Gospel Story Finder

In 2012 I had completed seminary and high school, and a new world was opening in my life. The beginning of the year was great, especially the multistake youth camp. I felt blessed and protected by my Heavenly Father.
Years before, I had decided I would serve a full-time mission, so in 2012 I planned to dedicate myself to saving all the money I could. Thanks to my older sister, Sofía, I was able to quickly find a job at the company where she worked. On February 22, Sofía and I took the train to work. It was a beautiful day, but when we arrived at the destination, I heard a loud noise, and then everything went dark.
When I awoke, I was hurting and confused. Was my journey on earth coming to an end? I really wanted to be around to experience certain things, like going on a mission and having a family. So I prayed, asking Heavenly Father to give me the opportunity to live and serve a mission.
Lying in the tangled wreckage of the train, I looked around for my sister, but I couldn’t see her. Finally I heard firefighters asking everyone to stay calm, and I could feel hope in my heart. I prayed for my sister’s well-being because I didn’t know where she was. As I prayed, I felt great peace. I had to fight to endure the pain I felt, but Heavenly Father gave me the necessary strength.
After an hour I was rescued. I felt the Lord with me during that time. As I was taken to the hospital to have an operation on my leg, I couldn’t stop thinking about my sister and wondering how she was. But every time I thought about her, I felt peace.
The next day my parents informed me that Sofía had not survived the accident. That news brought the greatest pain I have ever felt. But at the same time, I felt comfort and gratitude for the sacred covenants made by my parents in the temple in sealing our family together for eternity.
When I returned home from the hospital, the Lord blessed my family through our friends and relatives, who were our angels, giving us comfort. We will always be grateful for that. Thanks to the power of the priesthood, I learned how to walk again much quicker than expected. I was able to walk normally after just a few months.
The gospel is beautiful every way you look at it. I am so grateful for temples and temple ordinances. I know that the Lord has something sacred prepared for my sister. Life without her is not easy, and it never will be, but the assurance and the peace we have is stronger than the pain we feel at her absence. We miss Sofía with all our hearts and remember her every day. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said that heaven without your family just wouldn’t be heaven (see Between Heaven and Earth [DVD, 2005]), and I testify that is true.
God loves us, and He never leaves us alone. Isaiah 54:10 says, “My kindness shall not depart from thee, neither shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord that hath mercy on thee.”

Even before class started the next day, Rhett was cracking jokes and cutting other students down. Jarom leaned over, smiled wryly, and whispered, “This isn’t the day that’s going to make a difference.” He put his head down.
“It’d make a difference if you did something too. That’s why your mom made you promise,” I retorted warmly.
That day the class was a disaster. Rhett and Randy both sang loudly off key during the devotional hymn. Rhett muttered wisecracks through Cindy Mason’s spiritual thought while Randy snickered his approval. They even laughed in the prayer. It didn’t matter how Sister Batson pleaded and reasoned with them; they wouldn’t cooperate. Halfway through the lesson the two of them started laughing out loud after making a rude comment. I wanted to walk over and slap them both.
“Torbett,” a voice barked, “shut up or get out.” Startled, I turned to see Jarom glowering at Rhett.
Rhett’s laughter faded. “What’s it to you, Wade?” he sneered. “Did we wake you up from your morning nap?”
Slowly Jarom pushed up from his desk and strolled stiffly to where Rhett sat. Rhett stood up, prepared for the challenge while Sister Batson and the rest of us held our breath. “If you don’t want to listen,” Jarom said in a low, cold, cutting voice, “get out so somebody else can.”
“All you do is sleep, Wade. Isn’t that rude? Have you been listening?”
Jarom considered the accusation. “All right, I won’t sleep and you shut up.” They glared at each other. Jarom returned to his desk, sitting up in his chair. The rest of the period was quiet.
“Thanks for what you did back there,” I ventured as we left the church. I bit down on my lower lip. “I’m sorry what I said about your promise.”
He shrugged. “It was true. Rhett was right too.” He grinned. “Now I’ve promised Rhett I’ll stay awake.” He looked at me. “Why do you Mormons have to do this seminary thing so early in the morning?”
“You Mormons?” I asked. “You’re Mormon but don’t know it yet.”
“Fat chance.”
Seminary changed after that. A few days later Rhett started to get out of hand. Jarom grumbled from the back, “I’m still awake, Torbett.”

