Gospel Story Finder

Another thing his uncle had told him that he believed was that by studying and doing the good things taught in the Book of Mormon, a person could get closer to God than by any other means, short of personal prayer or dying. Elias had given the boy a copy of the book, one that Elias had been presented as a young missionary while living in Nauvoo. The book had helped to ease Simon’s lingering sorrow over his parents’ deaths, and he had read it faithfully, pondered its contents, and prayed about its truthfulness.
One day when Simon had emerged from his secret place of prayer, he told his uncle that he experienced “a feeling that was as warm as the down comforter Mother used to wrap around me on cold winter nights.” He said that he knew the Book of Mormon was true and that he would one day be reunited with his parents in the world to come.
“Now that you know the truth,” Elias had counseled him, “you have a duty to Heavenly Father and to yourself to live it. It won’t always be easy to stand firm against the opposition that may come. But let the winds of adversity blow you forward, never down.”

In 1987, Marcella, the older of my two daughters, saw two young men with name tags on a bus in Tiradentes, Brazil. A conversation ensued, and the missionaries asked if she would like to know more about the Church.
Marcella was interested, but she knew that my opinion of Latter-day Saints was very unfavorable. She made arrangements to be taught at the home of a member, and in time she was baptized. She was 19 years old. I did not go to her baptism because I was still radically opposed to the Church.
Meanwhile, I was going through a very difficult period in my life. One day I decided to look through some magazines in our magazine rack. Among them were several issues of A Liahona (Portuguese). I found what I read interesting.
The February/March 1986 issue contained an article about Si Peterson, a young man from Canada who is a quadriplegic (see Jeannie Takahashi, “Typical, but Unique Latter-day Saint,” 22). I was particularly impressed by the faith and perseverance of Si’s mother.
About that same time, January 1988, my younger daughter, Monica, suffered an appendicitis attack and was in terrible pain. The doctor said she needed emergency surgery. Marcella and I took her to the hospital and comforted her the best we could. At the hospital I remembered the examples of faith I had read about in A Liahona. I thought especially of Si’s mother, Anita Begieneman.
Marcella and I held Monica in our arms. We prayed with all the faith we had. Soon we noticed the color returning to her cheeks, and she stopped crying. Amazingly, the doctor told us a mistake had been made. Monica didn’t need an operation. The three of us went home happy and grateful.
Monica and I decided to receive the discussions, and we were baptized on 19 March 1988. Marcella later served a full-time mission to Switzerland and is now married.
The examples of faith in A Liahona showed me that my former ideas about the Church were in error and gave me strength during a difficult time. In the years since these events occurred, reading the magazine has continued to strengthen my testimony.

One freezing October evening, as we were packing up, a man in his late 40s came to us with only the shirt on his chest, the shorts on his legs, and the shoes on his feet. He had nothing else to his name. But he was the happiest person I saw that day. We were able to give him some clothes, a sleeping bag, and a hot water bottle. As we were talking with him, we discovered it was his birthday. He said it was the best birthday he has ever had with the small gifts we gave him. His attitude was one of gratitude. Then we all noticed someone who was not happy, and our new friend went straight over to this man. He told us that he would take care of him, and make sure that the other man got home safely!

