missionary, “I will be forced to shoot if you resist!”
The frightening episode was taking place on a street in San Andres Bukid (Manila) in broad daylight and in full view of terrified bystanders as two men, one armed with a .22 caliber pistol and the other with a fan knife, were forcing two missionaries to part with their attache cases, wallets and watches.
Sensing the futility of the situation, Elder William D. Larkin yielded. Elder Danilo M. Mabunga of Cubao, Quezon City, at whose neck the fan knife was pointed, did the same. Elder Mabunga, a five-foot-three Filipino then only two months old in the service of the Lord as fulltime missionary, was facing his first test on his missionary zeal.
After reporting the matter to the police, the two missionaries went home with an exciting story to tell their zone and district leaders. A week later, the two elders had another story to tell.
On August 25, 1975, a big bully who operated a shoe repair shop, along busy Herran street in Paco, Manila, resenting Elder Mabunga’s protest over the obvious overcharging for the repair of Elder Larkin’s pair of shoes, held the Filipino missionary by the collar and started to manhandle him.
The ensuing commotion caught the attention of an off-duty cop who was by chance in the vicinity and who came to the aid of the missionaries. The incident ended with a brief interlude of friendship with the cop, to whom they related their experience a week before, who in turn promised to help in the apprehension of the holdup men.
They shook hands and parted ways—but the harrowing experience of two unnerving incidents in a week’s time apparently was disconcerting to the two missionaries. Both forgot to take note of the cop’s name and address! That evening, they prayed hard for an opportunity to cross paths with him again.
One evening during the same week, they were teaching the gospel to the big Molinos family residing at Fabie Estate, Paco, Manila when someone knocked on the door. The elders momentarily stopped as the head of the family excused himself to open the door.
The Lord, indeed, works in strange ways. Who should come knocking on the door but the cop whose name the two elders forgot to take note of, and who turned out to be a relative on an unscheduled visit to the Molinos family without any purpose in mind.
The reunion resulted in a new turn of events in the life of the cop. He joined the Molinos family in listening to the message of the elders, hardly realizing that Elder Larkin and Elder Mabunga were silently thanking the Lord for an opportunity that came at the least expected moment.—P. Ocampo Jr.
Notes: The cop, Patrolman Antonio Buenaflor Molinos of Precinct 5, was baptized September 27, 1975, almost a month ahead of the big Molinos family of 2174 Road 5, Fabie Estate, Paco, Manila.
One of the holduppers was apprehended and jailed.

“I was in a fast and testimony meeting only last Sunday. A 15- or 16-year-old boy stood before the congregation and said that he had decided to be baptized.

“Then one by one boys of the teachers quorum stepped to the microphone to express their love for him, to tell him that he was doing the right thing, and to assure him that they would stand with him and help him. It was a wonderful experience to hear those young men speak words of appreciation and encouragement to their friend. I am satisfied that all of those boys, including the one who was baptized last week, will go on missions.”7

We teach our children everywhere we are with them, and I believe we should have fun with them while we are doing it! We have opportunities many times a day to teach them as we walk together, drive in the car, work side by side, kneel in prayer, talk at the dinner table, and even when we change diapers. It didn’t take me long to realize soon after our first child, Natalie, was born that changing diapers was not on my list of favorite things to do. So to help me survive this recurring ordeal, I sang Primary songs to her to make it nicer for both of us. Soon the routine of changing diapers became second nature and didn’t bother me anymore. However, I continued to sing to Natalie and the rest of our children as I performed this duty, because I realized I had an opportunity many times a day to teach my child.

Also, my father was very responsive. He found that President Layton, who was beginning to get rather old and feeble, didn’t have the help to do the things he needed to do, and he had a big orchard. So Father gathered all of us children up, with all the buckets and pans, and with the consent and approval of President Layton we all went down to his orchard and picked fruit on shares. There was a large family of the Laytons and there was a large family of us. We divided the pickings from the orchard and went forward with our program. My dear mother knew how to make ends meet. We had a pantry and that pantry was always filled with bottled fruits and everything else you could think of that was available at the time.

I love sparkly things. I always have. I love how sparkles capture and reflect light, and I think that’s why I love crystal chandeliers so much. I especially love the crystal chandeliers in the temple.
I remember reverently walking through a temple open house with my family when I was only nine years old. I’ll never forget standing under the chandeliers in the celestial room in absolute awe. I couldn’t believe how beautiful, clean, and white everything was.
When we walked out of the temple, my grandpa told me he had a gift for me. My eyes grew bigger as my grandpa pulled a sparkly necklace from his pocket. It was a long chain with a small, single crystal on the end—just like the ones in the temple.
“I made this for you,” my grandpa said as he tied the necklace around my neck. My grandpa is an electrician. He sells all kinds of beautiful light fixtures. He told me he made the necklace with an extra crystal from his shop and he wanted me to wear it so it would remind me of the temple.
He asked me to promise I would go to the temple someday, and he bore his testimony of how the temple had blessed his life and how it can bless everyone’s lives. Every time I wore my crystal necklace I would think of the temple and how I wanted to go inside. I always remembered that promise I made to my grandpa.
When I was finally old enough to go do baptisms at the temple, I loved every chance I got to go. In the temple, I have always felt connected to my Heavenly Father. And I will never forget the feeling I had after receiving my endowment. After that sacred experience, I walked into the celestial room and hugged my grandpa under the beautiful crystal chandelier.
My grandpa was right about how the temple can bless our lives. It has continued to bless me my entire life because it helps me remember my purpose here on earth.

