Gospel Story Finder

“It’s not like we were on a date, Bishop,” said Paul. “We were just hanging out.” Fifteen-year-old Paul was trying to explain why he was having moral problems with a young lady whom he had never “dated.” When the bishop spoke with the young lady, she, like Paul, failed to grasp the seriousness of what they had done because, after all, they weren’t “dating.”
Young Latter-day Saints know the guidelines for dating. Most can recite them by memory: don’t date until age 16, date in groups, and only date those who share your same high standards. But more and more LDS teens aren’t dating in the traditional sense. Sure, they may attend a few proms or other formal dances at school, but most young people today prefer to just hang out. “We just get together at someone’s house,” one teenager explains, “and watch videos, play games, or talk. No one asks anyone. Word just spreads that we’re getting together and everyone comes.” Another said, “Sometimes we pile into cars and just drive around. It’s fun.”
Of course hanging out can be fun. It’s casual and informal. There’s no pressure, and it takes very little preparation. Most parents and Church leaders are happy to see young people gather with positive friends and stay in groups. Such activities can promote feelings of acceptance and inclusion that are necessary and good. However, the casualness and lack of accountability that accompany hanging out can sometimes open the door to problems and put young people in situations where their safety—both physical and spiritual—is in jeopardy.
As a bishop in a BYU student ward, I asked some of the young people I work with for their advice. Is it possible to hang in there with gospel standards and covenants while hanging out with friends? Here are their responses and suggestions:
Plan activities in advance. Josh Smith from San Antonio, Texas, says, “I know it takes a little effort, but it really is better if your friends know what they are going to do. Say, ‘Hey, we’re going to make some cookies and deliver them, or we’re going to play volleyball.’ Just so everyone isn’t sitting around saying, ‘So, what are we going to do now?’” Josh is right. It’s easy to go with the flow, but if we are not careful the flow usually takes us in only one direction—down. Dustin Coffman from Lake Charles, Louisiana, says, “Everyone finds it harder to resist inappropriate videos, music, and activities when such things are thrown at us at the last minute and we haven’t thought about what we could do instead.”

Occasionally Papa got a job laying brick for a fireplace chimney, and once he received a horse in trade for his work. It was a gentle, broad-backed creature named Bessie, who would carry as many children as could climb on. When she got tired she would walk under the low limbs of the Early Harvest apple tree and sweep the laughing riders off onto the ground. Ed could leap onto her back with a quick, smooth movement that I envied. I always seemed to get stuck lying across her back on my stomach, unable to wiggle around to swing one leg over and sit upright. Ed usually had to give me a shove that threatened to push me off.
One day I had an idea as I sat on the barn roof watching Ed ride Bessie around the yard. “Bring her over here,” I called. “I want to try something.”
Ed rode over. “OK, here we are,” he said. “Come on down.”
“Back her up under the sliding board,” I said.
Ed could see my idea at once and did as I asked. It was not more than two inches from the end of the board to the horse’s back, and I slid easily from one to the other. After that I always mounted Bessie the same way, and before long she backed herself close to the board as soon as anyone was on the barn roof. She learned to lower her head so we could slide down the board onto her back, over her head, and onto the ground in one quick swoop. We called that game the Bessie Bounce, and it was one of our favorites.

