Illustration by David Malan/Malan Creative
I have always wanted to play in the Orchestra at Temple Square, the orchestra of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I play the clarinet and have a degree in music, but it’s unlikely I will ever get the opportunity.
After all, I live in New Zealand.
The Holy Ghost reminds me, however, that I can “be content” (Alma 29:3) as a musical pioneer for the Church in New Zealand and other areas. My first calling at age 18 was as music leader in the nursery. Since then, I have been blessed to direct and produce stake and ward musical productions, as well as play the piano in Primary. I have shared music across New Zealand and in the Philippines. I have sung a duet at the Provo Missionary Training Center.
Music has kept me in the Church throughout a difficult battle with anxiety and depression. When I felt I couldn’t do anything else, I knew I could say yes to helping with music. Music helps me see the world through spiritual eyes.
I get to create music with my wife and three children. Together, we have performed in the ward, created a musical contribution for a missionary broadcast in the Auckland New Zealand Mission, and sung for an online stake conference. I know how the word of God, through Church hymns, invites the Holy Ghost and can touch hearts in our families and wards.
I continue to love the Orchestra at Temple Square from afar, but I know we are blessed when we seek opportunities to serve and praise the Lord wherever we are and in whatever way we can (see Psalm 150:6). I am grateful we can share our testimonies through our gifts and talents, including music. We are blessed, and we bless others, as we share those gifts and talents with God’s children and “lift where we stand.”
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Sowing the Sounds of Music
Summary: A Latter-day Saint in New Zealand longed to play in the Orchestra at Temple Square but recognized it was unlikely due to living far away. Prompted by the Holy Ghost to be content, he embraced music service locally—starting at age 18 in nursery, directing stake and ward productions, playing piano in Primary, sharing music across New Zealand and the Philippines, and even singing a duet at the Provo MTC. Through anxiety and depression, continuing to say yes to music kept him in the Church and helped his family bless others. He concludes that seeking to serve with our gifts wherever we are brings blessings.
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👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Parents
Family
Holy Ghost
Mental Health
Music
Service
Testimony
Loving Our Neighbors
Summary: The speaker’s father came from Venezuela to BYU in the 1970s speaking almost no English and expecting a very different college experience. Instead of remaining an outsider, he was welcomed by students and faculty, learned English, graduated, and carried warm feelings for BYU for decades afterward.
In the 1970s my father arrived on BYU campus to begin his studies. He was not the average BYU student, especially during that time period. My father had come to BYU from Venezuela, a country that many students at BYU had never even heard of at the time. He spoke virtually no English, and he was Catholic.
The way my father likes to tell the story, he boarded a plane to the United States, excited to venture outside of his conservative Catholic upbringing and expecting the secular American college experience he had seen in Hollywood movies. Imagine his shock when he discovered that his parents, my abuela and abuelo, had arranged for him to attend BYU so that a group of people known to him only as “the Mormons” could keep an eye on him while he was far from home.
My dad found himself in a strange place surrounded by people who were very different from him. He found the sights and smells of his tropical Caribbean home—mango trees, macaws, coffee, and the ocean—replaced by those of BYU. He was struck by the flowerbeds on campus, which changed with the seasons; the empty streets and closed storefronts every Sunday; and the snow. But the students and faculty of BYU welcomed him into the community with open arms. Professors invited my father to share his perspective and experiences in class; roommates and friends took my father skiing and on road trips to see the United States. A professor invited my father to live with his family for several months while my father adjusted to life here.
My father could have chosen to transfer to a different institution, but he returned to BYU every fall from Venezuela. He learned English here, and then he graduated with a bachelor’s degree. It has been almost forty years since my father was a student at BYU, but he remembers his time here very fondly. In fact, while I was growing up in Venezuela, my father could spot missionaries of the Church from a mile away. Even though he was not a Latter-day Saint, he would look for them and talk to them, often asking if they were BYU students.
The way my father likes to tell the story, he boarded a plane to the United States, excited to venture outside of his conservative Catholic upbringing and expecting the secular American college experience he had seen in Hollywood movies. Imagine his shock when he discovered that his parents, my abuela and abuelo, had arranged for him to attend BYU so that a group of people known to him only as “the Mormons” could keep an eye on him while he was far from home.
My dad found himself in a strange place surrounded by people who were very different from him. He found the sights and smells of his tropical Caribbean home—mango trees, macaws, coffee, and the ocean—replaced by those of BYU. He was struck by the flowerbeds on campus, which changed with the seasons; the empty streets and closed storefronts every Sunday; and the snow. But the students and faculty of BYU welcomed him into the community with open arms. Professors invited my father to share his perspective and experiences in class; roommates and friends took my father skiing and on road trips to see the United States. A professor invited my father to live with his family for several months while my father adjusted to life here.
My father could have chosen to transfer to a different institution, but he returned to BYU every fall from Venezuela. He learned English here, and then he graduated with a bachelor’s degree. It has been almost forty years since my father was a student at BYU, but he remembers his time here very fondly. In fact, while I was growing up in Venezuela, my father could spot missionaries of the Church from a mile away. Even though he was not a Latter-day Saint, he would look for them and talk to them, often asking if they were BYU students.
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👤 Parents
👤 Friends
👤 Other
A Life in Balance
Summary: After trying several sports that didn’t challenge her, Angel attended her first gymnastics class at age eight. The difficult feats intrigued her, and she dedicated herself to the sport, believing God had given her a healthy body and talent. She set high goals and worked toward them intensely.
When Angel was eight years old, she was introduced to gymnastics. “I had always loved sports. I had tried swimming, soccer, kung fu, skating, and ballet,” she says. But she felt none of those sports were challenging enough to interest her.
At her first gymnastics class, however, she was presented with a variety of feats that seemed physically impossible. Her interest was piqued, and from that point on she was drawn to the gym like a magnet. Angel had finally found a sport that matched both her energy and her athletic abilities. “I wanted to excel in gymnastics,” she says. “I knew God gave me an amazing gift. He gave me a healthy body and the talent to do gymnastics. So, I set my goals high and worked toward them with intensity.”
At her first gymnastics class, however, she was presented with a variety of feats that seemed physically impossible. Her interest was piqued, and from that point on she was drawn to the gym like a magnet. Angel had finally found a sport that matched both her energy and her athletic abilities. “I wanted to excel in gymnastics,” she says. “I knew God gave me an amazing gift. He gave me a healthy body and the talent to do gymnastics. So, I set my goals high and worked toward them with intensity.”
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👤 Children
Children
Faith
Gratitude
Self-Reliance
The Key to Spiritual Protection
Summary: As a 15-year-old missionary in Hawaii, Joseph F. Smith felt inadequate and heavily burdened. He dreamed of washing, dressing in clean white clothing, and meeting Joseph Smith, where he affirmed, despite being late, that he was clean.
President Joseph F. Smith was five years old when his father, Hyrum, was killed in Carthage Jail. Later, Joseph crossed the plains with his widowed mother.
At age 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He felt lost and alone and said: “I was very much oppressed. … I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look [anyone] in the face.”
While pondering his plight one night, young Joseph dreamed he was on a journey, rushing as fast as he possibly could. He carried with him a small bundle. Finally, he came to a wonderful mansion, which was his destination. As he approached, he saw a sign which read, “Bath.” He quickly went in and washed himself. He opened his little bundle and found clean white clothing—“a thing,” he said, “I had not seen for a long time.” He put them on and rushed to the door of the mansion.
“I knocked,” he said, “and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said [were]: ‘Joseph, you are late.’ Yet I took confidence and said:
“‘Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!’”
And so it can be for each of us.
At age 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He felt lost and alone and said: “I was very much oppressed. … I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look [anyone] in the face.”
While pondering his plight one night, young Joseph dreamed he was on a journey, rushing as fast as he possibly could. He carried with him a small bundle. Finally, he came to a wonderful mansion, which was his destination. As he approached, he saw a sign which read, “Bath.” He quickly went in and washed himself. He opened his little bundle and found clean white clothing—“a thing,” he said, “I had not seen for a long time.” He put them on and rushed to the door of the mansion.
“I knocked,” he said, “and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said [were]: ‘Joseph, you are late.’ Yet I took confidence and said:
“‘Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!’”
And so it can be for each of us.
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Joseph Smith
👤 Early Saints
Adversity
Apostle
Joseph Smith
Missionary Work
Repentance
It Began in “Le Far West”
Summary: After releasing from military service, the narrator struggled with whether to travel to the United States alone and eventually chose to go, seeking greater understanding of the gospel. During the trip, his testimony grew through spiritual experiences, study, and fellowship with Church members. After returning to France, he prayed for confirmation, overcame spiritual resistance, and was finally baptized and confirmed, feeling lasting peace.
When I was released from the service, I faced a critical decision. My best friend from Normandy and I had planned for a long time to visit the United States, and I had saved my money so I could go. But his plans felt through. I had to decide whether or not to go by myself. I returned to Normandy, to walk the beaches and to think.
Anyone who could have eavesdropped on my mental conversation at that time would have known I already had a testimony. “I am well off here—I have my family and friends, I feel sure of myself, and this is the most beautiful spot on earth,” I told myself. “But what if I don’t go? I could miss an opportunity to learn even more about the gospel, to really gain a testimony of it. I could give up the trip, the dream of my young years. But to give up a chance to know more about the Lord’s church?”
