Gospel Story Finder

Some years ago, while on a family vacation, my wife, Pat, and I enjoyed a picnic lunch with our four small children in a city park somewhere in the middle of Kansas. When it was almost time to be on our way, a man approached Pat’s side of the car and asked if he might have something to eat. We nervously glanced at each other and then said no. The man thanked us and sat down at the table we had just left.
Suddenly, I felt heartless. I realized that I might have misjudged someone who may have truly been in need. Now I did want to help him.
When I expressed these feelings to Pat, she seemed relieved. “We do have plenty of food,” she replied. “I’ll prepare a plate, and you can take it to him.” She fixed a heaping portion.
The man was pleasant and friendly and seemed unconcerned when I apologized for our earlier response. He thanked me for the food and said he was returning from the wheat harvest in the Dakotas and hadn’t had anything to eat for a long while.
It was a simple thing, so simple that it makes me ashamed to think I yielded to my first impulse to say no.
From experiences such as these, each of us can begin to perceive the difference in the way we feel after we have been selfish or generous. Certainly, we all want to feel the latter more often—and we can do so as we give of ourselves to others.

The day before my husband and I were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple we gave each other wedding gifts. To my complete surprise my gift was a state of the art fishing pole, complete with lures, reel, and all the tackle equipment a novice would need to get started into a lifetime of fishing the local lakes and streams. As someone who had never even looked at a fishing pole, let alone held one in my hands I hardly knew what to say, but as I glanced at Cal’s anxious and excited eyes I did manage a thank you.
I knew Cal loved to fish, but until this moment I didn’t know quite how much. As we dated he had alluded to his hopes to teach me how to fish and told me of his favorite and out of the way fishing holes. The fishing pole even went on our honeymoon. Now I know all the men in the audience are hoping my next sentence will be that over the forty plus years we have been married, Cal has been able to look down many a beautiful trout stream and see his beloved wife casting and reeling in gorgeous rainbow trout with expertise and artistry. But unfortunately, this tale has a different take.
Cal has been able to look down the stream and see his wife at his side, but with a book in her hands instead of a pole. The state of the art fishing pole has ended up in his collection, but how I treasure the memories of bright sunrises and spectacular sunsets with a man who has taught me much about the world God has given us to enjoy. Sunrises and sunsets are when the fish bite best, you know.
River banks are wonderful, quiet places to ponder and reflect about the things that matter most. You have the magnificent Teton River running close to this fine university. As it continuously runs over rocks and splashes and reflects the sun’s rays the sound of the water is mesmerizing. In the first few days of our marriage as Cal and I sat and listened to the water running and the birds’ melodies, we shared our dreams of the future. We imagined and hoped. We knelt in a lovely verdant green forest and thanked our Heavenly Father for the life we were beginning. We invoked His blessings on our righteous desires. The river spoke peace to our hearts about a life just beginning.
We didn’t know about the challenges ahead and we also didn’t know about the sweetness and peace and joy that can come in the morning after a difficult night with a very sick child, or a lost job, or so many other unexpected and unplanned events. But we were coming to know about the continuous love of the Lord, like a continuous river.

As we got off the bus, we saw a tent belonging to a bedouin family. Farther from the road, two or three children were watching a flock of sheep grazing there on the hills outside Bethlehem. Our tour group was finishing a two-week stay in Israel, and we had come to Shepherds’ Field for a testimony meeting.
As we sat on the rocky hillside and looked in one direction, we could see Bethlehem. If we looked slightly to the left in another direction, we could see Herodion, a fortified mountain atop which Herod the Great had built a luxurious palace complete with pools, gardens, and two hundred white marble steps. We had visited it earlier in the day. Now, looking at it, I felt as if it represented all the material successes one could ever wish for. On the other hand, the village of Bethlehem seemed to symbolize everything I had learned about Jesus during our visit to the Holy Land.
I looked back and forth, from Bethlehem to Herodion. The question came to me: Which am I choosing? Of course I want to follow the Savior. But are my day-to-day decisions and actions taking me in a different direction?
As we sang Christmas carols and shared testimonies, I thought of how easy it is to make the wrong things our first priority. How easy it is to expend a lot of time and worry on things that are unimportant in an eternal frame of reference. How easy it is to pretend that material possessions are forever! And how difficult it is to remember that Jesus said, “No man can serve two masters.” (Matt. 6:24.)
The question would not go away: Which direction am I going? Then, over and over again, almost like a prayer, I heard the words of the shepherds: “Let us now go even unto Bethlehem.” (Luke 2:15.)
I have thought of that experience often since returning home—the sun dropping behind the Judean hills, the flock of sheep nearby, and the peace I felt as I recommitted myself to worry less about the things of the world and to seek more diligently the kingdom of God.
Sometimes still I can hear the shepherds from that long-ago night on a hill far away, saying, “Let us now go even unto Bethlehem.” And I remind myself to choose wisely. Herodion lies in ruins, but Bethlehem remains.

