Gospel Story Finder

An American Indian, George Crum, is believed to have invented the potato chip. One day when he was working as a chef in a hotel restaurant in Saratoga Springs, New York, a guest at the hotel sent his plate back to the kitchen, complaining that the fried potatoes were too thick. George felt insulted. “I’ll show him what thin is,” he fumed.
With that the chef cut a potato into paper-thin slices. Then he dropped them into a vat of boiling oil to cook. After removing the slices from the oil, he sprinkled them with salt and sent the dish of crisp chips out to the guest.
To the chef’s surprise, the man loved the chips, and so “Saratoga Chips” were born. Soon many people in the area were selling them.

While in graduate school, Sister Neeleman and I, like many of you today, had to make do on a very meager income—so meager, in fact, that I could not see how we could pay our tithing and stay in school. Sister Neeleman, alarmed by my faithless attitude, insisted that we counsel with the bishop. The bishop, after listening patiently to my rationalizations, made me an offer I couldn’t refuse: “Pay your tithing each month, and if you don’t have enough to meet your other obligations, I’ll personally make up the shortfall.” I readily agreed to the bishop’s generous terms. But then he administered the coup de grâce: “Brother Neeleman, why are you so willing to trust me to meet your needs and so unwilling to trust the Lord?”

His words struck hard, knocking me firmly onto the path to a lifetime of tithing faithfulness. I have since learned that Bishop Goodsell’s ploy did not originate with him and is commonly used by bishops to encourage reluctant tithe payers. It nevertheless serves as a constant reminder to me that paying tithing is a matter of faith and trust and has priority over all other expenditures.

A tiny sunbeam shining bravely through a crack between the logs in her bedroom played across Louisa’s face. She stretched lazily and listened to the shrieking of the sea gulls outside her small window. They seemed to be calling to her to come and play. Louisa knew they had come for their usual breakfast of worms and insects and perhaps an occasional mouse from the fields surrounding the growing settlement. She had come to think of the gulls as her own, because each morning as the sun rose over the mountains, they settled first in the field next to her window and then moved to the other fields.
Quietly she slipped from her bed onto the rough floor and down the stairs to the door of the cabin. She smiled as she slipped outside. Father had built one of the few two-story log houses. He planned to cover it with stucco later when he wasn’t so busy.
Louisa chose her favorite spot on the porch by the corner post to sit quietly without moving to watch the sea gulls. She arranged her flannel nightgown around her bare toes to keep out the morning chill. Her soft, brown hair fell gently over her shoulders and her clear, blue eyes seemed to shine as brightly as the sunbeams.
With a soft sound the door opened again and her little brother Thomas crept quietly to her side. The sharp sound of her father’s ax in the woods across the field and her mother’s gentle singing in the garden broke the stillness of the beautiful morning. Thomas yawned sleepily and gazed at the birds in the field.
“Father’s chopping wood for winter and Mother’s weeding the garden so the vegetables will grow.” Louisa almost whispered so she wouldn’t frighten her sea gulls. The birds continued to eat as though Louisa and Thomas were not even there.
“Tell me again about the sea gulls, Louisa,” Thomas said sleepily. “Please.”
He was too young to remember when they had crossed the plains in the covered wagon to Utah. Louisa remembered, though.
“Mother and Father packed our clothes, quilts, pots and pans, dishes, food, and everything else they could into the wagon. I put in my doll and helped with some of the smaller things. Father hitched the oxen to the wagon and we started on our long journey. I’d never seen oxen before. They looked like big brown cows to me.”
“What about the sea gulls, Louisa?” Thomas didn’t like to hear about the hard times they had traveling to their new home in the mountains.
“When we first came to Utah, I helped Father and Mother plant the seeds in the ground. It took Father two days to break the hard ground before we could plant the seeds. All day we worked and dropped a seed at a time on the ground.”
“Where was I?” asked Thomas.
“You wouldn’t remember because you were only a baby then and had just learned to walk,” Louisa answered quietly. “Anyway, when the new plants were just coming up, about this high,” Louisa measured with her fingers, “some crickets came and began eating them. More and more crickets came.”
“What are crickets?”
“Thomas, you know what crickets are. They are those shiny black bugs. They scrape their wings together to make a squeaky sound at night,” Louisa answered.
“Oh. Tell me about the sea gulls.”
Louisa began her story again. “Everyone got sticks and shovels and whatever they could find and began beating the crickets. But more crickets came. Finally, the people gave up. They couldn’t kill all the crickets. They were going to eat up all the food we planted.”
Tears came to Louisa’s eyes, remembering how hard she had cried. She had only been four. Now Louisa was eight and too big to cry. But sometimes she did when she was hurt or afraid.
“When did the sea gulls come?” Thomas asked.
“Father and Mother and the rest of the people prayed to our Heavenly Father that the crops would be saved from the hungry crickets. And it wasn’t long until we were surprised to hear a noise in the sky. I looked up and saw sea gulls. At first they looked like more crickets. I hadn’t seen any sea gulls here before, although I used to watch them on the ocean before we came west in the wagon.”
Louisa waited for Thomas to encourage her to go on with the story, but he just lay quietly beside her. The sky was dark blue with streaks of white clouds high in the sky. Most of the sea gulls were quiet, but once in a while one would call.
“The sea gulls came to the ground and ate up the crickets,” Louisa continued. “No one had really noticed them in the valley before. Some people say they were here all the time. But I think Heavenly Father sent them to us when the people prayed. What do you think, Thomas?”
But Thomas didn’t answer. He had fallen asleep in the warm sunshine.