In the U.S. I had the opportunity to develop many close relationships with Church members. I finally began to believe I did have a testimony—I can’t forget the wonderful feelings when, each time I’d ask myself a question, I would feel the Holy Ghost enlightening my soul, clearing away the doubt. I had had difficulty understanding why polygamy had been practiced. On a bus somewhere between Colorado and Utah, I glimpsed the vision, not a visual sight, but a spiritual insight, of the men who practiced it. And I saw how it was possible for such a thing to be pure, that it had come from God. That sort of clarification continued throughout my trip in the United States.
I eventually visited some islands near Seattle, Washington. There, in a small apartment, I studied the Book of Mormon for ten days. My testimony continued to grow. The time had come to return to France, and in my heart I knew I would be baptized.
Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.
As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 100-kilometer-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was a spiritual “wind,” not physical. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.
Anyone who could have eavesdropped on my mental conversation at that time would have known I already had a testimony. “I am well off here—I have my family and friends, I feel sure of myself, and this is the most beautiful spot on earth,” I told myself. “But what if I don’t go? I could miss an opportunity to learn even more about the gospel, to really gain a testimony of it. I could give up the trip, the dream of my young years. But to give up a chance to know more about the Lord’s church?”
In the U.S. I had the opportunity to develop many close relationships with Church members. I finally began to believe I did have a testimony—I can’t forget the wonderful feelings when, each time I’d ask myself a question, I would feel the Holy Ghost enlightening my soul, clearing away the doubt. I had had difficulty understanding why polygamy had been practiced. On a bus somewhere between Colorado and Utah, I glimpsed the vision, not a visual sight, but a spiritual insight, of the men who practiced it. And I saw how it was possible for such a thing to be pure, that it had come from God. That sort of clarification continued throughout my trip in the United States.
I eventually visited some islands near Seattle, Washington. There, in a small apartment, I studied the Book of Mormon for ten days. My testimony continued to grow. The time had come to return to France, and in my heart I knew I would be baptized.
Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.
As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 100-kilometer-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was a spiritual “wind,” not physical. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.
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👤 Young Adults
👤 Friends
Agency and Accountability
Faith
Friendship
Testimony
War
Stand as a Witness
Summary: In a high school class, a group chose an inappropriate play scene, and the teacher allowed uncomfortable students to leave. Shannon waited for friends to lead but ultimately remembered the Young Women theme and quietly left alone. Though no one followed, she felt peace knowing she did the right thing.
I read about Shannon in the New Era. Her high school speech teacher assigned a group project to the students. They were to select a scene from a play to perform for the class. One group chose a questionable scene dealing with morality issues. The teacher allowed them to keep their selection “for the sake of art.” But knowing that it might be offensive, the teacher gave permission for those who felt uncomfortable to leave the room.
As the students’ scene began, Shannon felt a little bit nervous. Several of her classmates blushed and giggled uneasily, but no one left. She looked at a few of her Latter-day Saint friends, watching for one of them to give the signal for them all to walk out together. But none of them did. Shannon remained at her desk with her head down so no one could see her crimson cheeks. She felt very uncomfortable, but she was also afraid to leave. After all, it was art, right? Shannon states:
“At [that] moment, the Young Women theme came into my mind: ‘We will “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.”’ (Mosiah 18:9). Immediately, I knew what [I was going to] do. ‘All places’ meant everywhere, even in a classroom with my friends.
“Quietly, I got up and left the room. That was it. No one got up and followed me. No one applauded my valiant act. No one was converted by my example. But inside I knew I had done the right thing” (Shannon D. Jensen, “Stand as a Witness,” New Era, Nov. 1998, 10).
As the students’ scene began, Shannon felt a little bit nervous. Several of her classmates blushed and giggled uneasily, but no one left. She looked at a few of her Latter-day Saint friends, watching for one of them to give the signal for them all to walk out together. But none of them did. Shannon remained at her desk with her head down so no one could see her crimson cheeks. She felt very uncomfortable, but she was also afraid to leave. After all, it was art, right? Shannon states:
“At [that] moment, the Young Women theme came into my mind: ‘We will “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places.”’ (Mosiah 18:9). Immediately, I knew what [I was going to] do. ‘All places’ meant everywhere, even in a classroom with my friends.
“Quietly, I got up and left the room. That was it. No one got up and followed me. No one applauded my valiant act. No one was converted by my example. But inside I knew I had done the right thing” (Shannon D. Jensen, “Stand as a Witness,” New Era, Nov. 1998, 10).
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👤 Youth
👤 Friends
👤 Other
Courage
Scriptures
Testimony
Virtue
Young Women
The Phantom Dog
Summary: Sarah, long afraid of dogs after a childhood bite, hears a distant dog howling for days. She and her brother decide to search, and Sarah eventually finds a weakened dog trapped in a pipe as a storm approaches. Despite her fear, she prays for help and frees the dog, realizing her fear has been replaced by compassion. The family nurses the dog, and Sarah hopes they can keep him.
“Aw, Mom, it’s just not fair!” Sarah heard Ben say as she neared the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks, a wave of guilt sweeping over her. She knew what he was referring to.
“I know it isn’t, Ben,” Mother replied in a soothing tone “but you’ve got to remember that it’s not Sarah’s fault. She knows she shouldn’t be afraid of dogs, but when that little dog bit her on the lip when she was just a toddler, he left more than just a scar on her face. The scar in her mind is a deeper one.”
“I’m not blaming her, Mom,” Ben sighed. “But you know how much I’ve wanted a dog.”
Sarah silently tiptoed away from the kitchen, not wanting her mother and brother to know she’d overheard. She trudged upstairs to her bedroom and flopped on the bed. Why do I have to be such a baby? she berated herself, unconsciously tracing the scar on her lip with her finger. Ben really wants a dog, but whenever I get near one I’m scared out of my mind!
Sighing, Sarah got up and mechanically prepared for bed. After calling goodnight to everyone and saying her prayers, she climbed under the covers. But she couldn’t go to sleep.
The sudden, far-off howling of a dog broke the stillness. Sarah sat upright in bed, shivers running up her spine. I must be imagining things, she thought disgustedly. The sound’s not coming from the direction of the Johnson’s farm, and they’re the only ones with a dog around here. She lay back down and tried to make her mind a blank. Again she heard the faint but piercing cry. Thinking of Ben, tears welled up in her eyes, and she said out loud to the blackness, “But I can’t help it!” Then, burying her head under her pillow, she fell into a fitful sleep.
The next day was a busy one, for there was a lot to do on their farm. The events of the night before were forgotten until lunchtime. As everyone trooped into the kitchen, Sarah lagged behind, exulting in the freshness of the air and the stillness of the countryside when the noise of the tractor was stilled. Suddenly she heard the unmistakable barking of a dog.
“Ben, Ben!” Sarah called, running after her brother. “Did you hear that dog barking?”
Ben frowned and glared at his sister. “That’s not funny, Sarah, and I’ll thank you not to joke about it.”
“I’m not joking, Ben! I heard it last night and again just now—a dog barking and howling, but it sounds like he’s far away. Don’t you hear it?”
They both stood still for a moment. Then Ben shook his head and said, “Sorry, Sarah, but I don’t hear anything—except my stomach growling! Let’s go in and eat. Your mind must be playing tricks on you.”
Sarah tried to forget what she’d heard until that night when she lay in bed again. However, she was so exhausted from the lack of sleep the night before that she soon fell asleep.
The next morning as she climbed into the truck to go to church, Sarah thought she heard the phantom dog again. Her dad declared it must be the Johnson’s dog, but Sarah had an uneasy feeling that he was wrong. When she heard the dog again late Sunday evening, she tiptoed into her brother’s room and shook his shoulder gently.
“What is it?” Ben asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes.
“Ben, you’ve got to listen. I keep hearing that dog and I’m not imagining it! I’m sure it isn’t the Johnson’s dog. Please, just listen for a minute.”
After a few moments of silence, the unmistakable yowl of a dog came drifting faintly on the night air. “You’re right, Sarah!” Ben whispered excitedly. “It’s a dog in trouble, all right, and it isn’t Shep. We’d better go see if we can find it.”
“Right now?” Sarah asked. “You know we could never find anything in the dark!”
“You’re right,” Ben admitted reluctantly. “Let’s get up early and start looking as soon as it’s light. We can split up so we can cover more ground before school.”
“But Ben,” Sarah’s voice quivered a little, “can’t I go with you? What’ll I do if I find him? You know that I …”
“If you find him, you can come and get me, OK? Don’t worry. Now go back to bed and get some sleep.”
The next morning as soon as the horizon began to glow, Ben and Sarah were up and out looking for the dog. After nearly an hour they still hadn’t found anything, so they decided to try again after school. As soon as they got home that afternoon, they each grabbed a couple of cookies and headed out the door.
“You may want to take your poncho, Sarah,” Ben said, glancing up at the sky. “It looks like it might storm.”
Sarah grabbed her poncho off the nail on the back porch and headed toward the cornfields. “Why don’t you try over by the south boundary of the farm, Sarah?” Ben suggested. “Dad covered a lot of ground plowing Saturday, but he didn’t make it down that far. I’ll go the other way.”
