Gospel Story Finder

As a college student, I spent some time working in the Mutual program at the state training school for the mentally retarded in American Fork, Utah. I quickly learned to accept and love those people. They were remarkable people and their spirituality was stronger than their mental and physical weaknesses.
Except for Ethel—the victim of severe cerebral palsy. I found it very difficult to work with her, or around her. My pity—and my revulsion—were simply too great. She had to be strapped, hands and feet, to a metal frame to keep her from injuring herself. People told me she had a good mind, but it had taken the state workers nearly 40 years to discover that she had a mind at all, it was trapped in such a cruelly crippled body. The workers had finally taught her to speak, though I still could not understand her. I wondered why the Lord had left her here, forcing her to linger when she was obviously miserable.
One day I happened to attend a fast and testimony meeting at the school. At the very end of the meeting, Ethel asked to speak. I wondered why they allowed her to take up time when no one could understand what she said. Then Ethel spoke, clearly enough so that even I could understand her. She said, “I love life!”
I was very startled as I heard her say, “And I love my Heavenly Father!” I bowed my head and wept.
When Ethel finished her testimony, the “kids” sang the song that had fast become their favorite, “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here …” Each time I have heard it since, I have remembered Ethel and the beautiful lesson she taught me.

I recently noticed my tendency to use electronics during church and youth activities. It had become a habit. Anytime I saw my phone, I immediately had to grab it and check to see if I had any new notifications or text messages. The solution? Hiding my phone from myself. Whether it was in a bag, under a chair, or even with a friend—if I couldn’t see my phone, I wouldn’t be tempted to use it.
Taryn M., 15, Florida, USA

Giving to those in need is important. President Monson tells of a Sunday School teacher who taught him to share.
I express gratitude for a Sunday School teacher [named] Lucy Gertsch. She was beautiful, soft-spoken, and interested in us. She made the scriptures actually come to life.
We undertook a project to save nickels and dimes for what was to be a gigantic party. Sister Gertsch kept a careful record of our progress. As boys and girls with typical appetites, we [imagined] cakes, cookies, pies, and ice cream. This was to be a glorious occasion—the biggest party ever.
None of us will forget that gray Sunday morning in January when our beloved teacher announced to us that the mother of one of our classmates had passed away. We thought of our own mothers and how much they meant to us. We felt sorrow for Billy Devenport in his great loss.
The lesson that day was from the book of Acts, chapter 20, verse 35: “Remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Lucy Gertsch asked, “How would you like to follow this teaching of the Lord? How would you feel about taking your party fund and, as a class, giving it to the Devenports as an expression of our love?” The decision was unanimous. We counted very carefully each penny and placed the total sum in a large envelope.
Ever shall I remember the tiny band walking those three city blocks, entering Billy’s home, greeting him, his brother, sisters, and father. Noticeably absent was his mother. Always I shall treasure the tears which glistened in the eyes of each one present as the white envelope containing our precious party fund passed from the delicate hand of our teacher to the needy hand of a grief-stricken father. We fairly skipped our way back to the chapel. Our hearts were lighter than they had ever been, our joy more full, our understanding more profound. We [had] learned through our own experience that indeed it is more blessed to give than to receive.

One day my brothers got together to talk to me about what I was going through. I don’t really remember what they said, but I knew it was done out of love. As we talked, I started to realize what I was missing. It became the catalyst for change. It should have been me to ordain Kayson an elder. It should have been me to escort him through the temple. It should have been me to give him a father’s blessing before he left. Those most important events in his life were meant for me to be there, not someone else. I remember asking myself, “What am I doing?”

Shortly after, a good friend felt inspired to introduce me to a member of his stake presidency. This kind man listened intently to my story and seemed to know what I was going to say before I said it. We talked for hours. My story, my questions, the logic I had been exposed to were so similar to what others had shared with him. I began to realize that there were reasonable answers for many of my concerns and that many of my questions, while sincere, had been planted by people intent on damaging faith.

Were all my questions and concerns immediately resolved? No, of course not. But my heart was softened enough to realize a great truth: questions are good, but some questions are more important than others.1 Was losing my family and standing before God worth a few unanswered questions? When I focused first on the questions that were most important and put God back in first place in my heart, I began to find answers that reassured me that I was getting back on the right path.

My stake president and bishop also reached out to me. They were a great help to me and Cheri during some dark times. They never gave up. They and my family on both sides of the veil were instrumental in helping me. I know that Heavenly Father knows and loves us. He puts people in our path when we need them. We just need to be willing to accept their help.

I know there are others out there who may be going through something similar. It may be you or someone you know.

I know that the Savior established His Church with the authority to provide the ordinances and covenants we need to return to Him. Satan is working overtime to discredit the Lord’s Church using any means possible. Raising questions and creating doubts is easy. Falling into his traps can happen to anyone. Relying on the information and answers that others provide can be far easier than doing the work of discovering truth for ourselves “by study and also by faith” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:118; emphasis added). But ultimately, that’s what God requires.

If you are struggling with questions or doubts about the Church or your faith, you won’t find truth by reading blogs or listening to podcasts from those who disagree with the Church or have left it. But you also probably won’t be satisfied with shallow answers, and you might not like the suggestion to “put your questions on the shelf.”

I learned that we cannot always live on borrowed light, but instead we must turn to God who is the source of all light and truth (see Doctrine and Covenants 93:26). We must study it out in our own minds, but we must also ask God if what we are thinking is right (see Doctrine and Covenants 9:8). We must learn for ourselves, as Joseph Smith did (see Joseph Smith—History 1:20), and be patient in our searching (see Alma 32:41). But learning by faith means we must prove the truth by living it (see John 7:17; 1 Thessalonians 5:21).

When I was studying things antagonistic to the Church, I felt like I was literally in the mists of darkness (see 1 Nephi 8:23–24; 12:17). When I grabbed hold of God’s word and took that first step toward Him, that was all He needed to send His Spirit to touch my heart.

A few weeks after Kayson left on his mission, my stake president visited me. I caught him up on what had happened during those weeks after my brothers had talked with me. I said I would like to get a new temple recommend. He asked if I could answer the recommend questions properly. I confessed, “President, I don’t think I can say I know that the Church is true yet, but I sure hope with all my heart that it is. And I am going to live my life in accordance with that hope. Is that enough?”

He paused for a moment then said, “Travis, that will always be enough.”

There are some things I’m still waiting to understand, but some things have become very clear to me. I know that Heavenly Father loves me. I know that we might wander and struggle for a time. But I know that through Christ, His Atonement, and the hope it brings, it is possible to return to the path that leads back to Him.

The author lives in Utah, USA.

Cicero said, “Control thyself.” I had the opportunity in World War II to bat against the immortal Bob Feller in a servicemen’s game. If you ever want a lesson in humility, bat against Feller. Bob Feller had a unique distinction as a sixteen-year-old boy. He could take a 9 1/2-inch, 5-ounce baseball and throw it from 60 feet 6 inches, 105 miles an hour.