I never got lost in a supermarket as a child. I never was so turned around in a building that I couldn’t find my way out, and I never had trouble finding my way home after dark. With a perfect never-lost track record, losing my way didn’t even occur to me one Saturday as I began hiking to Heather Lake in western Washington.
The trail was surrounded by moss-covered redwoods and pines. As my best friend Jenn and I started out, we didn’t pay much attention to the orange tags marking the trail because the well-worn path was so obvious. However, conditions changed as we climbed higher. We hadn’t expected to see anything but summer foliage, but soon occasional patches of snow turned into a layer of ice crunching beneath our boots. We were heartened by a hiker returning from the top who assured us that the view was worth the effort. We hurried on, hoping our speed would warm us.
As we continued into deeper snow and lowering temperatures, our path forked. We assumed the most worn path would be the right way to the lake. The path forked again and then again. We kept following what looked like the most worn path until the trail stopped. Jenn and I looked at each other in surprise. We thought that our path would lead us to the lake, but instead we were at the end of a trail next to a freezing river. I quickly looked around to get my bearings, but the clouds obscured the sun. We didn’t have a compass or even a map. As we looked around, I realized that we were lost.
Just as I began to feel a swell of panic, Jenn had an idea. “All we have to do is find an orange marker,” she said. After a minute of looking around, we saw a marker tied to a distant tree. In my rush to get my bearings, I hadn’t even noticed them. Jenn was right. By following the markers, we finally reached our destination.
The lake was beautiful, but I still felt unsettled. How had I become lost following the trail of hikers who were all trying to get to the same place I was? As I thought about this, I remembered Lehi’s dream as recorded in 1 Nephi 8. Lehi saw numberless people heading for the same destination—the tree of life. When mists of darkness obscured their path, those who followed the iron rod were safe, but those who ignored it “did lose their way, that they wandered off and were lost” (verse 23).
The other hiker was right. Heather Lake was the most beautiful place we had ever seen. Likewise, if we hold to the rod and endure to the end, we will receive “eternal life, which gift is the greatest of all the gifts of God” (D&C 14:7).

Last spring, while I was visiting a class of young women, the teacher asked the class to write our 10 priorities. I quickly began to write. I have to admit, my first thought began with “Number 1: clean the pencil drawer in the kitchen.” When our lists were complete, the Young Women leader asked us to share what we had written. Abby, who had recently turned 12, was sitting next to me. This was Abby’s list:
Go to college.
Become an interior designer.
Go on a mission to India.
Get married in the temple to a returned missionary.
Have five kids and a home.
Send my kids on missions and to college.
Become a “cookie-giving” grandma.
Spoil the grandchildren.
Learn more about the gospel and enjoy life.
Return to live with Father in Heaven.
I say, “Thank you, Abby. You have taught me about having a vision of the plan Heavenly Father has for all of us. When you know you are walking a path, in spite of whatever detours may occur, you will be OK. When your path is focused on the ultimate goal—that of exaltation and returning to Heavenly Father, you will get there.”
Where did Abby get this sense of eternal purpose? It begins in our homes. It begins in our families. I asked her, “What do you do in your family to create such priorities?”
This was her answer: “Besides reading the scriptures, we are studying Preach My Gospel.” Then she added, “We talk a lot—at family home evening, at dinner together, and in the car while we drive.”
Nephi wrote: “We talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ.” Why? “That our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins” (2 Nephi 25:26).
Talking, listening, encouraging each other, and doing things together as a family will bring us closer to our Savior, who loves us. Our intentional effort to communicate better today—this very day—will bless our families eternally. I testify that when we talk of Christ, we also rejoice in Christ and in the gift of the Atonement. Our children will come to know “to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.”