Sarah had been looking around for about twenty minutes when she heard the mournful wail again. I’m getting close, she thought apprehensively. “Where are you?” she called, hoping the dog would bark at the sound of her voice. It did. Feeling a few drops of rain, she pulled her poncho over her head and set off in the direction of the sound, calling again as she went. The dog responded each time she called, even though she could tell from its tone that it was getting weaker with each bark.
Coming to the edge of a large irrigation canal, Sarah stopped and sharply drew in her breath at what she saw. The dog was caught in the partly flattened end of a pipe—probably crushed by a tractor, Sarah surmised. He must have gotten stuck chasing a rabbit or something. I’ve got to go get Ben so he can help get him out. Sarah turned to go, but the dog’s pleading whimper brought her back again. Rain was beginning to pelt down harder now. She looked back into the ditch and realized that if the rainwater were to swell the water level of the canal, the dog would drown. The way this storm is increasing, by the time Ben gets here it willbe too late! Sarah thought.
For a minute she panicked. “I can’t! I just can’t go near him!” she cried. Then the words seemed to enter her mind, You’ve got to, or he’ll drown! She looked again at the stricken animal and took a few faltering steps. Oh, help me! She silently prayed, then plunged headlong down the bank.
She stopped a few feet from the dog and looked at him. When the dog saw her, he whined plaintively and stared at Sarah with the most incredible look of relief and joy that Sarah had ever seen. Why, that look is almost human, Sarah thought, surprised. Impulsively, she fell to her knees and stroked the dog’s head. “You poor thing!” she murmured.
She began to tug at the dog’s shoulders in an effort to free him. The water was already beginning to collect in the canal. I’ve got to work fast, she determined. The dog was too weak to help, but he licked her hand with his tongue as she tried to lubricate the end of the pipe with a little mud and water. Days of going without food had helped to make the animal a little thinner. Before long she had him free.
“You’re going to be OK,” she said over and over as she stroked his muddy fur. Then suddenly it hit her. Why, Sarah Blackhurst, you’re petting a dog! And you’re not scared at all! The thought took her breath away. The years of fear had been forgotten in the love and pity she felt for the suffering animal.
The dog was too weak to walk, so Sarah, already muddy and wet, bundled him up in her poncho and carried him out of the gully toward home. The dog never quit looking at her, even when Ben took him out of her arms at the door to the kitchen.
“Sarah! Where did you find him? I was beginning to worry about you!” Ben cried breathlessly. “I was about to …” Suddenly Ben stopped and turned, staring into Sarah’s eyes. “Why, Sarah, you’ve been holding a dog!”
“I know,” Sarah grinned sheepishly. “I know.”
Later that evening after the dog had been fed and given a warm bath, the family sat around the fireplace talking. The dog lay curled on a blanket in front of the hearth. “You know, Sarah, I don’t think that dog’s taken his eyes off you since you found him!” Father said.
“I’ve never seen such a look of love and devotion in my whole life,” Mother commented.
“From Sarah or the dog!” Ben said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Where do you think he came from, Dad?” Sarah asked. “Do you think we can keep him?”
“Well, I think we should advertise in the paper that we’ve found him,” Dad responded, “but I doubt anyone will come for him. He’s probably a stray, abandoned in the country by somebody who wanted to get rid of him.”
“I hope we can keep him,” Sarah murmured.
“I never thought I’d ever hear you say something like that!” Ben teased. Then after a minute he said, “Hey, I thought I was supposed to be the one who got a dog!” But he winked at Sarah as he said it.
“I know it isn’t, Ben,” Mother replied in a soothing tone “but you’ve got to remember that it’s not Sarah’s fault. She knows she shouldn’t be afraid of dogs, but when that little dog bit her on the lip when she was just a toddler, he left more than just a scar on her face. The scar in her mind is a deeper one.”
“I’m not blaming her, Mom,” Ben sighed. “But you know how much I’ve wanted a dog.”
Sarah silently tiptoed away from the kitchen, not wanting her mother and brother to know she’d overheard. She trudged upstairs to her bedroom and flopped on the bed. Why do I have to be such a baby? she berated herself, unconsciously tracing the scar on her lip with her finger. Ben really wants a dog, but whenever I get near one I’m scared out of my mind!
Sighing, Sarah got up and mechanically prepared for bed. After calling goodnight to everyone and saying her prayers, she climbed under the covers. But she couldn’t go to sleep.
The sudden, far-off howling of a dog broke the stillness. Sarah sat upright in bed, shivers running up her spine. I must be imagining things, she thought disgustedly. The sound’s not coming from the direction of the Johnson’s farm, and they’re the only ones with a dog around here. She lay back down and tried to make her mind a blank. Again she heard the faint but piercing cry. Thinking of Ben, tears welled up in her eyes, and she said out loud to the blackness, “But I can’t help it!” Then, burying her head under her pillow, she fell into a fitful sleep.
The next day was a busy one, for there was a lot to do on their farm. The events of the night before were forgotten until lunchtime. As everyone trooped into the kitchen, Sarah lagged behind, exulting in the freshness of the air and the stillness of the countryside when the noise of the tractor was stilled. Suddenly she heard the unmistakable barking of a dog.
“Ben, Ben!” Sarah called, running after her brother. “Did you hear that dog barking?”
Ben frowned and glared at his sister. “That’s not funny, Sarah, and I’ll thank you not to joke about it.”
“I’m not joking, Ben! I heard it last night and again just now—a dog barking and howling, but it sounds like he’s far away. Don’t you hear it?”
They both stood still for a moment. Then Ben shook his head and said, “Sorry, Sarah, but I don’t hear anything—except my stomach growling! Let’s go in and eat. Your mind must be playing tricks on you.”
Sarah tried to forget what she’d heard until that night when she lay in bed again. However, she was so exhausted from the lack of sleep the night before that she soon fell asleep.
The next morning as she climbed into the truck to go to church, Sarah thought she heard the phantom dog again. Her dad declared it must be the Johnson’s dog, but Sarah had an uneasy feeling that he was wrong. When she heard the dog again late Sunday evening, she tiptoed into her brother’s room and shook his shoulder gently.
“What is it?” Ben asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes.
“Ben, you’ve got to listen. I keep hearing that dog and I’m not imagining it! I’m sure it isn’t the Johnson’s dog. Please, just listen for a minute.”
After a few moments of silence, the unmistakable yowl of a dog came drifting faintly on the night air. “You’re right, Sarah!” Ben whispered excitedly. “It’s a dog in trouble, all right, and it isn’t Shep. We’d better go see if we can find it.”
“Right now?” Sarah asked. “You know we could never find anything in the dark!”
“You’re right,” Ben admitted reluctantly. “Let’s get up early and start looking as soon as it’s light. We can split up so we can cover more ground before school.”
“But Ben,” Sarah’s voice quivered a little, “can’t I go with you? What’ll I do if I find him? You know that I …”
“If you find him, you can come and get me, OK? Don’t worry. Now go back to bed and get some sleep.”
The next morning as soon as the horizon began to glow, Ben and Sarah were up and out looking for the dog. After nearly an hour they still hadn’t found anything, so they decided to try again after school. As soon as they got home that afternoon, they each grabbed a couple of cookies and headed out the door.
“You may want to take your poncho, Sarah,” Ben said, glancing up at the sky. “It looks like it might storm.”
Sarah grabbed her poncho off the nail on the back porch and headed toward the cornfields. “Why don’t you try over by the south boundary of the farm, Sarah?” Ben suggested. “Dad covered a lot of ground plowing Saturday, but he didn’t make it down that far. I’ll go the other way.”
Sarah had been looking around for about twenty minutes when she heard the mournful wail again. I’m getting close, she thought apprehensively. “Where are you?” she called, hoping the dog would bark at the sound of her voice. It did. Feeling a few drops of rain, she pulled her poncho over her head and set off in the direction of the sound, calling again as she went. The dog responded each time she called, even though she could tell from its tone that it was getting weaker with each bark.
Coming to the edge of a large irrigation canal, Sarah stopped and sharply drew in her breath at what she saw. The dog was caught in the partly flattened end of a pipe—probably crushed by a tractor, Sarah surmised. He must have gotten stuck chasing a rabbit or something. I’ve got to go get Ben so he can help get him out. Sarah turned to go, but the dog’s pleading whimper brought her back again. Rain was beginning to pelt down harder now. She looked back into the ditch and realized that if the rainwater were to swell the water level of the canal, the dog would drown. The way this storm is increasing, by the time Ben gets here it willbe too late! Sarah thought.
For a minute she panicked. “I can’t! I just can’t go near him!” she cried. Then the words seemed to enter her mind, You’ve got to, or he’ll drown! She looked again at the stricken animal and took a few faltering steps. Oh, help me! She silently prayed, then plunged headlong down the bank.
She stopped a few feet from the dog and looked at him. When the dog saw her, he whined plaintively and stared at Sarah with the most incredible look of relief and joy that Sarah had ever seen. Why, that look is almost human, Sarah thought, surprised. Impulsively, she fell to her knees and stroked the dog’s head. “You poor thing!” she murmured.
She began to tug at the dog’s shoulders in an effort to free him. The water was already beginning to collect in the canal. I’ve got to work fast, she determined. The dog was too weak to help, but he licked her hand with his tongue as she tried to lubricate the end of the pipe with a little mud and water. Days of going without food had helped to make the animal a little thinner. Before long she had him free.