Now that may not impress you, but you go to bat and you’re very impressed. To those of you who may not understand that velocity, a 9-inch baseball is the size of an aspirin tablet at 60 feet 6 inches, at 100 miles per hour. I submit to you, it makes a difference which side of the plate he throws it.

Bob Feller at age sixteen had a problem. He lacked control. He was a great athlete. He had tremendous capacity. He was born to succeed. He knew himself, but he hadn’t disciplined his great talent of speed, so that it was questionable as to whether he would stick in the majors.

But Bob Feller became the great athlete he was because he listened to wise counsel. He had great coaches, and one of them took him aside one day and said, “Bob, it really doesn’t matter whether you throw 105 miles an hour or 95. If you will take a little speed off your pitch and put the ball where it belongs, you will succeed!”

We call that control in baseball, and you little leaguers know how important control is to a pitcher. Bob listened and became the strike-out artist of his era.

The afternoon my mother died, we went to the family home from the hospital. We sat quietly in the darkened living room for a while. Dad excused himself and went to his bedroom. He was gone for a few minutes. When he walked back into the living room, there was a smile on his face. He said that he’d been concerned for Mother. During the time he had gathered her things from her hospital room and thanked the staff for being so kind to her, he thought of her going into the spirit world just minutes after her death. He was afraid she would be lonely if there was no one to meet her.
He had gone to his bedroom to ask his Heavenly Father to have someone greet Mildred, his wife and my mother. He said that he had been told in answer to his prayer that his mother had met his sweetheart. I smiled at that too. Grandma Eyring was not very tall. I had a clear picture of her rushing through the crowd, her short legs moving rapidly on her mission to meet my mother.
Dad surely didn’t intend at that moment to teach me about prayer, but he did. I can’t remember a sermon from my mother or my father about prayer. They prayed when times were hard and when they were good. And they reported in matter-of-fact ways how kind God was, how powerful, and how close. The prayers I heard most were about what it would take for us to be together forever. When I saw in my mind my grandmother rushing to my mother, I felt joy for them and a longing to bring my sweetheart and our children to such a reunion.

I was invited by the university to speak about a year ago. Prior to receiving the invitation to speak, I was actually here visiting at BYUH with my sister and niece when I received a phone call at 2am in the morning, from Todd, who was at the hospital ER in Utah, informing me he had hurt his back while lifting our daughter, Whitney, who has cerebral palsy. After feeling that the lower section of his body was rapidly going numb, he hurriedly drove himself to the ER where he was told he had to have emergency back surgery that day. A couple of weeks later, the invitation came to speak, and I was relieved to decline as my husband was recuperating and still experiencing severe back pain.
Whitney, our angel daughter, is most cherished and is fully dependent on us for help which requires some lifting. She is like our little baby, dependent on being fed, bathed, and dressed. She now weighs approximately 120 lbs. Not only did I have to take care of Todd, but I also had to take care of Whitney and my 91-year-old mom, Mary, who also lives with us. My mom and I have reversed roles now – I am now the Mom and she is the spirited teenager!
Exactly a year after Todd’s back surgery, I received the dreaded letter, again asking if I would be able to speak at the devotional on October 25. Immediately, fear overtook and I began to search for reasons why I wouldn’t be able to accept the invitation. Todd had recovered and was now able to travel again. I had a very strong impression, a quiet, gentle but powerful whispering that I should accept the invitation. I also felt that this experience would help to greatly improve my spiritual course and discipleship which I treasure. What convinced me to accept was the impression that my experiences as an alumna of BYUH might benefit at least one student to realize their purpose “for such a time as this.”

Elder Kay’s father died when Arthur was eleven years old. “My youngest sister was born just three weeks before Father passed away,” Elder Kay recounts. “So there were five children younger than I. Mother had been afflicted with a series of strokes that left her partially paralyzed. But the things that I remember most about her were her faith, her courage, her devotion, and her trust. Whatever our family circumstances, Mother’s faith never waned. And she never complained. She was the town clerk for a number of years, and even though her lower limbs were not very functional, she had an excellent hand and kept immaculate records. She earned a few dollars that way; the farm supplied the rest of our income.

“I have fond recollections of my aunts, uncles, and cousins too. We were a close family and met together often for fun and for family dinners. A special treat was the five-gallon freezer of ice cream that Grandmother often made.

“I can’t think of anything in my life that I would change, except, perhaps, my reactions to some things. As I look back now, every experience has been a blessing. I know absolutely that God lives and that the Savior is real and that He is our Redeemer. I have a strong testimony of the divine calling of the great men who preside over the Church.

“Several times my life has been preserved because of the warning of the still, small voice. I’ve learned to listen to that voice. I’ve also learned to trust the Lord with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. And I tell the children of the world that I know that He hears and answers prayers.”

One day we got a call from a woman who was an alcoholic. She had joined the Church in her early married years and had been active as a Sunday School teacher. But when we found her she was lying sick in a tiny two-room trailer home.
After we took her to the hospital, we assumed the task of cleaning up the trailer, where she and her two boys, ages eleven and fifteen, had been living in unbelievable conditions. As I stood washing dishes in the midst of empty whisky bottles, beer cans, and dirty clothes, with the sun beating down on the tin roof and sweat running down my face, with roaches crawling on my legs, and with an almost unbearable stench permeating the air—somehow it didn’t seem to matter that much. One of God’s children needed help. Over and over again, the scripture came to me: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” (Matt. 25:40.)
We worked with this woman for the next ten months, and the boys started coming to their Church meetings. Each time we would visit, she would put her arms around me and tell me how much she loved me.
In our second location, we were again assigned to work with the many inactive families in the branch. In the remaining four months of our mission, we were able to visit about sixty-five of these families, some of them several times. We were only able to activate about ten families, but we made many friends and had many heartwarming experiences. We hoped to have sown seeds that would eventually sprout and grow.
Three baptisms the night before we left brought our mission to a beautiful close. These were children of part-member families, and teaching them the gospel was one of the greatest spiritual experiences of our mission. During the lessons the children seemed to hang on every word with wide-eyed wonder, and I felt as though we were surrounded by angels. There was a large crowd at the baptism, and again the Spirit was very strong in our midst. Afterwards there was a time of tears, embracing, and good-byes.
It is remarkable and marvelous how the Lord is able to work through human beings as weak and simple as my husband and me to accomplish his purposes. Ben often said to people, “I don’t do much. My wife has to do most of the talking.” But this was not so. In spite of his handicaps, he had very special talents and qualifications that were needed for our work. It was his patience, long-suffering, and persistence, his selflessness and generosity, his faith, his ability to reach the down-and-out and backsliding, that made it possible for the Lord to work through him and pull us through the difficult parts of our mission.
As we reflected on our mission, we came to an important and surprising realization: that every experience of our lives, even the seemingly ordinary things, seemed to have been part of the preparation for our mission. Ben’s many years of experience in working with the youth in Scouting, MIA, and Sunday School paid off greatly. His experience in organizing and directing men at work helped him. His ability as a handyman was also very useful. Little children loved and idolized him because he loved them dearly and could relate to them.
As it was with Ben, so it was with me. Almost every experience I had had in my life seemed to be a preparation for the work I needed to do on my mission. Bits of wisdom tucked away even in childhood, my experience in music and drama, secretarial work, and nursing, my training in psychology and work in a mental hospital, my homemaking skills, my years through the Depression, my seminary work, my experience with raising a large family, my positions in the Church—all proved to be useful. It was amazing how the Spirit of the Lord opened to my use many of my most hidden resources.
All in all, our eighteen months in the mission field was a glorious experience. The blessings we received and the answers to our prayers—both for help in our personal lives and in the lives of those we sought to reach—are too numerous to relate. The Lord was with us every step of the way and every hour of the day. The love and experiences we shared with those kind and loving people gave us some of the most beautiful moments in our lives. The sweet relationship we had with the young elders is also a treasured memory. Our wonderful zone conferences each month, which gave us such spiritual uplift and inspiration, are unforgettable moments.
To those couples who are timid and feel inadequate or incapable of a mission, I would say this: If we could do it, you can too. Don’t be reluctant or afraid. If you are willing, and if you trust in the Lord, he will give you the needed strength.

