Gospel Story Finder

There was no moon, and it seemed extra dark to Nellie Kunz as she sat by the fire. She stared into the darkness toward the trees that she knew were there. She wished she had never heard all the stories of mountain lions and wolves that her father and brothers had told.
Nellie was twelve years old, and this was the first time she had come to the sheep camp to cook for her father and brothers and the hired men. They were up in the mountains and over fifty miles from home.
Zina, Nellie’s younger sister, sat beside her and poked a stick at the burning embers. She had come to be Nellie’s assistant and companion while the men took care of the sheep. Besides being sisters, the girls were best friends.
“We’d better get to bed now,” their dad said. “The sheep are all settled down for the night, and we have a lot of work ahead of us in the morning.”
“I’m tired anyway,” said Zina. “And Nellie and I have made a comfortable bed in the wagon.”
“Good night, Daddy,” Nellie said as she gave him a hug. “Good night!” she called to the others.
Zina climbed into the wagon first and Nellie followed her. The wagon was covered with canvas and all their food supplies were stored inside. The girls had made a bed of straw topped with their favorite quilts and pillows from home.
The men slept under the stars near the campfire. Nellie didn’t envy them at all. She liked the idea of sleeping in something enclosed and comfortable. It seemed a little safer and more like being at home.
“It’s so quiet,” whispered Zina.
“Yes,” agreed Nellie. “It’s far more quiet than when Sister Jenkins dropped a pin for us to hear in Primary last week.”
“Don’t forget your prayers,” said Nellie. As she knelt on her soft down quilt, she thanked Heavenly Father for her family and for her many blessings. She asked him to watch over and protect all of them.
“Are you scared?” whispered Zina.
“Sure. Are you?” answered Nellie.
“Yes,” said Zina and they squeezed each other’s hand before they snuggled down into their quilts.
Zina became more and more quiet and Nellie knew she was falling asleep. But Nellie couldn’t sleep. She lay wide awake, staring at the darkness.
After a while she heard a noise. At first, Nellie thought it was the wind blowing the tree branches, but then she felt sure something was moving outside. The sound came closer and closer, and soon Nellie could hear another sound—a heavy breathing sound.
“Zina!” she whispered. “Zina!” She gently shook her sister’s arm.
“What’s the matter?” answered Zina.
“I don’t know,” whispered Nellie, “but when I count to three, scream as loud as you can. One … two … three!” Both girls screamed.
There was a crashing sound beside the wagon as something bounded away. Dad and all the men jumped up from their bedrolls, grabbed their guns, and raced for the wagon.
Everyone was shouting and talking at once for a few minutes as Nellie and Zina tried to tell what they had heard. The men started the fire up again and, holding their torches high, they looked around the wagon. “Looks like the tracks of a mighty big mountain lion,” said Nellie’s oldest brother when he came back from his search. “Took off through the woods.”
“There’s no use trying to track him down,” said Dad. “He’s clear over the mountain by now, with the scare these two girls gave him. I’ve never heard such a row.”
Nellie smiled at her dad, though she was still shaking. “Come on, Zina,” she said as they climbed back into the wagon. “Let’s kneel down again. We need two prayers tonight—another one to say thank you.”

I learned a great lesson early in my business career. I was called into my boss’s office one day. He wanted to impress upon me, his financial manager, a good lesson in the use of money. He asked me to give him a definition of interest. Of course, I pulled one out of a textbook I had used in business training. He said, “Oh, no, no, no. This is the one I want you to remember. ‘Them’s that understands it, receives it; them’s that don’t, pays it.’ “

This was one of the great lessons of my life. I have tried to stay out of debt as much as humanly possible. It is a lot more fun to earn interest than to pay it.

