Gospel Story Finder

One of my mom’s favorite memories is of when she brought cupcakes to share with my class on my birthday. Josh was with his special education teacher in another classroom down the hall and around the corner. Miss Ready asked me to go get him. I was so excited that I told Josh, “Let’s run!” With Josh holding my arm, we ran for all we were worth. When we got to the classroom, we were out of breath, and Josh said, “That was so much fun! Can we do it again?” I realized then that Josh never gets to run.
Josh’s teacher came huffing and puffing into the room, her eyes big and round from fright. She calmed down when she saw that Josh was OK and that I had been careful and hadn’t bumped him into anything as we ran.
During a field trip toward the end of our first-grade year, Miss Ready separated Josh and me and put me into another group. She told my mom that she hadn’t realized until then how isolated I had been, taking care of Josh all year and that she felt bad about it. But both Mom and I feel that it was a very rewarding year.
I have gone on to second grade now. Josh stayed back in first grade. I miss him a lot, but every couple of days or so we talk on the phone. I’m going to invite him back to church with me and pray that his grandma will let him come. I know that Heavenly Father loves Josh, and I pray that he will find someone else in his class to care for him with love and kindness. In the meantime, I’ll find someone in my second-grade class who needs a friend, because I’m trying to be like Jesus.

Indeed, the real challenges had begun after they’d arrived in New York. In order to get to the Missouri River, where they would be outfitted with a small wagon, they had to ride the train in open cattle cars because all other kinds of cars were being used in the Civil War. At times there was barely standing room in the cattle cars! Some passengers sat in the doorways, their legs dangling precariously over the edge. The pungent odors of so many people traveling in such crowded conditions, mixed with the stench the cattle had left behind, made the journey very unpleasant.
Not only were the cattle cars crowded and uncomfortable, but also dangers abounded. Once, sparks from the wood-burning engine flew wildly about and set some of the passengers’ clothing on fire. Fortunately the flames were quickly smothered by nearby travelers.
Times like this evening, when the train stopped for a while, were a blessing—families could eat together away from the noisy crowds and the heat and smell of the cattle cars. Keturah and Keziah especially enjoyed running and stretching their legs, breathing fresh air, and not worrying about soot or sparks from the engine. Even baby Edward cooed and smiled when Eliza placed him on a blanket in the cool shade of a bush before preparing dinner.
The call of “All aboard!” interrupted their meal. Hastily the family gathered their few belongings, and Eliza told Keziah and Keturah to take their father’s hands.
Turning to pick up baby Edward, Eliza’s heart leaped into her throat. Her precious babe was not where she had laid him just an hour earlier! Keziah and Keturah said that they hadn’t moved their baby brother while playing. Frantically the family began to search the nearby bushes. While she searched, Eliza fervently prayed for Heavenly Father’s help in finding her son.
“All aboard!” sounded in Eliza’s ears again. The train was about to leave!
Suddenly a flash of lightning lit the sky, and she saw where her sleeping son lay. Scooping him up, she gratefully thanked Heavenly Father for His loving and watchful care.
It didn’t matter to Eliza that she had sacrificed much for the gospel, or that she would ride many more miles in cattle cars before walking west alongside a wagon for hundreds of miles more. She was just grateful for the gospel and the knowledge it gave her of a loving Heavenly Father Who was watching over her and her family.

When I was 11 years old, I loved basketball. My oldest brother loved it too. He played on the basketball team in college. He had to decide whether to serve a mission or keep playing on the team.
One night at dinner, he was talking with our family about whether or not to serve a mission. I just blurted out, “If you go on a mission, I’ll go on a mission.” Everyone was silent as my brother thought about what I said.
My brother did decide to go on a mission! In fact, all four of my brothers served missions. When it was time for me to decide whether or not to serve, it wasn’t a question. I had already made that choice!

Second, when we struggle with our own identity and lack of self-esteem, the “pleasing word of God” (Jacob 2:8) in the scriptures will help us know who we really are and give us strength beyond our own. Recognizing my identity as God’s child was one of the sweetest moments I have ever experienced. In my early teenage years, I did not know anything about the teachings of the Savior. When I first read the New Testament, the words of Christ truly healed my wounded soul. I realized I was not alone and that I am a child of God. As I recognized my true identity before God, I realized my infinite potential through Christ’s Atonement.