My mind goes back to a day when I was approaching my eighteenth birthday. We were all very fearful. World War II was still being fought, and every young man knew that he had to make a choice. There was not much latitude to the choice: he could choose to go into the army, or he could choose to go into the navy. I enlisted in the navy.

Forty-four of us young men stood there in the recruiting office. I shall never forget the chief petty officers coming up to us and presenting a choice. They said, “Now, you young men must make an important choice. On one hand, you can be wise and choose to join the regular navy. You can enlist for four years. You will receive the finest schooling. You will be given every opportunity because the navy looks upon you as its own. If you choose not to follow this direction, you can go into the naval reserves. The navy does not have much interest in the naval reserves at this stage of the game. You will receive no schooling. You will be sent out to sea duty. No one knows what your future might be.”

Then they asked us to sign on the dotted line. I turned to my father and said, “What should I do, Dad?”

In a voice choked with emotion, he replied, “I don’t know anything about the navy.” That was the position of every father who was there that day.

Forty-two of the forty-four enlisted in the regular navy for four years. The forty-third one could not pass the regular navy physical, so he had to enlist in the reserves.

Then they came to me; and I confess to you that I sent a prayer heavenward, earnestly hoping that the Lord would answer it. And he did. The thought came to me just as clearly as though I had heard a voice, “Ask those chief petty officers which they chose.”

I asked each of those veteran petty officers: “Did you choose the regular navy, or did you choose the reserves?”

Each of them had chosen the reserves.

I turned and said, “With all the wisdom and experience that you have, I want to be on your side.”

I chose the reserves, which meant that I enlisted for the duration of the war, plus six months. The war ended, and within a year I was honorably discharged from the service. I was able to continue my schooling. I had the privilege of serving in many Church capacities. Who knows how the course of my life might have been changed had I not taken that moment to call upon my Heavenly Father for guidance and direction in what might appear to some to have been a minor decision!

Three years later, young Patrick found himself in boarding school back in England feeling great loneliness for his parents, a loneliness cushioned only by their encouraging letters.
“Harry Potter definitely had it cushy at Hogwarts by comparison. It was hard,” he says of boarding school. “I’d go home only for Christmas, Easter, and summer. I made little calendars on sheets of paper, putting a line through each day, counting down the days until I could return to my family.”
A few years later, while Patrick was at his second boarding school in England, a powerful storm blew in from the Irish Sea. The resulting storm surge flooded 5,000 homes in the surrounding area. Patrick and his classmates were called upon to help with the massive cleanup.
“I still remember the weight of the sodden carpets and the stench of it all,” he says. “But I remember digging in and getting the work done with my fellow school friends. And I remember the people and their gratitude.”
That experience was perhaps Patrick’s first glimpse into the mutual blessings of rendering and receiving service. Later, he realized that his teenage feelings of insecurity had left him “while I was involved in this great effort to assist our neighbors.”

I can’t wait to be a deacon. Ever since I was little, I’ve watched with envy as the older boys passed the sacrament. It’s an important job, and they always seem to know just where to go when they pass the sacrament. Now it’s my turn. My twelfth birthday is this week, and I’ve been learning about the priesthood in Blazer class. I’ve been dreaming about passing the sacrament myself. I wonder if I’ll get to pass it to the bishop?

My Blazer teacher had told us that we would be interviewed by the bishop before we could be ordained. This would be my second interview—he had already interviewed me when I was going to get baptized. But I’ve lived half my life again since then!

I like my bishop. I see him every Sunday, and he knows my name. Sometimes he says hi. But I still worried about that interview. Did I know enough to be a deacon? Would he ask me about things I keep secret? Could I share my secrets with him? If I did, would he keep them secret?

Friday after dinner the bishop’s secretary called and said the bishop wanted to see me after my Blazer class on Sunday. I said OK, but I was nervous. In my mind I went over everything I thought that he might ask me. I began to remember all the things that happened this year. Some of them I wished hadn’t happened.

Sunday after class I headed for the Bishop’s office. What a busy place! I thought. Everybody wants to see him. I think I’ll go home and come another day.

But he saw me. “Hello there, Bobby,” he called. “Come in and sit down, please. Excuse me just one moment.” He stepped out into the hall to talk to someone about something. I wondered what they were talking about. I looked around his office. He had a big chair and a desk, a picture of the Savior, and a picture of President Benson. I saw the scriptures on his desk. They sure were ragged. I wondered what it would be like to be a bishop.

The door opened, and the Bishop came back in and sat next to me. He shook my hand. “Thank you for coming to see me,” he said. “You’re almost twelve, the age at which we normally confer the Aaronic Priesthood and ordain boys as deacons. I’ve talked with your father, and he also felt that you and I should have this interview. Tell me what you know and how you feel about the priesthood.”