The sacrament provides a time for a truly spiritual experience as we reflect upon the Savior’s redeeming and enabling power through His Atonement. A Young Women leader recently learned about the strength we receive as we strive to thoughtfully partake of the sacrament. Working to complete a requirement in Personal Progress, she set a goal to focus on the words in the sacrament hymns and prayers.
Each week, she conducted a self-evaluation during the sacrament. She recalled mistakes she had made, and she committed to be better the next week. She was grateful to be able to make things right and be made clean. Looking back on the experience, she said, “I was acting on the repentance part of the Atonement.”
One Sunday after her self-evaluation, she began to feel gloomy and pessimistic. She could see that she was making the same errors over and over again, week to week. But then she had a distinct impression that she was neglecting a big part of the Atonement—Christ’s enabling power. She was forgetting all the times the Savior helped her be who she needed to be and serve beyond her own capacity.
With this in mind, she reflected again on the previous week. She said: “A feeling of joy broke through my melancholy as I noted that He had given me many opportunities and abilities. I noted with gratitude the ability I had to recognize my child’s need when it wasn’t obvious. I noted that on a day when I felt I could not pack in one more thing to do, I was able to offer strengthening words to a friend. I had shown patience in a circumstance that usually elicited the opposite from me.”
She concluded: “As I thanked God for the Savior’s enabling power in my life, I felt so much more optimistic toward the repentance process I was working through and I looked to the next week with renewed hope.”

My office in the Relief Society Building has a perfect view of the Salt Lake Temple. Every night, as regular as clockwork, the outdoor temple lights turn on at dusk. The temple is a steady, reassuring beacon just outside my window.
One night this past February, my office remained exceptionally dim as the sun went down. As I looked out the window, the temple was dark. The lights had not turned on. I felt suddenly somber. I couldn’t see the temple spires I had glimpsed every evening for years.
We, or people we love, may temporarily go dark. In the case of the Salt Lake Temple, the facilities manager, Brother Val White, got a call almost immediately. People had noticed. What was wrong with the temple lights? First, the staff went in person to every electrical panel in the temple and manually turned the lights back on. Then they replaced the batteries in the automatic power supply and tested them to find out what had failed.
It’s hard to get the lights back on by yourself. We need friends. We need each other. Just like the temple facilities staff, we can help each other by showing up in person, recharging our spiritual batteries, repairing what went wrong.

Teachers and leaders should also consult with their priesthood leaders as they develop ways to serve the child. When our son was first diagnosed with autism, we didn’t know how well he was going to transition from nursery to a Primary class with his peers. A sister in our ward who was a schoolteacher approached our bishop and Primary president and offered to be our son’s aide. The Primary president, a member of the bishopric, my husband, and I met with her, and she talked to us about how to help our son. We set goals and created a plan to help him understand the routine of Primary. We often needed to tweak the plan over the following three years, but as he learned to understand what was happening around him, he became more interested in interacting with his peers and participating in the lessons. This sister’s understanding and commitment built the foundation on which our son continues to stand. Her love and friendship taught him that he’s a beloved child of God. Because of that, he continues to see church as somewhere he can go to be himself and be loved.

One day it finally happened. Two young men stood in front of the door of our little apartment.
“What is it?” I asked. After taking a short glimpse at them, I was ready to defend myself. No matter what it was, I wanted them to understand that I did not need anything and that I wanted to be left alone.
Then I took another look at the two young men front of me and found reason to second-guess my first judgment. They were dressed with care. The were clean but not shiny or wealthy. Their eyes radiated dignity and peace. Their gestures were humble but not cheap. Their appearance represented politeness and readiness to listen, self-esteem, and willingness to respect my own right of privacy.
“We have an important message for you,” one them said.
When I have tried, since becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, to describe the appearance of the first missionaries at my door, I cannot help but say they didn’t look like salesmen. They radiated something very different. They radiated the Spirit of the Lord. There is something powerfully strong and very special that radiates from someone who has the Spirit. There was something so strong radiating from these two young men that it became impossible for me to send them away.
Little did I know that from then on my life would never be the same—that I had already set my foot on a path that would eventually lead myself, my wife, and my future children on a road toward faith as a sure knowledge of the Lord, toward repentance and finally baptism—becoming a member of the Lord’s Church.
I felt the power and authority radiating from the missionaries during their visits to our home some 30 years ago. As I watch young members of the Church today, I think we have much reason to rejoice as we see more and more of them embracing this gift from Heavenly Father and learning to stand firm in these days of challenges. I pray that we may all place our lives on the foundation of Christ through living close to the Spirit and following it always.