Grandpa smiled, remembering the leaf whistles Jason’s dad had blown in his childhood days. Then Grandpa seemed caught up in a special memory, and his thoughts began to tumble out.
“I remember a time your daddy came home from school with a big problem. Your grandma told me that he’d gone to his room after he got home, and he just stayed there till suppertime. I noticed how quiet he was when we sat down at the table to eat, so I persuaded him to take a walk with me afterward, and he finally blurted out what was bothering him.
“It seems he’d had an argument on the playground at school with his best friend, Jimmy. Joe’d become so angry that he’d hit Jimmy and made his nose bleed. Then Joe had walked away and come home. Now he felt sorry for what he’d done, but he couldn’t face Jimmy and apologize. Joe had too much pride—but he didn’t feel good about himself, either.
“Then I thought of my treasure—a seashell that I’d brought home with me from the war,” Grandpa went on. “I’d found it on the beach where we landed late one night. As I held it to my ear, it seemed to speak to me. I kept it because the sound of the sea seemed to whisper in my ear. It reminded me of the still, small voice inside me trying to keep me on the right path.
“I hadn’t thought of my seashell for years, but after our walk together that night, I looked for it. I handed the seashell to your daddy and told him to listen to it. When he placed it near his ear, I told him that it was a reminder of the still, small voice of conscience that each of us has within us. Then I asked him what the small voice would tell him about asking forgiveness.
“Your dad sat on the bed next to me. ‘I can’t say I’m sorry,’ he cried. ‘I just can’t!’
“I told him that he must apologize if his friendship with Jimmy was worth keeping and if he wanted to be at peace with Heavenly Father and with himself.
“It was hard for Joe to go to Jimmy and ask for forgiveness,” Grandpa went on, “but he finally listened to his conscience and patched up the hurt feelings.
“I kept the seashell on my desk for a long time afterward,” Grandpa told Jason. “Having to say that he was sorry was a particularly difficult lesson for your dad to learn. It was hard for him to admit his mistakes, just as it is for you and me. He had some stubbornness to overcome. I often reminded him of the seashell and invited him to listen to its voice. It helped him remember to listen to the still, small voice inside himself that was always there. As we grow up, we are constantly faced with choices to make, and seeing the seashell reminded Joe to listen to his conscience and choose the better way. And that is why I consider the seashell a treasure.”

Was Evan’s project easy? “A lot of people turned me down. I almost quit when I knocked on one man’s door and he told me that he wouldn’t contribute. He even admitted that he was hard-hearted!” Very discouraged at this point, he says, “I fasted for 24 hours and prayed. I told Heavenly Father that I really needed to do this, for the babies in China, and would he please help me find people who wanted to give.” Evan’s prayers were answered.

President David O. McKay spoke about his horse Dandy, who wanted complete freedom and no restraints. President McKay said:
“Under the saddle he was as willing, responsive, and cooperative as a horse could be. …
“But Dandy resented restraint. He was ill-contented when tied and would nibble at the tie-rope until he was free. He would not run away—he just wanted to be free. Thinking other horses felt the same, he would proceed to untie their ropes. …
“… His curiosity and desire to explore the neighborhood led him and me into trouble. Once on the highway he was hit by an automobile. …
“Recovering from that, and still impelled with a feeling of wanderlust, he inspected the fence throughout the entire boundary. He even found the gates wired. …
“One day, however, somebody left the gate unwired. Detecting this, Dandy unlatched it and took another horse … with him, and together they … went to an old house used for storage. Dandy’s curiosity prompted him to push open the door. … There was a sack of grain. What a find! Yes, and what a tragedy. The grain was bait for rodents! In a few minutes Dandy and the other horse were in spasmodic pain, and shortly afterwards both were dead.”
President McKay continued: “How like Dandy are many of our youth! … They are impulsive, full of life, full of curiosity. … They, too, are restive under restraint, but if they are kept busy, guided carefully and rightly, they prove to be responsive and capable; but if left to wander unguided, they all too frequently violate principles of right which often lead[s] to snares of evil, disaster, and even death.”

A priesthood leader wrote to me about a group of young Aaronic Priesthood youth who were baptized by their priesthood leaders for the soldiers: “In almost every case, when the young brother had finished his 14–15 names, he would turn and embrace his leader and shed a few tears of joy. What an example of true priesthood love and service! I had the experience of being a witness at the font and gained, in a few cases, the undeniable witness of the Spirit that those young soldiers who had died had accepted the baptisms that were being performed in their behalf.”