When he came to Ghana, his closest friends, family and even his mother thought he was going insane. They asked, “Why would you abandon your studies and come back to Ghana simply because you have met the Church?” He explained that he was taught the gospel of Jesus Christ and he wanted everyone to join. They didn’t understand and many spoke ill about him.
The family lived in Mankessim, in the central region about 1 ½ hour’s drive from Cape Coast. Alison said, “Later we moved to Yamoransa because my daddy had learned that the Church was there, and our family could go to church every Sunday.” The family stayed there for 1 year and Abraham got a job teaching geography at Adisadal College, a secondary school in Cape Coast.
While there, the Abura Branch was formed, and he was made the branch president. The children were all baptized in a river in Mankessim. His next idea was to get his mother and siblings to join the Church. He left Cape Coast and moved to Assin Fosu which is on the Cape Coast Kumasi Highway and is closer to their hometown. “My father went to his hometown almost every day trying to teach them. He wanted them to join so badly,” she said and added “at first, things didn’t go so well. They were heavily involved in their churches. His brothers were in the choir and without them the church would not be as nice. His mother was the treasurer of the women’s group.”
He would fast almost every week for his family. Eventually, his mother, then brothers, then aunts joined the church until about 95 percent of all his family members were part of the Church.
His next goal was to set up an orphanage and school. He adopted 78 of the children and about 40 of them went on missions. Alison and her sisters also served missions.
Alison has a strong admiration for her father. “He is very generous, honest, forgiving and spiritual”, she says, “He was a district president while he served as a parliamentarian. He would drive 4-5 hours each weekend so that he could be back for church”.
She also relates this story about her father:
“One time when I was at home, a man came to the door asking for my father. He was not around. The man gave me an envelope and asked me to give it to him. I thought it was a letter, so I took it and put it under his pillow, which is what we always did with anything that came for him. When he got home and found that envelope, he was very upset, and I heard him screaming from the bedroom. He said, ‘Who put this under my pillow?’
“I told him I had done it. He said, ‘You are my first born and I would expect you to know better’.
“I did not understand what I had done. He said, ‘Take this and give it back to the owner, he is not going to take care of me and my family’.”
“I still did not understand and asked him to explain. He told me it contains money. The man had a problem with his land and my father was trying to help him. The following morning the man came and asked me if I had given my father the money. I told him that if he had told me yesterday that it was a bribe he wanted to give to my father I would have warned him against doing that. I told him that my father was very angry and did not ever want him to enter his office again. If he was the rightful owner of the land, my father would help him without accepting money.”
“When it was time for me to go back to the town where I taught. I asked him if I could use one of his office cars to take me there since he was the district chief executive. He said, ‘the cars at my office are not for family use, they are government cars. I will help you pay for a taxi if you don’t have enough money.’”
Alison shared more thing about her father. “Because he would not be dishonest, some people wanted him out of office. One morning we woke up and there was a can of petrol in front of our house with matches on it. A week later a guy came on his knees apologizing. He said he was hired to burn our house. He had come one night, and it looked like our whole house was sparkling and it scared him, so he ran away. I believe it was an angel of the Lord that stopped him from burning our house down.”
In October 2019, Abraham returned to the United States. One Sunday, he was teaching a lesson at church. There was a man in the class that got up and went out. Unknown to Abraham, this man was a doctor and had called an ambulance. He recognized that Abraham was exhibiting signs of a stroke. The family is so grateful their father went to church that day and that the doctor was there too. Even though he is currently down with a stroke and uses a wheelchair, he still sees himself as blessed and he’s forever grateful to Heavenly Father.
Many people joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints because of Abraham Kwaku Fokuo. His legacy runs deep within the Church and in the communities in which he has lived.

It was a cloudy Sunday morning as I stood at the kitchen sink finishing the breakfast dishes. My two youngest children were watching a scripture video in the family room by the kitchen. I was lost in thought, and my cheeks were wet from tears. I couldn’t get my mind off the cancer that had invaded our home. My husband had been fighting it for several years, but now it had spread. My faith seemed to be wavering. My mind was crowded with “what if?” thoughts.
Suddenly the scripture video interrupted my thoughts with words from a calming voice: “Peace, be still. …
“Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?” (Mark 4:39–40).
I dropped the dishrag and turned to look at the TV. The video was about the Savior calming the storm. It was as if the words had been spoken to me by the Savior Himself. A feeling of warmth and peace flooded over me. It was a reminder to stick to the faith I had learned so much about through the years of cancer. It was a faith buttressed by words in my patriarchal blessing.
I learned to let the Savior carry us, I learned that I must keep my faith constant, and I learned to combat mounting fears with faith. The video that morning reminded me to rely on the Lord.