Oh no, I thought. What shall I tell him? He probably knows everything about the priesthood. I started by telling him some things from Blazer class and some things my mother had taught me. He didn’t interrupt, and once I got started, my nervousness went away.

When I finished, he said, “Very good. I can see that you’ve been paying attention and that you understand some important principles. There are some scriptures about the priesthood that I’d like to share with you. They’re some of my favorites.”

He turned first to section 20 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 20]. We read from it and talked about the duties of a deacon. Then we read from section 84 [D&C 84] and talked about the covenant of the Aaronic priesthood. After that, he turned to what he said was his favorite scripture—section 121. We read from verse 34 [D&C 121:34] to the end of the section. He helped me understand what the promise in verse 38 [D&C 121:38] meant.

Then he looked me right in the eyes and asked if I was paying tithing. I thought about how hard it had been to start. I was sure happy that I could say I was a full tithe payer. I told him how good I felt when I paid my tithing.

Next he asked me if I ever smoked or drank alcoholic beverages or took drugs. I remembered the time my friends and I had tried a cigarette, and I didn’t want to say anything. I hadn’t even told my parents. I knew it was wrong when I’d done it, and I still felt bad about it. Something inside me said, “Speak up,” but I just couldn’t. My silence must have told the bishop I was wrestling with something, because he talked to me about keeping secrets. He called it “confidentiality.” He said that he would keep anything I told him a secret unless I gave him permission to share it with my parents. Then he waited.

It seemed like a long time while I figured out what words to use. I told him about smoking and how ashamed it made me feel. We talked about how it had happened and what I should do to repent. I didn’t tell him who I’d done it with, and he didn’t ask me to. He said that his knowing their names had nothing to do with my worthiness to receive the priesthood. We discussed the help my parents could give me, and I decided to tell them. A calm feeling came over me. I guess that’s what happens when you do something that you know is right.

When the bishop asked me if I was morally clean, I didn’t know what he meant, so I asked him. He explained about keeping my mind and body clean. We talked about how to do that. He explained that if I lived righteously, the power of the priesthood would always be with me.

He asked me to kneel with him and say a prayer, so I did. It was a short one. Then he prayed. He asked Heavenly Father to bless me, and that made me feel good. I knew that my bishop liked me.

I can hardly wait to tell Mom and Dad about my interview. They’ll be happy for me and will help me be a good, worthy bearer of the priesthood. Just think—next Sunday I’ll be presented in sacrament meeting by the bishop to be sustained to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and be ordained a deacon. Then after the block meetings, the ordinance will be performed. And the week after that I’ll pass the sacrament. I’m going to be reverent when I do and try to set a good example. Maybe some younger boys will be looking up to me.

On his first visit back to Hawaii after many years, his Hawaiian mama was nearly 90 years-of-age. She was blind. As the brethren were standing where the people were gathering, he heard her calling (I hope I can tell this and not lose my composure) "Iosepa, Iosepa." Then he saw his blind Hawaiian mama with a few bananas in her hand, coming to pay tribute to him. Just think of it. Here's an Apostle of God, soon to become the Prophet, who walks through the crowd of people, reaches down and embraces his Hawaiian mama, kisses her, pats her on the head and then confides to his friend, "This is my Hawaiian mother, who nursed me when I was but a boy." [See Nibley, Charles W. 1919, "Reminiscences of President Joseph F. Smith," Improvement Era 193-194]

At another time my companion and I visited two sisters who lived with their mother. Both had a great desire for their mother to join the Church, and whenever we came to visit, they would call for her to join us. But she would always answer, “I’m busy,” or “I have a lot to do,” in an unfriendly tone.
One wintry day—a day when we got so cold and tired that we practically had to force ourselves to finish our visiting—our last stop was at the house of this aloof woman. But when she opened the door, we could see that her whole countenance was changed. Her little granddaughter had just fallen and cut her forehead and was bleeding profusely above the eyebrow. I took a towel and pressed it hard against the wound while my companion quickly found coats so that we could take a taxi to the hospital. While the child was taken care of, we comforted the grandmother and watched the other little girl. Then we took everyone home. Eventually this woman became a member of the Church and a visiting teacher.

