Gospel Story Finder

I am grateful to be with you in this great priesthood meeting. All of us are members of a quorum in the priesthood. That may not seem remarkable to you, but it does to me. I was ordained a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood in a tiny branch of the Church. There was only one family in the branch. We had no chapel. We met in our house. I was the only deacon and my brother the only teacher.
So I know what it is like to exercise the priesthood alone, without serving with others in a quorum. I was content in that small branch without a quorum. I had no way to know what I was missing. And then my family moved across a continent to where there were many priesthood holders and strong quorums.
I have learned over the years that the strength in a quorum doesn’t come from the number of priesthood holders in it. Nor does it come automatically from the age and maturity of the members. Rather, the strength of a quorum comes in large measure from how completely its members are united in righteousness. That unity in a strong quorum of the priesthood is not like anything I have experienced in an athletic team or club or any other organization in the world.
The words of Alma, recorded in the book of Mosiah, come closest to describing the unity I have felt in the strongest priesthood quorums:
“And he commanded them that there should be no contention one with another, but that they should look forward with one eye, having one faith and one baptism, having their hearts knit together in unity and in love one towards another.”
Alma even told his people how to qualify for that unity. He told them that they should preach nothing save it were repentance and faith on the Lord, who had redeemed his people.
What Alma was teaching, and what is true in any unified priesthood quorum I have seen, is that the members’ hearts are being changed through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. That is how their hearts become knit together.
You can see then why the Lord charges the presidents of quorums to lead in the way that He does. In the 107th section of the Doctrine and Covenants, He uses almost the same words describing the duties of the president in each quorum. The deacons quorum president is to teach the quorum members their duty “as it is given according to the covenants.” The president of the teachers quorum is to teach its members their duties as “given in the covenants.” The president of the priests quorum, who is the bishop, is commanded “to preside over forty-eight priests, and sit in council with them, to teach them the duties of their office, as is given in the covenants.”
The elders quorum president is charged this way:
“Again, the duty of the president over the office of elders is to preside over ninety-six elders, and to sit in council with them, and to teach them according to the covenants.”
It is easy to understand why God wants His quorums taught “according to the covenants.” Covenants are solemn promises. Heavenly Father has promised us all eternal life if we will make and keep covenants. For instance, we receive the priesthood with a covenant to be faithful in helping Him in His work. The people we baptize into His Church promise to have faith in Jesus Christ and to repent and to keep His commandments. Every covenant requires faith in Jesus Christ and obedience to His commandments to qualify for the forgiveness and purified hearts necessary to inherit eternal life, the greatest of all the gifts of God.
You might ask, “Does that mean that every lesson in the quorum must only be about faith and repentance?” Of course not. But it does mean that the teacher and those who participate must always desire to bring the Spirit of the Lord into the hearts of the members in the room to produce faith and a determination to repent and to be clean.
And that desire goes beyond the walls of the room where the quorum meets. In a truly united quorum, that desire extends to the members wherever they are.
I saw that a few years ago in a deacons quorum where I had been called to teach the lessons. A few of the deacons failed to come to the quorum meetings from time to time. I knew that the teaching in that quorum—and in every quorum—was the charge of the president, who had keys. He was to sit in council with all of them. And so I have made a habit of seeking the counsel of the one with the charge from God by asking him, “What do you think I should teach? What should I try to accomplish?”
I learned to follow his counsel because I knew God had given him responsibility for the teaching of his quorum members. I knew one Sunday that God had honored the charge to a young quorum president. I was teaching the deacons. I noticed an empty chair. There was a recording device sitting on the chair, and I could see that it was running. After the class, a boy sitting next to the empty chair picked up the recorder. As he started to leave the room, I asked him why he had recorded our discussion. He smiled and said that another deacon had told him that he wouldn’t be in the quorum that day. He was taking the recorder to his friend at home so that he could listen to our lesson.
I had trusted in the responsibility given to a young quorum president, so help from heaven came. The Spirit came to touch the members in that room and sent one of them to a friend to try to strengthen his faith and lead him to repentance. The deacon carrying the recorder had learned according to the covenants, and he reached out to help his friend and fellow member in the quorum.
Priesthood quorum members are taught in more ways than by lessons in a class. The quorum is a service unit, and the members learn in their service. A quorum can give greater service than the members could give alone. And that power is multiplied by more than their numbers. Every quorum has a leader with authority and responsibility to direct priesthood service. I have seen the power that comes when quorums are called to move out to help in times of disaster. Time and again I have had people outside the Church express surprise and admiration for the effectiveness of the Church in organizing to give help. It seems to them like a miracle. In all priesthood service the miracle of power comes because leaders and members honor the authority of those who direct the service in priesthood quorums across the earth.
Miracles of power can come as quorums reach out to serve others. They come as well when the priesthood service is to members within the quorum. A deacons quorum president met early one Sunday, before the quorum meeting, with his counselors and with the quorum secretary. After prayerful consideration in council, he felt inspired to call a deacon to invite to the next quorum meeting another deacon who had never attended. He knew that the deacon who had never attended had a father who was not a member of the Church and that his mother had little interest in the Church.
The designated deacon accepted the call from his president to contact the boy. He went. I watched him go. He went a little reluctantly, as if it might be a hard task. The boy he invited to come with him to quorum came only a few times before his family moved away. Many years later I was in a stake conference thousands of miles away from where that deacons quorum had met. Between conference meetings, a man I did not know came up to me and asked if I knew someone. He gave me a name. It was the boy who was called by his deacons quorum president to go after and care for one lost sheep. The man said to me, “Will you thank him for me? I am the grandfather of the boy he invited to a deacons quorum years ago. He is grown now. But he still talks with me about the deacon who invited him to go with him to church.”
He had tears in his eyes, and so did I. A young quorum president had been inspired to reach out to a lost member of his quorum. He was inspired to send a boy on the errand to serve. That president had done what the Master would have done. And in the process a young president trained a new priesthood holder in his duty to serve others according to the covenants. Hearts were knit which were still connected after more than 20 years and across thousands of miles. Quorum unity lasts when it is forged in the Lord’s service and in the Lord’s way.
One of the hallmarks of a strong quorum is the feeling of fellowship among its members. They care for each other. They help each other. Quorum presidents can build that fellowship best if they remember the Lord’s purpose for unity in the quorum. It is of course so that they will help each other. But it is more, much more. It is so that they will lift and encourage each other to serve in righteousness with the Master in His work to offer eternal life to Heavenly Father’s children.
Understanding that will change the way we try to build fellowship in the quorum. For instance, it might even change the way a teachers quorum plays basketball. The members might hope to build fellowship, more than just to win a game. They could choose to invite a boy who is always left out because he doesn’t play very well. If he accepts and comes, the members of the quorum are likely to pass the ball a little more, looking for the open man, especially the boy who isn’t likely to score. Twenty years later they may not remember whether they won that night, but they will always remember how they played together and why—and whose team it was. It was the Lord who said, “If ye are not one ye are not mine.”

