Gospel Story Finder

I have always had a hard time making friends. I knew people and had a lot of acquaintances, but I didn’t feel like I had anyone that I could hang out with without feeling out of place.
When I started 10th grade, I had a group that I ate lunch with from junior high, but I just didn’t fit in with them. I tried to stay strong, but it felt like I was being dragged slowly down where I could never escape. I decided that no friends were better than bad ones, so I stopped hanging out with them.
The period of time when I had no one to eat with was the loneliest time of my life. Still, I tried to be good. I told my Mia Maid leader about it, and she said, “You are a great girl, and no matter what happens, you will be better because of this.” I took her words to heart, and my world brightened. I prayed that I would meet good people and find happiness. I felt as though weights were lifted.
Soon at school I met some Latter-day Saint girls who went to the temple to do baptisms for the dead nearly every week, and they included me in their circle of friends. I felt happier than ever. They were so nice and honest in everything they did. They were wonderful, but I was scared they would change and end up just like the others.
Before an important test, my father gave me a blessing. He said something that took me by surprise. He said, “You are doing what’s right, and your Father is very pleased. If you continue in righteousness and do not falter, you will gain friends. Your friends will encourage you to be good and strive to be your best.”
I was struck deeply. I followed the blessing and found these girls to be more than I had ever hoped for. They introduced me to other friends, and we became a strong support to each other.
I found that Heavenly Father listens to my prayers and cares about what I feel.

I had another exceptional teacher while attending Ricks College many years ago. I was preparing to serve a mission and thought it would be helpful to attend a missionary preparation class. What I experienced changed my life.
From the first day of class, I realized I was in the presence of a master teacher. The teacher was Brother F. Melvin Hammond. I knew Brother Hammond loved the Lord and he loved me. I could see it in his face and hear it in his voice. When he taught, the Spirit enlightened my mind. He taught doctrine, but he also invited me to learn it on my own. That invitation helped me clearly see my responsibility to learn the Lord’s doctrine for myself. That experience changed me forever. Thank you, Brother Hammond, for teaching in the Savior’s way.

Recently my dad asked me to play the piano in priesthood meeting. Reluctantly, I said yes. I had a hymn memorized, so I thought I could play without any serious problems. When I began to play, I realized I couldn’t remember the song. I tried to play the introduction at least four times, but it wouldn’t come. I kept thinking, I can play this at home with my eyes closed. Why can’t I play it now? I decided to skip the introduction and go to the beginning of the hymn. With shaking hands I played the first verse without any problems before I got lost. The priesthood brethren ended up singing the rest of the song a capella. I felt so bad, as I hurried to my seat and buried my head during the prayer. The next day I picked up the July 1993 New Era and read the story “Hymn and Me.” The whole time I was reading the story, I could relate to how she felt. I want to thank you for this article. It really helped me feel better about what happened.
Scott OlsenHighland, Utah

The second story involves two sisters who live two thousand miles from each other. Each was taught the missionary discussions by the full-time missionaries. Each felt the confirming witness of the Spirit and was baptized. Both were single adults in their early twenties. One sister attended church meetings, met the bishop, developed friendships with members who invited her into their homes. Ward members made her feel welcome and wanted. She was given a Church calling immediately after her baptism, and she continued to learn and live gospel principles while associating with ward and stake members. She participated continually, serving in various ward, stake, and general Church callings. In time, she married in the temple, and she maintains her standing as a member in full fellowship.

The other sister, after receiving the witness of the Spirit, never met her bishop personally. She received no visits by home teachers or visiting teachers and was given no Church calling. For several weeks she attended Sunday ward meetings, but she was mostly ignored. In due course, the missionaries who had taught her left the area, and her interest in the gospel waned without the support of members. She was not “remembered and nourished.” (Moro. 6:4.) Soon she stopped attending church services, resumed her old friendships and life-style, and married a nonmember. Today she is a fine, productive, contributing citizen in her community and a loving, conscientious wife and mother. But she does not enjoy the rich blessings that come from full fellowship in the Church.

Ring! It was the final bell of the school day on Friday afternoon. I jumped from my desk and raced to the door. My friend Kent had invited me and two other boys to camp out that night by his house. I had been looking forward to it for two weeks.
When I got home from school, I gathered my sleeping bag, pillow, flashlight, comic books, and a bag of snacks. When I got to Kent’s house, he and his father were just spreading out the tent. We took turns hammering the stakes that kept the tent secure on the ground.
Then Kent’s dad barbecued hamburgers, and we all played hide-and-seek in the woods. As soon as the sun went down, we turned on our flashlights and went exploring.
After a while, Kent’s mother called us all back from the woods and told us it was time to settle in for the night. We ran into the tent, laid out our sleeping bags, and got comfortable. Soon we were sharing snacks and listening to some of Kent’s amazing adventure stories. Kent always made us the heroes in his stories. We could always fly, and we always saved the day.
As it got late, everyone was tired and began to fall asleep. I could hear the crickets chirping in the night air and a train passing in the distance. I began to think about Kent’s stories. I realized that even though Kent had told me a lot of great stories, there was one important story he didn’t know. It was the true story of Joseph Smith and the Restoration of the gospel. The more I thought about it, the more I felt I should share this special story with my friend.
“Kent, are you still awake?”
“Yes. What’s up?”
My heart started beating a little faster and I felt anxious, but I kept talking.
“I was just wondering. Do you believe in God?”
“Yes, of course,” he said.
“Do you believe in the prophets in the Bible?”
“Yes,” Kent said as he sat up in his sleeping bag.
“Well, what if I told you that we have a living prophet on the earth today, just like in the Bible?”
“What do you mean—a prophet like Moses?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”
“Well, that’s something new,” he said. “Tell me about it.”
My anxious feeling began to melt away, and excitement grew in its place. I told Kent about the Prophet Joseph Smith and how the gospel was restored to the earth. I told him about the living prophet and apostles on the earth today.
When I finished, I asked Kent what he thought about it.
He was quiet for a few moments. “I think that’s an amazing story that I really need to think about. Do you really believe it?”
“Yes, I really do.” I felt warmth inside my chest, and I knew I had said what Heavenly Father wanted me to say. I said a silent prayer that Kent would find out for himself that what I had said was true.
I later learned that Kent did pray to find his answer. He also shared what he had learned with his parents. Soon Kent’s family was studying the gospel and meeting with the missionaries. It wasn’t long until Kent’s whole family was baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Although many years have passed since then, Kent and I are still great friends. We both served missions, and we attended Brigham Young University together. I’m so glad that I took the time to share the gospel with my friend.