I recall a President of the Church, now deceased, who visited his daughter in the hospital following a miscarriage.

She was the mother of eight children and was in her early forties. She asked, “Father, may I stop having children now?” His response was, “Don’t ask me. That decision is between you, your husband, and your Father in Heaven. If you two can face him with a good conscience and can say you have done the best you could, that you have really tried, then you may stop. But, that is between you and Him. I have enough problems of my own to talk over with Him when we meet!” So it is clear to me that the decisions regarding our children, when to have them, their number, and all related matters and questions can only be made after real discussion between the marriage partners and after prayer.

The light flickered, blinked, flickered once more, and then the room went dark. Marta blinked and rubbed her eyes, but there was no seeing through the blackness.
“Now what?” Lisa asked in a shaky voice.
Outside, the wind sang and whistled as it rattled the windows of the old house the family had recently bought. It was the family’s goal to restore the old place to its original splendor, but so far not much had been done with it.
“Methinks ’tis winter,” Marta said, trying to make her words sound Old English and funny. But no one laughed. “Where has your sense of humor gone?” Marta asked.
“It went with Daddy,” replied seven-year-old Peter, his voice choked with fear.
“I wish Mom and Dad had fixed those old windows,” Lisa said nervously. “That rattling is scary.”
“I wish Mom and Dad were home,” Peter whimpered.
For a moment no one moved or spoke. The wind heaved and buffeted the house, died mischievously to a tickle on the window-panes, then rushed again with horrendous screams as though it was demanding to be let inside.
For as long as Marta could remember, there had been terrible windstorms in the valley—at least two or three times a year. Once, in their old home down the street, a winter wind had exploded through a window, shattering glass on the carpet and making its icy way into every corner of the house. Most of the time the wind wasn’t so violent, and Marta, though she didn’t exactly know why, had come to enjoy the storms. Maybe it was the eerie darkness that resulted when the electric circuits were shorted out. Or maybe it was because she remembered enjoying the stormy-night fires her father started in the fireplace and the way the family huddled around the blaze, wrapped in blankets and holding cups of hot chocolate. Her father always seemed to make an adventure out of storms.
Tonight, however, her parents had gone across town on an errand. A little while ago they’d called to say that they would have to wait until the snowplows cleared a path for them to get home.
The wind gasped, beat viciously against the house, then moaned pitifully.
Marta chuckled to herself, but Lisa shuddered and Peter began to cry. Marta never remembered her older sister being frightened of storms before.
“Isn’t anyone going to get some candles?” Marta asked.
“I—I will,” Lisa stammered, but she didn’t move.
“That’s all right; I’ll get them,” Marta said. She started feeling her way through the darkness. It was like playing blindman’s buff. First she felt the piano bench, then the banister, the hall wallpaper, and the buffet; then she groped her way through the doorway into the kitchen. Finally she found the right cupboard. It seemed strange not to be able to see even her hands in front of her. Opening the cupboard door, Marta’s fingers groped through its contents—paper napkins in a noisy cellophane package, rattly boxes of cold cereal, two long, smooth candles and their holders.
“Now for the matches,” Marta muttered, reaching farther back into the cupboard. “I know they’re in here.” Way back in the corner she felt the raspy side of the matchbox. Marta quickly shut the cupboard door, struck a match, and lit the candles. Slowly she walked back to the living room.
“Marta, Marta, is that you?” Peter called out.
“Of course, Peter,” Marta said cheerfully.
“This house is all ghosty,” Peter whispered.
“It’s all right, Peter.”
Marta heard Lisa trying to comfort their brother, but the words were not convincing. It seemed strange to be enjoying something that frightened her brother and sister. What can I do when even my big sister is scared? she asked herself. Quickly Marta placed the candles on the mantle.
“There, Peter. See, it isn’t so bad,” Lisa said.
As if to prove her wrong, the wind knocked viciously against the house. The candles flickered, then burned brightly again. Marta looked at Lisa’s face. Usually it was a happy, princesslike face, but now it only mirrored fear.
“Shall I start a fire?” Marta asked.
“No!” Lisa answered abruptly. “This wind is worse than most. It could blow down through the chimney and start the house on fire.”
Marta had never heard of such a thing. “What?” she asked.
“Last year in a storm like this, two homes burned,” Lisa explained. “The newspaper account said that it had something to do with downdrafts. I’m not exactly sure how the fires started, but we’d better not light one.”
Marta felt helpless. Why can’t Peter and Lisa feel like I do about storms? she wondered. Why can’t they relax and laugh at the weird sounds of the wind and makebelieve fun things about the dancing shadows the candles make on the wall? Aloud she said, “I’ll get some blankets then. At least we can keep warm until the heat comes back on.”
Marta walked out of the dim candlelight and felt her way down the hall to the linen closet. The blankets were stored on the top shelf, so she had to jump to get them down. When she managed to get three, she returned to the living room. “Lisa, you can curl up on the couch,” she said, “and Peter and I will lie down on the floor.”
“No,” Peter said.
“Why not?” Marta asked. “It will be like a slumber party.”
“No, it won’t.” Peter started to cry again.
“It’s all right,” Lisa said, hugging Peter to her. “Come on. Let’s have a slumber party.” She tried to sound excited, but the words came out stilted.
“Or we can pretend we’re pioneers,” Marta said, “It’s a game, Peter. We’re pioneers, and it’s nighttime, so we have to go to bed.”
“Pioneers didn’t have windstorms like this.”
“Yes, they did!” Marta countered. “I’ve read about them. And they were outside in the storms, not inside like we are.”
Lisa climbed onto the couch, and Peter reluctantly lay down on the braided rug. Shadows from the candles danced on the walls and ceiling of the tall, drafty room.
“Well, what did the pioneers do?” Peter asked.
That’s it! Marta realized. That’s how I can help Lisa and Peter. Aloud, she told Peter. “They prayed and did things to keep their minds off the storm.”
“That’s a good idea,” Lisa said. “Let’s say a prayer for us—and for Mom and Dad too.”
“After we’re through, I’ll tell you a story,” Marta added.
Peter prayed with them, but he stopped to look around every time another rush of wind rattled the house.
“This storm may last five more minutes or all night,” Marta said after they finished their prayer, “but we’ll have fun telling stories.”
“I hope it’s only five more minutes,” Lisa said.
Marta’s mind was racing. What story can I tell that will help Peter and Lisa? First she thought of some fairy tales, then of some stories she’d heard in school. But none of them seemed to be the kind that would give comfort … That’s it! She remembered the scripture story she’d heard in Primary last week that had filled her with a secure and comforting feeling.
Marta smiled at Lisa and Peter, then began: “One time Jesus and His Apostles were traveling in a boat when a fierce storm started tossing and turning their boat about. The Apostles became frightened, but Jesus slept through the whole noisy, scary storm.”
Outside, the wind whistled and screamed and rattled the windows and doors, while inside, Marta told the story of how Jesus had awakened and commanded the storm to stop. Marta tried to make her voice sound reassuring and comforting, but even if her voice wasn’t, she knew that the story would ease their fears.
When Marta finished, she looked over at Peter. In the dim candlelight she could see that he was already asleep.
“I’m glad you’re here, Marta,” Lisa whispered. “You’re a lot like Dad.”
Surprised by her sister’s remark, Marta didn’t say anything.
Soon Lisa went on, “It’s not that either of you really likes storms or that you wish they would come to hurt us or to do damage; but when they do come, you both manage to make the most of the situation. I wish I had such a gift.”
Marta was surprised. How often she had wished for Lisa’s long, thick hair instead of her own thin, wispy hair. Marta had never imagined that Lisa would ever be wishing for something that her younger sister had.
Lisa snuggled down on the couch, and Marta pulled her own blanket up to her chin and thought once more about the scripture story. “Peace, be still. …” Marta thought of the words from the story, the words Jesus had used to still the stormy waters. As she listened to the noises around her, Marta smiled.
Marta’s thoughts drifted to Lisa and what her sister had just said. It felt so good to comfort and to be comforted. She smiled again and then let herself relax and listen to the music of the wind as it accompanied the dancing shadows on the wall.

