Gospel Story Finder

Eighteen-year-old Annie Smith wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and looked back across the railroad bridge she and her students had just crossed. The students were from her one-room schoolhouse in Porterville, Utah. They were a variety of ages and sizes; some students were even older than she was. She was glad to see the older ones helping the younger ones along the tracks. It was a beautiful winter day in 1892, a perfect day for their school outing. She and her students had already enjoyed dinner at her house and a sleigh ride.
Annie felt a small hand slip into hers. She looked down into the face of her youngest student, little Hughie. His brown eyes were large with excitement.
“Do we really get to walk through the tunnel?” he asked nervously.
Annie nodded. “I have special permission from the railroad. They said no trains are scheduled for today, so it will be perfectly safe.” She looked at the dark opening of the mountain tunnel ahead. “It’s a long, dark tunnel, Hughie, and there are no lights inside. But on the other side is a beautiful view of the rockslide and the valley.”
Hughie gave a little sigh and smiled. Annie’s words had put his fears to rest. Now he tugged on her arm. “Come on, Teacher. Let’s go see the valley.”
Soon they were all inside the tunnel. It took a while for their eyes to adjust to the darkness after the bright daylight. “Go slowly,” Annie said. Her voice echoed in the tunnel. “Stay on the tracks and hold hands so you don’t fall.”
At first the children were laughing and joking, but they soon grew quiet as they concentrated on keeping their footing. Their footsteps grated on the gravel as they guided each other over the railroad ties.
Annie knew they were about halfway through the tunnel when she saw a small circle of light in the darkness ahead. “We’re almost there,” she told her students. “Look at the light.”
As they paused to look, they heard a rumbling noise behind them, and then a sound that terrified them—a train whistle.
“Teacher?” It was Hughie’s voice. “Did you hear?”
Annie hushed him quickly. She stood frozen on the tracks, not daring to believe her ears. But then the whistle sounded again, nearer this time. There was a train rounding the point of the mountain and coming very fast toward the bridge they had just crossed!
Annie prayed silently for help. Please, Heavenly Father, what should I do? Tell me what to do.
“Teacher?” an older child asked. “Should we run?”
The tracks were starting to vibrate under their feet.
“No!” Annie commanded. The words seemed to spring from her lips of their own accord. “Lie down at once as close to the wall as possible. Don’t move or try to get up until I say you can. Now, go!”
She had to shout the last word over the sound of the approaching train. She pulled the nearest child with her to the wall of the tunnel and held him tight. As the train roared into the tunnel, many of the children screamed in terror. Sparks flew from the smokestack, and the smoke almost suffocated them. The train seemed to go on forever. Annie trembled and tightened her grip on the child she was holding, afraid she might lose him in the hot, rushing wind that swept through the tunnel with the train.
When the train was finally gone, she helped the child up and hurried toward the light. She went as swiftly as she could, tripping on stones and helping her students, who were also rushing to get out of the dark.
Once outside the tunnel, one of the older children asked, “Where’s Hughie?”
Taking some older boys with her, Annie returned to the dark tunnel, afraid of what she might find. The boys ran ahead calling Hughie’s name. “He’s here!” a boy called, relief in his voice. “He’s still lying facedown by the wall.”
Annie heard another boy comforting him. “It’s OK, Hughie. The train is gone. You can get up now.”
Hughie turned his face toward them and said in a brave but frightened voice, “Did Teacher say I could?”
Annie hurried over and put her arms around him. “Oh, Hughie,” she said with tears forming in her eyes. “Thank you for being so obedient. You did the right thing, and you are safe. You can get up now. Teacher says so.”
Hughie got to his feet, and Annie took his hand and led him toward the light. She silently thanked Heavenly Father for watching over this little boy who had such faith in his teacher. She hoped she would always live worthy of that trust.
Annie also knew her trust in Heavenly Father had been rewarded. Her prayer had been answered when she told the children what they needed to do to be safe. They were spared because they immediately obeyed those instructions. There is safety in obedience. That was a lesson Hughie, the other students, and their teacher never forgot.

The Monterrey México Temple stands prominently on a hill next to a major highway. It is impossible to pass without noting the majesty of the building and its setting. When Román and Norma Rodríguez first passed the temple, there were signs announcing an open house. Feeling drawn to it, they stopped and went in with their family.

Originally married in a civil ceremony as required by law, they were, after 15 years and three children, involved in planning the impressive church wedding they had never had. But during their visit to the Monterrey temple, they felt something they had never felt before. There was a peace and joy Román could not explain. Norma felt it too. They agreed that they had to learn more about the teachings of the church that had built this temple, so they left their names and a request for the missionaries to visit.

“I remember when we were preparing for that other wedding,” Sister Rodríguez says. “I kept wondering if we were doing the right thing. I prayed to the Lord to help me, and I feel my prayer was answered as we learned about eternal marriage.”

