Gospel Story Finder

In the 1970s, when newly proposed federal regulations appeared to prohibit religious schools like BYU from having separate on-campus housing for men and women, President Oaks was given the chance to testify before Congress on the matter. He began not by condemning or attacking the proposal but by first expressing support for the new law’s “overall nondiscrimination objectives.” Only then, after this truthful and conciliatory statement, did President Oaks go on to make the case “that the proposed regulations went too far.”25

President Oaks’s wise and honest approach proved persuasive. Over time, BYU was “granted an exemption from those requirements.”26

Not a month later, I felt impressed to look at careers that related to humanitarian and non-profit work. The job requirements led me to investigate a degree, a Master of Public Administration at BYU. I hadn’t been making plans to return to school after my receiving my bachelor’s degree. But He was showing me there was more ahead for me or, I should say, more in me than I knew.

The graduate school application deadline was just a few days away, but with His help I was somehow able to submit all the necessary paperwork, recommendations, and interviews. I was accepted to grad school and, just after, was hired as the manager of the Church’s animation team, another unexpected opportunity.

I was now looking at starting grad school, starting a new challenging job, and continuing to serve as my ward Young Women president of more than 50 young women. This didn’t look possible, but all three felt right. So I trusted in Him. Only He would show me how this was going to work, and He did.

Throughout my three years of grad school, I continually watched His hand strengthen me in ways that I didn’t think possible. He’d part the “Red Seas” (see Exodus 14) of my life, somehow making a way for things to happen and for my capacities to expand.

The Lord makes a way when we follow His promptings and commandments. The prophet Nephi declared that truth when he said, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).

The Lord will provide a way for us to accomplish the things that He has asked us to do. If you are struggling to make things work financially or otherwise for school, just know that if you feel prompted to attend school at this time, the Lord will provide a way just as Nephi declared. Trust Him. He loves you and desires to take care of you and will as you choose to exercise your faith in Him.

During that busy time as a student, I would find myself having to choose between things like helping the young women set up a ward activity or studying for my mid-terms. I chose to listen to the same Voice that had led me to that place and decided to be with the young women. I then prayed and did my best to study with what time I had left.

Time and again I would take a test and somehow do well—always better than expected. The Lord is so merciful and kind. That is an important lesson I took away from my education: the character of God and His love for me as His daughter.

The other learning from my education is that when we put the Lord first and keep our covenants with Him, all things fall into their proper place, and we receive the gift of His peace and help amidst the storm. We have peace because we know He is in it with us. When we choose Him, we will be blessed with all we stand in need of as we pass through the challenges He has placed before us.

I love the Lord. I testify that He leads this Church through our prophet, President Russell M. Nelson. Jesus Christ is our Savior and Redeemer. Through His sacrifice we can have the peace which surpasseth all understanding (see Philippians 4:7). It is His peace and love that will sustain us amidst the impossible or unthinkable. He will provide, as we keep our covenants and trust in Him with all our hearts (see Proverbs 3:5). This is His restored Church upon the earth, and we have the fulness of His gospel. I know He lives and loves you! In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Answer:Carolyn (Merrill) Shumway was my pen pal between age 16 and 18. My sister Marlene met her working in Yellowstone Park the summer of 1956 and persuaded her to write to me, her 16 year old brother. I wrote back and that was the beginning of a two-year correspondence. I never saw her picture, or heard her voice during that time, but we became close and intimate friends through letters without the anxieties or distractions of a physical presence. I went to BYU in the fall of 1957. She was still a senior at East High School in Salt Lake City.
But we were not anxious to meet. I was afraid if she saw what I looked like it would ruin everything. She was afraid that if I saw her I would not want to continue writing. So we happily corresponded through most of my freshman year. In the spring of 1958, at my sister's insistence, Carolyn dropped by with her mother to meet me in my apartment in Provo. It was a very cordial meeting, but our first date a few weeks later was a clincher. I was absolutely, rapturously in love. But that love did not fully flower until after my mission to Tonga and after her mission to the Southern States. Seven years after our first letter we got married.
Did I ever pray to know if she was the right person? No. (I hope that does not ruin any testimonies) I only prayed to be worthy of her. It was so unequivocally obvious that she was the one for me, I did not need any other special feeling to confirm the fact. I do remember, however, that while I was waiting for her to finish her mission I did allow myself the intellectual freedom to imagine being married to someone else. The moment of that thought was instantly accompanied by such a darkness and depressive feeling I knew immediately that to marry anyone else would violate some grand universal design the Lord had in mind for me and her. The courtship was conducted under the guidance of gospel principles and the marriage performed in the Salt Lake Temple in 1963. I am sure prayer is important in the process of selecting a mate. It was just that in my case the answer came before I even asked.

A few weeks ago the Church received a call from Martin Luther King III to assist in a rescue mission to the Houma Indian nation tribe in southern Louisiana. They had been devastated by hurricanes Gustav and Ike. Floodwaters had raised 5 or 6 feet into homes and buildings in their area. Their chief approached Martin and his "Realizing the Dream" foundation. Martin then called our Church and asked for help. He said he could reach out to others and that while others might volunteer, the LDS Church was one that he knew which could be counted on to assist him. As a Seventy over this area, I was called upon to help organize this relief effort. We were given just one week's notice. We immediately called the stake presidents in the surrounding areas. Within a couple of days they reported back that they had secured nearly 2,000 volunteers to come and help. We could not use that many and turned back 500. On the weekend of September 27-28, 1500 LDS members showed up and went to work.