“Is that it?” Elliott asked the stake president.
“Yes, you’re officially released as a full-time missionary. Welcome home. You can start dating again.”
They shook hands. “Thanks. Oh, can I use your phone?”
“Sure. I’ll be in the other room with the stake clerk if you need me for anything.”
Elliott stared at the phone. He pushed his glasses in place with his index finger. It wasn’t that his glasses fit that badly. Mostly it was something he did when he felt nervous or threatened.
I can do it, he thought to himself, picked up the phone and dialed.
“Hello,” Rachel said.
“Rachel? This is Elliott. I just got in town. In fact I’m calling from the stake president’s office. He just released me from my mission.”
“Oh, Elliott, welcome home. How was your mission?”
“Terrific. I can hardly wait to tell you about it.”
“Well, I’ll be sure and be there when you give your talk in church.”
He paused. “Actually, the main reason I called was, well, my mother says that you and Kyle have been going together, and I was just wondering, you know, how serious you are?”
“It’s funny you should ask. Last week he asked me to marry him.”
“Gee, that sounds fairly serious then, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I think so, Elliott.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I said I’d think about it.”
“Before you think much more, can I come over and talk to you?”
“There,” she said. “I just put the stamp on my letter telling him I accept his proposal.”
“So maybe this isn’t a good time to call and ask you out?”
“No, it really isn’t, but thanks for thinking of me.”
“Well, I thought, you know, that you and me … I mean you and I … that we …”
“I’m sorry, Elliott. I really am.”
“You say you wrote to Kyle—where is he?”
“Well, you knew he joined the air force, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, he’s a fighter pilot. He was here a few days ago, and then they shipped him off to Alaska.”
“Alaska—that’s a long ways away, isn’t it?” He paused. “And you haven’t actually mailed the letter, right?”
“No. Like I said, I was just putting it in the envelope when you called.”
“How about waiting until tomorrow to mail it?”
“Why?”
“The way I look at it, until you actually mail it, you’re not officially engaged.”
“I think that’s really putting too fine a point on it, Elliott.”
“I’d like to see you tonight,” he said. “But I won’t bother you if you’re engaged.”
“Why do you want to see me?”
“So you can see firsthand what a mission can do for a guy like me.”
“Well, gee, I don’t know.”
“At least let me come over and talk to you.”
Ten minutes later she set the letter on the dashboard of his car. “Can you drop by the post office on our way home so I can mail this tonight?”
He drove by the high school. “You and I have a lot of great high school memories together, don’t we?”
She looked puzzled. “We do? What are they?”
“Do you remember the junior-senior prom when Scottie Anderson wore a tuxedo and tennis shoes, and Melanie Peters tried to pin Joe Pillen’s carnation on, and she stuck him, and he yelled. Do you remember that?”
She looked at him strangely. “I don’t remember that at all.”
“Oh,” he said quietly. “And then there’s those times we dated.”
“I guess we did date a couple of times, didn’t we?” she said.
“Three times.”
“Was it three? Okay, but still …
“All I’m asking is for you not to mail that letter for a few days. Go out with me, and let’s just see if some of that old magic is still there.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Elliott, am I forgetting something? What old magic are you referring to?”
“Remember how we used to kid around in seminary? I liked to sit next to you and make wisecracks so you’d laugh out loud in class and get in trouble. Rachel, you’ve got one terrific laugh.”
“You like my laugh?”
“You have the finest laugh in the world. Your laugh is like shaking a bottle of soda and then opening it up and having it spray out over everybody.”
She cleared her throat. “Let me see if I have this straight. You’re saying that because I laughed at your jokes, I should break off my engagement to Kyle.”
“You’re not engaged yet, so there’s nothing to break.”
“There’s one thing that puzzles me,” she asked. “Why didn’t you just give up when I told you about Kyle?”
“All right, let’s face it, he and I are in competition for you. Animals do that all the time you know—they fight for the female of the species. You take your basic buffalo, or your deer, or even your tiny chipmunk. All share this common characteristic that only the strongest male wins the female of the species. At first you might think this is unfair, especially if you happen to be one of the weak males, but actually it’s only nature’s way of ensuring that only the strongest will pass on their genes to posterity.”
She was looking at him like he was from another planet. He pushed his glasses back in place. “So,” he mumbled, “I take it you’re not a fan of ‘Wild Kingdom’?”
Then she burst out laughing.
“All right!” he cheered. “That’s the Super Bowl of laughs.”
“Your basic buffalo? Your tiny chipmunk? Give me a break!”
“Sorry. I haven’t dated for a couple of years, so I’m a little rusty. But I’m sure I’ll improve with time.”
“For your sake, Elliott,” she teased, “I certainly hope so.”
She asked if they could stop by the grocery store to pick up a few things for her mother. He pushed the shopping cart for her. “I can tell you still kind of like me,” he said.
“I’ve always liked you, Elliott—as a friend. I find you … well, interesting.”
He frowned. “Interesting? Is that all? How about ruggedly handsome?”
Diplomatically she turned to her shopping list. “If you see any Niblets corn, let me know.”
“So, tell me,” he said, “what else in life do you find interesting besides me?”
“The National Geographic,” she said, suppressing a grin.
“Would you say I rate above or below the National Geographic in degree of interest to you?”
She was trying hard to fake seriousness. “Well, of course you know that the National Geographic is a monthly publication.”
“Yeah? So?”
“Should I compare you with one issue or to a whole year’s worth of informative factual writing and wonderful color photographs?”
And then they both laughed.
On the way home he asked, “Basically, how am I doing so far?”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
“I learned that from my mission.”
“Be honest. Are you really sure you want to get serious with a girl so soon after your mission?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Well to be honest, not really.”
“Then why don’t we leave well enough alone. You keep on being unsure, and I’ll go marry Kyle.”
“But what if there’s no other girl in the world like you that I can joke around with? Give me two weeks. That’s all I’m asking. Two weeks for us to find out if we could ever like each other enough to want to get married.”
She paused.
“Look, I know Kyle’s tall, dark, handsome, and has good eyesight. I can see that some women might consider him more physically attractive than me.”
He waited for her to say it wasn’t true. But she didn’t say anything. “Well, is he?”