It seemed an easy-enough project at first, and after mapping out a few ideas, they hurried to find Mr. Baker, who was still watching the Second World War movies. Finally persuading him out into the hall, they asked him for help. "We think it’d be nice if the band gave a Christmas Eve concert for the people stuck here by the storm."
He seemed to be in some sort of a trance. "What was that again?"
"We’d give a concert—just do the pieces we did last night. It’d be a real treat for the kids."
"Are you kidding? Dragging all the instruments and music from the bus? No, absolutely not. Now excuse me, I’ve got to get back."
He staggered back into the room where he entered the battle of Midway.
Their next stop was the sheriff.
"We’d like to organize a little Christmas party for the people stranded here."
The sheriff wiped his brow. "Look, don’t I have enough to worry about without that? How am I going to feed these people? Don’t bother me about Christmas parties. Now why don’t you go watch TV. I’m sure there’s plenty of good specials on."
Back at the vent at the end of the hall, they sat and glumly watched the storm.
"Well, we tried," Steve said.
"That’s all anyone can do."
"Sure."
"Do you want to watch TV now?"
"We didn’t pray about it, Steve."
"It’s too late now; we’ve already bombed out."
"You don’t want to pray about it?"
"No, Cathy, I don’t."
"Why not?"
"Because if we pray about it, and it still doesn’t work out, then it will cause your faith to waver. I never pray about things in front of somebody else unless there’s a pretty good chance for it to happen anyway."
She sat in silence and pouted.
"You can pray about it if you want," he finally suggested.
"I’d feel better with the priesthood saying the prayer."
He sighed, realizing he was going to have to open himself up a little more to her. "Cathy, let me tell you something. The priesthood’s no magic carpet. A lot of things I pray for never work out. Girls always think that guys who honor the priesthood are their tickets to happiness, but we’re stumbling around as much as anybody."
But she wouldn’t let it be. "I think Father in Heaven will honor somebody who holds the priesthood and tries to do the right thing."
They sat for several minutes in silence.
"Okay, I’ll pray with you, but don’t blame me if it doesn’t work out."
It was a simple prayer, offered by Steve. He tried to be as general as possible, not wanting to pin the Lord down to anything specific, but just before closing, she nudged him and whispered, "Ask him about the Christmas party, and the band playing, and the gifts."
And so he did, point blank, with no cop-out clauses that would let them or Father in Heaven off the hook.
A few minutes later they stood at the entrance of the gym and looked at the restless crowd.
"What’ll we do, Steve?" she asked him. He noticed the way she was looking at him. She thinks I know what I’m doing, he thought.
"We’ll just walk around and see if anything happens."
They walked slowly around the gym.
As they approached the trucker’s area, the one who had given Steve a bad time looked up, saw Cathy with him, and made some off-color joke about her.
"Why don’t you be quiet?" Steve snapped.
The guy stood up and started walking toward them. Massive shoulder muscles, a tattoo on both arms. I knew we never should’ve prayed about this, he thought.
Just before the guy was about to punch Steve, a booming voice behind him rang out, "Lay off the kid, Bert, or I’ll get mean!"
Steve looked around to see the biggest man he’d ever seen before in his life standing up. Middle-aged, bald, a little paunchy in the middle, but he must have weighed two hundred fifty pounds, and he spoke with authority.
Bert swore and said he was going to the bar.
The man who helped them said his name was Al and that he had a daughter about Cathy’s age who played in a band in Ohio.
"Al," Cathy said with a big smile, "we’ve got a little problem I think you could help us with."
Steve couldn’t believe the change in the sheriff when Al asked for permission to hold a Christmas party. And Mr. Baker, after he came out of the movie room and looked around to see Al’s figure entirely filling up the doorway, agreed it would be nice to have the band play a concert.
Then Al made a general announcement to everyone in the gym. "I want everybody here to get in the Christmas spirit. There’s no reason for us to sit around feeling sorry for ourselves. We’re going to have a party, and this is what we need. We need gifts for the children, we need some food for a supper, we need Christmas cookies for the children, we need a Santa Claus and somebody to lead us in Christmas carols, and we need enough blankets for everybody. Now get going!"
Within the hour, the preparations were done, including a Christmas tree provided by one over-eager trucker who merely chopped down the tree in front of the school. Some of the truckers went out to their rigs and brought in case lots of canned foods. The salesman from Mity Fine went to his station wagon and brought in his sample assortment of potato chips. Many of the parents went to their cars and brought in Christmas presents originally intended for family and friends at the end of their trip, and they put them under the tree. And the wives went into the school kitchen and began opening cans of ham and vegetables for the meal.
They ate their meal, and then the pep band played. Then Santa Claus arrived, wearing a red jump suit covered with grease from engines and a cotton beard. He passed out the presents from the tree, and they shared the cookies. There was more than enough for everyone.
A traveler who led a Protestant church choir in Abilene, Kansas, then led them in Christmas carols. By that time it was 10:00, and a minister from Polson, Montana, led them in scripture reading and a prayer.
There were blankets left over, even after everyone had taken what they needed.
In the morning they had more ham, and a driver from a bakery provided them with enough bread to make toast. The kids played with their toys, which as the morning passed, gradually self-destructed.
By noon the storm was over and the snow plows had cleared the roads. The truckers were the first to go. The band was delayed because of having to repack all the instruments into the bus.
Steve and Cathy were the last ones to leave.
"It was a miracle, wasn’t it?" she asked.
"Yes, a miracle. For a few hours, we all loved one another."
"Steve, it must be just a small part of the way Jesus feels about all of us all the time."
"How can he do it?"
"I don’t know, but he does."
"Cathy, for a while there, I even liked you."
"Did you?"
"Yes, for a while I did. Could I sit with you on the way back?"
"I’d like that, Steve."
"But look, I’m still going to try and beat you out of first-chair clarinet."
"And I’m still going to show you that I’m twice the musician you are."
"So that hasn’t changed," he said.
"No, I guess not."
They left together, the last ones to leave the now-deserted, paper-strewn gym. The Christmas tree, decorated with Mity Fine aluminum foil, leaned at a precarious angle, and then toppled to the floor with a crash.