“Roberto,” Mama called. “Time for dinner!” Roberto forgot all about the toy cars he was playing with and ran to the table. Papa and Carlos were already sitting in their places. Roberto could smell fideos, his favorite food. He climbed into his seat and reached for the steaming bowl of slippery noodles.
“Roberto, did you forget something?” Papa asked.
Roberto slid down and raced to the sink. He washed his hands and dried them quickly. Mama was just sitting down at the table when Roberto returned. He climbed up on the chair beside her and reached for the noodles again.
This time Mama stopped him. “Roberto, have you forgotten something?” Roberto looked around. Everyone’s arms were folded, and Carlos was bowing his head. Roberto folded his arms and bowed his head, too. Papa asked Carlos to pray.
Roberto heard Carlos thank Heavenly Father for the food, but then Roberto began to think about Mama’s yummy fideos and he didn’t listen to the rest of the prayer. As soon as Carlos said amen, Roberto grabbed the serving spoon. He piled the noodles on his plate until Mama took the spoon away.
“Eat that much,” she said. “Then if you’re still hungry, you can have more.”
When he finished all the noodles on his plate, Roberto wasn’t hungry at all. He couldn’t eat one more bite, not even when Mama brought out the flan she had made for dessert. He watched Carlos smile as he spooned the custard into his bowl. Roberto wished everyone would hurry and finish so he could go back to his toys.
At last Papa leaned back and smiled at Mama. “That was wonderful,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you, Mama,” Carlos said.
“May I be excused?” Roberto asked.
Roberto played until bedtime. Carlos helped him make buildings and houses out of blocks. They made tunnels to drive their toy cars under. They had almost finished making a city when Mama announced, “Bedtime.”
After Roberto and Carlos said their prayers, Papa told them a story. It was a story from the Bible about when Jesus Christ helped 10 men who were lepers. “Do you know what a leper is, Roberto?” Papa asked. Then he explained: “Lepers are people who are very sick—so sick that sometimes they have to go away and live by themselves. The Savior made the 10 lepers well again so they could go home and live with their families. But only one of the men remembered to say thank you.”
“Oh,” Roberto said. “Why?”
“I don’t know why they didn’t thank Jesus. What do you think, Carlos?” Papa asked.
Carlos thought for a moment. “I think they were so happy to go home they forgot all about it.”
Papa nodded. “And what do you think, Roberto?”
Roberto suddenly jumped out of his bed. “Just a minute,” he said. “I remembered something.” He ran downstairs.
Mama was putting away the dinner dishes. She was surprised to see Roberto. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”
“I have to tell you something first. You made my favorite food for me, and I forgot to say thank you,” Roberto explained.
Mama smiled. “You’re welcome. I like to do things for you, especially when you remember to say thank you.”
Roberto ran back upstairs to his bedroom. Carlos was listening to Papa finish the story. “Thank you for playing with me today,” Roberto told Carlos. “And thank you, Papa, for telling me stories about Jesus.”
“You’re welcome,” Papa said and turned off the light. “Good night, Roberto. Good night, Carlos.”
But Roberto didn’t go right to sleep. He lay still and thought of the many things he was thankful for. He felt happy, and he wished he could give Heavenly Father a hug. At last he slipped out of bed and said another prayer. This time he really meant it when he thanked Heavenly Father for fideos, for Mama, Papa, and Carlos—and for helping him remember to say thank you.

As a leader in the Church and a medical practitioner I often encounter those who are in pain, those who are depressed, some who suffer with substance abuse, some who are near the point of suicide, accident victims, etc. It offers a great opportunity for me as I help to restore life. During my one-on-one visits with patients, after giving medical attention, I restore hope to them by sharing my belief and how my family and I have been blessed. Several times, I have pulled out my family picture and shared the joy we feel together. Many develop an interest and listen to the missionaries and are brought to the waters of baptism.

Through the years the Tabangos’ humble home was blessed with 15 children, but only four survived beyond the age of five. The couple’s faith, however, was not shaken. In the fall of 1978 and at great personal sacrifice, Brother and Sister Tabango traveled across the South American continent to Brazil for the dedication of the São Paulo Temple, where they renewed their friendship with President Spencer W. Kimball, who greeted them warmly. Following the dedication, the couple was endowed and sealed, giving them hope and assurance of an eternal family. Later the children they had lost in life were sealed to them for eternity.