My parents helped me prepare for my baptism and to understand the reasons why I needed to be baptized. I started reading the Book of Mormon with my mother, and the more we read, the more I liked it.
Later, the missionaries taught me, and I started understanding the things I learned in Primary. When the missionaries asked if I wanted to take upon me the name of Christ, I was a little scared because I knew the responsibilities baptism brought with it. But I said yes—I wanted to be baptized as soon as I turned 8.
On November 14, 2004, I was baptized a member of the Church. Since then, I have faced many situations that have caused me to remember that I need to always live the way Jesus Christ did. For example, my sisters are 7 and 2 years old, and now I know what kind of example I need to be for them. I try to take care of my sister at school and help her behave. I work hard at school, and at home I always try to be quieter so my sisters will do the same. I help my mom fix breakfast every Sunday, and I have started fasting on the first Sunday of the month like my parents.
As I try to do the things that Jesus taught, I can see blessings. My parents teach me to feel the Savior’s love in all the things I do. I am eagerly waiting for the day when I can serve a mission.

After high school graduation David couldn’t wait to turn 19 and send in his mission papers. His doctor attached a note verifying he was totally independent.
But it was not to be. Instead of a calling, David’s letter informed him he could not serve a full-time proselyting mission.
“I was crushed,” says David. “I had worked so hard, and it seemed it was all taken away from me in just a matter of seconds.” But David didn’t quit. In an interview at Church headquarters, he was assured there was a mission for him.
One week later he was called to serve a welfare mission at the Deseret Industries (D.I.) in St. George, Utah, while living at home with his parents. David was not prepared for such a call. “To tell the truth, I was disappointed again,” he says. But he kept thinking of the words to a Primary song: “I will go; I will do” (“Nephi’s Courage,” Children’s Songbook, 120–21). He realized the Lord wanted him to serve at Deseret Industries, a Church-owned thrift store and job-training facility. At D.I. David would help those who were working to gain and improve their job skills.
“I look back now and think how foolish I was. I had no clue what a blessing this mission would be,” David says.
Not only has David been blessed, but his sense of humor and positive attitude touched more than 250 people he worked with through D.I.’s self-sufficiency and missionary programs. “Whenever we were having a bad day, we would just come and find Elder Eves,” says Debbie Kelly, a trainee. “When we saw how happy and positive he was, even in a wheelchair, we would ask ourselves, ‘What are we complaining about?’”

Our older son, Cornel, had stamped in out of the snow for a brief visit after a late afternoon class when the call came. Automatically reaching for the phone, as he had done so often before his recent marriage, he listened briefly, asked, “Where are you?” and began to zip up his parka, still beaded with melting snow. He said, “Okay,” and hung up.
To our questioning looks he answered simply, “Ryan can’t get his car started and needs a push.” At the door he suddenly grinned and said, “I wonder if every family gets as much mileage out of Proverbs 17:17 as we do.”