We were taken to a community center in Dulac, Louisiana. Dulac lies along what is called Shrimper's Row, on one of Louisiana's remote bayou waterways. Dulac, is a very poor area, and had been largely wiped out by wind and flood. At its community center there was a young 27-year-old Native American woman. She ran the center and was the first in her family to have ever graduated from college. When she graduated she decided to come back to her small town and help. She could have made more money elsewhere, but she built a library there and was helping a group of several men and women who had dropped out of school to get their high school GEDs. Now the library was gone. Homes were gone and all the residents had lost hope. They needed food and supplies and had come to the community center for assistance. The center was scheduled to receive a large truckload of supplies from the government but a local pastor got a local town official to divert these supplies to his parish. As we spoke to her she broke down in tears. She said she did not know what to do. She said, "Nobody knows we are here." What a blessing it was for us to say, "God knows you are here and has sent us." Since that time the Church loaded up its trucks and sent a multitude of supplies and foodstuffs. I was also able to get a friend of mine to have his company donate a truckload of bedding materials. For another three straight weekends hundreds of Church volunteers continued to help clean up Dulac.

Now this area of Louisiana is very anti-Mormon. Interestingly, we were able to get a local minister- who had just a month or so earlier brought in people to instruct his congregation on how to combat Mormonism- to let us use his building as our staging center for the relief effort. After seeing our people at work and realizing the goodness of the Church, he opened his new church building (which was not yet finished) to our Church members so we could have a sacrament service there. It will probably be the most spiritual service ever held in that building. In this process, this anti-Mormon minister' heart softened. At the sacrament meeting the local Parish president who also attended broke out in tears as he felt and heard the message that day. He agreed to take the missionary lessons. He told us when the storms came he felt like he needed to resign because he did not know how to help or respond. He simply had been overwhelmed by the magnitude of the damage. He said he had never seen anything like what our church members had unselfishly done for those in his area. He was astonished by our service and his soul and heart were pierced to the core. Everywhere we cleaned up we heard, "We didn't know anybody knew we were here." But God knew and because some of our Church members left the comfort of their homes, a tiny part of this world was touched and revolutionized.

Two years ago, when I was 14, I went to visit some relatives in another city in southern Germany. I was traveling alone by train, so I was a bit nervous but also excited. After my visit, I got on the train to go home. It was getting late at night as we approached the station where I was supposed to get off the train. I looked out the window and saw the station, but I suddenly had the feeling that I should stay seated.
Though the train wouldn’t be traveling on (this was the final station), I wanted to get home because it was getting late and I was nervous. But the impression to wait was very distinct. So I did it, though I wondered why.
After a few minutes I finally did get out. I had walked only a short distance when a policeman stopped me and said, “You were lucky. If you had come five minutes earlier, you would have been in the middle of a big fight.”
There had been a soccer game that evening between two archrivals. Some fans of one team had been in the front of the train and some fans of the other team in back. When they had gotten off, a couple of them had started provoking one another, and then everyone had started fighting. I later heard that by the time the police came to break it up, over a dozen people had been injured and taken to the hospital. The police had then blocked everything off and taken all the suspects with them.
One policeman came over to me and put his hand on my shoulder, saying, “Wow. If you had been there, we probably could have hauled you off as well.” I realized that if I hadn’t followed that impression, something very bad could have happened to me.
As I went home, I prayed to Heavenly Father and told Him that I was thankful that I had listened to the Holy Ghost and hadn’t gotten off the train. I knew that He had protected me.