I am so grateful that Cari Lu and I are here together with you. We raised our family mostly in Puerto Rico. During most of our life, we lived far from any temple. But early in our marriage, we made a commitment with the Lord and each other that we would visit, together, His Holy House at least every single year. The Lord blessed us with even more opportunities to attend. Sometimes, this was a trip to temples in Washington D.C., Florida, Utah, or the Dominican Republic. Other times, I would travel throughout the United States and the world with my work, and I saw the Lord bless me as I sometimes would have a house of the Lord right next to me, or other times I would drive up to seven hours to the nearest one. When my job sent me somewhere else, the Lord always provided a miraculous way to be able to go to one of His temples around the world. No matter what, when I was far from it, I drew myself closer to the house of the Lord, closer to His covenants.

My dear friends, I struggle to find words or simple ways to explain it, but I have faced many adversities. Darkness tried to creep up on me many times as I was a young adult building a family with Cari Lu. I was sent to many places, and faced the adversary’s “mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, … his hail and his mighty storm” trying to “beat upon” me and trying to have “power over [me] to drag [me] down to the gulf of misery and endless wo.” But brothers and sisters, I did, and I strive to do, all I can to “build [my] foundation” upon “the rock of [my] Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God.”

I could have never imagined the sacred and overwhelmingly indescribable experience I had decades later. The Lord then blessed me to have been serving in the Caribbean Area Presidency, when, during my last year there, I was assigned to accompany Elder D. Todd Christofferson to the dedication of the house of the Lord in my home island of Puerto Rico. I was invited by Elder Christofferson to pronounce the dedicatory prayer for the last session of the dedication.

I can still remember the feelings of the heavens opening, the Savior accepting His house, and—together with the Saints, family members, and beloved lifelong pioneers in Puerto Rico on both sides of the veil—saying “Hosanna to God and the Lamb.”

When Phillipe and Annelies Assard (left) met Lucien and Agathe Affoué in Côte d’Ivoire, both couples rejoiced to know they were not alone in the Church there.
Phillipe and Annelies Assard had built a comfortable life when the missionaries knocked on their door in Köln, Germany, in 1980. They quickly embraced the gospel and felt “overwhelmed with blessings.” Phillipe soon felt a powerful desire to return to his native country of Côte d’Ivoire to share the restored gospel. “So in 1986, after many prayers and fasting with my wife,” Phillipe recalled, “I decided to return to Ivory Coast to give what I had received, to improve the lot of my family and my people.”8
Before leaving Germany, Phillipe consulted with Church leaders. Though there were no Church units in Côte d’Ivoire, there were a number of members there who had joined the Church while in other countries. The Assards were given a list of their names and for the next year diligently wrote to each one. Gradually, the Assards rekindled the spark of faith in others and were given permission to begin holding Sunday meetings in their home. Wards and branches followed, and in 1997 the first stake in Côte d’Ivoire was organized.

Although David Day of Bristol, England, is just 13, he already has some significant performances to his credit. He was chosen from hundreds of entries to play the piano in Royal Albert Hall in a national music festival organized by the Scout and Guide Association.
“The concert at Royal Albert Hall was the biggest thing I’ve ever done,” said David. “I was nervous.” His nervousness did not show as he performed for a large audience that included his parents, two sisters, brother, and grandparents.
David has also appeared in a Children’s Royal Variety Show, performing before Princess Margaret. David began playing at the age of six. At age eight he was called to be the junior Sunday School pianist. A year later he played the organ in stake conference.
Currently David serves as the ward organist and first counselor in the deacons quorum presidency in the Bristol Fourth Ward.