“You’re going to be OK,” she said over and over as she stroked his muddy fur. Then suddenly it hit her. Why, Sarah Blackhurst, you’re petting a dog! And you’re not scared at all! The thought took her breath away. The years of fear had been forgotten in the love and pity she felt for the suffering animal.
The dog was too weak to walk, so Sarah, already muddy and wet, bundled him up in her poncho and carried him out of the gully toward home. The dog never quit looking at her, even when Ben took him out of her arms at the door to the kitchen.
“Sarah! Where did you find him? I was beginning to worry about you!” Ben cried breathlessly. “I was about to …” Suddenly Ben stopped and turned, staring into Sarah’s eyes. “Why, Sarah, you’ve been holding a dog!”
“I know,” Sarah grinned sheepishly. “I know.”
Later that evening after the dog had been fed and given a warm bath, the family sat around the fireplace talking. The dog lay curled on a blanket in front of the hearth. “You know, Sarah, I don’t think that dog’s taken his eyes off you since you found him!” Father said.
“I’ve never seen such a look of love and devotion in my whole life,” Mother commented.
“From Sarah or the dog!” Ben said with a twinkle in his eye.
“Where do you think he came from, Dad?” Sarah asked. “Do you think we can keep him?”
“Well, I think we should advertise in the paper that we’ve found him,” Dad responded, “but I doubt anyone will come for him. He’s probably a stray, abandoned in the country by somebody who wanted to get rid of him.”
“I hope we can keep him,” Sarah murmured.
“I never thought I’d ever hear you say something like that!” Ben teased. Then after a minute he said, “Hey, I thought I was supposed to be the one who got a dog!” But he winked at Sarah as he said it.
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👤 Children
👤 Parents
👤 Other
Courage
Faith
Prayer
Revelation
Service
The Award
Summary: Kevin, a Latter-day Saint high school football player, joins teammates planning a cruel prank to label a girl, Mary Beth, as the ugliest in school. After a rebuke from his LDS friend Colleen and a sobering experience during the sacrament, he changes the note to praise Mary Beth for serving handicapped children. The team later learns of her serious health challenges, begins to treat her kindly, and even visits the children she serves. Their perspective shifts, leading them to consider recognizing the goodness in others regularly.
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.”
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.”
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👤 Youth
👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Other
Agency and Accountability
Charity
Disabilities
Friendship
Jesus Christ
Judging Others
Kindness
Sacrament
Service
Young Men
A Conversation about the Church’s New Health Missionaries
Summary: After receiving his call, Dr. Blair Bybee trained in parasitology and nutrition and spent two weeks in a rural Latter-day Saint hospital. In Samoa he first served as a junior companion while splitting time between proselyting and health service, then was assigned to design a health education program for the Saints and began conducting seminars across villages.
Take the example of Dr. Blair Bybee. After his call he received additional training in parasitology and nutrition. He was then sent to a Latter-day Saint hospital in a rural area so that he could gain experience in that situation.
Q—How long was this extra training in the rural hospital?
Dr. Mason—Two weeks.
Q—What happens when the health missionary arrives in his field of labor?
Dr. Mason—For the first five months of Elder Bybee’s mission, he performed as any other missionary would. He was a junior companion in a small village. During this time his responsibilities were divided between proselyting (70 percent) and health service (30 percent), as he learned the language and the customs of the Samoan people. Then in January he ended his preparation period and began concentrating on his specific health mission responsibilities. He was assigned by the mission president to create a health education and disease prevention program for all the Saints in Samoa. Appropriate health lessons that had been developed with the help of the BYU faculty and then translated into Samoan during the first five months of his mission were ready for use. He began conducting health seminars in conjunction with district conferences throughout the mission. He is lecturing in village after village—wherever we have a chapel—to members and nonmembers—anyone who wishes to attend—on such subjects as nutrition, alcoholism, baby care, home sanitation, the evils of tobacco, and so forth.
Q—How long was this extra training in the rural hospital?
Dr. Mason—Two weeks.
Q—What happens when the health missionary arrives in his field of labor?
Dr. Mason—For the first five months of Elder Bybee’s mission, he performed as any other missionary would. He was a junior companion in a small village. During this time his responsibilities were divided between proselyting (70 percent) and health service (30 percent), as he learned the language and the customs of the Samoan people. Then in January he ended his preparation period and began concentrating on his specific health mission responsibilities. He was assigned by the mission president to create a health education and disease prevention program for all the Saints in Samoa. Appropriate health lessons that had been developed with the help of the BYU faculty and then translated into Samoan during the first five months of his mission were ready for use. He began conducting health seminars in conjunction with district conferences throughout the mission. He is lecturing in village after village—wherever we have a chapel—to members and nonmembers—anyone who wishes to attend—on such subjects as nutrition, alcoholism, baby care, home sanitation, the evils of tobacco, and so forth.
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👤 Missionaries
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
Diversity and Unity in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Education
Health
Missionary Work
Service
Word of Wisdom
Worthy of Recommendation
Summary: The speaker tells about Gary, a middle-aged man in a weight management class who wanted to become fit by jogging. On his first day he could only make it a quarter of the way around the block, but instead of quitting he added just one house farther each day. Over time, that tiny increase enabled him to jog a couple of miles easily and develop a healthy habit.
Let me tell you about what small things did for Gary. Gary, which isn't his real name, was a middle-aged participant in one of the weight management classes we used to offer through our department. We had had our lesson on physical activity, and Gary decided that he really wanted to be fit. So, he bought some jogging shoes and sweatpants and set the date for his jogging debut. His plan was to jog around his block a couple of times for the first few days then increase his distance.
The day for jogging arrived, and Gary put on his clothes, laced up his shoes, and started out the door. Excited to begin his jaunt around the block, he was quite surprised and distressed to find that about a quarter of the way around the block he was completely winded and couldn't manage another step. So Gary stopped and weighed his options. He could turn around and go back home, but he decided that would be too embarrassing. So he walked the rest of the way around the block to his home. Rather than give up on the whole jogging idea, the next morning Gary decided that he could jog as far as he had the previous day plus one house, then walk home. The next day he added one house more, and the next day one house more. One house! That's nothing! Well, by adding one house a day over many weeks, Gary found himself jogging a couple of miles easily. He felt better than he had in years, and developed an enjoyable and healthy habit. Tremendous consequences come from little things.
The day for jogging arrived, and Gary put on his clothes, laced up his shoes, and started out the door. Excited to begin his jaunt around the block, he was quite surprised and distressed to find that about a quarter of the way around the block he was completely winded and couldn't manage another step. So Gary stopped and weighed his options. He could turn around and go back home, but he decided that would be too embarrassing. So he walked the rest of the way around the block to his home. Rather than give up on the whole jogging idea, the next morning Gary decided that he could jog as far as he had the previous day plus one house, then walk home. The next day he added one house more, and the next day one house more. One house! That's nothing! Well, by adding one house a day over many weeks, Gary found himself jogging a couple of miles easily. He felt better than he had in years, and developed an enjoyable and healthy habit. Tremendous consequences come from little things.
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👤 Other
“Aren’t You a Mormon?”
Summary: New at school, Lillie tries to impress friends at lunch and takes the Lord’s name in vain. Embarrassed when friends call out the inconsistency with her beliefs, she feels deep sorrow, prays for forgiveness, and calls her friends to apologize. The next day, her friends accept her apology, and Lillie resolves to live true to her faith.
Lillie couldn’t wait for the lunch bell to ring. She watched the clock as the hands slowly moved to 12:00. She was supposed to be reading quietly, but she was too excited to concentrate. Lunch was her favorite part of the day—a time to be with her new friends, talking, laughing, and making plans for after school.
Lillie had moved a few months ago, and at first she had felt alone and afraid. The first week in Primary, she met one other girl in her class, but she lived far across town and went to another school. Luckily, on Lillie’s first day of school, she was placed in the same sixth-grade class as Teresa. Teresa was very friendly, and now Lillie was part of a fun group. It was hard being the new girl in school, but Teresa and her friends made Lillie feel welcome.
Finally the bell clanged and Lillie grabbed her sack lunch from inside her desk. Teresa called, “Wait for me by the door. I have to grab my backpack.”
Lillie saw Jackie coming from a classroom down the hall and waved. “Hey, Lillie,” Jackie called over the noisy chatter. “Are you ready for lunch?”
“I am now,” she said as Teresa came up beside her and linked arms with her. Together they followed Jackie to the lunchroom and found a table where everyone could sit. Lillie sat between Jackie and a boy named Brad and quickly unwrapped her lunch. Brad asked if she had seen the game on TV the night before. Jackie discussed her birthday party coming up the next month. Lillie ate her lunch happily.
After lunch most of the others scattered, but Lillie and her friends pushed back their chairs and continued talking. Brad told funny jokes that made everyone laugh. Jackie described something funny her little sister had done. Lillie wished she had something witty and wonderful to say too, but nothing came to her mind.
Lunch was almost over. The cafeteria workers began cleaning the tables. Teresa imitated a popular movie star, and everyone laughed. Lillie took a deep breath and decided to do something she had never done before. She took the Lord’s name in vain, giggled, then said, “That was so funny, Teresa!”