The Nativity set is my favorite part of Christmas!
See, Lizzy? It’s the shepherds, the Wise Men, and …
Baby Jesus!
You can play with baby Jesus, but you have to be really careful.
OK!
A few days later …
Where is baby Jesus?
What are you looking for?
Baby Jesus!
We can’t find Him.
He’s lost!
Christmas isn’t ruined, and Jesus isn’t lost. He is always with us.
How?
I think I know …
He’s with us in here.
That’s right! The Nativity set is just a model. The real Jesus lives and loves us. We can feel His love in our hearts. Especially when we show love to others.
See, Jesus is with us for Christmas after all!

On a spring morning in 1845, Willard Richards, an Apostle of the Church, his wife Jenetta, and their son Heber John went to Lucien Foster’s gallery in Nauvoo, Illinois, to have their photograph taken.
Photography was a new invention, and the visit to the gallery must have been an exciting adventure for the Richards family. The resulting family portrait, shown above, would eventually become priceless to Willard and Heber John because, four months later, Jenetta died suddenly.
More than one hundred and fifty years later, it is still priceless as part of the collection of photographs housed in the Museum of Church History and Art, Salt Lake City, Utah.

I was a senior in high school and had joined the cross-country team mainly to get in shape for track and field events that took place later in the year. As part of our training, every morning before school our coach would have us run to his home, which was four miles from the school, and then run back again.
Several times after having made the eight-mile run my coach asked me if I’d “found my second wind yet?”
I’d always ask, out of breath, “What’s a second wind?”
To which he would reply, “You’ll know it when you find it.”
After several weeks of arduous training we finally had our first cross-country meet. It was well over eight miles long, with no stops and only an orange cone indicating the halfway mark. Knowing how difficult the last four miles had been for me every morning, I began to doubt myself even before the race began. But out of respect for my coach and with my competitive spirit, I positioned myself at the starting line.
The gun went off and we were on our way, trying to pace ourselves so we would have enough energy to finish. As usual, I could feel the burn and fatigue starting to build up with every stride I was taking. Well into the race I wobbled around a corner looking up a hill that seemed to be Mount Everest, only to see the halfway sign marked by the orange cone. I was exhausted. By this time I was feeling the temptation to quit. But relying on competitive drive still left in me, I made it to the top, with a weak, staggering run.
Suddenly something happened that I can’t explain fully. As I reached the crest of the hill, the words of my coach came to my mind, “Hey, Marler, have you found your second wind yet?”
At that moment, the question and the answer, “You’ll know it when you find it,” all came to light. As the burn, aches, and pains flooded through my body, as I was gasping for every breath, my whole body suddenly felt as if I had never started the race. I felt as if I was at the starting line, waiting for the gun to go off. I knew for the first time what a second wind was. I was able to finish the race and assist our team in winning the overall competition.
After the race I found my coach, and seeing the expression on my face, he said, “You found your second wind, didn’t you, Marler?” I will never forget the moment or the feeling I had. I know that anyone else who has experienced a second wind during a race can relate and will know what I have experienced.

Every little girl should have the thrill of a new doll on Christmas morning. The Young Women of the Hughson Ward, Modesto California Stake, wanted to make sure such dreams came true for children of needy families. As a service project they dressed dolls and donated them to the community-wide Christmas basket project. Ward members donated the dolls, and the girls outfitted them in clothes of their own design.

In one of our quorum meetings, Elder Oaks expressed a strong opinion about a course of action that he believed should be pursued. The reasons he articulated were convincing, and his knowledge about the issue was extensive. His arguments in favor of the action were compelling.
As we counseled together, a member of the Twelve with considerably less seniority expressed agreement with the basic course of action but registered a reservation about the proposed timing. Elder Oaks could have countered the concern with a response such as “I believe I have more experience with this matter than you do.” But he did not. With no hint of defensiveness or indignation, Elder Oaks asked his quorum member, “Would you please help me understand your reservation about the timing?”
After listening intently to his apostolic associate, Elder Oaks pondered for a moment and then said, “The point you have made is important. I had not considered fully the timing implications of this action in the way you have, and I am persuaded that the proposal should be reworked based on what we have learned in this discussion.”
Elder Oaks listened to and learned from his fellow quorum member and then walked in the meekness of the Lord’s Spirit (see D&C 19:23) to accomplish the desired outcome. For Dallin H. Oaks, the issue is never about what he wants; it is always about what the Lord wants and about following His ways.