Summer is hot in Brisbane this time of year. Always is. An old swagman I met in Townsville told me that it’s always the same in Brisbane in the summer. This is my third summer in Queensland, my second in Brisbane, and my last month in Australia. It hasn’t changed. Just like the people. I found that out myself.
The airport in Brisbane is the only thing that has changed in two years. When I first arrived, there were only three Quonset huts, five palm trees, and a broken wooden fence. Monday when I went to see my friend off, I noticed a change. They have a new terminal made of stone. There are two palm trees in large stone barrels on either side of the passenger ramp. I took a picture of Ernstein between them when he left. He was finally going home. He told me he was glad. I told him I knew what he meant and envied him. He said he hoped his mother would notice a change in him. He said two years make a lot of difference, especially to 19-year-olds. Twenty-one meant a lot.
Oh, one other difference at the airport. There is a large chain link fence around it.
Tuesday I drove to the airport again to watch the big planes take off and to meet a new companion. I got to see one huge 707 heading for the U.S. It was beautiful. I thought I was going to die of thrills when the engines shook the terminal as the plane took off. My heart went crazy as the “big deliverer” streaked east. Beautiful. Fantastic. Only 30 1/2 days left. I took a deep breath, held it, closed my eyes, and smiled, then slowly let the air out. I looked down at the mission president’s letter. Jensen. I was to meet Jensen. Jensen was 19, two years younger than Ernstein. I watched him enter between the palms, and I couldn’t believe he was so young.
“Good afternoon, Elder Clemens.”
He thrust out his hand, grabbed mine, and crushed it. I smiled and yanked my hand out while it was still mine.
“Hello,” I answered. His smile broadened with my response. I guess he was relieved to know his new companion was human. My hand knew it! He trotted toward the baggage claim. I ran after him. He reached the baggage clerk before I could. He grabbed the wiry man’s hand, crushed it, and with a large smile on display proclaimed that he was Elder Jensen and how did you do and had his luggage arrived. The thin man pushed up a smile and rubbed his hand.
“Right, mate. How are you? Your bag’ll be right in. Ta.” He turned and walked to his desk by the revolving baggage claim table. He sat down and peered over his horse racing paper, the Daily Mirror.
I grabbed Jensen and asked him if he had seen his baggage yet.
“Yes,” he exclaimed, “here it comes. The large blue Samsonite fortnighter is mine. It weighs exactly 44 pounds. The rest of my clothes are in my overcoat. That’s why it’s so heavy. You were probably wondering why.” He smiled down at me as he finished his speech. For the first time I realized he was four inches taller than I was.
I forced a smile back.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Elder Clemens, will you grab that flight bag? It’s light. Thanks.”
I picked up the Pan Am flight bag beside Jensen. The bag was empty except for one thick paperback. It was the Book of Mormon.
“I feel bad about you seeing that, Elder Clemens.” He said my name like it was a novelty that he was anxiously trying to get used too. I still haven’t gotten used to the elder bit. I envied Ernstein. Jensen went on.
“The bag was full. It holds 15 books. My family and relatives in Salt Lake gave me this bag with copies of the Book of Mormon in it at the airport. I sold them all on the plane, all but this one.” He picked it out of the bag, rolled it over in his hands, and put it back. “I must have been meant to keep it.”
I yawned, grabbed the bag, and told him to follow me to the car. I started in the lead, but after four steps I was running after him.
He talked all the way to the flat.
That night I learned that he had been the fattest baby born, vice-president of his high school, and president of his seminary classes all four years. He had memorized 60 scriptures and all of the missionary lessons. He also promised his parents that he would baptize 24 people in his two years. He asked me who we would baptize this week. He frowned when I told him no one. I then told him we were going to bed. He agreed, finally.
Wednesday morning he volunteered to cook breakfast. We went to knock on doors at 9:00 A.M. Outside it was 90 degrees with 80 percent humidity. I was used to it by then, but my tall, thin, blonde companion was shocked by the heat. He winced as we stepped out of our cool basement apartment into the hot Brisbane air. As usual the sky was blue—no clouds, no breeze. We walked four blocks to a new street. It hadn’t been tracted for nearly two years. I was the last missionary to knock on its doors. It had been my first street. It had been awful. All old people and not interested. Everyone of them poor. The street was a waste, just like this area. And they stick me back here again with only one month until I’m out. I was a greenhorn the first time, but now I had a greeny to take care of. And in Brisbane. I hate Brisbane.
Jensen talked all the way to the first home. When we were walking up to the door, I sprung my trap.
“Jensen, this is your door. Go to it,” I announced. He looked at me slightly dazed. His eyes squinted in the bright sun. The perspiration had already soaked his white shirt under his arms. He carried a Book of Mormon in his right hand.
“Do you have any pamphlets?” was all he asked as he looked back down at me. I told him yes—one “Joseph Smith’s Testimony,” three “The Word of Wisdom,” and seven “Why Mormons Build Temples.” People liked them.
“How about a ‘Which Church Is Right’ pamphlet?” he queried.
“I never bring them. Puts people off. Makes them think we are pushing religion.” I settled that question.
He shrugged his shoulders and arrogantly walked up the final steps to the door. He twisted the knob of the doorbell. Australians have cheap doorbells. They are like our bicycle bells.
The door was pulled open, and an old man with a pipe looked down at us.
“Yes, sirs, can I help you boys?” he drawled in his Australian accent. Jensen quickly answered the inquiry.
“Yes, sir, you may.” The big smile was all over his face. I stood patiently by his left side.
“My companion, Elder Clemens, and I are talking to the good folks on this street, and we wonder if we might chat with you today?” His tone was sweet and phony. I could see I was going to have to change him. That’s how Ernstein had helped me.
The old man stared back without a smile.
“What do you want to chat with me about, mate?”
“Well, sir,” Jensen flowed on, “we are representatives of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and …”
The door slammed. I turned to go.
“Wait, Elder Clemens,” he stated. He turned and rang the bell again. I quickly turned to run. He grabbed my arm. “One more chance, Elder.” He didn’t even say it like a question.
“Look, Elder,” I pleaded, “don’t bother the old guy.” I tried to talk sense to him. “He doesn’t want to hear. Let him alone.” My tone now was firm.
I was interrupted when the door suddenly opened. The old man was framed in the doorway like Quasimodo. Jensen began acting again. I could tell it was all an act.
“Sir, I am sorry if you think we are bothering you, but if you will only let us explain why we are here. Have you heard of the Mormons?” His tone got softer as he spoke.
“Leave me alone, son.” His voice was deep, and I knew we had really annoyed him.
“I will, sir, but not until I tell you I care about you.”
I couldn’t believe it. The old man couldn’t either. He went quiet and looked unbelieving. He then bowed his head. I started to speak to avoid a further catastrophe.
“I am sorry, sir, and we will be going …”
Jensen cut me off.
“I mean that, sir. You see, sir, we believe you are our brother, since we are all children of God.”
He paused on “God” and waited for the old man to respond. The old man’s head was still bowed. He began to raise his head at the sudden silence, but Jensen continued.
“We feel it our duty and responsibility to tell you our message. It is a message of love and happiness. Please let us share it with you. Please, sir.” He was straining now. I put my finger through the back belt loop of his new pants. He didn’t respond.
By now the old man’s head was turning back and forth and his pipe was in his left hand. A cane in his right hand held him up. He was taking deep breaths, so I knew he was furious. I thought he was going to have a stroke right there. I pulled on the belt loop twice. Jensen turned his head around slowly. I did an instant double take as I saw his face. There were tears in his eyes. He turned his head away as I began to twitch the left side of my lips in disbelief and disgust. What a phony he is. I wanted to yank him off the porch that second, sit him down, and set him straight. The old man stopped me. He looked up. He was barely able to say what he said.
“You,” he paused and then continued in a deep voice, “you mean that?”
Jensen stared back.
“Yes, sir, I do.” He stood a little taller and went on. “I know our message will only bring you happiness. I know it’s true.” His tone was soft, but emphatic. He paused for a second, maybe two, and then fed him the same line we always use. “You see, sir, we come to Australia on our own time and at our own expense for two years. I couldn’t bear to tell a lie, especially for two years.” He sounded very convincing, but he wasn’t. He continued, “We only want to make you happy. If you want us to leave and let you alone, we will respect your wishes.”
“Yes,” whispered the old man. “Please leave me alone.” His head was bent again. Only the soft bald top of his head was showing. I knew it—he wanted us to leave. We were wasting his time. I pulled on Jensen’s arm. He turned around and grabbed the Joseph Smith pamphlet out of my pocket.
“Okay, sir, but will you read this?” He didn’t wait for a response. “It is short. It contains part of the message we have.” He waited for a reaction from the old man, but ended up breaking the silence himself. “Our phone number is on the back. If you want to hear more, please call us. We won’t keep you any longer.”
The old man took the pamphlet between his pipe and fingers, and we left.
When we were past the gate, the door to the house shut. I turned on Jensen. I let it flow.
“What were you trying to prove back there?” I snapped at him. “He wasn’t interested; he told you so. Not only that, you wasted our only Joseph Smith pamphlet on an old man. He’ll just throw it away. He can’t even read.”
Jensen’s head was now bowed and his shoulders were slouched. He apologized and followed me to the next door. I showed him how to do it on the next door, but they weren’t interested.
I got a letter that night; it was from Ernstein. It about blew my mind. He told me all about his first date. Oh, he also said his mother hadn’t noticed any change.
Jensen was quiet for the next three days. I think he was homesick. But today we got a phone call. That old man wants to talk to us.
Jensen and I went back to see him. We expected to find a frail old man who had been lonely and maybe curious. Instead, we found a very different man. He had read the pamphlet. He had read it to his wife, and they had both prayed about it. They had read more. Then they had asked for baptism.
We baptized them both.

