Gospel Story Finder

Born on June 6, 1954, in St. George, Utah, USA, to Richard and Miriam Schmutz, Elder Schmutz learned early about the power of prayer. As a Cub Scout he sold U.S. $17 worth of tickets to a jamboree but couldn’t find the money when it was time to turn it in. His mother encouraged him to pray, and the Lord revealed to him exactly where the money was. It was a strong confirmation of God’s love for and awareness of him.

As I pondered what I should present, I settled on discussing an experience I’ve had during this last year that is unique and perhaps qualifies me to broaden your perspective at this key time in your life. It has certainly broadened mine. With your indulgence I will recount this personal experience.
One year ago I entered the hospital after having a heart attack that resulted in considerable damage. The operation seemed to go very well, considering I needed six bypasses. However, one hour after the operation, I had a second attack. My heart stopped beating for more than three minutes, and I went into shock for six hours. I was placed on life support. It was five days before my heart began to beat on its own, and I was on a respirator for over two weeks. The doctors were concerned that I might have suffered serious kidney and brain damage (the jury is still out on the brain). I lost from one-third to one-half of my heart muscle, and things looked bleak. The doctors and some of the Brethren prepared my wife and our children for the worst. Technically I was gone, but then I got sent back. My cardiologist calls me Elder Lazarus. Etched indelibly in my soul to this day are the words “Your work is not yet finished.”
I don’t know how much time I’ve got left. As a CPA with a master of accountancy degree from Brigham Young University, I have concluded that I must live 20 more years to get a decent return on my insurance company’s investment.
There is a challenge and a blessing with not knowing how much time you’ve got left—or why you’ve been sent back. You become alert to everything around you, because one of the reasons you’ve been given more time may be right in front of you when you least expect it.

Food Banks
Along with other areas of the country, people struggled to make ends meet on reduced incomes due to being furloughed or losing their jobs. Members of the Telford Ward and the local community generously collected over £5,000 worth of food for three local groups: the Telford Food Bank, the Interfaith Emergency Food Service (Interfaith Council), and KiP@Maninplace, who assist the homeless. Bishop Pointer was also able to draw on funds from the Church’s COVID-19 Emergency Relief programme to provide additional food for the Interfaith Council children’s breakfast project. This project provides breakfast (and lunch) to about 1,250 children on Saturdays to the value of £5,000. Members, including his own children and the full-time missionaries, assist the bishop (working alongside numerous faith groups) in sorting out the breakfast provisions every Saturday morning and delivering breakfast parcels to families who are unable to collect them.

“He did not intend his last joke with her to turn out as it did. Just to tease her, he had been telling her before we came to the last canyon, Emigration, that her wagon was going to tip over, in fact, he knew it would. She said that if it did she would tell Brigham. And sure enough it did tip clear over and lifted on the bows. It was a very hard canyon for men to drive down. Riley was awfully surprised. He was only a boy and was terribly frightened. No one worked harder than he to get it righted. With the help of the men in the camp he got it up into the road which was very steep. It looked pretty dilapidated with the bows all smashed down, but did very little damage to the contents and since it was our last day before entering the Valley, he managed very well. Riley never heard whether she told Brigham Young or not.”

When I was a high councilor, I had what became a very cherished experience with private prayer. In our first meeting with our newly sustained stake president, he was stern and demanding—quite a contrast with the loving and gentle manner of his predecessor. Several of us struggled with our negative reactions to his style. During that meeting, he assigned me to speak in an upcoming priesthood session of a ward conference. As he did so, an idea for a theme flashed through my mind, and I jotted myself a note. But later, when I prepared the talk, I forgot the note and the prompting.
As I gave the talk, a depressing feeling of failure troubled me. Afterward, when I was alone, I knelt down and asked the Lord why I had failed after trying so hard. An impression came to me that I had given the wrong talk. Then I remembered the earlier impression and realized that I hadn’t followed it. I told the Lord I was sorry and, feeling downcast, went off to the sacrament meeting session of ward conference.
During the opening hymn, I felt an urge to pray again. I asked the Lord to give me another chance and told him that I would give the right talk this time. I was mystified about why I was so bold, because I knew the agenda for the conference was full and that there was no chance for me to speak. But during the intermediate hymn, I noticed the stake president lean over and whisper something to the bishop. After the hymn, the bishop announced, “The stake president would like to have Brother Bachman briefly bear his testimony.”
With considerable emotion, I explained what had just transpired and testified of the inspiration of our new stake president. The eyes of several of the other high councilors sitting in the congregation glistened with tears, as did mine. Then I related my little talk as I had promised the Lord I would and sat down, almost in shock at the events of the past two hours.
During the closing hymn, I was still basking in the spirit of it all. Suddenly, a phrase of the hymn swept out of the air above the congregation and pierced my consciousness: “God hears my secret prayer” (Hymns, 1985, number 144). My tears again flowed freely.
That was the beginning of one of the most wonderful priesthood relationships I have ever experienced in the Church. For four years, I enjoyed sitting at the feet of this great man and learning about inspiration, leadership, and Church government.

