Gospel Story Finder

One of those he learned much from was his mother. She was, he recalls, a “great cook.” His chocolate dessert is a family tradition.

In November of 1983 he flew to California to attend the Fair Oaks Stake conference. Arriving early at the stake president’s home, he was taken on a tour of the family’s vegetable garden.

“I saw that he had leeks, a very popular vegetable in Belgium. Not having grown them before, the president wasn’t sure how to prepare them. I said, ‘Let’s make soup.’ So that Saturday evening after our conference meetings, with the stake president in the kitchen, we prepared leek soup to serve twenty-two people the next day—the high council and other stake leaders. I think I’ll be remembered there as a soup maker rather than a General Authority!”

In 1952 I returned to San Diego, California, from a Korean campaign during which I had been baptized at the mission home in Tokyo, Japan. As a new convert I was sure that everyone, everywhere, was looking for the gospel of Jesus Christ, which I had found. I had it, and I was going to give it to them whether they wanted it or not.
I became a member of a car pool that operated between my home in Chula Vista, California, and North Island, where I worked. There were four other navy men in that car pool—all nonmembers. Three of them were lieutenants (which was also my rank), and one was an enlisted man, a first class ordinance man, whose name was George Whitehead. I was elated with the prospects of converting these four car pool mates. I was sure it would be a cinch. It was a 45-minute trip in each direction, and they couldn’t get out of the car—they had to listen. I decided I would convert these four, and then move into a new car pool and convert them, and then move to another. Why, I could convert a whole ward in no time at all!
I went to work on my four comrades. Three of them (the lieutenants) obviously never listened to a word I said, or if they did, you couldn’t tell it; my words were like so much water off a duck’s back. But the enlisted man, George Whitehead, he dared not turn me off. I could tell that George was interested; so when it was my turn to drive, I would take the lieutenants home first and then sit and preach to George in front of his house for an hour before I would let him out of the car.
I kept trying to commit George to come to church, but he resisted for a period of about four weeks. Finally, he agreed to attend with me and said his wife, Lucille, would also attend. I was so excited. I remember on the Saturday night before George and Lucille were to attend their first Mormon Sunday School, I went to the chapel, and I washed the back door of the chapel; it was the door I always used to enter the building. I enlisted the aid of a young man who thought I must be slightly psycho. He said, “Why are you washing the back door of the church? Nobody washes the back door of a church!” I assured him that I was washing the back door because it needed to be washed; and besides, tomorrow morning George and Lucille Whitehead were coming through this door. And everything must be perfect for them, so they would see the Lord’s church in its true light.
I presume that no one looks at the Church more critically than does a missionary who is bringing a contact for the first time. How important it is that all the babies be quiet and that the music be beautiful. It would also be nice if everyone sitting on the stand would stay awake, but I guess that is too much to expect.
George and Lucille came to Sunday School, and I was there to meet them. We had a great Sunday School class that day. (I was teaching the class.) George was obviously impressed. He looked for all the world like a sponge, soaking up every word. But his wife, Lucille, sitting beside him, looked like the Sphinx. I couldn’t tell if she had heard a word I had said. I was concerned. I could hardly wait to speak to her after the class.
As we walked out of the chapel, through that clean back door, I said, “Lucille, what did you think of that service this morning?” She said, without a smile, “I was born a Methodist, and I expect to die one.” At that time I had not heard LeGrand Richards’ story about the Englishman and the Scotsman, where the Englishman said, “I was born an Englishman, raised an Englishman, and expect to die an Englishman.” The Scotsman said, “Have ye no ambition?”
I could have used that retort, I presume; but instead I said, “Lucille, I promise you that to be a Latter-day Saint you will never have to give up anything true that you have learned as a Methodist. We have no quarrels with other churches or religious beliefs. We do not write tracts against other churches and we never will, because we are not in the business of tearing down other people’s faith, but, on the contrary, our purpose is to build it up. To our Protestant friends who believe that salvation is by ‘grace through faith’ we say, ‘We believe it too—does not the scripture declare, “… Without faith it is impossible to please him [God]”?’ (Heb. 1:6.) We just wish to add to their faith. So, to our Protestant friends we say, ‘Come let us share with you the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. We will take no truth from you but will merely add certain works and priesthood authority to what you have.’”
This is essentially what I told Lucille that day. She made no further comment whatsoever. That episode took place in 1952.
In 1958 I was in Washington, D.C., still in the navy, and I received orders to go to the University of Southern California to attend a special course of instruction on aviation safety. While I was in Los Angeles, I was able to spend much time in the Los Angeles Temple. As I recall, I did the work for all of my grandparents and great grandparents. The women who acted as proxy for two of my grandmothers and my own mother (who had subsequently died not having accepted the gospel) was this same Lucille Whitehead who was, as she said, “born a Methodist and expected to die one.” She had not quite made it—in fact, she was ready for baptism just three weeks after she had made that statement to me that Sunday morning in San Diego, California. Why? Because the Holy Ghost had touched her heart, and she knew the gospel was true.
Surely the Lord moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform. How could I know that sharing the gospel with a member of my car pool would result in making eternal life possible to my own mother?
There are so many things we don’t know, but our Heavenly Father knows. It behooves us to follow his directions to us, for surely we will be eternally blessed for so doing.