Year by year the challenges to William’s childhood religious beliefs seemed to increase. At age 15 he left home to become a butcher’s apprentice, and his first landlord, religiously an Independent, tried unsuccessfully to convert the young Anglican boarder. That experience, William admitted, “unsettled my religious views very much.” He also discussed religious ideas with Catholic sisters while making regular meat deliveries to a nearby monastery.
During this troubled time William learned that his good friend John M. Bridge had joined the Latter-day Saints. William scolded John for converting because Mormons then “were held in such bad repute by all the good people of my town.” But after work one evening John explained some principles of the restored gospel to his former schoolmate. William felt that the teachings made sense so he agreed to attend a Latter-day Saints meeting of the Maldon, Essex, Branch. There the fellowship and doctrines impressed him.
Three weeks after John first discussed Mormonism with him, William asked traveling elders Joseph Silver and John Lindsay to baptize him. So in late April 1855 he was baptized at Maldon in the Blackwater River. A short time later he was ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood.

Across campus, Jackie is talking to another close friend, Petra Bäcker, 15. Petra is German, but she was raised in Saudi Arabia and learned to speak fluent English by attending international schools in which English is the classroom language. She has lived in several countries and came to Kaiserslautern in 1976. “I was glad to make friends with Melanie and Jackie,” she says. “I was interested at first because they spoke English, and I wanted to keep in practice. But now they are my best friends.”
In fact, Petra spends so much time in the Howells’ home and with Jackie and Melanie at school and church that some people think all three are sisters and that Petra is LDS. “The Howells have been great friends and good examples to me,” Petra continues. “They are just like sisters to me. We go to Mutual together, we went to youth conference together, and we do something together almost every day.”

Another pioneer game was last couple out. Caroline was chosen to be the leader, and the other children each chose a partner. They lined up side by side behind Caroline. Henry and Charles were partners, and they were the last couple lined up behind Caroline. When Caroline yelled, “Last couple out!” Henry and Charles separated. Henry ran forward along the right side of the line, and Charles along the left side. The two boys tried to clasp hands before Caroline tagged either of them. But Caroline touched Charles, thus becoming his partner. They took their place at the front of the line behind Henry, the new leader.

The world looked as fine, Nathan Gunnerson thought, as God Himself might have imagined it when He began His glorious work of creation. On the sprawling valley floor below Nathan, a sea of yellow wildflowers washed up the shores of the redrock hills like gilded ocean waves. And above him, in the topless blue sky, wings on winds were softly blown. Then why, Nathan wondered, do I feel so miserable?
He plopped his twelve-year-old body down beside his dog, Biscuit, on a rocky ledge and gazed across the valley through his father’s old Civil War spyglass. The dusky red buttes loomed in the distance as formidable in appearance, Nathan decided, as his present problems.
His father’s challenge had come about as a result of a family conversation at the supper table some three weeks before. Nathan’s parents had been discussing the importance of, and ways of coping with, life’s everyday challenges, and his father had asked him what he thought his greatest possible challenge might be.
Nathan had promptly responded, “Cory Atwood!”
Cory seemed to take great pleasure in making Nathan’s life difficult. Ever since Nathan and his family had moved to the small town of Red Rock Springs in the summer of ’76, Cory had resented him. Name calling, pushing and shoving, then a bloody nose came as a result of Nathan’s declining a dare. Cory had said, “You’re a new kid, and every new kid has to prove himself around here if he expects to get along.”
Nathan had replied that he didn’t have to prove anything to anyone except maybe his Heavenly Father, and he most likely had to be alive to do that. Walking the trestle across Devil’s Gorge didn’t seem to Nathan the best way of insuring a long and fruitful life. Besides, his father had taught him that a real coward is one who abandons or compromises his principles for the sake of “getting along” with others. “Being true to the Lord and yourself,” his father said after Nathan had confided in him concerning Cory’s dare, “is of far greater importance and consequence than appeasing the whims of a town bully.”
Now Nathan stood, brushed red rock dust off his trousers, and started down the hill, still despairing of meeting the challenge his father had issued at the end of that suppertime conversation. “Find something good about Cory Atwood,” his father had counseled, “to replace all those negative feelings you have toward him. Carrying bad feelings around only serves to drown out positive ones. It profits no one. Sweep some of that emotional refuse out of your heart, and you’ll have more room for happiness.”
“You’re asking me to love my enemy?”
“I’m not asking you to do anything the Lord wouldn’t do.” Nathan’s father had smiled and continued. “I’m not saying that you should love what Cory does to you. I’m just saying that we shouldn’t spend what little time we have on this earth in finding fault or living with negatives but in looking for the good in others. I want you to find something good about Cory.”
His mother had added softly, “If rain can make the flowers grow, honey, why not the rest of us too?”
Nathan kicked at a pebble and watched it roll down the hill in front of him and disappear into a clump of scrub oak. What did Mother mean, he wondered. And how can I find something I like about a kid who calls me names and gives me bloody noses? “Besides,” he added aloud to Biscuit ambling along at his side, “I’ve tried for over two weeks to find something good about him, and I’m getting tired of trying!”
Nathan kicked at another rock, hardly noticing the sky filling with dark, ominous clouds that began to barge their way in front of the sun. He’d much rather plow the field at home with a three-legged horse, he thought as he neared a large wash that preceded the valley floor, than try to find something good about someone he was sure there wasn’t anything good about! He’d even rather help his mother on wash day, and that was an all-day chore!
Thunder was booming like cannon fire, and rain was beginning to pour down fast and hard, when Nathan spotted someone hunched over what appeared to be a struggling animal near the center of the wash. He stepped beneath a rocky overhang to escape the downpour, took out his spyglass, and strained to get a closer look through the rain. It was a struggling animal, a raccoon caught in a steel jaw trap. And was that Cory Atwood trying to set it free?
Nathan wiped the rain from his disbelieving eyes. It was Cory! He was trying to save the helpless raccoon from a slow, painful death. But his efforts seemed to be in vain—his strength wasn’t sufficient to pry open the steel jaws and release the small creature’s leg.
Right in the middle of Nathan’s disbelief, he heard what sounded like distant thunder up above him in the high gorges. But the sound was continuous and began to grow louder and nearer. “It’s a flash flood, Biscuit!” Nathan gasped. “It’s coming down the wash!”
He screamed a warning to Cory, but his voice was lost in the noise of pounding rain and flood water. And Cory was so busy trying to free the animal that he wasn’t aware of his danger.
Nathan bolted away from the overhang and down along the edge of the wash as the thunderous sound grew nearer still. He dropped beside a surprised Cory, pointing with alarm up the hill. “Cory! A flash flood’s coming down the wash!”
Cory’s face registered equal alarm, but his rain-blurred eyes also flashed concern for the raccoon. “I can’t leave this animal here to die,” he yelled above the din.
“I’ll help, but let’s hurry!” Nathan yelled back.
Working together, the two boys were able to open the jaws of the trap. The raccoon pulled itself free and started to hobble up the embankment. The youths followed quickly, helping each other up the red mud and loose shale, glancing worriedly over their shoulders at the grimly awesome sight of a wall of reddish brown water raging down the wash toward them at an incredible speed.
They took refuge under the rocky ledge where Nathan had seen Cory through his spyglass. For a long moment they sat shaking at their near encounter with the deadly wall of water. Then for an equally long moment they stared at one another. Suddenly Nathan understood his mother’s words—good things often blossom and grow out of difficulty, out of effort. Like understanding. Like faith in a father’s counsel. Like the flowers after a rain. And if one looks past his dislikes, looks beyond the rain, he’ll find much good.
Cory’s eyes fell; then they lifted again and settled on Nathan’s, beseeching forgiveness. They found it in Nathan’s smile. No words were spoken. None were needed.