Not long ago, Josh received his mission call to serve in the Washington D.C. South Mission, speaking Persian.
“Persian?!” he says. “I had no idea that language was even taught at the MTC.”
As it happens, there are only three elders in his mission who currently speak Persian. And very few other missions include that language at all.
He started buckling down to learn as much Persian as possible before entering the missionary training center, but then everything missionary-wise got thrown into uncertainty as the pandemic took hold.
It’d be understandable for anybody in Luke’s situation to feel discouraged, but he says he finds heavenly help every day. “I see a lot of blessings in disguise.”
One of his favorite blessings in disguise was only possible because seminary was held virtually. Due to different start times, he was actually able to attend his current seminary class in Alabama as well as his old one back in Mississippi! “That’s been kind of cool because I can stay in touch with my friends!”
That’s only one blessing, though. “I also have more time for prayer and scriptures,” he points out. “And more time to study my language before entering the MTC.”
On that note, Luke was fortunate enough to connect, through a social media group, with the mother of one of the Persian-speaking missionaries in his mission. She was thrilled to hear from Luke and offered to send him some language-training tools her son used before his mission.
Luke has been using those tools ever since.
“I love the extra time to study,” he says again. “Especially family study in the morning. Now we have more time to do that than we normally did.”
The biggest question on Luke’s mind has been about what to decide regarding his mission. Like so many others in his situation, Luke has to choose whether to defer his mission call for a year or more, or wait and see if he can go as soon as possible with the original date.
Nothing is certain yet.
For Luke, direction came after watching general conference. “President Nelson and the other leaders were so optimistic,” Luke said. “It makes me optimistic too. So, at least for now, I’m going to plan on serving during my normal time.”
Luke knows that nothing is certain where COVID-19 is concerned. Even so, he’s absolutely certain about something else. “God is at the wheel,” Luke says. “He isn’t going to let us fail.”

Gift on the doorstep. I remember the first Christmas my family had when we moved to Australia. I was only seven or eight years old. When we woke up Christmas morning, we were delighted by the gifts our parents had brought with them to Australia. But we were in for a greater surprise. Outside our house on that Christmas morning was a sack of goodies! To this day we don’t know who brought it, and although I don’t remember every gift in the sack, I will always remember the feelings of peace and happiness that washed over me and my family. The sweet sack of goodies taught me a precious lesson—anonymous service brings joy to our souls.Elder Vasu Nephi Chetty, New York New York South Mission