I have a sweet memory of a prayer that I treasure. For one of my summer breaks from college, I accepted a job in Texas. I had to drive hundreds of miles from Idaho to Texas in my old car, a car I had affectionately named Vern. Vern was packed to the roof, and I was ready for the new adventure.
On my way out the door, I gave my dear mother a hug and she said, “Let’s say a prayer before you leave.”
We knelt and my mother began to pray. She pleaded with Heavenly Father for my safety. She prayed for my non-air-conditioned car, asking that the car would function as I needed. She asked for angels to be with me throughout the summer. She prayed and prayed and prayed.
The peace that came from that prayer gave me the courage to trust in the Lord and lean not to my own understanding. The Lord directed my path in the many decisions I made that summer.

Speaking of the power of prayer and the power of fasting and the redemption of souls, let me share this story. Recently I interviewed a prospective missionary with a very unusual history. At age seventeen she ran away from home and lived with a man without bothering with a formal marriage. Her partner was an evil, conniving, conspiring businessman. He used the young lady in various ways to gain business advantages. On many occasions he arranged for her to sleep with clients. After two years of such wallowing in sin, the young lady woke up with a start one morning, wondering, “What am I doing? What is this doing to my family? Where is this leading?” She had not entertained thoughts like this before—it came new. It bothered her to the point that she dressed, left the apartment, and wandered the streets. She was confused and wondered what she should do. Finally, she determined that she should return home, like the prodigal son, and seek help from loved ones. Upon her return home she learned that her parents, brothers and sisters, and others were fasting and praying at that moment that she would find her way home. A loving father and serviceable bishop accepted her confession and did what was necessary to help her clean up her life. In fact, they put her on a cleanup program that lasted three years.

As this young and beautiful lady completed her program and was accepted back into the Church in full fellowship, her one desire was to serve the Lord as a full-time missionary. She explained to me that she had received many proposals, but that she had turned them down because, as she stated, “I have a debt to pay. I was reclaimed through the grace of God and I want to do something in return.” There is power in fasting and prayer and it should be applied in our efforts to redeem souls. We should fast and pray that all of God’s children will find their way home.

When I visited stake conferences as a member of the Twelve, I always took note of those stakes which had excelled in bringing to activity those brethren whose talents and potential leadership had lain dormant. Inevitably I would ask, “How were you able to achieve success? What did you do and how did you do it?” One such stake was the North Carbon Stake when President Cecil Broadbent presided. Eighty-seven men had been reactivated and, with their wives and children, went to the Manti Temple in the space of one year. President Broadbent, upon hearing my questions, turned to his counselor, President Stanley Judd, a large and good-natured coal miner, and said, “This is President Judd’s responsibility in the stake presidency. He will answer.”
As I restated my questions to President Judd, I concluded with the plea, “Will you tell me how you did it?”
With a smile, he replied, “No.” I was stunned! Then he said, “If I tell you how we did it, then you will tell others, and they will surpass our record.” I was still stunned. Then, with a twinkle in his eye, this wonderful man added, “However, Brother Monson, if you will give me two tickets to general conference, I’ll tell you how we did it.”
The tickets were provided; the success pattern was revealed. However, President Judd felt the contract was open-ended and asked for and received from me two tickets for each conference until he was eventually ordained a patriarch.
The formula was the same, generally speaking, in each successful stake with regard to this phase of the work. It consisted of four ingredients: one, put forth your efforts at the ward level; two, involve the ward bishop; three, provide inspired teaching; and four, do not attempt to concentrate on all the brethren at once; rather, work with a few husbands and their wives at a given time and then have them help you as you work with others.