Why me? Why now? I had just gotten back from competing in a major horse show held in California and was at the height of my hunter-jumper equestrian riding abilities. I was busy with school, piano lessons, and Beehives. I was doing everything I had been taught to do, and I thought that my life was about as perfect as life can ever get. Then it changed.
I was now in a hospital bed, too sick to even open my eyes. I had been diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. My illness came just four years after my mom died from a similar cancer. I was on heavy chemotherapy to get rid of the cancer, and the doctors were saying that I would have to undergo chemotherapy for two and a half years to make sure that all the cancer was gone. I couldn’t understand why me and why now.
I soon learned that being diagnosed with cancer was not the only challenge I would face. One of the drugs used to treat leukemia is a steroid given at extremely high doses. It is very effective at killing the leukemia cells, but there is a small risk that it can result in avascular necrosis (a condition in which bones die near the joints), particularly in teenage girls. My doctors thought that, at 12 years old, I was too young for that to happen. However, within one month of starting chemotherapy, the steroids ended up destroying most of my major joints and parts of my spine. I was living in constant pain. Four months after I was diagnosed with leukemia, I had my first hip surgery to begin trying to repair the damage done by the steroids and to lessen the pain. The surgery did not go as well as I had hoped, and my orthopedic surgeon told me that I would probably never ride a horse again. All of a sudden, the future I had planned was gone.
I was a good student, and I really enjoyed school. Now I couldn’t go to school or even out in public because the chemotherapy had destroyed my immune system. Instead, I stayed home with my stepmother. At this point I thought things were pretty bad, but they got worse.
Six months after my hip surgery, I had to have another hip surgery because the first one hadn’t worked. I was in a wheelchair because it hurt too much to walk. I was absolutely sure that I wasn’t going to ride horses again, and now I was worried if I would even be able to walk again. Living life sick, in constant pain, and confined to a wheelchair didn’t sound like a lot of fun to me.
I was praying to my Heavenly Father, and I know many other people were praying for me also. Through all of my trials, I prayed that I would be healed, that my joints would recover, and that I wouldn’t have to go through the rest of chemotherapy. I felt that my prayers weren’t being answered because I still had to go to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City every week for more chemotherapy. I still hurt. And I was still stuck in a wheelchair. At one point, I started to think that my parents were crazy for believing in a God who wouldn’t even listen to a poor little sick girl.
Years before, I had gone through a similar trial of my faith when I prayed for my mom to get better. She was on oxygen all the time and was too weak to even walk around the house. I prayed and hoped and prayed some more that she would miraculously be healed. However, she wasn’t. After she died, I learned that we can pray for what we want all that we want to, but we need to pray for the right things—praying that the Lord’s will be done—to have our prayers answered.
Remembering this lesson, I changed my prayers from “Please heal me” to “Heavenly Father, I would really like to be done with these trials, but I will accept Thy will.” As soon as I changed my prayers, I found that I was able to handle the chemotherapy more easily, and I had a better attitude. That was just the beginning of the blessings and the answers to my prayers and questions.
My dad and grandfather gave me many priesthood blessings. Whenever I had to go in for surgery, I would ask for a blessing. The blessings helped me and my family feel calm about the procedure. One time I had a high fever, and we had to go to the hospital. I received a blessing from my dad and a neighbor before we left. By the time we pulled up at the emergency room door, my fever was gone, and I didn’t have to stay the night in the hospital. I know that priesthood power is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father.
One moment that will always stand out in my mind was the day I came home from the hospital after I was diagnosed with leukemia. The young women and Relief Society sisters had moved my stuff from the basement into a room on the main floor so I would be closer to my parents and wouldn’t have to use the stairs. They had cleaned and decorated the room to make a great place for me to live while I was sick. My family was the recipient of many other service projects. In the beginning, it was hard for me to accept service. When people would do service for me, it would make me feel like I couldn’t do anything for myself. However, I soon learned that it was OK to ask for help. When I started feeling better, I began looking for opportunities to serve other people more. Now I try to serve as much as I can. I get a good feeling when I serve other people. I have come to realize that by letting other people serve me, I allow them the same good feelings.
I have learned to think more about the future and my choices because I was so close to death. At school, I heard girls complaining about how they were having a “bad hair day.” As I was sitting there in my hot pink wheelchair with a wig on my head, I would think, “Well at least you have hair!” Girls would also complain about their feet hurting from walking around in high heels. I would think to myself, “At least you can walk.” Now I try to focus more on the big picture instead of the small things I used to worry about.
Over the past few years I have learned many other things through the blessings of having leukemia and the complications from chemotherapy. I have become closer to my Heavenly Father. My testimony has grown. And I have learned what is truly important. I have learned to appreciate all of the small things that people do for me. I am now in remission, in less pain, and gradually getting back some of the use of my joints. As I continue to heal, the blessings and learning experiences keep coming.
So why me? Why now? I don’t ask those questions anymore because I grew spiritually during my trials. I have discovered who I really am because the Lord loved me enough to let me experience adversity and the blessings that can come with it.
Note: Elizabeth is in remission and recently passed her third anniversary of being off chemotherapy. Her joints are healing, and she is no longer in a wheelchair. While there is still a risk for a relapse, Elizabeth doesn’t think about it. Instead, as a freshman in college, she is focused on studying for tests and practicing the oboe and English horn.