Trevor Sims turned the volume up on the radio as he turned down Cherry Drive and accelerated for home. Now that Brad was gone and he was alone, he needed a distraction to ward off his nagging conscience. Earlier, while Brad had been with him, everything had been so funny. They had laughed and made light of their evening, but how as Trevor drove home there were mirthless regrets. The humor had long since dissipated; only the bitter realization remained.
He pulled into the driveway and parked the family car. He saw a lamp burning in the living room. He squirmed uneasily in his seat and suddenly felt a queasy reluctance to go inside. Did his parents know, he wondered. Several excuses flashed through his mind, excuses which had seemed so valid earlier and now seemed empty and trite.
Whistling quietly in an attempt to allay his own anxiety and appear casual, he strode across the lawn, leaped up the steps, and pushed open the front door. His father sat in his easy chair reading his scriptures, something he did early every morning—or when he was troubled. Trevor glanced at his watch and then at his father, who peered over the top of his reading glasses.
“You’re up late,” Trevor remarked with a forced smile. “Checking up on me?”
His father closed his scriptures and pulled the glasses from his nose and smiled. “How did it go?” he inquired cheerfully. “Did you have a good time?”
Trevor avoided his father’s eyes, sank onto the sofa, and grabbed a magazine. “Oh, it was all right,” he remarked, thumbing through the magazine. He could feel his father’s gaze upon him, and he sensed a warm guilt redden his cheeks. That was what happened when a boy’s father was the bishop, he thought. Bishops seemed to have that uncanny ability to look right inside you and know what secret thoughts you harbored there. Of course, Trevor’s father had been like that even before he was made bishop, but Trevor felt it more nowadays, especially tonight.
“How did you like Michelle?”
Trevor shrugged indifferently, trying to avoid an untruth. The thought of telling a lie to his father had always been repugnant to him, and yet right now he didn’t feel capable of telling the truth. The truth shamed him. He groped for a noncommittal answer, one that would not plunge him into a lie but which would circumvent the truth just enough. “Oh, Michelle’s all right—for a sophomore. She’s not the greatest girl in the world, but she’s—well, I don’t know how to describe her. I’m not planning to go out with her again if that’s what you mean.”
“She called tonight,” his father said simply. It was a mere statement, and yet the words hit Trevor like a powerful hammer. His stomach knotted, and he felt the blood creep up his neck and flood his cheeks.
“What’d she want?” Trevor asked, attempting to sound disinterested.
His father set his scriptures to one side and sat up, his forearms on his knees and his head and shoulders leaning forward. “She called about an hour after you left. She was wondering where you were.” The room was silent. Trevor suddenly wished that the evening had been different. “I told her that there was no need to worry, that I was sure you would be there soon. I said you might have had car trouble or that Brad might have been late.” He chuckled. “I think she was worried you might stand her up. I told her not to worry though. I told her you weren’t that kind of a boy.”
“I guess we did have a little trouble,” Trevor explained, fidgeting and thumbing rapidly through the magazine and then closing it without having read a single word. “Well, I better get to bed. That welfare project at the stake farm is tomorrow morning, isn’t it?”
“Six o’clock.”
Trevor stood and started down the hall to his bedroom.
“Trevor,” his father called after him. Trevor stopped without turning around. “Did Michelle have a good time?”
“How should I know? I didn’t ask her.” There was a sharp edge in his voice, one he rarely used with his father, and he had not meant to use it then. It just slipped out.
“I was just wondering,” his father replied, no rebuke in his voice. “These girls’ choice dances are always hard on a girl. They take them so seriously. It would be a shame if they worked and waited for weeks and then didn’t have a good time. I always worry about the girls.”
“Well, I didn’t ask her,” Trevor mumbled. “I guess I’m going to bed.”
Inside his bedroom, Trevor sat on the edge of his bed without getting undressed. He grabbed his pillow and flung it angrily across the room. If his father had accused him, he wouldn’t feel so bad now, but he had merely asked, not out of suspicion but out of concern. Trevor slammed his fist hard into the mattress. If he had not just listened to Brad’s proddings, Trevor thought. If he had just said no rather than having toyed with the idea as he had done and finally succumbed to Brad’s coaxing.
For almost 15 minutes he sat on the edge of his bed, his conscience refusing him any peace. Finally he stood, opened his door, and returned to the living room, where his father still sat reading.
“You might as well know it. I didn’t pick her up,” Trevor blurted out, as though he were challenging his father to chastize him, ground him, anything to appease his conscience. His father looked up but didn’t answer. “I didn’t want to go,” Trevor argued. “Brad didn’t want to go either, so we stood them up. They shouldn’t have asked us. I hate these girls’ choice dances. You’re always stuck with someone you’d never pick in a thousand years.”
“Like the girls are most of the time?” his father asked with a wan smile.
“That’s different. It’s the boy’s job to ask. If the girl doesn’t want to go she doesn’t have to.”
His father took a deep breath and stared down at his opened scriptures. “All she has to do is stand the guy up. Is that what you mean?” he asked softly.
Trevor licked his lips. “No, she can, well, she can tell him when he calls.”
His father set his scriptures aside. “Couldn’t you have done the same thing with Michelle?” he asked in the same quiet tone.
“She had no business asking me,” he retorted, searching for some justification. “Nobody told her I wanted to go. She hardly knows me. And she’s as homely as a mud fence—glasses, braces, and she’s only a sophomore.”
“Does any of that give you the right to hurt another person, to break a promise?”
“I didn’t promise.”
“Didn’t you accept the date?”
“But I didn’t promise. I didn’t promise I would go.”
His father took a deep breath. “Trevor, a person does not have to preface everything with ‘I promise’ to make a promise. When a person says he will be at a certain place at a certain time, he has made a promise. If he fails to appear, unless there is a very good reason, he has broken his promise. Maybe not in a court of law, but he’s broken a promise in the Lord’s court—in the long run that’s the only one that counts.”
Trevor looked at his father and then at the floor. He pushed his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He knew his father was right. His own argument was just a front, a hasty attempt to clothe a wrong in respectability. “Okay, I should have gone,” Trevor admitted begrudgingly. “I’m sorry.”
“I told Michelle I was sure you would come. I told her that you weren’t the kind of young man to let a person down, that you were true to your word.”
“Look, dad, I said I was sorry.”
His father nodded his head. “I know you’re sorry, Trevor, but I don’t deserve the apology. I wasn’t stood up. I guess I’m a little disappointed, but I’ll get over that because I know you. I know that you probably didn’t do this maliciously. I accept that. I doubt you’ll ever do anything like this again. But, Trevor, someone has been wronged. Someone has been hurt.”
“Oh, it’s no big deal. It was just a dumb dance. There will be another one sometime. She can ask someone then—someone that wants to go.”
His father shook his head ruefully. “It’s more than a dumb dance, Trevor. It’s your word and Michelle’s feelings, her entire evening and probably more than that.”
“Come on, you’re making a big deal out of it. If I got stood up, I wouldn’t lose sleep over it.”
“You’re not a girl. It’s different with a boy.” He paused. “When did Michelle ask you?”
“Two or three weeks ago.”
“Do you ask girls out that much in advance?”
Trevor shook his head. “No, because it’s no big deal, as you said. But with a girl like Michelle it is a big deal. She’s planned this. Maybe it’s her first date. She probably made a dress just for tonight. She’s probably planned this thing for weeks, even before she asked you. She probably fixed her hair special. She has probably talked this over with her friends. She’s proud and honored that you accepted, and all her friends will know that. They will also know you didn’t show up.
“With a boy it’s different. He takes a shower, combs his hair wet, puts on the same suit, walks out the door, and doesn’t really think about the evening until it’s started. If he’s ever stood up, he might let off a little steam, his friends might kid him in the locker room, and then he forgets the whole thing, unless it’s to joke about it later.”
Trevor’s father bowed his head and was silent for a moment, and then he continued, his voice soft: “This wasn’t just a dumb dance for Michelle. I know. You have two older sisters. I’ve watched them get ready. I’ve watched them wait and fret, and I’ve seen them when they were brokenhearted.” He looked up at Trevor and asked, “How would you feel if someone did to your sister Susan what you have done to Michelle?”
“She doesn’t even date.”
“She will.” He paused. “How would you feel?” he persisted. “Would it be no big deal? It would be a big deal to me.”
Trevor knew he was wrong. He had known it all during the movie he and Brad had decided to see. “All right,” he conceded, “I’ll apologize Monday. Will that make you happy?”
His father leaned back in his chair. “Trevor, you didn’t stand me up. Michelle is the one you need to consider, her and Brother and Sister Stewart. They’ve all been anxious. Are you going to make them wait and wonder until Monday?”
“You don’t expect me to go there tonight?”
“You told her you would be there.”
“But, dad, it’s almost midnight. They’ll all be in bed.”
“I doubt it. With her hair fixed, her new dress ready, her parents and family expectant, excited to greet this young man their daughter and sister has asked out. No, she won’t be in bed. She won’t be ready to go to a dance, but sleep won’t come easy tonight, not for any of them. Do you think it’s fair for you to go to bed and sleep and leave them hanging, not knowing why?”
“But, Dad, not tonight,” Trevor pleaded.
His father took a deep breath and began to speak: “I knew a boy once who stood up a girl. He was a senior, like you. She was a junior. It was a hayride for a girls’ glee club. She asked him to go, and he accepted—reluctantly.
“First of all he felt quite superior to the girl. He was an athlete and rather popular. She was shy and a little homely. Her complexion wasn’t good. She wore braces and glasses. For two weeks he thought of how he might get out of his commitment. Well, the night of the hayride he had a bit of a cold. Nothing serious. He had gone to school, but he rationalized that he was too sick to go on a hayride.
“Half an hour before the date he called her and cancelled. He tried to sound sick, but she wasn’t fooled, even though she did accept his excuse graciously. He went to bed to at least give his excuse a semblance of truth. But he didn’t sleep. He had lied, and he knew it; he knew that there were some girls who could have asked him and he would have made the date regardless.
“At 11 o’clock that evening he got out of bed and went over and apologized to her. I know for a fact that it was the most difficult thing he had ever done up to that point. I also know for a fact that he never regretted doing it.”
The room was silent. Trevor stared at the floor and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He wished he could relive the evening. He was trapped. He could go to his room and climb into bed, but sleep would elude him. His father was right, and yet he hesitated, his cowardice standing obstinately in his way. “So you think I should go tonight, is that it?”
“Trevor, I’ve always had a lot of faith in you. I still do. I can’t make decisions for you. You have to decide. But whatever you do, make sure that you’re the one who decides. Don’t go because you think I want you to, because when you look back on this moment, you’ll want to look back on something that you decided and did.”
The minutes ticked away. Trevor stood before his father, not debating his course of action. That was settled, even though he had not yet verbalized his resolve. The pause was an attempt to build his courage. It had taken no courage to leave Michelle waiting. It would require a great deal of courage to face her now.
“Can I take the car?” he asked in a whisper. His father nodded. Slowly he turned and walked to the front door, his stomach churning, his mouth dry and his hands slightly shaking.
On the way over to the Stewarts’ home Trevor hoped that the house would be dark, everyone in bed, giving him an excuse to postpone the confrontation. He groped for an apology, something that would lessen the ignominy of his tardiness, but his nervousness prevented him from organizing anything coherent.
Finally he was there. One light burned in an upstairs window. He knew if he lingered in the car for just a moment he would lose courage and never go through with it. He stepped from the car, and before he fully realized it he was at the door ringing the bell. His heart was pounding, and his breathing was deep and almost painful. All the while he hoped that no one would come, that the upstairs light would flick off and leave him in the black stillness.
Soon he heard footsteps; then the porch light flipped on and the front door opened a few inches. Mr. Stewart stood there, still dressed, no sign that he had been in bed that evening. There was no smile or greeting, just a curt “Yes?” which came out more as a challenge than a question.
“Is Michelle up?” Trevor ventured, his voice cracking slightly. Mr. Stewart stared at him for a moment without answering and then nodded his head. “Can I speak with her?”
Mr. Stewart looked at his watch and glanced back into the house. “It’s a little late,” he answered shortly.
“I know, but I think I need to talk to her—if I could.”
Mr. Stewart took a deep breath and said gruffly, “I’ll go check.” He was about to leave Trevor standing on the porch, but he reconsidered and invited him in by opening the door a little wider and motioning with his head.
For almost five minutes Trevor waited, and then Mrs. Stewart stepped in and said, “She’ll be here in just a second.”
“Oh, Mrs. Stewart,” Trevor called out, “could you and your husband come in too.”
The three of them were soon standing there. The two parents entered somberly and Michelle followed timidly, avoiding his eyes, but even in the shadows of the dimly lighted room Trevor could see she had been crying. She wore her dress, and although her hair was a little messed up, it was apparent that it had been fixed earlier.
“I want you to know,” Trevor began shakily, licking his lips and shuffling his feet, “that I have no excuse for tonight. I’m sorry. I’m not here to tell you why I didn’t come, because that doesn’t make any difference now.” He paused and sucked in a breath of air. “I’m here to tell you that … well, that I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t fix things up, but about all I can do tonight is tell you that I realize how wrong and cruel I was. I guess I didn’t think about that earlier, or I wouldn’t have done it.”
“It’s all right,” Michelle mumbled, looking at the floor.
There was a long awkward silence, and then Trevor continued: “There is something I would like to do though. I know you think I’m a real—well, I don’t know what—and I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to avoid me and never see me again, but I would like to show you that tonight isn’t a good example of what I’m like. I think I’m better than that, and I’d like to prove it to you. I would like to take you someplace, someplace nice, and show you that I’m a lot better than what you probably think I am. I know I don’t have any right to ask you to go, but I’d like you to give me another chance. I won’t blame you if you don’t want to. I’ll understand if you say no.”
Trevor couldn’t remember the rest. He didn’t know how he finally ended up in the car, but he was there and he felt good. He was even looking forward to the next weekend, and he was determined that it would be a memorable one.
When he arrived home, the light in the living room was still on, and as he came in the door he found his father still reading. At least the scriptures were still on his lap, but Trevor guessed that his father had not read much. The misty blur in his father’s eyes was evidence of that. His father looked up as he came in.
“Well,” Trevor announced humbly, “I did it.” His father smiled. “I knew you would. I’m proud of you. It took a lot of courage, but you’ll be a better person for having gone.”
They were both pensively silent for several minutes, each content to be alone with his own thoughts. Finally his father sighed. “You know that boy I told you about earlier?” he asked. Trevor nodded. “Well, he forgot about that girl—for a little while anyway.” He smiled. “After his mission and two years of college, he saw her again. She had changed.” He chuckled, leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling. “She had shed her braces and glasses, and her complexion had improved. She wasn’t the same girl. In fact, he didn’t even recognize her at first. He wanted to ask her out, but he didn’t dare. He was afraid she would remember. She was in demand then. Finally he built up his courage and asked her out, hoping all along that she wouldn’t remember that night five years earlier. She did though, but she accepted anyway. She told him later—after they were engaged to be married—that it was because he had gone to her home that evening and apologized that she accepted his date later. She said she knew how much courage it must have taken and she always respected him for that.”
Trevor smiled and glanced slyly at his father. “I think I know that boy.”
“Which boy?” his father asked with mock surprise.
“The boy you’re talking about.”
His father smiled, pushed himself to his feet, stepped up to his son, and put his arm over his shoulders. “Yes,” he said with a smile, “I think you do know him. I believe he married your mother.”