Divorce was never a part of my vocabulary until it actually happened to me. For a long time I felt the embarrassing downside of the word every time I was asked about my marital status. “I’m divorced.” It was as if I could hardly say the words out loud—as if I were saying bad words.
Nevertheless, it was where I was in life, and I had a hard time fitting in. “You’ll find someone,” my friends would say. But I was not interested and had no desire to remarry. My four children kept me busy enough.
Until one day, without expectations or plans for the future, I met Arnfinn, and to my surprise we communicated so well that I enjoyed his company more and more. He was smart, good-looking, and playful. When he proposed, I did not know what the future would hold, but I knew I wanted that future with him. We took our time to “iron out the wrinkles,” as Arnfinn called it, and were married in the Stockholm Sweden Temple in the fall of 1997.
Being newlyweds at almost 40 was not the same as the first time. Falling in love was the same wonderful thrill, and the excitement of a new relationship was similar, but now we had two ex-spouses, a disobedient dog, a loud bird, and nine children, ages 3 to 17. Luckily, the newness of our romance was enough to get us through challenging days ahead.
“It seems like we don’t always have the same opinions about things,” Arnfinn said one day. Forty years of habits and doing things your own way will do that. I was 19 the first time I married, and routines and traditions were formed along the way. Arnfinn and I found out that it was all right and even healthy to have more than one opinion. It did not necessarily mean that one was right and the other was wrong. Opinions are shaped by many things in life, and respect and listening became the key words to understanding the other person.
We also tried to come to an understanding of how to blend our lives together—where to live, how to deal with the family economy, and which holiday traditions to uphold. There were a few more wrinkles to iron out along the way, but looking back, some seem trivial today. Harmony and love at home were the targets we were aiming for.
Having another mother involved in our family was especially hard for me. Arnfinn’s ex-wife is a wonderful mother and concerned with her children’s welfare. Vacations and weekends were planned with her, and at times I felt I did not have a say in my own life.
But the transition was probably more of a challenge for Arnfinn, who moved into a home with four children, two of them in their teens—children whose personalities were more boisterous than what he was used to and who had been brought up slightly different from what he would prefer.
Then one evening, so late that my thinker had stopped working for the day, Arnfinn challenged me to an IQ test. He sat down on one side of the dining room table and started making up equations and mathematical formulas in order to answer the questions. I was on the opposite side of the table drawing pictures to solve the problems presented. We finished and compared our test answers, only to find that we had achieved the same answers. That’s when I realized that the test was similar to our lives together.
Let me explain: He does things one way, and I do them another. But we have the same goal, even though the way there may vary. Reaching that goal is like the IQ test: while he makes equations and I draw pictures, we still get to the same answers.
I know I could never do his job as a lawyer, and I am pretty sure he would find my line of work as a writer and water-color artist difficult. The trick has been to find him cute when he does things differently from me instead of being annoyed. Difference can be an exciting learning experience if we let it. I told Arnfinn one day, “If you can teach me some things and maybe I can teach you some, we will turn out OK one day.” We both have to be teachable, and it’s an ongoing process. Admiration has become a key word.
If Mom and Dad are two diverse species, you can be sure that two sets of children will be poles apart as well. We rolled up our sleeves and faced the everyday problems of varying eating habits, clothing styles, bedtime, and chores, to mention a few. For a long time the children were titled “mine” and “yours” and did not always think that being thrown together was all that wonderful.
The oldest one let me know that she would soon be out of the house anyway and that she wanted me to be happy; the next two girls did not even seem to like each other; and one of the boys gave up his bedroom every other weekend and slept on the couch whenever his step-brothers came. He has never complained about that, bless his heart.
There’s always room for those you love. We rearranged the parlor next to the living room as a parent refuge and had the children in the upstairs bedrooms. Two television sets and two bathrooms became a necessity instead of a luxury. A few days alone once a year for the newlywed parents was also an essential investment for our future as a family.
Weekends and other events were planned ahead; meals, games, and activities had to suit most of the children. Arnfinn’s five children lived with their mother on weekdays, and I wanted to respect her wishes as well as make sure the children enjoyed their visit with their dad. That meant I sometimes had to keep quiet about minor annoyances and instead focus on what was more important in order for them to have an enjoyable stay. I applied patience and love—then more patience, in addition to a bucket of humor.
Chaotic Sunday mornings were a major trial. We tried to set the atmosphere with beautiful classical music while guiding one child after another in and out of the two bathrooms before the cowbell rang for a scrumptious breakfast. Still, getting everyone out the door and into the minivan to get to church on time was a trial of keeping the spirit of the Sabbath every Sunday. By the time we came home and enjoyed a nice dinner, we had calmed down enough to enjoy playing games together.
There is much wisdom in the programs and lessons we are taught in church. Family prayer, family home evening, and discussing gospel principles are worth the time and effort. The gospel has brought us joy and helped us understand even more how important and valuable families are.
We have made many new traditions but also kept some from our previous lives. Every summer we bring as many children as possible to the Stockholm Sweden Temple. We stay at a campground south of the temple. It has become a tradition that we enjoy and one that even the kids who are married have adopted for their families.
When our children now come to ask for advice about dating and marriage, I tell them that it does not matter if one likes jogging and the other is partial to ballet. The most important thing is to have the same enthusiasm for serving our Savior and the determination to strive toward the goal to be an eternal family.
Blowing bubbles with three of our grandchildren. Our children have grown up and moved out, but they know they are always welcome to visit.
When I meet couples who find each other for a second opportunity for marriage, I am delighted for them, glad that they have a partner and best friend to spend time with. But I also remember that the first few years of putting together two families were not all bliss and glee. It comes at a cost, and some days we wonder why it needs to be so challenging.
Today, our daughters who did not really like each other as teenagers are both mothers and enjoy comparing notes at family dinners and even spending vacation time together at the family cabin. Encouraging letters have been mailed to the boys serving missions, and some of our children have visited each other as they have lived abroad. They always have fun getting together for large holiday dinners and rejoice when the arrival of a new niece or nephew is announced.
There’s only Arnfinn and myself at the house now. We have a fun-loving dog and a new little bird. The kids have frequented their bedrooms in between studies and establishing new homes. They know they are always welcome and will be fed and loved when they come by.
Putting two families together requires twice as much love and twice the patience. There has been a lot of cooking and many loads of laundry to wash, but it’s worth it. We love our large family. The blessings of having twice as many people to love are twice as great.
And our family is still growing. There’s a new generation of beautiful babies, and they are all our grandchildren!

At age 54, before he was called as a General Authority, President Russell M. Nelson attended a meeting in which President Spencer W. Kimball challenged attendees to “be of service to the Chinese” and “learn their language.”

Although he was a busy heart surgeon at the time, President Nelson took this counsel to heart. He found a tutor to help him learn the Mandarin language.

It wasn’t long before President Nelson found himself sitting next to a distinguished Chinese surgeon, Dr. Wu Yingkai, at a medical convention. Because of his Chinese language studies, President Nelson was able to have a conversation with Dr. Wu. From there, the two doctors formed a lasting friendship and even visited each other’s countries.

President Nelson’s goal to learn Mandarin led to positive exchanges with China, as President Kimball had hoped for. After he was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, President Nelson even performed his last heart surgery on China’s most famous opera singer by special request.