I was a newly arrived full-time missionary in Connecticut, and my companion and I were serving in a small ward during the first round of holidays I spent on my mission. I hadn’t yet learned the dietary value of becoming friends with a few of the members, and my first Thanksgiving resulted in no invitation and no dinner. Our mission president took pity on us, and we ended up being the only missionaries to spend Thanksgiving at the mission home. We were grateful but a little embarrassed.
We started putting ourselves out there early for the coming Christmas. Our shameful solicitations landed three full meals at three different homes. Pancakes for breakfast, Lithuanian food for lunch, and a Jamaican feast for dinner. Our stomachs were bursting. I was still an inexperienced missionary and thought that was what Christmas on a mission was all about.

Toby nearly bumped into Nurse Hawley as he left his mom’s hospital room, his eyes shiny with tears. The lights looked bright, splotchy, and shimmery.
“Hi, Toby,” Nurse Hawley greeted him. “I see that your mother is back in the hospital. Christmas is still a week away, though. Maybe she’ll be able to go home by then.”
“I don’t think so,” Toby said, trying to swallow the big lump in his throat. “I really don’t.”
“Well, we’ll see. What would you like for Christmas this year?”
“For Mommy to die,” whispered Toby.
“What a thing to say!”
“You don’t understand …” Toby began, but Nurse Hawley was already marching down the corridor to the nurses’ station.
If Mommy dies, Toby thought, she won’t hurt anymore. And when she’s in heaven, she’ll smile and laugh again. It seemed to five-year-old Toby that his mom had had cancer forever. She had gotten sicker and sicker and had laughed less and less. And she almost never smiled anymore. Toby couldn’t hug her very often, either, because it hurt her too much.
I bet Jesus will love Mommy, too, thought Toby. She always listens. And she tells really good stories if you have a bad dream and can’t sleep. She always smells nice too.
Even in her hospital room his mom smelled like the flowers in Grandma’s garden. Toby didn’t like the strange medicinal smells of the hospital that Daddy had told him were necessary here. He wished that Mommy’s cancer was just a simple germ. Then they could splash around some disinfectant, and WHAMO!—it would be gone, and Mommy would be better.
But Toby knew that that wasn’t going to happen. He sat in the big, red plastic chair opposite the elevators and waited for Daddy. Most of the time Toby wanted to visit Mommy. But there were times like tonight when he had to leave her room, times when Mommy hurt so badly that she twisted and turned and looked as if she was trying to crawl right out of her skin.
That’s why Toby wanted Mommy to die. Then she wouldn’t have any more pain. She could smile and laugh and be happy. She could hug without hurting. She could sit up and walk and run. The doctors had said that Mommy couldn’t get better, but Toby knew that she’d be well in heaven.
Toby curled up in the chair and rested his head on the smooth arm. Thinking and waiting sure make you tired, he thought as his brown eyes closed and he drifted into sleep.
It seemed to Toby that someone was calling him from far away. He was tired and didn’t want to answer. No, that wasn’t it really. Sleep was safe. In his dreams, Mommy was all better. They played together and had fun.
“Wake up, Toby. Come on, Big Boy, wake up.”
Toby blinked his eyes open. Daddy ruffled his short brown hair. “Come on, Tiger, Mommy wants to see you.”
Toby suddenly felt scared. Daddy was smiling, but he looked sadder than Toby had ever seen him. Toby’s heart started beating fast and hard.
Daddy scooped him up and walked toward Mommy’s room. Daddy hadn’t carried him like that for a long time. Something was terribly wrong. He didn’t want to go in Mommy’s room …
“Mommy!”
His mother was sitting up and smiling. She was wearing the blue nightgown that he and Daddy had bought her for Christmas. That wasn’t right—Christmas was still a week away. But she looked really nice! Toby couldn’t remember when he’d last seen her look so pretty.
“Come and sit with me, Toby.” She patted the bed by her side.
Daddy sat Toby down beside her. Toby barely breathed. He didn’t want to move and hurt her. But Mommy hugged him tightly and kissed him on the forehead, both cheeks, and the end of his nose. Then she snuggled back so that they were both leaning against the pile of pillows. Toby rested his head on her shoulder. He was happy. It seemed longer than forever since he’d been able to cuddle with Mommy like this.
Toby giggled as he thought about how scared he’d been. He was still holding tight to Mommy’s hand when he fell asleep.
When Toby woke up, it was morning and he was in his own bed. He didn’t remember coming home from the hospital, and he began feeling scared again. Not waiting to put on his slippers, he ran to find Daddy.
Daddy was sitting in the big chair, the one that Mommy liked best because it felt fluffy and had big, bright flowers on it. Daddy’s eyes looked red and puffy, as if he’d been crying for a long time. Toby climbed onto his lap and hugged him hard.
Toby understood why Daddy was crying. Mommy had died. Toby was smiling as tears filled his own eyes and slid down his cheeks. He was going to miss Mommy so much! Mommy and Daddy and Toby had talked about this happening. Toby knew that it was OK to feel strange, to feel happy and sad and confused and even angry all at the same time.
Then Toby remembered something very special. “Mommy got better, didn’t she, Daddy, for just a little while?”
“Yes she did, Toby. We were given a very special gift, a chance to see Mommy feeling well one last time before she left us.”