I remember when I was “[baptized] by immersion for the remission of sins.” That was appealing. I assumed that all my past mistakes were now washed away, and if I never made any more mistakes in my life, I would be clean. This I resolved to do. Somehow it did not turn out that way. I found that I made mistakes, not intentionally, but I made them. I once foolishly thought maybe I was baptized too soon. I did not understand that the ordinance of the sacrament, administered by you of the Aaronic Priesthood, is in fact a renewing of the covenant of baptism and the reinstating of the blessings connected with it. I did not see, as the revelations tell us, that I could “retain a remission of [my] sins.”
If you have been guilty of sin or mischief, you must learn about the power of the Atonement, how it works. And with deeply sincere repentance, you can unleash that power. It can rinse out all the small things, and with deep soaking and scrubbing, it will wash away serious transgression. There is nothing from which you cannot be made clean.
With you always is the Holy Ghost, which was conferred upon you at the time of your baptism and confirmation.
I was a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood when World War II exploded upon the world. I was ordained an elder when we were all marched away to war.
I had dreams of following an older brother, Leon, who at that time was flying B-24 bombers in the Battle of Britain. I volunteered for air force pilot training.
I failed the written test by one point. Then the sergeant remembered that there were several two-point questions, and if I got half right on two of them, I could pass.
Part of the test was multiple choice. One question was “What is ethylene glycol used for?” If I had not worked in my dad’s service station, I would not have known that it is used for automobile antifreeze. And so I passed, barely.
I prayed about the physical. It turned out to be fairly routine.
You young men should not complain about schooling. Do not immerse yourself so much in the technical that you fail to learn things that are practical. Everything you can learn that is practical—in the house, in the kitchen cooking, in the yard—will be of benefit to you. Never complain about schooling. Study well, and attend always.
“The glory of God is intelligence, or, in other words, light and truth.”
“Whatever principle of intelligence we attain unto in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection.”
We are to learn about “things that are above, and things that are beneath, things that are in the earth, and upon the earth, and in heaven.”
You can learn about fixing things and painting things and even sewing things and whatever else is practical. That is worth doing. If it is not of particular benefit to you, it will help you when you are serving other people.
I ended up in the Orient, flying the same kind of bombers that my brother flew in England. My mission, as it turned out, was in teaching the gospel in Japan as a serviceman.
Perhaps the hardest challenge of war is living with uncertainties, not knowing how it will end or if we can go ahead with our lives.
I was issued a small serviceman’s Book of Mormon that would fit into my pocket. I carried it everywhere; I read it; and it became part of me. Things that had been a question became certain to me.
The certainties of the gospel, the truth, once you understand it, will see you through these difficult times.
It was four years before we could return to our lives. But I had learned and had a sure testimony that God is our Father, that we are His children, and that the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is true.
Your generation is filled with uncertainties. A life of fun and games and expensive toys has come to an abrupt end. We move from a generation of ease and entertainment to a generation of hard work and responsibility. We do not know how long that will last.
The reality of life is now part of your priesthood responsibilities. It will not hurt you to want something and not have it. There is a maturing and disciplining that will be good for you. It will ensure that you can have a happy life and raise a happy family. These trials come with responsibility in the priesthood.
Some of you live in countries where most of what you eat and some of what you wear will depend on what can be produced by the family. It may be that what you can contribute will make the difference so that the rent is paid or the family is fed and housed. Learn to work and to support.
The very foundation of human life, of all society, is the family, established by the first commandment to Adam and Eve, our first parents: “Multiply, and replenish the earth.”
Thereafter came the commandment, “Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.”
Be a responsible member of your family. Take care of your possessions—your clothing, your property. Do not be wasteful. Learn to be content.
It may seem that the world is in commotion; and it is! It may seem that there are wars and rumors of wars; and there are! It may seem that the future will hold trials and difficulties for you; and it will! However, fear is the opposite of faith. Do not be afraid! I do not fear.
At noon today four young men, all grandsons, came to visit us. Three of them had young ladies on their arms—one to talk about his coming wedding, two of them to announce their engagements, and the stray to talk about his mission call to Japan. We talked to them about the fact that one day each of you will take a pure and precious daughter of our Heavenly Father to the temple to be sealed for time and for all eternity. These young grandsons must know what Alma taught: that the gospel plan is “the great plan of happiness” and that happiness is the end of our existence. Of this I bear testimony in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