A few years later, I was offered a job opportunity in Fruitland, Idaho. I had no idea where Fruitland was, but again, after much prayer and fasting…we were directed to move. I remember pulling out my Patriarchal blessing one evening. One particular line struck me so hard that I actually wished I HADN’T seen it. It said, “Your family will live in many places for the gospel.” I quickly put that thing away, so my wife wouldn’t see it – she didn’t do too well with moves. She got too attached to people and places. Well, I saw this job as a great opportunity for me, so our family made the move to the cold land of the potatoes – Idaho.

I will say this was NOT an easy move. But doing the Lord’s will usually isn’t. In fact, I remember after settling in and unpacking a few boxes one night, I took my wife for a drive around the town. She was quiet and withdrawn. I tried to console her by saying, “if you really don’t like it here, we don’t have to stay.” As I looked over at her, she stared out the window, trying to hide the tears that streamed down her face. She said, “if this is where we are supposed to be, then I will like it.” We thrived in Fruitland. We loved the tight-knit farming community. We served in our ward. Our children made great friends, and we grew as a family.

It was also here in Fruitland, Idaho, that I was approached by a family friend to make the career change over to healthcare. I had absolutely no experience, but with the Lord’s help and with the mentoring of this family friend, I learned the profession. I must mention that this family friend was our stake president at the time and is currently the area presidency in New Zealand, and we love him and his amazing family so very much. This career change was monumental for my family, and it would not have been possible if we weren’t willing to follow the promptings to move--anytime, anywhere.

Quest for the Eagle Feather Quiet Water—or John Butler? Several years before, a storm had caused the boy to be separated from his parents, who were going to seek gold in California. Now he had to decide whether to try to find them or stay with Tall Deer and Blue-Flower-Blooming, who considered him their son. Somehow he knew that his quest with Running Fox and Screaming Crow would end the turmoil he felt.John Duncklee8–12 years

The Maucotels suggest another way to make family night enjoyable: relate the treat to the lesson. For instance, one Monday night they read some scriptures on patience and, at the same time, made homemade ice cream.
Fourteen-year-old Isaac taught the lesson, sharing scriptures on patience. He said that making ice cream by hand takes patience. You have to put in some work while you wait for the results you want.
His parents and four siblings listened to Isaac while they shook their bags of ice cream. Then they dug in, eating the cold, creamy chocolate ice cream right out of the bag. (See sidebar: A Lesson on Patience.)

One of the things he had done to help pay his way through university was tutor younger students. Among them was Maria Victoria Chiapparino, who came under his tutelage as a fourteen-year-old. Elder Abrea’s mother was instrumental in teaching Maria the gospel, and Angel, as an eighteen-year-old priest, baptized her.

But that was not the end of the story. He was attracted by her beauty and maturity. Their acquaintance blossomed into romance, and they were married in 1957. Elder Abrea was then twenty-three, and his bride was eighteen. (Their marriage was solemnized in the Salt Lake Temple in 1966.)

“She has been a tremendous help,” Elder Abrea says of his wife. “More than that, she has been an inspiration.”