Chris awoke to the sounds of excited voices. It was the first day of school, and everyone was bustling about, trying to get back into the familiar routine. He could hear his sister, Cathy, chattering to herself as she tried on one outfit after another. She was starting sixth grade and wanted to look just right.
Even though his eyes were closed, Chris knew from the banging of the dresser drawers that his older brother, Mike, was also getting dressed.
Both Cathy and Mike were excited about the new school year. Chris wasn’t, though, which was why he pretended to still be asleep. “Better hurry, kid,” Mike said as he gave Chris a nudge. “You’ll miss your bus if you don’t get going.”
“Maybe I want to miss my bus,” Chris sighed. “Then I wouldn’t have to go to first grade again.”
Mike gave his brother an understanding look, then bent over to mess up his hair a bit. “Don’t worry,” he said assuredly, “it will only hurt today.”
“What do you mean, ‘It will only hurt today’?” Chris asked as he forced himself out from under the covers.
“I mean that you’ll probably be embarrassed a little today, but by tomorrow, you’ll realize that it isn’t that big a deal to anyone but yourself.”
After Mike left the room, Chris pulled on his clothes. He remembered how the other students had teased him last year when he couldn’t read as well as they could. He especially remembered the teasing that he’d had to endure when they learned that he would have to repeat first grade. Alan Thomas had teased him the most. He wasn’t a good reader, either, and he’d often made fun of Chris during reading time so that the other children wouldn’t notice his own mistakes.
“Ready to go?” Cathy asked as she poked her head into the boys’ room. “Dad says to hurry down for family prayer.”
The family was already kneeling in a circle when Chris entered the living room. As he found a spot, he felt the love and comfort that prayer always gave him. It was Mike’s turn to pray. After pausing a moment to look at his little brother, he closed his eyes and began. It was a wonderful prayer. Chris liked to hear his older brother pray because he always seemed to say just the right things.
Mike mentioned Chris and asked Heavenly Father to comfort him. He also asked Heavenly Father to prompt the other children to be kind to him and to not tease him. After the prayer, the whole family, in turn, gave Chris a little hug.
It was hard walking into the first grade class again. Chris was glad that his mother had decided to take him that morning. As he opened the door to the classroom, he saw the familiar painted walls. Mrs. Sanders looked the same, too, and she seemed very happy to see him. “I’m glad that you came a bit early, Chris,” she began. “I need someone who can help me set up for the new students. I imagine that they’ll be a little confused.”
Suddenly the door opened again. “Wonderful!” Mrs. Sanders exclaimed. “Now I have two students to be my helpers this morning.”
Chris turned around to see whom Mrs. Sanders was speaking to. There, standing in the doorway and looking very uncomfortable, was Alan Thomas! Chris quickly turned in astonishment to his mom and caught her quick smile and wink.
The day went by quickly. Chris made friends with two of his new classmates, and he even asked Alan to join them in a game of foursquare during recess.
Chris found that he knew his alphabet better than anyone else and that he was one of the best readers in the class. He decided that he was going to like going to first grade again. Mike had been right—it really did hurt for only a little while.

“But, Shawn, I don’t think Tyrell will let me play,” my friend Richie protested as I grabbed the basketball from the box in the garage and started for the door. “He hasn’t ever had much to do with me.”
“He didn’t have much use for me a few weeks ago,” I replied, “until he found out that I’m a pretty good basketball player. I ran into him down at the park, and we started shooting a few baskets. Since then he’s invited me to play with him and some of his friends. We get along just fine.”
“But I’m not one of his friends.”
“But you’re my friend. Frankie isn’t going to be there this afternoon, so we’ll be short a guy. We need six players to have a good game. You’ll be the sixth man.”
Tyrell was the most popular guy in sixth grade. He wore the nicest clothes and hung around the other popular kids like Nick, Frankie, Logan, and Blake.
I had never tried to be Tyrell’s friend, not because I didn’t like him, but because I didn’t think I’d stand a chance. That’s the reason that I felt pretty special now that I was playing ball with him. I’d even gone to his house a couple of times.
When Richie and I reached the park, we strolled over to the basketball court where Tyrell, Nick, Logan, and Blake were talking. “Let’s use Shawn’s ball,” Logan called out when he saw me. “He has the newest one.”
I tossed Tyrell my ball. “I brought Richie along,” I explained, “because I knew Frankie wasn’t going to be here. This way we can have three to a team.”
Tyrell looked Richie up and down, and I heard Nick mutter, “I don’t think he even knows how to play ball.”
I swallowed and spoke up. “He plays all right. He can be on my team.”
Everybody was quiet because Tyrell was still thinking. I knew that whatever he decided was the last word. After a pause, he tossed the ball at Richie. The ball came hard and fast, but Richie caught it. “All right,” he finally said slowly, still eyeing Richie, “I’ll play with Shawn and this new kid.”
Richie was nervous, but I knew that if the others just gave him a chance, he’d show them that he could play. He missed a few baskets and threw the ball away a couple of times. Then he settled down and played really well.
We had a tough time keeping up with Blake, Nick, and Logan, but we didn’t ever fall behind more than six points. Then, right at the end, we finally pulled away from them when Richie hit a long shot and followed it up a few seconds later with a quick layup. We ended up beating them by two baskets.
“I guess old Richie here can play ball,” Tyrell panted as we all walked off the court and lay on the grass under a big pine tree. “He can be on my team next time, too.”
We all horsed around at the park for a while longer. While we were goofing around under a big sycamore tree, where a group of people had been picnicking earlier, Richie stopped dead in his tracks, bent over, and picked up a small red and orange package.
“What’d you find?” Tyrell asked, walking over to him.
“It’s a pack of cigarettes,” Richie rasped, “and it’s almost full.”
All of us crowded around to get a closer look. “We’d better crush them up and throw them away,” Richie suggested.
“Hold on,” Tyrell called out, taking the package. “We don’t have to do anything right this second. Let’s see what we have here.”
For a minute we all studied the cigarettes. Tyrell and his buddies joked about them and pulled one out and tried it between their fingers. Richie nervously held one when Nick demanded that he take it. “It won’t hurt you to touch it,” he growled. “What are you, some kind of baby?”
“Why don’t we just chuck them,” I said, trying to smile. I held up my basketball. “Let’s play another quick game.”
“I have a lighter,” Blake suddenly volunteered, digging in his pants pocket and pulling out a small yellow disposable lighter. “It was on my brother’s dresser,” he explained, smiling. “I just picked it up this morning.”
Tyrell looked around the park. “Hey,” he suggested, “let’s go over behind the baseball bleachers and light one.”
“Light one of the cigarettes?” Richie questioned, his voice shaking a little.
“We’re not going to inhale,” Tyrell laughed, shaking his head and giving Richie a shove. “We’re just going to light it and see what it’s like. Come on.” He started moving away. Richie, Nick, Blake, and Logan followed.
Something in my head kept telling me to return to the basketball court and start shooting baskets or to take my ball and go home, but I didn’t. I told myself that I was just going to watch.
My stomach was twisting and turning, though, as I walked around the bleachers with the others. Tyrell took the cigarette and handed the pack to Blake. “Take one,” he ordered, “and pass them to Nick.” He looked around at all of us. “We can each try one. It’s no big deal.”
“I’ve never smoked before,” Richie rasped when Logan held the pack of cigarettes out in front of him.
“One cigarette isn’t going to kill you,” Tyrell said with a grin. “After all, they’re yours. You found them.”
I could see the battle inside Richie. He knew he wasn’t supposed to smoke. He’d been taught that all his life, just as I had. But this afternoon he had a chance to be part of Tyrell’s popular group. Not only that, but Tyrell and his buddies had treated him all right. He had been one of them. Just like I had. Now we realized that to still be one of them might mean smoking a cigarette. I knew that Richie was trying to decide whether it was all worth it.
“Go ahead and take one,” Tyrell growled. “Don’t be such a baby. The rest of us are going to—even your buddy Shawn,” he added without looking at me.
Richie stared down at the pack of cigarettes. Even before he did it, I knew he was going to look at me. And he did. His eyes were scared, but more than that, they were asking me what to do.
I just stared back at him, worried about what I was going to do. Ashamed, I looked away without saying anything.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Richie slowly reach out and take one of the cigarettes. “Will one cigarette be that bad, Shawn?” he asked me.
I looked up. More than anything, I wished that I had gone home right after our basketball game. I wished that I had walked away as soon as Tyrell took the cigarettes from Richie and started playing with them. I wished a lot of things.
I was the only one without a cigarette. Logan was holding the pack out to me. I had been excited and happy to be Tyrell’s friend. It had been nice to feel popular. I could still be popular—if I took that cigarette.
“My mom and dad don’t want me smoking,” I stammered, trying to smile while I said it.
“Your mom and dad aren’t here,” Tyrell came back. “They’ll never know. Do you think we’re going to tell them? This is our secret.”
“Should we do it, just this once?” I heard Richie ask me.
I looked at him. He wouldn’t be here right now if I hadn’t invited him. And then I made another frightening discovery. I realized that whatever I told Tyrell, I was making the same decision for Richie. I knew that Richie would do whatever I decided to do.
“Come on, Shawn, take one,” Tyrell ordered. “We’re waiting.”
I felt a sick, ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach. I started to speak, but the words didn’t come. I stopped, swallowed hard, then announced strongly, “I’m not going to smoke, Tyrell.”
“Are you afraid that somebody’s going to rat on you?”
I shook my head. “No. I just don’t want to do it. It’s something I decided a long time ago.” I thought of the promise I’d made when I was baptized to always keep myself clean. “If I smoked and didn’t get caught, that wouldn’t matter, because I’d always know. I’d always know that I’d broken promises I had made. I’m not going to do it, Tyrell. Not today, not ever.”
I started to push past him. He reached out and grabbed my arm. “Friends hang together, Shawn. I thought you were one of our friends.”
I coughed nervously. “I thought I was, too. Is this what I have to do to be your friend?”
“We’re a team. We do things together.”
“Then I guess I won’t be part of your team.” I pulled my arm free and started walking.
“Wait up, Shawn,” Richie called, dropping his cigarette on the ground and crushing it under his heel. “I’m going with you.”
Richie and I walked from behind the bleachers and started across the park. The sick, ugly feeling I had felt just seconds before was gone. It was as though a hard, heavy rock had been lifted off my shoulders.
“I was waiting for you to tell them no,” Richie whispered beside me. “I was praying you would. I just knew you would, Shawn. You had to, for both of us.”
“Run off like a couple of babies,” Tyrell taunted. “We’ll find somebody else to play ball with us. And if you’re not part of our team, don’t figure on being our friends. You sorry guys probably don’t even have any friends.”
I smiled over at Richie. He was still my friend. I thought of Jesus and the promises I had made to Him. He was still my friend. I knew then that I didn’t have to worry about being popular. I could choose the right and still have the very best kind of friends.