I know a man who studied for the ministry. Then just before his ordination he dropped out because there were so many unanswered questions. He still regarded himself as a devout, if somewhat disillusioned, Christian. He found another profession, married, and was raising a family when our missionaries found him.
He made a very superficial study of the doctrines of the Church and found them tolerable enough. The fundamentals of Christianity were visible. But he was most interested in programs and activities that would benefit his family.
It was after he was baptized that he made the discovery of his life. To his surprise he found, underlying the programs of the Church, a solid foundation of doctrine. He had no idea of the depth and breadth and height of our theology. When once he moved from interest in the programs to a study of the gospel of Jesus Christ, he found answers which explained to his full satisfaction the deep questions that had left him unable to accept ordination as a clergyman.
One doctrine was completely new to him. Although he was a student of the Bible, he had not found it there until he read the other revelations. Then the Bible was clear to him and he understood.
The doctrine is so logical, so reasonable, and explains so many things, that it is a wonder that the Christian world rejected it. It is so essential a part of the equation of life that, left out, life just cannot add up, it remains a mystery.
The doctrine is simply this: life did not begin with mortal birth. We lived in spirit form before we entered mortality. We are spiritually the children of God.
This doctrine of premortal life was known to ancient Christians. For nearly five hundred years the doctrine was taught, but it was then rejected as a heresy by a clergy that had slipped into the Dark Ages of apostasy.
Once they rejected this doctrine, the doctrine of premortal life, and the doctrine of redemption for the dead, they could never unravel the mystery of life. They became like a man trying to assemble a strand of pearls on a string that was too short. There is no way they can put them all together.
Why is it so strange a thought that we lived as spirits before entering mortality? Christian doctrine proclaims the Resurrection, meaning that we will live after mortal death. If we live beyond death, why should it be strange that we lived before birth?
The Christian world in general accepts the idea that our condition in the Resurrection will be determined by our actions in this life. Why can they not believe that some circumstances in this life were determined by our actions before coming into mortality?
The scriptures teach this doctrine, the doctrine of premortal life. For His own reasons, the Lord provides answers to some questions, with pieces placed here and there throughout the scriptures. We are to find them; we are to earn them. In that way sacred things are hidden from the insincere.
Of the many verses revealing this doctrine, I will quote two short phrases from the testimony of John in the ninety-third section of the Doctrine and Covenants. The first, speaking of Christ, says plainly, “He was in the beginning, before the world was.” (D&C 93:7.)
And the other, referring to us, says with equal clarity, “Ye were also in the beginning with the Father.” (D&C 93:23.)
Essential facts about our premortal life have been revealed. Although they are sketchy, they unravel the mystery of life.
When we comprehend the doctrine of premortal life, we know that we are the children of God, that we lived with him in spirit form before entering mortality.
We know that this life is a test, that life did not begin with birth, nor will it end with death.
Then life begins to make sense, with meaning and purpose even in all of the chaotic mischief that mankind creates for itself.
Imagine that you are attending a football game. The teams seem evenly matched. One team has been trained to follow the rules; the other, to do just the opposite. They are committed to cheat and disobey every rule of sportsmanlike conduct.
While the game ends in a tie, it is determined that it must continue until one side wins decisively.
Soon the field is a quagmire.
Players on both sides are being ground into the mud. The cheating of the opposing team turns to brutality.
Players are carried off the field. Some have been injured critically; others, it is whispered, fatally. It ceases to be a game and becomes a battle.
You become very frustrated and upset. “Why let this go on? Neither team can win. It must be stopped.”
Imagine that you confront the sponsor of the game and demand that he stop this useless, futile battle. You say it is senseless and without purpose. Has he no regard at all for the players?
He calmly replies that he will not call the game. You are mistaken. There is a great purpose in it. You have not understood.
He tells you that this is not a spectator sport—it is for the participants. It is for their sake that he permits the game to continue. Great benefit may come to them because of the challenges they face.
He points to players sitting on the bench, suited up, eager to enter the game. “When each one of them has been in, when each has met the day for which he has prepared so long and trained so hard, then, and only then, will I call the game.”
Until then, it may not matter which team seems to be ahead. The present score is really not crucial. There are games within games, you know. Whatever is happening to the team, each player will have his day.
Those players on the team that keeps the rules will not be eternally disadvantaged by the appearance that their team somehow always seems to be losing.
In the field of destiny, no team or player will be eternally disadvantaged because they keep the rules. They may be cornered or misused, even defeated for a time. But individual players on that team, regardless of what appears on the scoreboard, may already be victorious.
Each player will have a test sufficient to his needs; how each responds is the test.
When the game is finally over, you and they will see purpose in it all, may even express gratitude for having been on the field during the darkest part of the contest.
I do not think the Lord is quite so hopeless about what’s going on in the world as we are. He could put a stop to all of it any moment. But He will not! Not until every player has a chance to meet the test for which we were preparing before the world was, before we came into mortality.