Most Creative Response
The most interesting reply to an invitation for a date that we’ve heard about came from Nikki Mather of Preston, Idaho. She responded to a dance invite from Wade Meek by delivering a jar full of Reese’s Pieces and M&Ms. She told him if there were more M&Ms than Reese’s Pieces, the answer was yes, and vice versa. It’s difficult, however, to tell one kind of candy from the other, so Wade had to have the whole family and half the neighborhood over to cut the candies in half, see if there was chocolate or peanut butter inside, and count them. When they were all tallied the answer was yes, of course.

I was raised with very liberal views concerning the gospel. There was no priesthood in our home, and although I studied the gospel as best I could, when the real trials came, I couldn’t seem to live up to gospel standards.
My husband was not a member of the Church, and for a long time, the gospel was not a part of our lives. There was tension and misunderstanding whenever we tried to discuss the Church, so we just didn’t.
I didn’t want these hurt feelings in our family, so five years ago, I decided to do something about the situation. At that time, my husband was sent to Vietnam. Our son was four years old, and I decided it was time for him to go to Primary. Gradually, we began to go to Sunday School and sacrament meetings. We didn’t feel too comfortable there. We didn’t know many people, and no one seemed particularly interested in us except one family. They invited us to their home for family home evening and dinner. In time, from this first exposure, I realized that there was something missing that I wanted in my home.
When I met my husband on leave, I told him how much the Church meant to me, how I believe it with all my heart, and how I would never demand that he go to church if he would just first give it a try.
When he returned from Vietnam, we were transferred to Kentucky, where we started going to church. My husband, Rich, was the friendly antagonist in class—asking all the questions that many teachers wish would be asked somewhere else, or at least in a different setting. I kept praying that when our next orders came, we would find ourselves in an area surrounded by Latter-day Saints. I wanted so much for Rich to rub shoulders with Mormons. I prayed about it a lot.
Well, when our orders came through, they were for Stillwater, Oklahoma. I cried for three days. I didn’t think there were any Mormons in Oklahoma. But the Lord does things in his own way. In Oklahoma, we again attended the investigator class, and home teachers started coming to visit us.
The real change came one very cold January night in 1970. I decided that 1970 was going to be my year for the Church—no more being a part-Mormon, I wanted to be a total one. So the first Monday night (this was when Relief Society was on Monday), I started out in the bitter cold. Rich said, “Please don’t go.” I said, “I’ve got to. If I don’t now, I never will.”
When I arrived, I felt quite uncomfortable, for I was the only one there. It wasn’t long, however, before three others came—the presidency. Finally, we had a total of seven sisters. They really made me feel welcome. They held a testimony meeting, and everyone except me bore her testimony. There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. I couldn’t wait to get home to tell my husband how I felt about the Church.
That experience kept me in Relief Society. I didn’t miss a single meeting for about six months. Finally, after testimonies were shared at the conclusion of one lesson, one sister said, “If you’re having trouble reading the Book of Mormon, start reading Third Nephi.”
I thought. Oh, am I having trouble? I can’t even get started!
That evening, I went home and opened Third Nephi and read the whole book. My husband and I were both students at the time, and after I’d finished reading it, I took it to the other room, where my husband was studying.
I handed the book to him and said, “Read this and tell me if you don’t think it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever read.”
He looked at me as if to say, “You’ve got to be kidding—at this time of night?”
But he read it. Who could not be moved by chapter 11:
“And it came to pass, as they understood they cast their eyes up again towards heaven; and behold, they saw a Man descending out of heaven; and he was clothed in a white robe; and he came down and stood in the midst of them; and the eyes of the whole multitude were turned upon him, and they durst not open their mouths, even one to another, and wist not what it meant, for they thought it was an angel that had appeared unto them.
“And it came to pass that he stretched forth his hand and spake unto the people, saying:
“Behold, I am Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified shall come into the world.” (3 Ne. 11:8–10.)
This book was the turning point. He went on to complete the Book of Mormon—we both did. We read other Church books, prayed, and started having family home evening. Within six months, he was baptized. A year later, he baptized our son—a dream I once thought was impossible for me. This year (1972), we were sealed as a family in the temple.
I can never fully express how I feel about those scriptures that started us down the road of happiness.