On 15 May 2003, just one year and eight days after their baptism, Brother and Sister Rodríguez and their daughter and two sons returned to the house of the Lord for the kind of wedding they really wanted—their eternal sealing as a family. They are members of the Santo Domingo Ward, San Nicolás México Stake, where he is elders quorum president and she is visiting teaching supervisor. Their children—Vanessa, 14; Román, 11; and Omar, 9—enjoy Primary, the youth programs, and the other activities available in their ward.

Both Brother and Sister Rodríguez tell of spiritual experiences that reconfirm the wisdom of their decision to become members of the Church. Before, Brother Rodríguez says, they were running after the common things of life. Now they see with real depth and spiritual clarity. “I feel like our life is beginning to come together,” he says.

When I first became a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, I had the opportunity to accompany President N. Eldon Tanner, a counselor to President David O. McKay, to a stake conference in Alberta, Canada. During the meeting, the stake president read the names of four brethren who had qualified to be ordained elders. These were men whom President Tanner knew, for at one time he had lived in that area. But President Tanner knew and remembered them as they once were and did not know that they had turned their lives around and had fully qualified to become elders.

The stake president read the name of the first man and asked him to stand. President Tanner whispered to me, “Look at him. I never thought he would make it.” The stake president read the name of the second man, and he stood. President Tanner nudged me again and reported his astonishment. And so it was with all four of the brethren.

After the meeting, President Tanner and I had the opportunity to congratulate these four brethren. They had demonstrated that men can change.

Devon, it is time to get ready for prayer.
But I am ready.
No, Devon. You should kneel, fold your arms, and close your eyes when you pray. You should also be still. It shows respect for Heavenly Father.
Devon dropped his toy truck, folded his arms, and knelt next to Mom.
How does Heavenly Father listen to me? Does He have ears?
Yes, He does have ears. He listens when you say your prayers.
Devon said his prayer and stayed on his knees with his head bowed and arms folded for a few seconds after he had finished.
He’s not talking back. Are you sure He is listening?
Heavenly Father usually answers our prayers by talking to our hearts and minds rather than talking to our ears. He does this through the Holy Ghost.
Devon, how do you feel when you share?
Happy.
And how do you feel when you do something wrong—like throw your toys?
I feel bad.
The Holy Ghost helps us have these feelings to let us know right and wrong. He also helps us have ideas about what things we can do to be happier.
There are other ways we can know Heavenly Father is listening. Remember how He helped Grandma feel better after she got a priesthood blessing?
Yes, I’m glad Grandma felt better.
Just because you do not hear Heavenly Father talking to you, that does not mean that He isn’t listening. He sends you warm, good feelings to let you know He is there.
Devon felt happy.
Now I know, Mom. Heavenly Father does listen to me.

Teaching children requires more than desire. It requires diligence on our part. Earlier I mentioned the song “Teach Me to Walk in the Light,” written by Clara McMaster. Sister McMaster shared with me that while serving on the Primary general board she received the assignment to write a song about teaching children. She found this an especially daunting task and prayed to know how to begin and complete this assignment.

After much effort she submitted her work, only to be told that it was not yet right. She was not told what to change, only to continue the effort until it was right. She was spiritually exhausted, not knowing how to proceed. She again sought guidance from the Lord, made changes, and submitted another edition. This process continued three times until at last she was told it was perfect and she was not to change anything.

Even though there were many times that Sister McMaster wanted to give up, she diligently worked at what she had been asked to do and what she hoped would bless the lives of children. Her inspired music has been sung by adults and children in many lands and in many languages. This song represents the desire of my heart—that all children will learn to walk in the light of the gospel of Jesus Christ. This song begins with a plea from a child, “Teach me to walk in the light,” and ends with a commitment, “Gladly, gladly we’ll walk in the light.”