When girls do get a chance to get together and go into town, they sometimes ignore warnings about not flirting with guys on the subway or not going into certain bad areas of town. Rosalie Dolan, who teaches the Sunday School class for nannies in the ward, said, “One of the things we cautioned these girls against was going into the ‘combat zone’ in downtown Boston. Two girls, their first Saturday here, headed straight to it to find out what was so terrible. They saw someone who had just been murdered. That really scared them. It seems like the worst thing to do is tell teenage girls not to do something.”

It was only a shadow moving under water near a sunken rowboat in a small pond near our home in Rome, Georgia. I had been fishing for bass, bream, and crappie when the shadow caught my eye. It was moving under the boat when a quick jerk on my line shifted my attention. Pulling in my line, I could see something was stealing my bait.
“The shadow?” I asked myself out loud. In the next hour, I offered my underwater friend crickets, worms, and pieces of a chicken sandwich. Each time I pulled the bait closer to the surface. The shadow turned out to be a turtle—a very smart and very large snapping turtle.
I was fascinated watching my reptilian neighbor use its beaklike jaws to dine on the cuisine being served, without ever touching the hook. How easily and gracefully it moved; how safe and in total control this leathery looking aquatic creature appeared. Nothing could ever harm the turtle or lure it from the pond.
One day the shadow was gone, and I wondered why. “I reckon it’s pretty easy,” Mr. Owens, the resident sage of Little Sand Mountain, told me when I asked him what happened to the turtle. “My dogs won’t touch them if they ever catch one on land, and you shouldn’t either. They are terribly mean, but you can catch them and make great turtle soup.”
He smiled as he told me how. “Take a 2-by-12 piece of wood and pound 16 penny nails through it, beginning one foot from the end. Bend the nails over about a quarter of an inch until the nails are parallel to the wood and facing the same way. Lay the finished plank down into the water on a small bank with the nails pointing up.
“Place chicken parts or hamburger on the top quarter of the wood and make as much meat juice as possible run down the wood into the water. Just sit down and wait. It’s just too tempting,” he added. “The turtle will follow the smell right out of the water and up the wooden plank.
“When you see the turtle climb out of the water and reach the bait, move quickly towards the turtle. As the turtle pulls into its shell and starts sliding down to the safety of the water, its bottom shell will catch on one of the nails, and it’s trapped. Unable to get back to the water or defend itself, it is at the mercy of man. And the Georgia snapping turtle becomes turtle soup.”

Then she remembered a story she had heard about a [bird] that got lost in the [tabernacle] . People tried opening all the [doors] [and] chasing the [bird] out with a [net] . But the [bird] would [not] fly out any of the [doors] . Finally, a man named John said a [prayer] . Heavenly Father answered John’s [prayer] [and] helped him know what [to] do. “Turn off all the [lights] ,” John said. “[And] close all the [doors] except [one].” Then the [bird] flew out the [door] .

A few years ago my wife and I took some friends to Zion National Park in southern Utah. We decided to hike to Angel’s Landing up a narrow and winding trail that led to a small mesa high above the canyon floor—really high. At one point the trail is so narrow and drops off so abruptly (and so far!) on both sides that the park rangers have provided a railing made of linked chains affixed to the rock. We inched our way forward, hanging on for dear life, knowing that one misstep on the slippery sandstone would lead to disaster. I moved ahead, never letting go for a second, hand over hand, heart pounding. Don’t look down. Don’t look down! So I looked ahead, and there was my dear wife in the scariest, deadliest section of all—letting go! I yelled, Lehi-like, “hang on, my dear, or our children will be motherless!” She looked at me like I had lost my mind, confident that she was in complete control of the situation. Now, I must clarify, that when it comes to Lehi’s iron rod, my wife is the most assiduous hanger-on-er of anyone I know, but in this one instance I felt like Lehi fearing for the salvation of his loved ones, knowing that safety was in hanging on.