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

The comforting bear was the result of a project organized by Micki Adams, West Point Stake Young Women president, and Annice Nixon, her second counselor. After reading in a newspaper of a similar project in another community, they talked with Captain K. D. Simpson of their local sheriff’s department with the idea of placing teddy bears with the sheriff’s paramedic and patrol units.
The bears would be helpful, Captain Simpson told them, because children are involved in approximately 45 percent of all the calls for services by his department.
Knowing how anxious children are when confronting a policeman or a paramedic, the young women of the stake decided, “to give the children something to focus on beside their pain,” Sister Adams said. “We wanted to give them something to hold on to and to love.”
Consequently, at a stake Young Women meeting, work began on cutting out, sewing, stuffing, and hand finishing more than 200 bears.
Lori Ellsworth, a Beehive said, “The first bear I did was hard to make until I got used to doing it. But it was worth it because it might help someone forget their pain.”
Ninety bears were actually completed that evening. The girls took home the unfinished bears to complete in their own time.
The bears are twenty centimeters tall and made from scraps of fabric donated by some stake members. Other members donated the stuffing for the bears.
The sheriff’s department received 100 of the teddy bears. Another 100 were donated to the local hospital where they were hung on a Christmas tree so young patients could choose one for themselves.
When the paramedics or sheriffs respond to a call involving anyone under the age of ten years, they give the child a teddy bear. That’s become department policy.
Captain Simpson said, “It took two or three times for the paramedics to hand out the bears before they realized how effective they were in calming the children. Now the paramedics and sheriffs rely on the bears whenever they work with children.”