It had never been hard for me to be honest. When given too much change at the market, it had been easy to refund the overpayment immediately. When I had found several large bills on the ground at an amusement park, turning the money in to lost and found had followed as a matter of course. In fact, I did not remember a time when other people’s property had been a temptation.
Except now. I was alone in my eighth-grade classroom, the students gone for the day. In my hand I held an open leather and velvet case from which shone 50 beautiful sterling silver coins, one for each of the 50 states. Carefully, I took the 31st of the miniature coins from its place on the velvet and examined it. On the front was an outline of the state, a 49er panning gold, and the state nickname (“The Golden State”). Turning the coin over, I saw the state flower (Golden Poppy) and the year of admission to the Union (1850).
Three years had passed since the principal had handed the commemorative coin set to me in his office. “Jack,” he had said, “it was your U.S. history classes more than anything else that led to our receiving a second Freedoms Foundation award and these commemorative coins. Since we already have one set of coins in the display case, why don’t you take this second set and use it in your classroom?”
And now as I cleaned out my files I had rediscovered the beautiful and valuable coins where I had put them for safekeeping—and forgotten them.
No longer was I alone in room B-16. An evil, covetous thought flashed across my mind: If after three years I had forgotten the coins, might not everyone else have forgotten them too? The principal who had given me custody of the coins had gone on to the new high school. Retirements and reassignments had removed the few others who had ever known that I had the coins.
The evil presence in the room spoke to my mind: Why not keep them?
Because they’re not mine.
But no one remembers that you have them. No one.
They’re not mine.
They certainly are yours! Didn’t the principal say that it was your efforts that resulted in their being awarded to this school?
Well, yes. But other teachers and students were involved, too.
Not as much as you were. And think of this: it was mostly for your after-school work that the award was given—after-school work for which you were never paid. By all rights these coins should be yours as payment for your after-school work.
Should be, perhaps, but aren’t. They belong to this school.
Or district. If you took them with you to your new assignment at the high school, they’d be in the same district still.
True. And I could probably make even better use of them with high school students than would be possible if the coins stayed here with eighth-graders at the junior high.
Certainly. You know that if the coins stay here they’ll probably just go into the display case—and there’s already one set there. That would be a waste.
But hold on a minute. If I haven’t already used the coins as part of my teaching, I probably wouldn’t use them in the future either. And anyway, they’re not mine.
But consider this: there’s no teacher anywhere in this district who is the coin collector you are or who’s so wacky about geography and states and all of that. No one would appreciate these coins as much as you would.
I believe that. But they’re not mine.
So who do they belong to more than you? You’re a taxpayer too, aren’t you? Can sterling silver coins belong to a building? a school? You are a trustee for all the other taxpayers who own the coins jointly. You’ll take the best possible care of the coins for everyone else.
That’s a bit farfetched, isn’t it? Whether the coins belong to the school or the district or the taxpayers, they for sure don’t belong to me.
But who would be hurt if you did take the coins? The school already has one set, and they wouldn’t even know. Neither would the taxpayers. No one would feel the slightest loss if you took them.
I would. I’ve never stolen anything in my life.
Steal? Who said steal? It’s not as if you’re breaking into a school and robbing the place. The coins were put into your hands by the principal.
Right. Because he trusted me and I won’t violate that trust.
You wouldn’t be violating a trust. The man would never know. He would never feel that you had violated his trust. And besides, he’s principal at the high school, isn’t he? You and the principal and the coins will all be together again when school starts again next September.
You’re really persistent, aren’t you? Why don’t you go bother someone else?
Am I bothering you? I’m just trying to see that you get what is rightfully yours. Have you ever seen such magnificent craftsmanship and beauty as in these coins?
They are beautiful. Someday I’ll buy a set for my own.
Are you serious? On a teacher’s salary? You’ll never own a set of sterling silver coins if you don’t take these right now.
I suppose you’re right.
And wouldn’t they look fantastic displayed in your family room next to your buffalo nickles and the European coin set?
Now you’re kidding. Do you think I could actually put a stolen coin set on display in my home? People may have forgotten that I have this set, but seeing them on display would make them remember.
Maybe they would be safer in your safe-deposit box.
I thought you were suggesting that they go to my new schoolroom for use in teaching. How would having them in a safe-deposit box promote that?
Well, it doesn’t matter much. By all rights they are your coins, and you can do what you like with your own property.
Are we going to go through that again? They’re not my coins.
All right, look at it this way. No one is perfect. The Lord won’t thrust you down for one small sin, will he? You’ve been honest all your life—so what if you do take something that’s almost yours just one time?
Just one time. No thanks. If I’m going to lose my integrity, it won’t be over something as insignificant as a commemorative coin set.
You know, don’t you, that teachers are underpaid? You get small pay for much preparation, no Christmas bonus, no stock options, no fringe benefits. These coins are in the nature of a Christmas bonus.
A Christmas bonus—in May? And anyway, I love teaching. I can’t complain about my work or my pay.
What about the tanks full of gas you’ve donated to school projects? What about the money spent out of your pocket for bulletin boards and other things? What about the hours and hours of after-school time you were never paid for? You’ve earned these coins.
Salaried people don’t punch time clocks. And anyway, I’ve enjoyed every bit of it. Now, I’m going to walk down to the office and give this set of coins to the principal.
Not yet. Think about it for a few days. There’s no need to be rash about this.
No, I’m going to go right now.
He’s probably gone home already.
I doubt it.
And how do you know he won’t just keep them for himself? He looks suspect to me.
He’s a good, decent man. And so what if he were a crook? My character isn’t determined by other people’s flaws.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to wait a few days to turn them in, would it?
Why don’t you go away and let me work? I’ve got all these files to clean out and boxes to load and books to turn in and year-end report cards to mark and I’ve got to move all my stuff to the high school. I’m really busy; go away.
I’m glad you’ve decided to keep your coins for a few days at least. Why not take them home and show them to your wife and children? You shouldn’t miss the opportunity to use these coins to educate your children.
“That’s it. I’m going to the office with them right now!” The sound of my voice broke the stillness of the room and startled me.
“Now what am I going to do with this set of coins, Jack?” the principal grinned. “I just received a letter from Valley Forge today informing me that our school has again been chosen to receive an awards medal and another set of commemorative coins.”
As I drove home I thought of the irony of it all. What indeed would the junior high school do with three sets of commemorative coins? But then that wasn’t my problem. Unfortunately, none of the three sets was mine.
In the days that followed I was too busy to think much about the coins. Only occasionally would I feel a combination of quiet peace that I had won my silent battle—and sadness that I would not have something that I had wanted so desperately for my own.
In the morning of the final day of school the awards assembly took place. The program worked its way down through a pledge of allegiance, a message from the student-body president, a message from the principal, scholarship awards, attendance awards, and athletic awards.
As they began with the presentation of the Freedoms Foundation awards, I was concentrating more on quieting restless types from my homeroom than on what was being said. I had heard the talk twice before and was preoccupied. I saw the principal accept the awards and was about to tweak Leonard Womack’s ear, when I heard my name spoken by the principal. I noticed that everyone in the auditorium was looking at me. I had been invited to come to the stage.
I don’t recall all of what happened next. Some complimentary things were said—things about integrity, devotion to duty, excellence, and sadness that I would not be at the junior high school next fall. What I do remember well is the part where the principal placed a leather and velvet box with 50 sterling silver coins in my hand—and told me to keep it for my very own.