Receiving gospel ordinances and keeping covenants had a dramatic influence on Diana’s family. Diana and her younger brother, Emmanuel, were the first to join the Church. Before that time, Diana says, her family argued a lot. She knew her parents wanted the best for her and her brothers, but they were strict.
“We felt more fear than love for my dad,” she says.
Several months after she was baptized, her father and older brother, Richard, joined the Church, followed more than a year later by her mother.
“My father changed,” Diana says of her father’s conversion. “When we did things wrong, he would talk to us about it. We had fewer arguments. There was more harmony in our home.”
Covenanting to follow Jesus Christ had drawn them closer to Him and to each other. They had a common purpose: to become an eternal family. A year after Diana’s mother was baptized, the family was sealed in the temple.
“It was a beautiful experience,” Diana says. “I can’t explain how I felt when we walked into the sealing room and saw my parents there. I didn’t want to leave.”

When I first visited Czechoslovakia, long before the people there had freedom, I was met by Jirí Snederfler and his wife, Olga. I went to their home, which is where the Prague Branch of the Church met. On the walls were picture after picture of the Salt Lake Temple. I said to Sister Snederfler, “Your husband must truly love the temple,” and she said, “I, too; I, too.”
She brought out an album of pictures of the missionaries who were serving there in 1950, when their government required the closure of the mission. As she held up each photograph, she said, “Wonderful boy, wonderful boy!”
Brother Snederfler has always been willing to stand up for the gospel. When the Church wanted the Czechoslovakian government to again recognize it officially, the Communist leaders told us, “Don’t send an American or any other foreigner. Send a citizen of Czechoslovakia.” That was frightening because to admit then that you were a leader of any church meant that you might be in danger!
Brother Snederfler was the one chosen to go to his government. He later told me that he had asked for the prayers of the branch members. Then he went to Olga and said, “I love you. I don’t know when—or if—I’ll be back. But I love the gospel, and I must follow my Savior.” With that spirit of faith and devotion, he went to his government leaders and told them that he was the leader of the Church there and that he wanted them to again recognize it officially.
Meanwhile, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles had been working very hard to get the needed approval. It came: “Your church is again recognized in Czechoslovakia.”
Brother Snederfler eagerly went to tell Olga and the other stalwart members of the Church there that once again missionaries could come to their country and that they could again worship Heavenly Father in freedom. It was a happy day.
Jirí and Olga Snederfler later served as president and matron of the Freiberg Germany Temple, where faithful members of the Church in Germany, the Czech Republic, and nearby countries attend. They were happy to find themselves each day in the Lord’s house, which they so dearly love.

Several years ago, our daughter Jennifer was up very early and saw her little brother Bryan sitting outside our bedroom door. We were not up yet given the early hour and he was in some distress with swollen eyes and a quivering lip. Jennifer said to him, “Bryan, they can’t help you if you don’t knock; they would want you to knock.”

We all need to knock. We do this through childlike prayer offered with deep gratitude, love, and trust in our Heavenly Father. Perfunctory prayers have little power.

“Hold your family home evenings … ,” says President Gordon B. Hinckley. “I can remember when it was begun. I was a little boy five years old, and my father said, ‘President [Joseph F.] Smith has asked us to hold family home evenings.’ And we did it. It was not easy to do at first. We were more prone to laugh and giggle than we were to be well behaved. But we did it. I see the fruits of it in my own family and in the families of my grandchildren and in the families of my great-grandchildren. The principle of family solidarity carries with it a conviction of its truth” (“Words of the Living Prophet,” Liahona, April 1999, 18).

One particular performance I looked forward to was my hometown in Hilo. You may have read this story on the Jubilee website or read it in the community paper. It's my EAR story. I have never told this story publicly except at the "Showcase" reunion during the Jubilee celebration. So what you hear today is the first hand account of that experience. Of all the "Showcase" stories, this one is definitely at the top.

It was Hilo's annual carnival and "Showcase" was invited to perform besides doing shows at the local schools and local wards and stakes. I was really looking forward to seeing family, relatives, and friends that would be there to watch us. As we were getting ready for the show, some of us guys started getting the sound equipment out of the back of the Greyline Bus. Apparently the top of the door that opens down and up was not locked. The trunk fell on my head. It was a hard bump but my head's was pretty solid anyway and thought nothing of it. When I moved to the side of the bus the trunk door clipped the side of my head.