I looked up as my Primary teacher asked me to read a scripture.
I read, “If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed … nothing shall be impossible unto you” (Matthew 17:20).
Our teacher held out her hand and showed us a tiny mustard seed. I started feeling excited. I definitely had that much faith. So nothing would be impossible? What a great way to live!
The next day I went to school with big plans. Things were going to be different from here on out. No more working hard for good grades. Not with faith on my side!
My math teacher walked to the blackboard. “Take out your notebooks. We have a lot to review for the test tomorrow.”
I wanted to laugh out loud. Why should I bother paying attention? I had faith! I relaxed at my desk and ignored the lesson. Who knew school could be this easy?
That night after dinner I helped Dad carry dishes to the sink. “Have any homework tonight?” he asked.
“Nope.” I almost told him more, but I decided to keep it a surprise for now. He’d be so proud of me once he learned how much faith I had.
“Wow, lucky you.”
I smiled. Oh yeah. I was feeling plenty lucky, all right.
The next morning Tia ran over as I got off the school bus.
“Hi!” she said. “Sorry I couldn’t come over last night. It took me forever to study for the test.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. I didn’t study at all.”
“What?” Nathan said. He’d just joined us. “You didn’t?”
“Nope. I don’t have to study to get an A. I have faith! Just wait and see.”
My friends were impressed.
When I got my test score later that afternoon, though, all my bragging stopped. I got an F! I couldn’t believe it. An F, as in fail. What about all my faith? What had gone wrong? I knew my faith was bigger than that shrimpy seed. I hid my grade from my friends.
Later that night I sat at the kitchen table, still confused. Dad sat down next to me. “Something wrong?”
I took a deep breath and told Dad the whole story. When I finished, he nodded slowly and said something I’d never forget: “Faith without works is dead.”
Then Dad taught me how faith really works. I learned that it’s not enough just to believe in something. I have to act too. That means I still have to do my part.
I went to bed that night with my pathetic math test on the floor next to me. I looked down at the big, fat, red F on top of the page. Dad was right. Expecting to do well without doing any work is like trying to grow a mustard plant without even planting the seed in the ground.
After that day, whenever there was a test, I still had faith. But this time I had faith that Heavenly Father could help me work hard and study and do my very best.
With this kind of faith, nothing really is impossible!

Jimmy’s refusal. One evening when Jimmy went with friends to a party, “a girl came up and offered me alcohol,” he says. “I said no and didn’t pay any attention to her, but she kept offering it to me. And it wasn’t just alcohol—there were invitations to do other things. I didn’t agree to any of it, and I pulled away from the group. Some of the kids said I was antisocial, but I knew I couldn’t stay there. Every time I have a trial like this and overcome it, I become stronger.”

I distinctly remember trying to fall asleep on the top bunk in our studio apartment at the end of my first day with my new companion. She was a new missionary—a fireball for sure—and I was her terrified, inexperienced trainer.
I was still a new missionary myself, and to say that I felt overwhelmed was an understatement. The task of navigating the downtown streets of our inner-city area on public transportation felt massive to me. The pressure to build our teaching pool and develop relationships with the members seemed overwhelming. And even though I did my best to make good decisions, my new companion and I often disagreed, and we struggled to get along. It seemed like we were polar opposites, and I became discouraged.
I wanted so badly to just be a good missionary. But things were not going the way I had imagined they would, and I was frustrated.
In the mornings when my companion was in the shower, I spent my alone time kneeling at the folding chair by my desk. One morning as I prayed, I pridefully expressed to Heavenly Father that I couldn’t help but feel that my companion was holding me back from being the missionary I wanted to be.
Then came the humbling epiphany I wasn’t expecting: My companion was not holding me back from being the missionary God wanted me to be. In actuality, being her companion was helping me become the missionary He wanted me to be.
The imperfections and challenges I was facing, though frustrating, were not holding me back. They were helping me to change and grow and progress—not in the way I wanted for myself, but in the way God wanted for me.

It seemed like any other basketball game as I coached the Young Women’s team of our ward in the Lakewood Colorado Stake. Little did I know I was about to witness a powerful example of Christlike love on the court.
On the opposing team was a young woman named Nicole. Nicole is well known by the girls in the stake. She is a very loving and caring person. She also has Down’s syndrome.
On our team was a very competitive athlete named Kayla. Kayla excels in sports in high school. She also has a tremendous love and knowledge of the scriptures and is rarely seen without them.
During the second half of the game, I witnessed an event that made a powerful impact on everyone attending. Nicole received a pass from her teammate. She took a shot at the basket and missed. Kayla, who was not on Nicole’s team, rebounded and passed the ball back to Nicole. Nicole again shot and missed.
All of the other players stood still as Kayla continued to rebound Nicole’s missed shots and return the ball to Nicole. Finally, after the ninth try, Nicole made a basket. Everyone rose to their feet, and the whole gym erupted in cheers, hugs, and high fives. Nicole grinned ear to ear.
Much more important than the score that night was watching someone help another to succeed. That night Kayla truly demonstrated how “to stand as [a witness] of God, at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9).

