Gospel Story Finder

“I used to go to the pool and then go home before going to school,” Elizabeth remembers. Of course that was before she became a member of the Church. And it’s Heath’s, uh, fault Elizabeth added an extra hour to her already-busy schedule.
“You know how a lot of guys cuss?” Elizabeth asks. “Well, Heath wasn’t like that. And he was really nice to everyone. He was just different from any guy I’d ever met. But I didn’t know he was a Mormon at first.”
She soon found out. And before long, Heath was inviting Elizabeth to ward parties and dances. Then one Sunday Heath took Elizabeth to the Dutch Fork Ward sacrament meeting because his mother was singing. “I liked church a lot. I liked how members would bear their testimonies, and how the congregation would give the sermons. I eventually started going with him every Sunday,” Elizabeth says.
The more she heard and saw, the more interested she became. Eventually, Elizabeth requested that Heath arrange for her to be taught by the missionaries. After listening to the missionary discussions for several weeks, Elizabeth asked Heath, who had just been ordained a priest, if he would baptize her.
“When Elizabeth got baptized, it was probably the most spiritually uplifting experience I’ve ever had,” Heath says. “It was too great to describe when I baptized her. And I know Elizabeth knows this Church is true. It’s a great feeling to know I introduced her to the Church because of the way I acted.”

Paul McCauley was a happy devoted member of the Baptist church in the late 1960s. He loved his family and he worked hard to provide for them. He understood the value of spending quality time together as a family, so one year they took a long family vacation, in their station wagon, from the East to the West and back East again.
It was a foggy day when they arrived in Manti Utah on their way to Bryce Canyon and Arches. Paul said they came into town and there was a fog low to the ground. Because it was low to the ground, He saw what looked like a castle floating on a cloud. The Manti temple would look like it was floating because it sits on a hill and was above the fog.
He decided he needed stop and take a closer look at this floating Mormon castle, which he knew was a Mormon Temple because of all the road signs. He parked his car in the temple parking lot and headed towards the backdoor of the Temple in shorts and a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve of his tee-shirt. He said he headed to the backdoor, the wrong door, because he figured missionaries would try to snag his name at the front door - and if missionaries got hold of his name and address they'd never leave him alone.
There was a nice grounds keeper who saw Paul headed to the back door of the temple and said, "You are not a member, are you?"
The grounds keeper did his best to explain to Paul why he and his family could not tour the inside of the temple and he showed Paul to the visitor center.
Paul was just curious enough to know more that he went into the visitor center to see what he could find out about the church. At one point of the tour, he found himself in a small theater watching Man's Search for Happiness. So many of his questions were answered by just that one movie, and, maybe more importantly, he felt something powerful. So, Paul filled out a referral card, at the insistence of his wife, in spite of the fact that he did not really want missionaries knocking on his door.
A year passed after the McCauley's came home from their vacation and no missionaries showed up at their home. Paul had pretty much forgotten about Mormons. But, one night he came home a bit tipsy from the drink, and did something he'd done for most of his life before going to bed. He sat down, grabbed his scriptures, let them fall open to a page, and read on that page. On that night he said something remarkable happened. He said he clearly remembers the scriptures speaking to him, they said: "Paul, you are a drunken disciple." The message was clear, Paul knew he needed to get his life in order. He asked his sweet wife to "Call the Mormon missionaries" and two sister missionaries showed up knocking at the front door the next day.
One thing led to another, and the McCauleys were baptized members of the Church.

“It took six months for the judge to make the adoption final, and we went to the temple as soon as we could,” Mom said.
In the second picture Malia was wearing a delicate pink dress, sitting on her parents’ laps and laughing. Mom and Dad were smiling down at her and the temple shone in the background.
“After the sealing ceremony, the temple sealer told us that if we chose to keep the commandments, we would be a family forever,” Mom said.
Malia wanted to live righteously so she could be with her family forever.