My heart is breaking. Today my best friend slapped my face. I had finished helping Mrs. Thompson prepare the sewing circle, so I ran outside to be with the other girls. Rowena, Hattie, and my dearest friend, Sally, were hemming sheets under the maple. I had snatched glimpses of them while I worked, sharing some delicious secret, and I could scarcely wait to hear it.
The girls stood when they saw me coming. Then Sally stepped forward and slapped me across the cheek. “Hazel Alice Williams,” she said in an awful voice, “henceforth and forever you are banned from the Gainesville Junior Sewing Circle!”
“What have I done?” I asked.
“Are you a Mormon?” Sally demanded.
The question surprised me. What did that have to do with this?
“Were you and your father baptized by those Mormon missionaries?” Sally demanded again.
When I nodded, she hissed, “Then you are an infidel and a devil!”
She shoved me, and I turned and ran. Is this what being a Mormon means?
I know I was excited about moving, but I really miss my friends. Today before science class began, a girl two rows over called out, “Trisha, are you a Mormon?”
Suddenly the chatter stopped. All eyes turned to me. I said yes.
One of the boys asked, “What’s a Norman?”
The girl said, “Not Norman, Gregg. Mormon. It’s a church.”
“They don’t believe in Jesus Christ,” someone piped up.
“Yes, we do,” I protested, but the bell rang and drowned out my words.
I heard someone across the room say, “My dad says Mormons are really weird.”
I’m the only Mormon in this whole school. Will I ever have any friends?
Today I asked Father to teach me to chop and split wood. He replied that Mother would not have wanted me to do a man’s work. That is true. Mother always wanted me to be a lady. But Father has too much to do. He can get no man to help with the farm and no woman to help in the house because we are Mormons. I explained that I keep running out of wood for the range, and if we want hot meals, I must learn to handle an ax.
So he taught me. It is harder than it appears, and tonight my hands are blistered badly. I intend to wear my second-best Sunday gloves tomorrow when I chop.
Tonight I asked Mom to teach me how to cook from scratch, like she used to before Dad died and she had to go to work. I’m tired of watching her worry about bills, and I know that cooking from scratch would save money and be healthier.
“It would take a lot of your time,” she said. I said I figured it was time for me to pull my share of the load. Mom hugged me tight. “OK,” she laughed. “Lesson one …”
Father and I are ready to leave in the morning to join the Saints. Uncle Samuel came today all the way from Avery to persuade Father to give up Mormonism. My dearest cousin, Lydia, came with him. I haven’t seen Lydia since Mother’s funeral. Lydia told me that I needn’t go with Father. I could live with her family. She said Father had been deluded and led astray by the Mormons.
I told Lydia that I also believed the Mormon church is the only true church on earth.
She said, “But that Joseph Smith is dead now. Father said he was possessed by devils!”
My heart hurt when I heard those words. “No,” I told her, “Joseph Smith was a prophet just like the prophets in the Bible. I know this is true!”
Lydia stared at me. “I feel sorry for you. I guess we’ll never see each other again.”
Am I going to be without friends for the rest of my life?
They changed our basketball game from Tuesday to Monday. Because it’s a really important game, Coach said we would have a practice on Sunday afternoon.
“I can’t practice on Sunday,” I told him.
“I know that you’re a Mormon,” he replied, “but this is really important. I’ll talk to your mother.”
“It won’t make any difference,” I told him. “I still won’t be able to come.”
All the girls were staring. “Are you going to be in church?” one asked.
“No,” I answered. “My church is in the morning.”
“Well, where are you going in the afternoon?”
“Nowhere, I guess,” I said. “Just home.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s the Sabbath,” I mumbled. After a lot of exchanged looks and rolled eyes, they went into the locker room, leaving me sitting alone on the bench.
I wish I had a close friend.
Friends. Why can’t we all be friends? Today I was walking about Winter Quarters with Mariah Jewett and Leticia Harwood. Oh, how I have wanted to be Mariah’s friend! She is pretty and clever, and she plans dances for which her father plays the fiddle. I love to dance. She promised to invite me to the next one.
While walking, we saw a family arrive in an overflowing open wagon. I love to see more Saints joining us. Tucked in among the household goods was a girl who looked to be about our age. “How exciting! Let’s go welcome her,” I said.
“Wait,” Mariah said. “Don’t go near her. She’s probably got vermin. Look at her dress. Did you ever see anything so ugly?”
I was anxious about the vermin, so I stared impolitely. Her dress wasn’t ugly, only very plain. Just then the girl saw us watching, and she smiled shyly. Was she feeling as I had felt when we finally joined the other Saints? Was she heartsick at losing friends, and hoping to find new ones?
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Let’s go be friendly.”
“Hazel!” Mariah’s voice stopped me. “If you mingle with that riffraff, I shall be forced to exclude you from my list of associates.”
I am ashamed that I hesitated, thinking of having fun with Mariah at the dance. Then I remembered the great and spacious building in the Book of Mormon, and I knew where I wanted to be.
“So be it, Mariah,” I said, and I left her. Even in the midst of the Saints, life has trials.
It must be my destiny to be a loner. I was walking to an assembly with Melinda and Denise, who are on the basketball team too. We passed a girl just standing there, looking lost. She also looked like a total nerd. Besides her clothes being all wrong, her hair was like my grandma’s. She was obviously new, and my heart ached for her. I knew just how she felt.
I said, “Are you going to the assembly?” When she nodded, I said, “It’s this way.” Melinda and Denise looked at me like, “You know her?”
She began following us, and Melinda muttered, “Get rid of her.”
But I couldn’t. She needed a friend. She followed us up the bleachers and sat down next to me. Melinda and Denise gave me a disgusted look and moved over to the next section.
Good-bye, Melinda and Denise.
All week long I have looked forward to the dance tonight. Life on the trail is so dreary, just plodding along day after day. I don’t think I ever fixed supper faster or cleaned up more quickly than I did tonight. I called over to Sister Fuller in the next wagon to see if she needed help getting ready. She has two small children and a grandfather who has been ill. She replied that she wasn’t going to the dance. Her grandfather was feeling very ill, and someone had to stay with him.
Poor Sister Fuller. She loves to dance and sing and was probably looking forward to it even more than I. “I will watch your grandfather,” I told her. “I can come get you if he turns worse.”
“But you don’t want to miss the dance,” she protested.
“There are plenty of dances ahead of me. Go with your husband and enjoy yourself.”
Her smile lit up her entire face, and she hugged me. “God bless you, Hazel,” she whispered, and she hurried to freshen up.
So I spent the evening taking care of the grandfather and watching the sleeping babies. I heard the music and the happy voices all evening, and missed it dreadfully. But I was not sorry I stayed so that Sister Fuller could go. If I don’t feel happiness in my soul tonight, at least I feel peace.
Talk about anticipation! Thinking about the ward social Friday night was what kept me going all week. Other girls in the ward were sure to be there, and Church is the only place I can relax and not feel different.
Mom and I left early to pick up Sister Grogan. We found her balancing her crying three-year-old on one knee while feeding the baby in his high chair. Her house was a mess, and she was too.
“I guess I’m not going,” she told Mom. “The babies are fussy, and I can’t handle that tonight.”
Mom picked up the crying toddler. “You need this night out,” she told Sister Grogan. “I’ll stay with your children, and you drive on to the social with Trisha.”
Sister Grogan brightened up. “I can’t let you do that,” she protested weakly.
Mom said “Nonsense,” and started to push her toward the bedroom.
I looked at Mom, and she looked as tired as Sister Grogan did. They both needed this night out.
I took the toddler from Mom. “You’re going to the ward social, too,” I said. “I’m staying with the children.”
“I can’t let you do that.” But she looked as hopeful as Sister Grogan had.
“No problem,” I said. “Go have fun.”
I may not have had fun tonight, but I sure feel good inside!

