Gospel Story Finder

But what if in this war it is neither a neighbor nor yourself at risk, but someone desperately, dearly loved by you who is hurt or defamed or perhaps even taken in death? How might we prepare for that distant day when our own child, or our own spouse, is found in mortal danger? One marvelously gifted man, a convert to Christianity, slowly watched his wife dying of cancer. As he observed her slipping away from him with all that she had meant and had given him, his newfound faith about which he had written so much and with which he had strengthened so many others now began to waver. In times of such grief, C. S. Lewis wrote, one runs the risk of asking:
“Where is God? . . . When you are happy . . . [you] turn to Him with gratitude and praise, [and] you will be . . . welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. You [might] as well turn away. The longer you wait, the more emphatic the silence will become. There are no lights in the windows. It might be an empty house. . . . [Yet he was once there.] What can this mean? Why is [God] so present a commander in our time of prosperity and so very absent a help in time of trouble?” [C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed (New York: Seabury Press, Inc., 1961), pp. 4–5]
Those feelings of abandonment, written in the midst of a terrible grief, slowly passed, and the comfort of Lewis’ faith returned, stronger and purer for the test. But note what self-revelation this bitter cup, this bloody baptism, had for him. In an obligation of quite a different kind, he, too, now realized that enlisting for the duration of the war is not a trivial matter, and in the heat of battle he hadn’t been so heroic as he had encouraged millions of his readers to be.
“You never know how much you really believe anything,” he confesses,
until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you. It is easy to say you believe a rope to be strong and sound as long as you are merely using it to [tie] a box. But suppose you had to hang by that rope over a precipice. Wouldn’t you then first discover how much you really trusted it? . . . Only a real risk tests the reality of a belief.”

Mallory and Susan left Sister Swan’s old stone house with cookies in their hands and the usual happy feeling in their hearts that being with Sister Swan always gave them.
“Isn’t she the nicest lady!” Susan said, munching on her cookie.
Mallory nodded. “It’s been six years since she was our Sunbeam teacher in Primary, and she still treats us just the same.”
“When I had my tonsils out, she brought over something cool and creamy for me to eat every day that week,” Susan said as she skipped over the lines in the sidewalk.
Mallory brushed the cookie crumbs off her hands, “When I was trying to earn money for my bike, she’d send me to the store for something about every other day and pay me a quarter.” Both girls were quiet for a minute, enjoying the warm spring sunshine.
“You know,” Mallory said, “I’d like to do something really nice for her, something special.”
“Like what? What could we do?” Susan asked, “I don’t have any money to buy her anything.”
“Neither do I,” Mallory said. They thought for a few minutes. “She really loves flowers. Remember the other day when she said she missed having cut flowers in the house now that she’s getting too busy to work in the yard?”
“That’s right,” Susan said. “But where would we get flowers? We don’t have any in bloom in my yard right now.”
“We had a few tulips, but they’re gone now,” Mallory said.
Both girls stopped and looked at the Jensen’s yard. All along the fence enormous red and white peonies were blossoming, and the rosebushes by the house were covered with blooms. They walked on silently and came to the Allreds’ house. In the middle of the lawn was an oval flower bed full of irises and tulips. They stopped and looked.
“What are you thinking?” Susan said. “Would they let us pick any?”
“Maybe,” Mallory said thoughtfully. “But I’d like Sister Swan to have a really huge bouquet, something so big you could hardly get through the door with it. That would show her how much we really love and appreciate her.”
“Well, we couldn’t ask anybody for that many flowers.”
“No.” Mallory was thoughtful again. “What if we got our bikes and went around and just picked a few flowers from everybody’s yard?”
“You mean without asking?”
“Well, yeah, but they wouldn’t miss just a few flowers.”
“Mmmm,” Susan mused. “There are lots of flowers around that we could make into a giant-size bouquet. … Let’s do it!”
The girls were soon making their way around the block, plucking a few flowers from each yard and filling the baskets on their handlebars. Susan had even remembered to get a paring knife to cut some roses. No one seemed to notice them. Soon they were back in Susan’s garage, their baskets overflowing with blossoms of every color.
“Aren’t they beautiful!” Susan exclaimed.
“Sister Swan will love them! What can we put them in?” asked Mallory.
“My dad has some old plastic milk jugs in here somewhere. Let’s find one and cut off the top and put on some pretty contact paper.”
They worked hard arranging the flowers, putting the huge peonies in the center, the irises and tulips around the edges, and the roses throughout. When they were finished, they sat back and admired the magnificent bouquet.
“She’ll love them!” Mallory repeated. They left their bikes and walked to Sister Swan’s. Mallory carried the bouquet very carefully—it would be disastrous to stumble. They climbed the steps to Sister Swan’s house and rang the bell.
Sister Swan opened the door and peered out. “My goodness,” she said. “Come in.” She stepped back and opened the door wide. “What’s all this? I can’t even see you. Is that you, Mallory? Susan?”
The girls giggled. “Yes, it’s us,” Mallory said. “We brought you a bouquet.”
“It’s beautiful. Bring it into the kitchen and put it on the table.” The girls followed her into the kitchen, and Mallory set the bouquet carefully in the center of the round oak table. Sister Swan looked at the bouquet. “Where did you get all these gorgeous flowers?”
The girls looked at each other. Somehow it had never occurred to them that Sister Swan would ask this question. “We wanted you to have a great big bouquet because we really love you,” Mallory said.
“And because you do so many nice things for us,” Susan added.
Sister Swan nodded. “Sit down,” she said. The two girls sat, and Sister Swan stood between them and looked first at Mallory and then at Susan. She moved the bouquet over so that she could see them better. The fragrance from the flowers hung heavy in the silence.
“You said you missed having cut flowers, and we wanted you to have a whole bunch,” Susan ventured.
Sister Swan looked at the flowers, then said thoughtfully, “I wonder if this enormous bouquet will last any longer than a small one would. I wonder if it will last any longer than one rose in a vase would.”
Susan and Mallory looked at each other. Sister Swan wasn’t as pleased as they had thought she would be.
“I’m touched that you wanted to do this for me”—tears welled up in Sister Swan’s eyes—“but you didn’t answer my question, and now I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.”
Mallory looked down at the linoleum under her feet. Susan looked sadly at the flowers. “What should we do?” Susan finally asked. “We can’t take them back.”
“No,” Sister Swan said quietly.
“I guess we could go back to the houses and tell the people we’re sorry.”
Mallory looked up. “Every one? We went to a lot of houses.”
“It would take a lot of time,” Sister Swan said. “And some courage.”
Mallory faltered, “It’ll be embarrassing to knock on their doors and apologize. But Susan is probably right.”
“We could even do some yard work for some of them, especially the ones where we took a lot,” Susan suggested.
Sister Swan smiled a little. “Another good idea.”
“But what can we do for you?” Mallory asked. “We wanted to do something special for you.”
Sister Swan stood up and went around the table. She leaned over and put an arm around each girl. “I know,” she said, “and I love that. But here’s some advice from your old teacher: Never express your love for someone by doing something wrong. It never works out.”
Standing up straight, she smiled again at the girls and added, “You know, if you have time after making amends with the neighbors, I’ve been wishing someone would spade up that little spot by my porch and plant me some snapdragons.”
“We could do that!” Susan whooped.
“Yes!” Mallory shouted. “Come on, Susan, let’s get going!”