“You think you’re better than everyone else because you don’t swear,” Nikolai said at recess.
“That’s not true,” said Andrei.
“Then why won’t you say one swear word? Just one? It’s not going to kill you. Everybody else swears.”
Andrei shrugged. “I just don’t want to.”
Andrei knew swearing was wrong and makes the Holy Ghost leave. Andrei wanted the Holy Ghost with him. So he didn’t swear.
Andrei was new at school, and so far, Nikolai was the only one in his sixth-grade class who wanted to be his friend. But Nikolai bugged him about swearing every single day. And every day Andrei got a little more tired of saying no. Besides, Andrei was afraid that Nikolai would stop being his friend, and then he’d really be lonely.
“Just say one swear word,” Nikolai said after school. “Then I’ll leave you alone.”
Finally Andrei was so tired of being bothered that he said one swear word—one that wasn’t too bad.
Nikolai nodded. “Good, now you’re one of us.”
After that, Nikolai’s other friends talked to Andrei too. They ate lunch with him and played football with him at recess. But being in Nikolai’s group of friends was like walking into quicksand. The more Andrei hung out with them, the more he talked and acted like them. And they all swore. A lot. They laughed at and insulted each other. They said rude things about their teachers. They got mad and acted mean a lot. Slowly Andrei started feeling angry more often and found more and more reasons to swear.
One night when Mom and Dad were gone, Andrei and his older sister Katya got into an argument about what show to watch. Before Andrei even thought about it, a swear word jumped out of his mouth.
Katya looked shocked. “I’m telling Mom.”
Andrei ran to his bedroom and slammed the door. What was wrong with everyone? Why were they making him mad all the time? When his parents came home, Andrei cracked open his door and heard Katya say, “Mom, Andrei swore at me.”
“What?” Mom sounded surprised. “Andrei would never swear.”
Andrei closed the door and slumped down on his bed. He thought about how different he’d become since he started swearing. It had been a long time since he had felt the Holy Ghost.
Andrei knelt down by his bed and prayed. “Dear Heavenly Father, I’m so sorry I’ve been mean and angry. I’m sorry I started swearing. I’m going to do better.”
As Andrei prayed, a warm feeling filled his heart. For the first time since he started swearing, he felt really happy. He knew God loved him, and he could feel the Holy Ghost. He felt forgiven and knew he could change and become better.
After his prayer, he told Mom the truth and apologized to Katya. Andrei felt better after that. It felt good to repent.
The next day at school, Andrei didn’t eat lunch with Nikolai’s group. Instead he sat next to some kids he didn’t know. It would take time, but Andrei knew he would find friends who were good and happy and didn’t swear. Just like him.

The faith of BYU’s founders was never stronger than during times of crisis. I was particularly impressed with Karl G. Maeser’s conviction as he responded to Reed Smoot, a student, during the 1884 fire that destroyed the academy’s only building. As it became apparent that they could not save the Lewis building, the student said to Maeser, “Oh, Brother Maeser, the Academy is burned!” Maeser responded, “No such thing, it’s only the building.”2 Six years earlier, shortly after the death of Brigham Young, Maeser had a dream in which President Young showed him the design of a new building. At the time Brother Maeser did not understand the purpose of the dream. Six years later, as he looked at the charred ruins of Lewis Hall, he could see in his mind’s eye the building that would take its place.3

On 18 September 1989, Marc Modersitzki and Bradley Saunderson entered Lesotho, the first young missionaries assigned to teach the gospel in this small mountainous kingdom. Three member families excitedly awaited their arrival: the Masseys, the Scotts, and the Daffendols. These three families formed a group with Brother Massey as the group leader. All were anxious to begin doing missionary work with the new elders. By the end of the first two weeks, the missionaries had 18 families in their teaching pool.
Elder Saunderson recorded in his journal, “I am impressed with the incredible potential that the area has: its fields are very white.” In the first month of tracting, they were refused only four times.
Sister Scott, the mother of one of the families who met the elders on their arrival, was so excited about the first convert baptism that she wanted it to take place at her home. However, the Scotts did not have a pool, so Brother Scott bought a lattice wall pool. The next problem was that there was no level spot on their property big enough to put the pool. That did not dampen their enthusiasm. With the help of Brother Lawrence Van Tonder, one of the first two to be baptized, they dug up the Scotts’ backyard to accommodate the pool.
Thanks to the many efforts of members and missionaries, there are now more than 1,300 members in Lesotho.