I graduated and left home for my freshman year of college. Sometime over that summer I stopped being invisible. Boys I liked actually liked me back. It was like having a movie that started out in black and white turn to color. Life became fun. I didn’t think about Cort any more.
I was home from college for Christmas, and the stake president had asked if I would stop by his office. I had been on a youth committee the previous year to plan the New Year’s dance, and I suspected that he wanted someone with a little experience to help out.
The door to the stake house was open, but the hallway was dark. The light coming from the office at the end was enough to see by. I turned the corner and stopped short. There, sitting on a chair outside the president’s office, was Cort, hunched forward, his hands dangling between his knees, his shoulders sagging, and his head bowed. He heard my step and looked up.
Time has a funny way of slowing down when your mind has a lot to absorb. In that moment, when he looked up, I knew that he was in pain—consuming, gut-wrenching pain. His face was so unshielded and open that instinctively I sat on the chair next to him and touched his arm.
“Are you all right?” That look of pain made me want to do something, anything to help make it go away.
“Yeah,” he said so softly I barely heard him.
“What happened?” I thought that something must have happened to one of his family. Then I remembered to wonder why he was in the stake house, outside the stake president’s office.
“My life happened,” he said, biting each word off into a sentence. “A wrong turn.”
Then he smiled, distracted from his pain for a moment. “You’re the one that wouldn’t make a left turn. You would only turn right.”
“I’m over that.”
“I hope not,” he said. He sighed a deep breath.
Suddenly I felt a thin shiver of cold go through me. Here was someone my age, someone I knew who was hurting in a way I could only guess at, hurting because of the wrong choices he had made. I knew then that I could feel for him, but I really did not know how he felt.
“Remember that poem we had to learn in high school, the one about two roads splitting in the woods?”
“Diverging,” I said before I could stop myself.
“Whatever,” he shrugged. “The guy writing the poem said that one road was less traveled. He chose that one and it made all the difference. What does that mean? Did he pick the less traveled road because everyone else was on the right path, and he just couldn’t handle that and had to do everything his own way?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly.
“Everybody uses that poem to show that the right choice is the less traveled road. I don’t know if it is or isn’t. I just know it makes a difference what you choose.”
The look of pain had crept back onto Cort’s face. “I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t know if I can change the things I need to change. What do you do when you don’t like where you’re headed?”
The answer I thought of made me smile.
Cort saw it and asked, “What?”
“Put it in reverse,” I said.
He smiled when he realized I was remembering my driving lesson. “As I recall,” he said, “you weren’t real good at that, or left turns.”
“But I learned. I had a good teacher. He made me try over and over until I got it right. He wouldn’t let me give up in the middle of the intersection. Now I can go anywhere I want,” I paused. “You just have to turn around.”
“I think I’m doing that,” he said.
All of a sudden, I wanted Cort to know I had once had a crush on him. I knew that what I had felt for him had been entirely one-sided, but now that all those feelings were gone, I could tell him.
“You know, in high school, I really liked you.”
“You did?” He looked a little surprised, then he looked pleased. “That’s nice. Thanks for telling me.”
Just then the stake president’s office door opened. There was the usual handshaking and exchanging places as a couple left and Cort stood up to go in. The stake president told me when the dance committee meeting was, asked if I could help, and apologized that he didn’t have time to talk more about it just then. I said that was fine and turned to leave. Cort followed the president through the door. I knew he was on the right road.

It is instructive to note that the word edify and the word edifice come from the same root. Building an edifice that will pass the test of time requires the right plan and the right materials. Similarly, to be edified and to have heavenly confirmation of your spiritual growth, a foundation has to be in place, and it has to be right. The need for a right foundation is made more relevant from a lesson learned during the building of the Salt Lake Temple.

In February 1853 President Brigham Young presided over the groundbreaking services. Work proceeded on the excavations and foundation stones for the temple until Johnston’s army arrived in 1857. To protect the work, Brigham Young instructed the Saints to fill in the temple trenches with dirt, resulting in a vacant lot that looked like a plowed field when the soldiers walked past it. Following their departure the dirt was removed and the work continued. A few years later, President Young, along with others, made an inspection of the foundation and discovered faulty foundation stones. The faulty stones were replaced with the large granite stones you know today.

Brigham Young declared:
I want to see the Temple built in a manner that it will endure through the Millennium. . . .
. . . We want to build that temple as it should be built. [JD 10:254]

His relevant words “as it should be built” serve my purpose to emphasize foundational principles that must be right so “that all may be edified.”

Rex: As long as we can pray, there will be miracles in our lives. Personally, I have been the beneficiary of these miracles on several occasions. Let me tell you about two of them, involving two separate people. A few of you have heard me talk about each of them. Fewer of you have heard both, and none has heard the connection between the two of them that occurred to me in a very powerful way as we were preparing this talk.

As some of you know, in late June of 1987, we made a sudden and emotionally devastating discovery that I had a very fast-acting form of lymphoma that was in its final stage at the time we discovered it. The day before I left to take my treatments at the National Cancer Institute in Bethesda, Maryland, I asked for a blessing from my home teacher, Rodger Galland, and my next-door neighbor and stake president, our new BYU president, Merrill Bateman. A couple of sentences that President Bateman pronounced during the course of his sealing the anointing will remain with me through this life and the next. His words were unequivocal. He said, “This disease will not take your life at this time. The Lord yet has other things for you to do in this life in the Church and in government, and you will recover and do them.” It must have affected him as profoundly as it did me, because at a stake conference, while I was still at NIH and things were looking somewhat bleak, he told our entire stake how convinced he was that that blessing had come from the Lord and that I would live.

I want you to know that I had that same conviction. During my darkest hours at that hospital, when it seemed that nothing was going right, I would fall back on the words of that blessing and the surety with which my friend, my brother, and my ecclesiastical leader had pronounced them.

President George Albert Smith was a man of love, a man without guile. He stated that as a young boy, when he was attending the Brigham Young Academy in Provo, he heard the principal of the school, Karl G. Maeser, make a statement to the effect that not only will we be required to give an accounting for our deeds done in the flesh, but for our very thoughts. This gave him some concern because he realized that sometimes his thoughts were not entirely what they should be. However, in thinking of the matter in depth, the thought came to him, “Of course we must give an accounting for our thoughts, because our thoughts lead to actions.” In other words, “As [a man] thinketh in his heart, so is he” (Proverbs 23:7). I think these thoughts that came to President Smith at that time influenced his entire life; and he conducted his actions in accordance with his thoughts, which thoughts were clean and pure. His life was devoted to helping his fellowmen.