I took one step into the air-conditioned house and collapsed into a chair. When my mom walked into the room, I gave her my best I’ve-had-a-rough-day-feel-sorry-for-me look. She looked at me for a moment and saw that I was covered with dirt and grease from the tip of my nose to my steel-toed work boots. Then she merely said, “How was your first day at work?”
I was disappointed that she couldn’t tell just by looking at me how awful it was to slave for eight hours in a machine shop. But I was grateful for the opportunity to tell my sad story. Trying to get the most sympathy possible, I started with the best and made my way to the worst. I began by telling about the loud machines and the heavy lifting. It’s not easy to make someone feel sorry for you and still maintain your state of honor. However, 17 years of practice paid off, and I think I did an excellent job.
Finally, I had built up to the worst part of my summer job: my co-workers. I told my mom how I was helping one lady shovel metal slugs when she began swearing. Now this was not unusual, but I must have given this woman an unintentional look because she began to defend herself. “I never used to swear before I started working here. If you work here long enough, you will too,” she said.
On my break, I bought a pack of gum from a vending machine. As I began chewing a piece, one of my co-workers said, “You really should smoke instead of chew gum.” At the machine shop, a person doesn’t have to be on break to smoke, so two-thirds of the people I work with are doing it all day. After that comment, I thought, What have I gotten myself into?
I finished my story by telling my mom that I wasn’t going back the next day. She had heard this line a million times before when I would come home from school, so she just nodded knowingly. When I told the rest of the family at dinner that evening, my dad said something like, “I think it will be a good experience for you. It’ll build character.”
I went back to work the next day and continued to be repulsed by my co-workers and their lifestyles. By the end of the week, I was spending my break time outside in the sweltering heat instead of inside listening to their vulgar stories and inhaling second-hand smoke.
At lunch I would drive to a nearby park and read the Book of Mormon as I ate. One day I had stopped reading and was thinking about my co-workers. Suddenly, something Jesus Christ had said came to mind. When I got home I found the scripture I had been looking for in Matthew 22:39. It says, “And the second [commandment] is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” [Matt. 22:39]
All of this time, I had been thinking I was better than my co-workers because I didn’t smoke or swear. When I read that scripture, it really humbled me. It occurred to me that if I can’t learn to love my neighbor, it doesn’t matter how great the rest of my life is. The second greatest commandment isn’t to keep the Word of Wisdom. It’s to love your neighbor.
I soon changed my attitude about my co-workers and tried to appreciate them for who they are. Less than a week later, my car broke down and I locked my keys in the car. My fellow employees were quick to help. I’m not sure what I would have done without them. It was then that I realized that despite some bad habits, they are still children of our Father in Heaven.
At the beginning of the summer I wanted to quit. Then I learned to love others, and now I want to go back next year.

Let me conclude with an account of two men who are heroes to me. Their acts of courage were not performed on a national scale, but rather in a peaceful valley known as Midway, Utah.

Long years ago, Roy Kohler and Grant Remund served together in Church capacities. They were the best of friends. They were tillers of the soil and dairymen. Then a misunderstanding arose which became somewhat of a rift between them.

Later, when Roy Kohler became grievously ill with cancer and had but a limited time to live, my wife, Frances, and I visited Roy and his wife, and I gave him a blessing. As we talked afterward, Brother Kohler said, “Let me tell you about one of the sweetest experiences I have had during my life.” He then recounted to me his misunderstanding with Grant Remund and the ensuing estrangement. His comment was, “We were sort of on the outs with each other.”

“Then,” continued Roy, “I had just put up our hay for the winter to come, when one night, as a result of spontaneous combustion, the hay caught fire, burning the hay, the barn, and everything in it right to the ground. I was devastated,” said Roy. “I didn’t know what in the world I would do. The night was dark, except for the dying embers of the fire. Then I saw coming toward me from the road, in the direction of Grant Remund’s place, the lights of tractors and heavy equipment. As the ‘rescue party’ turned in our drive and met me amidst my tears, Grant said, ‘Roy, you’ve got quite a mess to clean up. My boys and I are here. Let’s get to it.’” Together they plunged to the task at hand. Gone forever was the hidden wedge which had separated them for a short time. They worked throughout the night and into the next day, with many others in the community joining in.

Roy Kohler has passed away, and Grant Remund is getting older. Their sons have served together in the same ward bishopric. I truly treasure the friendship of these two wonderful families.

Vitaly: Katya and I were married in Omsk on February 25, 2006. (The laws of Russia require a civil marriage prior to a temple sealing, as many countries do.) The next morning we set off on a trip to the Stockholm Sweden Temple. We boarded an airplane in Omsk and flew three hours to Moscow, where we spent the rest of the day. Then we took an overnight train to Saint Petersburg. Once there we got on a bus with other Latter-day Saints and traveled for eight hours to Helsinki, Finland. The last leg of our journey was an 11-hour ferry ride to Stockholm.
Finally, we had reached the temple.
For some, such a long trip may seem like a challenge, but in many ways, our trip across Europe made a great honeymoon.
The day of our sealing, March 1, 2006, was a great day—a day of peace and assurance. I knew that the person whose hand I was holding was the one I’d share eternity with. This thought alone filled me with great joy and gratitude to Heavenly Father for trusting me with His daughter for my wife. I felt closer to Him than ever before.