Deep in the Gran Chaco—the sparsely settled, arid wilderness that covers much of northwestern Paraguay—is Nivoclé Boquerón, a settlement of about forty Latter-day Saint families. These members, Nivoclé Indians, have nicknamed their village La Abundancia (“Bountiful”). Most speak only the Nivoclé language; some also speak a little Spanish. They have moved here from Mistolar, a larger, more remote settlement of LDS Nivoclé Indians. (See Elder Ted E. Brewerton, “Mistolar: Spiritual Oasis,” Tambuli, September 1990, page 10.) Missionary couples have helped the group in La Abundancia dig a water hole at each end of the village. The missionary couples are also teaching them to raise goats and to plant and harvest crops—enough to subsist on, and some extra to sell.
The branch meets in a one-room wooden chapel, lit by kerosene lanterns. Almost every evening, there’s something going on there, usually a seminary class that turns into choir practice later on in the evening. Both youths and adults participate in the choir, singing the hymns in beautiful four-part harmony without a piano.
Outside the meetinghouse is a homemade baptismal font. There’s an area where the boys play fútbol. There’s also a garden, a few trees, and a small cemetery.
Buried in that cemetery is Ireneo Arenas, the baby son of Jorge Arenas and his wife Rosa. In August 1989, Jorge and Rosa left Mistolar with their three young children and accompanied two other families on the journey of over 2100 kilometers by bus to the Buenos Aires Temple. “When we left Mistolar, the baby was sick with a cold,” says Jorge. “By the time we arrived in Buenos Aires, he was much worse. It was very cold. We went to the temple and were sealed as a family. The baby was still sick.”
When they returned to Paraguay, they decided to stay in La Abundancia, rather than traveling several more hours to Mistolar. The baby continued to get worse. “There was nothing we could do for him,” says Jorge. Five days later, the baby died.
“As I held my son, I was thinking how grateful I was that we had just been sealed in the temple. I know that he is with our Heavenly Father and that we will be with him again someday. Now we are trying to keep all the commandments of our Heavenly Father, because we are thinking of our baby.”
Jorge and Rosa have settled in La Abundancia. Formerly a branch president, Jorge is now in the elders quorum presidency and is assistant choir director and seminary teacher. They have three daughters: Dominga, 9; Basílica, 7; and Marivel, 2.
“When the missionaries first taught me the gospel,” he says, “I felt something that I thought was the Holy Spirit. I have felt that spirit often, especially when I am reading the Book of Mormon. Jesus Christ came to our ancestors here in the Americas. For a time, they obeyed the commandments. But later, they rejected them. I want to serve wherever I am called in the Church, because I know that as we serve in the Church, the Lord will bless us. I know that Jesus Christ died for us. He was resurrected for us. And he forgives us of our sins. I know that he lives.”

I finally finished reading First Nephi when I was fourteen years old. Perhaps I did it partly so that I could say in Sunday School class “yes, I’ve read the Book of Mormon.” But beyond that, I felt within me that this was an important book that would have a significant impact on my life. My parents and others spoke of how they loved the book. I wanted to feel the same way and sensed that I’d feel that way sooner through my own reading than through listening to others.
For several “readings” I got a new copy each time, and was probably as interested in marking passages in red as I was in just reading. I loved opening it when someone was looking—in a couple of copies the passages that weren’t red stood out. Gradually, I found my pride in marking being replaced by a love for what was in this sacred book. I felt I knew some of the people, and I enjoyed going back again and again to be with them and to learn from them.

Wouldn’t you get a little nervous if your high school counselor suddenly and unexpectedly called you into the office?
You’d especially be nervous if you were Richard Aballay, a senior at a Catholic seminary in New York City. Richard had seen the LDS commercials on TV, had contacted the missionaries, and was baptized. He hadn’t yet mentioned it to anyone at the school, where boys are preparing to become Catholic priests.
“How are you doing in your subjects?” the counselor began politely on that fateful day in late October.
“Fine,” said Richard, cautiously.
Then the counselor jumped to his real concern. “Are you affiliated with another church?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Why?”
“I have come to know the Savior better in this church. I know this church is doing more for me. It is the church of God.”
As the counselor began to lecture, warning Richard that being a member of a different church was grounds for dismissal, Richard thought how easy it would be to say he’d made it all up. Then he could finish his senior year in peace.
“But I couldn’t do that,” Richard said later. “You can’t deny the truth when you have it.”
By the next day it was official: Richard had to leave.
The following week was torment, Richard said. But with much prayer, his family was able to find space for him in another good school.
“From that experience,” Richard says, “I have learned that the Lord will never abandon me.”
In fact, it gave Richard the chance to tell more people about the gospel, since his classmates wanted to know why he would leave school for his new beliefs.
Being dismissed from school is not the only challenge Richard has faced. He’s grown up in the Bronx, a borough of New York City. It’s not an easy place to live.
“I know for a fact that if it weren’t for the gospel, I would probably go into something crazy,” he says. “The inner city is hard. But I know the greatest blessing in my life has been the priesthood.
“Ever since I was first ordained a deacon, I noticed a great change. I just felt like the Lord was with me. And I had a confidence—I could walk into my school where kids were doing bad things, and I could say no. It helps keep me straight. I’m always saying to myself, ‘I want to honor the priesthood.’”
The gospel has helped him in other ways, too. One is that since he joined the Church, Richard has been able to overcome a speech impediment. Before receiving the Holy Ghost, “I could not say a word in public,” Richard said. Now he blesses the sacrament, talks in church, and has taken roles in two road shows. “It’s like it says in Ether 12:27. My weakness became a strength,” he says.
Richard also used to party a lot. But, after the last bash, he said, “I saw things there and I didn’t feel right. For some funny reason I knew I didn’t belong there.”
He left the party and vowed to become more involved in things like service, schoolwork, studying the scriptures, listening to good music, and not to watch so much television.
“It’s hard,” he says. “I’m a teenager. I like to keep up with things going on outside. I don’t want to be a social hermit. But I feel that if I’m going to go on a mission, and if I’m going to get married in the temple, and if I’m going to receive callings, I know I have to be worthy.”
Many of his friends think this is a strange road to take. They also think it’s a little weird that he decided to attend BYU, a school where there aren’t many Hispanics. “I like a challenge,” Richard explained.
That decision is typical of him. “I don’t care what other people think of me. It’s what my Heavenly Father thinks of me, it’s what my mom thinks of me, it’s what I think of myself,” he says.
Even though it sometimes seems that his trials have increased since he joined the Church, Richard says, “I know God really has his hand working in my life. You have to go through a lot to learn what’s good and what’s bad, and to appreciate what you have instead of wanting more.”