Let me tell you about another current, a divine current, that has become a great blessing in my life. I am a convert to the Church. Prior to my conversion, my life’s ambition was to ski and, accordingly, I moved to Europe after high school to fulfill that desire. After several months of what seemed an ideal life, I felt I should leave. At the time I did not understand the source of that feeling, but I chose to follow it. I ended up in Provo, Utah, with a few good friends who, like me, were members of a different faith.
While in Provo I met people who were living a much different life than I was. I felt drawn to them, though I did not know why. Initially, I resisted these feelings, but I soon found a peace and comfort that I had never known. I began to embrace a different current—one that brought me to an understanding of a loving Heavenly Father and to His Son, Jesus Christ.
I was baptized with my friends in 1972. This new current I chose to follow, the gospel of Jesus Christ, provided direction and meaning to my life. However, it was not without its challenges. Everything was new to me. At times I felt lost and confused. Questions and challenges were posed by both friends and family.
I had a choice to make. Some of their questions created doubt and uncertainty. The choice was an important one. Where would I turn for answers? There were many who wanted to convince me of the error of my ways—“riptides” determined to pull me away from the peaceful current that had become a wonderful source of happiness. I learned very clearly the principle that there is “opposition in all things” and the importance of acting for myself and not forsaking my agency to others.3
I asked myself, “Why would I turn away from that which had brought me such great comfort?” As the Lord reminded Oliver Cowdery, “Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter?”4 My experience had been similar. Therefore, I turned, with yet more commitment, to a loving Heavenly Father, to the scriptures, and to trusted friends.
Still, there were many questions I could not answer. How would I address the uncertainty they created? Rather than allow them to destroy the peace and happiness that had come into my life, I chose to set them aside for a season, trusting that in the Lord’s time, He would reveal all things. I found solace in His statement to the Prophet Joseph: “Behold, ye are little children and ye cannot bear all things now; ye must grow in grace and in the knowledge of the truth.”5 I chose not to forsake what I knew to be true by following an unknown and a questionable current—a potential “riptide.” As President N. Eldon Tanner taught, I learned “how much wiser and better it is for man to accept the simple truths of the gospel … and to accept by faith those things which he … cannot understand.”6

When the phone rang Sunday morning, Missy answered it.
“My father’s taking us to the water slide,” Karen said. “Can you come?” Missy looked down at her good dress and shiny black shoes and sighed. “I’ll ask,” she said, “but I know my parents won’t let me go on Sunday.” Missy loved the water slide more than any other place on earth.
As she feared, Dad said no.
“It isn’t fair,” Missy told him. “There are too many rules. I’m always so busy following rules that I never get to have any fun.”
When she came home from school the next day, Missy found a mysterious envelope on her bed. Inside was a note in her mother’s handwriting:
“Dear Missy,
There is a wonderful treasure to be found if you can follow the clues that lead to it. It comes from far away, from someone who loves you. You will find the next clue somewhere in your room. Happy treasure hunting!
Love, Mom.”
Missy glanced around. Everything looked the same as she had left it that morning. The second clue must be hidden. She felt a tingle of excitement as she began searching for it.
She started with her desk, wondering what in the world the treasure could be. Maybe it’s money, she thought as she rifled through drawers. Or a new bike, she hoped, looking under the blotter. But after a thorough check, she found nothing.
She looked in her dresser, on her bulletin board, and under her bed. When all those places turned out to be clue-free, she plopped herself onto her bed in frustration. She was about to ask for help when she felt something hard under her pillow.
She pulled out a small silver box. Inside was another note:
“Congratulations on finding the second clue. Keep it in this box along with the other clues. In a room that’s dark and deep, the next clue lies buried.”
“This one’s easy,” Missy said aloud. “The deepest, darkest room in the house is the basement, and it’s the only one with a dirt floor.”
As she went down the basement stairs, she saw Dad’s shovel against one wall. She could tell that the dirt beneath it had been recently disturbed. She dug down a few inches and hit an old tin can with a plastic lid. Inside was the third clue.
This game is starting to be a lot of fun, Missy thought as she pulled a note out of the can. This one said:
“You’ve found number three; you’re halfway to the treasure! Number four waits where flowers bloom.”
Missy put the third clue into her silver box and ran outside. The next clue must be in the garden, she told herself. And she was right. She found an old leather wallet lying between a rosebush and some tulips. The note inside read:
“Well done! You’ve found all but the last clue. Look where dinner is cooked.”
Missy hurried to the kitchen and went to the stove. She couldn’t see anything on the top, so she opened the oven door. There it was—a small brown box with the fifth clue inside. Missy read the note aloud.
“Congratulations! You have discovered the fifth and final clue. The treasure is above your room, moving to and fro.”
Hmmm. This one’s a little strange, Missy thought, adding the last clue to the silver box. But I know that the only room above mine is the attic! She took the attic stairs two steps at a time but was stopped at the door by a strange creaking sound. It frightened her a little, but she wasn’t about to quit, so close to the prize. She opened the door and stepped into the attic.
In the middle of the floor was Grandpa’s old rocking chair, moving back and forth. And on the seat was an envelope. Missy opened the envelope and gasped in surprise. Inside was an airplane ticket to Florida and a letter from Grandma. Missy quickly read the letter and began to jump up and down. Grandma had invited her to come for a visit.
Just then, her parents stepped out of the shadows at the back of the attic.
“Oh, Mom, Daddy!” she exclaimed happily. “Grandma wants me to visit her.”
“We know,” Dad said. “That’s wonderful, and we’re sure you’ll have a great time. But sit down now, and let’s have a talk.”
“Did you like our little game?” Mom asked.
“Oh yes, it was fun!”
“We’re glad you enjoyed it,” Dad said. “But we also hope it will help explain why we have rules to follow.”
Missy looked puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
“Look at your ticket, dear,” Mom said. “Is there a date?”
Missy examined the ticket. “It’s for this Friday.”
Dad took the ticket and hid it behind his back. “What if we’d just said, ‘There’s a treasure in the house. Find it and you can have it.’?”
“I’d have searched until I found it.”
“Of course,” Dad said. “But would you have found it by Friday?”
“Oh.” Missy’s face grew serious as she thought it over. “You and Mom would have helped me find it on time,” she finally said.
“Why?” Dad asked.
“Because you’re my parents, and you love me.”
“Right again,” Mom said. “That’s why we gave you the clues. But it was up to you to follow them.”
“Your Father in Heaven is your parent, too,” Dad said, “and He loves you very much. He has also sent you on a treasure hunt. The treasure is to become like Him and to live with Him again.”
“And He has also given you clues to follow,” Mom added. “They are clearer than our clues were, and they are much more important—but not always so easy to obey.”
Missy smiled. “I think I understand—Heavenly Father’s clues are the commandments, and if I want the treasure, I have to follow them.”
Missy thought about the treasure hunt as she sat next to Mom in the airplane on her way to Florida. She knew she wouldn’t have wanted to miss this treasure. She didn’t want to miss Heavenly Father’s treasure, either.