“Elliott, all Kyle has to do is walk in the room and I get weak in the knees.”
“And what happens when I walk into the room?”
“I start smiling because I know you’re going to make me laugh.”
“That’s it?”
“Elliott, mainly I think of you as a good friend. More like a cousin actually.”
He pushed his glasses into place.
They drove home and made popcorn and ate it on the front steps. At nine o’clock he said he’d better go home and be with his parents. “Don’t mail the letter for a while, okay?”
“All right, I’ll hold it for a few days.”
“How about going fishing with me tomorrow morning?” he asked.
“Fishing?” she asked.
“On the plane after my release I thought about what I wanted to do when I got home. I came up with two things—asking you out and going fishing. This’ll combine ’em both, sort of like killing two birds with one stone.”
She laughed. “How can I refuse such a deal?”
Elliott wasn’t quite sure why she was laughing. “I’ll pick you up at six thirty.”
He shook her hand. She looked strangely at her hand and then smiled at him and went inside.
The next morning they drove to an old fishing hole he’d gone to before his mission. They found a large flat boulder near the edge of the water and sat down while he fixed their lines.
“You think we’ll actually catch anything?” she asked.
“Of course we will. When I go fishing I’m always sure I’ll do well.”
“Why’s that?”
“When I was a kid, my parents used to take me fishing out on a boat. My dad would bait my line first and then toss it overboard, and then he’d do my mom’s and then his. Since my line was in the water way before anybody else’s, I often caught the first fish. My parents used to say, ‘Elliott’s such a good fisherman. He always catches the first fish.’ Since I knew I did catch the first fish, I decided they were right. From that moment on, I thought of myself as a good fisherman.”
He cast her line out first.
“Later in junior high when I started going fishing by myself, I just knew I was a good fisherman. If I caught fish, then I thought to myself, ‘Of course—I’m a good fisherman.’ But if I didn’t catch anything, I thought, ‘Hey, if I didn’t catch any fish, then nobody caught anything, because I’m a good fisherman.’ No matter what happened, I always interpreted it in terms of this unshakable belief that I was a good fisherman. The amazing thing is that because I saw myself as a good fisherman, I became a good fisherman, because I never got discouraged and gave up.”
Her pole dipped strongly downward.
“I got one!” she yelled excitedly.
He coached her as she reeled in, and then took a net and dipped down into the cool clear water and pulled in a large trout.
“Rachel! All right!”
He removed the hook and put the fish on a stringer and set it back into the water.
Then he baited her hook and helped her cast out again.
“Rachel is a good fisherwoman,” he said. “She always catches the first fish.”
They sat down again and watched their lines.
“You know,” he said, handing her a donut, “lately I’ve been thinking. What if that’s the secret of success? What if nothing else is as important as how we feel about ourselves? If that’s true, then the most important thing to do is to build a child’s self-confidence. I’ve been thinking about majoring in education. I think I’d like to teach in grade school. That’s where kids need the most to be told they’re special.”
“What a treat for a kid to have you for a teacher. You’re so positive about everything.”
“On my mission I learned that Heavenly Father is positive about all of us. In the Doctrine and Covenants, he tells us to go ahead, do any good thing you want to do. He tells us that the power’s in us. I believe that. I think we should follow our dreams and not give up.
She sat a little closer to him.
“What are your dreams?” he asked.
“Well, I want to finish college. Kyle says there’s a college just a few miles from where we’ll be living, so maybe I’ll finish after we get married.”
“Anything else?”
“I want to be married in the temple and have children and be the kind of mother to my kids that my mother was to me.”
“Anything else?”
She paused. “You’ll think this is dumb.”
“No I won’t.”
“Since I was a little girl, I’ve written songs. I’ve always wanted to know if they were any good, you know, if I could find a record company willing to promote them.”
“What other dreams do you have?”
“I’ve always wanted to paint a picture that was good enough to hang in a living room.”
“You can do it. The power is in you to do it. You wouldn’t have the dream unless you had the power in you to put wings on it to make it fly.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Sure, why not? You should always believe you’re going to win.”
“But a person doesn’t always win.”
“No, but you should always believe you will.”
She smiled.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was picturing you on the Titanic just after it struck the iceberg. The ship’s sinking and everybody’s running around trying to jump into lifeboats, except you. You’re going around telling people, ‘Hey, no problem. Just think of it as a very large ice cube.’”
The sun was warm. She leaned against his shoulder and closed her eyes, while he watched the water—and her. “I love to look at your face,” he said.
She didn’t answer.
“Are you awake?”
“Yes.” She opened her eyes.
They ended up with five trout. They were home by eleven that morning. She invited him to eat lunch with her family if he’d cook up the fish they’d caught.
While he worked in the kitchen with her mother, Rachel went to get the mail.
“It’s nice to have you home again, Elliott,” her mother said.
“Thanks. It’s nice to be home.” He paused. “Can I ask you a question? How does Rachel get along with Kyle?”
“You should see how her eyes light up when he enters the room.”
He looked outside. She was sitting on the steps reading a letter. He knew it was from Kyle.
When she came back, she was uncharacteristically somber.
But he was too busy frying fish to talk.
After lunch, she walked him out to the car.
“Can I see you tonight?” he asked.
“Elliott, I got a letter from Kyle today. He’s gone ahead without me and ordered our wedding announcements.”
“Good grief! That means you must have already set a wedding date.”
“Well, we set one tentatively, but I’ve never actually agreed to marry him. And he knows that. I guess he just assumed my answer would be yes.”
Elliott pushed his glasses into place. “But he hasn’t actually sent the announcements out yet, has he?”
“No. He’s having them all mailed to me when they’re printed.”
“What a waste of money. Well, I suppose we could always cross out his name and write mine in. They have write-in candidates for elections, right? So why not for a wedding?”
“This isn’t funny, Elliott.”
“I never said it was.”
“Maybe it’d just be for the best if we quit seeing each other.”
“What for?”
“I hate to change horses in the middle of the stream.”
“No. Don’t think of it like that.”
“How else can I think of it?”