The same testing in troubled times can have quite opposite effects on individuals. Three verses from the Book of Mormon, which is another testament of Christ, teach us that “they had wars, and bloodsheds, and famine, and affliction, for the space of many years.
“And there had been murders, and contentions, and dissensions, and all manner of iniquity among the people of Nephi; nevertheless for the righteous’ sake, yea, because of the prayers of the righteous, they were spared.
“But behold, because of the exceedingly great length of the war between the Nephites and the Lamanites many had become hardened, because of the exceedingly great length of the war; and many were softened because of their afflictions, insomuch that they did humble themselves before God, even in the depth of humility.” (Alma 62:39–41; italics added.)
Surely you know some whose lives have been filled with adversity who have been mellowed and strengthened and refined by it, while others have come away from the same test bitter and blistered and unhappy.
There is no way to make sense out of life without a knowledge of the doctrine of premortal life.
The idea that mortal birth is the beginning is preposterous. There is no way to explain life if you believe that.
The notion that life ends with mortal death is ridiculous. There is no way to face life if you believe that.
When we understand the doctrine of premortal life, then things fit together and make sense. We then know that little boys and little girls are not monkeys, nor are their parents, nor were theirs, to the very beginning generation.
We are the children of God, created in his image.
Our child-parent relationship to God is clear.
The purpose for the creation of this earth is clear.
The testing that comes in mortality is clear.
The need for a redeemer is clear.
When we do understand that principle of the gospel, we see a Heavenly Father and a Son; we see an atonement and a redemption.
We understand why ordinances and covenants are necessary.
We understand the necessity for baptism by immersion for the remission of sins. We understand why we renew that covenant by partaking of the sacrament.
I have but touched upon the doctrine of premortal life. We cannot, in these brief conference talks, do more than that. Oh, if we but had a day, or even an hour, to speak of it.
I assure you there is, underlying the programs and activities of this church, a depth and breadth and height of doctrine that answers the questions of life.
When one knows the gospel of Jesus Christ, there is cause to rejoice. The words joy and rejoice appear through the scriptures repetitively. Latter-day Saints are happy people. When one knows the doctrine, parenthood becomes a sacred obligation, the begetting of life a sacred privilege. Abortion would be unthinkable. No one would think of suicide. And all the frailties and problems of men would fade away.
We have cause to rejoice and we do rejoice, even celebrate.
“The glory of God is intelligence, or, in other words, light and truth.” (D&C 93:36.)
God bless us that we and all who will hear His message can celebrate the Light! Of him I bear witness, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Forrest Michaelson showed up in my homeroom the Wednesday after Easter vacation. It had been a typically wet April morning, and he had on jeans, a T-shirt, and cowboy boots. An ankle-length, buff-leather, oilskin slicker made him look like he’d blown into town out of a Clint Eastwood western. He gave Mr. Riegert a form from the office. Raking his fingers through his tousled, black hair, he gave the rest of us a bemused look as Mr. Riegert shuffled us about so he could reseat us alphabetically.
But the thing that struck me most was how totally unself-conscious he was. His whole demeanor said: Whatever’s going on here, I’m not getting uptight about it.
“Shophead,” sniffed Linda Matthews, who sat behind me.
That said it all. But as Mr. Riegert read the roll to make up a new seating chart, I couldn’t help noticing how Forrest Michaelson paid close attention to each name as it was called out. And when Mr. Riegert called my name and I said, “Here,” our eyes met momentarily. He had sharp, clear eyes, and he winked at me, like we had something in common.
I turned away sharply to tell him he was wrong.
But after the bell rang, he caught up with me in the hall.
“Heather Mastrioanni?”
I nodded.
“Kinda new here, you know. Direct me to D-wing? Room 104.” He pointed to the first class on his schedule. I almost gaped. Auto shop, of course, but he was also signed up for AP calculus.
I said, “First room on the right past the cafeteria.”
“Thanks.” He ambled off down the hall.
After civics I went to the cafeteria and sat down at my usual place. When Forrest Michaelson put his tray down right across the table from me I didn’t notice him. Well, Rob Herndon had just walked in with Linda and I was thinking it would be nice if he ever wanted to eat lunch with me. I looked up and nearly choked on my tuna fish sandwich.
“Thought we should get to know each other better,” Forrest said. “It seems that we constitute a minority of two.”
“What minority of two?” I finally said.
“Mormons,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “At least in the senior class. That’s what I gathered from your father.”
Of course. I nearly smacked myself on the side of the head. The Michaelsons. Monday, Mom and Dad had gone over to help a family who were just moving into the ward. But I never connected them with this Forrest Michaelson.
Forrest read my reaction with a smile. “Initial impressions can be misleading.” He glanced around the cafeteria. “So, how about a tour of the student body? Beginning with the pack of jackals over there, for example.” He nodded to where Rob and his teammates were sitting.
“That’s Rob Herndon,” I said, coldly. “He’s on the wrestling team, and he’s a nice guy.”
“If you say so.”
“Initial impressions can be misleading.”
“Touché,” he said, touching his forehead in a kind of salute.
He always sat with me during lunch. There wasn’t anything I could do about it, and I knew as long as Forrest was sitting there, no one else would dare to.
“You know, Forrest,” I finally said to him one day, “I don’t know why you think you have to sit with me. We really don’t have anything in common.”
That provoked a raised eyebrow. “I would have thought we had most everything in common. We sure don’t share the same taste in fashion, but we believe the same things, and that makes us pretty even.”
“Oh, really? What about those shophead friends of yours? I’ve got a lot more in common with Rob than you do with them.”