Many years ago dear friends of mine, Craig Sudbury and his mother, Pearl, came to my office prior to Craig’s departure for the Australia Melbourne Mission. Fred Sudbury, Craig’s father, was noticeably absent. Twenty-five years earlier, Craig’s mother had married Fred, who did not share her love for the Church and, indeed, was not a member.

Craig confided to me his deep and abiding love for his parents and his hope that somehow, in some way, his father would be touched by the Spirit and open his heart to the gospel of Jesus Christ. I prayed for inspiration concerning how such a desire might be fulfilled. The inspiration came, and I said to Craig, “Serve the Lord with all your heart. Be obedient to your sacred calling. Each week write a letter to your parents, and on occasion, write to Dad personally, and let him know how much you love him, and tell him why you’re grateful to be his son.” He thanked me and, with his mother, departed the office.

I was not to see Craig’s mother for some 18 months, when she came to my office and, in sentences punctuated by tears, said to me, “It has been almost two years since Craig left for his mission. He has never failed in writing a letter to us each week. Recently, my husband, Fred, stood for the first time in a testimony meeting and surprised me and shocked everyone who was there by announcing that he had made the decision to become a member of the Church. He indicated that he and I would go to Australia to meet Craig at the conclusion of his mission so that Fred could be Craig’s final baptism as a full-time missionary.”

No missionary stood so tall as did Craig Sudbury when, in far-off Australia, he helped his father into water waist-deep and, raising his right arm to the square, repeated those sacred words: “Frederick Charles Sudbury, having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”

Love had won its victory. Serve the Lord with love.

I went to a conference in President Rex Reeve’s stake. He took me through the building and showed me 2,000 chairs prepared for the people. I asked him how he knew there would be 2,000 people present, and he answered, “We sent the home teachers out to invite everyone to come, and they have given us their report. They have informed us that 2,000 people will be here tomorrow.” Evidently the word got out that I would be one of the speakers because seventy-five of those 2,000 didn’t show up. But they had an attendance of 49 percent and it has since grown much higher.

That’s the scripture Elder King shared with our daughter several years back. She had a knack for business and organization…and we thought she’d be a fantastic business major. She took the beginning Accounting class in college and did not like it at all. So, her dad asked her, “What do you have a passion for?” She said it was music-dance-theatre…but worried there was no future for her in it. Well, she tried out for that specialized BFA program, got accepted, then sang and toured with BYU-Provo’s Young Ambassadors performing group. Singing and dancing on New York City’s Broadway was not her ultimate destiny. But she graduated in that field and has found great joy teaching piano and voice lessons to many young people. A different path—but she trusted…and it worked out for her in a wonderful way.

While busily bruising bodies and benignly busting blocks, Latter-day Saints practicing karate helped introduce the gospel to Baguio, Philippines.
Karate is a popular sport in the Philippines. While there had been several karate exhibitions in Baguio, there had been no tournaments. Tying on their black belts, the members of the Baguio Branch went to work organizing a karate tournament. Here was a missionary project that would really attract the attention of nonmembers—something few branch open houses have the charisma to accomplish.
Tickets were printed, and the gymnasium of the local university was rented for the evening. Medals and trophies were made or donated by members. The night of the tournament the city of Baguio filed in to watch.
After passing out trophies, binding bruises, and sweeping up broken blocks, the missionaries added families to their investigator lists. Because of the event several people were taught the gospel and baptized, and the missionaries and members of Baguio decided that even if black belts weren’t proper missionary attire, they are good missionary tools.

Our daughter Mary had an experience that taught her about making good choices. Mary was an excellent soccer player. She was in a league that played its games on Saturdays. But one year when she was in her early teens, her team kept winning and made it to the championship game, which was to be played on a Sunday. Mary knew that the Sabbath was a special day for going to church and learning about the gospel, not a day for recreation. But because she was a key player on the team, and it was the team’s first time in a championship game, Mary received a lot of pressure from her teammates, coaches, and even from other parents.
Mary was unhappy about the situation and asked us what she should do. After thinking and praying about it, my wife and I knew that our daughter was ready to take the responsibility for her own decision. We encouraged her to think about it and pray about it, and told her that we believed she should make this decision on her own.
After a few days of pressure from her friends, Mary made the decision that she would play in the championship game. But when the game ended, Mary slowly walked off the field. “Oh, Mom,” she said, “that felt awful. I never want to feel that way again! I’m never playing another game on the Sabbath day.” And she never did.
She continued to play sports in her school and her community, but she never again let pressure from these teams move her from the path she knew was right. She had learned for herself how important it was to her Heavenly Father to keep this commandment, and she never forgot this lesson.