Shortly thereafter I contacted another friend in Utah, Dennis Hill, with whom I had worked. I told him I was now attending his church. He said he was going to send me a book, even though I tried to convince him that I was attending only because I liked the people.
The book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder by LeGrand Richards, came after our second visit to the little church. I set it aside to read “sometime later.”
The third Sunday we decided we were too tired to go to church. No one called to ask “Where were you?” and we were disappointed.
But Monday night the telephone rang. It was the missionaries!
“We missed you at church Sunday.”
“Yes, but you know how it is.”
“Yes, we do.” A pause. “We promised you six lessons; we would like to begin them soon.”
“Fine! How about tomorrow night and every Tuesday thereafter?”
That was the beginning of a very fine friendship. The children loved these two young men who exuded faith and happiness.
I cooperated with their attempts to use psychology on me because I felt they needed the practice; however, I had to set the limit when they invited me to offer prayer at the opening and close of these meetings. I was happy to have them or anyone else offer the prayer, but I would have felt hypocritical praying to a God whose existence I wasn’t sure of.
The next Sunday was stake conference in Jacksonville, Florida, and the speaker was to be none other than Elder LeGrand Richards. I grabbed my book and started reading. (If I’m going to listen to a speaker, I want to know as much about him as possible.) When the day came, I managed to sit way up in the balcony where I could hear and see well. This man’s keen mind impressed me; but I was even more moved by his sincerity, conviction, and faith.
The missionary lessons continued, and we began to acquire a better comprehension of what the gospel was all about. About the fourth lesson we began to realize that these missionaries were planning to finish this by inviting us to be baptized.
I won’t do that! I told my wife. “I don’t even trust myself in a thing so simple as prayer. I’m not going to do all of that.” She agreed.
The missionaries finally mentioned it by telling us that a date had been selected for baptism. Would we like to go? “No,” I told them. “I don’t feel the urge.”
“Well,” they continued, “this Friday we are going to baptize two others. Would you like to come and observe?”
“Where?”
“A block from here—in the ocean.”
“The ocean!” gasped my wife. “That’s too cold this time of year.”
“Yes, we know.” Missionaries always seem to be undisturbed.
We went. After the baptismal service, the missionaries asked us, “Doesn’t that make you want to be baptized next time?”
“No!” I answered. And I meant it.
All of this time the elders had been teaching another family, a beautiful young couple by the name of John and Louise Hatch.
We had met the Hatches only briefly at Church, but were impressed by their vibrance and sincerity. At the time of our sixth and final lesson, the elders told us that John and Louise had elected to be baptized the following Friday, which happened to be Good Friday. The thought occurred to me that that would certainly be the ideal time to be baptized, that it would be a kind of “thank you” to Christ to commemorate that particular day with one’s own baptism. Nonetheless, I felt no urge to do so. I was still looking for that burning bush.
But as the elders prepared to leave following our sixth lesson, they asked, as was their custom, if I would like to offer the prayer. To my amazement, I heard myself agree; after my benediction, two somewhat astonished missionaries congratulated me. I was deep in thought when that beautiful evening ended.
The next day before I left for work, I gathered my courage, took a deep breath, and told my wife I had decided to be baptized on Friday and wanted her to join me. She would have been just as surprised if the roof had blown off or if Florida had begun to slip slowly into the sea.
“You can’t do this to me!” she said.
“Why not?”
“The ocean is too cold!”
“I know, but I’ve decided. With or without you, I’m going to do it. Think about it and let me know tonight because I’m going to call the missionaries tomorrow and tell them so they can get me some special clothing.”
I kissed her and left her standing in the doorway. But I couldn’t leave her in suspense all day, so I called her later.
“Have you decided?”
“I’m not going to let you do it without me!”
“Fine. I’ll call the missionaries tonight. Ask the kids if they want to join in, and let me know after work.”
The two older boys elected to join us. (The two younger children were still too young.) We were baptized on Friday; and I have not doubted since coming up from the water that I made the right decision.
Why did I suddenly decide to be baptized? Because I realized the night of the sixth lesson that a burning bush was not the right thing to look for. I realized that by looking for a burning bush I was missing something just as important. Perhaps the answer lay in the simple things that had been happening to me.
I thought back to the week before we had decided to be baptized. We had once again arrived late to Church. To dispel the awkwardness of the situation, a very young man, Eddie Markle, had welcomed us with a simple handshake. At that moment I sensed in him a faith so strong that I was deeply impressed. It was the kind of faith spoken of by Jesus to Thomas: “Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed; blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.” (John 20:29.) I decided I wanted that kind of faith.
I realized my previous experiences had impressed me in a similar way, but, because of my desire for a miraculous conversion, I had failed to recognize the promptings of the Spirit. My encounters with members of the Church had not been spectacular, but yet they had been very significant.
Each person had—in his own way—displayed a strong yet simple faith: Dick Reisner had planted the seed; Dennis Hill had sent the book; the missionaries had knocked on my door; President Pressler had waited for us that first Sunday; Elder Richards had delivered an inspiring message; Eddie Markle had eased an awkward moment with a handshake. Each person—through his example—had let the powerful light of his testimony shine forth. And to me, having been in darkness, each example was as “the bright shining of a candle” (Luke 11:36), bringing me to a testimony of the truth.
The Mormons love their families and I love them for that. As a religious group they are, in fact, a family themselves—with all the love and learning that implies. Yet through it all one fact never changes: they have the gospel of Jesus Christ. A burning bush is not the answer. We have free choice—we can choose a darkness devoid of faith or we can light it brilliantly and forever with our belief. The Mormons believe! And so do I.

Through obedience we build spiritual strength that sustains us during times of adversity. My friend and counselor Joy F. Evans tells of such a time in her life. She had four young children and was expecting her fifth child. The much-anticipated day of birth arrived—about six weeks early. They had expected to have “a” baby, but they had twins instead—Michael and Amy, premature and very small.

They had already lost one child earlier, and Joy, being a nurse, felt certain those babies were also going to die. She was even afraid that her own lack of faith would contribute to their dying, and she wanted desperately for them to live!

In her words, “I think it was the first time I couldn’t say ‘Thy will be done.’ I just couldn’t say it.”

When her husband went home the second day after the babies’ birth, he prayed, not for the babies, but for his wife, their mother. Then a sweet assurance came to her that everything was all right: whatever happened was the Lord’s will. The babies did die, one after two days, and the other after three; but Joy still had her feeling of peace. She could draw from the wonderful reservoir of strength she had developed by keeping the commandments through the years.

Having the babies dressed appropriately for burial was very important to their mother, but they were so tiny that clothes could not be found small enough to fit them. When the Relief Society president came after the second baby died, she sensed Joy’s disappointment in not being able to dress the babies as she would like. The president went home and sewed busily that night. When she came back the next morning, the day of the graveside service, she had a darling little white suit for Michael and a dainty little white dress for Amy.

Peace can come to both the giver and the receiver as we follow the promptings of the Spirit to serve one another.

As mayor of Palo Alto, he brought about a number of civic developments and projects that serve Palo Alto’s needs today. But his warmth and goodness also helped him win friends for the Church. They grew to understand and respect the standards he lived by. Still, few of his non-member acquaintances realized the depth of Mayor Haight’s commitment to his church—until one night in 1963.
At the end of a city council meeting, Mayor Haight told city officials, citizens, and reporters that there was one additional item of business not listed on the agenda. “I want to announce,” he said, “that as of tonight I am resigning as the mayor of Palo Alto and as a member of the city council, as Mrs. Haight and I have been asked to go to Scotland for the Mormon Church. The meeting is now adjourned.”
Non-member friends on the city council tried to persuade him not to go, but he explained that the call to service had come from President David O. McKay, a man he regarded as a prophet. David Haight felt the only matter to be resolved was when he would be needed in Scotland.
“The Savior talked about putting your hands to the plow and not looking back, and I’ve thought of that many, many times,” Elder Haight says now. “You don’t look back with regrets, with a sense of wishing for what you had been involved in.”
That day, twenty-four years ago, he put his hand to the plow and has never looked back with regret.