Malcolm Tent was still a young man when he began putting rocks in his pockets. It started one day when his boss, Mr. Gump, got angry at him for something that wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t yell back at his boss, because he might get fired. In fact, there wasn’t anything he could do except be angry inside. “But,” he thought, “I’m not going to forget this. no way.”
On the way home from the bus stop that night, he thought to himself, “I’ve got to remember how angry I am. I don’t want to forget in the morning.” Suddenly he had an idea. There was a small rock on the sidewalk in front of him. He picked it up and said softly to himself, “I’ll keep this rock in my pocket to remind me of how unfair Mr. Gump was.”
And that’s what he did. That night he put the rock on his dresser with his keys and comb. The next morning, when he got dressed to go to work, into his pocket went the ugly gray rock.
All that day and the next, the heavy bulge in his pocket reminded him that he should be angry at Mr. Gump. Strangely, Mr. Gump seemed to have forgotten about the whole thing. But not Malcolm Tent. Oh no. In fact, during the next two weeks, Mr. Gump made Malcolm angry several more times, and Malcolm decided he’d better get a rock for each time so he could keep better track of these things.
And so it was that Malcolm Tent’s trousers began to look baggy and strange. But at least he remembered not to forgive Mr. Gump or be friendly or anything like that.
Maybe if Malcolm had only collected rocks when he got angry at old Gump, this thing might have died out and been forgotten. But there was the taxi driver who drove right by and left Malcolm standing in the rain. Into his pocket went a shiny, rain-slick pebble from the gutter. (Of course, Malcolm had no idea of the taxi driver’s name, but it didn’t matter.) Then there was the grocery clerk who short-changed him. And the newspaper delivery boy who threw his paper into the lawn sprinkler. And the neighbor whose dog barked late at night. And … well, Malcolm discovered that there were all kinds of people and things in the world that can bother you.
Speaking of discoveries, Malcolm also discovered that when all of your pockets are full of rocks, a plain old belt won’t hold up your pants. (He discovered that fact while his arms were full of grocery sacks.) So he made himself a sturdy pair of leather suspenders to help hold up his pants.
But soon the time came when he didn’t have enough pockets in his pants, so he had to wear a jacket everywhere he went—the kind of jacket with lots of pockets. And it wasn’t long before the jacket looked as funny as his trousers. And smelled just as dusty. And got even heavier because it had more pockets.
Anyone else might have given up at this point, but not Malcolm. He bought one of those big sturdy briefcases like salesmen use. After all, when you start to look for them, there are all kinds of things in life that can bother you. And when you are always tired from lugging so many rocks around, you get angry even easier.
Years went by, and Malcolm’s collection of reminder rocks spilled out of his pockets and briefcase and all over his house. He had rocks on the kitchen sink, and in his closets, and all over the floors. A few times he even put a rock in his bed so he could remember to be angry during the night. Let’s face it. Malcolm had become a strange, unpleasant man. And most people avoided him when they could, which made him even touchier. Rocks are not very good company. They are hard and dusty, and in the winter they are very cold.
Now, Malcolm might have gone on to become a mean old man completely buried in rocks. But one day he received a phone call from a geology professor at the university. Dr. Igneous had heard of Malcolm’s large rock collection (who hadn’t?), and he wanted to bring his geology class on a field trip to see it.
“Well,” thought Malcolm, “at last here is someone who appreciates my rocks. Wait until they see all of these reminders of how often people have wronged me.” An appointment was made for the next Saturday, and Malcolm spent the next few evenings dusting and arranging.
At last Saturday came, and at two o’clock in the afternoon the doorbell rang. There, on the porch, stood Professor Igneous and seven of his best students, all dressed in their best field-trip, outdoor clothing. Several had rock hammers dangling from their belts, and one or two carried cameras. And everyone carried a notebook and pencil.
Professor Igneous himself looked rather ordinary. But he had a ready smile. And his face was deeply tanned from spending years out of doors. As a matter of fact, there was something about his eyes, too. They looked deep and dark, but they had a sparkle that said he enjoyed life. And when he looked at you, it was the same look he gave mountains and rock formations—as though he were trying to peer inside. This was a scientist who liked people at least as much as he liked rocks.
As the professor and students stepped into the rock-filled living room, Malcolm expected to hear oohs and aahs. You know, like you hear at a fireworks show. Instead, there was an uncomfortable silence. The group just stood there looking around, nudging a few of the rocks with their toes. Then the students looked at their professor, waiting for him to say something. After all, this was not the collection of beautiful gems and minerals they had expected. These were ordinary hunks of limestone and sandstone and quartzite. Why, there were even chunks of broken asphalt and concrete!