Crunch, crunch, crunch. Andrew swallowed his popcorn and grabbed another handful.
His older brother, Caleb, plopped down on the couch beside him. “Hey, can I have some?”
Andrew didn’t look away from the TV. “No.”
“Aw, come on. You can share.”
Caleb reached for the bowl, but Andrew snatched it away.
“No! I already told you before. Don’t ask again!”
“Fine.” Caleb got up and left the room.
The next day, Andrew went into the kitchen. Caleb was making some sushi with rice, seaweed, and canned pork.
Andrew’s mouth watered. “Can I have some?”
“No,” Caleb said.
That made Andrew really mad. He ran downstairs to tell Dad.
“Why is Caleb being so selfish?” he asked.
Dad frowned. “I saw yesterday that you wouldn’t share your popcorn. Why should Caleb share with you after you didn’t share with him?”
“Because he’s my brother!” Andrew said.
“Then why didn’t you share with him?”
“He never shares with me either! Besides, I made it for myself, not him,” Andrew said. But he felt a little bad. Maybe it was mean of him not to share.
“Did you know that in Korea, sharing is really important?” Dad asked. Andrew’s family was from Korea. “Sharing is a way to show someone you care about them. So if you don’t share, it’s kind of like saying that you don’t care about them.”
“But I do care about Caleb.”
Andrew thought about what Jesus might do. He remembered how Jesus loved everyone—even those who were unkind to Him.
“I think I’m going to share with Caleb tomorrow and see how it turns out,” he told Dad.
Dad smiled. “I think that’s a good idea.”
When Andrew went to bed that night, he thought about other nice things he could do for Caleb. He was excited to start sharing!
The next morning, Andrew woke up to a surprise. Caleb had made breakfast just for him!
“Dad talked to me about sharing,” Caleb said. “I want to do better. So I made this for you.”
“Thanks!” Andrew said. “I want to do better too.”
Later that day, Andrew and Caleb watched a movie. Andrew let Caleb pick which one. Then he made some popcorn just for Caleb! He looked inside the bowl. It was like the popcorn was saying, “EAT ME!” But Andrew didn’t take any. He gave Caleb the bowl and said, “This is all yours. I’m sorry I didn’t share before.”
Andrew shared with Caleb all week. He let Caleb read his books. He let Caleb use his markers. He let Caleb play with his favorite toy. He even gave Caleb an extra turn when they were playing a game.
The more Andrew shared with Caleb, the more Caleb shared with him! Soon they were doing nice things for each other all the time. Andrew knew that Heavenly Father was helping him share with his brother. Andrew wasn’t perfect like Jesus, but he was trying to be more like Him every day.
This story took place in the USA.
Illustration by Adam Howling

While I was on a Navy ship headed toward Japan, I attended Church meetings. Only a few Church members were on that tour of duty, but they could always answer my questions. When you are raised in the Church and hear the gospel, the Holy Ghost will help you remember what you’ve been taught so that you can teach other people.
I decided I wanted to be baptized. Back then a person usually investigated the Church for a year. Although I had only been investigating it for five months, the members on the ship felt that I was ready to be baptized. So on February 25, 1952, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Because it was February, it was extremely cold outside where I was baptized. In fact, there was a layer of ice on top of the baptismal font!

A number of years ago, as a college student at Weber State College up in Ogden Utah, I had a singular experience that strengthen my trust in the Lord. During my schooling I met Jana my future wife. After a time of dating and courtship we married. We were happy, and our first child was on the way. Like many college students’ funds were scarce: we had very little money. We were excited about starting our family. We had done all we could to prepare for the birth, however given the times we could not afford health insurance. We had saved the necessary money to cover the cost of the birth, and then trusted in the Lord that all would go well.
On November 18th our first Child was born. We were excited and happy, he had come two weeks early, but nonetheless all appeared just fine. We named him Dallan.
Two days after Dallan’s birth, we realized not all was well. There was a blockage in his intestines; this was life threatening. To receive the necessary care and surgery, Dallan was sent to Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City. There it was assessed that he would need surgery. Not only that, we were told there were other complications as well. I remembered as the doctor laid out the necessity schedule for surgery I asked “At would expense would this cost?” He said not to worry about that at this time, our baby’s life was the most important.
The surgery was successful, and our little infant son was soon home with us after several weeks. Shortly there after the bills began to arrive and they began to mount up into the thousands upon thousands of dollars. We didn’t know how we were going to pay them. We were students. I remember actually raising my clenched fist to Heaven saying, “Why is it Lord that thou would hedge up our way.” The only solution that I could see was to drop out of school and go to work full time in order to meet our obligations. We prayed we fasted and in the mist of this despair and discouragement the revelation came. The Lord helps them who help themselves. Trust in the Lord with all thine heart.
I met with Primary Children’s Hospital and they told me of an organization called “Handicapped Children of Utah.” I met with them and asked for financial help. Unfortunately, since it was late in the year, all their money had been committed to other individuals who deserving. As I began to leave the receptionist said “Why don’t I take your application, just so that we might have it on file.” I met with many other organizations and institutions which proved to be dead ends.
Two weeks later I received a phone call from the Handicapped Children of Utah. They informed us that one of their recipients had passed away and had left some money that might be available to us. They asked me to bring our bills in that they might look over those. We brought them in and the money that was available was able to cover all of our bills. I was greatly humbled by this. I was thankful.
I promised the Lord that I would do all I could to serve Him. I stayed in school and kept my promise and became a religious educator and have been so for 28 years but I still feel that I am in the Lord’s debt. I testify I wouldn’t be here, standing before you today had I not trusted in the Lord. To trust in the Lord is to rely on the Lord’s ways of doing things rather than world’s way.

A big decision following my mission was a career. What should I do? A new position opened with the Union Pacific Railroad Company as a passenger representative. After two months, other choices confronted me. An opportunity came to return to ZCMI in its finance division, plus part-time work as an early morning seminary teacher serving Salt Lake East High School; or to work as a mathematics teacher in Tucson, Arizona, High School, or as director of music at the Box Elder High School in Brigham City. I made it a matter of study and prayer. On an eventful afternoon I walked over to Temple Square during my lunch hour for a special, quiet prayer. The decision followed. The formula—prayer, study, work, consultation with parents and trusted friends—produced results.