Another example: A missionary in Pennsylvania came to me and said, “President, there is something I have not confessed—when I was a young man, I often stole.” “How much did you steal, elder?” “Oh, five or six hundred dollars worth of merchandise and sometimes money.” “Can you remember when you stole and from whom you stole?” “Yes, I can.”

I said, “Then pay it back.” The Spirit whispered to both of us that that is what he needed to do. “That means, elder, that you can’t serve as a leader since you can’t have an automobile, because every time you have another three or four or five dollars, you’re to send it home.”

He replied, “I understand, president.” Because of his family and other personal considerations, he said, “I can’t go to the people I stole from until I return. Would you mail the money back to them?” I said yes; and so I sent envelopes to my friends living in Chicago, New York, Pittsburgh, Saint Louis, and other cities, who would then forward the money in plain envelopes postmarked in cities far distant from where this elder was laboring.

About a year ago, I had the opportunity of sealing that young man in the temple; and one of the things he said was that the day his life really changed was when he had made full restitution. The Lord blessed him; he needed him to serve as a leader, but not for many months, because he needed to pay back that which he had taken.

I remember so well how my father used to get us together in family prayer and how he would talk to the Lord. He just didn’t say a few words and off we would go to the fields. He kneeled down with us and he talked to the Lord. He told the Lord about some of our weaknesses and some of our problems, where we had failed, and he apologized for us. “Eldon didn’t do exactly what he should have done today. We are sorry that he made this mistake. But we feel sure, Heavenly Father, that if thou wilt forgive him, he will determine to do what is right. Let thy Spirit be with him and bless him that he can be the kind of boy we would like to have.”
My, that was a help! He used to say in the morning, “Let your blessings attend us as we go about our duties that we may do what is right and return tonight to make a report.” I used to think of that: “I am going to report to the Lord tonight.” It helped me materially in the kind of life I lived during the day.
Father thanked the Lord for our crops and for our home, for the country in which we lived, for one another, and for many, many things, and always asked the Lord to let His blessings attend us.
He told us about Joseph Smith’s prayer—how he went out into the grove to pray and the result; how God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith, and he said, “That’s the kind of God we are talking to, boys.” We knew it as he prayed, and we learned to pray. We depended a great deal on the blessings of our Heavenly Father as we went through life.
I recall an experience while I was a deacon. I had a sister who had spinal meningitis, and a very severe case of it. I remember one night as we knelt in prayer Father said to me, “My boy, you hold the priesthood now; I wish you would lead in prayer, and remember Lillie.” She had been, and was at that time, very, very sick. They didn’t know whether she would live or not. As I prayed with the family, the feeling came to me that she would be made well.

James Barry of the Caerphilly Branch, Cardiff Wales Stake, is a natural in rugby. He still holds a club record for most senior appearances by a 19-year-old prop (a specific position on a rugby team). He had five years’ experience and a good chance to go to international level. He dreamed of representing Wales in world competition.

“I trained on Sunday for a year, but never felt right about it. Then last year, when I was making the commitment to come on a mission, I stopped training on Sunday, because I thought it was wrong. And I got dropped from the district side, just before they were picking the Welsh international side.

“But I look at it now as a blessing. If I had made the international side, perhaps I wouldn’t be serving the mission. And the mission’s more important.”

One Sunday before a stake conference, I visited two branches using public schools as meetinghouses. I was shocked by the humble and modest conditions of the buildings, which lacked even some basic amenities. As I met a few members there, I was ready to apologize for the inadequate conditions of their meetinghouse, but they were happy to have a nearby place to gather, avoiding the usual long walk. Again, there were no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.