Suddenly, the lunchroom fell silent. Lillie felt her face grow red with embarrassment as everyone looked at her. Brad shook his head slowly. “Lillie,” he asked softly, “aren’t you a Mormon?”
“Yeah,” Jackie said, “I thought Mormons didn’t swear.”
Lillie felt sick. She couldn’t say anything. The bell rang, and everyone shuffled back to class. Teresa walked beside Lillie, but she didn’t say a word.
All afternoon Lillie wondered why she had said such a thing. She knew it was wrong. She had never said it before. Her teacher asked her several questions about the day’s lesson, but she shook her head and said she didn’t know. She couldn’t wait for school to end so she could go home and hide under her bed.
After school Lillie told Teresa she had to hurry home. She ran from the building, tears in her eyes and a big lump in her throat. When her mother asked about her day, she was too ashamed to answer and hurried to her room.
How had it happened? She had been eager to impress the others, but she had hurt her spirit instead. She knew she had to ask for forgiveness. If her actions had disappointed her new friends, how much more must they have disappointed Heavenly Father.
That night Lillie couldn’t eat her dinner, and it was hard to look at her parents. Finally her father gently asked what was troubling her. The story spilled out, mixed with bitter tears. “Dad, I am so sorry. I feel terrible,” Lillie cried.
Her father put his arm around her shoulders. “That’s an important part of repentance, Lillie. You truly have to be sorry for what you do—or say.”
Lillie wiped her eyes. “Oh, I am, Dad. I’ll never swear again. Never!”
Her father nodded. “Good. Now go tell Heavenly Father what you just told me, and I’m sure you’ll feel better soon.”
As Lillie knelt beside her bed and prayed, she felt her heart would break. She thought of other mistakes she had made and wondered how Heavenly Father and Jesus could continue to love and forgive her. But as she whispered, “I am so sorry,” she felt the peaceful warmth of the Holy Ghost. Finishing her prayer, she was filled with the strength to do one more thing she needed to do.
Lillie shakily dialed Teresa’s phone number. She could barely speak, but she managed to say she was sorry for what she had said at lunch. Then she called Jackie and Brad.
“Do I have to go to school today?” she asked her mother the next morning. She didn’t want to face her friends. What must they think of her?
Her mother hugged her. “Yes. If you don’t, it will be harder tomorrow.”
Teresa found Lillie before school and gave her a quick hug. “I can’t believe you called everyone and said you were sorry. I never could have done that!”
Jackie called from the doorway of her classroom. “Lillie! I have to talk to you about my birthday party, OK? See you at lunch.”
Lillie gave a small sigh of relief and slid into her chair. She never wanted to feel the hurt of a wrong choice again. Even if her friends hadn’t known she was a member of the Church, she would have felt the sting all the same. She was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and from now on she intended to act like it.
Lillie had moved a few months ago, and at first she had felt alone and afraid. The first week in Primary, she met one other girl in her class, but she lived far across town and went to another school. Luckily, on Lillie’s first day of school, she was placed in the same sixth-grade class as Teresa. Teresa was very friendly, and now Lillie was part of a fun group. It was hard being the new girl in school, but Teresa and her friends made Lillie feel welcome.
Finally the bell clanged and Lillie grabbed her sack lunch from inside her desk. Teresa called, “Wait for me by the door. I have to grab my backpack.”
Lillie saw Jackie coming from a classroom down the hall and waved. “Hey, Lillie,” Jackie called over the noisy chatter. “Are you ready for lunch?”
“I am now,” she said as Teresa came up beside her and linked arms with her. Together they followed Jackie to the lunchroom and found a table where everyone could sit. Lillie sat between Jackie and a boy named Brad and quickly unwrapped her lunch. Brad asked if she had seen the game on TV the night before. Jackie discussed her birthday party coming up the next month. Lillie ate her lunch happily.
After lunch most of the others scattered, but Lillie and her friends pushed back their chairs and continued talking. Brad told funny jokes that made everyone laugh. Jackie described something funny her little sister had done. Lillie wished she had something witty and wonderful to say too, but nothing came to her mind.
Lunch was almost over. The cafeteria workers began cleaning the tables. Teresa imitated a popular movie star, and everyone laughed. Lillie took a deep breath and decided to do something she had never done before. She took the Lord’s name in vain, giggled, then said, “That was so funny, Teresa!”
Suddenly, the lunchroom fell silent. Lillie felt her face grow red with embarrassment as everyone looked at her. Brad shook his head slowly. “Lillie,” he asked softly, “aren’t you a Mormon?”
“Yeah,” Jackie said, “I thought Mormons didn’t swear.”
Lillie felt sick. She couldn’t say anything. The bell rang, and everyone shuffled back to class. Teresa walked beside Lillie, but she didn’t say a word.
All afternoon Lillie wondered why she had said such a thing. She knew it was wrong. She had never said it before. Her teacher asked her several questions about the day’s lesson, but she shook her head and said she didn’t know. She couldn’t wait for school to end so she could go home and hide under her bed.
After school Lillie told Teresa she had to hurry home. She ran from the building, tears in her eyes and a big lump in her throat. When her mother asked about her day, she was too ashamed to answer and hurried to her room.
How had it happened? She had been eager to impress the others, but she had hurt her spirit instead. She knew she had to ask for forgiveness. If her actions had disappointed her new friends, how much more must they have disappointed Heavenly Father.
That night Lillie couldn’t eat her dinner, and it was hard to look at her parents. Finally her father gently asked what was troubling her. The story spilled out, mixed with bitter tears. “Dad, I am so sorry. I feel terrible,” Lillie cried.
Her father put his arm around her shoulders. “That’s an important part of repentance, Lillie. You truly have to be sorry for what you do—or say.”
Lillie wiped her eyes. “Oh, I am, Dad. I’ll never swear again. Never!”
Her father nodded. “Good. Now go tell Heavenly Father what you just told me, and I’m sure you’ll feel better soon.”
As Lillie knelt beside her bed and prayed, she felt her heart would break. She thought of other mistakes she had made and wondered how Heavenly Father and Jesus could continue to love and forgive her. But as she whispered, “I am so sorry,” she felt the peaceful warmth of the Holy Ghost. Finishing her prayer, she was filled with the strength to do one more thing she needed to do.
Lillie shakily dialed Teresa’s phone number. She could barely speak, but she managed to say she was sorry for what she had said at lunch. Then she called Jackie and Brad.
“Do I have to go to school today?” she asked her mother the next morning. She didn’t want to face her friends. What must they think of her?
Her mother hugged her. “Yes. If you don’t, it will be harder tomorrow.”
Teresa found Lillie before school and gave her a quick hug. “I can’t believe you called everyone and said you were sorry. I never could have done that!”
Jackie called from the doorway of her classroom. “Lillie! I have to talk to you about my birthday party, OK? See you at lunch.”
Lillie gave a small sigh of relief and slid into her chair. She never wanted to feel the hurt of a wrong choice again. Even if her friends hadn’t known she was a member of the Church, she would have felt the sting all the same. She was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and from now on she intended to act like it.
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👤 Children
👤 Parents
👤 Friends
👤 Church Members (General)
Agency and Accountability
Children
Forgiveness
Friendship
Holy Ghost
Prayer
Repentance
Sin
A Pocketful of Pie
Summary: At a campground store, Davey is dared by his friend Tim to take a piece of huckleberry pie, which he does just before the shopkeeper appears. Feeling guilty for stealing and lying, he decides to make it right by picking a large pail of huckleberries and offering them, plus his remaining money, to pay for the pie. Mrs. Beady accepts, and Davey resolves never to take such a dare again.
Every summer Davey and his family drove to Huckleberry Hill Campground in their camper. Tim’s family went at the same time, and the boys had become good friends.
They fished and swam in the lake, picked wild huckleberries on the hill, and sometimes went to the little grocery store near the campground. They liked going to the grocery store. It had a candy case with a great many kinds of candy. They would look through the glass at pink and yellow marshmallow chicks, bananas with creamy filling, and wax bottles of cherry juice. A little bell suspended over the screen door jingled whenever it was opened.
One day as Davey went up the road to the store, he kept touching the dollar bill in his pants pocket. His mother had said, “Davey, take this money and buy two pounds of potatoes. You may have ten cents for candy, and bring back the change.”
Why did she tell me to bring back the change? he wondered. I always bring it back.
When Davey passed Tim’s camper, he called, “Tim! Want to go to the store? I have ten cents for candy!”
Tim bounded out of the camper. “Sure,” he said.
At the store Davey and Tim opened the door and smiled as the bell jingled. No one was in the store and they raced to the candy case. “Boy! I want one of those big jawbreakers,” Tim declared.
“I want a red licorice whip. Wonder where Mrs. Beady is.”
They looked toward the curtained doorway at the back of the store, which Mrs. Beady always came through when the bell jingled.
On the counter, Davey saw a huckleberry pie covered with plastic wrap. A knife lay beside it. “Wowie!” he cried hungrily. “I like huckleberry pie better than anything.”
“Not me,” Tim said. “I like huckleberries best when you eat them right off the bush.”
“I like huckleberries any way, but pie is best—even better than candy.”
Tim grinned. “I dare you to take a piece.”