Sometime ago I was assigned to a stake conference in San Diego, California. When I arrived in the air terminal lounge my eyes scanned the waiting crowd to find the stake president. Finally I spied a man whom I thought must be him. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie on a hot Saturday afternoon. He was smiling and his eyes met mine with a knowing look. As I reached out my hand to his I asked, "How are you, President?" His response was a quick and pleasant, "I'm happy!" At the time I thought how appropriate his reply had been. We walked to his car and headed for the stake center and the Saturday meetings of the conference. All day I noticed that he gave the same response to every one who inquired about 'how he was,' "I'm happy!" That evening as he and I were traveling to his home, he interrupted the silence with this statement: "Elder Pinegar, you want to ask me a question." I asked what he had in mind. He responded by stating that I wanted to know why he said, "I'm happy" to every inquiry about how he was doing. I admitted that the question had been on my mind and invited him to explain. He told me the following experience from his life as a young missionary. When the stake president had entered the mission field he informed his mission president that he didn't want to be on a mission and asked to be released and sent home. The mission president replied that he could not release the young missionary because he was not the one who had called him; he had been called by the Lord. The missionary would need to stay until the Lord released him. The young man decided to stay, but each time he met or wrote to the mission president he included a request to be released, to be able to return home. Several months had passed and still the request persisted.

One afternoon following a Zone Conference and interview the missionary was surprised to hear the mission president say, "Okay, Elder, today you are going home. Pack your bags. You can go with me when I leave today." The young Elder was very happy. He went to his apartment, gathered his things, bid his companion and one of the Assistants goodbye and rode away with the mission president. He repeatedly told the president how happy this was making him to be able to go home. The mission president then said something like this: "Elder you are going home, I'm taking you to my home. I'm turning you over to my wife!." The missionary quickly responded that he did not want to go to the mission home, he wanted to go to his own home. The mission president did not give in, he merely drove to the mission home where his wife was waiting for them. As the dejected missionary got out of the car and approached the door of the mission home, the mission president's wife came out. She had a warm smile on her face and reached for his hand with a kind word and asked, "How are you Elder?" He quickly responded that he was not happy and wanted to go to his own home. This wonderfully sweet lady said, "Wrong answer Elder. Now look at me. Smile, and say, 'I'm happy!'" With a half hearted smile, and head bowed he said, "I'm happy." She smiled even more warmly and said she was glad to know he was happy. The young Elder quickly followed with the reply that he was not happy and wanted to go home, to which she responded, "Wrong answer. Now look at me, smile and say, 'I'm happy.'" He obeyed but not with any enthusiasm. They went inside the mission home where she had a nice meal awaiting them after which the missionary retired to a bedroom for the night.

For the next four days and nights the "I'm happy" conversation took place every time the president's wife and the young missionary met. On the fourth night as the Elder walked down the hall of the mission home he saw the president's wife approaching and he knew what was certain to happen. He decided to surprise her. When she reached out her hand in greeting, he smiled and responded with, "I'm happy!" He couldn't help giving a genuine smile. She was so pleased that she said, "Right answer, Elder. Now you are ready to go back to work." He quickly stated that he didn't want to go back to work, he was not really happy and only wanted to go back to his home. The mission president's wife then invited the young missionary to listen to her counsel. She knew he thought by going home, by getting away from the hard work and responsibility of his mission, he would be happy. She reminded him that he had every blessing that would lead to happiness because he had been taught the Gospe Happiness. There is no other way to find happiness than through Jesus Christ and His atoning sacrifice. He has prepared the way for all mankind to become happy through obedience to the truth; through the promise of forgiveness upon the conditions of repentance and obedience to the commandments of the Savior. She also reminded the missionary that the Holy Priesthood of God has been restored to the earth and that the keys of its power rests in living prophets and apostles who lead and guide us and serve as His witnesses in the earth. Through these keys of the priesthood, power has been given to bind husband and wife, children and ancestors together on earth and they would be bound in heaven. This plan of happiness was the very message the young missionary was called to teach.

This young missionary was humbled as he realized how very blessed he was to know of our Father's Plan of Salvation. He made a promise at that time that he would never complain again but would pursue the prepared path to happiness with renewed faith and determination. He went back to his labors and completed a successful, happy missionary service. From that time to the present, a period of over 37 years, he had always responded with "I'm happy!" to those who ask how he is doing. I know something of this man. Life for him has not been easy. Many challenges have come his way, but happiness has accompanied him throughout his life because he has come to understand and pursue the Lord's plan of happiness, the path He has prepared for us.

Most of my brothers and I were influenced by our mother and joined the Church one after another. As we attended church, our lives changed through the gospel and the help extended to us from the brothers and sisters at church. We became better sons and brothers. We started helping one another more and found life to be enjoyable. Four of us later preached the gospel as missionaries in various parts of Japan. When one of my older brothers, who had moved away from Okinawa, saw the fine stature of one of his younger brothers who was serving a mission, he said, “I can’t believe this is my younger brother who used to be so wild.” Then of his own initiative, he sought out the Church and was soon baptized and confirmed.