Kim Clark, 19, and her sister Christy Ann, 17, of the North Bend Ward, Coos Bay Oregon Stake, have helped bring 18 of their friends into the Church in the past two years.

“Dennis and Lorry were friends of ours,” Christy said. “Kim knew Lorry from work and I knew Dennis from school. I was talking about our youth temple trip to Seattle, and Dennis said, ‘What’s that?’

“I told him about temple work, baptisms for the dead, and being sealed to your family. He said, ‘I want to be baptized so I can go to the temple.’”

Christy called the missionaries that night.

Meanwhile, at work, Kim was talking with Lorry.

“I said, ‘Do you go to Church?’ and that started us talking,” Kim explained. “Since I’m the stake Young Adult rep, it was easy to invite her to a Young Adult conference, then to church. I introduced her to the missionaries, and soon both Dennis and Lorry were having the missionary discussions.” Within two weeks, both were baptized.

Some of you who are familiar with Oxford University may know that it’s the world’s oldest university. The building that I lived in as a student was built in 1410—beautiful to look at, uncomfortable to live in. When I arrived at Oxford, I realized it was going to be difficult to be an active member of the Church. The Rhodes Scholarship Trust, which had given me my scholarship, had a lot of activities for the recipients of the scholarship.
As I looked at the extent to which I wanted to be involved in church, I realized that I didn’t know the Book of Mormon was true. I had read it several times but usually as an assignment—from my parents or a Brigham Young University instructor. But this time I desperately needed to know if the Book of Mormon was true. So I decided that I would commit every evening from 11:00 to 12:00 to reading the Book of Mormon to find out if it was true.
I wondered if I dared spend that much time because I was in a very demanding academic program, studying applied econometrics. I was going to try to finish the program in two years, whereas most people in the program finished it in three. I didn’t know if I could afford allocating an hour a day to this effort.
But nonetheless I did. I began at 11:00 by kneeling in prayer near a little heater in the stone wall, and I prayed out loud. I told God how desperate I was to find out if the Book of Mormon was true. I told Him that if He would reveal to me that it was true, I then intended to dedicate my life to building His kingdom. I told Him that if it wasn’t true, I needed to know that for certain too because then I would dedicate my life to finding out what was true.
I read the first page of the Book of Mormon. When I got down to the bottom of the page, I stopped. I thought about what I had read on that page, and I asked myself, “Could this have been written by a charlatan who was trying to deceive people, or was this really written by a prophet of God? And what did it mean for me in my life?” Then I put the book down and knelt in prayer and asked God again, “Please tell me if this is a true book.” Then I sat in the chair, picked up the book, turned the page, read it, paused at the bottom, and did the same thing. I did this for an hour every night, night after night, in that cold, damp room at Oxford.
One evening, by the time I got to the chapters at the end of 2 Nephi, I said my prayer, sat in my chair, and opened the book. All of a sudden there came into that room a beautiful, warm, loving Spirit that surrounded me and permeated my soul, enveloping me in a feeling of love that I had not imagined I could feel. I began to cry. As I looked through my tears at the words in the Book of Mormon, I could see truth in those words that I never imagined I could comprehend before. I could see the glories of eternity, and I could see what God had in store for me as one of His sons. That Spirit stayed with me the whole hour and every other evening as I prayed and read the Book of Mormon in my room. That same Spirit would always return, and it changed my heart and my life forever.
I look back at the conflict I had experienced, wondering whether I could afford to spend an hour every day apart from the study of applied econometrics to find out if the Book of Mormon was true. I use applied econometrics maybe once a year, but I use my knowledge that the Book of Mormon is the word of God many times every day of my life. Of all the education I have ever pursued, that is the single most useful piece of knowledge I ever gained.

I share a final example that mortality works.
My mother did not have an easy journey through mortality. She received no accolades or worldly honors and did not have educational opportunities beyond high school. She contracted polio as a child, resulting in a lifetime of pain and discomfort in her left leg. As an adult, she experienced many difficult and challenging physical and financial circumstances but was faithful to her covenants and loved the Lord.
When my mother was 55, my next older sister passed away, leaving an eight-month-old baby daughter, my niece, motherless. For various reasons, Mom ended up largely raising my niece for the next 17 years, often under very trying circumstances. Yet, notwithstanding these experiences, she happily and willingly served her family, neighbors, and ward members and served as an ordinance worker in the temple for many years. During the last several years of her life, Mom suffered from a form of dementia, was often confused, and was confined to a nursing facility. Regrettably, she was alone when she passed away unexpectedly.
Several months after her passing, I had a dream I have never forgotten. In my dream, I was sitting in my office at the Church Administration Building. Mom entered the office. I knew she had come from the spirit world. I will always remember the feelings I had. She did not say anything, but she radiated a spiritual beauty that I had never before experienced and which I have difficulty describing.
Her countenance and being were truly stunning! I remember saying to her, “Mother, you are so beautiful!,” referencing her spiritual power and beauty. She acknowledged me—again without speaking. I felt her love for me, and I knew then that she is happy and healed from her worldly cares and challenges and eagerly awaits “a glorious resurrection.” I know that for Mom, mortality worked—and that it works for us too.