“Rhoda, will you offer the blessing on the food?” Mama asked.
Rhoda looked at the small potato on her plate. “But there is still so much plate showing around my dinner,” she wanted to say but didn’t. “Yes, Mama,” she said.
Bowing her head, she began, “Heavenly Father, thank Thee for the food, and please bless it. Watch over Daddy in England that he will find those who are looking for the truth. And please provide food and safety for us while he is away. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Rhoda opened her eyes and noticed her sister, Louisa, staring at Mama’s empty plate.
“Mama, where’s your food?” Louisa asked.
“Willard is out working in the fields,” Mama replied. “When he comes in, he’s going to want more than just water to drink.”
Rhoda could see worry lines around her sister’s eyes. “Are there no more potatoes?” Louisa asked.
Mama shook her head. “Those are the last ones. So eat up before they get cold.”
Rhoda stared at Mama. “But Mama, what will we do for breakfast in the morning?”
“Well, in your prayer you asked the Lord to provide for us while Daddy is away,” Mama replied. “I trust He will answer your prayer.”
“Mama!” Willard burst through the door. “Quick! The Judds have turned the canal water into their ditches!”
“Hurry, girls,” Mama said. “Buckets are outside!”
Rhoda jumped from the table, following Willard and Louisa outdoors. Each one grabbed a large, wooden bucket and raced down the dusty path to the canal.
Even though Rhoda was only eight years old, she understood about the canal. Like a man-made river, the canal was the source of water for all the homesteads in the area. The canal also provided water for irrigating crops. Farmers would turn some of the water from the canal into ditches lining their crops. Then the water would flow out of the ditches and flood the land. But once in a while, a farmer would turn all the canal water into his ditches, leaving the homesteads downstream without water until he finished irrigating his crops. And Rhoda knew that even one day without water in this scorching heat would be dangerous.
When the children arrived at the canal, the water flow had already stopped, leaving a still bed of water resting in the bottom. Rhoda filled her bucket with water, carried it back to the house, and poured it into the large rain barrel beside the front door. Back and forth the children ran, trying to fill the barrel before the water dried up.
“One more bucket each ought to do it,” Mama called.
Even though the sun hung low, almost touching the horizon, the dirt felt hot and gritty on the bottoms of Rhoda’s feet. Reaching the canal, they found that the stream was now dried up, leaving a muddy bed pocked with small, shallow pools. Rhoda jumped down into the damp streambed, mud spurting between her toes. Reaching the edge of one of the shallow pools, she leaned over to dip her bucket into the water. Suddenly she lost her balance and fell, splashing into the pool.
Willard and Louisa laughed as Rhoda stood up. Her dress clung to her back and belly, and warm water dripped down her arms and legs. When she reached down to grab her bucket, something slippery slithered past her ankles. “Snake!” Rhoda screeched, scrambling out of the pool.
Willard raced over, peering at the small pool.
“There!” Rhoda cried, pointing a finger at the water.
Willard’s eyes scanned the murky water. His hand circled the surface, then suddenly he thrust his arm into the water and grabbed at something.
“It’s a fish!” Willard shouted, holding a small, wriggling fish in his palm. “I caught a fish!”
“Look! There must be more in that pool over there!” Rhoda pointed.
“And over there,” Louisa shouted, pointing at another. All the small pools of water rippled with life.
“Let’s fill our buckets and take them to Mama,” Louisa suggested.
There was little water left in the pools and the fish swarmed in tight bunches, making it easy for the children to snatch them up. Soon their buckets were filled and the children carried them back to the cabin.
“Mama! Look what we found in the canal!” Rhoda called as they reached the cabin door.
“Fish? In the canal?” Mama looked confused. “There aren’t any fish in that canal.”
“There are tonight. The shallow pools are full of them,” Louisa said.
“But there have never been fish in that canal,” Mama said quietly, staring at the full buckets of fish. “Children, this is a miracle. Just as He sent manna to the hungry Israelites, the Lord has sent fish for us to eat.”
Reaching for Rhoda’s bucket, she continued, “And just like the children of Israel, we must gather all we can while there are fish to catch. Go and see if there are any more, and I will begin cleaning these and packing them in salt.”
The sun sank into the prairie grasses and a full moon lit the night as the children returned to search for more fish. As Rhoda knelt down in the mud, she closed her eyes and spoke softly. “Heavenly Father, thank Thee for answering my prayer and for taking care of us. Thank Thee for sending us the miracle of the fishes.”