Many years ago, in a stake conference meeting I attended, the visiting Area Seventy asked the question, “At what point in your day do you allow the Holy Ghost to communicate with you?”
He pointed out that many of us turn on the radio, the news, sports, or other media immediately upon waking, then, throughout the day, we are either listening to the same media events or we are engaged in school, work, or other pursuits.
We typically end our day, again, with music, TV, movies, social media, or other distractions. This inspired elder then challenged us to find time in our day when the Lord could actually communicate with us.
As a result of this challenge, I quit listening to music when I was in the car. It was not easy at first. At the time, I was teaching here on campus three mornings a week, and I had 30 minutes, round trip, alone in the car on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I decided to use that time to just listen and try to hear what the Lord wanted me to know that day. I have since come to sincerely appreciate the “quiet” times in my day that I create deliberately for the purpose of trying to hear the Spirit communicate the Lord’s messages to me.

I wish to express my deepest heartfelt thanks to the New Era, the members of my ward, and my best friend, Shirley Beo, for showing me the way to Heavenly Father.
I live in Myrtle Creek, Oregon, and met Shirley in the seventh grade. Neither of us really fit in at school. She had just moved to Oregon from England, and I was a social outcast. My life up to then had been rough, but Shirley seemed to turn me around. It wasn’t until five years later that I asked Shirley to pick me up for church.
I must tell you how shocked I was to feel Heavenly Father’s Spirit so strong. The members of the Myrtle Creek Ward accepted me as one of their family, and I have never met a bishop as terrific as the bishop of our ward, David Antis, Sr. Two months later my parents, both of whom are nonmembers, allowed me to be baptized. My life was turned around from then on.
I am now assistant to the president in our priests quorum, and the oldest and one of the most active youth in our ward. I play Church basketball and volleyball and am in top form for school. Last quarter I pulled my first 4.00 report card.
I wish to thank all the people who have helped me, and also the New Era for all the encouraging articles.
Robert RussellMyrtle Creek, Oregon

A few years ago I had a stake conference on the East Coast. While at the conference I had the assignment to interview a young 21-year-old man to determine his worthiness and preparation to serve a mission. Now, you are aware that General Authorities do not usually interview potential missionaries for worthiness. So this was an unusual and special situation. During my flight to the East, I read some background information regarding the reasons for my interview. As I read this information, my heart ached for this boy and for his family. He had committed almost every transgression there was. I believe he invented some transgressions. I wondered why I would be asked to visit one with such a background. I had already concluded that it would be most unusual for me to approve him as a missionary.

After the Saturday evening session of conference, I retired to the stake president’s office for the interview. As I was waiting with the door open, a handsome young man with a wonderful countenance and a glow about him approached. I wondered how I could excuse myself because it was apparent he wanted to talk to me and I had an appointment with a very troubled young man. When he reached me, he stuck out his hand and introduced himself. This was the young man I was to interview.