There is one sport that everyone in Brazil loves—football. And there is no bigger football event than the World Cup. So when Fabiana Silva, a member of the Brasil Ward, Vitória da Conquista Brazil Stake, won a contest and got to attend the 1998 World Cup in France, she was thrilled! But she had no idea it would become a missionary opportunity.
The other contest winners couldn’t help noticing Fabiana’s standards as they attended football game after football game, and Brazil headed to the final game against France. They respected her modest dress, her positive attitude, and her clean language. That respect turned to disbelief, though, when she told them she would not be attending the championship because it was going to be held on Sunday.
Despite pressure and even ridicule from the group, Fabiana stood firm. Sunday found her reading scriptures in her hotel room because she didn’t know where to find a local chapel. Brazil lost; the group went home.
A few weeks later Fabiana was surprised to receive a letter from Fábio Fan, another contest winner from across the country. He told her he was impressed by her standards and that he was investigating the Church. Later he sent another letter—he had been baptized. Fábio then helped bring members of his family into the Church and served a mission.
Fabiana also served a mission, to Campinas, Brazil, where she was well prepared because she had already learned that “the most effective tract we will carry will be the goodness of our own lives and example.”

Well respected as a leader, Brother Casablanca is the first to take his own advice. At Christmastime, he leads the high priests in his branch in a Puerto Rican tradition called parranda. The Casablancas gather several families together, along with a few guitars or other musical instruments, and sing Christmas carols outside another member’s home. They are soon invited in and spend an hour or so eating, singing, laughing, and dancing. Then the visited family joins the group, and everyone goes to another home. This progressive party goes on all night long and can end up with 50 to 100 people in the group. “We often visit less-active members so we can all join in the fun,” says Brother Casablanca.

At 15, I wanted more than just about anything to play football. There were just a few problems: I was small and slow and had played football only occasionally with the kids in my neighborhood.
But I found that there was one thing I could do well by practicing over and over again—I became a kicker. All summer long I practiced kicking extra points and field goals, sometimes 200 in a day. By the end of the summer I was consistent, and I did become my school’s designated field-goal kicker.

Last year, the whole school was studying the nature of God and what He is like. Our teachers taught us that God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are all one being without “passion or form” (feelings or a body). We knew that that was not correct, and we talked about it with our parents. When it came time for me to take the test on what we had learned that week in Bible class, one of the questions asked was, “Name the three parts of God.” Although I knew the answer they wanted me to give, I refused to write it because I knew that God was not made of three parts and that I should not give an answer I did not believe.
Later in the day, my teacher called me to her desk and asked why I had left the question blank. I told her that our church teaches that God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are three distinct personages, that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ both have bodies, and that the Holy Ghost is a personage of Spirit. She said that she would give me full credit for my answer because I know what I believe, even though it differs from what the school teaches.

“Anchored by Faith and Commitment,” page 30: Elder M. Russell Ballard tells about his great-grandfather who was offered a life of ease if he would leave the Church. He refused and chose instead to make the difficult trek to Salt Lake City, arriving ragged and destitute but true to his testimony. What are you willing to give up for your faith? Is there anything you would not be willing to sacrifice if the Lord required it?