But like many new converts, Teahumanu saw the gospel light he had received dim as worldly pressures overshadowed his initial commitment. In 1957, after Brother Manoï brought his family to Nouméa to look for work, he started to smoke and drink. Térotí would have none of it and returned to her parents in Tahiti. Teahumanu followed her—with some trepidation. When they were married, Térotí’s father had told him, “I’m giving her to you as a trust. If she ever comes back to me, watch out!” Teahumanu asked both Térotí and her father for forgiveness and promised to give up his bad habits forever. He has kept that promise.

Paul loved to save dimes. He saved shiny new dimes and tarnished old dimes. He saved the dimes he received for his birthday.
Grandma would give Paul dimes after he pulled the weeds in her flower garden. Grandpa would give Paul dimes for helping him herd the cows into the barn for milking.
Father would give Paul dimes for helping with the yard work. Mother would give him dimes for watching his little brother.
Paul had a lot of dimes, but no place to keep them. He put dimes in his sneakers, but they hurt his feet when he walked. He put dimes in his pockets, but they fell out when he ran and jumped. So Paul took all his dimes and put them on his dresser. He kept putting more and more dimes on his dresser. Soon the top of the dresser was full of dimes.
One morning at breakfast Mother said, “You have so many dimes on your dresser that I can’t dust it.”
“And I have no place to set my new goldfish,” said his big brother.
“I have an idea,” said Father. “I’ll show you when I come home from work today.”
When Father came home, he was carrying a box. He handed it to Paul. Inside it were many green paper tubes, an envelope with the bishop’s name on it, and a small jar.
“How will these help me with my dimes?” asked Paul.
“Come with me, and I’ll show you,” said Father.
They went to Paul’s room. Paul made lots of piles by counting ten dimes into each pile. Father had him put one dime from each pile into the envelope. Then Paul recounted the remaining dimes the same way. Every time he had five piles of ten dimes, Father put them into a green tube and closed it. When no more tubes could be filled, Paul put the leftover dimes into the jar and put it on the dresser.
“What do we do now?” Paul asked.
“Let’s see how much money you put in the envelope so that we can fill out the tithing slip,” said Father. “Then you can take your tithing money to the bishop on Sunday. Tomorrow after work I’ll take you to the bank, where you can turn in your rolls of dimes. The bank will keep your money in a savings account.”
The next day Father took Paul to the bank. The lady behind the desk took all of Paul’s neatly wrapped dimes. She gave him a small book with his name printed on it. Inside, the book it told him how much money he had given the lady.
On Sunday Paul went to the bishop’s office. He proudly gave his tithing envelope to the bishop.
“Thank you,” said the bishop. “I’m sure that the Lord will bless you for paying your tithing.”
Paul felt very happy. He knew the Lord had already blessed him.