Have we studied his counsel and identified the things we need to avoid or to do differently? I know a 17-year-old who, just prior to the prophet’s talk, had pierced her ears a second time. She came home from the fireside, took off the second set of earrings, and simply said to her parents, “If President Hinckley says we should only wear one set of earrings, that’s good enough for me.”

Wearing two pair of earrings may or may not have eternal consequences for this young woman, but her willingness to obey the prophet will. And if she will obey him now, on something relatively simple, how much easier it will be to follow him when greater issues are at stake.

With their permission, I’d like to share some of Justin and Amber’s story. Justin is my younger brother and Amber is his wife. They have four kids. Justin had a hard time at BYU-Idaho when he first came here after his mission. He did his best, but financial challenges and anxiety impacted his grades and he eventually left the university without graduating. Later in life, Justin’s employment situation was not sufficient to provide for his family in the way he wanted. He started and stopped at least 8 times at different community colleges or universities over a period of 12 years. Each time something would get in the way, his anxiety levels would rise, and he would withdraw.

In what he describes as his final attempt at finishing a degree, Justin enrolled in BYU-Idaho’s online program. He and Amber didn’t tell anyone—not even their kids. They were juggling multiple jobs, taking care of kids, callings, and now a very demanding program of study. Their lives felt like the left side of our sketch looks.

In this video clip, Justin describes how Amber helped him through this time.

My wife supported me by providing all the materials that I would need, even some that I didn’t, just to help me get excited for school. It’s always fun to get new pencils or whatever, backpack or something. She set up my calendar. She had no idea what the interface was for their online program, but she went through it and learned it and put all the assignments on my calendar so I knew when they were due, so I didn’t overlook things. She even put them all on different calendars for each class, so I didn’t have to see them all at the same time. . . . She told me that I could do it, that she supported my efforts, and that she believed in me.

It’s not totally clear from the video, but Amber really did buy my 30-something-year-old brother brand new pencils and a backpack for school. Did you notice how he kind of lit up when he talked about that? How did Amber know that would help? She listened. By that, I don’t mean she listened to what he was saying. My brother is a pretty tough guy, and I doubt he ever said, “Hey, honey, I’m worried about school. What I could really use is a fun, new backpack just like when I was a kid.” She listened in the sense that she observed what was going on. She listened by seeing that he was experiencing the turmoil on the left of the drawing. By listening, she realized separate calendars and a backpack and some cool pencils might help.