Sometimes we go to the cemetery to put flowers on Hans’s grave. I told Mom that it’s kind of like the park where we had our family reunion. She hugged me tightly and told me that when Resurrection Day comes, the good people who have been buried will meet with everybody that they love, and it will be the biggest family reunion that you ever saw. I can hardly wait to hug Hans when he is resurrected. I miss him a lot, but I know that he is happy because he lives with Heavenly Father and Jesus.

I couldn’t focus on my homework today. Mom asked what was wrong. I guess I’m still wondering about the priesthood. She said when she has a question that doesn’t have a clear answer, she puts it on the “back burner” of her mind. She doesn’t ignore the question, but she doesn’t let it crowd out all the things she DOES understand. She has the faith to wait for answers, and she trusts that Heavenly Father knows what’s best. That’s OK, I guess, but I hate waiting.

My mother taught me an important lesson along these lines. For many years my father had a practice of trading for a new car every year. Then, shortly after World War II when grain prices increased, we were surprised one day when Dad drove home in a more expensive car.

One morning my mother asked, “How much more did the new car cost than the other one?”

When Dad told her, my mother said, “Well, the other car has always been able to get me where I need to go. I think we ought to give the difference to someone who needs it more than we do.”

And so it was. The next year Dad returned to the less-expensive cars, and they continued their generous ways.

Utilizing this principle greatly blessed our family. In 2006, the United States was experiencing a strong economy, especially in real estate investing. We had successfully made some smaller investments before being given the opportunity to invest in a large business opportunity. It appeared to be without risk, but it would require that we go into debt by mortgaging our home.

As the father in the home, I knew it was my duty to provide for my family. I prayed and felt that I should be willing to use what the Lord had given me to profitably sustain us. I also consulted the scriptures and found that honest business investing was encouraged and acceptable to the Lord. As I moved forward in my decision, however, I pondered what the living prophets had warned about going into debt, particularly to invest in business speculation.

We decided to apply the “checks and balances” principle to my decision, and even though scriptural truths supported my personal revelation, the teachings of the living prophets did not. We decided not to invest. The following year, the housing market crashed, and a very long recession began. Had we borrowed the money, we may have lost not only our money but our home also.

I first met Sally Pilobello in the Philippines in 1972 when I was sent there as a health missionary. I learned that she and her husband had lost their first baby when the baby was five months old. Sally had other children, but she now was pregnant with another and asked me, “What can I do to have a healthy Mormon baby?” I thought of her courage and faith as she responded to truth and adopted some new habits and traditions. Soon people in the neighborhood were sharing the news: “Mormon baby is coming!”