As we were dressing and getting ready for the show, the guys noticed blood on the side of my head. With my shorts in my hand, I began applying to the top of the head. The director Randy Boothe escorted me to the First Aid station and the nurse sat me down and looked at the top of my head. She looked confused because she couldn't find the open gash. When she looked towards my ear, she gasped. I asked if anything was wrong, she said no and proceeded to Randy who was standing at the door. She whispered in his ear and all I could see was Randy's face. He b-lined right out the door. In the meantime I sat there patiently waiting for the ambulance to take me to the hospital. When I got there, I received a blessing on the operating table. The doctor and I hit it off because he spoke Japanese and we were talking about my mission and why I went to Japan. I'm lying on my side and I see this piece of flesh swimming around in this light blue liquid. I ask the doctor, what was this? He looked at me shocked and said, "You really don't know what that is?" I chuckled and told him no. He said, "Didn't they tell you?" I said, "Tell me what, about my head?" He said as only one local can say to another local, "Braddah, that's your ear!" Well, you can imagine what I was thinking. Will I be able to perform without an ear? Who is going to want to marry an earless man? The doctor reassured me that he had done many plastic surgeries and chances were that the fallen ear would reattach. Well, I must say the surgeon did a wonderful job.

After the surgery I rejoined the group at the end of the performance and was told the other half the story.
Part II - Remember the nurse at the First Aid station, well she had gone to whisper in Randy Boothe's ear that I was missing part of my ear. That he needed to look for it immediately and get it to the hospital ASAP so they could reattach it. Well Randy and the "Showcase" members went to the bus in the dark, without flashlights, began searching for my ear. I can't remember who found it, but Randy did put it in a wet napkin. Because he was the director, he now had the difficult task to tell my mother who was anxiously waiting for her son to perform. He found my mother, and was so apologetic. He began to tell her, "Sister Akoi, I am so sorry, your son just got into an accident. This is ear, can you please take it to the hospital right now so they can reattach it?" When I asked my mother what her reaction was, she said, "Son, I had no time to react. I ran a quarter of a mile in my high heels looking for the car in the dark, just to get your ear to the hospital in time." Well the operation went well except they couldn't do a good fold. The one they did make made me feel like my ear was flapping around. I told the doctor that I could live without it.

Well, I will never forget this experience and many others that have allowed me to engage in doing good things. Whenever I look at the mirror my ear reminds me of the love I have for this school and sacrifices made by many that came before you and I, and it reminds me of those precious memories of "Showcase."

President Kimball gave us these inspired thoughts on the blessings of adversity:
I’m grateful that my priesthood power is limited and used as the Lord sees fit to use it. I don’t want to heal all the sick—for sickness sometimes is a great blessing. People become angels through sickness.
Have you ever seen someone who has been helpless for so long that he has divested himself of every envy and jealousy and ugliness in his whole life, and who has perfected his life? I have. Have you seen mothers who have struggled with, perhaps, unfortunate children for years and years, and have become saints through it? Have you seen people who have calamity like the woman in my childhood who came home after a party and found seven children in ashes, her children, whom she had locked in her home. I am glad that we don’t have to make those decisions. No pain suffered by man or woman upon the earth will be without its compensating effects if it be suffered in resignation and if it be met with patience. [TSWK, p. 167–68]

I went into a hospital in New Zealand one day to bless a woman who didn’t belong to the Church. She was dying. We all knew she was dying. The doctors had even said so. She was having her farewell party.

That’s one thing I like about the natives. When you go, they give you a farewell party. They all gather around. They send messages over to the other side: “When you get over there, tell my mother I’m trying to do my best; I’m not so good, but I’m trying. Tell her to have a good room fixed for me when I get over there and plenty of fish, good meal.”

My, it’s wonderful how they send you off. There they were, all gathered around this poor sister. She was about to be confined, and the doctor told her it would kill her. She was tubercular from head to foot.

I had with me an old native, almost ninety. She was his niece. He stood up at the head of the bed, and he said: “Vera, you’re dead. You’re dead because the doctor says you’re dead. You’re on your way out. I’ve been to you, your home, and your people—my relatives. I’m the only one that joined the Church. None of you has ever listened to me. You’re dead now, but you’re going to live.”