Oliver and Rosetta Snow, Eliza’s parents, taught their children to listen to people with different religious beliefs and choose for themselves. Eliza soon realized that with so many diverse religious practices, she searched for something firmly founded in Bible teachings. In the fall of 1830, when Eliza was 26, the Snows heard about Joseph Smith, “a Prophet to whom the Lord was speaking from the heavens”—the very model that she had been looking for since her childhood. As much as she wanted the news to be legitimate, she wrote, “I considered it a hoax—too good to be true.” Eliza continued to study the ancient prophets in order to learn their patterns.3
In the winter of 1831–32, Joseph Smith came to the Snow home. As he sat by the fire, Eliza “scrutinized his face as closely as I could without attracting his attention, and decided that his was an honest face.” Even so, her investigative nature led her to observe what happened over time. She attended a local meeting where Joseph and two Book of Mormon witnesses spoke, and she was deeply impressed. Her mother and sister, Rosetta and Leonora, believed and were baptized that spring.4 Still Eliza waited, studying the Book of Mormon, watching and listening.
In the spring of 1835, Rosetta and Leonora went to Kirtland, Ohio, where other Latter-day Saints lived. They returned with stories about the Church, the priesthood, and great spiritual manifestations. Five years had passed since the time Eliza first heard about Joseph Smith. The accounts of her mother and sister brought Eliza an undeniable witness of the truth. She had waited until she knew it was true. “My heart was now fixed,” she wrote. She decided to be baptized.5
Even then, baptism was a challenge for Eliza, a humble woman who followed social rules and propriety. She prayed for someone to come baptize her, but no one came. When she heard of a meeting of the Saints about two miles from home, she asked her father’s permission to go and be baptized—as an adult, she respected her father, and he readily consented. At the meeting, there was no discussion about baptism, but Eliza gained courage to stand up and request the privilege. Before she could arise, a dark fear came over her. She pushed through the fear and was baptized in a nearby stream on April 5, 1835. “From that day to this I have not doubted the truth of the work,” she wrote.
That night, Eliza reflected on her baptism: “I felt an indescribable, tangible sensation, … commencing at my head and enveloping my person and passing off at my feet, producing inexpressible happiness.” She saw in a vision a candle with a long, bright flame, and a voice told her, “The lamp of intelligence shall be lighted over your path.” She was satisfied.6
Eliza moved to Kirtland to join the Saints for a time and taught school. When she returned to her family’s home at the end of the term, her old friends and neighbors asked about the “strange people” with whom she associated. “I was exceedingly happy in testifying of what I had both seen and heard,” she later wrote. Eliza determined to change her life and live permanently with the Latter-day Saints. Her conversion deepened even further in 1837 when she lived with Joseph Smith and his family. Again, she observed. “I had ample opportunity of judging his daily walk and conversation,” she recalled. She saw much more than the miraculous events of the Kirtland Temple dedication—she saw the life and relationships of a prophet of God. “The more I made his acquaintance, the more cause I found to appreciate him in his divine calling.”7
Thirty-seven years after her baptism, with a heart firmly fixed through persecutions in Missouri and the eventual assassination of Joseph Smith, Eliza remained a committed Latter-day Saint. On June 22, 1872, she shared about her conversion with a group of women in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA: “When I heard it announced that the Lord had spoken from heaven and a record had been brought forth I was deeply interested. I prayed unto the Lord to let me know if the work were true, covenanting with him if he did so that I would ever praise his name.” After her baptism, she said, she attended Church meetings. “We were called upon to speak; I dared not refuse for I had promised God I would ever praise his name in the congregation of the Saints.”8 Her continual conversion required her continued witness.
Eliza bore her testimony over a thousand times as she traveled throughout Utah Territory to teach the Relief Society, young women, and Primary children about the Restoration. Her heart was fixed, and she invited others to experience their own conversions and become firm and steadfast.

Buffalo-Child-Long-Lance, a Blackfoot Indian Chief, told of his tribe trailing a band of five hundred horses led by the great stallion for ten days. At dawn on the eleventh day, on a plateau between the Rockies and Cascades, the Indian braves finally drove the herd into a log corral they had built between two sides of a rocky gulch.

After a day of futile attempts to rope the imprisoned stallion and near-fatal injuries to four braves, Indians carrying firebrands forced the horse into a corner against the rocks and partitioned off that part of the corral with a seven-foot fence. When they returned the next morning, they were amazed to find he had cleared the high fence, rammed through the heavy log corral, and vanished.

The Indians believed the wild stallion was supernatural, and after his escape, they called him the Ghost Horse of the Prairies. They claimed they often saw him standing on a butte, his majestic body silhouetted against the moon, his silvery mane and tail shining in the moonlight with a phosphorescent glow—a truly ghostly effect.

Our missionaries serving throughout the world are beautiful examples of those who are truly ambitious for Christ. A few years ago, Sister Yamashita and I served in the Japan Nagoya Mission. Our missionaries were so ambitious for Christ. One of those missionaries was a young man named Elder Cowan.

Elder Cowan did not have a right leg because of a bicycle accident as a youth. A few weeks after he entered the mission, I received a phone call from his companion. Elder Cowan’s prosthetic leg had broken while he was riding his bike. We took him to a good repair facility, and there in a private room, I saw his leg for the first time. I realized how much pain he had been suffering. His prosthetic leg was repaired, and he returned to his area.

However, as the weeks went by, the prosthesis continued to break again and again. The area medical adviser recommended that Elder Cowan return home for a possible mission reassignment. I resisted this advice because Elder Cowan was a great missionary and he had a strong desire to remain in Japan. Gradually, though, Elder Cowan began to approach his physical limit. In spite of this, he did not murmur or complain.