On 20 January 1973, Sarah Pilobello was born—a healthy, beautiful “Mormon baby.” Her mother’s pioneer spirit had enabled her to do things she had not done before—to add more truth to what she already knew. Sally used to smile at me and say, “Sister, you can never teach an old dog new tricks.” Then she’d pause and add: “But Sister, I am not a dog!”

In 1984 I received a letter from eleven-year-old Sarah—“Little Melon” to her family and friends: “I’m sorry that I have not written for a long time because every time I’m going to start my letter my playmates are insisting me to play with them. Now I firmly decided to write to you. We are glad that Mommy is doing what the family preparedness program of the welfare missionaries taught them. We now purify our water and have a balanced diet. That is why we grow faster than the other children. The temple is now being made and I hope I’ll see you there. I love you. Little Melon.”

I also received a letter from her mother, my dear friend Sally: “I want to express my gratitude for the things I have learned which are making such a difference in my family. I realize now that some of the things my mother taught me—things her mother taught her—were not correct. But the truths I’m learning will now be taught to my children, and to their children, and to the generations to come. We will not be damned any longer by ignorance. ‘Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free!’ As they say, it is never too late to learn and change. God must love us dearly to allow us to have so much truth.”

I have been blessed to have a mother who has spent her life preparing to meet God. She understands the principles of creating, learning, and serving in this life. Her motto has been “Welcome the task that makes you go beyond yourself, and you will grow.” Let me tell you a few highlights from her adventure-filled life. In her youth she lived in the wild Uinta Mountains, where her father worked. She learned to cut tall trees, fish, and camp in the outdoors. During the winter she attended school in the city, played on a basketball team, and learned to play the trumpet. She went to the university and became a nurse. After she was married, she went on a mission with her husband to Brazil, where she learned to speak Portuguese. She has traveled to many countries and has taught the gospel to thousands. She studies the scriptures daily, has written several family history books, works in the temple, keeps track of 62 grandchildren, and can cook 600 doughnuts in one morning!
My mother has stayed in the Savior’s path with unshaken faith in Him (see 2 Ne. 31:19) all the days of her life. She wakes up every day looking forward to new adventures. For her, life is so interesting, and she still has so much to learn.

On an early morning in January, my husband and I drove to the hospital for the birth of our fifth child, Charlotte. I had been anxious during my pregnancy, and now I fretted to my husband, “What if our baby isn’t all right?”
“Then we’ll love her just the same,” he answered consolingly.
When my daughter finally lay beside me in the delivery room, I examined her. She looked perfect. But when she was whisked away, I asked in alarm, “What’s the matter? Is my baby all right?”
“The doctor will talk to you,” the nurse responded. My stomach knotted, and my worst fears began to surface.
The doctor soon told us that our baby had Down syndrome. Sorrow, disbelief, anger, and guilt boiled up.
“Why us? Why Charlotte?” I questioned. My world seemed to have changed forever, and I didn’t know how to handle it.
Charlotte’s birth was the beginning of the hard times. A short time later my mother-in-law had a stroke; two of our cars broke down; our business struggled; Charlotte required surgery on her eyes, ears, and heart; and the medical bills flooded in.
One particularly overwhelming day, I took Charlotte to our bedroom and said a discouraged prayer. “Heavenly Father, this is more than I can bear. Please help me.” Slowly I got to my feet and turned on the television news, looking for a distraction.
The top story described a plane crash that killed all the passengers. For the first time, I listened to the news in a different way. “Someone’s husband was killed in that crash,” I reflected. “If I had the power to trade places, would I rather be a widow?”
The next story told of a young man arrested for selling drugs. I thought, “That is someone’s son. Would I rather be his mother?” Dawning understanding brought a simple but important realization: we all face trials to help us progress.
I looked over at Charlotte, and some words came clearly to mind: “Why are you so sad when Heavenly Father has sent you a sweet little baby to love?” That was my answer. No plane crashes or drugs—I got to love little Charlotte. Rather than deserting me, Heavenly Father was entrusting me with a child who needed extra care. Realizing the confidence He had placed in me, I felt my bitterness slip away.
Charlotte has taught us peace and appreciation. Although frustrating times come, she is an integral part of our family. She is a little piece of heaven sent to us to love.