“Well, okay, you’re at this corral, see, and there’s all these horses milling around. At first you picked out this rather ordinary quarter horse named Kyle. But then you spot this magnificent Arabian named Elliott. So you turn to the man in charge of the horses and you ask, ‘Would it be all right if I changed my mind and took that Arabian instead of the one I originally picked?’ And the cowboy says, ‘Hey, Lady, it’s no skin off my nose.’ So you pick the Arabian. What I’m trying to say is, don’t think of it as changing horses in the middle of the stream. In the middle of the stream would be if you were officially engaged, which you’re not. But this is still in the corral. I think you should keep that in mind.”
She smiled. “You had to be the Arabian, didn’t you?”
After supper he showed up at her home again. Her mother met him at the door. “Rachel just left. She said she had to go to the post office.”
“I’ve got to stop her.” He ran to his car and took off for the post office. He got there just as she was about to drop a letter into the mailbox.
“Wait! Don’t mail that letter! It’s not in the middle of the stream! It’s still in the corral!”
An elderly lady, thinking he was a lunatic, hurried out the door.
Rachel dropped the letter into the chute.
He lunged for the letter, but it was too late. It was gone.
He sighed. “Okay, you mailed it. I can accept that. But until he actually receives the letter, you’re not officially engaged.”
“Calm down, it wasn’t a letter to Kyle. I was just paying my bill to a C.D. club.”
“Oh—sorry.”
They left the post office.
“Elliott, I don’t think you’re as interested in me as you are in achieving a goal you’ve set for yourself.”
“Two weeks, that’s all I’m asking.”
That night she wrote to Kyle and told him not to do anything more about marriage plans because she hadn’t made up her mind yet.
The next day when Elliott showed up at her home, it was a rainy day. They sat at the piano while she played the songs she’d written.
“They’re terrific songs,” he said. “You’ve got real talent. Let’s record your songs and send them out to some record companies. I think you’ve got a bright future as a songwriter.”
“You really think so?”
“Absolutely. You can do anything you set your mind on.”
They ate lunch. It was still raining. “One time you talked about wanting to paint a picture,” he said. “How about if we do that this afternoon?”
They drove to an artist supply shop and bought a large canvas and several tubes of paint and some brushes, and then they went to his house.
His mother talked to Rachel while he set up in the garage for their project.
“Elliott is very enthusiastic about you,” his mother said.
“As far as I can tell, he’s enthusiastic about everything.”
“Your mom and I talked yesterday. We’re a little puzzled about you two.”
“I’m puzzled too. I like Elliott very much.” She paused. “But I’m in love with Kyle.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
Just then he burst into the house. “C’mon! Let’s go be Rembrandt!”
They went to the garage. Elliott had placed the canvas on the floor. They took an old tricycle and dabbed paint on the wheels and ran it back and forth across the canvas. They repeated the process several times with a variety of colors and wheels. It took them three hours and then they stood in the garage looking at their creation.
“I think it makes a very bold statement,” Elliott said with a grin.
“And tricycle art is so today,” she said. They started laughing. “Oh, Elliott, you’re so much fun to be with.”
On Sunday he spoke in sacrament meeting and told about some of the experiences he’d had on his mission. And then afterwards, he invited Rachel for lunch with his family.
On Monday Elliott located a music studio in town where they could record Rachel’s songs. On Tuesday he called around for some musicians, finally locating two guitar players and a drummer. On Wednesday night they recorded the songs.
Thursday night when he showed up, he could see by her expression there were problems. “What’s wrong?”
“Kyle got my last letter. He just phoned to ask what the problem is, so I told him about you. He’s really upset. He’s catching a military transport plane down here this weekend.”
The first time Elliott saw Kyle that weekend was at church. He wore his air force uniform. Elliott was depressed seeing how good Kyle looked in a uniform. Kyle and Rachel sat together in church. He draped his arm around her shoulders most of the meeting.
A member of the bishopric announced a Young Adult fireside at Rachel’s house.
Elliott lost track of them after sacrament meeting because he had a calling to teach Primary.
He spent the afternoon in his bedroom.
“Can I come in?” his mother said just before supper.
She came in and sat down on the bed. “Are you okay?”
“Well, no, I guess I’m not.”
“You’re worried about Kyle?”
“When he walks in the room, Rachel gets weak in the knees. But when I walk in the room, she starts snickering. You’re a woman. Tell me what I need to do so she’ll get weak in the knees when I walk in the room.”
“Is that what you really want? For her to be weak in the knees.”
“I want her to fall in love with me.”
“Just be yourself.”
“Mom, I’ve tried that, and it’s not enough. How can I compete with Kyle? He’s out of my class. A girl would be crazy not to fall in love with him. He looks terrific, he’s got an education, he’s an officer in the air force, a fighter pilot. He’s got a future, and what have I got? Three more years of schooling and then a poverty level income as a grade school teacher.”
She paused. “I think you’re wonderful, but of course I’m your mother. You’ll just have to wait and see what happens. There’s one thing on your side though.”
“What’s that?”
“She may be in love with Kyle, but I think you’re her best friend.”
“So?”
“Guess who my best friend is?” she asked.
“Dad?”
“That’s right.”
Monday morning Kyle left.
Rachel came over to see Elliott. He was going through the want ads looking for a job.
She sat down with him at the kitchen table. “Kyle said the chances of ever finding a record company willing to take a chance on my songs are pretty slim.”
“Realistically, I guess he’s right.”
She paused. “I showed him the painting we did. He made fun of it and said it looked like somebody’d taken a child’s tricycle and run it back and forth over a canvas.”
“Well, of course, that’s true.”
“And then I talked to him about taking college music courses after we were married. And he asked why I’d want to do a dumb thing like that.”
She quit talking.
“He told me all I had to worry about was being his wife. He tried to kiss me, probably thinking I’d just melt into his arms. But I pulled away and told him I needed some time, and that I wasn’t ready to get engaged to him. I tried to tell him how good I feel about myself when I’m around you, but I don’t think he understood. Anyway, he’s gone. So I’m available—if you want to go fishing sometime.”
“Let’s go tomorrow,” he said.
“Are the fish biting?”
“Of course they are. We’ll catch a lot of fish.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“We always do, don’t we? Let’s go to McPherson Reservoir. I always do well there.”
She paused. “They drained it last year.”
He paused. “Some other place then. It’s a big world. There’s lots of places to do well.”