When I was nine years old, I had a wonderful Primary teacher named Sister Kohler. I was very shy, and she was so gentle that I loved being with her. One day she gave us each a piece of paper. We all wrote down what we wanted to do when we got older. I wrote: “Go to college and get married in the temple.” I taped my paper above my closet door. At night, light from the street lamp shone in through my window. I looked up at my piece of paper. It reminded me that I wanted to go to the temple.
Back then, there were only 12 temples in the world. I wanted to go to every one.
Whenever my mother and father planned a vacation, they always took our family to the temple. We lived in Oregon, USA. The nearest temple was 600 miles (965 km) away in Cardston, Alberta, Canada. Our car didn’t have an air conditioner. My brother and sister and I sat in the back seat. We would hang a wet washcloth outside the car window. Then we put it on our necks to cool off.
It was a thrill when we finally saw the temple. I didn’t know very much about what happened there, but my parents were always happy when they came out. I knew the temple was very important. I knew it was the Lord’s house. (In the photo, that’s me in the white shirt.)
After I turned 12, I got to do temple baptisms in several temples. Then when I met my future husband, I found out that he loved the temple too! We got married in the Manti Utah Temple.
You can prepare for the temple every day. Go to the temple when you can. Touch its walls. When my grandson Jarret was 11 years old, he worked on family history every Sunday with his dad. He found many names of ancestors. Now that he is 12, he is doing baptisms in the temple for these ancestors!
When you are in the temple, you can walk where Jesus walks. It is His house. I hope you will pray every day for Heavenly Father to help you prepare to enter the temple and feel His love.

Mary Rollins was 12 years old when she first learned about the Book of Mormon. She borrowed a copy and stayed up most of the night reading.
Mary was also excited for a new book called the Book of Commandments. It would have many of the teachings Jesus Christ had given to Joseph Smith.
But some people didn’t like the Church. One day, men broke into the building where the Book of Commandments was being printed. They threw the printing press out the window and scattered the pages into the street.
Mary and her younger sister, Caroline, hid and watched. Mary wanted to save the pages before they were ruined. Caroline was afraid, but they knew the pages had the word of God on them.
The sisters ran into the street and grabbed as many pages as they could. Some men saw them and yelled at them to stop. Mary and Caroline held the pages tighter and ran into a nearby cornfield.
Two men chased after them. Mary and Caroline dropped to the ground and hid the pages beneath their bodies. They listened quietly as the men searched for them.
Soon the men gave up. Mary and Caroline were safe! They had saved the pages. Today those teachings are in the Doctrine and Covenants.

My last year in high school was beginning, and I was full of anticipation. Everything seemed to be pointing to a great year ahead.
For the first time, I was really interested in my classes, and I was determined to get my best grades ever. I had also just been put in the position of president of my seminary class, and had received a calling as first assistant in the priests quorum. In addition, I was developing a new photography hobby. I was also fellowshipping a good friend from work. Even the weather seemed exciting and refreshing.
But perhaps the most important thing to happen at the beginning of that school year was a decision I made to read the scriptures for half an hour each day.
I chose to read the New Testament, and I immediately became attached to it. Every day after school I would put away my school books, sit down at my desk in my room, and pull out my scriptures. Reading about the life of Christ every day gave me a real spiritual boost. But after the first week of this, trouble hit.
I came home from school that afternoon, opened my Bible to Matthew, and started reading. But something was different. I wasn’t feeling inspired, and I wasn’t getting any insight. I was just skimming and couldn’t seem to get involved in the passage. I stopped reading and looked up from the pages of the book.
“Wait a minute,” I thought. “What am I doing wrong?” Suddenly, a small episode from the long day at school entered my mind. Some nonmember friends and I had been sitting around talking about whatever came to mind. Soon what was coming to mind were inappropriate stories and jokes. And I had been a part of it. I had laughed and even made some inappropriate comments of my own.
The life of Christ hadn’t affected my actions, not then. As I hung my head over my scriptures, I refocused my eyes on the page and saw these words, found in Matthew:
“But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.
“For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned.” (Matt. 12:36–37.)
Never before had I received revelation through the scriptures or felt so strongly the concern of Heavenly Father. I knew that the Spirit had directed me to these words at this time. The answer to my question, “What am I doing wrong?” was simple. I had been reading the scriptures, marking the scriptures, and even really enjoying the scriptures; but I had not been living the scriptures. In some degree I was a little like the hypocritical Pharisees whom the Savior so often rebuked. I turned from my Bible and offered a prayer of repentance.
Although my answer was not accompanied by a booming voice or violent earthquake, its power was great enough to make me reevaluate myself. As I continued studying that year, each time I came across some new point of Jesus’ life in my reading, I would check myself in the same area. While there were a few areas that I didn’t have any trouble with, many others required changes in my personality, attitudes, and actions. As I did this, I began to like myself more.
With these new standards came blessings. It was amazing how taking a half hour from each day seemed to lengthen it so much. Since I began reading the scriptures and trying to live by Christ’s example, I noticed how different areas of my life began to blossom.
I was able to accomplish many of the goals I had set for myself and, to my surprise, I even got my best grades ever!

Four years ago, he was preparing to submit his mission papers. Then one day while he was lifting weights, his world collapsed. A blood clot in his brain caused him to have a major stroke. His doctors doubted that he would live. The part of his brain that controlled his muscles was severely damaged. He could not move. He could not speak or even breathe on his own.

His ward fasted and prayed for him, and Fernando lived. Eventually he came home from the hospital, but he was still unable to move or speak. His parents, Vilmar and Noeli Gaertner, and his therapists worked tirelessly with him. Fernando grew closer to Heavenly Father as he depended on Him to get through each day. Life was now very serious for Fernando, and he took nothing for granted, especially the gospel. While Fernando worked hard at recovering physically, he also studied the gospel. He learned patience and faith as each new ability took months to develop. After much effort, he was able to sit in a wheelchair. The first time he was able to attend church, tears filled Fernando’s and the ward members’ eyes.