My father did the same thing for me. He was a seasoned and wise holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood. Once he was asked by an Apostle to write a short note about the scientific evidence for the age of the earth. He wrote it carefully, knowing that some who might read it had strong feelings that the earth was much younger than the scientific evidence suggested.
I still remember my father handing me what he had written and saying to me, “Hal, you have the spiritual wisdom to know if I should send this to the apostles and prophets.” I can’t remember much of what the paper said, but I will carry with me forever the gratitude I felt for a great Melchizedek Priesthood holder who saw in me spiritual wisdom that I could not see.

On my third day in the hospital, my neurologist requested an MRV (magnetic resonance venography) of my spinal column and brain, looking for a tumor or blockage. At 4:00 a.m. two days after I woke up blind, I began a five-hour MRV. In preparation, my family planned to pray and fast for me that morning. My father, who slept by my side on a bench each night in my hospital room, gave me another blessing—the second of several blessings I received.

When a hospital technician asked if I wanted to listen to music during my test, I asked for songs from my favorite singer. The tech placed a set of rubber earphones into my ears and pinned my head down with a facial mesh to hold me in place. In the process, he bumped the headphones nearly out of my ears. I could barely hear any music as the MRV began.

The longer the procedure took, the hotter I felt inside the tubular imaging machine. After what seemed like forever, I was told I was doing great and to keep going a little longer. But I felt scared and distraught from the heat, loud sounds, and constraints holding me still.

In silent prayer, I cried out: “Heavenly Father, please comfort me. I’m so alone. I need Thy help. I need my family.”

Immediately, a soft piano chord echoed in my ears. It was from one of my favorite songs—one that my younger sister, Morgan, plays on the piano. I would not have expected to hear it from the loose earphones over the noise of the machine. It seemed like Morgan was with me, and I wasn’t alone. The noise went away. The heat went away. The claustrophobia went away.

I felt out of my body, like I was floating on a sea in space. I felt surrounded by God’s love and by my family’s love. Just like that, I was calm. It was 7:30 a.m., the time my family started fasting for me. The rest of the five-hour MRV passed in an instant, and then I heard, “You’re done.”

The love I felt from that experience left me in tears and eased the weariness I felt during the rest of my stay in the hospital. I didn’t know if my sight would return, but I knew that God was there and had heard my prayer. After four days in the hospital, I was released.

He slapped his chunky palms on the table again. “Make da win stop—now,” he yelled. His face turned beet red.
She hadn’t seen Scotty this disturbed before. She felt a little frightened and wondered what would happen if she couldn’t distract him or change his mind. But worse than the fear of what he might do, his stubbornness and anger grated still tender wounds. It felt too much like when Mom and Dad had separated. Six eternal months ago. Impasse. No solution. They had been stubborn. They still were.
When she let herself, she could still hear the echoes of the fights, the name calling, the doors slamming. As terrible as those were, they were better than the deafening silences that followed. Her world had tilted, and her order slid out of control.
She often wondered if Dad’s business failure was the real cause of the trouble. All she knew for sure was that it seemed to start when the money wasn’t there any more. No new clothes. Bill collectors on the phone and at the door. For a month after the separation she sulked, mad at the world, mad at her parents, and mad at Heavenly Father. Stubborn was the reason the family was apart now. Mom and Dad both demanding that something change, when it couldn’t. Stubborn—like Scotty, only worse. They knew better. They went to church, they used to pray, and the family used to work. Scotty was stubborn. They chose it. The anger was back. If she wasn’t careful, it would come pouring out, out of control like it sometimes did. It would land on Scotty and that wasn’t fair.
It was plain though that Scotty wasn’t going to eat lunch unless she made the wind stop. Maybe if she said a prayer. The divorce had taught her about prayer. When her parents first separated, she almost blamed Heavenly Father for the pain she was feeling. At night she muffled her sobs with a tear-soaked pillow until she fell asleep. In the morning she was never sure if it was anger, or loss, or confusion that greeted her first. Finally, though, when it was all more than she could bear, she had learned to ask for help, and the Savior’s healing hand would touch her heart for a moment while he retrieved from some lost corner of darkness, her peace—the peace that kept slipping away, but not so fast anymore.

I used to work at a customer service call center where it was impossible for co-workers to socialize much with each other. Our supervisor decided to organize a lunch one Saturday with the entire group to give us a chance to get acquainted. She instructed each of us to bring some object that was valuable to us and explain why it was significant.
As I thought about her request, I realized that this would be an opportunity to teach my co-workers about the gospel. Because religion is a sensitive topic, I knew I had to be careful regarding the object I took and how I explained its value to me.
When the lunch day arrived, we all enjoyed getting to know each other better. After lunch our supervisor began our activity by presenting her valued object—a family photo album. She told us of the difficulties she had gone through while separating from her husband, becoming a single mother, and starting a new life.
Following several other presentations, it was my turn. I told my co-workers that my object was something I brought with me every day: my CTR ring. I told them that the letters stood for “Choose the Right” and that the ring reminded me to always obey the commandments of God. Several people asked questions about the Church and Latter-day Saint beliefs, which gave me an opportunity to tell them about the importance of families in our Heavenly Father’s plan for His children, that families can be eternal, and that we have a Savior who gave His life for us. I also shared some experiences from my mission. As I spoke, I felt the Spirit, as did my co-workers.
After that day some asked other questions about the gospel, and I invited several of them to church. I later changed jobs and never found out if any of them became interested in knowing more, but I felt good knowing that I had told them that the true Church of Jesus Christ is upon the earth and that Heavenly Father has a plan of happiness for His children.