Kathy Solomon thought carefully about whom her gift subscription should go to and felt impressed to choose a girl who was suffering a great many problems in her life and was not very popular at school. “When I said, ‘I want to give you a gift subscription to the New Era,’ she just started crying right there. She couldn’t believe that anybody would want to give her a gift.” When the first issue arrived, the girl read it from cover to cover and came to school with a lot of questions about it. Sometimes the least likely prospects turn out to be the most receptive. Sherilyn Oakey and some friends were feeling crestfallen one day because a friend had just refused a gift subscription. “Well, I’ll take it,” a voice behind them said. They looked and then they had to look again. The voice belonged to one of the most anti-Mormon students in the whole school. She hasn’t shown much interest in the Church yet, but she now reads and enjoys the New Era.
Lynne Nielsen has been sending the New Era to some nonmember relatives in England for three years. These relatives gratefully report that when they finish reading each issue, they send it to their cousin in Cheshire who reads it and then takes it to work where clients and fellow workers read it.
Perry Christensen sent a subscription to an inactive young man who received it with real gratitude.
Patti Mackelprang sent her gift to an old friend in Florida. She received a letter telling how much enjoyment the first issue had brought.
Kelly Manning gave the New Era to some girls who had received the missionary discussions in his home but didn’t feel they could join the Church at the time because of family loyalty. The girls came by his house and told him that they and their family both enjoyed it.
When looking for someone to give the New Era to, don’t overlook your school or public library. If they do not subscribe presently, you could expose a lot of people to gospel principles for the first time by subscribing for them. You might also want to give a subscription to a barbershop, doctor’s office, beauty parlor, or any other place with a waiting room.
So the who is really no problem, but what about the how? Basically all you have to do is fill out one of the subscription blanks in this magazine and send it in along with your money. But that still leaves you three possibilities: you can tell the recipient you are sending the subscription before you send it; you can just send in the subscription with your name as donor and a gift card will be sent to the recipient; or you can send the subscription anonymously. The seminary leaders suggested that the students check with their friends in advance to assure that no subscriptions would be wasted on someone who didn’t want one, but in practice everybody did it his own way. Kelly Manning, who was mentioned above, asked that his name be listed as donor but said nothing to the girls in advance. He felt that the element of surprise made the gift even more exciting. Shanna Grayson, on the other hand, sent an anonymous subscription to her nonmember cousins. A week later when visiting them, she saw the New Era on their coffee table and asked if they were reading it. They said they were and that they really enjoyed it.
Fawn Burrell found still another option. She sent a subscription to an inactive girl but did it in the name of her whole Mutual class. In the meantime somebody sent an anonymous gift subscription to her little brother who is a nonmember. He became an immediate fan and now reads every word as soon as a new issue comes, even if it means reading all night. He no sooner had the June issue open than he made Fawn sit down and play the leadership game with him. He is currently taking the missionary discussions.
Carrie Buffat told her friend in advance that she would be receiving a gift subscription. The friend was so excited that she kept coming back every few days, asking when the first issue was going to arrive. By the time it did, anticipation had whetted her appetite to a fine pitch. Many students reported this side-benefit of telling the recipient in advance, although some also said that if the magazine was late in coming, the person could get a little irritated.
In short, there doesn’t really seem to be a wrong way to send the New Era. You’ll have to examine each case on its own merits.
If you do decide to tell the lucky person in advance, what do you tell him? Vickie Owen simply said, “I’m giving you a gift subscription to the New Era magazine. I really enjoy reading it, and I think you will too.” Others explained in more detail what the New Era contained. Some mentioned specific articles they had enjoyed.
Just as we’re not all Captain M, we’re not all Mister Rich either, so we’re providing a special service for those with echoes in their pockets—a special six-month gift subscription for two dollars, in addition to the regular four dollar year’s subscription. Isn’t it worth giving up one movie in order to give your friend a six-month smile?
When your friend has received an issue or two of the magazine, you can mention specific articles from time to time in your conversation with him or her. If you feel there is a growing interest in the Church, you might want to follow up with some more direct missionary approaches. Be sensitive, use wisdom, and rely on the Spirit in making those decisions. Do not try to push the gospel down anyone’s throat. Missionary work requires love, not salesmanship. The gospel should be shared, not sold. We think that you, like the youth of Pocatello, will find it easier to share than you ever suspected, even if you’re not yet Captain M.
Although we at the New Era wholeheartedly recommend this program to you, we must humbly admit that it was not our idea. Ever since the first issue was published, many wise readers have been sharing the magazine with their nonmember friends through gift subscriptions. In fact, it was their success that inspired this program in the first place.
We’d like to share with you a little of their success through a few of the many letters we’ve received from nonmember readers.
Barbara Lemke of Sacramento, California, wrote: “This month marks my year-and-a-half anniversary. Since Christmas 1974 I have been receiving the New Era every month, and I’ve enjoyed each issue thoroughly. A very dear friend gave me a subscription as a gift, and I’m so glad she did. It keeps my Christmas spirit alive each month, renewing my awareness that Christ lived and died and rose again as an expression of our Father’s love for us. It reminds me that this isn’t just for a day in December, but for every day, every month, and every year of our lives, and the life hereafter. It also makes me happy to read about so many people who are in love with the idea of loving each other. Thank you for a wonderful magazine. Even though I’m not a Mormon, I can appreciate the love and thoughtfulness that go into every issue.”
Cindy Shufeldt of Jackson, Wyoming, demonstrates the missionary potential of the New Era in her letter: “The New Era really brightens my day. Just recently I read one through from cover to cover and then lent it to a girl friend. She quickly devoured every word, and then I took it to my place of employment—the Jackson Hole Playhouse Theatre—where it was passed around one evening. One of the guys in the cast adopted it, and I haven’t seen it since! I am an investigator of the Church, and I can’t express in words how much the New Era has helped me in my studies. In fact, you may wish to know that I plan to be baptized.”
In giving the New Era, you should always keep in mind that the personal example you set for your nonmember friends may have the largest influence of all on their attitude toward the Church. When they read the New Era, they will learn what the standards of an LDS youth should be. If you yourself are not living those standards, your gift may be in vain. If you are living those standards, the New Era’s effect will be multiplied.
Consider this letter from Kathleen Garvey of West Sacramento, California: “I am not a member of the Mormon church, but I really like the New Era and the inspiring articles it has each month. However, I wouldn’t be enjoying the New Era if it weren’t for my Mormon friend who has given me several subscriptions to your magazine. In addition to giving me the magazine, she has given me an even greater gift. She has set such a fantastic example for me by living the Church’s high standards that she has really helped me in leading a clean and spiritual life, which I might not have done otherwise. So thank you, Vicki, and thank you, New Era.”
“If it weren’t for my Mormon friend,” Kathleen wrote. Perhaps there is someone who will never have the opportunity of getting to know the gospel through the New Era, unless you give it to him.