In Japan, I witnessed a 21-year-old man accept the gospel. After baptism, he was the only member of the Church in his family. He completed the family history work for his deceased grandfather so he could perform ordinance work vicariously for him, literally doing something for his grandfather that his grandfather could no longer do for himself. As this young man came up out of the baptismal font, he had tears in his eyes. He said, “Now I know and feel, I have a witness, that I am not the only member of this Church in my family.” These ordinances strengthened his relationship with his family and brought a new closeness into his life.

About twenty-two years ago, the late Senator Joseph McCarthy was finally condemned by his colleagues. I was involved in a peripheral way in that episode. I remember, after the votes were taken, that McCarthy went off the Senate floor into a small room with three or four reporters. I went in to watch the final scene. The reporters, who had over the months disagreed with him, in some ways still liked him. In their final exchanges in that room I saw how symbiotic sensationalism can be. McCarthy had been good copy, and now it was over. Some commentators concluded that erring politicians get their just due, that “time wounds all heels.” But I saw, too, the realities that crucial causes often fall into the hands of those least able to champion them effectively and also that the media use people—sometimes cruelly.

And Felipe has had people telling him to stay. Many people in his extended family aren’t members of the Church. “They don’t understand that serving a mission has more value than becoming rich and famous. I just try to teach the gospel when those moments happen,” Felipe says. And one of those moments led to a powerful missionary experience.

Felipe’s cousin had recently passed away, and Felipe’s uncle was grieving his son’s death. Felipe told his uncle about the plan of salvation. Afterward his uncle hugged him and apologized for telling him not to go on a mission. “He told me that I had the gift of touching people’s hearts and that I needed to serve,” Felipe remembers. “It was a special moment for me when someone who had no idea what a mission was understood its real purpose.”

For the past four years, Brandon R., 17, has been able to earn spending money and save for a mission all while doing something he loves: teaching piano lessons. “I love influencing others to enjoy the wonderful gift of making music,” Brandon says.
Brandon has been taking lessons himself since he was only two years old. He currently has students ranging from ages 6 to 15. He loves watching their progress as they learn to enjoy playing.
“When I started teaching one student,” Brandon says, “he would run away. But then he started liking it more and more.”
Now in his senior year, Brandon is seeking additional students so he can save money even faster for his mission.
Brandon believes that from teaching piano, his teaching techniques in other areas have improved. “I think, for example, it’s easier to teach my brother something in math or to teach somebody something in a class,” he says. “There’s no better way to improve your teaching skills than to practice.”

I went to a bookstore with my mom, and she said I could pick out one book for myself. I found a book I liked in the kids’ section. My mom read the back of the book and decided that I could get it. When we got home, I couldn’t wait to start reading my new book. It was so good I couldn’t stop reading it. I was close to the middle when something unexpected happened. There was a bad word! I had a feeling I should tell my mom, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. So I kept reading. When I was on the next page, the feeling came to me again. This time it was stronger. I showed my mom the bad word. We returned the book to the bookstore. I found a different book that I really liked, and it had nothing bad in it. I had a great time reading it.
I am so glad I listened to the Holy Ghost. If I hadn’t, then I’d probably feel horrible right now. Sometimes one simple word can hurt you. My mom and dad are proud of me for telling them. I felt great that day!

The Taylorsville Utah West Stake presented an original musical for their Heritage Arts Festival. For weeks a 60-voice chorus practiced diligently, while Scouts whooped it up square dancing. Backstage the set designer sloshed paint on canvas and the makeup committee practiced mass-production mascara application. “The Heritage of Our Future” played two nights to packed audiences. The drama dealt with the influence a young girl’s heritage has on her decision to not marry a nonmember and how that decision affects her future.