I am reminded of what I heard from a man—a great, strong, and wise man—who served in the presidency of this Church years ago. His daughter was going out on a date, and her father said to her, “Be careful. Be careful of how you act and what you say.”

She replied, “Daddy, don’t you trust me?”

He responded, “I don’t entirely trust myself. One never gets too old nor too high in the Church that the adversary gives up on him.”

I am reminded of an address given to Relief Society women by President George Albert Smith in the October 1945 general conference. This was the first conference he addressed as President of the Church and the first conference I conducted as president of Relief Society. For several years we had been denied conferences due to the restrictions of war. The women gathered to that Relief Society conference with eager and receptive spirits to hear the message of their new Prophet-President. The Spirit of the Lord rested mightily upon President Smith, and the spirit of prophecy prevailed as he spoke of the future of the women of the Church. He made very clear the responsibilities we had to all womankind. An excerpt from his address is worthy of reading at this time. Said President Smith:

I feel that I am standing on sacred ground, for in this pulpit have appeared some of the great men and women of the world, those who were anxious to do what the Lord would have them do. Here they bore testimony of the divine mission of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

You are more blessed than any other women in all the world. You were the first women to have the franchise; the first women to have a voice in the work of a church. It was God who gave it to you, and it came as a result of revelation to a Prophet of the Lord. Since that time think what benefits the women of this world have enjoyed. Not only you who belong to the Church have enjoyed the blessings of equality, but when the Prophet Joseph Smith turned the key for the emancipation of womankind, it was turned for all the women of the world, and from generation to generation the number of women who can enjoy the blessings of religious liberty and civil liberty has been increasing.

Do you realize that you have opened this Tabernacle to the first general conference we have had in years? . . . Now the sky is the limit, and I am not so sure that by the time we have two or three more general conferences here we may have visitors from Australia, New Zealand, Africa, China, Japan, and elsewhere. They may leave their homes in airplanes and in about twenty-four hours be right here. It is marvelous what the Lord has given to us in this age. [“Address to the Members of Relief Society,” 4 October 1945, Relief Society Magazine 32 (1945): 716, 717, 719]

I was deeply moved by the remarks of that great President, and following the session I thanked him and poured forth the feelings of my heart. I inquired, “Would any of this take place during my administration?” Then I asked, “When and how will our message be carried to the women of the world?” While his reply is not recorded in the conference proceedings, it is recorded in my little notebook where I’ve kept notes of the various general conferences, and it is also recorded in my mind and in my heart.