So, how can we make service convenient? We start by practicing with “automatic responses.”

Let me relate another little experience. This one was only a few months after my experience in the hospital with the roast beef money. It was Christmastime, and I was in the checkout line at Walmart, thinking of all I had to do. I was watching the young couple in front of me buy a little girl’s bike. The cost was around sixty-five dollars. I watched the man hand over dollar bills and then frustratingly search in his pockets for change. Then the couple searched in the woman’s purse for money. I averted my eyes to avoid additional embarrassment for them. Even at that moment I felt uncomfortable and awkward. I guess they finally came up with the right amount of money. I was too busy trying not to notice.

After I had made my purchases, I followed them out of the store—realizing I had again missed the opportunity to help. It was most likely only a few dollars they had needed. Where had my desire gone? Why couldn’t I have just conveniently handed them a few dollars? Again, I couldn’t believe it! Why hadn’t I performed an automatic response by offering a dollar or two?

We were working with an executive named Steve. He was employed at a large retail firm but was stuck at his current level because he focused on himself and what he could accomplish. He was not engaging others, motivating them, helping them do their jobs. His approach was what we call in leadership studies, command and control. His superiors asked us to work with Steve to see if he could change his approach to see the bigger picture, understand how he was affecting other people, and improve his ability to lead. He was African American, which fact will become important as I tell his story. We worked with Steve for nine months and were making little progress. As one of the activities, we went to the site of the Battle of Gettysburg. Over the course of the day we walked the battlefield and used the examples from the engagement to highlight leadership. At a very critical point in the Battle of Gettysburg, Colonel Joshua Chamberlain, who commanded the 5th Corps, gave a speech to some mutineers who were refusing to fight. Let me quote a bit from his recreated comments. As I do, pay particular attention to how he reframes their stewardship so they could understand, commit and act on their responsibilities. I am not trying to glorify war, or suggest who was good or bad; I am trying to suggest an approach to working with others.

"I have been told that if you don't come I can shoot you. Well you know I won't do that...
This is a different kind of Army. If you look at history you'll see men fight for pay...,They fight for land, or because a king makes them... But we're here for something new... That hasn't happened before much in the history of the world. We're an army going out to set other men free...
It's the idea that we all have value, you and me, we're worth something more than the dirt...What we're fighting for in the end, is each other..."
I think if we lose this fight the war will be over. So if you choose to come with us I'll be personally grateful" (Useem, 1998).