Tim Ryan listened to the wind howling through the empty city streets. Night was rapidly approaching, the night of December 24. In other years the day of the 24th itself and most especially the day to follow would have been joyful days for Tim Ryan. But not this year. No, most definitely anything but joyful. Upstairs in the back bedroom on the third floor of the house that he was just leaving, Maggie was dying.
“Only hours,” the young doctor had said. “Your wife has a very short time to live, Mr. Ryan.” He seemed to take a smug satisfaction in being able to so casually measure off the time of life remaining to another human being.
That had been this morning. The hours had dragged by slowly since then. The pale sunlight of December had brought little warmth to Timothy Edward Ryan, caught in the middle of his 67th year.
Long ago, and it seemed to be a part of that other world in which he and Maggie had been born, little Tim would have taken comfort from what the priests would have offered him. He had been faithful in his church, and when he married Maggie, the ceremony had been performed by Father Kelly. He hadn’t considered any other alternative.
Forty-eight years had gone by since that day. In those 48 years, Christmastime had been special to the Ryans. Their house had been filled with the laughter of six children and the children’s friends. Twenty years ago the first grandchild had seen Christmas at the Ryan’s.
Now December 24 or 25, and it didn’t really matter which, was about to become a day etched in pain and sorrow in the mind of Tim Ryan. There was a part of him up there, a part of him that was slowly, painfully slipping away. He wanted to cry, but no tears would come.
As he began to move away from the front steps, moving in some direction, any direction to be away from this place, he took a companion with him. The companion was Bitterness, and he had been with Tim for some time now.
Bitterness laughed at long-held beliefs. “See, Tim? It all must end this way. This is the end of the laughter. That was temporary; this is not.”
At 4:30 he pulled on his scarf and followed with his heavy parka. He told the nurse that he would be back, that he needed to get out and get some air. Really Tim wanted to go and embrace the cold and the coming darkness, for without Maggie, would there be anything left but cold and darkness in his life?
The sunlight had faded rapidly away and become the dark of night. Tim walked aimlessly through the streets of his adopted city, about to be alone for the first time. “I must make a plan,” he thought. “I must see to the future. There is hope—”
The word hope stuck in his throat. His companion, Bitterness, told him that to believe in hope at this point was a cruel joke on himself. Why, it was like believing that angels would come and lift their voices to the heavens! Both hope and angels were things of the past, Bitterness told him.
Bitterness became quiet as Tim turned his mind to thoughts of past years. When he was just a boy, he had left Ireland with his two older brothers and a younger sister to come to America. They landed in New York and then moved to Baltimore to join an uncle.
The streets of Baltimore hadn’t been paved with gold. They had had to work long hours in their uncle’s store. Slowly the hours began to pay off, and the sweat and toil became the mortgage price of prosperity. Ever so slowly, poverty released its strong icy fingers from around the immigrants.
When he was 17, Tim Ryan had let his brother Michael talk him into going to a parish dance. “Come along, Timmy. It’s time that you began to think about the ladies. And what better place to meet them than at the parish house?”
Tim went with Michael, shyly, unwillingly at first. He stood off on the sidelines, watching the others dance and hating them for their social graces and himself for his shyness. Then Maggie appeared and the climate changed.
She was short, no taller than his five foot three inches, with long black hair. She smiled often, and once, when he looked enough in her direction, she smiled at him. He could feel the color rising in his cheeks.
He summoned up the courage to go over and introduce himself. She asked him with that ever-present smile if he always blushed so brightly. “No,” he said, “it only happens when I talk with a beautiful young lady. And by the way, may I have the next dance?” She said yes.
Tim Ryan walked Maggie Rourke home that night after the dance. They saw each other often in the next year. Then, one night, on the anniversary of that dance in the parish house, he asked her another question. She answered yes to this one too, and they made arrangements with Father Kelly to perform the ceremony.
The old man that Tim Ryan had become shook himself to break the train of thought. He had walked so far as to arrive in the department store district. The big stores were closed now, their displays of Christmas merchandise garish in the neon sun.
“I will walk a little further,” Tim thought. “Just a few more minutes here in the cold and I will be ready to return and face what I know I cannot avoid.” He headed slowly up the hill into the wind, with its blasts tearing at his face and jacket.
“One more house, Brother Henderson?” That was Jan Andrews’s question.
Gregory Henderson looked at his group. He had come into the city with a dozen of the kids from his Sunday School class to visit some of the older members of the ward and sing Christmas carols. They had seen all of the families on their list with the exception of the Billings, and it was getting late and the kids were getting cold.
“Face it, Henderson,” he thought, “you’d like to go home too. You have a family to be with on Christmas Eve and a wife who would like some help in decorating the Christmas tree.” Another part of him spoke up quickly, though, and put things into perspective.
“Yes, we’re going to see the Billings. They live on Clayton Avenue. It shouldn’t take too long to get there. I think we’ll sing three songs, like we’ve been doing, and then head for home.”
As the kids piled into his car and Dave Maxfield’s van, he could see on their faces that one last visit would be about enough. He hoped that the project had touched some of them. They needed to start learning a little about service.
His car moved on through the dark Baltimore streets in silence. Inside were the most active kids in the ward, the doers and movers. Jan Andrews, Tony Morgan, Bob Smith, Carol Miller—his wife called them the angels. They had been the biggest helps to him so far.
After several minutes’ ride, Greg saw the turn-off for Clayton Avenue. He swung the big Dodge into the narrow street and continued down the two blocks to the Billings’ house. The young people piled out again, ready to conclude the project, thinking thoughts of home and the next morning.
Jan called the group together outside the house: “Let’s start off with ‘I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,’ then go to ‘Joy to the World,’ and close with ‘Silent Night.’ The Billings are both pretty sick and haven’t been able to get out to church for a long time. They’ll appreciate this a lot.”
Tim Ryan turned the corner onto Clayton Avenue. He was only a few blocks from home, but he might as well have been a thousand miles away. His thoughts had led him downward into a valley of despair. His normal energetic step had become the shuffle of a man worn down by age.
Then he heard the voices. Like the clear, pure sound of a tinkling chandelier, the voices cut through the cold night air, reaching his ear with cheerfulness. They brought his mind back to what day would fall tomorrow.
Tim stopped to listen more closely, despite the still-insistent voice of Bitterness inside. He wanted to hear what they were singing and find out who they were. How could they be happy on a night like this when he was about to lose the most important thing in his life? Didn’t they have any feelings?
The words, carried to him on the back of the wind, began to enter his mind. Subtly at first, and then more quickly, a light that had been burning low within Tim Ryan began to flare up once again. The flame began to thaw the ice that had been forming inside and outside.
Once upon a time, when Michael had asked him what about Maggie had first attracted him, he had said that she had the laughter of an angel. Laughter fell clear and pure from her lips. Hearing her laugh made him feel that he had been able to set a foot into heaven.
Now, this group of young people, singing to an unseen audience in the house across the street, were touching him in that same way. They were like angels with their clear voices, simple and pure in the message which they presented.
“Oh, Lord,” he thought, “I cannot turn the tide of what must come. But I can learn to hear the bells again and look past tragedies. I must go home quickly, quickly.” Tim had intended to stay and talk with them when they finished. Instead, the urgency of the moment directed him homeward.
In the back of his mind, Greg Henderson wondered if the old man standing across the street was enjoying the singing. The thought faded just as rapidly as it had come, and Greg turned his mind back to the music.
It was late, almost midnight. Tim sat by the bed, holding Maggie’s hand. It was an act that he had performed often in 48 years. Tonight it took on special meaning.
“My dear, you would have loved it. They were like angels with their clear voices. I doubt that I have ever heard the songs of Christmas sung so beautifully or received such enjoyment out of the sacred music.”
She said nothing for a long time. Then she looked up at him with a smile, one like the smile that he had first seen so many years ago.
“Tim, you’re happier tonight than I’ve seen you at any time since I … since I’ve been ill. That makes me happy.”
Maggie lapsed into silence again.
The clock stretched forth both its hands to 12. Christmas would have already dawned over the desert where it had first been celebrated so many years ago.
“Tim.”
“Yes, dear. What is it?”
“Tim, I think I’ll sleep now. I feel so in need of rest. Will you hold my hand while I sleep?” She closed her eyes. Some of the worry and pain that had written itself across her face in the last year began to fade.
The little man with the shock of wind-blown white hair looked down at his Maggie. Great soft tears, tears like the drops of a gentle spring rain awakening the earth, began to well up in his eyes. The tears were sweet, though. He had heard the angels sing, and he was beginning to understand.
Somewhere out in the suburbs, Greg Henderson rolled over in bed. He had just finished assembling the last toys, and he was tired and wanted to rest before the children would patter in asking mommy and daddy if they knew that it was Christmas Day.
Just before the last trace of consciousness fled, Greg thought about the old man who had listened to them sing on Clayton Avenue. Greg wondered if the man had liked the kids’ singing. Then sleep came and chased the thought from his mind.