I listened to President Harold Wright, recently released as president of the Mesa Temple in Arizona. He served over the years as stake president and Regional Representative, and has had many contacts with nonmembers and their religious associations in his city. He said that for years he would go to general conference and notice those people outside Temple Square passing out anti-Mormon literature. What do you do when you see that literature? Do you shut your eyes and wave them by and make sure they know you are not going to take it? Or do you accept it? President Wright noticed one man in particular who seemed to be there every time. He began to visit with him and found that he was a minister from Los Angeles. They began to be friends and President Wright talked to him every time he came to conference. One day he said to this man, “Have you ever attended a session of general conference here?”

The man said, “No, I haven’t.”

President Wright asked, “Would you like to go in?”

The man answered, “I would very much like to go in.”

So he took the minister in and they sat through the session. President Wright said his friend felt an influence that he had never felt before in his life, and he commented on it repeatedly. As far as I know, he didn’t join the Church, but what a beautiful approach to talk to someone with a difference of opinion.

Tim Connors took a big bite of his after-school peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich and considered his problem. The Caped Avenger doesn’t really exist, not even in books. How can I do a book report on a book that doesn’t exist?
He wished he’d been paying attention in class. Then when the teacher asked who his favorite character was, he wouldn’t have blurted out, “The Caped Avenger.”
“Tell us about the Caped Avenger,” said the teacher.
“He fights evil,” Tim said, “and has lots of adventures—like the time the mad scientist had a laser gun pointed at the Capitol in Washington, D.C.”
“Sounds serious,” said the teacher. “What did the Caped Avenger do?”
“He went up on top of the Capitol dome and set up a special mirror to reflect the laser back at the bad guy,” Tim explained. That adventure was one of his brother Mikey’s favorite Caped Avenger stories.
“Boy,” said Norman with a sly grin, “I’d sure like to see that book. Why don’t you bring it in, Tim?”
“I think everyone would like to see it,” the teacher agreed. “Bring it in tomorrow and do a book report on it, Tim.”
Now Tim understood why Norman had grinned. Norman knew that there was no such book and that the Caped Avenger was just a character in the stories Tim told Mikey at bedtime. Norman knew, too, that Tim would be too embarrassed to tell his teacher. If he did, the whole class would laugh at him.
Tim looked at his sandwich. As usual he’d eaten the crusts first. The round, white sandwich looked a little like the spaceship whose occupants the Caped Avenger had foiled when they tried to take over the earth. Mikey hadn’t liked that story as well as the one in which the Caped Avenger had captured the dragon that ate all the ornaments off the Christmas tree. Tim had told his brother that story last year after Mikey had accidentally broken a whole box of glass ornaments.
Carefully Tim bit the sandwich into a rectangle so that it looked like a white book with brown pages. If the Caped Avenger were real, he’d probably consult his book of magic spells to find out how to turn wicked witches into toads—or sandwiches into books for boys who needed them for book reports! Or maybe the Caped Avenger would merely write the book himself. …
Write the book himself! “I’ll do it!” said Tim. “That’ll show Norman.”
When Mom and Mikey came home from the store, Tim was hard at work, cutting out magazine pictures that would illustrate a new Caped Avenger story.
“What’s it about?” asked Mikey, looking at the pictures of a big explosion, an airplane, and a scientific laboratory. “And where are you going to get pictures of the Caped Avenger?”
Tim paused. He shuffled the pages of the notebook that already had some pictures taped in it, just waiting for the story. Mikey was right. There were no pictures of the Caped Avenger in magazines or anywhere else. Tim knew exactly what he looked like, but he also knew that he could not draw such a daring hero. Suddenly he brightened. “The Caped Avenger has a new cape,” he explained. “It makes him invisible.”
Mikey’s eyes grew big. “Please, Tim, tell me the story.”
“Not right now, Mikey. I have to write the whole story for a book report for school tomorrow.”
The title page was beautiful. THE CAPED AVENGER AND THE BOMB and BY TIM CONNORS were in big, bold letters. But writing the story would have been much easier for the Caped Avenger than it was for Tim. Words that fit together in his mind seemed to get muddled on the way to the paper. His notebook pages became so smudged and sticky that he kept crumpling them up and starting over.
Tim was still struggling with his book when Mikey sadly went to bed without a story. Tim felt bad. He wished that he could just tell Mikey the story without having to write it down. Telling stories was easier.
Tim sat up straight. He ran upstairs, rummaged in his closet, then tiptoed into Mikey’s darkened bedroom. “What are you doing?” Mikey asked sleepily.
Tim put something on the dresser. “Telling you a story. It’s about how the Caped Avenger saved the world when the bad guys stole plutonium. They said they’d blow the earth’s crust apart unless the government gave them eighty spaceships.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Mikey happily.
Being careful to speak clearly, Tim launched into his story. By the time the Caped Avenger had been thanked again by a grateful nation, Mikey was asleep.
Tim took his tape recorder off Mikey’s dresser and carried it downstairs. He rewound the tape and played it back. “Silent and invisible, the Caped Avenger crept past the guards into the secret laboratory,” said his voice. He turned it off and picked up his pencil. Smiling, he wrote it all down, listening to a sentence or two at a time. There would be a book to take to school after all. Tim and the Caped Avenger had won another victory!