At the funeral services for a remarkable daughter of God, someone shared that this sister, as stake Relief Society president, worked with others in her stake to contribute quilts to give warmth to suffering people in Kosovo during the 1990s. And like the good Samaritan, she went out of her way to do more as she and her daughter drove a truck filled with those quilts from London to Kosovo. On her journey home she received an unmistakable spiritual impression that sank deep into her heart. The impression was this: “What you have done is a very good thing. Now go home, walk across the street, and serve your neighbor!”19

My late father, Claude Roy, passed away in 2015, not long after being baptized. By then, my mother, siblings, and I had been members of the Church for some time, but for decades my father remained adamantly unwilling to join.
Over time, he said, “my heart hardened, and I became irritated by visits from my children and grandchildren and wanted to isolate myself from my family. Tensions grew in my house, and my relationship with my wife became strained.”
Around this time, he began to retrace his Canadian aboriginal ancestors, who were descendants of the Mi’kmaq and Huron-Wendat nations. After reaching out to the Mi’kmaq community near where he grew up, he was invited to a powwow, a Native American ceremony.
During the evening of the powwow, the high chief opened his arms and asked the children to come to him so he could bless them. The discourse that followed on the importance of family and descendants struck my father like thunder.
In that moment, he said, “I saw my family holding out their arms to me while I turned my back on them. I was filled with an overwhelming, indescribable sadness as though my heart was breaking in pieces. I knew in that moment that the Lord had used the words of my ancestors’ tribe to soften my heart. I knew I had to turn to my Heavenly Father and repair the damage I had caused my family.”
Dad began to make peace with our family, asking forgiveness from each family member. With the example of his wife and children, he began to pray and read the Book of Mormon. Having read many histories about the American continent, he felt drawn to the Book of Mormon. Its veracity was confirmed to him immediately.
“Surrounded by my family, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he said. “That was the most beautiful day of my life! I testify of the power of a loving example. For 36 years, my wife kept her faith and was a Christlike example to me, though my heart had hardened. Then, one weekend changed everything for me.”

Indio High School’s water polo team was surprising everybody. The Southern California 3-A championship game was half over, and they were thrashing the El Dorado Hawks, 7–3. Indio’s Rajahs were considered a Cinderella club, strong on teamwork but lacking the polish and size necessary to pull off an upset. Yet somehow they were winning the game!
Calvin Lowell, 17, braced himself at the edge of the pool, ready to sprint to the center. (In water polo each quarter begins when the referee tosses the ball to the middle of the water, and players swim toward it in a scramble for possession.) He knew El Dorado would come out fighting.
Cal looked up at his father, Dr. John Lowell, who was standing near one of the diving boards, ready to shout encouragement. It wasn’t just another case of a proud spectator cheering on his boy. Cal’s father is the Indio coach.
The whistle shrieked. Waves foamed and churned. One blazing shot after another skittered into the net, despite flailing arms and lunging defensive maneuvers. Two of Indio’s top players fouled out. The lead narrowed to 8–7. Each team scored again quickly. Then with two minutes and 36 seconds remaining in the fourth quarter, an El Dorado forward slapped the ball from the goalie’s hand and it floated into the net to knot the score at 9–9.
Coach Lowell bowed his head. Ignoring thousands of screaming fans, he said a silent prayer. He knew the Lord couldn’t promise a victory, but he hoped that each player would perform to the best of his ability. A new strategy came into his head, and he called a time out.
He gathered the players around him and counseled them to avoid the congested area just in front of the goals, concentrating on outside shots. Play resumed. The tactic worked perfectly, but the man who wound up free with the ball was the team’s poorest marksman. “Not him,” Coach Lowell wanted to shout. “Anybody but …”
The ball slammed into the goal’s canvas backing. Indio led again, 10–9. The same play worked twice more with other Indio shooters, while the Hawks tallied only one more point. The seconds timer read zero. The championship game was over, and the Rajahs had won, 12–10!
The CIF (California Interscholastic Federation) victory over El Dorado was the culmination of a lot of struggle and practice for the coach and his players. But more than that, it was the realization of a goal shared by a father and a son. Cal Lowell and his father, both active members of the Church, have been working together to build water polo in Indio for a long time.
The Lowell family came to the community under unusual circumstances. Brother Lowell had just finished his doctorate degree at BYU and was searching for a job. “I knew I wanted to coach swimming because Cal was in swimming. He showed talent as a youngster, and all I really wanted to do was help him develop it. I wanted to find a job that would allow me to spend time with my son.”
But after graduation Brother Lowell was 50 and unemployed. He’d been fasting and praying about finding a job and worrying particularly about his older son Ron who was still on a mission. As he sat at the kitchen table reading a swimming magazine, a small classified ad caught Brother Lowell’s attention. It described a coaching position available in a desert town 150 miles southeast of Los Angeles. Every detail seemed to be describing him. “It was like a hand came down on my shoulder, and I had to get up and call the number. I figured that an ad in a national magazine would already be filled, but I knew I had to call just the same. I told the man who answered the phone, ‘You may think I’m crazy, but I think the Lord wants me to come to Indio and coach swimming. I’m a Mormon, and I think that I’m being told that that’s what I should be doing.’ The man said, ‘I don’t think you’re crazy; I’m a Mormon, too!’” Brother Joe Rile, the man Brother Lowell had phoned, was on the board of directors for a private swim club in Indio. Soon the whole Lowell family was relocated.
When they arrived in Indio, there were good facilities, but there was no solid program for water polo. Brother Lowell started talking to community leaders, and Cal and his friends started “recruiting” potential players. The combined community and high school effort they initiated for both swimming and water polo has produced an enviable record.
Four boys formed the nucleus of the original team. (There are seven players per team, counting the goalie.) They played a summer of AAU league water polo in eighth grade before their freshman year in high school. In their first high school season they won athletic letters and started on the varsity polo team. In swimming they won the CIF freshman-sophomore 6-by-50-yard relay (freestyle). Then they captured the national Junior Olympics water polo crown (15 and under) in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and six of the players on that trip, including Cal, were named to the All-America team.
The next year Indio’s high school team won the league water polo championship and made it into the second round CIF playoffs. Then during swimming season they won four out of seven events in the CIF freshman-sophomore relays, setting three records, including one national record that beat the previous time by three seconds. Cal was the anchor (final) swimmer on all the relay squads and qualified for the state championships in all four strokes on varsity time standards as a sophomore.
Brother Lowell also arranged for the team to travel to Australia and to the Church College of New Zealand and to play several exhibition games en route. To help fund that project, the polo players swam 7,000 laps in a hotel pool, with people pledging money for each lap completed. During the tour they stayed part of the time with LDS families and were impressed by their friendly attitude, high standards, and enthusiasm for life. “They made us feel at home,” Guy Baker, one of Cal’s teammates, said. The team gained enough recognition with its 13–1–1 record during the tour to receive tentative invitations to Japan and Cuba next year.
But the team members feel the high school championship over El Dorado in 1977 still tops their list of achievements. No team outside the Los Angeles area had ever won the 3-A water polo title before. (And incidentally, all of the starting Indio players were named to the all-CIF team, and Brother Lowell was named coach of the year.) It’s indicative of the growth water polo has made since the Lowells arrived in Indio. So is the formation of the Indio Aquatics Club, an AAU (Amateur Athletic Union) organization founded by Brother Lowell, which stars the same swimmers in tournaments against amateur teams.
Both Cal and his father are quick to point out, though, that their success hasn’t come without effort. “When we organized our first summer polo program here,” Cal said, “we didn’t even know what the tournaments were. We called up team after team, but they wouldn’t practice with us. Mira Costa (150 miles away) was the only team that would play us, and that was at seven in the morning.” So Sister Lowell and the players got up at 4:00 A.M., drove for three hours, played the game, and drove home. (Brother Lowell had to work at the high school and couldn’t leave.) They lost 14–2. They battled through the rest of that initial AAU season, too. In nine of the eleven final games, they won by only one point. (But then they battled on in championship playoffs to the Junior Olympic title mentioned above.)