Then in January 1999, the Lindon 17th Ward, Lindon Utah Stake, was created. The new ward members didn’t talk much to Fernando. He was just beginning to speak again, and his words were not clear and came very slowly.
The leaders of the new ward, however, felt very strongly that President Gordon B. Hinckley’s directive that new members of the Church need “a friend, a responsibility, and nurturing with ‘the good word of God’ (Moro. 6:4)”* applied to all the members of their newly formed ward—including Fernando. He was called to be the Primary greeter. That calling has been a great blessing in his life and in the lives of the children in his ward.
Fernando welcomes each child and adult to Primary. “The first time he was there,” said Sister Terris, a counselor in the Primary, “the Spirit was so strong that I had tears in my eyes. He was so excited about his calling!”
That first Sunday Fernando struggled to speak and shake hands with everyone. But each week, his arms and hands grew a little stronger and his speech became a little clearer.
“Even though the little kids don’t always understand him,” Tasha Hansen (11) said, “they feel his spirit and pay attention. You really feel it.”
“He’s nice,” Britton Green (6) added. “He always gets so excited when he sees us.”
“And he knows my name,” Cade Terris (7) said.
“The calling as a greeter let me get to know the little children,” Fernando pointed out. “They are the greatest! Then I got to know their parents. They are all my friends now.”
The children are very comfortable around Fernando because they know that he loves them. Once, the Primary chorister asked him to hold up a poster for a song. Fernando tried, but he did not have the strength to do it. One by one, the children came up and encircled him so that he could rest the chart in his lap and they could still see it.
As they came to know him better, the children wanted to help him recover. They wanted to help him fulfill his desire to serve the Lord with all his heart. They wanted him to be able to serve a mission, which he still hopes to do one day.
“The children are always there to help me. I’m learning to speak better because they are always speaking to me,” he said.
“At first, sometimes I would know what he was going to say and answer him before he finished,” Tasha Hansen said. “But I don’t do that now because I know that he needs to practice talking.”
“Once I walked into Primary and he gave me a special handshake,” Jake Green (9) said. “Now he does it with all the boys.” The children created other new handshakes to help Fernando strengthen all the different muscles in his hands.
One Sunday, when Fernando entered the Primary room dressed as Abinadi, the children suddenly quieted down. Knowing how hard it is for him to speak, they know that each word is important.
Now Fernando has also been called to help teach two classes of eleven- and twelve-year-olds. “He’s getting really good at talking,” said Tori Hansen (11).
But Fernando isn’t the only one with new responsibilities in his ward. Families and individuals, including Primary children, have been asked to help with his therapy. They listen to him read, play with him to exercise his muscles, and talk with him. Or they may take him walking.
Jake Green enjoys playing Chinese checkers with him, “but Fernando always wins. He’s too good!”
“It’s quite a sight when we take Fernando walking,” the Terris family laughs. “We squeeze everyone and everything into the car—his wheelchair, his walker, Fernando, and, of course, all of our family. Then we drive to the place where we walk.”
Once the Green family was walking with Fernando by the Provo River. He stood by a fence and threw a stone into the water. It gave him such pleasure to at last be able to stand balanced against the fence and throw a rock, that Britton and Jake picked up several more stones for him to throw.
“We feel good when we help him,” Jake explained.
“The first time I saw him walk with his walker was really special,” Sammy Whirley (7) said. “We have also tried flying kites. We still need to work on that.”
Shayly Terris (11) was asked to read with him and help him practice pronouncing words. “He asked me questions, and I got to know him better. After we finished reading, my mom and I went to help him get back into bed, and he fell and hit his head. He just said, ‘Shhhh, don’t tell Mom.’ He never complains!”
“He helps me look at other people in wheelchairs differently,” Eddie Terris (14) said. “They really can do a lot of things!”
Meagan Hansen (15) remembered the first time her family took him walking at the track. “There is a chain that prevents people from driving cars onto the track. My Dad asked Fernando, ‘How do you get over that?’ ‘I jump,’ he answered. Dad gave him a look, and Fernando said, ‘Seriously.’ So we wheeled him up to the chain and waited to see what he would do. He just lifted the chain up and rolled under it.”
Conner Hansen (8) said, “Sometimes I think my problems are really bad, but when I look at Fernando’s problems, I don’t complain.”
The Hansens add, “No matter what comes up, we don’t miss walking with Fernando. He’s amazing! He helps us keep an eternal perspective. It’s the best thing we do each month.”
Fernando works hard every single day to improve. “I always believed I would get better. I just take it one day at a time.”
“In time he will get better,” Talmage Hansen (11) declared. “He believes it, and so do I.”
Having so many friends in the ward who love and help him, and knowing that he is an invaluable influence in their lives, has helped Fernando continue trying. His strong spirit and testimony have spiritually strengthened those who have helped him strengthen his physical body.
Fernando may have to wait to serve a full-time mission, but he is touching the lives of the Primary children in his ward right now by his example of faith, patience, and trust in the Lord. And they are touching his with their patience, love, and service. “I hope that the children know that they really can help others,” he said.