Sara stared at her bowl of oatmeal. She hated oatmeal. She had always hated oatmeal. But ever since Grandma had come to live with them, she cooked a big pot of oatmeal every morning. Sara had told her grandmother that she didn’t like oatmeal, but Grandma always forgot. Grandma forgot a lot of things. Sometimes she forgot to put her teeth in. And she often forgot where she had left her glasses. Even worse was the way she dressed and talked. She called Sara “Sarey,” and she wore flowered cotton housedresses that came down to her ankles. And when she went outside, she always put on a sunbonnet.
Sara’s mother said that they should be kind and humor Grandma. Well, today I don’t feel like humoring anyone, thought Sara. Her best friend, Gail, was moving to San Diego, and this was her last day of school. “I’m not hungry,” Sara said. She pushed away the hated oatmeal, got her books and sweater, and went out the back door.
Sara walked slowly down the street toward Gail’s house. They had been walking to school together since second grade. In fact, they had been doing everything together since second grade. Gail, as usual, was waiting in front of her house. She had blonde hair and blue eyes, while Sara had dark hair and eyes.
A big yellow moving van, with its back doors open, was already parked in front of Gail’s house.
“Hi,” said Gail.
An enormous lump filled Sara’s throat, and she couldn’t answer for a minute. The girls walked to school in silence. Sara went through the motions of schoolwork and lunch and recess as if she were a robot.
After school the girls walked home together for the last time. When they got to Gail’s house, they stopped. The moving van was almost loaded. The front door of the house was wide open, and Sara could see the empty rooms inside. She had never felt so lonely in her life. Nothing would ever be the same again.
“Be sure to write,” said Sara in a choked voice.
“I will,” Gail said, her eyes brimming with tears. They had talked before about writing and visiting each other during the summer, but this time it was for real.
Suddenly the dam in Sara’s throat broke, and sobs wracked her body. She turned and ran. As she got close to home, her heart sank even further. A tiny figure topped by a sunbonnet was bent over the flower bed.
Oh, no! I can’t talk to Grandma now, thought Sara. I’ll go around to the back door. Grandma’s hearing isn’t too good, so she’ll probably never notice me.
Sara cut across the lawn and was almost to the corner of the house when Grandma’s shrill voice cut the still air. “Sarey, is that you?”
Sara had a wild impulse to keep going, but she stopped. She pulled a tissue from her pocket, wiped her eyes, then turned around. “Yes, Grandma. It’s me.”
“Will you come over here a minute? I need some help.”
Sara sighed. “All right, Grandma. I’m coming.”
Grandma peered up at Sara from under the sunbonnet. She looked like a sharp little bird. Sometimes Sara had the uncomfortable feeling that Grandma could see right through her.
“You’ve been crying, Sarey.”
“A little,” admitted Sara. “Today was Gail’s last day at school.”
“Oh,” said Grandma. “Sarey, would you mind helping me plant these tulip bulbs. It won’t take long if we both work at it.”
Sara put her books down and knelt beside Grandma. Grandma dug a hole with her trowel. “Now, set the bulb right in there,” she said.
Sara did as she was told. Then Grandma poured water into the hole from a watering can, placed dirt on top of the bulb, and watered it again. “There, that’s all there is to it. Do you think you can do that?”
“Sure.” Sara picked up the other trowel and started to dig where Grandma showed her.
“When’s your friend moving?”
“Today,” said Sara.
“Too bad. That will be a big change for you.”
“Yes,” said Sara in a choked voice. She wanted to tell Grandma to be quiet, that she didn’t want to talk to her about Gail.
Grandma was quiet for a while, then started chuckling. “Did I ever tell you about my Grandma Ruth, Sarey?”
“No,” said Sara, grateful that Grandma’s mind had wandered off to a different subject.
“She was born and raised in North Carolina and moved to Kentucky when she was a bride of sixteen. She rode a horse alongside her husband. They had everything they owned piled onto their two horses, and it wasn’t much, I can tell you.”
Grandma set a bulb into the hole she had been digging and continued, “One thing that Ruth had with her was a little bag of tulip bulbs. Her mama gave them to her before she left. As soon as Ruth’s husband got a little log cabin built, Ruth planted those bulbs. Then came one of the hardest winters on record in Kentucky, and she and her husband nearly froze to death. But when those tulips came peeking through the ground in the spring, she knew that they would make it.”
Sara put dirt over a bulb and patted it down.
“Ever since then, we’ve been a tulip family,” Grandma went on. “I received some bulbs from Grandma Ruth when I married and went to Missouri with your grandpa. Many’s the year the tulips coming up in the spring have lifted my spirits. Grandma Ruth always said that tulips are the Lord’s promise to us. No matter what happens, those tulips just keep coming up every spring.”
Sara stopped digging and looked at her grandmother. “You brought these bulbs with you from Missouri, didn’t you?”
Grandma ducked her head shyly. “Yes. I put them in my suitcase because I was really afraid to come out here to live. I figured I needed that promise more than ever to hold on to.”
Sara looked down at her dirty hands. “Some things will always be the same, won’t they?” she said softly.
“That’s a fact,” Grandma agreed.
Suddenly Sara had an idea. “Grandma, do you think you could spare one or two of these bulbs?”
Grandma’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why, sure, honey. I brought plenty.”
Sara held out her hands for the bulbs Grandma gave her. “I want to give these to Gail to take with her. She can plant them at her new home. Is that all right?”
Grandma smiled. “It’s a fine idea. Grandma Ruth would have liked knowing that her tulips will go all the way out to California.”
Sara stood up and dusted off her hands. “Grandma, do you have any pictures of her? Of Grandma Ruth, I mean.”
“I sure do, honey, and I have a peck of stories about her too.”
Sara reached down and hugged her. “I’ll be back in a little while, and you can start telling me about her.”
Sara clutched the bulbs in her hand and started for Gail’s house.

My first attempt at doing recreational activities with my siblings was rough, to say the least. But a turning point for me was a trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains. The leaves were every color, and the amusement park was fun, but moments of curt words, selfish actions, and teasing gone wrong often dampened the mood. Before we left, my sister and I hiked up a small hill and sat quietly as we listened to the nature around us. It was the first time in a while that we had sat without quarreling, quietly discussing the days ahead and our current struggles. The Spirit was present, bringing peace I had forgotten.
I started to try to go out of my way to talk to my siblings, ask them about their day, give them a hug—just be involved in their life. I helped my youngest, autistic brother with his homework. I helped my youngest sister make grammar flash cards and create silly rhymes to memorize the different parts of speech. On her next test she had improved by more than 20 points and received her highest test grade. The joy I felt from those moments was different and more profound than I had expected. Being in a family can be hard, but in times likes those it is all worth it. Those little moments lead to ones of fun, games, and laughter; and I have felt a new unity in my family.
Emily C., 17, North Carolina, USA