In the privacy of the office, I asked just one question: “Why am I interviewing you tonight?”

He then began to recount his sordid past—every transgression. When he was through, he began to explain the steps and the personal suffering he had gone through to prepare for this very interview. He then talked about the Atonement—the infinite power of the Atonement. He bore his testimony of the Atonement and expressed his love for the Savior. And then he said, “I believe the Savior’s personal suffering in Gethsemane and His sacrifice upon the cross was powerful enough to rescue even a man like me.”

Moved by the humility and testimony of this young man, and moved by the Spirit, I placed my hand on his shoulder and said, “When I get back to Salt Lake City, I am going to recommend you serve a mission as a representative of Jesus Christ.” And then I said, “I am only going to ask one thing of you. When you get into the mission field, I want you to be the best missionary in the entire Church. That is all.”

Three or four months later, Sister Edgley and I were speaking at the Missionary Training Center. At the conclusion of the devotional, I was standing in front of the podium visiting with missionaries when I saw a young man with a familiar face walking toward me.

When he reached me, he stuck out his hand and asked, “Do you remember me?”

Somewhat embarrassed, I said, “I’m sorry, I know I should know you, but I just don’t remember.”

And then he said, “Let me tell you who I am. I am the best missionary in the Missionary Training Center.” And I believed him.

This young man’s hope was based not only upon a knowledge and testimony of the Atonement but also upon a personalization of this gift. He understood that it was for him personally! Yes, he knew the power of the Atonement and the hope it gives when all might seem lost or hopeless.

David J. Zirker, 15, was named the Arizona state champion in his age group at the United States Gymnastics Federation meet held in Tucson. He came in first in floor exercise, pommel horse, still rings, and vaults.
For David, the championship has been the highlight of more than a year of hard work. David has been persistent in learning the skills he needed to be a gymnast. At the same time his grades in school have improved, and he has completed the requirements for his Eagle badge.
In addition to gymnastics, David plays in the school orchestra and plays the piano for seminary and priesthood meetings. He does not participate in Sunday meets and does not work out on Sundays.

When I was 17 years old, I enlisted in the Royal Canadian Army Reserve. I was sent to a training base, and for the first time in my life, I was on my own to determine my path. I suspected that I would be tempted not to remain active in the Church and that my testimony would be challenged
When I arrived on the base, a course sergeant gave a tour of the different buildings and churches. I was prompted to ask where the LDS branch was located. The sergeant paused for a moment. Then he said that church won’t be found on base, but if I would like to attend, I could go with him and his wife. He was a recent convert to the Church and was happy to take anyone who wanted to go. I was glad to have the option of going, even though I had not decided if I was going to go that Sunday. After all, I was alone and free to choose for myself now. But something in my heart told me I needed to attend.
That Saturday night was one of the hardest in my life. I have since called it my “tree of life” experience. It started when my friends wanted me to hang out with them at the mess hall. I knew they were just going to drink, and I told them I needed sleep because I had to get up early for church. They laughed at my choice and went their way.
After they left, I sank into my bunk. From there, I could look out the window and watch my friends on the mess hall balcony, drinking and laughing. I remembered how they had teased me for not joining them. I felt like I imagine Lehi must have felt when he looked at the great and spacious building, where people were similarly laughing at him. I turned around to face my desk, only to notice my scriptures. I eagerly opened them and began to read. These were my iron rod, and just as the word of God had kept Lehi’s family safe, I knew they would likewise protect me.
I don’t recall what I read that night, but I do recall the Spirit I felt. I felt it again when I went to church the next morning. By attending church every Sunday while I lived on the base, I built a lasting testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Since my time at training camp, I was given the opportunity to share my testimony with others as a full-time missionary in the California Sacramento Mission.

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 received my patriarchal blessing when I was 15. One sentence that then seemed just to describe a part of my temple marriage now held great promise for me. It spoke of the righteous priesthood holder I would marry and said that he would “help thee, guide thee and aid thee, not only in thy youth but clear into thy later years.”
As I read and reread my patriarchal blessing during the years of battling cancer, that sentence gave me great hope. Each time, I found renewed faith in the promise of our future together. I remembered the great comfort that the Spirit had given me when my husband was first diagnosed. I memorized that part of my patriarchal blessing, and when cancer tests came back with poor results, I remembered that promise.
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.
Having faith gives me the ability to let Jesus Christ carry my burden. Just as the people of Alma who were in bondage did not feel the burden on their backs (see Mosiah 24:14), so it is for our family with fighting cancer. Our family has been able to face cancer without feeling the burdens it could bring.
Learning the Painful Lessons
“Difficulties come into our lives, problems we do not anticipate and which we would never choose. None of us is immune. The purpose of mortality is to learn and to grow to be more like our Father, and it is often during the difficult times that we learn the most, as painful as the lessons may be.”
President Thomas S. Monson, “God Be with You Till We Meet Again,” Liahona, Nov. 2012, 111.
My husband still undergoes tests to track the cancer cells or to find possible tumors. We still have medical bills and the remaining side effects of treatments. And I still pray every day that my husband will have no more cancer. I pray that we will both live to old age. I also say to Heavenly Father, “Thy will be done.”
I do not know when the “later years” spoken of in my blessing will come. I hope the words in my blessing mean that my husband and I will be able to go on a mission when our children are raised. I hope they mean that my husband will lead our horse while giving rides to our grandchildren and will bounce our grandchildren on his knee. But I know that whenever God takes him from this earth, it will be in His time.
I no longer worry about when those “later years” are. It does not matter. I trust that the Lord will honor that promise made to me in my patriarchal blessing. He has taken care of us through these years, and He will take care of us in the future.
If you have not received your patriarchal blessing, consider talking to your bishop or branch president about receiving one. If you have a patriarchal blessing, do you read and ponder it often? Do you have faith in the Lord’s promises?