“I always like to help the missionaries. Others need to know the gospel. They need to be happy,” says Irene Marques. She is a diminutive, dynamic Gypsy woman who sells clothing in the marketplace. Among the silver rings on her fingers is a child’s CTR ring, a gift from one of the missionaries she aided. Unable to join the Church for several years because of opposition from her family, she nevertheless introduced many other people to the missionaries and the gospel. She has retained that same missionary zeal since her baptism three years ago by an old friend, Joaquim Jose da Silva Aires, president of the Coimbra District.

Kim has consistently worn modest clothing. The other day I asked for her opinion on what she considers to be a modest skirt, a modest blouse, and a modest swimsuit. Instead of coming up with exact measurements for hemlines and necklines, we discussed the principles surrounding modesty and the challenge of finding modest clothing that looks attractive. We had fun brainstorming ways to creatively lengthen a skirt. Finally Kim said, “If I’m not comfortable when I first put something on, it usually means it’s immodest and I won’t be comfortable wearing it. I’ve learned to never buy it. I just put it back on the rack.”

It was in the Queens Ward that Robert, a college sophomore, met Mary Crandall, also a college student, whose family had recently moved to New York from Los Angeles. “After I met her, I never went out with anyone else,” says Elder Hales. “We were together every evening after work for the first two months sharing family activities. She’d help me wash my car, and I’d help her baby-sit her brothers; it was as though we were never going to be apart.” At the end of the summer, they both went back to college in Utah—Robert to the University of Utah and Mary to Brigham Young University. The following summer, on 10 June 1953, they were married in the Salt Lake Temple.

“Kids, I’m leaving now,” Mom called from downstairs. “David is in charge.”
“Bye, Mom,” I yelled. I was trying to finish my math homework so I could watch my favorite TV show. We weren’t allowed to watch TV until our homework was done. I solved the last problem, then snapped the book shut. “Finished!”
I strolled into the family room, settled into the couch, and clicked on the TV.
Suddenly, my older brother David barreled into the room. He grabbed the remote control and pushed me off the couch.
“Ow!” I cried as I hit the floor with a thud. “Hey, I was here first!”
“Yeah, but Mom left me in charge. And I say we’re going to watch my favorite show.”
“Fine,” I said. “I have a new book I want to read, anyway.” I walked back to my room. Pulling the book off a shelf, I sat in my special reading chair.
“Heather, go get me something to eat,” David called.
“I’m busy,” I called back, turning a page.
“So am I. This is the best part of the show. Go get me something to eat.”
“Why should I?” I asked. “You can do it yourself.”
“If you don’t I’ll take your book and hide it.”
I sighed. If I got him a snack, maybe he’d stop bothering me. “David is such a bully,” I thought as I grabbed some chips. “Why can’t I have a nice older brother?”
At dinner, I noticed the red plate by my seat at the table, which meant I had done something special. “Why do I have the red plate?” I asked.
“Your teacher called me today,” Mom said. “Your reading and writing skills are very good, and your teacher wants to challenge you more. So, during your class’s English section, you will go to the fourth-grade class.”
I couldn’t believe it! They were moving me up two whole grades!
“That’s my girl. So smart,” Dad said.
David didn’t say anything. He was quiet during dinner. Was he mad at me?
The next day, I was nervous as I made my way to the fourth-grade class. My teacher had given me directions and a note, then sent me off. As I made my way to the upper elementary classrooms, I felt like I was entering enemy territory. Our playgrounds didn’t even mix—first through third grade were on one side, and fourth through sixth on the other. I was sure that at any moment someone was going to shout: “Stop! You don’t belong here!”
But the fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Randall, helped me feel better with her smiling face. She introduced me to the class and pointed me to an empty desk.
I listened carefully to the lesson, and tried not to stand out. When Mrs. Randall dismissed me, I hurried back to the safety of the second grade.
After school, I waited for the bus with the other kids.
“Hey. Hey, you!” someone yelled. I turned around and saw two girls coming toward me. I recognized them from Mrs. Randall’s class.
“Hi, little second grader,” the taller girl said. “My name is Janna, and this is Kylie. So how’d you like class today?” she asked sweetly.
“Oh, it was … fine,” I stammered.
Janna made a face. “You must think you’re so smart being in our class. Smarter than us, even.”
I looked down at my feet. “I don’t think that.”
“Good! Because you’re not smart. You’re a freak!”
“Yeah.” Kylie laughed. “And a geek.”
Janna stepped closer. “I don’t like you,” she said, “and I don’t like you in our class.”
“What’s the problem?”
I turned to find my brother David standing beside me.
Janna stepped back. “This little nerd thinks she’s smarter than me.”
“She’s not a nerd. She’s my sister.” David put his hand on my shoulder. “And she hasn’t done anything to you. If you keep being mean to her, I’m going to hear about it.”
Janna looked at my brother. He was taller and wider than she was. “What grade are you in?” she asked.
“Sixth.”
“Oh,” she said. She and Kylie took a few more steps back. “Well, OK. We’ll leave her alone.”
David turned me around and guided me to the bus. Then he went to join his friends.
I got on the bus and sat down, feeling a little dazed. I couldn’t believe it. David had stood up for me! I knew then that even though we didn’t always get along, David was my brother and he loved me. I suddenly felt very grateful for him.
At dinner that night, David seemed surprised when he noticed the red plate at his seat. “What’s this for?” he asked.
“I put it there,” I said. “It’s for being a great older brother.”
David laughed as I told our parents what had happened. I made David sound like a superhero.
“We’re proud of you for helping your sister,” Dad said.
David smiled. “It’s good to be a hero,” he said.
I grinned at him. “It’s even better to have one as an older brother.”