“No, you don’t. Okay, maybe my friends don’t believe the same things I do, but they don’t pretend they do, either.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The people who hang around guys like Herndon, they want to think he’s their friend because they want to pretend they’re his friends.”
I didn’t pretend to understand what he had just said. I just laughed. “You expect me to believe he’s such a terrible person just because you don’t get along with him?”
“I really don’t worry about getting along with Herndon or not, Heather. But I don’t laugh at his jokes or marvel at who he goes out with, so that kind of counts me out, doesn’t it? Every school I’ve been in has a pack of them. And they come on to you depending on what kind of a person they think you are.”
“He’s always been nice to me,” I protested.
“He’s as nice as it takes.”
The worst thing about these arguments was that they convinced everybody that Forrest and I were a serious thing. Even Linda was convinced. Linda would ask me about him, about us, and about other things as well, which was a total shock, because before Linda hardly said two sentences to me. We became pretty good friends, though. She even got me on the publicity committee for senior class night at Jumpin’ Jacks drive-in.
Friday I stayed late cleaning up in art class and missed the bus. I was standing at the front entrance debating whether to call Mom or wait for the late bus when Forrest walked up.
“Miss your bus?”
I hesitated a moment too long.
“Be right back,” Forrest said and jogged off to the student lot. He drove up and got the door for me.
“So what’s this big deal at Jumpin’ Jacks?” he asked.
“It’s the drive-in across from the park by the river marina. The Friday before Memorial Day is senior class night. Nothing formal. Just a chance to have a good time before the Regents exams begin.” I waited as long as I thought I could before I felt I had to ask him the obvious question. “I don’t expect you’d want to come?”
“I thought I might.”
“Really? I didn’t think you’d be interested in that kind of thing. After all, Rob Herndon and his friends will be there.”
“Ordinarily I wouldn’t be. But if you’re going to be there …”
“I don’t need a chaperon, Forrest.”
He pulled into our driveway. I got out and slammed the door to show just how grateful I wasn’t for the ride and stormed up the steps and into the house.
Mom was in the kitchen preparing dinner. “Forrest drive you home?”
I sat down at the kitchen table and folded my arms and didn’t answer.
Mom wasn’t impressed by my attitude. “Forrest taking you to Jumpin’ Jacks tonight?”
“Mom!” I exploded, “Why does everybody think I’m dating Forrest Michaelson?”
Mom looked at me quite innocently. “I didn’t think you were dating Forrest. It just seemed reasonable that he would give you a ride, if you’re both going.”
“I wouldn’t go out with him if he were the last man on Earth,” I stated. “He’s stubborn and opinionated. He always thinks he’s right.”
I could tell by the way Mom reacted that she didn’t like my choice of words, and I cringed inside at the anticipated correction.
“Well, yes,” Mom said, after giving it some thought, “but it’s more than that.”
I looked at Mom, amazed. She was actually agreeing with me.
“I think, like most teenagers, he can’t bring himself to be just another slice of bread. But he’s smart enough to know what’s important. So it’s his way of proving what the Church means to him without having to come out and say it. The same way you wouldn’t respect a lion if it barked like a Chihuahua. He’s protecting what he respects.”
“He’s determined to protect me as well,” I said glumly. “He’s got an opinion about all my friends, whether I ought to be associating with them at all, whether they’re really my friends. Like it’s any of his business.”
Mom laughed. “Young men like Forrest suffer from being taken too seriously too much of the time. I think humoring him would go a long way.”
“Then he’s going to have to be humored at a distance.”
It was only a short walk through the park to the drive-in. Someone came up behind me and I turned around. It was Forrest.
There were tons of kids there already. We crowded into line. It was great food but pretty expensive. I had eaten dinner so I wouldn’t be tempted, but Forrest ordered a seafood platter that made my mouth water. When we sat down and Forrest said, “Have a shrimp,” I couldn’t refuse.
“So where’s Linda?” Forrest asked.
I didn’t know.
A moment later he said, “Speak of the devil.”
Rob drove up and he and Linda got out. She looked flustered, a bit disheveled, and a little scared. Rob just looked angry.
After they ordered, Linda brought her plate over to our table. I couldn’t believe she knew what she was doing. I could tell Rob was hating it.
“Don’t mind, do you?” Rob said icily.
“Not at all,” Forrest said. “In fact, I was just leaving.
“Yes,” I said, almost without thinking, “we were just leaving.”
The rest of the jackals then crowded around the table, pushing us out of the way.
“Are you really leaving?” Linda asked quietly. She tried to laugh and stood up. “I guess I don’t care much for the company of some of my friends,” she said as she began to follow us.
“I don’t care much for the company of some of your friends, either,” Forrest said.
Rob stood up and looked around. “Hey, Linda, where are you going? Get over here. C’mon, the night is still young.”
I heard the jackals laughing. I used to think it was funny, the way Rob talked to Linda, but I felt cold and sick inside.
Then Rob grabbed for her. Linda shied away. “Quit playing hard to get, Linda.” He reached for her again, and Forrest caught Rob’s wrist like a vice grip. Rob’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “You got some kind of problem?”
It suddenly got quiet.
“No problem,” Forrest said. He stepped to the side and let go of Rob’s wrist. Rob immediately lurched forward, thumping Forrest hard on his shoulders. Forrest backed away, showing the palms of his hands.
“Let’s go, Linda,” I said quietly.
Rob stood, flushed and angry. Forrest, facing him, looked like he had just solved a math problem too simple to bother with in the first place. When we reached the sidewalk, he turned and walked away.
“That’s right, chump!” Rob shouted. “Go ahead, walk away!”
“I’m sorry,” said Linda, when Forrest joined us.
Forrest simply shrugged.
We walked through the park, then up Lakeside Avenue to the Michaelsons’s house. It was reassuring to have Forrest with us. So I did have more in common with him than Rob Herndon, a lot more. But I could live with that. When you’ve been in a den of jackals, you come to appreciate the pride of lions.