Great damage is done in a marriage through criticism, blaming, and fault-finding. One couple who came to see me spent most of our session mercilessly criticizing each other. Finally I asked them if they could think of anything good to say about their partner. They glared at each other for several moments, then the wife shrugged her shoulders and said, “Well, what can I say? He hasn’t killed anybody.”
These were both honest, sincere people who had gotten married because they liked a lot of things about each other. But over many years of trying to change each other’s behavior, they had replaced the acknowledgement of those good traits with a constant stream of criticism and disapproval. This had soured their relationship almost beyond repair. Before this couple can regain the sweet, loving relationship that made them want to get married in the first place, they will have to give up their critical nagging, and with it the attempt to force change on their partner.

President Brigham Young used the following story to illustrate the potential influence of teachers: “A traveller in the Eastern country overtook an old gentleman walking towards a town, and asked him, ‘Who is the great man of that little town? Who is your leading man? Who is the governor and controlling spirit of that little place?’ The old gentleman replied, ‘I am the king of that little town.’ ‘Really,’ says the traveller, ‘are you the leading man?’ ‘Yes, sir, I am king in that place, and reign as king.’ ‘How do you make this to appear? Are you in affluent circumstances?’ ‘No, I am poor; but in that little village there are so many children. All those children go to my school; I rule the children, and they rule their parents, and that makes me king.’” (Journal of Discourses, 9:39.)

I recently observed from a distance a couple who at one time had faith in Christ but then decided to discard their belief. They were successful in the world, and they found pleasure in their intellect and the rejection of their faith.

All seemed well until the husband, still young and energetic, suddenly fell ill and died. Like an eclipse of the sun, they had blocked the light of the Son, and the result was an eclipse of hope. The wife, in her disbelief, now felt disoriented, painfully unprepared, unable to comfort her children. Her intellect had told her that her life was in perfect order until suddenly she could see no tomorrow. Her despair brought darkness and confusion.

After some flooding earlier this year, the Mudgeeraba Showgrounds—a fairground and park in Mudgeeraba, Gold Coast, Australia—was covered with piles of debris. The Mudgeeraba Show Committee asked the wider community to help clean up, paint and repair.
On 27 February, the Mudgeeraba Rural Fire Brigade, community volunteers and 130 members of the Gold Coast Australia Stake worked together to restore the grounds.
Ella Parsons, the Mudgeeraba show president, said, “We are extremely grateful to everyone for their efforts. It was a massive accomplishment. We are grateful to have The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as part of our community. It’s been years since we have been able to get this much work done.”
“Because there were so many volunteers it made the work seem a lot lighter,” said Marina Taulepa, a Church member from Robina Ward. “We are glad to be able to contribute to our community.”

When Peter brought the sheep off the hillside that evening, he saw the king’s messenger riding away from Pleasant Valley. To have a messenger come to their small town was unusual. Peter chased the sheep into the cote and raced indoors to see what had happened. His two older brothers were dressed in their best clothing, and their mother was hurrying back and forth between the fireplace and the table.
“What’s going on?” Peter asked. “I saw the king’s messenger ride away from—”
“It doesn’t concern you,” Dominic broke in rudely. “Wise old Trebor is retiring, and our king needs a new advisor.”
Richard shoved his empty plate aside. “The messenger announced that all young men between the ages of fourteen and thirty would be interviewed by Trebor. Dominic and I are going to the castle in hopes that one of us will be chosen.”
“You must go, too, Peter,” his mother urged, placing her hands on his shoulders and frowning when her two older sons grumbled about being nursemaids.
“But,” Peter said. “I’ll not be fourteen until tomorrow. And I’m surely not wise.”
“But you’ll be fourteen by the time you arrive at the castle,” his mother reminded him.
Two mornings later it looked to Peter as though every young man from the small country of Meritania stood shoulder to shoulder in the castle’s courtyard. A stillness fell over the group when old Trebor hobbled onto a balcony.
“Young sires, tomorrow I will choose someone who shall be trained to take my place,” he said, his voice cracking with age. He clasped the balcony railing for support. “Today I will speak with each of you personally. And tomorrow there will be a final test to help me decide my successor.”
Early the next morning Trebor appeared on the balcony. “After interviewing all you young men, I will dismiss all but three.”
Peter’s heart pounded when he heard his name announced as one of the contenders.
“The old man must be slipping!” Dominic fumed. “Imagine choosing an inexperienced stripling like you, Peter, over a smart fellow like me!”
Richard laughed. “Our mother pleaded with you to finish school, Dominic, and to get an education, but you dropped out,” he said, “and it shows.”
“I’ll admit you have more schooling than I have,” Dominic agreed as he scowled at his brother. “But old Trebor didn’t miss much during those interviews, and I’m sure he noticed how soft your hands are from lack of hard work.”
“He probably also noticed that you talk so much you never hear anyone but yourself!” Richard’s voice rose in anger.
Peter hid his calloused hands behind his back and moved away from his brothers while the argument continued. He wondered what Trebor’s final test would be.
At ten o’clock Peter and two other young men approached Trebor in the castle’s great hall. The old man leaned on a cane, and peered at them from watery eyes.
“You have an hour to complete this test,” he quavered. “Go into the city and bring to me whatever you consider most important for a wise man to have. You are not to speak to each other about this, and you must travel alone.” Trebor waved his gnarled hand toward the castle’s drawbridge and shuffled over to sit down on a bench.
Peter and the other contestants hurried off toward the city. And, within five minutes of the hour, all three of them had returned. Trebor motioned for them to lay what they’d brought on a table near where he sat. “What is in that large package?” he asked.
“A bolt of precious material, sire,” replied one of the young men and unwrapped his package. “Clothes make the man,” he declared with a look of satisfaction on his face. “And one is accepted anywhere if he is well dressed.”
Hardly glancing at the elegant fabric, Trebor pointed a finger at a small leather pouch. “What does that contain?” he asked.
The second young man bowed confidently and said, “Sire, it is filled with gold dust. Gold will buy anything—fame, fortune, friends, shelter. A wise man needs all these things.”
Trebor’s expression didn’t change by one wrinkle as he pointed to Peter’s package. “Your package looks as though it came from the meat seller’s stall in the market,” he commented.
Peter’s face reddened when the other two young men snickered. “Yes, sire. It is a tongue, but more than that it is a reminder.”
“Explain, please,” Trebor said and sat forward interestedly, cupping a hand behind his ear.
“A tongue can do much harm or much good,” Peter said. “Harsh, untrue, or thoughtless words can hurt. Soft words, intelligent words, considerate words should fall from a wise man’s tongue.”
“You’re right, Peter!” declared Trebor, and he reached across the table to clasp Peter’s hands. “And since you shall be our king’s new adviser, I pray you will never forget the wisdom of your words.”