He turned to me and said, “Is it all right if we kneel down and pray?”

I said, “Yes.”

We knelt down. Everybody around there knelt down, and after the prayer we blessed her. The last time I was in New Zealand, she was physically well from head to foot and had had her fifth child. She has not joined the Church yet. That’s the next miracle I’m waiting for there.

“Elisabeth!” Mom called from her room. “Someone rang the doorbell a little while ago. Can you see if there’s anything on the porch?”
A few moments later Elisabeth carried a plate of cookies into Mom’s room, where she was in bed with a lingering illness.
“Someone brought us cookies!” Elisabeth said.
“Who are they from?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know, but here’s a note.”
Mom took the note. “ ‘Hope you’re having a great day,’ ” she read. “ ‘From someone who cares.’ ” She smiled at Elisabeth. “It’s really nice of someone to surprise us with cookies.”
“Can I have one?” Elisabeth asked.
“Yes, you can. And will you please put the note in my love drawer?”
Elisabeth took the note. “What’s your love drawer?” she asked.
“It’s the little drawer in that table by my bed. Open it and I’ll show you.”
Elisabeth opened the drawer and found a pile of letters, notes, and cards.
“I’ve been saving all the good wishes people have given me since I’ve been sick,” Mom explained, pulling a few papers from the drawer. “Grandma sent this letter. And this is the card the Garcias gave me when they brought us dinner. Here is the note I discovered in the kitchen when I came home from the doctor and found the whole house cleaned. And the Primary children made this card for me.”
Mom handed the cards, notes, and letters back to Elisabeth. “All these remind me how nice people have been to us. Each one is from someone who is trying to be like Jesus. When I feel sad I can look at them and remember that lots of people care about me. And that helps me remember that Heavenly Father and Jesus care about me too.”
Elisabeth put everything back in the drawer and closed it carefully.
“Now will you take these cookies into the kitchen?” Mom said. “The other kids will want to have one when they get home from school.”
Elisabeth carried the plate of cookies into the kitchen, and then sat down at the table with her crayons. After a while she went back into Mom’s room. “Mom, I brought you something.” She held out the picture she had made.
“Elisabeth, this is beautiful! I love the rainbow and the smiling people. You worked very hard on this.”
“You can put it in the love drawer,” Elisabeth said. “It will help you remember that I love you and that I want to be like Jesus.”
Mom smiled and hugged Elisabeth. “You make me very happy,” she said. “I will put this in the love drawer—later. Right now I want to keep it out where I can see it!”

Several respondents felt society’s emphasis on personal appearance could lead to a form of idolatry. While a clean and healthy body is important, some people go to extraordinary lengths to emulate the beautiful men and women who smile from advertisements in magazines, in newspapers, and on television. Our society too often equates personal happiness with its definition of personal beauty. Trying unsuccessfully to emulate these unrealistic images, many people are constantly discontented. One of my students shared the following story:
“I had just moved away from my high school, where I was involved in everything. At my new school, I felt I was nobody. I knew no one, and no one knew me. I desperately wanted to be included.
“As I observed the popular crowd, I noticed that the girls who received attention were skinny and beautiful. Furthermore, slender girls graced the covers of magazines, billboards, and television screens. I looked at my body and realized it was not like theirs. I decided that the only way to gain back the popularity I had lost when I moved was to be skinny. So I began to diet.
“I was trying to lose only a few kilograms, but then I read a magazine article discussing qualities the men in the article looked for in women. The best-looking guy said, ‘A girl can never be too skinny.’ I concluded that in order for the guy I was interested in to pursue me, I had to be skinnier. I was still not associating with the popular crowd and did not know many people. Obviously, I was not thin enough.
“I continued to diet and exercise but still did not achieve the acceptance I wanted. Finally, after five months of starvation and depression, I was hospitalized, weighing only 40 kilograms.
“I was deceived. Being skinny does not bring happiness. Now I realize that happiness accompanies spiritual growth and comes from within. When one’s only focus is worldly popularity, it is difficult to progress spiritually. I have found that true happiness is obtained only through striving to please the Lord.”