Brother Nibley, a concert pianist and BYU faculty member, was asked to write a song about testimony. He wrote quickly because the words and music came at the same time. “I Know My Father Lives” was very simple, so Brother Nibley began adding notes. It became more and more complicated, so he erased all the unnecessary notes. When he finished erasing, the song was just as it had been written the first time!

I want to mention one other experience. Laurie said that I love being a grandfather, and that’s absolutely true. We just got back from a two-year stint at the Church Office Building at the Commissioner of Church Education office, and right after we relocated to Utah, our oldest daughter had her first child, which is our first grandchild. We were in the hospital, and after the baby was born, we were invited in. I had just finished four years as a young single adult ward bishop, so I had had a fair amount of experience with the issue that you might expect would come across the desk of a YSA ward bishop. As I walked into the room and saw my daughter and her husband holding this new baby, so fresh from our Heavenly Father’s presence in this perfect little body, ready to start her eternal journey here on the earth, the Spirit whispered to me, “This is why the Law of Chastity.”
It was a powerful experience for me. It’s so wonderful to watch two loving parents take a child and make efforts to teach them about the Gospel, the Savior, and Heavenly Father’s plan for them. Evie, our granddaughter, just turned two last week, and Erin told us that they were talking in Family Home Evening about the Savior. Evie stopped what she was doing for a moment and said, “Jesus. I like that guy.”
It’s wonderful to see you brothers and sisters making faithful decisions to have children and teach them the proper way so that they can return to their Heavenly Father. You will be so blessed, I promise, by making these sacrifices.

Anne had lived in Japan only about a year. Today she was excited about going to her first Tanabata (Star Festival) party at the home of Masanari.
It was a rainy afternoon and Anne held up her umbrella as she walked along through the puddles on the narrow lane. The tiny trinket shop was selling gilded paper comets and streamers for Tanabata. Down the passageways between houses were bamboo branches decorated for the Star Festival.
Masanari’s mother slid open the door of their house when Anne arrived.
“Irasshaimase, Anne-chan (Welcome, little Anne),” she said.
Anne sat down on a step in the entryway and pulled off her boots before entering the house.
Then she put on some tiny, pink slippers and hurried down the hall. Her friends from school were all there. Keiko, Jiro, and Masanari sat on the woven tatami (straw) mat floor in the middle of a rainbow of colored papers making origami (paper folding) decorations for Tanabata. Some of the other mothers, who had been invited, were busy making decorations too.
“Come, we’ll show you how, Anne-chan,” said Jiro’s mother as she finished folding a tiny red crab. First, she showed them how to make two familiar animals. (See last page of this story.)
1. Take a square of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold one corner down.
3. Fold the other corner down.
4. Fold the bottom and the top back.
5. Draw a few pencil lines for the face.
1. Take a square of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold tips down.
3. Fold one corner up.
4. Fold the other corner up.
5. Turn the paper over and draw a face.
The children folded red dogs and purple cats and blue dogs and orange cats. They drew happy faces on some and fierce faces on others.
“Have you sometimes heard insects singing in the trees?” asked Jiro’s mother. “Those are cicadas. We can make origami cicadas too.”
1. Take a square piece of paper and fold the corners together.
2. Fold up the top flap first.
3. Then fold up the bottom flap.
4. Now it looks like this.
5. Turn it over and fold back the two sides.
“Watch me fold an elephant,” said Jiro.
1. Fold two corners of a square of paper so that they meet in the center to form a kite shape.
2. Fold the kite shape in half down the center.
3. Fold the longest tip forward.
4. Then fold it back to the left.
5. Open out the inside corner of the top flap and spread it back.
6. Fold the top half down behind the figure.
7. Open out the tip of the elephant’s trunk and tuck it down inside itself.
8. Cut out the legs and tail and draw on tusks and eyes.
“Look at my lantern,” said Keiko.
1. Fold two sides of an oblong piece of paper in until they meet at the center.
2. Fold each corner forward to the center.
3. Fold the tips back.
4. Fold each corner forward again and then turn the paper over.
5. Gently push the top tip up and the bottom tip down and open them out.
“The most famous of all is the sacred crane,” said Jiro’s mother as she took a square of metallic gold paper. “The crane is a beautiful white bird with red-tipped head and black-edged wings. It comes every summer to our islands. To the Japanese it means long life and happiness.”
Her skillful fingers moved so quickly that Anne could not see how she made the tiny, complicated folds. A delicate creature with graceful spreading wings was soon completed.
She set the lovely bird on the palm of her hand and held it out to Anne. “This is the orizuru or folded crane,” she said. Keiko, too, worked very fast and knew how to make many folds. Soon she had a great pile of origami figures spilling over her lap.
“Here, Anne-chan, take some of mine,” she said.
Origami cranes and turtles and canoes and frogs and lanterns covered the floor. Masanari’s mother entered with bamboo branches and helped the children tie their bright origami creations to the boughs.
“They are truly beautiful!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it fun to have Tanabata to celebrate every year?” Then, Masanari’s mother told them a legend of the stars.
“Up in the sky there are two sad stars who love each other very much, but they are separated by the heavenly river, the Milky Way. Only on this one night of all the year can they cross the Milky Way and meet.
“However, if it rains, then the Milky Way will be flooded, and the poor, lonely stars will not be able to meet after all,” she said as she bowed her head sadly.
Anne listened quietly to the story. She remembered the puddles in the lane and her wet umbrella drying in the entryway.
“I think it’s raining,” she said somberly.
“But we can hope it will stop, can’t we?” said Jiro’s mother as she ushered everyone in to dinner.
They sat on cushions on the tatami-covered floor around a low-legged lacquer table. For the mothers there were hashi (chopsticks) to eat with. For the children there were hashi and spoons.
They were served bowls filled with haddock and rice, fish soup, tofu (soy bean curd), sashimi (raw tuna), and little pickled salads. Gelatin from the sea and crushed pineapple and handsful of rice candy were served for dessert.
It was dark now, and as the children ran out of the house, Masanari shouted, “It’s stopped raining! It’s stopped raining!”
“Now the stars can meet after all!” cried Keiko.
There were green and blue and white sparklers for everyone. With the mothers’ help, the children lit the sparklers and swung them in the darkness, making circles and spirals while they laughed and talked.
When the sparklers were gone they picked up their Tanabata branches. Holding them above their heads, they waved them slowly against the night sky as they sang a farewell song.
“The party is over. Our Star Festival is ended,” said Masanari’s mother.
Masanari could not let the evening end just yet. “Let’s walk with everyone on their way home, Mama-san,” he begged.
When they reached Anne’s apartment, everyone bowed and said, “Oyasuminasai” (Good night. Please rest).
Note: Although origami figures are ideally folded of special origami paper that is colored on one side and plain on the other, they can also be made of any lightweight paper. Follow the illustrations carefully; the dotted lines show where the folds should be made.