The 5th Corps was given the end of the line to defend at a place called "Little Round Top", the end where the enemy must not sweep or the battle would be lost. The enemy charged many times, and in the process the men of the 5th Corps used all their ammunition. As the enemy was coming yet again, Colonel Chamberlain gave the command to fix bayonet and charge down the hill into what was bound to be withering fire. At this critical point, each of them, including the mutineers fixed bayonets and charged down the hill, so surprising to the superior enemy force that they retreated at a fast run. The battle and, by some historians' accounts, the war was saved.

I stood next to Steve on Little Round Top as our guide asked us to look down the hill and imagine the enemy's charge and what Colonel Chamberlain was asking his troops to do. It was very moving. I looked over at Steve and he was obviously having a very emotional experience. As we were walking away from the site I asked him if he was ok. He said yes he was fine. And then he said "This is the first time I have understood what others have done for me". He was beginning to understand his own leadership responsibilities in a different way. For that moment the unspoken leadership question became what could he do for others.

It took me seven years to qualify to serve a full-time mission. When I first spoke with my bishop, Bishop Tapueluelu, about it, he gave me some guidelines to strive to live by. He said if I followed them and learned to be obedient, I would be blessed. The first few guidelines—daily scripture study and weekly church attendance—were pretty doable. “This is easy,” I thought. But I got offended when I was told to change certain “worldly” things in my life, and my pride and stubbornness got the best of me.
Hoping for an easier way out, I moved to four different wards and spoke with four different bishops. I even went back to school to pursue a medical degree. Then I felt prompted to drop everything and prepare once again to serve a mission. So I did. I went back to Bishop Tapueluelu and humbly asked for his help. I was told that there was a weight requirement for missionaries—and I realized that I weighed over the limit. Immediately, feelings of discouragement and embarrassment cluttered my mind, but my bishop encouraged me. He expressed his love and faith in me and said, “My door is always open. We can work on it together! One weakness, one week at a time.”
So I visited with my bishop every week, working out one weakness at a time. I had no idea that I’d have to wait another four years, just trying to qualify to serve a mission.
During those years, I strived to come closer to Christ and apply His teachings in my life. As challenges came, His Atonement became real to me. I relied on the power, comfort, and strength He gave me through His Atonement when my best friend passed away, when our family lost our home, and when I got into a car accident. When circumstances caused me to lose many of my friends, I fell into depression, but the Savior pulled me out. My Friday nights with friends were replaced with working out at the gym and studying about the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
I prayed every night for the people whom I would one day serve and even for my future companions!
I eventually qualified and was called to serve in the New Zealand Auckland Mission, Tongan-speaking.
When I entered the missionary training center, I realized that there was more to learn about Jesus Christ and His Atonement and myself. Even though I’m of Tongan descent, I had never been to the South Pacific islands, and I struggled with the Tongan language. When I got to New Zealand, I had no idea what people were saying to me in Tongan. I had so much to say, but because I couldn’t speak the language, my words were few, simple, and broken. I nodded my head when people asked me questions. They laughed at me, and I laughed with them, but behind closed doors the laughter turned into tears of frustration and discouragement. I thought to myself, “I worked seven years to come out here for this?”
So I prayed to Heavenly Father. In Ether 12:27 we learn that our weaknesses can become strengths if we trust in Him. I told Him about my weaknesses and my trust in Him, and I got back up again … and again … and again. I started to rely even more on Christ and also on my strengths.
I love this gospel and I love street art, so I decided to combine the two. I packed my scriptures, a sketchbook, charcoal pencils, permanent markers, and cans of spray paint in my backpack. My companions laughed and asked, “What are you doing with spray paint?” I explained, “I may not speak the language yet, but I can show others my testimony.”
For the remainder of my mission, I used street art—on paper, not on buildings—and the Spirit to teach others about Christ. And as crazy as it sounds, it worked. Many people didn’t want to hear my message, so I sketched it. Doors and eyes opened when I told them that I did graffiti. They didn’t believe me. They timed me for three minutes, and I sketched the word faith while teaching them about it. Among them were many who felt judged and unloved. I could testify that with faith in Christ we can feel of His love and forgiveness, and He can help us change for the better. He did for me.
Seven years of preparation for my mission helped me find myself. That time allowed me to gain a testimony of Christ’s Atonement and His power to help me overcome my weaknesses and use my strengths to share what I knew with others. In the end it was worth the seven years.