Finally, Professor Igneous spoke: “Ahem,” he cleared his throat. “Perhaps you would be so good as to explain your collection to us, Mr. Tent. I can honestly say we’ve never seen another collection quite like it.” In the background, his students nodded in agreement.
“Well,” Malcolm began nervously, “I, uh, well … that is. …” It had been a long time since he had said much of anything to anyone.
Professor Igneous could see how nervous Malcolm was. The poor man kept swallowing so hard his Adam’s apple was bobbing up and down. (Some of the students thought he was trying to swallow one of his rocks.)
Trying to help, the professor said, “Why not begin by telling us why you chose these rocks.” He picked up an ordinary gray rock that looked like most of the others. “Why did you choose this particular piece of limestone for your collection?”
“Oh, is that what it is? Well, I think that’s the one I picked up when the laundry didn’t have my shirts ready on time. Wait! No, I think that’s for the time my favorite TV show got canceled. Or was it the time I ran inside to answer the phone, and the caller had the wrong number? Or …” Here he paused to search his memory. There were so many rocks! And they were so much alike—gray, hard, cold, dusty. Suddenly, Malcolm realized that that was all Professor Igneous and his students could see. To everyone else these were just plain old everyday rocks. Malcolm had to explain, to make them see.
“There’s more to these rocks than you might think. Every one of these rocks represents a time somebody made me mad or hurt my feelings. I picked up these rocks as reminders.”
Now the professor and his students were really amazed. They all began to speak at once: “I never heard of such a thing.” “How long have you been doing this?” “Can I take a picture of you with your rocks?” “Some field trip!”
Professor Igneous spoke again, and everyone became quiet. “Well, Mr. Tent,” he began slowly, “I must admit you’re the first person I ever met who collected rocks for that reason.” He paused and looked around. “You’ve been very kind to invite us into your home. And we don’t want to take up too much of your time. But do you suppose that while we are here we might see your other collection?”
A blank look came over Malcolm’s face. “I don’t have any other collection.”
“Oh, I see. I just thought you might have collected something to remind you of the nice things people have done and said. But, well, never mind. Perhaps we ought to be going now. Thank you so much for allowing us to come into your home. I think my students have learned something important.”
He gathered his students around him, and they moved toward the door. Then, turning to Malcolm once more, the professor said, “We still have some time left this afternoon. Could you perhaps direct us to some of the other people with similar collections?”
Once more Malcolm was caught off balance. “I don’t know of any other collections like mine.”
“Oh. I just thought that perhaps some of the people you know would have collected something when you … I mean … if you ever … uh … annoyed them.” Then, quickly, he added, “Yes, well, good-bye, and thanks again.”
Without waiting, the professor and his students turned and marched off down the sidewalk.
Long after they were gone, Malcolm stood there, looking just like one of his rocks—cold and gray and very still. Within him, the professor’s words echoed. Around him, the house was silent. Too silent. He suddenly realized how pleasant the students’ friendly chatter had been. How long since he had had a friendly talk with anyone? Come to think of it, did he even have any friends anymore?
Then, before he could stop it, the thought came into his mind: “I’m becoming just like my rocks.” As Malcolm sat alone in the dark, he finally realized what unpleasant companions rocks are. And how unpleasant he … Well, some thoughts are hard enough to think without actually saying them.
For several days, for hours at a time, Malcolm sat still as a rock, thinking rock-hard thoughts. You might have thought he had finally become petrified. But deep inside him, something was waking up and beginning to grow, like a seed in the spring soil.
If you think it’s hard to find a home for kittens or gerbils or such, you should try finding someone who wants a bunch of very ordinary, dusty, gray rocks. In fact, just try gathering them up when they are scattered all over. Malcolm tried to hire cleaning ladies. They all told him the same thing: “I don’t do windows, and I don’t pick up rocks!” A “Free Rocks” sign in his window brought no results. Finally he realized that this was something he would have to do himself.
The neighbors still talk about the time Malcolm backed a rented trailer up to his front porch, and about the tremendous cloud of dust that rose as the rocks flew out into the trailer. They also talk about how much better Malcolm looks, how his clothes fit so much better (has he lost weight?), and how he actually smiles now.
Malcolm’s neighbors also point with pride to his attractive yard, with trees and flowers and bushes planted everywhere. They don’t have any explanation for his sudden interest in gardening. But one neighbor, Mrs. Kratz, did notice that after she had taken a piece of cake to him, Malcolm went out to the flower bed and planted a single seed.