Again, I was advised that Elder Cowan be allowed to serve in a place that did not require him to ride a bike. I pondered this situation. I thought about Elder Cowan and his future, and I prayed about the matter. I felt impressed that, yes, Elder Cowan should return home and await reassignment. I phoned him and expressed my love and concern and told him of my decision. He did not say anything in reply. I could only hear him weeping on the other end of the phone. I said, “Elder Cowan, you don’t have to answer me right now. I will call you tomorrow. Please consider my recommendation with sincere prayer.”

When I called him the next morning, he humbly said he would follow my counsel.

During my final interview with him, I asked him this question: “Elder Cowan, did you request on your missionary application to be sent to a mission where you would not have to ride a bike?”

He said, “Yes, President, I did.”

I responded, “Elder Cowan, you were called to the Japan Nagoya Mission, where you would have to ride a bike. Did you tell this to your stake president?”

I was surprised by his answer. He said, “No, I didn’t. I determined that if that is where the Lord called me, I would go to the gym and train my body to be able to ride a bike.”

At the conclusion of our interview, he asked me this question with tears in his eyes: “President Yamashita, why did I come to Japan? Why am I here?”

I answered him without hesitation: “Elder Cowan, I know one reason you came here. You came here for my benefit. I have come to understand what a great young man I have been serving with. I am blessed to know you.”

I am happy to report that Elder Cowan returned to his loving home and was reassigned to serve in a mission where he could use a car for his travel. I am proud not only of Elder Cowan but also of all the missionaries throughout the world who serve willingly without murmuring or complaining. Thank you, elders and sisters, for your faith, your focus, and your strong ambition for Christ.

When our children were younger and we would be on our way to Sunday church meetings, occasionally we would pass a car pulling a boat. My children would become silent and press their noses against the windows and ask, “Dad, why can’t we go waterskiing today instead of to church?”

Sometimes I would take the easy but cowardly way out and answer, “It’s simple; we don’t have a boat.” However, on my more conscientious days, I would muster up all the logic and spirituality available to a patriarch of a family and try to explain how much happier our family was because of our Church activity.

I first realized I wasn’t getting through when on a subsequent Sunday we saw a family laughing and excited as they loaded their snow skis onto their car. One of my teenage sons said with a sly grin, “They’re not really happy, huh, Dad?” That statement has become a family joke whenever we see someone doing something we cannot do. When I see a teenager driving a beautiful, expensive sports car, I say to my sons, “Now there’s one miserable guy.”

I would like to express my sincere gratitude to the author of the article “Onward and Upward,” which was published in the July 1987 issue of the New Era.
I recently turned 18, graduated from high school and seminary, and was eagerly contemplating my future plans for college. But I overlooked the fact that I would no longer be a Laurel in the Young Women organization, and would now be advanced into the Relief Society program. My first realization of this advancement came to me the Sunday afternoon that my mother pulled me aside and whispered in my ear, “Next week you get to come to Relief Society with me.” The big grin on her face and warm hug she gave me persuaded me to try to hide the fear and anxiety I then felt.
During the following week, I continuously thought of the upcoming Sunday. One fear I had was the thought of all the old mothers and grandmothers sitting around discussing the various ways they each knit. And I figured each lesson would be about disciplining children.
With this anxious feeling I walked into the Relief Society room that Sunday. I was surprised to hear them talking about education. This spurred my interests, and I eagerly listened. But then one of the sisters mentioned something to the point that youth didn’t care about their educations and never did until college.
That got me upset, and I became convinced that there was some kind of a rivalry going on between the older sisters and the youth.
I tried my hardest to miss Relief Society from then on, and I was graciously assisted when my sister had to work and I got to substitute in her Primary class.
One evening I picked up the New Era and was skimming through the pages when I came across the above-mentioned article. My eyes were immediately drawn to the words “Is there life after Young Women?” At that moment I was overcome with the Spirit, and tears began welling up in my eyes. It made me feel comforted to know that I wasn’t the only person going through this problem and that other young people actually seemed to enjoy Relief Society. It gave me new courage to face up to the Relief Society sisters and to join in with them.
Ever since that experience, I’ve realized that I can really enjoy Relief Society. I’m excited to learn new skills that will help me and enhance my future. I’m especially looking forward to the Relief Society program at BYU, since that is where I will be attending college this year. Again I would like to thank the author for her inspiring message.
Terri HensleyAlamogordo, New Mexico