Today is starting like any other day, eight-year-old Gage thought as he slipped into his cotton shirt and pulled his suspenders into place. Why does it feel different? Gabriel, the rooster, crowed like always to wake up the sun. The sun peeked through the curtains and lit up the face of Roosevelt, Gage’s old, worn panda that sat on a chair by his bed, as it always did.
Yet things seemed different. Gabriel’s crowing was easier to tolerate, somehow. The light seeping through his worn curtains looked … brighter. And this morning Roosevelt’s stitched-on smile appeared happier than ever. He looked the stuffed bear straight in his black button eyes. “What’s going on, Roosevelt?”
Gage pulled on his boots. Papa would be out in the barn by now, hitching the field horse to the plow. It was Gage’s job to walk behind him and plant the seeds, a chore that somehow never ranked as high on his list of things to do as fishing or playing marbles with Ansel Clanton. But now the thought of spending the whole day in the field, seeding the dry earth, didn’t rouse even one sigh. In fact, he discovered himself looking forward to it!
“What is going on, Roosevelt?” he asked again as he started for the door, stuffing his shirt into his trousers. He paused in the sunlight that inched its way through the shadows of his room. “At least the morning is cold, like it’s supposed to be,” he told the old bear. “Except,” he added, his face puzzling up again, “today it doesn’t make me wish I was still in bed under Mama’s comforter, like it usually does.” He faced himself in the little dresser mirror. “Yep, it’s me all right. It’s just everything else that’s changed.” He scratched his head. “Maybe I’m dreaming or something, Roosevelt.” He pinched himself. “No, it’s real enough all right.”
Gage quickly ate the two eggs, biscuit, and glass of goat’s milk that Mama had waiting for him. He hated goat’s milk, but today it seemed easier to swallow.
Mama turned from her work at the butter churn and looked at her son. “Is anything the matter, Gage?”
“Mama, do you feel any different this morning than you did yesterday?”
“Feel any different about what?”
“About … everything?”
“No, I can’t say that I do. Why?”
“It’s hard to explain. I don’t really understand it myself.” He set his empty glass on the table and ran out the door.
Mama watched him as he crossed the yard toward the big field. Then she smiled, shrugged, and turned her attention back to the churn.
As Gage walked behind his father, depositing seeds into the newly plowed furrows, he glanced at the old scarecrow that stood a short way off. He had seen it a thousand times before. It looked just like it always had—a straw man dressed in ragged clothes. So why did it seem that Gage was looking at it for the first time? “Do you notice anything different about the straw man, Papa?”
Papa glanced at the ragged figure with the lifeless stare. “Yes,” he responded lightly, squinting from beneath his wide-brimmed hat, “now that you mention it, Son.”
“Really, Papa?” Gage exclaimed. “I was starting to think that I was the only one who—
“No, no,” the tall farmer with the dark, laughing eyes interrupted teasingly “I’d say that scarecrow looks at least a day older!” he chuckled.
Gage sighed. “That isn’t it, Papa. Can we talk a minute?”
Papa looked over his shoulder at the boy and stopped plowing at the end of the row. “I suppose I could give Thaddeus here a little rest.” He patted the big field horse on the rump and sat down. “What is it, Son?”
“I wish I knew what words to use to explain it, Papa.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, Papa—I just don’t understand it.”
Papa looked relieved. He pulled off his hat and scratched his head. “You asked me a moment ago if I noticed anything different about that scarecrow over there—”
“It isn’t just the straw man, Papa,” Gage interrupted. “It’s everything.”
“What about everything, Gage?”
“It’s like I’m feeling and seeing and tasting and smelling and hearing everything for the very first time. It’s like I was a different person or something. The sky looks bluer. The scarecrow looks more … interesting.” He lifted a handful of dirt and let it sift between his fingers. “The dirt even feels good. What’s the matter with me?”
Papa’s eyes misted over. “I remember when I first felt the same way.”
“You did? When, Papa?”
Papa gazed off across the field into the morning light that covered the hills. “The same day I was baptized.” His eyes returned to his son’s. “I felt alive all over, just like you.”
“I was baptized last night,” Gage uttered softly, his eyes rounding even more, like the sun above the hills.
“Yes,” his father said softly, “and you said you woke up this morning feeling different—about everything.”
“Will it be like this every morning, now that I’ve been baptized?”
“No,” Papa answered. “Not every morning.”
A tear slid down the boy’s dusty cheek. “I don’t ever want to stop feeling like I do. Never.”
“You made some very important promises to Heavenly Father at your baptism, and he made some to you. Be true to those commitments, Son, and your life will stay full, bright, and alive. It’s like this field—the harder we work to do everything right, the bigger and better and more beautiful the harvest. We can’t just sit here with our hands in our pockets and expect the corn to reach the clouds, now can we?”
“Nope—we can’t!”
The two continued their slow journey down the lengths of the field, the tall man guiding the plow, the small boy seeding the furrows.
At the end of the day, Papa and Gage made their way back to the farmhouse. Even though Gage was tired, he wore a dusty smile. He had worked hard, and it had been a good day. Tomorrow would bring another beautiful morning.

On my 25th birthday, I was tidying my bedroom. My space wasn’t in order, and I kept thinking about how my life wasn’t in order either. I wasn’t where I thought I would be at age 25. I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.
I thought about how I felt as a teenager when I got my patriarchal blessing. Whenever I read about my future, I pictured someone who was almost perfect. But I realized I had not grown up to be that person I imagined. And I wondered, If my younger self could see me now, would she be disappointed?
Suddenly I found myself in tears. I felt like I had messed up my life plan. I hadn’t made any catastrophic mistakes, but I also felt like I had nothing to show for my life. I didn’t have a purpose. Everyone else had it all figured out, and there I was, crying on my bedroom floor, feeling like my whole life was a waste.
I felt alone in my confusion and despair. But even at the time, I knew I couldn’t be the only young adult struggling to find their way. As I’ve talked with others, I’ve found that very few people’s lives end up exactly as they planned. And that helps me feel less alone.
I’ve spent a lot of time since that birthday thinking about my purpose. I still haven’t quite figured everything out. But I don’t feel so worried anymore. I know that God knows me and that if I turn to Him, He will help me create meaning in the space I’m in now.

Joseph Smith was a valiant servant of the Lord Jesus Christ. He was brave and courageous in standing for right. One time, the Prophet Joseph and several other brethren had been taken from their families and put into jail. They were chained together and had to sleep on the cold prison floor.