My name is Claudio Lico Villa, I have been a member of the Church for 11 years and belong to the Consuelo Branch, San Pedro Dominican Republic District.
I was born in 1982 in the province of Seibo, Dominican Republic. When I was three months old, my parents gave me to my grandmother to raise. At eight years old we left Seibo, and I was not able to finish school there. A few years later with very limited means I began working because of a need and a desire to be independent. Although this was long before I would join the Church, the self-reliance principles were ingrained in my heart.
“The Lord has declared, ‘It is my purpose to provide for my saints’. This revelation is a promise from the Lord that He will provide temporal blessings and open the door of self-reliance, which is the ability for us to provide the necessities of life for ourselves and our family members”.
I knew I wanted to be independent and could be. I had to work. At the age of 14, I started working in a mill to be able to support myself and to help my grandmother who gave me all the love in the world. I finished high school and started my first business, looking for any items I could find to sell on the street in my neighborhood. Eventually I was able to sell dishes and tableware. A few years later, after working with a friend in his hair salon, I started my own hair salon.
At the age of twenty-seven, I was diagnosed with eye cancer. When I thought all was lost and without any purpose in living, two missionaries came to my home. I had always been God-fearing, so I listened to the lessons. I struggled to make up my mind, but after three months I was baptized. My life with this disease has not been easy. I walk with my cane everywhere. I continue with medication and treatment. I have remained true to what I have come to know as the Lord’s self-reliance principles. I support myself with a business selling sheets and household items, plus help from the government and the generous members of our Church.
I can say today that my strength comes from the knowledge I have of Jesus Christ. I thank those missionaries who came to me. The Church is my family. I invite everyone to know Jesus Christ who brings hope and love to our lives.

One of the projects that I have been blessed to be involved in was completed at the end of the last semester. Located just east of our roundabout between this building and the Taylor Building stands the BYUI monument. Working with an architect and talented contractors was a pleasure as I watched this monument go from a design on paper, to a hole in the ground, to a beautiful finished product that can be enjoyed by all who come to this campus.

I would like to share a small video clip of the day that we were installing the letters of this monument. This was the moment that all involved were waiting for, the moment of truth, when all the design and measuring and building would be tested for accuracy and precision. It was the icing on the cake.

Brothers and sisters, I believe it was no coincidence that the last letter to be placed that day was the letter U. I know that letter stands for the word university, but for a small moment that day, I had a great impression of that letter representing YOU, representing each one of US. This was the letter or piece of that project that made it complete. I was given confirmation that day of the value of each person who has come, is currently attending, or will continue to come to this campus seeking to build in spirit and wisdom. Heavenly Father loves us so much and gives us so many opportunities to be builders and help in making his plan complete.

Shortly after our marriage in the Salt Lake Temple, Jim and I found ourselves living in a rented cottage on the Oregon coast. Jim was a topographic engineer for the government, in charge of checking and correcting a map of the Oregon coastline. Each morning he would leave with another engineer to continue the work of the previous day. His work was difficult because the coast was heavily forested.
One evening as I was about to start dinner, a strong impression came into my mind that my dinner preparations were not important. Jim would not be home for dinner that night. Another thought followed: Jim was in trouble and needed my help!
I did not hear a voice, but the message came as clearly into my mind as if it had been spoken. I had to help him, but where was he? He worked each day along the coast, but I had no idea where he was working that day. I felt impelled to get in the car and drive to the main highway, but in which direction should I turn? With only slight hesitation, I felt that I should turn south. I then passed many side roads, any one of which could have been the area of Jim’s work.
I was impressed to leave the highway and follow one of the single-lane roads. It was raining, and after a mile or two the road became a muddy trail. I decided I had better turn around and head back. It was getting dark, and I thought, “It was silly of me to have come.”
But no sooner had I turned onto the highway than I came upon two tired, despondent engineers, so covered with mud that no one else would have wanted to pick them up. Jim and his co-worker told me that their truck had become stuck in a mud hole. They had tried to free it but finally left it and hiked through dense undergrowth back to the main highway.
“How did you know where we were?” they wondered, relieved that I had found them. My relief was equal to theirs as I explained how I had been guided by the Spirit.
As Jim and I knelt in prayer that evening, we gave thanks for the influence of the Holy Ghost, which had come to me in answer to my husband’s prayers for help.