The corners were curled from frequent use. The pages were wrinkled and torn in places. The text was thoroughly marked, and notes were added to the margins. The blue cover was nearly separated from the other pages, and the gold lettering was beginning to lose its shimmer.
I couldn’t believe it. My Book of Mormon looked nothing like that. I had had mine since I was 9, and now that I was 18, my book still looked new. The cover, as well as the pages, were crisp and clean. The binding had barely been opened, and the few notes and markings I had made had little significance to me.
I had never seen a Book of Mormon so worn from use. My friend had not abused her book—she had studied the word in a way I simply couldn’t comprehend. I had read the book, and I had prayed about it. I truly felt it to be the word of God. Yet when I saw her Book of Mormon and the light in her eyes, I knew there was something more I could do with the words I had always taken for granted.
I began to pray that I would have the Holy Ghost with me as I read the Book of Mormon, and I began to read several times each day. I pondered the things I read and studied any verses I didn’t understand.
I found a scripture I had seen many times, but it had never before meant so much: “Feast upon the words of Christ; for behold, the words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do” (2 Ne. 32:3). I had always read the word, but I had never before feasted on it.
Somewhere in my efforts I stopped merely glancing at the words and began to see the message. I looked forward to the time I spent with the Book of Mormon. It no longer was a chore; it became a blessing.
My Book of Mormon is still not as worn as my friend’s. The pages are still not as marked, and the cover is not as tattered from repeated use. But someday it will be. Jesus Christ truly does fill those who feast.

Photographs courtesy of Jessica Blad
Some goals stretch you more than others. And then there are other goals that hardly seem possible at first glance.
The youth planning committee from a stake in Texas, USA, knew they were shooting for the moon on this one.
“We weren’t really sure how we were going to do it,” says Kyle O., 17, one of the young men on the planning committee for their stake’s annual stake youth conference. Even the adult leaders let out a bit of a gasp after the youth proposed their plans.
So, what was the goal? Simply this: to send out 200 youth in pairs to bear their testimony about a gospel message with 100 different nonmember or less-active families. In the families’ own homes. During a single hour.
No point in setting goals that are boring, right?
The annual two-day conference is something the youth in this stake look forward to all year. It takes a ton of planning, praying, and courage to try things that have never been done before.
Each conference starts with the youth planning committee. “We really wanted the youth to have a positive experience in sharing the gospel,” says McKenna F., 17, one of the young women on the committee.
Specifically, they hoped to provide a positive experience for those young men and young women who didn’t think they had the confidence to share the gospel with others. “We wanted to give them a taste that it really is doable,” McKenna explains.
One thing the youth committee didn’t want was 100 doors slammed in their faces. They didn’t want to spend the hour trying to find families to visit.
So they had the adults throughout the stake ask friends and neighbors if they would allow the youth to come share a testimony about Christ. In the end, 115 families accepted the invitation.
As part of preparation, full-time missionaries and other leaders provided tips and advice to the youth during the conference so that when they talked to others, they could say what was in their hearts. Many of the youth were still nervous, but they headed out anyway.
The next hour would prove to be the favorite of the entire two-day conference, hands down.
Luke E., 17, and his younger companion approached the home of their assigned family to visit. A small cross hung on the front door. “With that cross on the door, I knew they were probably a pretty faithful family,” Luke says.
Inside the home they had a great spiritual discussion with the family. Luke and his companion shared their testimony and thoughts based on Christ’s words in the Bible, “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).
As the conversation unfolded, the couple asked a question that Luke and his younger companion hadn’t expected.
“What is the Book of Mormon?” they asked.
The adult leaders in the room remained silent in order to allow the youth to answer.
“I took this one,” Luke says. In a few minutes he explained the meaning of the title and subtitle (“Another Testament of Jesus Christ”) of the Book of Mormon, as well as a basic overview of the contents inside. He shared with them how Jesus visited and taught other nations after His Resurrection. Luke also bore testimony of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and left them a copy.
When Luke finished answering the question, the couple was touched. They thanked everyone for coming and said, “We are grateful for young people in the world who believe something so passionately.”
For Luke, the experience was a huge boost in confidence for sharing the gospel.
“Sometimes in high school you clam up and stay quiet about spiritual things, and then you lose your confidence,” Luke says. “That day was very strengthening for me as a young man preparing to serve a mission.”
Tristan S., 17, served on the planning committee and was excited about the whole conference. But even with all that energy, he still felt a little unsure about the actual teaching experience.
“I was nervous,” Tristan says. For one thing, part of the goal with each visit was to stay and talk for at least 15 minutes. In other words, no showing up, sharing a scripture or two, and leaving within a few minutes. Sometimes 15 minutes can feel pretty long.
Tristan went with a younger companion to the home of a single man in his 30s. “We shared scriptures from Matthew about how Jesus Christ brings peace in our life,” Tristan says.
The man they were visiting added to the conversation right away as he shared his own insights and experiences. They sailed right past the 15-minute mark without noticing. By the time they reached 45 minutes, the man told them, “There’s something different about you guys.”
Tristan and his companion gave the man a card directing him to mormon.org, which he accepted gladly.
“It was an amazing experience,” Tristan says. “It’s something I’ll never forget.”
Lindsey J., 17, and her companion for the day visited a woman who’s been investigating the Church for three years. Her husband was not investigating.
The conversation with the wife was going well when, after a few minutes, her husband decided to enter the room and join in. “They were a very talkative family,” Lindsey says.
As they continued to visit, Lindsey felt a strong prompting. “Usually I’m not the kind of person to ask somebody something so direct,” she explains, “but I felt like I should ask the husband if he would be interested in going to church.”
So she did.
To Lindsey’s surprise, the husband answered that, yes, he’d like to attend even though he wouldn’t make any promises. Two Sundays later, both husband and wife came to church together. They’ve been attending ever since.
Lindsey has most enjoyed getting to know the couple better and better. “I say ‘Hi’ to them all the time,” she says. They’ve become close friends. Lindsey even brought flowers on Mother’s Day because the woman doesn’t have children of her own.
Ever since the youth conference, Lindsey has chatted with many other youth about their experiences. With each conversation, it became clearer just how much everybody enjoyed sharing testimonies about the Savior.
“A lot of the youth said that this was the best weekend of their lives,” Lindsey explains.
That one short hour of teaching was just the beginning. Some families began meeting with full-time missionaries afterward. Others attended a Church meeting for the first time, prayed, or started reading scriptures.
As for the youth who participated, they’ll never forget the experience. They also gained confidence in sharing their beliefs with others. “A lot of youth were really nervous about this,” says Kyle O. “But going out to share increased their confidence. They realized it really wasn’t that hard to open your mouth and share the gospel, to share the love of Christ.”
It just goes to show that you don’t have to be afraid to shoot for the moon when it comes to setting goals.
You might just get there.

A few years ago, I began to notice that things around me were beginning to darken. It troubled me because simple things like reading the print in my scriptures were becoming more difficult. I wondered what had happened to the quality of the lightbulbs and wondered why manufacturers today couldn’t make things like they had in years past.

I replaced the bulbs with brighter ones. They too became dim. I blamed the poor design of the lamps and bulbs. I even questioned whether the brightness of the sun was fading before the thought occurred to me that the problem might not be with the amount of light in the room—the problem might be with my own eyes.