During one of the long, cold nights of their imprisonment, Joseph and his friends were unable to sleep. For hours the guards had been boasting about the horrible things they had done to Latter-day Saints. They bragged about robbing, shooting, and killing. They used loud voices to tell about the horrible things they had done to men, women, and even little children.

Suddenly Joseph, unarmed and in chains, stood up and spoke in a voice like thunder: “SILENCE, ye fiends [devils] of the infernal pit [hell]. In the name of Jesus Christ I rebuke you, and command you to be still; I will not live another minute and bear such language. Cease [stop] such talk, or you or I die THIS INSTANT!” (Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, page 180.)

The guards shook, and some dropped their weapons. Some of the guards begged Joseph’s pardon. All of them remained quiet until a change of guards.

Just a few days before the first conference session, a group of more than fifty people arrived at the Tahiti Papeete Mission office. Mission president Raymond Baudin was acquainted with the Saints from the various island groups of French Polynesia, but he did not know any of these people. He assumed that they were a group of nonmembers interested in attending the conference.
But they introduced themselves as Latter-day Saints from the little island of Taenga, located in the Tuamotu Archipelago. The mission president couldn’t believe it! Church leaders in Papeete had not thought that there were any Church members on Taenga. The people explained to President Baudin that nearly the entire population of Taenga was Latter-day Saint, and that every single Taengan had made the three-day voyage to Tahiti by schooner to see the prophet of the Lord!

Meg wanted to be perfect. She brushed her hair until it was perfectly shiny. She kept her hands perfectly clean. She kept her clothes perfectly neat.
Meg didn’t like messy sandboxes. She hated it when one shoelace was longer than the other. And she really didn’t like dirt. Playing tag looked like fun … but she might mess up her hair or get her shirt dirty!
On Meg’s birthday, her mommy and daddy gave her a special gift. It was a puppy! He was tan with white paws and soft brown eyes.
“Oh, I love him!” Meg said. “I’m going to call him Mittens.”
The next day, Meg played with Mittens in the yard. She threw the ball over and over again. They had so much fun. Then Mittens jumped into Meg’s lap. With dirty paws!
“Eww!” Meg yelled. “Mommy! Mittens got me dirty!”
Mommy came outside. She gave Meg a hug. “Puppies are messy,” she told Meg. “I know it’s hard for you. But I hope you can have fun with Mittens, even if it means getting a little dirty.”
Meg looked down at Mittens. She wanted her clothes perfectly clean. But she also wanted to keep playing with her puppy. She loved him!
“I guess it’s OK to get a little messy sometimes,” Meg said.
Days went by. Meg kept playing with Mittens. Sometimes he drooled a little on her clothes. Sometimes he drooled a lot on her clothes! After a while, Meg worried less about the mess. Mittens was fun to play with! He was always happy to see her.
Soon Meg started trying other new things. She waded in the lake with her family. She played in the sandbox. She played tag at recess.
One day, Mommy even had to remind Meg to change her dirty clothes! But Meg didn’t mind. Things didn’t need to be perfect for her to feel happy.

I am a returned missionary. I am also a soldier in the United States Army serving a second tour of duty in Iraq. Between my mission and my military service, I have seen people both at their best and at their worst. I’m grateful for all the experiences I’ve had, but I’m grateful I could serve a mission first. It prepared me for military service in some surprising ways.
One of the first things I learned on my mission was how to talk with other people. When I attended high school, I was shy and unsure of myself. I felt uncomfortable around strangers and uneasy in crowds. I found it hard to strike up conversations with people and often wouldn’t try. Serving in the México Mérida Mission helped get me out of my comfort zone. I slowly realized that people are easy to talk to if I put forth the effort. I soon found it easy to speak with strangers, and I had my heart touched by many people with whom I met and talked. When I joined the army, I took with me what I had gained on my mission—the ability to communicate.
Communication is imperative in the army. I am a flight crew chief on Black Hawk helicopters, in charge of the defense and security of aircraft and aiding pilots in their side vision. The lives of the pilots, passengers, and my own life often rely on my communication skills. It was on my mission that I learned to be open and to communicate effectively.
Another thing I learned on my mission was humility. When I was growing up, I had everything I needed. I never had to worry about food, shelter, or the clothes on my back. In contrast, my mission area was on the Yucatán Peninsula, and life was very simple there. Not having the luxuries I had grown accustomed to all my life was extremely humbling.
As anyone who has served in the military knows, a soldier must place himself second to the safety of his fellow soldiers and the preservation of his country. I look back on my mission now and thank my Heavenly Father for allowing me to be humbled in preparation for serving my country.
As a soldier at war, you give up every luxury of home. The men and women I served with gave up their warm beds, dry socks, and daily showers. When I am deployed, not a day goes by that I don’t appreciate all the blessings I have waiting for me at home.
Perhaps the greatest way my mission prepared me for military service was what it taught me about the power of example. While serving with the 101st Airborne Division, I have come to realize how powerful a good example can be to those with whom I serve. People say they never hear me use profanity or see me drink alcohol or view pornography. A lot of the guys in my unit have asked me why I won’t participate in those activities and have questioned me about the Church and what it teaches. I always explain my values, telling them my religion teaches me that certain things are bad for me and to abstain from them. Knowing that others are noticing my actions helps me strive to be a good example of what a Latter-day Saint should be.
Finally, on my mission I learned to have faith in Heavenly Father. I learned to pray to Him for strength. There were days during my mission when I felt frustrated and wanted to give up. I would pray for strength to get through the day. Learning to deal with my frustrations by relying on the Lord has helped me get through many tough situations in Iraq.
There is a saying in the army: “Drink water, and drive on.” To me that means, no matter what happens, one must persevere. In the scriptures, this is called enduring to the end. I have learned that I need to continually have faith, read my scriptures, and pray for guidance to get me through tough times. I have learned that the Lord is in control and is looking out for me, so I try to focus on my job. Living with Heavenly Father’s guidance has helped me realize how true the gospel is. My faith is a great source of strength in helping me cope with being deployed in a war zone.
In these and other ways my mission experiences in Mexico help me survive and thrive in the army. I always remember my Book of Mormon hero, Moroni. He served in wars and saw death and destruction, yet he remained a true and faithful servant of the Lord. I find great comfort in knowing that even during the darkest of times you can be at your best.