“That’s stealing!”
“Double dare you!”
The pie looked so good that it made the juices in Davey’s mouth run. Oh, how he wanted a taste of that pie!
Tim said, “I don’t think Mrs. Beady is here. All you have to do is lift a corner of the plastic and take a piece.”
Maybe just one teeny slice, Davey decided. No one will know. I’ll do it! Davey had the pie about an inch from his mouth when the boys heard a rustling sound behind the curtain. He stuffed the pie into his pants pocket.
Tall, thin Mrs. Beady came through the curtain. She looked down her long nose at them. Davey wondered if she ever smiled.
“Well?” she questioned.
“T-two pounds of p-potatoes,” Davey stammered.
Picking up a bag, Mrs. Beady went over to the potato bin. She weighed the potatoes and said, “That’ll be thirty-four cents.”
Behind her, Davey wiped his sticky huckleberry fingers on the back of his T-shirt. Then he remembered that the dollar was under the pie in his pocket.
“I forgot the money,” he lied.
“Tut, tut, tut,” Mrs. Beady clicked her tongue against her teeth. “You boys from the campground?”
They both nodded and murmured, “Yes’m.”
“Then you don’t have far to go for the money.” She put the bag of potatoes under the counter.
“Yes’m. I mean no’m,” said Davey. He tried to get in front of Tim so Mrs. Beady wouldn’t see the huckleberry on the back of his shirt. They fell over each other going out the door.
“Why did you dare me to take that pie?”
“Well, I didn’t make you take it. Aren’t you going to eat it now you have it?”
Davey pulled the gooey mess from his pocket. “Right now I hate huckleberry pie,” he said. “Wonder how much a piece of pie costs.”
“A quarter. But you didn’t take a big piece. Bet Mrs. Beady doesn’t even know you took it.”
Davey said sadly, “I know I took it. And I only have the ten cents we didn’t spend for candy. Do you have any money?”
“Nope. Say, the front of your pants are beginning to turn kind of purple.” Tim pointed to the large spot soaking through Davey’s pocket.
“Wowie! My new pants! My mom’s going to be really upset.”
“Maybe she can dye your pants purple. My sis got huckleberries on a dress once and my mom dyed it purple.”
Tim’s suggestion didn’t make Davey feel a bit better.
When they reached his camper, Tim said, “Mom wants me to pick huckleberries for supper. Want to come?”
“I’m sick of huckleberries. I’ll never—” Then Davey had an idea. “Sure. I’ll get a pail. See you on the hill.” And off he ran to his camper for his mother’s largest pail.
On his way to the hill, Davey pulled out the dollar. George Washington had turned purple! Holding the bill under a campground spigot, he washed out most of the huckleberry juice. He shook it and tried to blow it dry.
Halfway up the hill, Davey could see Tim popping berries into his mouth. Not one huckleberry will I eat, Davey promised himself. I’ll bet I can pick at least half a pailful before Mom calls me home.
While he picked, Davey thought how dumb he’d been to take Tim’s dare. But I shouldn’t blame Tim, he decided. I knew better than to steal. He remembered something he had read aloud just last week in Primary, something about not stealing or lying. He felt awful. And now I’ve stolen and lied to Mrs. Beady, he worried.
Tim shouted, “The berries are thicker over here!”
But Davey wanted to pick by himself. He had to gather a lot of berries to half fill the pail, and the sun had almost dropped into the lake.
In a short time, Davey’s arms were purple and scratched from the berry bushes. And his blue pants were now huckleberry-spotted all over.
“Davey! Da-a-vey!” his mother called.
“Oh-oh,” Davey muttered. “She’ll be wanting her potatoes. I’ll have to quit. Anyway, the pail’s over half-full.” He struggled down the hill with his heavy load until he reached the road. Then he lugged the pail to the grocery store.
Mrs. Beady was still there. “Time you came back after those potatoes,” she chided.
Davey showed her the pail of huckleberries. “I picked them for you,” he said.
Mrs. Beady smiled.
Davey put the damp dollar on the counter. “Will the berries and ten cents pay for the piece of pie I took?” he asked.
She smiled again and nodded. “It wasn’t a full-size piece. You must have worked real hard picking all those berries. Just look at you! I do thank you, young man.”
“Thank you,” said Davey.
He scooped up the bag of potatoes and dashed out the door, pausing to give it an extra jingle. He felt a wonderful sense of relief as he sped back to the camper. I’ll never, ever take a dare like that again, he promised himself. then the next thought made him smile: What if I really do have to wear purple pants!
They fished and swam in the lake, picked wild huckleberries on the hill, and sometimes went to the little grocery store near the campground. They liked going to the grocery store. It had a candy case with a great many kinds of candy. They would look through the glass at pink and yellow marshmallow chicks, bananas with creamy filling, and wax bottles of cherry juice. A little bell suspended over the screen door jingled whenever it was opened.
One day as Davey went up the road to the store, he kept touching the dollar bill in his pants pocket. His mother had said, “Davey, take this money and buy two pounds of potatoes. You may have ten cents for candy, and bring back the change.”
Why did she tell me to bring back the change? he wondered. I always bring it back.
When Davey passed Tim’s camper, he called, “Tim! Want to go to the store? I have ten cents for candy!”
Tim bounded out of the camper. “Sure,” he said.
At the store Davey and Tim opened the door and smiled as the bell jingled. No one was in the store and they raced to the candy case. “Boy! I want one of those big jawbreakers,” Tim declared.
“I want a red licorice whip. Wonder where Mrs. Beady is.”
They looked toward the curtained doorway at the back of the store, which Mrs. Beady always came through when the bell jingled.
On the counter, Davey saw a huckleberry pie covered with plastic wrap. A knife lay beside it. “Wowie!” he cried hungrily. “I like huckleberry pie better than anything.”
“Not me,” Tim said. “I like huckleberries best when you eat them right off the bush.”
“I like huckleberries any way, but pie is best—even better than candy.”
Tim grinned. “I dare you to take a piece.”
“That’s stealing!”
“Double dare you!”
The pie looked so good that it made the juices in Davey’s mouth run. Oh, how he wanted a taste of that pie!
Tim said, “I don’t think Mrs. Beady is here. All you have to do is lift a corner of the plastic and take a piece.”
Maybe just one teeny slice, Davey decided. No one will know. I’ll do it! Davey had the pie about an inch from his mouth when the boys heard a rustling sound behind the curtain. He stuffed the pie into his pants pocket.
Tall, thin Mrs. Beady came through the curtain. She looked down her long nose at them. Davey wondered if she ever smiled.
“Well?” she questioned.
“T-two pounds of p-potatoes,” Davey stammered.
Picking up a bag, Mrs. Beady went over to the potato bin. She weighed the potatoes and said, “That’ll be thirty-four cents.”
Behind her, Davey wiped his sticky huckleberry fingers on the back of his T-shirt. Then he remembered that the dollar was under the pie in his pocket.
“I forgot the money,” he lied.
“Tut, tut, tut,” Mrs. Beady clicked her tongue against her teeth. “You boys from the campground?”
They both nodded and murmured, “Yes’m.”
“Then you don’t have far to go for the money.” She put the bag of potatoes under the counter.
“Yes’m. I mean no’m,” said Davey. He tried to get in front of Tim so Mrs. Beady wouldn’t see the huckleberry on the back of his shirt. They fell over each other going out the door.
“Why did you dare me to take that pie?”
“Well, I didn’t make you take it. Aren’t you going to eat it now you have it?”
Davey pulled the gooey mess from his pocket. “Right now I hate huckleberry pie,” he said. “Wonder how much a piece of pie costs.”
“A quarter. But you didn’t take a big piece. Bet Mrs. Beady doesn’t even know you took it.”
Davey said sadly, “I know I took it. And I only have the ten cents we didn’t spend for candy. Do you have any money?”
“Nope. Say, the front of your pants are beginning to turn kind of purple.” Tim pointed to the large spot soaking through Davey’s pocket.
“Wowie! My new pants! My mom’s going to be really upset.”
“Maybe she can dye your pants purple. My sis got huckleberries on a dress once and my mom dyed it purple.”
Tim’s suggestion didn’t make Davey feel a bit better.
When they reached his camper, Tim said, “Mom wants me to pick huckleberries for supper. Want to come?”
“I’m sick of huckleberries. I’ll never—” Then Davey had an idea. “Sure. I’ll get a pail. See you on the hill.” And off he ran to his camper for his mother’s largest pail.
On his way to the hill, Davey pulled out the dollar. George Washington had turned purple! Holding the bill under a campground spigot, he washed out most of the huckleberry juice. He shook it and tried to blow it dry.
Halfway up the hill, Davey could see Tim popping berries into his mouth. Not one huckleberry will I eat, Davey promised himself. I’ll bet I can pick at least half a pailful before Mom calls me home.
While he picked, Davey thought how dumb he’d been to take Tim’s dare. But I shouldn’t blame Tim, he decided. I knew better than to steal. He remembered something he had read aloud just last week in Primary, something about not stealing or lying. He felt awful. And now I’ve stolen and lied to Mrs. Beady, he worried.
Tim shouted, “The berries are thicker over here!”
But Davey wanted to pick by himself. He had to gather a lot of berries to half fill the pail, and the sun had almost dropped into the lake.