The prophet replied, “It could easily happen during your administration. The message of Mormon women will reach the women of the world when there is a special need for it. You don’t need to worry about how,” said he. “The Lord will see to that.”

By way of showing prophecy fulfilled, a few years after President Smith’s address my counselors and I noted a rather large number of women in attendance at our conference from overseas and foreign-language countries. We decided to hold a special meeting for them following the regular session of our two-day conference. We asked for a verbal roll call that morning. Each sister was to give her name, the country from which she came, and her method of transportation. Most of them had come by plane. Every country mentioned by President Smith in his 1945 address was represented except China. I noted that there was a woman there from Taiwan. I commented on this, adding that we did have a sister from Taiwan even though we did not have one from China. The sister from Taiwan then quietly arose and in perfect English said, “China is my homeland.” Prophecy was fulfilled.

I’ll never forget a lesson I had with a young woman on my mission.
She kept asking for physical or tangible evidence that the Book of Mormon was true. And I sat there, unsure of how to respond to her questions and accusations. I was a young, bright-eyed missionary, and all I knew was that the Book of Mormon was true. I felt discouraged because I didn’t know all the answers to her questions. But I realized, it wouldn’t have mattered if I had physical evidence to prove the Book of Mormon was true. Proof wouldn’t give her faith.

The young woman I taught on my mission would only believe the Church was true if my companion and I could disprove all her accusations. But the only thing I could ever prove to her was the reality of finding answers through personal revelation. 6

I ended our lesson with that young woman on my mission by testifying boldly of the Book of Mormon. I told her the only way she could truly find answers to all her questions was to ask Heavenly Father if the Book of Mormon was true. Until she understood the basics of the gospel of Jesus Christ, she could put her other questions on the shelf and revisit them later with greater understanding and faith. But honestly, doesn’t that apply to all of us? We can actually increase our faith by acting in faith.

“I started coming to church when I was 16,” he explained. “I met the missionaries on the street. I thought they were lawyers or executives by the way they were dressed. Then I realized they were foreigners. I was curious about them, so I started hanging around them, asking questions.
“In my first discussion, they told me about the Book of Mormon and about Joseph Smith, and I thought, What a great experience to have. I believed it all.”
“Mom didn’t like that and didn’t want me to come to church at first, but she finally said it was all right. Still, when I asked her if I could get baptized, she said no way. So I continued going to church for about seven months, not being a member.”
“What finally changed her mind?” I asked.
“Well, I fasted and prayed, of course, and my birthday was coming up, so I told her that the best gift she could give me would be permission to be baptized. I guess I bugged her so much about it, she finally said to go ahead. You know the rest of the story.”

Just the thought of someone actually reading what I wrote distorted my journal entries. For example, here’s what really happened:
I lost the election for sophomore vice president by the widest margin in our school’s history. I can’t think of one good reason why anybody would vote for Carol instead of me. I felt so rotten that I cried all night.
But here’s how it appeared in my journal account:
Running for student-body office was a real growing experience for me. I’m so glad Carol won. She’s a wonderful girl.

His next question surprised me. “Didn’t it hurt your eyes when they poured the latex in?” What on earth was he talking about? Nothing of that sort had gone on at all.
“I want to show you something,” he said, beckoning. I followed him upstairs to his room. From the back of his sock drawer, he pulled out a hinged leather case and opened it. On the white velvet lining were two glass balls. No, not balls. I picked one up. Doll teacups, of clear glass, an inch in diameter and an eighth inch thick.
“These are my contact lenses,” Daddy said sadly.
I was horrified. “How could anyone wear those? Why they must cover the whole eyeball!”
“That’s right,” he replied. “I wore them three times.”
My mother peered over my shoulder. “One of the times was on his second date with me,” she said. “His poor eyes watered so much and he was so miserable I made him take them off.”
“They made them by propping my eyelids open with a metal brace and pouring liquid latex over my eyes,” he explained. “The molds were then used for the glass lenses, which fit tightly over the entire eye. It took all my courage to put them in. I didn’t want that to happen to my little girl,” he finished lamely.