Brandi Horsley of the Nampa First Ward, Nampa Idaho Stake, wrote this about a service project she completed for Young Women.
“For my service project I took two cats, two rabbits, and my old pony, Nugget, to the nursing home for a visit. The nurses let me take the pets into each resident’s room.
“When I took Nugget into one man’s room, he started to laugh. As he kept laughing different staff members came into see what was going on. They had never heard him laugh before.
“One lady wanted a ride. She had horses when she was little, and Nugget brought back happy memories. When someone would get hold of a cat or a rabbit, it was hard to get them back. I think they would get their fur petted off if they lived there!
“Most of the people living in the nursing home were raised around livestock and pets all their lives. When they entered the home, they lost this. I know how much my pets mean to me, and I would hate to be without them.
“It is so easy and so very rewarding to spend a little time visiting the nursing home. It makes me happy to know I can make someone else’s day a little brighter.”

My two sisters, Sarah and Livie, and I were waiting for church to start when our neighbor told us that our friend Savannah had broken her leg skiing. We looked back and saw her sitting in a wheelchair. The next day we went to her house to see how she was doing. We visited her almost every day and found out that Savannah’s family didn’t have any insurance to pay for her medical bills. We decided to have a special box at our street Christmas party for people to make donations. My family and our neighbors really felt the spirit of Christmas because we helped Savannah.

While we were serving a mission in England, our 17-year-old son, Cory, was killed in a car accident. We were able to come home to Utah for his funeral, and then we immediately returned to England to finish our mission. It was a very tender time for our entire family.
One day, shortly after returning to England, I was walking down the street and an acquaintance who had heard of the death of our son said to me: “Well, what do you think of your God now? You are serving a full-time mission for Him, and He has taken your son.” I was both shocked and hurt. I felt so sorry for this person who did not understand Heavenly Father’s plan.
The difficult experience of my son’s death helped me identify and rejoice in the blessings of peace, hope, and direction—blessings that all who truly accept and live the gospel of Jesus Christ may enjoy. I can bear witness to the words of Elder Richard G. Scott: “Please learn that as you wrestle with a challenge and feel sadness because of it, you can simultaneously have peace and rejoicing” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1995, 20; or Ensign, Nov. 1995, 17).
What are some specific things we can do to have these blessings of peace, hope, and direction in our lives? May I share with you three things that have helped me.
First, we must have complete trust in our Father’s plan of happiness and our Savior’s part in that plan. Trusting in His plan gave me peace during the time following our son’s death. I knew where our son was, and I knew Heavenly Father loved him. I had a perfect hope that because of the Savior’s Atonement Cory lived and we would be together again as an eternal family. I also had direction. I knew what I needed to do and what our family needed to do to be together forever.

Mine are typical parents. They wouldn’t let me date until I was 16 years old. I guess it was good, because even though I hated to admit it to my most secret self, no boy had ever asked me for a date. I was confident that when I reached 16, everything would change. For years I’d looked forward to it, and both Mom and Dad had solemnly promised that I could date when that time came. As my 16th birthday approached, my family made little remarks to let me know they were aware of its importance.

Mom said, “You’re becoming a fine young woman, Wendy. You’re not so shy as you were a year ago. You’re ready to handle most situations.”

My grandparents smiled and said, “Sooooo, you’re nearing 16, are you?”

My Aunt Maudie looked me up and down and said, “Well, I’d hoped you’d fill out a little by the time you were 16. You’re still built like a beanpole.”

My three younger sisters followed me around the house and kept saying things like, “Wendy, are you going to get married when you’re 16? The girl across the street did.”

And Dad said, “I can’t believe my little Wendy, grown up and ready to date boys!”

So you see what I mean when I say that turning 16 was such a big thing. I had a feeling that being 16 would change me from a shy, skinny kid to a sophisticated society girl. Whenever I thought about that day, I saw “SIXTEEN” in giant red lights flash to the whole world that I was ready. I saw a new telephone hastily installed in my room to handle the flood of calls. I saw myself frantically shopping for clothes for my hectic social life. But most of all, I saw practically every boy at school clamoring for my attention.

By the time the big day arrived, I’d memorized a dozen imaginary conversations for different types of boys. Each time the telephone rang, I mentally flipped through the snappy dialogues.

I was ready.

My birthday came. That morning I wore my new, faded-denim jeans and yellow, Calcutta-cloth shirt. My long, sun-streaked blonde hair was smooth and gleaming. It swung casually at every turn. The faintest flick of green eye shadow made my green eyes glow greener. With my brown bag over one shoulder and an armful of books, I bounced eagerly down the street toward the school.

“Get ready, all you people,” I thought. “Here comes 16-year-old Wendy!”

And then do you know what happened? Nothing—absolutely nothing.

My new, faded-denim jeans; my new, yellow, Calcutta-cloth shirt; my shining, swinging hair; and my faintest flick of green eye shadow were wasted. Even my whole, newly glowing self was wasted. I must’ve sparked as much excitement as an old-style math book. None of the boys said more than hi. For all they cared I might’ve been a wall map or a library table.