A young journalist wrote:
“I was … driving to a scene I didn’t want to see. A man … had accidentally backed his pickup truck over his baby granddaughter in the driveway of the family home. It was a fatality.
“As I parked … I saw a stocky, white-haired man in cotton work clothes standing near a pickup. Cameras were trained on him, and reporters were sticking microphones in his face. Looking totally bewildered, he was trying to answer their questions. Mostly he was only moving his lips, blinking and choking up.
“… I can still see in my mind’s eye that devastated old man looking down at the place in the driveway where the child had been. Beside the house was a freshly spaded flower bed, and nearby a pile of dark, rich earth.
“‘I was just backing up there to spread that good dirt,’ he said to me, though I had not asked him anything. ‘I didn’t even know she was outdoors.’ He stretched his hand toward the flower bed, then let it flop to his side. … I … went into the house to find someone who could provide a recent photo of the toddler.
“A few minutes later, with all the details in my notebook and a … studio portrait of the cherubic child tucked in my jacket pocket, I went toward the kitchen where the police had said the body was.
“… Entering the kitchen, I came upon this scene:
“On a Formica-topped table, back-lighted by a frilly curtained window, lay the tiny body, wrapped in a clean white sheet. Somehow the grandfather had managed to stay away from the crowd. He was sitting on a chair beside the table, in profile to me and unaware of my presence, looking uncomprehendingly at the swaddled corpse.
“The house was very quiet. A clock ticked. As I watched, the grandfather slowly leaned forward, curved his arms like parentheses around the head and feet of the little form, then pressed his face to the shroud and remained motionless.
“In that hushed moment I recognized the makings of a prize-winning news photograph. I appraised the light, adjusted the lens setting and distance, locked a bulb in the flashgun, raised the camera and composed the scene in the viewfinder.
“Every element of the picture was perfect: the grandfather in his plain work clothes, his white hair back-lighted by sunshine, the child’s form wrapped in the sheet, the atmosphere of the simple home. … Outside, the police could be seen inspecting the … pickup while the child’s mother and father leaned in each other’s arms.
“I don’t know how many seconds I stood there, unable to snap that shutter. I was keenly aware of the powerful storytelling value that photo would have, and my professional conscience told me to take it. Yet I couldn’t make my hand fire that flash-bulb and intrude on the poor man’s island of grief.
“At length I lowered the camera and crept away, shaken with doubt about my suitability for the journalistic profession. Of course I never told the city editor or any fellow reporters about that missed opportunity for a perfect news picture.
“Every day, on the newscasts and in the papers, we see pictures of people in extreme conditions of grief and despair. Human suffering has become a spectator sport. And sometimes, as I’m watching the news film, I remember that day.
“I still feel right about what I did” (James Alexander Thom, “The Perfect Picture,” Reader’s Digest, Aug. 1976, pp. 113–14).*

At times the call to service extended to a member of the Relief Society is a bit unusual. Such an assignment I share with you in closing.

When I was bishop of the Sixth-Seventh Ward in Salt Lake City, back when we had a Relief Society Magazine, I noted that our record for subscriptions to that publication was low. Prayerfully my counselors and I analyzed the names of the individuals whom we could call to be magazine representative, and the inspiration dictated that Elizabeth Keachie should be given the assignment. She responded affirmatively to the call. She and her sister-in-law Helen Ivory, also a member of the ward, commenced to canvass the entire ward, house by house, street by street, and block by block. The result was phenomenal. We had more subscriptions to the Relief Society Magazine than had been recorded by all the other units of our stake combined.