Craig MacDonald carefully eased his bad leg out of the car and slowly stood up. “Take your time; we’ve got plenty of time,” Wayne, his home teaching companion assured him as they walked slowly across the parking lot into one of the Heritage Hall apartment buildings and up the stairs to room 201.
A freckled girl opened the door. “Our home teachers are here,” she called out. “Clear the deck.”
They walked inside to the kitchen area. Wayne introduced Craig to the girls in the apartment. “Craig is new in the branch this summer. This is his first time at the Y.”
Craig listened while Wayne gave the lesson; he told about an experience he had on his mission.
“Have you been on a mission?” one of the girls asked Craig.
“No,” he answered quickly.
The girl nervously shot a glance at his leg and blushed.
“Well, girls, is there anything we can do for you as home teachers?” Wayne asked, changing the subject.
“No, we’re all getting along fine,” one of them replied.
After the lesson, Wayne and the girls talked about school and Church activities while Craig sat quietly, his eyes fixed vacantly on the opposite wall. One of the girls looked nervously at the clock and excused herself to get ready for a date. Soon another girl left for the library. Wayne started to get up to leave.
“Now don’t run off without some cake. I made it especially for you two. We always have some treat when the home teachers come,” one of the girls insisted. She was blonde, overweight, and outwardly almost jolly. The other girls called her “Mom.”
“I’ve got to be going,” Wayne replied. “Craig, you can stay if you want, but I’ve got to pick up my date. Is it okay if I just leave now? Can you get back to the apartment all right?”
“Yes.”
Wayne left after the prayer. “How do you like it here at summer school?” the girl who had made the cake asked.
“Okay.”
Another girl excused herself to answer the door. She didn’t come back to the kitchen.
The two sat in silence eating the cake.
Would you like another piece of cake?” she asked.
“Okay.”
She got up and cut two additional pieces of cake for them. Halfway through the second piece she said, “I really shouldn’t be eating this.”
“Then why are you?”
“What?”
“You said you shouldn’t be eating the second piece. Then why are you?”
“What kind of a question is that?”
“You’re already overweight.”
“Thanks, you’ve really brightened my day.”
“Don’t you have any self-discipline?”
“Don’t you have any manners?” she asked sharply.
“No, I guess not.” He grabbed the edge of the table to help him as he got up. She looked away from him in embarrassment as he laboriously boosted himself up. In the process he knocked a plastic glass onto the floor. She rushed to the spot and wiped up the spilled water.
“I’m sorry about the glass.”
“Don’t be; it’s nothing.”
“Can I help you?”
“No, it’s all done,” she said, standing up.
“Are you embarrassed about my leg?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then why did you look away when I got up?”
“I don’t know.”
“I embarrass people. All I have to do is enter a room and people start looking at the floor and mothers grab their children to stop them from pointing.”
On his way out, she opened the door to her room and showed him the large poster-size picture of a young man wearing a white shirt and dark tie.
“That’s my missionary,” she said. “Elder Kirby Jackson of the Dakota-Manitoba Mission. I took his picture and sent it in to be blown up to poster size.”
She walked into the room, while he paused in the hall. “These are his letters,” she said pointing to a couple of shoe boxes on her desk. “I’m keeping his journal for him.”
“Is that a picture of you with him before his mission?” Craig asked, looking at a slender girl with flowing blonde hair standing beside a tanned 19-year-old guy on a Honda.
“Yeah,” she answered. “I’ve put on a little weight since that picture was taken.”
“How much? Forty pounds?”
“You were on your way out. I shouldn’t keep you.”
He said good-bye to the only other girl in the apartment and walked out. The blonde came out with him.
“I forgot your name,” he said.
“Paula Miller.”
“Good-bye, Paula.” He started slowly down the stairs.
“Let me walk with you,” she asked.
“I don’t need your help.”
“I know, but is it okay if I come for a little while?”
“Why?”
“I can’t face another Friday night in that place alone.”
They made their way outside. He walked slowly; several couples passed them on the sidewalk heading for the Wilkinson Center.
“It’s 30 pounds, not 40 pounds, that I’ve put on since he left.”
“I was pretty close,” he replied.
“He’s coming home at the end of the summer. Last week he wrote and asked me to send him a picture. My roommate and I tried all day to get a pose that wouldn’t give me away. It was useless.”
“What did you do?”
“I sent him a picture of me that was taken before he left on his mission.”
“‘We believe in being honest.’”
“Okay, it wasn’t honest. But I can’t let him know until I have to.”
They waited for the traffic light to change so they could go.
“He wrote back and said I hadn’t changed a bit,” she added.
The light changed, and they started across. About halfway across, the light changed again. The line of cars waited while they got across.
“Quit eating cake,” Craig said.
“That’s easy to say. On the weekend all my roommates have dates, and I’m all alone in the kitchen. I usually decide to fix a little snack for them when they get back. Sometimes it’s all gone before they return.
“At first I ate because I missed him. Now I eat because I’m depressed that I’m fat. The more depressed I get, the more I eat.”
They walked into the Harris Fine Arts Building and looked at some artwork on the first floor.
“When people talk about me anymore they say, ‘She has a sweet spirit.’ That’s the only part of me that’s not overweight.”
“Can’t you date until he comes back?”
“I’ve dated. After the second date, l make my little speech about waiting for a missionary and can’t we be friends.”
They stopped in front of a large oil painting.
“He asks me about Kirby and tells me how much he admires any girl who will wait for a missionary. Then he takes me to the door and shakes my hand. I never hear from him again. The kids in the branch know I’m waiting, and nobody asks me out any more.”