My family birthday dinner that night didn’t help much. Grandpa teased, “Well, here’s little miss 16-year-old and never been kissed, I’ll bet.”

“Grandpa,” I said coldly, “I never intend to be kissed. I’m going to devote my life to a great cause.”

For about three weeks no one mentioned that I’d had an important birthday. I knew my sisters were itching to say something, but somehow, Mom silenced them. I kept busy daydreaming about the honorable, sacrificing career I’d have. I also tried to ignore the complete lack of telephone calls from boys.

Then one evening as we were eating dinner, the phone rang. My ten-year-old sister knocked over her chair trying to reach the phone before it rang again.

“Hello,” she said. “Yes, just a minute.”

She dragged the phone toward the table and screeched, “Wendy, it’s for you! It’s a boy!”

“You don’t have to scream so,” I hissed. “He’ll hear you!”

“But it’s a boy! He wants you! Maybe you’ll have a date now,” she said.

I picked up the phone. “Hello? … This is Wendy. … Okay. … Okay. … Fine. … Fine. … All right. … (Heaven help me! Where were those clever replies I’d memorized?) Yes. … Of course. … Just a minute, I’ll see.”

“Does he want a date, Wendy? Does he want a date?” My 13-year-old sister asked.

“Mom, Dad, it’s a guy from school. He wants me to go to the community concert with him Friday night. His parents can’t go, and they gave him their tickets.”

“Do you want to go?” Mom asked.

“Oh, I guess.”

“Who’s the boy?” Dad asked.

“His name’s Norris Elkington. He’s in my science class.”

“Is he the right kind of a boy?” That was Mom asking that.

“He’s okay. Nothing too cool.”

“But he’s a boy!” My 13-year-old sister exulted. “You’ve got a date at last!”

Mom looked at Dad. “Well, I suppose it’s all right, Wendy, if you’re sure he’s a nice boy.”

For a minute I hesitated. The community concert wasn’t my idea of a super date, but … “Norris,” I said into the phone, “it’s okay. What time on Friday? … Oh. … Oh. … Well, that’s fine, I guess. … Oh. … Yes. … (There’s that sparkling conversation again.) Tell your mother thanks. See you. … Bye.”

“Well now, that’s a nice beginning,” Mom said brightly when I sat down again.

“His mother’s also giving him their Diner’s Card, so we can go to dinner first,” I said.

“That’s a big evening for a first date,” Mom said. “I hope it works out.”

As Friday approached I became more jittery. I didn’t want to go to the community concert. I didn’t want to eat dinner with Norris. I didn’t even want a date. I thought, maybe I’ll fall and break a leg. (I could see my hospital room crammed with red roses.) Or maybe Mom and Dad will look me straight in the eye and say, “No dating until you’re 17!” (Don’t think of that; it might give them ideas.)

Well, Friday came and so did Norris—promptly at 6:30. I sneaked one last look at myself and knew that I was as scrubbed, sprayed, polished, brushed, and scared as I ever would be.

My eight-year-old sister snuggled up to me and said to our mirrored reflections, “Gee, Wendy, you look beautiful. I’ll bet Norris’ll want to marry you.”

“Don’t talk like that,” I said. “I won’t be dating him again.”

Norris surprised me. He looked better than I’d hoped. He’s taller and skinnier than I am, but he has the same sun-streaked, blond hair and greenish eyes. As he shook hands with my parents, I could see that he was as scrubbed, polished, and brushed as I was.

Mom and Dad and all three sisters stood at the front door and watched Norris help me into his family car. How thankful I was that Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Maudie hadn’t come as they’d threatened to! I felt like the number one exhibit.

Norris sat rigidly, with both hands on the steering wheel. I sat rigidly over on my side. Both my hands clutched my brown bag. As we drove down the street, our conversation went about like this:

“Well, it’s a real nice night,” Norris said. “Not too cold, just nippy.”

“Yes, it’s very nice. I like nippy weather.”

Silence.

“I bought a tankful of gas,” he said. “I’d sure hate to run out.”

“Oh, yes, it’d be terrible to run out.”

Silence. Horrible, silent silence.

“My mother says she’s sure we’ll like the food at the Broiler,” he said. “I hope it’s okay with you.”

“If your mother says it’s fine, I’m sure it’s good.”

“Of course, if you’d rather go some other place, just say so.”

“Oh, no, no. The Broiler sounds great.”

Well, I thought, we’re improving. We each made two statements on that subject.

“What’s your favorite subject in school?” I asked.

“Math.”

“Math? Oh, how nice. What do you like about it?”

“Don’t know. Just like it.”

And that ended that subject.

About then we came to the Broiler, and getting out of the car and being seated took a few minutes. As I picked up the enormous gold and red menu and scanned the price list, I remembered Mom’s advice.

“The thing to do,” she said, “is to order what he does. Then you won’t be out of line.”

So I waited for Norris to say something. He said, “What would you like?”

“Oh, I haven’t decided yet. What’re you having?”

“I don’t know. My mother says the roast beef is very good. But I’ll get what you get.”

Oh, no, I thought. Why doesn’t he make up his mind? Why couldn’t we have gone to Gino’s Pizza Palace?