There is no evidence that anyone in that small gathering at Hiram, Ohio, on the 1st day of November, 1831, beard any voice, saw any light, felt within his soul the impact of the same ideas as were dictated by the Prophet to his clerk as revelation. It is not surprising then that some still doubted that the various writings presented to them and the message then delivered were revelations from the Almighty. Some of the revelations bore so patently the form of expression of the Prophet that William E. McLellin challenged the Prophet openly, charging that Joseph had written some of the so-called revelations entirely out of his own mind.

McLellin’s challenge, together with the feeling that others might be similarly skeptical, caused the Prophet to turn again to the Lord for aid. Whether he prayed vocally or otherwise does not appear in the record, but the result was another revelation:
“And now I, the Lord, give unto you a testimony of the truth of these commandments which are lying before you.
“Your eyes have been upon my servant Joseph Smith, Jun., and his language you have known, and his imperfections you have known; and you have sought in your hearts knowledge that you might express beyond his language; this you also know.
“Now, seek ye out of the Book of Commandments, even the least that is among them, and appoint him that is the most wise among you;
“Or, if there be any among you that shall make one like unto it, then ye are justified in saying that ye do not know that they are true;
“But if ye cannot make one like unto it, ye are under condemnation if ye do not bear record that they are true.
“For ye know that there is no unrighteousness in them, and that which is righteous cometh down from above, from the Father of lights.” (D&C 67:4–9.)
The above challenge calls for a unique test of revelation applicable to any age. It is a challenge to all thinking men—it is simplicity itself. It reflects the so oft-repeated introduction to God’s word, “Let us reason together, that ye may understand.” (D&C 50:10.)

McLellin, perhaps under the urging of others, accepted the challenge. He retired from the conference and, in the solitude of his room, attempted to write that which might sound like a revelation from the Lord. On November 2 he appeared again in the conference and with tears in his eyes begged the forgiveness of the Prophet, of his brethren, and of the Lord. He could not write a revelation. Try as he might, he could not write that which would sound as if it were a revelation from the Lord. Everyone who puts the matter to the test must come to the same conclusion. The uninspired man can only write those thoughts presently in his mind; and when he has put them in writing, he finds that they are but a rehash of ideas long known to mankind. The writings may have literary or educational value—but if nothing new is revealed, they are not revelation. On the other hand, if writings enrich the world with ideas and information not previously known, then by the same test, they are revelation, and, the newly found truth should be accepted and followed.

The experience and testimony of McLellin had a profound effect upon the little gathering at Hiram. One after another arose and bore testimony concerning God’s dealings with the Prophet Joseph. Following these testimonies, the conference authorized the publication of the revelations as the Book of Commandments, and appointed Oliver Cowdery to go to Independence, Missouri, to supervise the publication.

One who exemplified charity in his life was President George Albert Smith (1870–1951). Immediately following World War II, the Church had a drive to amass warm clothing to ship to suffering Saints in Europe. Elder Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and Elder Marion G. Romney (1897–1988), an Assistant to the Twelve, took President George Albert Smith to Welfare Square in Salt Lake City to view the results. They were impressed by the generous response of the membership of the Church. They watched President Smith observing the workers as they packaged this great volume of donated clothing and shoes. They saw tears running down his face. After a few moments, President Smith removed his own new overcoat and said, “Please ship this also.”

The Brethren said to him, “No, President, no; don’t send that; it’s cold and you need your coat.”

But President Smith would not take it back; and so his coat, with all the others, was sent to Europe, where the nights were long and dark and food and clothing were scarce. Then the shipments arrived. Joy and thanksgiving were expressed aloud, as well as in secret prayer.

During the Great Depression, the homeless, the downtrodden, the unemployed “rode the rails” that passed not far from our home. On numerous occasions, there would be a soft knock on the back door. When I opened the door, there I would see a man, sometimes two, ill-clothed, ill-fed, ill-schooled. Generally, such a visitor held in his hand the familiar cap. His hair would be tousled, his face unshaven. The question was always the same: “Could you spare some food?” My dear mother invariably responded with a pleasant, “Come in and sit down at the table.” She would then prepare a ham sandwich, cut a piece of cake, and pour a glass of milk. Mother would ask the visitor about his home, his family, his life. She provided hope and words of encouragement. Before leaving, the visitor would pause to express a gracious thank-you. I would note that a smile of content had replaced a look of despair. Eyes that were dull now shone with new purpose. Love, that noblest attribute of the human soul, can work wonders.