A few years ago, while serving in Mexico, I had the opportunity to visit a small branch of the Church in a rural part of the country. The members met in a small, rented warehouse for sacrament meetings. They sat in plastic chairs on a cement floor, as did the branch president and his counselors. The day I visited, there were a handful of people in attendance. As I sat in my own plastic chair and looked upon the group of individuals, I wondered what message Heavenly Father wanted me to share with this small band of Saints in a distant part of the vineyard. While I prayed, the Spirit communicated to me the following words: “Tell them I know them and I love them. Tell them I weep when they cry, and I rejoice when they are happy. Tell them I hear their prayers and am answering in a way best for them.” As I shared this message with these individuals, I felt Heavenly Father’s profound interest in and love for each of them and His yearning for their joy and happiness.

All students in Ireland are required to take religion class. Even though they go to early-morning seminary, these Latter-day Saint students are not excused from their school religion requirement. But their study of the scriptures has paid off. Louise explains, “Franciscan friars visited our school. When they were asking questions, they would point to me and put their fingers to their lips as if to say, ‘Shhh, don’t answer the questions.’ They knew I could answer them.”

Elaine tells a similar story about religion class. “If my teacher asked what a word means, like covenant, I would answer,” she says. “He knew I would know the answer no matter what he asked.”

Derek Fagan, age 17, has excelled in both school and seminary, and he credits an experience he had just before he received his patriarchal blessing: “We had been talking about patriarchal blessings in seminary. I prayed and asked if I should get mine. Our stake did not have a patriarch at that time, but three days later, our new patriarch was called. I felt it was my answer. That’s when I decided for myself that the Church is true and that I would try harder to do well and choose the right. My patriarchal blessing was amazing. I carry it with me everywhere. Since early-morning seminary started, everything has been clearer. Even in school, I learn very quickly now.”

Derek became the first seminary student in Ireland to memorize all the scripture mastery scriptures. As an extra challenge, he memorized the account of the First Vision as found in Joseph Smith—History.

Brandt Crowther remembers an experience he had a few months after he and his family arrived in Ireland: “I had prayed almost every night of my life, but one night, I prayed with sincerity and asked the Lord what He wanted me to do here in Ireland. I needed to know in my heart that the Church is true. I found out that God does live and He loves me. I gained an understanding of what He wanted me to do. Since then, I’ve been happy being here. I’ve loved it. I’m closer to the Savior now.”

Brandt explains some of the things the Lord told him he needed to do: “I needed to read the scriptures every day and pray every night and keep the commandments. That night the Spirit was with me. I didn’t want to go to bed.”

Seminary class often helped Farris find answers: “I received a testimony of prayer and of tithing. I would pray about things I really needed to find out about—and then it would click in seminary. I would understand things better. What is it like when the Spirit gives you an answer? You’re calm, and you understand things. You’re not nervous. You know it’s true. You feel it in your heart.”

The students in this seminary class enjoy being together. And now every weekday morning isn’t enough. They get together every Saturday night, too.

It all started when Louise’s mother told Brett that Louise’s friends always ask her to go to the pub with them on Saturdays, but she never goes. “We decided to get the whole class together and go out and have some fun,” says Brett. “We’ve been getting together every Saturday night. It’s good fun.”

What do they do? The first week they went to the cinema, but that quickly became too expensive. So they started going to each other’s houses to play games or watch videos or just talk and talk and talk. Elaine explains, “We used to have nothing to talk about; now we don’t have enough time to talk.”

For Louise, having something else to do on Saturdays has strengthened her resolve to stay strong in the Church. “It’s a reason for me not to go with my friends from work every weekend,” she explains. “Sometimes I used to go along. I didn’t do anything I shouldn’t, but just being there didn’t feel good. It eventually wears out your spirit. I got so tired of trying to speak up for myself. But when I go with the seminary class, I can just be me. I feel accepted.”

And most of all, “Saturday nights are fun,” says Pamela. “My other friends’ standards are completely different from mine. I feel much better going to the seminary activity. We have great fun.”

Derek adds, “Early-morning seminary and our activities on Saturday evenings have brought us closer, and we’re better friends. I’ve gotten a lot closer to everyone in the class, even Pamela, my sister. I wouldn’t even consider going out and getting drunk and breaking the Word of Wisdom.”

Most of all, this year of seminary has taught these students the meaning of faith. Their teacher, Rosemary Richmond, helps them learn from Church history about the faith of the early prophets and members. Her husband, Brendan, suffers from an extremely rare and damaging lung disorder and is confined to a wheelchair. Although she has the constant worry of her husband’s care and health, she is eager to prepare lessons and have the seminary class come each morning.

“Members here are very faithful, especially Rosemary, with all the trials she’s been through,” Louise says. “It makes you realize how lucky you are. In seminary we read about the Prophet Joseph Smith and the pioneers. Joseph Smith is a great man. I love him. The testimony he had never faltered. Can you imagine living back in those days? The pioneers had to walk halfway across North America just to practice what they believed. I want that sort of faith because I love the Church.”

Louise is developing that kind of faith. Every day she stands up for her beliefs. And with her small group of valiant seminary friends, she doesn’t have to stand alone. None of them do. They have found a way to strengthen each other. And that has made all the difference.

Mine has been the opportunity to meet many wonderful men and women in various parts of the world. A few of them have left an indelible impression upon me. I share with you a story I spoke of some years ago. I met a naval officer from a distant nation, a brilliant young man who had been brought to the United States for advanced training. Some of his associates in the United States Navy, whose behavior had attracted him, shared with him at his request their religious beliefs. He was not a Christian, but he was interested. They told him of the Savior of the world, of Jesus Christ born in Bethlehem, who gave his life for all mankind. They told him of the appearance of God, the Eternal Father, and the resurrected Lord to the boy Joseph Smith. They spoke of modern prophets. They taught him the gospel of the Master. The Spirit touched his heart, and he was baptized.
He was introduced to me just before he was to return to his native land. We spoke of these things, and then I said: “Your people are not Christians. What will happen when you return home a Christian, and, more particularly, a Mormon Christian?”
His face clouded, and he replied, “My family will be disappointed. They may cast me out and regard me as dead. As for my future and my career, all opportunity may be foreclosed against me.”
I asked, “Are you willing to pay so great a price for the gospel?”
His dark eyes, moistened by tears, shone from his handsome brown face as he answered, “It’s true, isn’t it?”
Ashamed at having asked the question, I responded, “Yes, it’s true.”
To which he replied, “Then what else matters?”
These are questions I should like to leave with you: “It’s true, isn’t it? Then what else really matters?”

Youth in the Melrose Ward, Roseburg Oregon Stake, spent a day as “pioneers” to help polish their leadership skills. The youth were assigned to a family, as either parents or children, and given callings. All families also received a “baby” which was really a 10-pound sack of flour.

The night before the trek, “mothers” fixed dinner and the youth had a fireside about leadership and the possible challenges they might face on their journey. To make the trek more realistic, a few members of the group were assigned to have injuries or illnesses which would require help and support from the rest of the participants.

Although the trek was tiring and the youth were glad to rest when it was over, they all agreed that it was a good experience.

“All of the trials provided opportunities to serve others, to be a leader or learn from one, and gave us a real understanding of what the pioneers went through,” says Kristel Lander, who participated as a “mother” on the trek.

“A [woman] walking along a road fell into a pit so deep [she] could not climb out. No matter what [she] did, [she] could not get out by [herself]. The [woman] called for help and rejoiced when a kind passerby heard [her] and lowered a ladder down into the pit. This allowed [her] to climb out of the pit and regain [her] freedom.