“Norris,” I begged, “surprise me. Order for me.”

“Really?” He looked pleased. “Well, let’s have the roast beef. We know that’s good. My mother said so.”

It was good, too. But I wished his mother hadn’t practically ordered it for us.

There wasn’t much talk during dinner. Norris looked at me twice and both times said, “This is great, isn’t it?”

Then there was the concert. I sat there feeling sorry for myself. What’s so great about having a date? And with Norris—he’s about as exciting as a bowl of melted lemon jello. And this boring concert, yuck! Who wants to listen to that guy up there screeching back and forth on that violin? And I was tired of saying, “Oh, yes, nice. I’m really enjoying myself. Oh, yes, really!” Well, Norris didn’t inspire me with anything else.

Most of the time he sat there with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands and stared at the floor. He and his idea of a date were just out of it, completely out of it.

After the concert, we got into the car and drove off. Now this was the time I’d dreaded most for days. What if he tried to put his arm around me? Or worse, what if he tried to kiss me? I sat stiffly on my side of the car and noticed with relief that both of Norris’s hands seemed to be cemented to the wheel. The big tales I’d heard at school about guys driving around and parking somewhere and expecting a girl to get really friendly ran through my mind. That’s when I wished for the tenth time that I was home with my three little sisters watching the Friday night movie on TV.

And then Norris said, “How’d you like to take a little drive, Wendy, up around Red Hill Loop?”

“No, no, I’ve got to hurry home. I really do.”

“Anything you say, Wendy.” He turned the car toward home.

The next hurdle was the front porch. We walked up the front steps, and for the first time in my life I was grateful for Edison’s invention of the electric light and the big, lighted globe at our front door. Mentally, I thanked Mom and Dad for turning it on.

I put one hand on the door knob and said, “Thank you for a very interesting evening, Norris.”

“I’m glad you thought it was interesting,” he said. “Maybe we can do it again, sometime.”

And then he held out his right hand, and without thinking I reached out and we shook hands! We actually shook hands! Then Norris ran from the circle of light, slammed the car door, spun the wheels, and was gone.

There I was. He hadn’t even tried to put his arm around me! I didn’t even have a chance to brush him off. That’s one tale I wouldn’t tell at school. Imagine, he shook my hand!

Naturally it wasn’t very late, so the whole family was up watching TV when I came in. There were eager questions from them and reluctant answers from me.

After a few minutes Dad said, “Doesn’t it occur to you, Wendy, that Norris might’ve been just as unsure about the evening as you were?”

“Why should he be?” I asked.

“I’ll bet it was his first date, too,” Dad said. “And remember, he found the courage to ask you. That’s a difficult thing to do the first time.”

“Maybe his mother made him do it,” my 13-year-old sister said.

“Maybe he worried more about it than you did,” Mom said.

“Do you really think Norris was jittery, too?” I asked.

“You think about it, Wendy,” Dad said.

I did think about it while I washed my face and brushed my teeth. Three things kept coming back in my mind: how Norris had sat at the concert with his head in his hands, how quickly he’d brought me home when I turned down the ride, and how he’d run into the dark after shaking my hand.

Oh, no, I thought. All I had cared about was how unhappy and bored I was. I hadn’t thought about how he felt.

As I switched out my bedroom light, I realized that turning 16 hadn’t changed me really. I was still a shy, skinny kid, and, I hated to admit it, a selfish, self-centered brat.

There was a knock on the door. “Wendy, are you asleep?” Mom called. “The telephone—for you.”

It was Norris.

“No,” I told him, “you didn’t wake me. … Speak louder, I can’t hear you. … Oh, you don’t want to wake your parents. … What? … Thank you. I’m glad you liked my hair. … What? You thought the concert was yucky? … I can’t help laughing. You say such funny things. … You mean it? You wish we’d gone to Gino’s Pizza Palace? You do, honest? … Tomorrow, sounds really neat. I’d love it. … Okay. … Okay. … See you. … Bye, Norris.”

As I switched out my bedroom light once more, I wondered what to wear the next day when Norris and I went bike riding. I’ll wear my new, faded-blue jeans. No, I’ll wear my … hey, wait a minute, brat. What would Norris like? I wonder what his favorite color is?