It was the first time I’d been able to drive my family’s car to work in weeks. When I pulled into the parking lot, I failed to notice how inappropriately fast I was driving. I thought a one-handed parking job would be rather impressive.
Crunch!
I was wrong.
The car next to me jolted from the impact.
“You just hit that car!” I yelled at myself.
My forehead sunk to the dashboard in despair. I felt like such an idiot.
Had anyone seen? I looked around but didn’t spot anybody. My heart was thumping in my chest. I threw open the door and ran around the front of my car to survey the damage. I examined the front bumper and right panel carefully but saw no sign anything had happened.
Then I turned and looked at the new Toyota Camry I had hit. On the left, back panel there was a small dent where some of the shiny green paint had come off.
I scanned the parking lot again. No one was around. I’d heard kids at school talking about dinging cars and just taking off. It happens to everyone.
“I could just leave, and no one would ever know,” I thought. “If it ends up costing very much I won’t have enough money to take my vacation to Europe in a couple of months. These people probably have tons of money anyway, and I’ve been waiting my whole life for this trip.”
I clutched my wad of keys and gave my predicament a little more thought. I could see my forehead wrinkled with indecision in the reflection of the car window. I took a deep breath and knew it didn’t matter that no one would know. I would know. I could take off and avoid having to pay for the damage I had caused, but I wouldn’t be able to escape denting my soul.
I took out my planner and a pen and wrote a note to stick on the car’s windshield.
“I’m sorry I hit your car. Here’s my name, number, and e-mail address. Please contact me so I can pay for the damage.”
I walked into work feeling sick to my stomach. If I’d done the right thing, why did I feel so awful?
The owners of the car called me that night. I felt embarrassed and angry at myself and almost choked when they told me it was going to cost $800 to get the panel replaced. How was that possible? It took me months to make that much money at my part-time job. I knew I could kiss my vacation plans good-bye.
Even though I felt horrible about what had happened, I never regretted my decision. It felt good to know my integrity was worth more to me than $800 and a little embarrassment.
I learned that honesty is sometimes just between Heavenly Father and me. Honesty is about doing the right thing when nobody is watching and then facing the uncomfortable consequences afterward. I could have escaped the monetary consequences of my mistake but not without cheapening my integrity. I know Heavenly Father is proud of me for keeping my soul dent-free.
By Allyson Taylor

Like Ammon, eleven-year-old Katrina Dalton of Allen, Texas, has learned how to be a good example to those around her. One day while playing basketball at school, Katrina noticed that some of the kids in her class were saying mean things to a boy who is partially deaf. Katrina made sure that she was kind to him, and she became so concerned about him that she talked privately to the teacher to make her aware of the problem. The teacher was able to stop the bad behavior and later thanked Katrina.

However, there was one incident that changed the entire course of my life. One Saturday night I took the family car, and a companion and I went to a movie. Afterwards I drove to a local drive-in for a malt. In the parking lot we met three of my schoolmates. They were acting so jovial that I should have guessed something was not just right. It was Saturday night, and I wanted to be a good sport, so when they invited us to go for a ride with them, I agreed. My companion and I climbed in their back seat, and we all headed for the canyon.
Before long the driver was gunning the car up the narrow, windy road with reckless abandon, and I could see that they had all been drinking. There were times when I wanted to caution him to slow down, but I didn’t want to appear to be chicken.
We went several miles up the canyon, then turned around to come back. I learned the true meaning of fear as the driver began taking hairpin curves at an unsafe speed. Then it happened. The car flew off the road at high speed and struck a concrete abutment. As the car flipped over on its side and then onto its roof, we skidded down the road in a mixed-up bundle of humanity.
As I watched the sparks flying from the roof of the car, I reviewed my life—down to the last wasted opportunity and foolish act. I prayed too. I don’t remember what I prayed for, but it must have been a prayer of desperation, a plea for life and a chance to change. After skidding down the road for several hundred feet, the car came to a jarring stop against a large cottonwood tree that stood above the river.
Miraculously, no one was seriously hurt. Suddenly sober, the driver and his companions began concocting a story to make the accident look less incriminating. It was agreed that the driver had swerved off the road to avoid hitting a deer. To my shame, I agreed to this lie, and later that night I told it to my parents. They believed their son.
The next day dad insisted we go to the scene of the accident. When he saw where the car had struck the abutment, he knew at once that the story of the deer was pure fiction. Back home, dad sat me down across the table from him. He was very serious.
“Son,” he said in a voice that was touched with emotion, “the night of the accident your mother and I kneeled at your bedside and your mother asked the Lord to protect you and your companions. She said she had a feeling you needed help.”
It took him a few moments to control his emotions; then he continued. “Today we thank God for preserving your life, and we have come to the conclusion that he has a mission for you. This could have been a day of sadness for us; instead, it is a day of rejoicing. Our family is still together, but only by the grace of God.”
I went into my room and lay on the bed. “Okay, dad, okay,” I thought, only this time I thought it with love and appreciation. “You have put something into my heart that was never there before—an understanding of your love and the love of my Heavenly Father.” I spent that night riding upside down, watching the sparks fly up from the road, and feeling the closeness of death. I was glad when morning came with its warm sunshine.