“We are like the [woman] in the pit. Sinning is like falling into the pit, and we can’t get out by ourselves. Just as the kind passerby heard the [woman’s] cry for help, Heavenly Father sent his Only Begotten Son to provide the means of escape. Jesus Christ’s atonement could be compared to lowering a ladder into the pit; it gives us the means to climb out.”10 But the Savior does more than lower the ladder, He “comes down into the pit and makes it possible for us to use the ladder to escape.”11 “Just as the [woman] in the pit had to climb up the ladder, we must repent of our sins and obey the gospel principles and ordinances to climb out of our pit and make the Atonement work in our lives. Thus, after all we can do, the Atonement makes it possible for us to become worthy to return to Heavenly Father’s presence.”12

Richard also used to party a lot. But, after the last bash, he said, “I saw things there and I didn’t feel right. For some funny reason I knew I didn’t belong there.”
He left the party and vowed to become more involved in things like service, schoolwork, studying the scriptures, listening to good music, and not to watch so much television.
“It’s hard,” he says. “I’m a teenager. I like to keep up with things going on outside. I don’t want to be a social hermit. But I feel that if I’m going to go on a mission, and if I’m going to get married in the temple, and if I’m going to receive callings, I know I have to be worthy.”

I talked on love at a missionary zone conference in Philadelphia one day, and during interviews a young man from Utah County, a former football player at American Fork High School, came up and said, “President, I’ve never told my dad that I love him.”

I said, “Elder, we’re not leaving this office until you do.” “I can’t,” he protested. “My father works for Geneva, and we can’t reach him during the day; but I promise, president, that I’ll call him tonight and tell him I love him.”

I replied, “Elder, after you do, call me and let me know how it went.”

After driving home from Philadelphia, I went through a tall pile of mail and did some dictation. Sister Pinnock went to bed, but I sat up for a while and wrote in my journal—still no telephone call. As I was finally going to bed, much later than I should have been going to bed, the telephone rang. “President, I did it,” he announced.

I said, “Tell me about it.” “Well, I was so frightened that I waited too long, and when I finally called, they had gone to bed. Mother answered the telephone, and because I had called late in the night on other occasions in my life, she thought I was in trouble; so I said, ’No, mom, everything’s okay, but I must talk to dad.’”

She handed the telephone to her sleepy husband, who said, “Yes, son, what is it?”

The missionary son said, “Dad, I love you. I want you to know how much I love you.”

His father began to sob and handed the telephone back to his wife, who demanded, “What did you tell your father?”

He said, “Mom, I told dad how much I love him, and I want you to know how much I love you.” Then there was crying on both ends of the line.

Brothers and sisters, if you love and appreciate someone, it is a matter of integrity to communicate that fact, because it is not said often enough.

A counselor in a bishopric recently shared an experience that teaches how important each neighbor is. While looking out over the congregation, he saw a child with a large box of crayons filled with a variety of different hues. As he looked at the many members of his ward, he was reminded that, like the crayons, they were very similar but each person was also very unique.
He remarked: “The shade they brought to the ward and the world was all their own. … They had their individual strengths and weaknesses, personal longings, private dreams. But together, they blended into a color wheel of spiritual unity. …
“Unity is a spiritual quality. It’s the sweet feelings of peace and purpose that come from belonging to a family. … It’s wanting the best for others as much as you want it for yourself. … It’s knowing that no one is out to harm you. [It means you will never be lonely.]”6
We build that unity and share our unique colors through benevolence: individual acts of kindness.
Have you ever felt lonely? Do you notice those who are lonely, living in a black-and-white world? Young women, I’ve watched as you bring your unique color into the lives of others with your smiles, your kind words, or a note of encouragement.
President Thomas S. Monson taught us how to interact with our peers and everyone we meet when he told the young women of the Church, “My precious young sisters, I plead with you to have the courage to refrain from judging and criticizing those around you, as well as the courage to make certain everyone is included and feels loved and valued.”7
We can follow the example of the good Samaritan and “change the world” of just one person by being benevolent.8 I would like to invite each of you to do at least one Samaritan-like act this coming week. It may require that you reach beyond your usual friends or overcome your shyness. You may courageously choose to serve someone who doesn’t treat you well. I promise that if you will extend yourself beyond what is easy to do, you will feel so good inside that kindness will start to become a part of your everyday life. You’ll see that benevolence can bring joy and unity to your home, your class, your ward, and your school. “Remember this: kindness begins with me.”
Not only did our Savior love all; He served all. Expand your goodness to many. Old and young can be greatly blessed by your kind service. President Monson, since the time he was a young man, has always had a special place in his heart for the elderly. He recognizes the value of a short visit, a ready smile, or a squeeze of a well-worn, wrinkled hand. Such simple acts of charity bring color into a life that sometimes is made up of long, lonely, gray days. I would invite each of you to be mindful of your grandparents and the elderly. Look around at church tomorrow and identify those who could use your shade of color added to their life. It doesn’t take much: greet them by name, engage them in a short conversation, be available to assist them. Could you open a door or offer to help with their home or garden? What is a simple task to you at your young age can be an overwhelming project for an older person. “Remember this: kindness begins with me.”
Sometimes being benevolent is most difficult in our own families. Strong families require effort. “Be cheerful, helpful, and considerate of others. Many problems in the home are created because family members speak and act selfishly or unkindly. Concern yourself with the needs of other family members. Seek to be a peacemaker rather than to tease, fight, and quarrel.”9 “Remember this: kindness begins with me.”
Jesus loved the children, took them in His arms, and blessed them.10 Like the Savior, you can bless all children with your kindness, not just those in your home.
You may not know the impact your life and example may have on a little child. I recently received a note from a friend who manages a day-care center in a local high school. Attending that high school are several young men and young women who are members of the Church. She shared with me this experience: “As I walk through the halls with the little children, it is nice to see how many lockers have pictures of Jesus or of temples taped to the inside of the doors. One of the children saw a picture of Jesus on the inside of a [young woman’s] opened locker door and said, ‘Look, Jesus is at our school!’ The student was moved to tears as she bent down and gave the child a hug. I thanked the young woman for the good example she was to those around her. It is uplifting to know that there are so many youth that are trying to stand for truth and righteousness and do their part in inviting the Spirit into their lives, even though it is difficult at times with all the noise and harshness in the world around them. We have some wonderful youth in the Church.”
I couldn’t agree more! Young women, you are changing the world by centering your life on Jesus Christ, and you are “becoming what He wants you to be.”11
Thank you for your benevolent lives; for including those who may be different; for your kindness to your peers, the elderly, your family, and little children; for being neighbors to those who are lonely and those who have challenges and heartache. Through your benevolence, you are “pointing others to [the Savior’s] light.”12 Thank you for remembering “kindness begins with me.”
I know that President Thomas S. Monson is a prophet of God whose life has been a model of benevolence from which we can learn. Follow our prophet. Learn from his example and listen to his words. I believe in the gospel of Jesus Christ, and I know that through Joseph Smith the priesthood has been restored to the earth.
I know that our Savior lives and loves each of us. He has given His life for all. I pray that we will center our lives on Jesus Christ and “follow in His ways” by loving and serving one another.13 By so doing, I know that we can make the world a better place, because “we believe in being … benevolent.”14 I so testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.