I had just started a new job and was trying to save money to serve a mission. As time went on, new employees were hired, and I was assigned to train a young woman about my age.
Maria (name has been changed), my new co-worker, was obviously concerned with her appearance. She conformed to the popular trend of wearing short skirts, dark makeup, and bold hairstyles, and she also had developed some bad habits, such as smoking. Despite our differences, Maria and I worked well together. She was pleasant to talk with, and time passed quickly when we were together.
One day at work she asked, “Raquel, do you ever go dancing?” I told her I attended dances at my church. She asked which church it was, and I explained that it is called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that its members are often called Mormons. Maria told me she had heard of the Mormons, but she didn’t know any of our beliefs. I was excited to share more about the Church with her, and I offered her a copy of the Book of Mormon, which she was happy to accept.
In time I invited her to attend the branch closest to her home. I was quite surprised when she accepted my invitation. We decided to meet at the train station the following Sunday so we could go to the meetings together.
Sunday arrived, and as my train approached the station where we were to meet, I peered out the window, looking for the Maria I knew from work. To my surprise, I saw instead a young lady whose skirt was modest and whose hair and makeup were all that could be asked of a Latter-day Saint young woman. But it was Maria!
I confess that I had doubted she would be there waiting for me, and I also doubted that the gospel would produce any changes in her life—inside or out.
We greeted each other and walked the 15 minutes to church. We went to Relief Society first, where Maria wanted to answer the questions and participate in everything the teacher asked us to do. She also enjoyed Sunday School and sacrament meeting. I introduced her to the sister missionaries, who invited her to hear the lessons, and Maria readily agreed.
A short time later we lost contact because she didn’t continue with her job. But it wasn’t long before I received an invitation to her baptism. I was disappointed I couldn’t attend, and again we lost contact.
After serving for nine months in the Argentina Mendoza Mission, I read in the local pages of the Liahona that Maria was serving in the Argentina Resistencia Mission. I started jumping for joy and immediately wrote to her.
In her reply she told me about her mission preparation. Her parents had not supported her desire to join the Church. Yet she had attended church and institute classes and had sacrificed much in order to serve a mission.
Many years have now passed, and Maria and I have seen each other again. She is a temple worker in the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple and is enjoying the love of her husband and children. She lives the gospel and radiates its light. Today her appearance reflects all that is in her heart, and although she does not know it, she has not only given me a special memory but has taught me a great principle—the gospel is for everyone. As members of the Church, we should not refrain from sharing our testimonies just because, in our judgment, a person’s appearance indicates he or she might reject our message.
Now, whenever I think about Maria, 1 Samuel 16:7 comes to mind: “Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; … for the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.” Heavenly Father knows the hearts of His children, and to Him the heart is what matters.

Sacrament Meeting—My family attended the branch’s sacrament meeting today. After the meeting, I went with the elders to my parents’ home for a missionary lesson. After the first discussion Elder Johnson tried to make an appointment to come again and teach my family.
“How about right now?” Mom asked.
So the second lesson was given. Dad had to leave then to do the farm chores. Mom quickly prepared a meal, and about an hour later Dad came back in and ate, and the third lesson was given. Three in one night!
July 27—Tonight I baptized my family. It is three months to the day since I joined the Church. Our family is finally united. As I brought Mom up out of the water, she embraced me and shed tears of joy. We have received life’s greatest blessings.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf: I was assigned to accompany then-Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf to reorganize a stake and select a new stake president in Texas. After our interviews, we both had good feelings about a certain man. He asked me if I felt this was the right man. I answered that I thought he was the right man, but that I did not feel that I had received a firm spiritual confirmation. We continued to discuss and pray and still I did not feel that I had the solid confirmation I wanted, so he simply asked me, "Well, do you have a better idea?" It was time to make the decision. We went ahead and called the man and as we went forward, it became clear that he was certainly the Lord's choice. Brigham Young said it this way:
"If I do not know the will of my Father, and what he requires of me in a certain transaction, if I ask Him to give me wisdom concerning any requirement in life, or in regard to my own course, ...or those I preside over, and get no answer from Him, and then do the very best that judgment will teach me, He is bound to...honor that transaction, and He will do so to all intents and purposes."[8]
If you do your homework, study it out, and earnestly plead with the Lord for an answer and do not feel you have received it--go ahead with your best judgment and the Lord will either back up your decision or He will soon warn you that you are going down the wrong path.

I have a three year old grandson named James. My daughter had been teaching him to be careful about strangers. She was quizzing him to see how well he had listened to her and asked him, “James would you ever get into a car with a stranger?” He answered, “No.” She continued, “What if he said he would give you candy? Then would you go with him?” James thought for a minute and finally said, “I’m not telling.” My daughter became a little alarmed and said, “James, you never go with a stranger even if he has candy. It is very dangerous!” James then said, “Don’t talk to me mommy!”

I had a man about my age come in to see me a few days ago. He told me a story about a 1947 Chevrolet. It was a little after the Second World War. He was a young elder, I guess, or priest—I’m not sure which. Anyway, he and his friend were called in to see the bishop one night after sacrament meeting, and they both knew what was coming up. The bishop said to the first young man, “We’d like you to prepare to go on a mission.”
The young man replied, “All right, I’ll do it.”
And then the man who came in to see me was next. He went in and the bishop said, “We’d like you to prepare to go on a mission.”
And he said, “Bishop, I can’t do it because I am paying for a 1947 Chevrolet.” He said that at that time of his life, this was the most important thing to him. He said, “I just don’t see how I can do it.” Well, one thing led to another, and he never did go. He came in to tell me how throughout his life he had regretted that decision so much that every time he sees a 1947 Chevrolet (and that is occasionally nowadays) he gets a sort of unhappy feeling in his heart. He relates it to something that he had an opportunity to do but didn’t do.
There is a 1947 Chevrolet in each of our lives. There is some material thing that sooner or later will stand between what the Lord expects of us and what we know we should do. Then we have to make a decision, and may the Lord bless us that we may make a proper decision when our 1947 Chevrolet confronts us.