In a short time, Davey’s arms were purple and scratched from the berry bushes. And his blue pants were now huckleberry-spotted all over.
“Davey! Da-a-vey!” his mother called.
“Oh-oh,” Davey muttered. “She’ll be wanting her potatoes. I’ll have to quit. Anyway, the pail’s over half-full.” He struggled down the hill with his heavy load until he reached the road. Then he lugged the pail to the grocery store.
Mrs. Beady was still there. “Time you came back after those potatoes,” she chided.
Davey showed her the pail of huckleberries. “I picked them for you,” he said.
Mrs. Beady smiled.
Davey put the damp dollar on the counter. “Will the berries and ten cents pay for the piece of pie I took?” he asked.
She smiled again and nodded. “It wasn’t a full-size piece. You must have worked real hard picking all those berries. Just look at you! I do thank you, young man.”
“Thank you,” said Davey.
He scooped up the bag of potatoes and dashed out the door, pausing to give it an extra jingle. He felt a wonderful sense of relief as he sped back to the camper. I’ll never, ever take a dare like that again, he promised himself. then the next thought made him smile: What if I really do have to wear purple pants!
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👤 Children
👤 Parents
👤 Other
Agency and Accountability
Children
Friendship
Honesty
Repentance
Temptation
The Great Beasts of the Plains
Summary: A hunter of the Mazumbas tracks a Great Beast into a secret cave and kills it, despite the Beast pleading for its life. A sharp stone falls from the Beast’s mouth, revealing that the Beasts created the unparalleled arrow tips the Mazumbas relied on. After the last Beast dies and the remaining tips are used up, the Mazumbas lose their hunting advantage.
“By hearing a story,” answered his father. “Listen. Many years ago, in the direction from which the sun awakens each day, there lived a people here in Africa called the Mazumbas.”
Bhutto stopped rocking on his heels and sat down. He did not want to miss a word of his father’s story.
“The Mazumbas were greater hunters than others because the tips of their arrows were sharper and finer than any man could make.”
“How did they make the arrow tips?” asked Bhutto.
“They did not make them,” said Bhutto’s father. “They found them in a secret cave. And because the Mazumbas had such sharp arrow tips, no animal could stand against them.”
“Not even lions?” Bhutto asked.
“Not even lions,” said his father.
“Not even elephants?” Bhutto tried again.
“Not even elephants,” answered his father. “Not even the Great Beasts of the plains.”
Bhutto looked puzzled. “What are the Great Beasts of the plains?”
“The Great Beasts were the hardest of all the animals to slay. They had the eyes of an eagle, the ears of a giraffe, and the swiftness of a gazelle. But even so, the Great Beasts could not hide from the Mazumbas.
“One day, one of the Mazumbas was hunting when he came across the tracks of a Great Beast. For many hours he followed the tracks through grasslands, over hills, and down ravines until they led to the entrance of the secret cave.”
“Where the Mazumbas found their arrow tips,” Bhutto remembered.
“That’s right,” said his father.
“And was the Great Beast inside?”
“Yes, he was. And when the hunter saw the Great Beast, he put an arrow to his bow.”
“Did he kill the Beast?” Bhutto asked excitedly.
“Not right away,” answered his father, “because the Great Beast began to speak.”
Bhutto frowned. “Animals cannot speak.”
“That is true,” Bhutto’s father answered. “But the Great Beasts were not like other animals.”
“What did the Great Beast say?”
“He said, ‘Please do not kill me, great hunter of the Mazumbas. Your people have killed all the Great Beasts except me.’
“But the hunter just laughed and said, ‘If you did not want to be caught, you should not have come into our secret cave.’ And with that, the hunter let the arrow fly.”
Bhutto watched his father string the bow he was making. “Is that the end of your story?” he sadly asked.
“Not quite, Bhutto,” said his father. “When the Beast fell to the earth, a stone rolled from his mouth—a sharp stone, sharper than any a man could make.”
“Then, it was the Great Beasts that made the arrow tips!” Bhutto cried.
“Yes. The Great Beasts went to the secret cave to chew on stones and sharpen their teeth. The arrow tips were what they left behind.”
“But the hunter—he killed the last Beast!”
“Yes, and because of that, the Mazumbas soon used up the last of the very sharp arrow tips. No longer were they the great hunters they had once been.”
Bhutto stopped rocking on his heels and sat down. He did not want to miss a word of his father’s story.
“The Mazumbas were greater hunters than others because the tips of their arrows were sharper and finer than any man could make.”
“How did they make the arrow tips?” asked Bhutto.
“They did not make them,” said Bhutto’s father. “They found them in a secret cave. And because the Mazumbas had such sharp arrow tips, no animal could stand against them.”
“Not even lions?” Bhutto asked.
“Not even lions,” said his father.
“Not even elephants?” Bhutto tried again.
“Not even elephants,” answered his father. “Not even the Great Beasts of the plains.”
Bhutto looked puzzled. “What are the Great Beasts of the plains?”
“The Great Beasts were the hardest of all the animals to slay. They had the eyes of an eagle, the ears of a giraffe, and the swiftness of a gazelle. But even so, the Great Beasts could not hide from the Mazumbas.
“One day, one of the Mazumbas was hunting when he came across the tracks of a Great Beast. For many hours he followed the tracks through grasslands, over hills, and down ravines until they led to the entrance of the secret cave.”
“Where the Mazumbas found their arrow tips,” Bhutto remembered.
“That’s right,” said his father.
“And was the Great Beast inside?”
“Yes, he was. And when the hunter saw the Great Beast, he put an arrow to his bow.”
“Did he kill the Beast?” Bhutto asked excitedly.
“Not right away,” answered his father, “because the Great Beast began to speak.”
Bhutto frowned. “Animals cannot speak.”
“That is true,” Bhutto’s father answered. “But the Great Beasts were not like other animals.”
“What did the Great Beast say?”
“He said, ‘Please do not kill me, great hunter of the Mazumbas. Your people have killed all the Great Beasts except me.’
“But the hunter just laughed and said, ‘If you did not want to be caught, you should not have come into our secret cave.’ And with that, the hunter let the arrow fly.”
Bhutto watched his father string the bow he was making. “Is that the end of your story?” he sadly asked.
“Not quite, Bhutto,” said his father. “When the Beast fell to the earth, a stone rolled from his mouth—a sharp stone, sharper than any a man could make.”
“Then, it was the Great Beasts that made the arrow tips!” Bhutto cried.
“Yes. The Great Beasts went to the secret cave to chew on stones and sharpen their teeth. The arrow tips were what they left behind.”
“But the hunter—he killed the last Beast!”
“Yes, and because of that, the Mazumbas soon used up the last of the very sharp arrow tips. No longer were they the great hunters they had once been.”
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👤 Other
Agency and Accountability
Parenting
Stewardship
Practice, Practice, Practice
Summary: The speaker recounts how his father mentored him in baseball as he grew up. His father created demanding drills, refined his mechanics, and taught him specialized skills that improved his performance and led to a successful high school career and college opportunities. Although a shoulder injury ended that path, the experience taught the value of humble coaching and effective mentorship.
I want to share a quick baseball story with you about having an effective mentor--my Mr. Miagi experience with my dad. Growing up I played sports. This is one of those things my dad instilled in me, a love for sports. I loved baseball and football. For baseball, I realized that if I wanted to be as good as my teammates I needed, at the least, to go to practice and apply myself every day. Status quo stuff. I also realized that if I wanted to be the best I could be, I needed to do more outside of practice. This is the extra stuff, a little more challenging and difficult. I would go to the gym in the morning before school to work out, I would practice by myself hitting baseballs in the batting cage, I would throw the baseball hundreds of times a day at a square my dad put on the wall that represented the strike zone.
A strike zone is about 17” wide, the same size as home plate, and the height of it may change a little according to the batter. Dad would make this square smaller and tighter to help me hone in on a smaller strike zone. The aim small, miss small mentality.
He would also coach me on other in-field positions and would make me field the ball with a small glove so that I focused on watching the ball come all the way into a smaller pocket. This improved my eye-hand coordination.
He taught me how to pitch curves, knuckles, split-finger fastballs and he taught me how to do this with a softball so that I could see the threads better since a softball is bigger. A few tweaks to my body mechanics and little changes to my pitching stance increased my fastball from 88 mph to 92-93 mph consistently with less arm strain. Not having a sore arm ensured I could close out more of our weekly games or pitch longer as the starting pitcher.
For batting practice, he pitched fastpitch underhand to me. He stood closer to the plate than a normal pitcher, which is about 60’. Dad would pitch at about 40’. He did this underhand so that I had to pick up the movement of the ball underhand and decide if it was a curve, knuckle, or fastball in my preferred swing zone or range, all within a split second. He even coached me to bat left-handed against right-handed pitchers because the ball came into me instead of away from me when I swung.
All of these little tips and tricks resulted in a great high school career that led to college. Unfortunately, it all ended with a painful shoulder injury (need for a plan B). Finding an effective mentor will allow you to do more in a shorter amount of time if you are willing to be taught and are humble enough to be coached. In my experience, those that are close to you, that love you and care about your success, share constructive criticism with you because they want you to be successful.