Shortly thereafter, I went to an ophthalmologist who assured me that the world was not going dark at all. A cataract on my eye was the reason the light seemed to be fading. This certainly gives you my age. I placed my faith in the capable hands of this trained specialist, the cataract was removed, and behold, light again flooded my life! The light had never diminished; only my capacity to see the light had been lessened.

This taught me a profound truth. Often when the world seems dark, when the heavens seem distant, we seek to blame everything around us, when the real cause of the darkness may be a lack of faith within ourselves.

Having confidence in the presence of God is a powerful blessing and relates directly to the second part of the pattern pray always. Prayer is an opportunity for us to enter the presence of the Lord. The Hymn Sweet Hour of Prayer expresses the thought beautifully. " Sweet hour of prayer, sweet hour of prayer that calls me from a world of care and bids me at my fathers throne, make all my wants and whishes known" The Lord asks us not only to pray but to pray always. I would like to relate two experiences that taught me somewhat of the meaning of pray always. In 1991 I was playing on a ward softball team that was participating in the local city league in Manhattan, Kansas. Before each game we would gather as a team to have a prayer. At one particular game for some reason we forgot to pray before the game. I was playing second base and in the second inning when we were in the field the first baseman said to me Hey we didn't have a prayer before the game. I responded, yes you are right. But silently I clearly remember thinking. "Ah so what, nothing ever happens at these games". Two innings later we were in the field again. The first batter up hit a hard low line drive directly at me. I could tell by the flight of the ball that it was going to hit about 5 feet in front of me. It was going to be a one hopper, one of the easiest infield plays. Now, I am a fairly coordinated person, and I have played a fair amount of infield. To this day I do not know how I missed the ball but I missed it. It hit me right in the mouth and knocked me to my knees. My very first thought was, I sure hope I still have my teeth. After checking my teeth my second thought was, I guess we should have had that prayer. My lip was split from the bottom of my nose all the way down. It took two hours in the emergency room and 15 to 20 stitches to patch me up. You can draw your own conclusions but I believe that I was taught a lesson that day. Regular prayer makes a difference. Even those prayers we say routinely such as at the beginning of activities or sporting events or meetings. God is paying attention and we should pray always with the understanding and faith that He is paying attention. Answers to our regular daily prayers are not often immediate but we should continue to pray regularly with the faith that the Lord will bless us. Whenever we pray we are approaching the throne of God and our attitude should be one of reverence and faith. Remember the brother of Jared. In Ether 2:14 we read "It came to pass at the end of four years the Lord came again unto the Brother of Jared, and stood in a cloud and talked with him and for the space of three hours did the Lord talk with the Brother of Jared and chastened him because he remembered not to call upon the name of the Lord." These are not lessons I have applied perfectly in my life but they are lessons I will always remember because I a reminded of them every time I shave.

The second experience happened some years earlier. We were living in Salt Lake City, our oldest daughter Lisle was 2 and Sandee was pregnant with our second daughter Monica. And I was about to lose my job. Within a few short weeks we would have no income and no health insurance. About this time a large well established company in Massachusetts began recruiting me for the position of customer service representative. They were very positive about my chances. The entire family would fly to the east coast on a Friday and spend the week-end in looking for a place to live. On Monday I would visit with representatives of the company and we would finalize the deal. Surely this was a blessing waiting to happen. On the day before the trip Sandee asked have you prayed about this. I said no, it seemed fairly obvious to me that the Lord was going to bless us with a job on the East coast. She said, I think you should pray. As usual Sandee's counsel was wise. I agreed and sought out a quiet place to pray. I knelt down and no sooner did I begin to ask the question than the Spirit whispered to me, as clearly as it ever has, they will offer you the job but you should not take it. I would like to be able to report that I immediately stood up and announced to Sandee that the Lord had counseled that I not take the job. We were going to have to find something else. What actually happened is I thought "there must be some mistake. This can't be right. We had better go to Massachusetts and check this out", So off to Massachusetts we went. The entire week-end was one long stupor of thought. On Monday morning I sat down with the Vice President. We had talked for no more than a minute when he said "you don't want this job" and I said you're right I don't. At that point I felt like a burden was lifted. Later, sitting in our rental car in the company parking lot, Sandee and I discussed our situation. We did not know how the Lord would bless us, but he did. The way was made possible for me to go back to school and study librarianship. One of the lessons that I learned from that experience does not specifically fit with what I have been discussing but I will share it anyway. That is you can have no greater blessing in life than an eternal companion who loves the Lord and is full of faith and has an obedient heart. Sandee is all of that and I am greatly blessed because of it. What may seem like the most obvious path to choose is not always the right path. We should seek the counsel of the Lord through prayer and he will lead us in the direction which is best for us. And when the Spirit whispers to us we should be believing.

Easter was going to be different this year. There would be no Easter dinner at Grandma’s, no Easter baskets, and no dyed eggs. My parents were going on a cruise to the Caribbean. My brother was staying in Arizona, and my sister was at BYU. I was going to visit friends in Minnesota. I hadn’t seen them since we moved to Illinois six months before.
“This spring break is going to be great,” I thought. I hadn’t made many friends at my new home, so I was ready for some fun, even though I was still disappointed that I wouldn’t have a traditional Easter with my family.
On Easter Sunday I lazily flopped out of bed to get ready for church. It didn’t seem much different from every other Sunday until sacrament meeting. As I sat listening to the testimonies, I noticed the family sitting in front of me was one I used to babysit for. The kids were always fun to watch, and it was good to see them again.
Simeon, their young son, got up to bear his testimony. When he spoke, I could hear his voice shaking from fear, but he still went on. He bore testimony that Easter was not about eggs and candy, but it was about how Jesus Christ gave His life for us. He expressed his love and gratitude for the Savior and His sacrifice for us.
As the tears welled up in my eyes, pangs of guilt tore at my heart. I had forgotten what Easter is all about!
I didn’t get a chance to thank Simeon for his testimony, but as I drove back to my friend’s house, I continued to think about his words. “How many others learned this lesson today?” I thought.
I pulled off to the side of the road and prayed in gratitude for the Savior. I asked forgiveness for my shortsightedness. As I started driving again, I knew I would never forget what a little child taught me about Easter.

There are times when we can become upset at imagined hurts or perceived injustices. President Heber J. Grant, seventh President of the Church, told of a time as a young adult when he did some work for a man who then sent him a check for $500 with a letter apologizing for not being able to pay him more. Then President Grant did some work for another man—work which he said was 10 times more difficult, involving 10 times more labor and a great deal more time. This second man sent him a check for $150. Young Heber felt he had been treated most unfairly. He was at first insulted and then incensed.
He recounted the experience to an older friend, who asked, “Did that man intend to insult you?”
President Grant replied, “No. He told my friends he had rewarded me handsomely.”
To this the older friend replied, “A man’s a fool who takes an insult that isn’t intended.”