If you’ve ever wished somebody would make a movie from a Jack Weyland story, your wish has come true. The youth and leaders of the Cypress California Stake have turned Brother Weyland’s story “The Award,” published in the November 1979 New Era, into an exciting video production that has touched the hearts of many thousands of viewers with its special magic.
“The Award” is the story of several high school football stars who decide to reward the ugliest girl in their school with a corsage and a poem extolling her ugliness. They assign Kevin, the only Latter-day Saint on the team, to deliver the “award.” When Kevin reads the poem to his girl friend, Colleen, she begs him not to go through with the cruel joke, but he is afraid of losing his friends if he backs out. Before he can deliver the award, however, he has an opportunity to meet Mary Beth, the “ugly girl,” and discovers that she is really an outstanding person who donates much of her time to helping handicapped children.
Kevin and Colleen decide to go ahead and give Mary Beth an award, but they change it from a cruel put-down to a tribute for her acts of service. When the rest of the football team discovers the change, things become interesting.
Eventually, they too have a chance to meet the real Mary Beth. Some of them, led by the fullback, are unimpressed. “There are winners, and there are losers,” he says. “We’re the winners, and the girls we date are winners. The rest are all losers.”
But Craig, the quarterback, says, “We pick the person in school who everybody agrees is a loser, but then she turns out to be okay once we get to know her. … What if every one of them turns out to be special in some way?”
The video has been seen in many seminary classes and firesides, and it has changed people’s lives. “I thought about it all day long, and I saw people differently,” a ninth-grade student said. A local seminary teacher said that the video was the best visual aid she had used in seminary all year. Another seminary teacher says that her students now refer to Matthew 25:40 [Matt. 25:40] (“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me”) as “the Mary Beth scripture.”
Group W Cable TV of Buena Park was so impressed that it is airing The Award on 15 of its community networks in southern California. Representatives of other religions have asked permission to use it with their own congregations. Chuck Coronado, a city councilman who is not LDS, has said, “We are going to give it as much exposure as we can.”
For the cast, it was a learning experience, not only in film production, but in compassion.
Cheryl Pence, who plays the part of Mary Beth, is a senior in computer science at the University of California at Irvine. She is most definitely not ugly. In fact, she is downright pretty. But her performance in the play gives chilling evidence of how stooped shoulders, downcast eyes, and a frightened expression can transform even a pretty girl into a drab shadow of herself. “It has been difficult at times to play the role of ‘the ugliest girl in school,’” she says. “If you’re not careful it can start influencing the way you see yourself. It must be devastating to suffer from that kind of a label in real life.” Back to her attractive self again after the shooting, Cheryl is not even recognized by most people as Mary Beth, but her alter ego has had a profound effect on her. “Being in the video has given me a greater appreciation for my fellowman and made me more thoughtful of others.”