“Are you going back later and finish off the rest of the cake?” Craig asked.
“You’re really something, you know that? Do you act this suave with other girls?”
“There haven’t been many other girls. My mother’s a widow, and she feels it’s her duty to protect me so I won’t get hurt.”
“I couldn’t imagine anybody could ever hurt you,” Paula said.
“Last year when all my friends went away to school, I stayed home and took correspondence courses.
“She kept saying that if I went to college I’d slip on the ice and not even be able to walk at all.”
They left the building and continued walking in the warm summer evening.
“Finally I talked her into letting me come in the summer, but she still follows the weather report to warn me if any sudden storm blows in. And she calls me all the time and asks me if I’m ready to come home.”
“You do okay,” she said.
“It’s not the walking that’s hard. It’s being around so many people. I spent my high school years in a back bedroom reading old Life magazines. Sometimes here I don’t want to leave the apartment and go to class because people will look at me. I just want to stay in the nice room and hide.”
They sat down by the reflecting pool in front of the administration building.
“What do you suppose people think when they see you with me?” he asked. “Do you imagine they admire you for being so noble?”
“Is that why you think I’m with you? To be noble?”
“Yeah. Or is it my charming personality?”
She ignored the question.
“Can you picture me on a mission?” he asked her.
“No. Not because of your leg really, but I think you’d scare people.”
“I can’t picture myself on a mission either,” he said. “But my bishop at home can. He even got me an appointment with a specialist who gave me some exercises. The specialist thought I could complete a mission if I worked at getting stronger.”
They stood up and began to walk toward the library.
“I started on the exercises, but my mother told me that there were plenty of ‘healthy young men’ who could go on missions without sending me. She said I’d only drag my companions down because I wouldn’t be able to keep up with them. Soon after that I quit the exercises.
“Maybe she was right,” Paula said.
“Maybe. I hope she’s not always right. She told me I’d be better off staying home instead of coming here this summer. If I don’t make it this summer in school, then I go back home. This may be my only chance to prove that I can cope with life.”
He stopped and turned to her. “Will you help me?”
“How can I help you?” Paula said.
“Teach me how to get along with people. I don’t know how to dance. I don’t know how to talk to girls very well. I’m always saying something wrong. If you’ll help me, I’ll help you lose weight.
“You know I can’t get involved.”
“We could not get involved together. Just for the summer until your missionary gets back.”
Monday they went to the health center to get advice on a diet for Paula and discuss exercises to strengthen Craig’s leg.
On the way back she went ahead of him half a block and sat down to watch him walk.
“Well?” he asked.
“You carry an apology on your face, you know that? And you lower your head when someone approaches you on the sidewalk. Are you embarrassed that they should have to see you?”
“How should I walk?”
“With style, like you have something to offer the world.”
“What do I have to offer the world?”
“Whatever you decide, H.T.” she said, calling him H.T. for home teacher. “By the way, have you got any money?”
“I’m loaded. Why?”
“I’m going to make you a legend in your own time. Let’s walk downtown and get you some clothes.”
It took them two hours to get to the store. They passed a small grocery store on the way, and he bought them two cucumbers. They borrowed a knife from the lady at the counter, sliced the cucumbers, and ate them on the way.
“You like that?” he asked her. “That’s lunch.”
She had the salesman at the store get his measurements, and then she picked out some clothes. She picked out a pair of wine-colored check slacks, a wine-colored blazer, and a new tie.
“How’s this?” she asked him. “Great for a used car salesman. But I like gray.”
“What do you want, camouflage?”
“Gray is conservative,” he said.
“You’re 19 years old. Wear gray when you’re 40, not now. Will you wear it if I show you how to wear clothes with style?”
He bought her a notebook, and she wrote down everything she ate each day. At noon they met in the cafeteria for a light lunch. At that time he looked at her notebook and went item by item through all the food she had eaten during the past 24 hours. She began to lose weight.
At first they walked two miles a day. One day they decided to walk four miles.
“H.T., how many times have I got to tell you? Straighten up. You look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”
“My leg hurts. Can we call a taxi?”
“You’re the one who said four miles, remember?”
She started to walk away from him. He followed after her.
“Quit walking away from me!” he demanded.
“Keep up with me. The tough get going when the going gets tough.”
“Is that something your missionary friend at Dead Fish wrote?”
“It’s Deadwood and Spearfish, not Dead Fish. Yeah, he wrote that. Why?”
“It’s the dumbest thing I ever heard in my life.”
“Yeah? Says who?”
“Says me.”
“You wanna fight?” she asked.
“What weight class? Heavyweight?” he taunted.
“Not anymore, H. T. I’m losing.”
“Well, quit walking away from me.”
“No. If you want to be babied, go home to your mother. It’s a cold, cruel world, H.T.”
They were in a residential area of the town. She maintained about a 30-foot lead, not looking back.
A young boy was watering the lawn with a hand sprayer. “Could I borrow your hose to get my friend a drink?” The boy handed him the hose. He adjusted the spray so it sent out a narrow burst of water. He directed it at Paula who was still walking in front of him, not looking back, barking out commands for him to hurry up.
“Aahhhhh!” she screamed when the spray caught her in the back.