One of the reasons Kristi liked working at Lake Susan each summer was because of the fantastic selection of green growing things there. That’s what she always did on her day off—go after more specimens for her collection.
This afternoon was no different at all. She was nudging her little trowel around the delicate roots of some Houstonia caerulea (or if you prefer, some bluets) when she noticed the pair of boots. Lifting her eyes she followed the boots until they joined the jeans, and the jeans joined the shirt, and the shirt opened into the most tooth-filled grin she’d seen. This was all crowned by a flop of sun-blonde hair that was being flipped back as the grin turned into a laugh.
“Hi there, Flora. What do you have there?”
“Flora? My name is Kristi; these are some Houston … some bluets. Who are you?” she added, as she suddenly realized she’d never seen him before.
“Yeah, Flora, like flora and fauna. My name is Nils. Hmmm, Kristi.” He speculated for a moment and then pronounced, “Flora fits better.”
By dark she had found out that he worked down at the marina giving water skiing lessons, that his whole name was Nils Frederick Cramer IV, and that he had a Piper Cub airplane he planned to take her flying in next week. He was also in law school and had an opening in his family’s firm when he finished his degree next spring.
They had a beautiful summer. He taught her to water ski and she taught him about her plants. For Kristi summer had always been a period of timelessness. She had never been able to relate anything that happened in the summer to the rest of her life. This year was even more a fairy tale. With Nils at her side she skimmed across the waters of Lake Susan. She soared above the mountains in his plane. Sometimes they went down to the village to attend a dance or a movie, and with him she never got too tired to run, laughing through the moonlight, back to the resort. Sometimes they just hiked around the silent forests by the lake, drinking in the verdant magnificence. It was perfect, almost.
One Sunday evening when she had just returned from sacrament meeting in the village, they were sitting on the dock, watching the fish play with the flies.
“Flora,” Nils began, “there’s one thing about you I’ll never understand. How can a girl of your intellect and awareness be such a religious fanatic?”
Kristi had been carefully avoiding the subject of the Church for most of the summer. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of her membership, she just felt that it wasn’t something she could successfully discuss with Nils. It was odd, actually. She had always been an aggressive member-missionary. But Nils was one person whose life she didn’t want to start tampering with. Besides, she was going to enjoy this summer and not clutter it up with the Church. They would never see each other again after August, and so it didn’t matter. As long as she kept herself in tune, then what Nils believed was irrelevant. And she was doing a fairly good job of it, if she had to say so herself.
“Well, Nils, it’s just something I’ve always known to be true, and I can’t really explain it. I’ll never change because I can’t deny the truth.”
“But Flora, it’s so immature. It’s out of character for you to cling to such a silly little-girl thing as Sunday School. I used to go to a church when I was a kid too, but it’s all over now. I grew up. I don’t believe in Santa Claus anymore, either. So what?”
Kristi just changed the subject so she could think for a while. It never did occur to her to really try to explain the Church to him. She just kept thinking that things had been going so well until he brought up the Church; so she just arranged to keep it out of any conversations they had after that one. It was a strain trying to be a good member while still avoiding it, but she thought she was doing quite nicely. Besides, summer was ending fast, and when she got to school, she could forget Nils and really get back into things again. In the meantime she meant to enjoy the little paradise they had created.
Fall came with a jolt. They both knew it would eventually; but it was hard getting used to the idea that they had come to the end. Nils kept insisting that this wasn’t the end and that he’d write or call—he did want to see her again. Kristi silently figured she knew his type. Besides, it really couldn’t be continued once they left this setting. She couldn’t define it, but she knew it would never work.
School gathered her in with the familiar excitement of stepping into the new routine of different classes and different roommates. Carma and Gail, two old standbys from last year, were living next door in the dorm, and the three of them often did things together. One night they attended a movie that Kristi had seen with Nils that summer. It wasn’t even a very good one, but she became so moody that Carma insisted on being told the whole story. When Kristi finished, Carma said,
“Look, Kristi, you’re right. It couldn’t have lasted at all. I really think you should have taken him to church or maybe had the missionaries see him, though. But that’s all behind you now. We have to cure you and get your old cheery self back. What you need is a date with my cousin Del. Now I’ll call him up tomorrow and …” They walked home scheming, but Kristi was silent, thinking about how disappointing school was and how perfectly boring this winter was beginning to be.
She went through the motions of living and eventually decided that she was quite normal but that she had matured a little and was able to see how foolish all the enthusiasm she’d exhibited before was. When she came home from school one afternoon and saw the roses on her desk, she never even suspected Nils. The card read, “To my lovely Flora. Happy Anniversary, four months ago today. Love, Nils.”
He called that night, and she couldn’t believe that they had forty-five minutes worth of things to say to each other. He called her every week after that and sent her all sorts of ridiculous mail. Once she told him that he had to stop the phone calls because they must be costing him too much.
“Flora, my love, money doesn’t matter where you, my sweet, are involved.”
“Nils, be realistic. Your vocabulary is straight from the fourteenth century. You cannot possibly afford it.”
“But Flora, realistically, I can afford it, and besides, I think I love you, and how will I ever find out if I don’t talk to you?” And then, as usual, “When can you come and see me?”