Joseph F. Smith’s mother was known as “Widow Smith.” She was the widow of Hyrum Smith, who was martyred with the Prophet Joseph. She once rebuked the tithing clerk who stated that because of her poverty, she should not have to pay her tithing. She said: “‘Would you deny me a blessing? If I did not pay my tithing, I should expect the Lord to withhold his blessings from me. I pay my tithing, not only because it is a law of God, but because I expect a blessing by doing it. By keeping this and other laws, I expect to prosper, and to be able to provide for my family.’”
Did she prosper? Her son and grandson became Presidents of the Church, and her descendants today include a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and many notable Church leaders.
Speaking of his mother, Joseph F. Smith once said she paid “tithes of her sheep and cattle, the tenth pound of her butter, her tenth chicken, the tenth of her eggs, the tenth pig, the tenth calf, the tenth colt—a tenth of everything she raised.”

In my senior year of high school I signed up for the marines, and while my classmates were attending graduation exercises, I was in an airplane headed for boot camp at Parris Island, South Carolina. Three months later, I was back home on leave and my parents invited me to attend church.
I had always been a scrappy person, but after graduating from marine corps boot camp, I felt as though I could lick the world and probably would have tried with little hesitation. I accepted my parents’ invitation to attend church services and immediately began preparing my uniform so that I might present an impeccable appearance.
I rose at 0600 that morning to check my uniform to make sure it was in immaculate condition. Sure enough, my brass was so shiny you couldn’t look at it directly, and when you growled at my leather, it was so brilliantly shined, your reflection growled back at you. My swagger would have made John Wayne turn green as we neared the church entrance. I was prepared to lick anyone who met my gaze with anything less than the fear of death. I opened the door and stood aside, letting my mom pass through, and then the rest of the family. I sidestepped through the door so that my shoulders wouldn’t rip the wood from the sides of the door frame. As I corrected my body position to its original stance and faced the occupants of the room, I felt as though I had been slapped in the face.
I was flabbergasted as I stared into a sea of genuinely smiling faces. Everyone present had a light in his eye that I had previously seen in only a few individuals. There was a spirit of happiness and contentment present that was hard for me to comprehend. I think it would have been impossible to provoke one of these fine people into a fist fight.
I never regained my composure after making my way through the tidal wave of handshakes and back pats that met me. I sat meekly through the entire service—like a lamb among wolves, or perhaps the reverse.
Back on duty I took up my usual way of life. Once in a while I thought of the LDS Church back home, especially when letters came from my family as there were always a few lines about their Church activities.
Two years dragged by and my tour in Vietnam drew close. I stopped drinking and smoking and found myself wishing I could wash off my tattoo.
By some stroke of luck, I was selected to be attached to the Department of State for what was to be a year in Nicosia, Cyprus, and a year and a half in Jerusalem, Israel.
I’m sure that gnawing feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you leave home is a feeling you never get used to. It’s worse when you are single, in the service, or on a mission and aren’t sure what to expect. For some reason I was unusually homesick as I waited for my orders. My imagination made my plight seem worse. As I lay on my bunk I envisioned myself as the last of the good guys, alone without a friend in the world, sworn to uphold justice and virtue, a knight in shining armor, the champion of damsels in distress, and a slayer of dragons. Yet there was nothing foreseeable in my future but the “devil and the deep blue sea.”
At the height of my misery a glimmer of hope and truth shone through. Stored in my “gourd” for two and a half years were memories of smiles, love, virtue, warmth, and a strong moral environment. I remembered that the Mormon members possessed all those personal qualities that characterized the knights of old: personal dignity, self-reliance, initiative, and loyalty to their own. I kicked myself mentally as I thought, “You should have joined that outfit before you even thought of going into the marines.”
The next Sunday I looked up the address of the nearest LDS chapel and told the cabbie to take the fastest route. Out of the cab, I raced down the sidewalk and jumped into the foyer. Standing there was a small group of distinguished looking gentlemen. I made a beeline for them and zeroed in on the gentleman with silver-gray hair and piercing eyes. Trying to stop within three feet of him, but having slid to within six inches, I counted three silver fillings as his mouth flew open. I suppose he thought the ward was about to be invaded by the entire marine corps.
I tried to be tactful but had built my momentum to a fever pitch. Standing within six inches of his nose, I caught him by the arm and shrieked, “Sign me up, coach; I don’t smoke!”
I know that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ. How thankful I am for the fine example of the members of the Church for it was that example which brought me into the only true church on the earth.