When my parents got divorced, I felt that all my hope of having an eternal family had ended. It was a very hard moment in my life. However, even though it wasn’t easy for me to recognize, that trial brought unforeseen blessings to my family. For one, my mom got baptized!
I also was able to get to know my Savior better. To get over my sadness, I chose to visit an aunt in Peru, where I met a new friend who strengthened me greatly. That friend and I often studied the scriptures together and during one special occasion while we were discussing gospel topics, I felt the love of my Savior for me very strongly. The feeling was like the voice of my Savior telling me, “I have always been with you; you just couldn’t tell.”
Now I know that our Savior wants to help us and that He is always with us. Sometimes we allow our sadness to be higher than our faith and we think that He has forgotten us, but in reality, His Atonement can always help us.
Liliane Soares Moreira, Bahia, Brazil

Many years ago, when I was president of a company that specialized in factory automation, I was confronted with a situation that taught me the importance and the benefit of keeping promises no matter what the cost. This was the situation:

Our company was going through a phase of rapid growth. We were engineering, fabricating, and installing automated production lines in factories around the world. We were hiring personnel and building increased factory capacity as fast as we could.

We had accepted the order on a large project in Scotland for a multinational corporation. We had agreed to a specific delivery date on the project. As the promised delivery date approached, it became obvious that we would not be able to meet the schedule.

We met as an executive council and discussed the matter. After careful analysis, it looked like we would miss the delivery date by approximately three weeks. While studying the detailed schedule of the project, it was pointed out that the critical path included a shipment window of approximately three weeks. The production line equipment would be shipped from our California factory overland to New Orleans and then transported via cargo ship to Liverpool, England, then across land to Scotland.

It became obvious that the only way we would be able to keep our word and make the delivery date would be a very expensive option. It was decided that we would lease wide-bodied jets and ship all the equipment for the Scotland factory via air freight. This option cost hundreds of thousands of dollars and, as you might suspect, eliminated any positive contribution this project was expected to make to our bottom-line. The financial cost of keeping our word was high; however, you can't put a dollar figure on a good night's sleep.

Interestingly enough, the successful and timely installation of this project in Scotland wasn't the end of the story. Several months later, I was in Malaysia negotiating a similar project with a different company. We had reviewed with the customer all of the engineering drawings and the design concepts, as well as the financial aspects of the project. We were coming to the conclusion of our negotiation session when the highest-ranking executive representing the customer asked this question: "Will you be able to honor the delivery date?" My team huddled for a moment to review the time constraints and then we answered by stating that yes, we could make the date.

Much to my surprise, the executive responded by saying, "We know you will. We have heard all about what you did in Scotland to keep your word. The project is yours."

In the end, our company could never have spent enough money on advertising in the trade magazines to develop the goodwill that had been created throughout the world due to the simple act of being honest and keeping our word.

I find in the life of my grandfather and grandmother Alexander DeWitt and Louise Vickery Christofferson an instance of such consecration. Grandpa was a strong man and was good at shearing sheep in the days before electric clippers. He got good enough, he said, that “in one day I sheared 287 sheep and could have sheared over 300, but we ran out of sheep.” During 1919 he sheared over 12,000 sheep, earning some $2,000. The money would have substantially expanded his farm and upgraded his home, but a call to serve in the Southern States Mission came from the Brethren, and with Louise’s full support, he accepted. He left his wife (then pregnant with their first son, my father) and their three daughters with the sheep-shearing money. Upon his joyous return two years later, he observed, “Our savings had lasted us throughout the two years, and we had $29 left.”

As the years go by, I continue to reflect on the Sabbath days of my youth and young adulthood. I still remember the first day I passed the sacrament as a deacon and the little glass cups I passed to the members of our ward. A few years ago a Church building in my hometown was remodeled. A compartment in the pulpit had been sealed. When it was opened, there were some of these little glass cups that had remained hidden for years. One of them was presented to me as a memento.

Let me share with you two stories that illustrate how decisions concerning money can affect us not only in this life, but also in the life to come. Several years ago, I was serving as the Young Men's president in my home ward in Idaho Falls. I worked with several brethren in those years as priest quorum advisors, and one particularly memorable brother appeared to be incredibly wealthy. He and his family lived a very extravagant lifestyle, but sadly, it eventually became known that his wealth was gained dishonestly. He subsequently lost his family, his membership in the Church, and his freedom--being sentenced to serve many years in federal prison. His decisions about money have placed his eternal happiness in grave peril.