A strike zone is about 17” wide, the same size as home plate, and the height of it may change a little according to the batter. Dad would make this square smaller and tighter to help me hone in on a smaller strike zone. The aim small, miss small mentality.
He would also coach me on other in-field positions and would make me field the ball with a small glove so that I focused on watching the ball come all the way into a smaller pocket. This improved my eye-hand coordination.
He taught me how to pitch curves, knuckles, split-finger fastballs and he taught me how to do this with a softball so that I could see the threads better since a softball is bigger. A few tweaks to my body mechanics and little changes to my pitching stance increased my fastball from 88 mph to 92-93 mph consistently with less arm strain. Not having a sore arm ensured I could close out more of our weekly games or pitch longer as the starting pitcher.
For batting practice, he pitched fastpitch underhand to me. He stood closer to the plate than a normal pitcher, which is about 60’. Dad would pitch at about 40’. He did this underhand so that I had to pick up the movement of the ball underhand and decide if it was a curve, knuckle, or fastball in my preferred swing zone or range, all within a split second. He even coached me to bat left-handed against right-handed pitchers because the ball came into me instead of away from me when I swung.
All of these little tips and tricks resulted in a great high school career that led to college. Unfortunately, it all ended with a painful shoulder injury (need for a plan B). Finding an effective mentor will allow you to do more in a shorter amount of time if you are willing to be taught and are humble enough to be coached. In my experience, those that are close to you, that love you and care about your success, share constructive criticism with you because they want you to be successful.
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👤 Parents
👤 Youth
👤 Other
Taking upon Us His Name
Summary: The speaker described a widow who had already received abundant food from caring neighbors. Yet the widow explained that what she really needed was an invitation to see the Christmas lights at Temple Square with a family and their children. The experience showed that inspired service must be tailored to the person rather than assumed.
Another day I witnessed the need for the Spirit to help guide the service that was being performed by well-meaning neighbors. A widow lady said to me, “I don’t need more food. My freezer is literally full of the neighbors’ cakes and pies and goodies. But I need for someone to invite me to go to Temple Square with them and their children to see the Christmas lights. You don’t really see the lights without the children.”
Sometimes it’s cake, but sometimes it isn’t. It is the Spirit that will help us customize our service.
Sometimes it’s cake, but sometimes it isn’t. It is the Spirit that will help us customize our service.
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👤 Church Members (General)
👤 Other
“Where There Is No Vision, the People Perish”
Summary: Will D. Lae was severely overweight but became fascinated with mountain climbing and trained hard to develop the strength to do it. After practicing locally, he attempted El Capitan, only to discover midway up that his rope was fraying and about to break. He decided he needed a heavier rope, but realized it too late, illustrating the danger of overlooking what matters most.
Will D. Lae was grossly overweight but was fascinated by the idea of becoming a mountain climber. Determined to master the skill he was able through hard work and continuous practice to develop his arm muscles so that they would support his obese body. He practiced on local slopes and then decided to try his skill on a mountain worthy of his ambitions. He picked the granite face of El Capitan. Halfway up the sheer rock he looked up and was startled to discover that his rope was fraying and in a second or two would break. He looked down and saw that there was no ledge or bush to break his fall. He made a quick decision—he decided to use a heavier rope.
William’s decision was right, but his timing was wrong. He had practiced and provided for the climb but had overlooked his most important need.
This devotional is just one more way to open some eyes, hearts, and minds—an opportunity to change and adjust our vision and not to overlook the most important need. If you don’t care for the word change, you may use the word repent, for it is the same, and to repent is to learn from God.
William’s decision was right, but his timing was wrong. He had practiced and provided for the climb but had overlooked his most important need.
This devotional is just one more way to open some eyes, hearts, and minds—an opportunity to change and adjust our vision and not to overlook the most important need. If you don’t care for the word change, you may use the word repent, for it is the same, and to repent is to learn from God.
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👤 Other
Land of Fire and Ice
Summary: As a teenager, Ulfar faced invitations from friends to drink and smoke. He consistently refused and changed the subject. Eventually, his peers stopped pressuring him.
It’s sometimes tough to be a teenager in Iceland for the same reasons that it’s hard in other countries. It’s the time when you have to make lots of decisions about how you want to live your life. Ulfar explains: “This is a hard age. Everyone is saying, ‘Hey, come get a drink. Have a cigarette.’ Even your friends are going out drinking. They asked me two or three times, but I just kept saying no and changed the subject. They leave me alone about it now.”
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👤 Youth
👤 Friends
Adversity
Agency and Accountability
Courage
Friendship
Temptation
Word of Wisdom
Young Men
Protected for a Purpose: War, Divine Intervention and Becoming an Instrument in the Lord’s Hands
Summary: Resettled in Bo, Sierra Leone, without an existing Church presence, the Turays were encouraged to stay and help establish a branch. They began a home group as a family of five and shared the gospel with others. Missionaries soon arrived, 31 people were baptized in the Sewa River, and Mohamed was called to preside as the district grew from one small branch to four.
The Turay family resettled in Bo, Sierra Leone. Although there was no Church presence there, they were encouraged to stay and help establish a branch. They started a home group with only the five members of the Turay family. Not long after they started talking to people about the Church, missionaries arrived, and the first baptismal service was held in Bo. On that special day, 31 people were baptized in the Sewa River. Mohamed was soon called to preside over the new Bo Sierra Leone District. Under Mohamed’s leadership, one small branch eventually grew into four branches.
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👤 Parents
👤 Missionaries
👤 Church Leaders (Local)
👤 Church Members (General)
Baptism
Conversion
Diversity and Unity in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
Family
Missionary Work
Priesthood
Examples of Great Teachers
Summary: President Monson visited President David O. McKay and commented on a painting he thought depicted McKay’s childhood home. President McKay recounted that a woman had lovingly painted and gifted the picture but had mistakenly painted the house next door. He chose not to correct her and explained that, from his childhood porch, that was the very house he used to see—so in a real sense, she painted the right house for him.
An example of a master teacher was President David O. McKay, who called me to be a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He taught with love and with sensitivity. He was the epitome of what he taught. His heart was kind, and his manner was gracious. He was a teacher of truth after the pattern of the Savior.
I observed this trait when, long before I was a General Authority, I entered his office to review some printing proofs of a book that we were printing. On that particular occasion, I noticed a picture on the wall, and I said to him, “President McKay, that’s a lovely painting. Is it a rendition of your childhood home in Huntsville, Utah?”
He sat back in his chair and gave a familiar David O. McKay chuckle and said, “Let me tell you about that picture. A sweet woman came in to see me one autumn day and presented to me that beautiful painting, framed and ready to be placed on the wall. She said, ‘President McKay, I spent much of the summer painting this picture of your ancestral home.’” He said he accepted the gift and thanked her profusely.
And then he said to me, “Do you know, Brother Monson, that dear woman painted the wrong house. She painted the house next door! I didn’t have the heart to tell her she painted the wrong house.”
But then he made this comment—and here is a vital lesson for all of us. He said, “In reality, Brother Monson, she painted the right house for me, because when, as a young boy, I would lie on the bed which was on the front porch of my ancestral home, the view I had through that screened porch was of the very house she painted. She did paint the right house for me!”
I observed this trait when, long before I was a General Authority, I entered his office to review some printing proofs of a book that we were printing. On that particular occasion, I noticed a picture on the wall, and I said to him, “President McKay, that’s a lovely painting. Is it a rendition of your childhood home in Huntsville, Utah?”
He sat back in his chair and gave a familiar David O. McKay chuckle and said, “Let me tell you about that picture. A sweet woman came in to see me one autumn day and presented to me that beautiful painting, framed and ready to be placed on the wall. She said, ‘President McKay, I spent much of the summer painting this picture of your ancestral home.’” He said he accepted the gift and thanked her profusely.
And then he said to me, “Do you know, Brother Monson, that dear woman painted the wrong house. She painted the house next door! I didn’t have the heart to tell her she painted the wrong house.”
But then he made this comment—and here is a vital lesson for all of us. He said, “In reality, Brother Monson, she painted the right house for me, because when, as a young boy, I would lie on the bed which was on the front porch of my ancestral home, the view I had through that screened porch was of the very house she painted. She did paint the right house for me!”
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Other
Apostle
Jesus Christ
Kindness
Love
Teaching the Gospel
A Legacy of Succession
Summary: The speaker visited President Thomas S. Monson with another member of the Quorum of the Twelve to offer birthday wishes. During the brief visit, both men independently felt a strong spiritual impression that President Monson was still the prophet of God and able to communicate the Lord’s will. Their matching witness became a tender mercy to the speaker.
I last visited President Monson when I was invited with a colleague in the Quorum of the Twelve to his apartment to offer 90th-birthday wishes. The conversation was not long but sweet and enjoyable. President Monson was anxious to hear about our recent assignments, asked where we had been and how the members were doing where we visited. Through the course of the visit, I was blessed to feel a distinct impression that even in a weakened state, this was the prophet of the Lord, through whom He could speak if and when needful. Just moments later, walking back to the office, my companion turned to me and described the distinct impression he received during our visit, which was the same as mine: that President Monson was indeed the prophet of God and, even in his aged state, was capable of communicating the will of the Lord to His children. I consider this special experience a tender mercy from the Lord.
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👤 General Authorities (Modern)
👤 Other