There were days when they didn’t mention her missionary, days when they walked in the hot summer sun together, sometimes holding hands. There were days when they talked about themselves. He told her about the comic books his uncle had given him when he was eight. They were Captain Marvel comic books about a crippled newsboy who becomes the world’s strongest man merely by saying “SHAZAM.” He talked about how he used to dream that he was that newsboy, and how he would wake up at night from a dream screaming “SHAZAM!”
There were nights during the weekend when they danced. She taught him every dance she knew. Sometimes she danced close to him on the slow dances.
He always knew when she’d received a letter from Kirby because she drew away from him, becoming more harsh with him.
“Go ask someone else to dance, H.T.”
“No. I don’t want to.”
“Look, you have to. It’d be better if you got to know other girls.”
“I don’t want to know other girls.”
“Maybe I won’t always be around for you.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning Elder Kirby Jackson is coming back.”
“Who’s he? I’ve forgotten all about him.”
“H.T., go dance. I’ll dance every second dance with you.”
He went and asked another girl to dance.
When he came back, she asked as clinically as she could, “Why didn’t you talk to her? We’ve gone through how to talk to girls.”
“Paula, do you mind? Can’t you treat me like a person instead of some project you’re doing for extra credit?”
He told her he didn’t want to dance for a while, and he asked her to come with him to the outdoor overlook on top of the Wilkinson Center. She seemed hesitant but finally went with him.
“Have you been here before?” he asked her as they looked out across the campus.
“Yes. Once.”
“With him?”
“Can you tell?”
“He’s like a ghost that follows me around all over the campus,” he said.
“We came here on our last date before he went into the missionary home.”
“What did he say that night?” Craig asked.
“He said, ‘I hope you’ll wait because I love you.’”
“That’s what he said, huh? How did he say it? Paula, I love you.”
“Can we go back to the dance?” Paula asked nervously.
“No, I’ve got to practice. I want to get it just right. With style. You’re very big on style, aren’t you? Paula, I love you.”
He grabbed her hand. “Did he hold your hand? Paula, I love you. Or did he put his arm around you?”
“My heart isn’t a yo-yo, H. T. Please stop.”
“No. I’ve got to know how he said it. How can a guy say three words, go to Salt Lake, get on a plane, fly away, and leave you standing here for two years, waiting for him to get back?”
“Do we have to put ourselves through this?” she asked.
“What if I told you that I love you?”
“We said we weren’t going to get involved.”
“Is it the wrong accent, or should I say it louder? Paula, I love you.”
“Craig, I’m the only girl you’ve ever known. How do you know you love me?”
“The next thing you say is ‘Can’t we just be friends?’ Don’t say it. I need you, Paula. I can’t make it without you.”
She backed away from him, tears beginning to form. “Oh no! What have I gotten myself into?” She turned suddenly and ran for the stairs. He started after her, yelling at her to stop. But he was only halfway down when he saw her run outside. He sat down on the stairs and buried his head in his hands.
Sunday after church he met with her and apologized.
That night when he got home, he was told that his bishop from his home ward had called long distance for him. When Craig returned the call, the bishop asked him again about a mission.
“I don’t think so. Not now.”
“Physically how are you doing?”
“Better. We’re walking five miles a day.”
“We?”
“This girl and me.”
“Oh. Look, Craig, I’m sending you a copy of the missionary lessons. Why don’t you look them over.”
Paula read the lessons over to find out what Kirby was teaching. They decided to try and memorize parts of the first discussion while they walked. One of them would hold the lessons while the other tried to repeat the lesson plan from memory.
The last dance they went to before Kirby was scheduled to be released from his mission, they were both quiet. During one of the slow dances, he realized he was trying to remember everything about her, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her next to him. She was more beautiful than the picture of two years ago.
“There might be nothing left between you and Kirby now,” Craig said. “Two years is a long time. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll be here waiting for you.”
“Sometimes I wish there were two of me,” she said.
“A few weeks ago, there was almost enough to make two of you. But not anymore.”
The next Saturday she left campus for the weekend to stay with Kirby and his parents at their home in Idaho.
When she got back to school, she called Craig up, and he walked over to her place.
“Well, how was it?”
“It was good, H.T.”
“Are you going to marry him?”
“I think so. Someday.”
He sat for a few minutes, silent and expressionless.
“Well, that about wraps up the summer doesn’t it?”
“I’ll never forget you,” she said.
“It’s funny you know. You told me about Kirby. At first I never believed I had a chance. But near the last I figured he didn’t have a chance. Funny, isn’t it? About a person’s attitude, I mean. It turns out I can do anything I set my mind to … except to keep you,” he said.
She threw her arms around him. He cherished the feeling of having her close.
Suddenly he pushed her away from him, held her hands in his, and said, “Good-bye, Paula.”
He took a long walk through campus. After a while he realized he was walking with a bad limp and that he was slouched over. In his mind he heard a voice barking out at him, “The tough get going when the going gets tough.”
He straightened up and began walking the way they had practiced.
“Hey, Elder Johnson,” somebody called at him from behind.
He turned around, “You talking to me?”
“Oh, sorry. I thought you were a missionary I knew in Ohio. He walked with a little limp too.”
“That wasn’t me.”
He turned around, walked a few feet more, stopped and turned back facing the guy who had called him.
“Hey, this Elder Johnson, was he a good missionary?”
“One of the best.”
“And his limp, it didn’t slow down his companions?”
“Are you kidding? We called him Johnson the Baptist.”
Craig began walking slowly homeward, going over in his mind the first discussion of the missionary lessons.