It was in February of 1976 that they came to Salt Lake City to be the guests of Dave and Chris Boyd. The Boyds did not speak Spanish nor did the Bolivians speak English when they first arrived in Utah. Chris said, “It’s close to a miracle how we have been able to communicate. We’ve been able to work with the time schedules, solve medical problems, and enjoy each other’s company.
They learned English quickly and after only a few months could understand much of what was being said around them. When they played for school children throughout the Salt Lake Valley, they would ask them in English to clap or answer their musical questions in certain parts of the songs. They learned easily to say “Thank you,” “I’m very happy to be here,” and “My name is _____. What is yours?” They also learned to say “I’m hungry!”
They were most homesick for Bolivian food. Chris said that they would graciously eat anything she cooked for them. But they are used to food that has no chemical additives in it, and when they began eating American food, they had a hard time adjusting to it. In Bolivia they eat a lot of vegetables but insist on cooking them. Many Americans eat raw vegetables; Rama Nueve calls it rabbit food.
They make most of their own instruments. The flutist makes his flutes from cane stock. The bell tones he can make are pure and clear and seem even richer than those from flutes of silver. One of the instruments they use is the charango. It is made from an armadillo-type animal, a tatú. The shell is used as the back or sound part of the instrument.
All of the young Bolivians are exciting, accomplished musicians, but not one of them can read printed music. They began playing instruments by ear at a young age. “Many of the youth have a great desire to learn to read music but don’t have access to teachers who know the skills,” Chris said.
They brought seven different costumes with them from South America. They explained that there are 40 or 50 regional costumes in Bolivia. These costumes grew out of early uniforms worn by the Bolivians when they were required by European occupants to wear certain clothes as marks of identification.
When asked what it is like to have six Bolivian youths move in, Chris said: “It is like having brothers and sisters move into your home for a few months. I will really miss them when they’re gone. Their tempo of life has affected my way of living. I’ve had to learn to relax. But on the other hand, their tempo has changed too. They are so busy right now that they hardly have time to watch the sunset.”
During the time they weren’t singing at concerts or benefits of some kind, they were catching up on their sleep or writing letters home. One of the favorite things they learned while they were in Utah was how to roller skate. “It’s a sport we don’t have in La Paz.” It may well be introduced upon their return. They have also learned to swim and dive. Chris said that anything they enter into they do with their whole soul. They have taught others the Bolivian folk dances and want very much to learn how to dance in the American fashion.
From the first week they arrived in Utah they wanted to be involved in a family home evening at least once a week. So, on Monday nights they were invited into homes all over the Salt Lake Valley and enjoyed American family home evenings. But on Sunday nights they decided to get together and take turns giving the lesson to their own group. They made popcorn and usually ended the evening singing LDS hymns in Spanish.
They like Utah and its people. The thing they noticed most was the layout of the Utah communities where most of the streets run directly east and west or north and south. “In Bolivia,” Luis said, “the telephone books are full of street names—no numbers. A taxi driver knows how to get to any address. Some streets wind up into the mountains, and it’s really easy for a stranger to get lost. Here, you just figure out the numbering system, and you can find your way around. It’s so organized. I like that.”
On May 26, 1976, Rodolfo Villalba left Salt Lake City to return home to Bolivia as a full-time missionary for the Church. “My heart is full of beautiful things I want to share with my people,” he said. After his mission he wants to come back to Utah and Brigham Young University; then he will return again to Bolivia to become a productive member of his community.
Rodolfo Murilla also returned to Bolivia at the end of May—there was a rumor that he had someone special waiting for him. The other four, Raul, Luis, Elizabeth, and Lidia, stayed in the U.S. to attend Brigham Young University. They are serious about becoming good representatives of Bolivia. After their education, they all say they want to go back to help their homeland. Lidia wants to study sociology. Luis wants to go into some technical field. Raul feels that it is a great opportunity, “one in a lifetime, to study in another country. And to do it in the Church university is really something!” His father is not a member but wants the best opportunities for his son. Raul is the oldest of the children in his family, and his father wants him to set a good example for his younger brothers and sisters.
When asked what was the greatest experience they had while they were traveling, they immediately replied, “Meeting President Kimball.” On April 26 in the Church Office Building, the group was introduced to President Kimball. They spent time speaking with him through an interpreter. “It was the highlight of my life,” said Elizabeth. “I’ll remember that over everything else. It was a privilege and a humbling honor.”
Each of the youth has a vibrant testimony of the gospel and is aware every moment of the need to be a good example of Church membership. Every concert they gave while in Utah was closed by singing the simple song “I Am a Child of God.” They sang it first in Spanish and then in English. They said it was how they could bear their testimony so that everyone could understand.