Almost as soon as the caravan stopped at the end of the forest road, the doors popped open and Scouts, dads, and a lot of backpacking equipment and fluorescent-orange life jackets came tumbling out of the cars and trucks. In no time at all the Scouts were lined up, drawing their allotment of food to carry, and stuffing it into their packs. Everyone seemed to know his duty and how to perform it. The few dads who were along to help were impressed with the organization. In fact, the only person not surprised by all this super efficiency performed by 12- and 13-year-old boys was their Scoutmaster, Nob Wimmer.
For Brother Wimmer this trip with the American Fork Utah 14th Ward Scouts was only one of hundreds of Scouting outings he has participated in during his 25 years of Scouting experience.
When asked how he got 12- and 13-year-old boys to perform much beyond their years, he commented on his philosophy:
“The age of the boys isn’t that critical. With cooperation you’d be surprised what even young boys can accomplish. There are three elements that do seem to make for a great trip. First, you need to plan well in advance. Second, a trip needs to require effort from everyone. Preferably the work starts a long time before the trip. If it does, the people involved get more excited about the actual event, they learn more, and they improve their teamwork. Then when we have taken care of all the variables that we can control, the third element of a great trip often comes into play. This is the element of surprise—the unexpected or the unusual happening that really makes the event stay alive in people’s minds long after the trip is over.”
To the 35 Scouts and adults who went, the trip was a success. They had been planning for months; each of them knew his duties and how to carry them out. They had also been working very hard to get ready. They learned how to handle canoes. They conditioned themselves to their backpacks, and many of the Scouts invested extra hours in learning to tie fishing flies. They worked one evening a week with Brother Wimmer learning how to do it, and then they tied quantities of flies in anticipation of the trip. In addition, every meal of the five-day camp was carefully planned in advance. Then, a few days before the trip, the food was bought and repacked so it would be easier to carry. They used off-the-shelf grocery items rather than the more expensive dehydrated backpacking foods. They even made their own oven-dried jerky to save on weight and expense.
Once the gear was out of the vehicles and strapped on backs, everyone started up the trail together. The few miles to the lake seemed more like a dozen since each person not only had to carry his own personal gear but also had to take a turn helping to carry one of the canoes.
At the lake, supplies and Scouts were ferried across the water to a lovely campsite. Scouts built simple, plastic-covered shelters under the pines, and had camp completely set up and organized in time to take in an evening’s fishing.
It was easy to get to sleep that first night. David Miller, however, woke up in the middle of the night with a creepy feeling that he wasn’t alone in his bag.
“I thought I felt something in my bag. I lay still for a while, and pretty soon whatever it was began running down my back. I grabbed it between the folds of my sleeping bag, got out of the bag, and woke my father. He helped me brush it out. It was a little squirrel, and it seemed as glad to be out of the bag as I was.”
The next morning Bishop Bean found fresh moose tracks around his sleeping bag, and there were deer tracks all through camp. After that everyone kept watch for the abundant wildlife in the area. Every morning and evening they were able to watch moose saunter down to the lake for a drink and a swim.
“The wildlife provided the unusual and the unexpected on this trip,” said Brother Wimmer. “Each day most of the boys got to see deer and moose in their natural setting. The animals didn’t even seem frightened of us. We didn’t bother them, and they seemed content to let us share their lake for a few days.”
Everyone caught some fish, and even one boy who had been cool on the trip in the first place had a terrific time. He told the leaders when they were planning the trip, “I don’t want to go up in the woods somewhere and play cowboys and Indians.”
“He sure got interested when the fish started biting,” said Bishop Bean. Like the rest of the boys, he had set goals he wanted to accomplish on this trip. Each boy became more proficient at some skill, and they were all better trained to operate as a group than ever before.
During lunch one day one of the adults was swatting at some of the huge horseflies that seemed to be everywhere. “These horseflies are terrible,” he said.
Brother Wimmer piped up, “Don’t say that! Nothing up here is terrible!”
“Okay, I’ll just say the horseflies are mildly aggravating.”
“Fine,” said Brother Wimmer with a smile, and then let silence complete the sermon. It was a sermon that was relived time and again as the boys later shared the memories of this experience at troop meetings and a special ward banquet in their honor.

Last summer, youth in the Val Vista Ward in Mesa, Arizona, participated in what they called the “STEP” program: Students Trying Elijah’s Promise. First the youth became familiar with the Church’s Web site new.familysearch.org, where they each got a sign-in name and password. Then they went to work researching their ancestors to find those who needed temple work.
The ward also held an all-day Especially For Youth program on July 24. The event was designed to focus on family history and temple work and featured workshops, games, food, and research time on computers. “It was one of the most amazing events I have ever been a part of,” said Bishop Charles Doane. “In one day the youth found over 500 family names for ordinance work.”
The young men and women continued searching for names, and by the time they went to the temple in August they had nearly 1,200 names ready.