When Ellen awoke, she heard the cry of a newborn baby. Her feet swiftly pattered past the cabin doors until she came to the bedside of Elizabeth Hopkins. Wrapped in a blanket beside her lay the tiny baby. Ellen stared in wonder.
Little Demaris Hopkins grinned and announced, “He’s my brother!”
“Just imagine, Demaris, having a brother born in the middle of the ocean!” Ellen exclaimed.
Steven Hopkins, the baby’s father, patted Ellen on the head. “Guess what we’re going to name him! We’re going to call him Oceanus (Latin word for ocean).”
“Oh, my!” Ellen exclaimed and ran swiftly to tell her mother.

One year at youth conference, my ward spent a day doing service. I volunteered to help at the town’s high school (even though I didn’t have the best memories there), because a janitor needed help moving lockers. As my friend and I helped move the lockers, I thought about the school where we were serving. I remembered a sporting event there where I felt the referees had not called a fair game. For my team, that game was still a sore spot, and I realized that I had let anger and bitterness stay in my heart.
I began to feel sorrow as I thought about the grudge I held, and I prayed for forgiveness. As I prayed and kept serving, I felt the anger and bitterness melting away and began to see the high school as it was: a great school facing some tough times. I began to feel gratitude for God guiding me to where I needed to serve and work through my problems. Through my service, the Lord was able to open my eyes to the grudge I’d harbored and help me let it go. I learned that service will scrape away the blackness of anger and bitterness, help us gain a love for those we once disliked, and help us draw closer to our Heavenly Father.
Robert S., Idaho, USA

He had no trouble getting up. The alarm would go off, and Chris Muraski was wide awake. Things to do, you know.
No, getting up was never the problem. Being where he was supposed to be was.
Here’s the scoop. At 5:30 A.M., Chris would get dressed, grab a banana, head out the door, and go straight for a couple of blocks. He then had a choice. He could continue driving for another block until he arrived at Libertyville High School in this Chicago suburb. Or he could hang a left and go to Libertyville’s civic center for early-morning seminary.
For two years Chris never used his turn signal on that morning drive.
As a freshman he attended seminary. He even went for part of his sophomore year.
But come on. He was an outside linebacker and he wanted to get stronger. Early-morning weight lifting—extra work on his own—would make him a better player. It was something he had to do.
Midway through that second year of high school, Chris decided he’d skip early-morning seminary even if it would make him a better person.
During the two years he was in the weight room, Chris got stronger and became a solid high school football player, playing for a very good team. The weight lifting was paying off. Unfortunately, injuries began occurring—more specifically, concussions.
“It’s ironic because that’s when the concussions started—when I stopped going to seminary,” he says.
The concussions, bruisings of the brain due to hard hits, were a bit scary because of both pain and memory loss.
The first concussion came during Chris’s sophomore year. He took a hit to the head that forced him to sit out the second half of a game. “It was like waking up from a dream. I couldn’t remember the plays before. I couldn’t remember where I was supposed to go. It took me 10 minutes to pull it all together,” he remembers. “I wanted to go back in during the fourth quarter but the coaches wouldn’t let me.”
Then during the second game of his junior season in 1997, after being cleared to play, Chris took another hit to the head and the result was another concussion. This time it was a bit more serious. It was a kickoff return, and Chris came in for the tackle. Much of that play is a foggy memory, but he does remember this vital statistic: the guy that leveled Chris was six-foot-six and 250 pounds.
“The guy that hit me was huge. I just went full blast into him, and that pretty much ended my season right there,” he says.
It’s worth mentioning that despite the extra work in the weight room, Chris only tipped the scales at a lean 152 that year. It was hardly a fair fight.
After sitting out much of the season on doctors’ orders, Chris played in one more game, then sustained a third concussion in practice. “That was it. I didn’t know if I would even be able to play the next year. The doctors were concerned, and I didn’t want to mess up my brain,” Chris says. “I didn’t feel very confident that I’d be fine, that I wouldn’t have any more problems.”
Chris, at the time a priest in the Buffalo Grove Second Ward, Buffalo Grove Stake, thought often about his love for football. Would he ever play again? Would there be any long-term effects from the blows to the head? These were all questions a high school junior didn’t want to face.
That summer Chris’s bishop approached him. He didn’t want to talk about football. Instead he asked him, “So, Chris, how’s seminary coming?”
But the bishop already knew the answer. When he asked Chris if he would start attending again, Chris said, “No, probably not.” The weight lifting was still too important. At least that’s what he thought.
“I was still active. I was going to church every week. I wasn’t in the gutter,” he explains. “But I wasn’t doing all the little extra things.”
Like going to seminary.
Chris began thinking about his choices, about seminary, about his future. And it wasn’t like he disliked seminary the one year he did regularly attend.
Later the bishop approached Chris again. He had something important to tell him. Chris said that the bishop talked to him and promised him that if he would go to seminary, the Lord would bless him and he wouldn’t have problems with concussions. But Chris needed to aim for 100 percent attendance.
“When he said what he said, I thought, I’ll do it. So I put my faith in what the bishop promised me right there.”
On the first day of seminary to begin the 1997–98 school year, there sat Chris Muraski.
He’d finally made the left turn.
Chris missed exactly one day of seminary last year—because of a conflict with wrestling. But he made that day up. He also didn’t miss one football game during a year when he was one of Libertyville’s team captains. Last summer he earned a spot on an Illinois all-star team that traveled to Australia.
And he never came close to getting another concussion.
“I regret putting lifting in front of seminary,” he says now. “Every morning I was at seminary I felt I was in the right spot, and I got that spiritual flavor that kind of gives you that boost. I feel more spiritual. My testimony has grown from it, from striving to be better.”
Once upon a time Chris was bench pressing 240 pounds. Today it’s down to 200.
Yeah, he may have lost 40 pounds off his bench press, but after returning to seminary, Chris was still plenty strong.