Football season was over, but the glory lingered on. The high school team had enjoyed an undefeated season, romping over each opponent by at least two touchdowns.
Even after the season ended, the team stuck together. Some of them ate lunch on the balcony that overlooked the main dining area of the school cafeteria. Originally the tables on the balcony had been used by teachers so they could eat and still keep an eye on the students, but with a new addition to the building, the teachers moved into a faculty lounge, and the tables became available. There was no official reservation for the team to sit there, but it was just something understood by other students.
Kevin, a sophomore, was the only Mormon on the team. He wasn’t as mean as some of the others, but he was faster. He played end and had caught eight touchdown passes during the season.
It had taken the team a while before they could accept him. After the season was over, they couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t drink with them on weekends. To make matters worse, he was the only one who worried about grades.
One day in January, as Kevin set his food tray on the table, the quarterback, Craig Williams, stood looking at the students eating lunch in the main dining area below them.
“Why are there so many ugly girls?” Craig asked.
“Look who’s talking,” someone shot back. “You’ve got a face like a Halloween mask.”
“Well, that’s different,” Craig said with a grin, “I’ve got character and style. Besides, guys don’t have to be good-looking, but girls are supposed to.”
Kevin sat down and ate his lunch.
“Now you take that girl, for instance,” Craig continued. “I bet she’s the ugliest girl in school.”
The fullback, who loved competition, rose to the challenge. “You’re crazy. I see one who’s twice as bad as yours.”
The competition continued as Kevin ate. Five of the team stood by the railing and bantered back and forth over their choices for the ugliest girl.
Finally they decided on one girl.
“If ugly were money, she’d be a millionaire,” one of them said with a grin.
“She’s easily the world champion,” Craig agreed. “She deserves a trophy or something.”
“How about a sweater with no opening for her neck so it’d hide her face?” someone joked.
“No,” Craig laughed, “but why not give her an award? Maybe a corsage with a card telling her what we think about her. We could leave it taped on the outside of her locker. It’d be anonymous.”
They all agreed it would be the perfect thing to do.
“Kevin, you’re a scholar. Write us a poem for the award.”
“What kind of poem?” he asked, finishing his custard pudding.
“A poem telling her how ugly she is,” Craig answered.
Kevin took a napkin from his tray and began to work on a rhyme. He enjoyed the feeling of being part of the group. In a few minutes he finished and read it aloud.
“When we speak of ugly, you’re the subject of talk.
You’ve got a face that could stop a clock.
Accept this gift for what it’s worth;
We think you’re the ugliest girl on earth.”
They broke up into spasms of laughter.
“All right!” Craig shouted, still laughing.
“It’s perfect! Let’s all chip in some money, and I’ll get a corsage on Saturday. We’ll give it to her Monday.”
“Who’s going to give it to her?” someone asked.
“Does anybody know who she is or where her locker is?” Craig asked.
Kevin stood up to see who they were talking about. The girl sat alone, eating quickly, with her head lowered. He recognized her. She had a locker next to Colleen, an LDS girl he was dating.
“I do,” Kevin said.
“Okay, you can deliver it. I’ll get the corsage to you Monday in history class. You put your poem with it and tape it to the outside of her locker just before the bell rings.”
After school Kevin drove Colleen home. She was one of five other LDS students in the high school.
When they got to her home, she invited him in for some cookies and milk.
“What’s the name of the girl who has a locker next to yours?” he asked between bites of a chocolate-chip cookie.
“That’s Mary Beth Allen. Why?”
“She’s really awful, isn’t she?”
“Is she? Do you know her?”
“No, I’ve just seen her around. She’s ugly, though, that’s for sure.”
“She’s not so bad when you get to know her.”
“Who’d want to do that?” he joked.
“I don’t know. If she’d just do something with her hair, she’d have more friends.”
“Don’t tell anybody,” Kevin said, “but the guys on the team have chosen her the ugliest girl in school. We’re giving her a corsage and a special poem I wrote.”
He recited the poem to Colleen. When he finished, she looked at him in shock.
“You’re not really going through with this, are you?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Do you know how that’s going to make her feel?”
“I don’t care how she feels.”
“Kevin, you’re the only member of the Church on the team. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“It’s taken me all this time for them to accept me as part of the group. I’m not going to preach to them and destroy everything.”
“But you’re willing to destroy that girl, aren’t you?” she asked.
“She’s ugly. Even you agree to that,” he shot back.
“She’s a child of God.”
“Okay, but she’s an ugly child of God.”
“I can see ugliness, but it’s not in her. It’s in you and your vigilantes!”
“What right have you got to be my conscience?” he asked.
“I’m not your conscience. If you feel guilty, that is your conscience.”
“No girl is going to tell me what to do!” He got out of his chair, full of anger.
Before he left, he remembered they had a date. “Oh, what about tonight?” he asked.
“Forget it!” she said.
He spent a dateless weekend.
On Sunday during priesthood meeting, he made sure to volunteer to bless the sacrament in Sunday School, mainly to spite Colleen so she’d know that he didn’t feel guilty about the award.
Before the sacrament song, the Sunday School president got up. “We should all be thinking about the Savior during this time. These young men who bless and pass the sacrament stand in the place of the Savior in this sacred ordinance. Let’s see if we can’t all be a little more reverent today.”
After he finished breaking the bread, near the end of the sacrament song, he looked over the congregation to find where Colleen was sitting.
Finally he found her, in the back row with Mary Beth Allen sitting next to her.
“Why is she here?” he thought. “She’s not a Mormon. She’s not supposed to be here. Colleen must have invited her to get back at me.”
He felt his face turning red and perspiration breaking out all over. His vocal cords tightened up, and he started to cough. He was sure he couldn’t get through the prayer.
“Will you give the prayer on the bread?” he gasped to the other priest, who nodded his head.
The prayer was given, and the deacons lined up to receive the trays.
The room became quiet as the sacrament was passed.