I suppose I was about seven years old when Mom told me that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. Maybe she had told me earlier, but I don’t remember that.
“So, if I really want something, and if I’m a really good boy, and I ask for it—Heavenly Father will give it to me?”
“That’s right, son. If your faith is very strong, and if it’s for your own good, he’ll give it to you.”
That hot summer night in 1944 I lay in bed thinking about what I wanted most from Heavenly Father. Another brother? Maybe. A new baseball? I’d probably get one for my birthday anyway. How about an end to the war and my dad coming home? Yes. But Mom was working hard on that one with her prayers.
And then it came to me—the one single, most critical, most desirable, most longed for, most important thing in all the world to my seven-year-old heart: I wanted to fly … like a bird.
And why not? Birds flew. Bats flew. Kites and paper airplanes and bugs and butterflies flew. Why not me?
How the other kids would envy me! How my teacher would gasp with astonishment and admiration! And wouldn’t my friends Joey Hirschberger and Jimmy Johnson be envious?
Taking care not to wake my little brother, Lynn, I slid out of bed and dropped to my knees. I folded my arms (like Mom did), and squeezed my eyes shut. Then I clenched my teeth (a sure sign of great faith, I felt), reflected the intensity of the moment in my screwed tight face, and uttered my first all-alone-by-myself, out-loud prayer:
“Heavenly Father, I want to fly. I really, really, really want to fly. Won’t you please bless me so that I can fly? I’ll be a really good boy if you’ll help me to fly. Honest. Amen.”
Then I got off my knees, pulled my chair to the center of the darkened room, and climbed up on the chair. Extending my arms out wide, I whispered it again: “Please, Heavenly Father, help me to fly. Mom said you could do it. I know you can do it.”
With this, I began to flap my arms furiously. Up and down, up and down, faster, faster.
You can probably guess what happened: My arms got tired.
I sat down and thought about it. Maybe I was missing something important. Maybe what I needed was to jump off the chair while I flapped my arms.
I climbed back up on the chair. This time I flapped my arms really hard and then jumped off the chair, upward, outward.
And downward. Thump! Soon Mother appeared at the door, wondering what had caused all the noise.
The next day I pondered the problem until I thought I had it worked out: Heavenly Father must be testing my faith. Maybe the secret was to pray for several nights in a row and to grit my teeth harder and to screw up my face tighter while I prayed.
I tried it. Each night for a week I prayed and prayed, my faith and enthusiasm growing. By Sunday night I was sure that I was ready.
Back up on the chair, arms extended, I once more whispered my plea to the Lord, absolutely sure that he would hear and answer my prayer and allow me to fly.
My arms began to flap up and down, faster, faster. I jumped upward and outward.
And downward. Thump! Again I was questioned about the loud thump from the upstairs bedroom.
What was missing? I had gritted my teeth and twisted my face into a grimace. Why hadn’t it worked? Why hadn’t I soared from the chair and flapped around the room? I lay in bed for a long time thinking, wondering.
The next day I was in the back yard of the house when I heard Mom calling me.
Blackberries. I had promised to pick the berries from the huge wild blackberry bush behind the garage. But it was hot, and I didn’t feel like fighting the vicious brambles and thorns in August to make sure we would have jam next January.
Just for a moment, I pretended I hadn’t heard her. That’s when the inspiration came: How could I expect the Lord to give me flight if I couldn’t give Mom a few minutes for an errand?
From that moment, I became a fanatic errand boy. I not only picked blackberries, I chopped firewood. I filled the wood box. I swept the porch. I set the table and went to the store. And then I picked more blackberries until my arms and hands were scratched and bleeding from the thorns.
I wore Mom out with demands for more and more errands. How could the Lord deny me now? I had prayed with all my might for two weeks, had exercised enormous faith, had filled my days with good works and liter buckets of blackberries. Surely, I would fly now!
That night I mentioned all of this to the Lord in my prayer, then climbed back onto the chair in my darkened bedroom. This time. … This time. … This time it will work!
It didn’t work. The upward, outward curve again continued into the downward curve, ending in the by-now-familiar thump.
I couldn’t understand it. For all my prayers and all my faith and all my good works, I remained as earthbound as Joey and Jimmy. What could be missing?
Without ever mentioning my desire to fly, I put the problem of unanswered prayers to my Sunday School teacher. What followed was a lesson on how to pray and how Heavenly Father answers prayers. And there was the answer. I marveled that I had missed it: I had failed to trust utterly and completely in the Lord.
Up until now, I had jumped off a low chair—a chair low enough that if the flapping didn’t work, I at least wouldn’t break my neck. The Lord must be waiting for me to show real faith by jumping off of something high enough that failure would hurt. That would prove my faith!