And, also as usual, “Never; you have to stop calling; you have to stop writing; you have to stop missing me; you cannot love me. It won’t work, Nils; we’re too different. Please.”
He never believed her, though. She wondered what she’d have to do to convince him. After she hung up the phone, her roommate Jill offered to pray and fast with her for a solution. Kristi politely, but coldly, made some remark about being perfectly capable of solving her own problems. Once in a while she found herself thinking that it was rather comforting to know that somewhere out there someone cared that much about her. Someone as unique as Nils thought about her often.
One afternoon she decided to go next door and visit Carma and Gail. As she started around the corner, she heard Gail’s voice coming through the open door.
“I have noticed, Carma. I really have. She’s just different. You know how fervent Kristi always was about her testimony. It seems faded or something. We definitely need to help …” Kristi just slipped back into her own room, bitter thoughts filling her mind about fickle friends minding their own business.
Her birthday came on a Thursday. Nils hadn’t called for two weeks and no mail had come for nearly a month. To add to her depression, it had snowed all day. The only thing she wanted to do was to go back home where the sun shone and no one had even heard of snow. She was getting tired of reality. Summer seemed so far away, and she was so depressed by the way this winter was turning out. There seemed to be nothing in the world that could cheer her up that evening. She had just resigned herself to homework when the phone rang. A voice told her that she had a special delivery package at the dorm office and asked that she and several friends come down to claim it. The several friends and Kristi managed to get the 3-by-4-foot crate back to her room with much difficulty. They struggled with the cover, and when they finally pried it off, she couldn’t believe it. An orange tree, with tiny, greenish oranges on it, stood in a pot in the middle of her floor. Tied to one branch was a card that said:
“Happiness is: California for your birthday. I love you, Flora. Nils.”
At eight-thirty he called.
“Pack your bags, my dear. The flying ace is coming tomorrow to take you back for a wonderful weekend in the sun. And now for the big surprise. You know that television game show you like so well, ‘It’s Up to You’? Well, a friend of mine gave me two tickets for the Friday afternoon taping session. You’re sure to get on the show with these seats. What do you have to say?”
“Nils, you want me to spend the whole weekend with you? The whole weekend?”
“Good grief, you accuse me of living in the fourteenth century! So what? What could it hurt? Aren’t you just a little sick of the snow by now anyway?”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts. This is a chance in a lifetime. I’ll never be able to get such good tickets again. I know how well you like that show. Come on. I’ll be up at eight-thirty in the morning. It only takes two hours to fly, so we’ll be back here in plenty of time to go have a nice little lunch somewhere and then be at the studio … Florie, are you still there?”
“Nils, stop and listen to me for a minute. I cannot come down to spend any time with you, especially not an entire weekend. Now will you just stop planning and—”
“Not another word. I’ve heard it all before, but this time I am going to win. Tomorrow at eight-thirty. You’ll love it. And I love you. See you!”
She stood there holding the silent phone in her hand and hearing in her mind, “It couldn’t hurt, it couldn’t hurt.” Placing the phone gently back onto its cradle and sitting down, she began to think. “Could it really be so bad just visiting him? It probably wouldn’t hurt. In fact, it will be a good time to clear this up once and for all.”
She puttered around the room, packing a bag and muttering to herself how sane and innocent her decision was, but she avoided looking up when Jill asked where she was going.
She got ready for bed, and it occurred to her how long it had been since she had really prayed. She didn’t pray that night either. It just seemed that there was nothing to say lately. She wasn’t all that interested in what He had to say to her, anyway. She assumed she already knew and she pretended not to care. The thought crossed her mind before she went to sleep, “I’m a big girl now, perfectly capable of making decisions without everyone’s interference and assistance …”
Jill was shaking her, “Kristi, Kristi, wake up, honey. What’s wrong? You were shouting. What happened?”
It was 2:30 A.M. Kristi sat up and shook her head. “I almost lost. I really almost lost everything! How could anyone be so stupid? Oh, Jill …” She sat crying for a few minutes while her roommate held her, and then Kristi, the former Flora, picked up the phone to call Nils.

As a boy, I had many interesting experiences with my father’s father. He didn’t have much schooling but was a very wise and good man. He was a superb carpenter and painter, and I can remember spending time with him painting. I thought I was learning to paint, but actually I was learning lessons that were even more important.
My grandfather often told me about the blessings that come from the payment of tithing. Two of his children, my father and my uncle, served missions during the Great Depression, when many people couldn’t afford to go on missions. It was quite an unusual thing to have two sons on a mission. Grandfather, who didn’t ever have much money, used to bear his testimony that his sons were able to serve missions because they always paid their tithing. He said, “I wouldn’t know how we’d make it at times; then somebody would call me and ask me to build a set of steps for them or paint their house or something like that.” I’ve wondered how many of those sets of steps really needed to be built. I’m sure Grandfather would not have taken a handout.
Grandfather thought that the payment of tithing was not only a duty but an opportunity. Shortly before his death I heard him bear his testimony, in a matter-of-fact but very direct way, that blessings come through the faithful payment of tithing. I’ve always considered it a privilege to pay my tithing, and I’ve seen the blessings that have come into people’s lives through living this principle.