My father served in the military at the end of the Korean War. After a precarious agreement was signed between North and South Korea to stop hostilities until a peaceful agreement could be found, a buffer zone was created crossing the 38th parallel. This demarcation line between North and South Korea is called a demilitarized zone, even though it is the most heavily militarized border in the world. There has been no peaceful agreement to this day and this buffer stretches 160 miles long and two and a half miles wide. One of my father's responsibilities was to help dig trenches, bunkers, and reinforcements to help fortify this line. His stories have helped me realize the importance of fortifications and a layered defense in times of war.

As a young dancer I studied with a distinguished teacher in California, Rozelle Frey. She had been a member of the Anna Pavlova Dance Company in her youth. Her story and influence had remarkable lessons and impact for me. Initially she had trained to become a concert pianist, but when she was taken to see a classical ballet concert, she knew immediately what she wanted to do with her life. There, in her native Sweden, her family, having means, took her to study with a great ballet master teacher. After looking at her work in her audition, he told her that she should continue her career in her piano work, that she had little hope of becoming a dancer. She had a problem that in those days was called “banana legs.” Her legs curved outward like bananas. This simply was not compatible with the turnout or rotation of the legs required in the positions of ballet. She pleaded with this teacher to give her a chance to study, to prove herself. She was told that his time was simply too important to work with students who had no potential. However, she could come to the classes, stand back by the piano, and satisfy herself, but she would receive no help or criticism from him and would be completely on her own. She accepted with great enthusiasm.

This was before the time of seriously practiced physical therapy, so the result was unexpected. For seven years she worked diligently—pulling, strengthening, stretching, working. At first she went unnoticed, and then gradually she was accepted into the class and finally placed as an example at the front of the class where the students had to pass the teacher’s review.

Through the continued, repeated effort of working the muscles correctly and placing on them certain demands, the body responded by adapting to those demands. Because she was young and some bone was not yet solidified but cartilaginous, her legs became straight and tall. Remember I said she became a member of the Anna Pavlova Dance Company eventually. That is remarkable in itself; but even more startling to me was the fact that of the group of dancers she trained with for seven years, she was the only one who was ever chosen to dance in a professional company. Why? Perhaps the others did not have to try as hard or care so much. We all have stumbling blocks placed in our way—those are our growth-promoting experiences. If ever there was a stumbling block for a dancer, it was banana legs. But she made those stumbling blocks into stepping-stones. They caused her to have to try harder, to be more committed. So Miss Frey rose above those in the ordinary, easier paths, and she was able to reach greater heights.

Following the sacrament meeting, the Relief Society meeting was hosted by Relief Society President Jen Norton. She too had a technical treat for the sisters. She had previously invited sisters to send her photos of their mothers, with three sentences about them or three qualities to highlight.
Sister Norton showed the sisters her presentation—photos were revealed, and the sisters were asked to guess who they were. When a photo was correctly identified, the daughter read out the sentences or qualities she had provided.
There was much fun as the sisters tried to be the first to guess who the mother was, or made comments on hairstyles and fashions, or how much their daughter looked like them. There were many tears as sisters talked of the dear mothers who had passed on.
It was a very inclusive and beautiful way to honour mothers.

After playing the violin for five years and attaining Grade V level, 16-year-old Peter Bradshaw of Sutton Colfield, England, suddenly discovered he is a saxophonist.
It took him less than one year to achieve Saxophone Grade V level. He now switches between both instruments in his school orchestra, and plays sax in the local Fairfax band.
Peter, an early-morning seminary student, says, “Church has taught me to persevere when things are difficult. This has helped me to get through hard music assignments and not give up.” It also helped him accomplish the many skills necessary to pass Bronze and Silver standard in the Duke of Edinburgh Award Scheme.

The door burst open. Cold winter air rushed into the hall with Billy. Mike, his older brother, crowded in behind, followed by Mom and Dad.
“Grandma! We’re here for dinner!” Billy shouted. He hurried into the kitchen, smelling spicy pumpkin pie, roasted turkey, and sage dressing.
Grandma smiled. “It’ll take a while to get dinner on the table, boys,” she said. “You’ll find crayons and paper on the hall table. How about a picture?”
At the table, Mike began coloring, but Billy peered into the living room. It was full of porcelain figurines, an old sugar bowl, and other treasures. Grandma called them heirlooms. Each had its own pioneer story.
Billy’s gaze fastened on a small mirror on a shelf. Billy loved the mirror most because its story was his favorite.
It had come across the plains with Great-Great-Great-Great Grandma in a covered wagon. She was a little girl then—Billy’s age now. At the end of long days, she cried because her feet hurt from walking and her face hurt from sunburn. Sometimes she saw Indians and was frightened.
The girl’s mother would hand her the little mirror. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” she would say gently. “Heavenly Father will take care of His child.” And the little girl would be comforted, say her prayers, and go to sleep.
Billy turned away from the living room and was reaching for a red crayon when the big oval mirror at the end of the hall caught his eye. He forgot about the crayon, walked to the mirror, and stretched as tall as he could.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked.
“Trying to see a child of God.”
“Too short, huh?” Mike said. Under the mirror, a low shelf held Grandma’s prized Boston fern. “I’ll give you a boost up to the shelf.”
With Mike’s arms around him, Billy kicked his feet in search of the shelf. He found the shelf, but knocked the fern to the floor. Black dirt spilled all over the carpet. The fern was smashed and broken, its bare roots sticking into the air.
Suddenly the shelf gave way. Billy bumped heads with Mike as he fell, then landed facedown in the dirt.
“What will we do?” Billy whispered, pushing himself up.
“Sometimes the cat gets on the shelf,” Mike said. “Maybe Grandma will think the cat did it.”
“But it wouldn’t be the truth,” Billy said. “We did it, so we should tell.”
“OK, but let’s wait until after dinner.”
“Wash up and come to dinner, boys,” Mom called.
When the two boys sat down at the table, Grandpa said the blessing. Everybody started to eat, but the food tasted like rubber in Billy’s mouth.
“Is something wrong?” Dad asked.
“I don’t like peas very much,” Billy mumbled.
Dad frowned. “How did you get the bump on your forehead?”
“Excuse me,” Billy mumbled, and fled to the bathroom.
Mom and Dad followed him. “Are you sick?” Mom asked.
Billy shook his head. “I stood on Grandma’s shelf. It broke. When I fell, Mike and I bumped heads. I just wanted to see a child of God in the big mirror.” Billy’s chest heaved. “Grandma’s fern is ruined. I feel awful—not at all like a child of God.”
“I helped him get on the shelf,” Mike said in a soft voice from behind Mom and Dad. “We didn’t know it would break. I don’t feel like a child of God either.”
“We thought maybe you’d think the cat did it,” Billy said. “We decided to tell the truth after dinner.”
“Well, now,” Grandma said, joining them. “No matter what you do, you are always a child of God. But I’m glad that you chose to tell the truth.”
Grandpa looked at the bent brackets that had held the shelf to the wall. “I reckon this can be fixed,” he said. “Grandma’s fern can be repotted. It looks pretty bedraggled, but it’ll likely grow out again.”
Grandma put the broken fern into the pot. “Even if it doesn’t grow, I can get a new plant,” she said. “But I could never replace these two children of God.”
“Look,” Dad said, holding Billy up to the mirror. “See the child who was tempted to blame the cat, but didn’t? How about giving him a smile?”
Billy managed a weak smile.
Back at the table, Billy noticed that everything—even the peas—now tasted delicious.
After dinner, Billy held the little mirror as Grandma told the story of how it had comforted the girl who was his long-ago grandma.
When the story was finished, all of them took a turn telling something each was thankful for. Billy looked into the little mirror and said, “I’m thankful to be a child of God.”