Recently I listened as a couple complained that they had few interests in common. She liked to read; he didn’t. He played racquetball, but physical problems kept her from doing so. The list of differences went on and on. I asked if there wasn’t just one interest they shared. They shook their heads. Finally I suggested they take a ceramics class together. Neither had tried anything like that, so it gave them a new, common interest. The effect was unbelievable. As they worked toward a common goal, the excitement of growing together helped them gradually forget their differences.

One day about twenty-five years ago I was busy ironing clothes and caring for several children in my home. I was also enjoying a television show and a cigarette.
The doorbell rang. Two men wearing business suits and warm smiles stood at the door. One of them introduced himself as the bishop of the ward. I invited them in and very quickly explained that I had been baptized into the Church when I was ten, but that I had never been very active and knew nothing about the gospel. A few months earlier I had attended a Church meeting, and had put my name on a class attendance roll, but no one had spoken to me.
The bishop smiled, looked me in the eye, and said, “I have been praying for a teacher for the young women, and the Lord directed me here.” I told him he was crazy. He continued to smile, opened the lesson book he’d brought with him, and started to explain about teaching the class.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I smoke and drink and I can’t teach sixteen-year-old girls.”
He then explained that I was to start teaching the following Wednesday. I kept saying, “no,” and he kept right on smiling. I told him I was inactive.
He said, “Not any more.”
I said, “I smoke.”
He replied, “You have until next Wednesday. God loves you. You can do it.” He smiled, left the lesson book, and walked out the door.
I was stunned. Then I got mad and yelled at the air, “You’d better find someone else, because I’m not going to do it!”
I tried to ignore the book, but my curiosity got the better of me. I read it from cover to cover, all twelve lessons. Wednesday drew nearer. I knew the lesson word for word. All day Wednesday I said I was not going, but at the appointed hour I arrived at the church. I was so scared I was trembling. I had grown up in the slums, lived through gang fights, fought for food, bailed my drunk father out of jail, and spent time in a juvenile delinquent program. I could fight my way out of anything, yet here I was, letting that bishop get me into a mess like this. Well, I’d show him! By this time I was sitting in the chapel and they were introducing me as the new Laurel teacher.
In the classroom, facing two angelic girls, I sat down and gave them the lesson word for word, even the parts that said “Ask the class.” After the class I left quickly and went home and cried. A few days later the doorbell rang and I though, “Oh, good, it’s that smiling bishop coming after his book.” But no, it was those two Laurel girls. One brought cookies, and one had flowers. They came in and taught me—about the people in the ward, about the young women’s program, and about the class. There were sixteen girls in the class, and they hadn’t had a teacher for some months. Lila and Lois were the only active ones.
I liked those girls, and I agreed to go to church with them the next Sunday. Afterwards, they came home with me for dinner.
With their help, I started teaching the other girls. If the girls wouldn’t come to church, we went wherever they were. We had lessons in bowling alleys, cars, and bedrooms, and on porches. I was determined that if I needed to go to class, those girls did too. One day we were giving the lesson to a girl who was hiding in a closet, and she came out and asked, “What about my free agency?” I told her I had never heard of that lesson and that she could come and teach us the next Wednesday.
Lila and Lois became like daughters to me. They taught me to sew, to look up scriptures, and most of all, to smile. Six months later fourteen of the girls were coming to class, and all were active within a year. Together we learned to pray, to study the gospel, and to help others. We made many visits to the children’s hospital. We laughed together and cried together in a bond of love. Fifteen months later, I was president of the Young Women.
I made a decision during that year of teaching that I would never say “no” to the bishop, and I never have. Two sixteen-year-old girls taught me that. I later learned that my smiling bishop was just as terrified of me as I was of him when he first came to the home, and he was sure I wouldn’t show up to teach the class. I sure showed him—and I’m grateful!