And beyond that, I had always made my attempts in the privacy of a darkened bedroom. Next time I would prove real faith by jumping off of something really high—and with an audience and in open daylight.
All the next week I prepared. The faith, the prayers, the endless helpfulness to Mom continued. By Saturday afternoon I was ready.
I explained my project to Lynn and Joey Hirschberger and Jimmy Johnson. I explained about faith and good works. I explained about the kind of prayers where you grit your teeth and twist your face into a grimace. I explained about having to risk yourself to show that you trust the Lord absolutely.
And then I started up the ladder to the roof of the garage. Lynn and Jimmy and Joey remained on the ground watching and wondering.
Joey said he thought I was crazy. But what did Joey know about faith and works and prayers?
And now I was on the roof of the garage, looking down. It seemed farther from the roof to the ground than it had appeared the other way around.
Directly below me was the terrible blackberry bush. It looked higher and wider than it ever had from the ground. Great long brambles covered with vicious thorns reached up almost to where I stood.
I had to turn away the doubting thought: “What if it doesn’t work? What if I don’t fly? What if I land in the blackberry bush?” But I mustn’t doubt! The entire effort might fail if I doubted!
For doubt is the opposite of faith. Then, with simple logic, I decided that if I removed my only protection from the awful blackberry thorns it would prove my absolute, unshakable faith.
I took off my shirt. Joey said he thought that was the stupidest thing he’d ever seen, and he was going to tell my mom.
I told Joey to sit down and be quiet, but he left to tell Mom anyway. Now I had to hurry!
I closed my eyes and reminded the Lord about how he answers prayers of faith and how if someone wants something badly enough and is a good boy and helps his mom and goes to Sunday School, his prayers will be answered.
That done, I began to flap my arms, faster and faster. Then, eyes still closed tight, I jumped upward and outward from the roof of the garage—upward and outward over a huge wild blackberry bush—with no shirt on.
Before I opened my eyes, I knew I was lying on my back on the kitchen table. Doctor Nichols was just leaving, saying something about how you couldn’t possibly break a bone jumping into an overgrown “pillow”—even if it were covered with thorns. I could feel the cool cloth as Mother continued washing the blood from my dozens of scratches and cuts.
After Doctor Nichols left, Mom chased out my wide-eyed friends, and I opened my eyes. I saw that my mother’s arms and hands and face were covered with dozens of scratches—and realized what she had done to rescue me.
She smiled her special tender smile and held me close in her arms. “For injuries sustained in battle, I award you the purple heart,” she said quietly, “and maybe a bronze star for bravery.”
“Do you have a medal for silliness?” I asked. “I feel so stupid!”
“I suppose we all feel that way sometimes,” Mother replied. “We make mistakes, we learn from them, and then we go on with our lives.”
There was a long pause before I asked the question: “You said Heavenly Father answers prayers. …
Mom finished the sentence: “And now you’re not really sure if he does answer prayers.” Somehow Mom always knew what I was thinking.
“Of course he hears and answers prayers,” she said—and I could tell she really meant it. “Only sometimes we pray for things that aren’t good for us. Sometimes we forget to say, ‘Thy will be done.’ And sometimes his answer is a quiet, firm no. But no is an answer, too, isn’t it, son? He can’t always say yes, can he? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I suppose so. But, Mom, I wanted so much to fly! And I tried so hard!”
“Someday, son, when your dad comes home from the Navy, you’ll have the answer to your prayers. You and Dad can go to the airport and pay for a half-hour airplane flight. There are many ways Heavenly Father could give you a yes answer to your prayers for flight. But it won’t come through flapping your arms and jumping off garages into blackberry bushes.”
By now all the bleeding had stopped, a small bandage over each cut and scratch. As she turned to tending her own wounds, Mother smiled at me and pretended to be stern, “And speaking of jumping off of garages into blackberry bushes: Young man, if you ever do that again, I’ll take away your purple heart!”
A voice interrupted my daydreaming. “We are on our final approach to Hamburg International Airport. Please fasten your seat belts.”
Strange about that childish prayer for flight all those years ago. For a while it had seemed that Heavenly Father didn’t really answer prayers. My answer hadn’t come just then when I had wanted it so badly. It had come later—flying over our hometown in a small airplane with Dad. And then aboard a huge jet en route to the Germany Hamburg Mission. Strange how the answers always seem to come—though not always at the time or in the way we expect.
I fastened my seat belt and let a little prayer run through my mind: “I thank thee, Father, for hearing and answering the prayer of a seven-year-old boy. I thank thee for allowing me to fly.”