As a teacher, I am always looking for effective ways to engage my students in the lesson. I thought I was making good use of the chalkboard or whiteboard until I saw the board in the classroom next door. There, neatly displayed in the center, was a simple statement of doctrine, a picture, and two questions along with instructions for the students to answer the questions. As the class members came in, I watched as they looked in their scriptures for answers to the two questions. They even discussed the doctrine with each other. And all this activity was happening before the start of class!
I was impressed. Here was a teacher using a simple tool to engage his students in learning during a time that was normally wasted. He still greeted his students and gathered them for an opening prayer, but when the lesson began, the Spirit of the Lord had already touched the hearts of many of the students. They were prepared for a wonderful experience in the scriptures.

The young women in the Paradise Ward, Adelaide Australia Modbury Stake, found a great way to combine service and fun when they organized a Wake-a-thon.
The girls wanted to earn money for John Stevens, a member of their ward who had recently become a paraplegic, and his wife and children. Sixteen girls and six leaders committed friends, relatives, and neighbors to pledging money for every hour they stayed awake during a "sleep-over."
Then they designed activities through the night to focus on the seven different Young Women values. These activities included ironing clothes for busy mothers, writing to missionaries serving from their ward, preparing a Young Women sacrament program, and making toys for patients at a local children’s hospital. They also watched a movie about the true story of a paraplegic woman.
When the sun came up, the girls discovered they had stayed awake long enough to earn over $550, which was almost half the cost of a wheelchair. And they discovered that it is possible to serve and have fun at the same time.

Finally the time arrived for the time-honored tradition of opening birthday gifts. This is always a frustration for my family. What do you give a dad, at my age, when he already has a drawer full of new, unused socks, white shirts still in plastic wrap, and four racks full of ties? My son came forward and said, “At last I’ve found just the right gift for you,” and he handed me a baseball bat with a white stocking over the end. My first reaction was, “A baseball bat at seventy years of age?”
I pulled off the white stocking, and then I understood why it was a perfect gift. On the end of the bat was imprinted “Adirondack, Willie Mays’ Personal Model” with the actual signature of Willie Mays. This bat was a symbol of many great memories. My mind was flooded with memories of a special birthday that had occurred thirty years earlier. We had just moved from California to New York. We had left our favorite baseball team, the San Francisco Giants, and Willie Mays, who was, of course, their star.
On this special birthday, Willie and the Giants were in New York playing the Mets. My son had saved his money and purchased two tickets as his birthday present to me that year. I came home from work early that day so we’d have time to make the long traffic-filled drive to the Mets’ ballpark for the start of the game. We bought hot dogs, 7UP, and popcorn and settled in our seats to watch Willie Mays beat the Mets. The game was tied at 4 to 4 at the end of nine innings. Willie’s record was four at-bats and zero hits. I said to my son, “We have a long drive home, and I have to get up early to catch the train in to the city for a meeting.” His response was, “Willie won’t be up until next inning. Let’s watch him bat once more.” The same response came after the eleventh, the twelfth, the thirteenth, and the fourteenth innings—and on up to the twenty-third inning. Now it was well after midnight, and the drive home was well over an hour. Each time I suggested leaving, his response was, “Let’s watch Willie bat one more time.”
Then, in the first of the twenty-third inning, Willie came to bat and drove the ball over the center-field fence. Of course we finished watching the last of the twenty-third inning to be certain the Giants would win 5 to 4. We arrived home at 2:30 a.m. I wasn’t at my best in the meetings the following day, but I had a lasting memory to cherish. Now a piece of wood, a baseball bat, stands in the corner of my office to remind me of a special father-son relationship filled with so many great memories.

Lily also colors pictures to remember scriptures that she reads but doesn’t need to memorize. For Virtue value experience number three, Lily and the other young women in her ward read Alma chapter 5 together and talked about being worthy to enter the temple. Lily colored a picture of the Salt Lake Temple to remember what she learned. “I know I can go to the temple,” she says. “I like doing baptisms for the dead.”