We have time to develop a variety of talents and interests. During my medical training, I didn’t have a very generous income. One year, I decided to make all of my Christmas presents myself. Searching for ideas, I bought a paperback book on batik (the art of dyeing designs on fabric). To my delight and surprise, I discovered an undeveloped artistic talent. The art gallery owner who framed the batiks I had made for presents liked them so much he invited me to produce a one-man show! With brisk sales from the show and subsequent commissions, I not only supported myself during my residency but saved enough for a partial down payment on a house.

One Sunday when I was a stake president I was at home - a fairly rare occurrence. That day our oldest daughter had a meltdown, told us we were the worst parents in the world, went downstairs to her room, slammed the door and turned her music up to at least 2,000 decibels. After several minutes of the entire house rattling, I went downstairs to tell her to turn her music down. As I approached her room, I heard the words of her music: "You're not alone." I stopped and thought, "If there is any message that should be blasted into the very soul of every Latter-day Saint - young or old - it is that one!" So I turned around and went back upstairs - without even mentioning to her that I had been there. In a few minutes, the music came down on its own. She came up and said, "I'm sorry." We said the same, and the Spirit returned to our home. It has been many years since that Sunday, but I have never forgotten the message: We are children of a kind Heavenly Father and are, indeed, not alone.

Julischka Schlatter, 8, lives about an hour away from Bern, Switzerland’s capital. She could tell you about the city’s quaint medieval streets, its old cathedrals, and the Glockenspiel, a clock tower built in 1530. But instead, she will probably tell you about the beautiful white building on a hill nearby. Here President David O. McKay dedicated the first European temple 50 years ago, and Julischka is glad he did! At age 6 she entered the Bern Switzerland Temple with her mother, Chantal, and stepfather, Philipp, to be sealed together as a family.
“I remember the beautiful room and bright chandelier,” she says. She remembers wearing white and seeing her parents waiting for her in the sealing room. She especially remembers listening to the temple sealer’s words.
“That day was very special,” Julischka’s mom says. “I didn’t receive just a husband for time and eternity, but my daughter too.”

I recall a person who was in despair because she could not seem to stop patterns of relating that continually got her into morally compromising situations. She had tried hard to repent and to achieve self-understanding. I learned that she had seen many therapists, but none had helped sufficiently. As we talked, I realized that she was suffering from complex emotional conflicts. If such emotional conflicts are untreated or not properly diagnosed and skillfully treated, they can repeatedly undermine efforts to change. This can cause relapses in efforts to repent.

I explained to my friend that her problem was complex and that her reports showed her previous counseling was inadequate for her case. We then arranged for therapy with a person skilled in treating her type of problem. A few months later she appeared at my office aglow with optimism. She was working hard and succeeding in unraveling the strands of emotional dysfunction that had impaired her ability to gain self-control. She is on the way to a more fulfilling life because her self-understanding and her knowledge of the gospel are no longer clouded by the pathology of the past. Counseling can be very helpful if the technique is correct, the counselor is skilled, and the method is in harmony with gospel principles. But, as Elder Richard Scott has pointed out, after all we can do, it is the Lord who heals us and blesses us to go forward in a new way of life (see “To Be Healed,” Ensign, May 1994, pp. 7–9).

Beginning on our wedding day, Christy and I tried our best to accomplish God’s purposes as we moved from place to place during my schooling and career. We were not perfect, but we served to our capacity. Then, at 6:30 one March morning when I was 45 years old, the phone rang, and President Gordon B. Hinckley began to speak. He extended a call for me to serve as a General Authority Seventy. I immediately knew accepting this call meant being full-time on the Lord’s errand for the next 24 years, leaving behind a career and placing demands on our family.

Christy’s ear was next to mine on the phone, listening to the prophet’s voice. I turned to look into her eyes and knew that we should accept the call. We had entered into covenants before our temple marriage 24 years earlier, and no competing cause could change our unwavering consecration to God.

A recent issue of the Church News carried the story of a group of farmers in a small Idaho community. May I read briefly from that account?
“It is 6 a.m. in late October, and frost already hangs in the air over the sugar beet fields of Rupert, Idaho.
“The long arms of the ‘beeters’ stretch out over twelve rows, slicing the tops off sugar beets. Behind them, the harvesters thrust their steel fingers into the soil and scoop up the beets, pulling them up toward a belt and into a waiting truck.
“… This is the Rupert Idaho Welfare Farm, and those who are working here today are volunteers. … At times more than 60 machines [are] working in harmony together— … all owned by local farmers.”
The work goes on throughout the day.
“[At] 7 p.m. … the sun has set, leaving the land dark and cold once again. The farmers head home, exhausted and happy.
“They have finished well another day.
“They have harvested the Lord’s sugar beets” (Neil K. Newell, “A Harvest in Idaho,” Church News, 20 Mar. 2004, 16).
Such remarkable volunteer service goes on constantly to assure supplies for the storehouses of the Lord.