Kevin sat down and leaned forward so he couldn’t be seen by the congregation. His eyes fastened on the sacrament prayer he was to give, and it was as if he were reading it for the first time in his life.
“What would the Savior do about Mary Beth Allen?” he thought.
Once the question was asked, the answer was obvious.
By the time he was to offer the prayer on the water, he’d made up his mind. He would have no part in humiliating Mary Beth. He’d tear up the poem.
During Sunday School class, Colleen introduced Mary Beth. “Mary Beth and I have lockers next to each other, but we never really knew each other very well until yesterday when I phoned her. I asked her to come today because she’s such a good person. I found out that she works with handicapped children every day for a couple of hours as part of her Christian service.”
“That’s wonderful,” the teacher enthusiastically said.
“Oh, they’re such special children,” Mary Beth said. “I love them all.”
After Sunday School and lunch, Kevin drove to Colleen’s house. She let him in, and they talked about everything else but Mary Beth, until finally he pulled out a white handkerchief and waved it.
“I surrender!” he said with a grin. “I’ll make sure we don’t give her the award.”
“Oh, but I want you to give her an award. You’ve already bought the corsage. No use wasting it.”
“Girls,” he muttered. “I’ll never understand them.”
“All we need to do is to change the message on the card. I’ve already written it.” She handed him a small card:
“A group of athletes want you to know that we think you’re a special person. Thanks for giving of yourself to work with handicapped children. You set a good example for all of us. We have chosen you the winner of our Extra-Mile Award.”
“Well?” she asked.
“It’s not exactly what the team had in mind. They’ll kill me if they find out.”
“You can handle them.”
“Are you kidding? They’re animals.”
“I have faith in you.”
On Monday, a little before lunch, Kevin received the corsage from Craig. He hurried to her locker before classes let out and taped the corsage box and the card onto it.
“Well, that’s over,” he thought, happy to get rid of the whole business.
“Did you give her the award?” Craig asked at lunch.
“Yes,” Kevin answered without explaining any details.
On Tuesday, during announcements on the PA system, the principal gave the usual list of upcoming events and then, in addition, said, “A girl has asked me to thank the anonymous group of guys who gave her a corsage. She wants them to know that it means a great deal to her.”
Kevin knew he was in trouble.
The team was waiting for him at lunch.
“All right, what’d you do?”
“I didn’t use the poem. I used a different message.”
They stood menacingly around him.
“What kind of message?”
“I told her she was special.”
“I knew we never should’ve let a Mormon do it,” the fullback complained.
“Special? Are you kidding? What’s special about her?”
“She works with handicapped children every day without getting paid.”
“Why would she do a dumb thing like that?”
“I don’t know,” Kevin said. “She says she loves them.”
Just then, Mr. Graham, the principal, climbed up the stairs toward them. They all felt threatened by him.
“Hey, Mr. Graham, how’s it going?” one of them said sheepishly.
“I’m trying to find the group who gave Mary Beth Allen a corsage.”
“Why?” Craig asked warily. “There wasn’t anything wrong with the corsage, was there? You know, like a tarantula hiding in it?”
“No, but her mother called and asked me to thank them personally if I could find them.”
“Oh,” Craig said quietly.
“You see, Mary Beth has a kidney malfunction. In order to stay alive, she has to go on a dialysis machine periodically. Sometimes she gets discouraged. The award was the nicest thing that’s happened to her for quite some time.”
“You mean she’s going to die?” someone asked.
“No, but she’s had to face the possibility of an early death. It’s been difficult for her.”
“Then why does she work with children?” Craig blurted out.
“How do you know she works with children?” Mr. Graham asked.
That was the first time any of them could remember Mr. Graham smiling at them.
“I won’t embarrass you by asking if you were the ones who gave her the award, but I want you to know there’s a very grateful mother in this city.”
Mr. Graham left them with their thoughts.
“Where is she?” Craig suddenly asked.
They leaned over the balcony and looked. In a few seconds they found her, sitting alone as usual, but this time wearing a corsage, even though it was now beginning to fade.
They stared in silence at the corsage.
“I’m going down to eat with her,” Craig said, grabbing his tray and heading down the stairs.
“He’s crazy,” the fullback said. “What if someone sees him with her?”
The next day Craig ate lunch with the team.
“Well, how is she?” one of them asked.
“She’s okay when you get to know her. I promised her a favor, and I’ll need you guys to help me.”
“What kind of favor?”
“I promised her that we’d show up in our football gear at the school where those handicapped children go. Some of the kids are real football fans. They’d be really happy if we visited them.”
“I’m not going,” one of the players said. “I don’t want any kids climbing all over me.”
“If they do, play with them. C’mon you guys, help me out.”
They visited the school for handicapped children on Friday. When Mary Beth was with the children, she became a different person, radiating love and enthusiasm. The team helped the boys in the school put on the helmets and shoulder pads and taught them how to throw a football.
On Monday they met at lunch as usual. As Kevin approached the table with his tray, Craig leaned against the railing, looking down at the students below.
Finally he turned to face Kevin. “You know, it’s strange.”
“What is?”
“Well, we pick the person in school who everybody agrees is a loser, but then she turns out to be okay once we get to know her.”
“So?” someone asked.
“Okay, maybe it’s just a coincidence, but I’ve been thinking. What if it isn’t?” Craig turned to view the crowded cafeteria. “What if every one of them turns out to be special in some way?”
“They’re all children of God,” Kevin finally dared to say.
The fullback swore and then said, “You guys are crazy! Life’s very simple. There are winners, and there are losers. We’re the winners, and the girls we date are winners. The rest are all losers.”
“But what if the things that make them winners aren’t so easy to spot?”
The fullback shook his head, muttered something, and left. Several others followed him.
Craig and Kevin and a few others leaned over the railing and looked down at the other students again. There were so many of them—guys and girls in a variety of clothes and hair styles and shapes and nationalities, yet each one somehow important.
Finally Craig said quietly, “Let’s give the award once a month.”