I congratulated Elizabeth Keachie one Sunday evening and said to her, “Your task is done.”

She replied, “Not yet, Bishop. There are two blocks we have not yet covered.”

When she told me which blocks they were, I said, “Sister Keachie, no one lives on those blocks. That area is all industrial.”

“Just the same,” she said, “I’ll feel better if I can go and check them myself.”

Sister Keachie and Sister Ivory, on a rainy day, covered those final two blocks but discovered no homes. As they were about to discontinue their search, they noted a driveway which was strewn with mud puddles from a recent storm. It was next to a foundry. Sister Keachie gazed down the driveway perhaps 60 feet and could just make out a garage with a curtain at the window.

Deciding to investigate, the two sweet sisters walked through the mud to a point where the entire garage could be seen. Now they noticed a door, not visible from the street, which had been cut into the side of the garage. They noticed a chimney with smoke rising from it.

They knocked at the door. A man of about 65 years of age, William Ringwood, answered. They presented their story concerning the need of every home having the Relief Society Magazine. William Ringwood replied, “You’d better ask my father.” Ninety-three-year-old Charles W. Ringwood then came to the door and also listened to the message. He subscribed.

Elizabeth Keachie reported to me the presence of these two men in our ward. When I requested their membership certificates from the Membership Department at the Presiding Bishopric’s Office, I was told that the certificates had remained in the lost file of the Presiding Bishopric’s Office for many years.

On Sunday morning Elizabeth Keachie brought to our priesthood meeting Charles and William Ringwood—the first time they had been inside a chapel for a long while. Charles Ringwood, 93, was the oldest deacon I had ever met, and his son was the oldest male member holding no priesthood I had ever met.

The elder Brother Ringwood was ordained a priest and then an elder. I shall never forget his interview with respect to seeking a temple recommend. He handed me a silver dollar which he took from an old worn leather coin purse and said, “This is my fast offering.”

I replied, “Oh, Brother Ringwood, you owe no fast offering. You need it yourself.”

“I want to receive the blessings, not keep the money,” he responded.

It was my opportunity to take Charles Ringwood to the Salt Lake Temple and to attend with him the endowment session. That same evening Elizabeth Keachie served as proxy for the deceased Sister Ringwood.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, Charles Ringwood said to me, “Bishop, I told my wife just before she died 16 years ago that I would not delay in getting this work done. I am happy this has been accomplished.”

Within two months, Charles W. Ringwood passed away. At his funeral service, I noticed his family sitting on the front row of the mortuary chapel, but I also noticed two sweet ladies sitting near the rear—Elizabeth Keachie and Helen Ivory. As I gazed upon those two sweet women, I thought of the 76th section of the Doctrine and Covenants: “I, the Lord, am merciful and gracious unto those who fear me, and delight to honor those who serve me in righteousness and in truth unto the end. Great shall be their reward and eternal shall be their glory.” I testify that we can find joy in service.

For example, Spencer McMullin, a college student from Raymond, Alberta, Canada, has set up his own business of cleaning carpets in apartment buildings. He has been able to earn sufficient money to pay for his schooling expenses. Spencer says, “There are always jobs around if you are willing to spend a little time and use a little imagination in looking for them. I Started my own company after working for a friend and learning the business from him. I found it exciting to learn a trade and earn money at the same time. I like to check in the classified ads of popular magazines because many of these contain sections on job opportunities.”

My father was a good man and a hard worker. He always took me out to work with him on our farm, but he never asked me to do anything that he didn’t do right alongside me. My younger brother and I thinned and hoed beets and cut seed spuds (potatoes) in the summer. In the fall, we picked spuds. When we were teenagers, we had a little herd of cows. That’s where our dairy started. It was hard to leave our friends to go home and take care of those cows, but those chores taught us how to work.

Years ago, while at the beach with my family, I noticed signs and flags warning us of a strong current flowing away from the shore into deep, turbulent water. Invisible to my untrained eyes but easily detected by lifeguards on a nearby watchtower, the powerful current posed a danger to all who left the safety of the shore and entered the water. I remember rationalizing, “I’m a strong swimmer. Swimming will be great exercise. I’ll be safe in the shallow water.”
Ignoring the warnings and feeling confident in my own judgment, I entered the water to enjoy a “refreshing” swim. After a few minutes I looked up to locate my family on the nearby beach, but the beach was no longer nearby! The deceptive current I had been warned of had captured me and was quickly pulling me away from my family.
Confidently at first and then desperately, I tried to swim toward shore, but the unforgiving current dragged me farther and farther into deeper, rougher water. I became exhausted and began choking on inhaled water. Drowning became a real possibility. My energy gone, I frantically and finally called out for help.
Miraculously, it seemed, a lifeguard was immediately at my side. I wasn’t aware that he had watched me go into the water. He knew the current would capture me, and he knew where it would take me. Avoiding the current, he swam around and just beyond where I was struggling; then he patiently waited for me to call for help. Too weak to swim to shore alone, I was and still am grateful for his rescue. Without his help I never could have made it back to my family.