Hilda knelt down and carefully lifted the cloth-wrapped roots from the shallow pool of water beside Elk Horn Creek. Holding them in both hands, she hurried to the top of the hill where she could see the covered wagons stretching in a long line. Hilda knew that everyone was ready to leave, so she hurried to her own wagon. She reached the wagon just in time to carefully lay the roots beside a barrel before the company captain shouted, “Let’s roll!”
“Walk by me, Hilda,” her father invited. He used a big stick to goad the oxen, and slowly, their great heads swaying, the animals moved forward. Hilda looked up at her mother, who rode in the wagon with their new baby.
Until the baby was born, Hilda had not thought about the wrapped roots. But when her father took her into the wagon to see her little brother, Hilda’s mother said, “Now you must learn to do special things to help, Hilda.”
“Your grandmother grew beautiful yellow roses in Vermont,” Mother continued, “and when she moved to Nauvoo, she took roots from her favorite rose with her. There she planted the roots and they grew. When we left Nauvoo, I took roots from Grandmother’s yellow rose. Now that we are going west, the rose must go too.”
Mother explained how Hilda must keep the heavy cloth around the roots damp. “We hope,” she said, her voice sad, “that roses will grow in our new home. The roots must not dry out, Hilda. Keeping them damp will be your responsibility.”
Each day as the long hot hours passed, Hilda worried that the rose roots might become dry. Every night after the wagons circled, she looked for a stream of water where the roots could be soaked in a quiet pool.
Hilda learned many things about the streams and rivers they passed by or camped near as the wagons rolled westward day after day.
“This is the Platte River,” her father said as they came to a broad shallow stream that flowed to the east. “Our people travel along the north bank of the Platte, while folks going to California or Oregon travel along the south.”
As Hilda put her rose roots into the water, she gazed across the wide river. Wagons were circled on the other side too, and she wondered whether children there carried roses or other plants they hoped would grow in a far-away place.
Several days later they camped on the steep banks of the river near Fort Laramie.
Hilda was frightened of this wild country, so she soaked the roots very quickly in the Laramie River and hurried back to camp.
When the wagon train crossed the North Platte River, Father’s wagon almost tipped over in the deep fast current. “We nearly got your roots too damp that time, Hilda,” he laughed, but his voice was shaky.
On the banks of the Sweetwater River, as Hilda sat watching the cloth around the roots grow dark in the water, an old man sat down beside her. Hilda knew he had lived for many years in the wilderness, because the leader of their wagon train had asked the old man many questions.
“Funny how this river got named,” he said to Hilda. “Long years back when there wasn’t much in these mountains except Indians and buffalo, traders started hauling goods to trade for furs.” He nodded remembering, “The first wagon hauled across the river was loaded with sugar. The mules balked and dumped the load.” The old man paused and a smile lighted his wrinkled face. “Oh, was that river water sweet! Been called that ever since—the Sweetwater.”
Many of the rivers and streams where Hilda dampened the roots had names she did not understand. Although she looked, she found no strawberries near Strawberry Creek. The Big Sandy had no sand in it. And who, wondered Hilda, would name a river “green” when the cold water was so brown?
She was glad when they finally reached Fort Bridger, because a stream ran right beside their camp. For once Hilda could sit while the roots soaked and watch the women of the wagon train build fires to cook their meals.
At last the wagons rolled through Emigration Canyon and slowly made their way down to the new settlement in the Valley of the Great Salt Lake. Hilda’s father found a small cabin he could use for his family.
That same afternoon Hilda took the rose roots from the wagon and tenderly unwrapped them. She wondered if the roots were as weary as she was! Did they too feel strange in this valley? She had faithfully dampened them in the rivers and streams they had crossed, but would the roots live?
Hilda nearly cried when she removed the cloth and found the roots dry and brown. But she would not give up. Choosing a place beside the cabin wall, she dug a hole and filled it with water. Then she placed the roots inside the hole and packed dirt snugly against them, until only one tiny tip stuck out. Around that Hilda packed straw.
During the cold winter that followed, Hilda often felt discouraged. She knew Mother and Father did too, but no one complained.
Finally the long winter ended and the snow melted. One sunny spring day Hilda went around the cabin and lifted the damp straw. Growing bravely out of the roots, a new green shoot lifted into the spring sun.
Slowly Hilda stood up, tears running down her face. Suddenly a fresh new feeling of happiness came to her. If a yellow rose could grow and bloom in the Salt Lake Valley, she could too!

Sister Tanner: It was true for me in seventh grade. I was honest, going against what a popular group of girls wanted me to do. Because of that, I didn’t have friends and I was sad, but I had confidence that what I had done was right. And I’m sure that’s what sustained me through a period of time. I knew I could face whom I really needed to face—my Heavenly Father and my family. But even that knowledge doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.