The proprietor of Dick’s Cafe in St. George, Utah, is such an example. Dick Hammer came to Utah during the Depression years with the Civilian Conservation Corps. During that period, he met and married a Latter-day Saint young woman. He opened his cafe, which became a popular meeting spot. Home teacher to the Hammer family was Willard Milne. Since I knew Dick Hammer and had printed his menus, I would ask my friend Brother Milne when I visited St. George, “How is our friend Dick Hammer coming?”
The reply would generally be, “Slowly.”
The years passed by, and just a year or two ago Willard said to me: “Brother Monson, Dick Hammer is converted and is going to be baptized. He is in his 90th year, and we have been friends all our adult lives. His decision warms my heart. I’ve been his home teacher for many years—perhaps 15 years.”
Brother Hammer was indeed baptized and a year later entered that beautiful St. George Temple and there received his endowment and sealing blessings.
I asked Willard, “Did you ever become discouraged teaching for such a long time?”
He replied, “No, it was worth the effort. I am a happy man.”

Sam looked sad.
“What’s the matter?” Jackie asked.
“There’s still no snow,” Sam said. “What fun is winter without snow?”
Jackie had an idea. She went into her room and shut the door.
“What are you doing?” Sam asked.
“You’ll see,” she called.
Sam waited. He heard crinkle, crinkle, snip, snip, snip. He was curious! So he knocked on the door. “What are you doing?” he asked again.
“Be patient,” Jackie said. “You’ll see.”
Sam was tired of waiting. He sat on a chair in the living room and read a book. After a while he felt something fall softly on his head. He picked it up.
“A snowflake!” he declared.
Then more snowflakes fell on him. He looked behind the chair.
“Surprise!” Jackie shouted. “It’s snowing!”
Sam laughed as he held up a snowflake. “This is the best kind of snow,” he said. “It never melts.”

I am going to tell you one more experience. A few years ago two of the major churches on the west coast, including California, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Utah, and Nevada, were holding a convention here in Salt Lake. Their leader wrote a letter to President McKay and asked if he would send one of the General Authorities to attend their convention and talk for two hours in the morning session and tell them the story of Mormonism, and then remain as their guest for lunch, and then remain for an hour and a half in the afternoon and let them ask questions. I got the assignment—and I was glad to get it! I tell the missionaries that you never need to argue with anybody when you learn how to tell our story.

Some of these ministers wanted to get away on earlier planes up to the Northwest, so they set the luncheon back a half an hour, and they gave me two and a half hours in that morning meeting. I explained the restoration of the gospel, the difference between a restoration and a reformation, and at the conclusion of my talk I only got one question out of all these ministers and church leaders.

The man in charge said, “Mr. Richards, you have told us that you believe that God is a personal God.”

I said, “That is right.”

He said, “We have heard it said that you believe that God has a wife. Would you explain that to us?”

I think he thought he had me in trouble, and so rather facetiously I said, “I don’t see how in the world he could have a son without a wife, do you?”

And they all began to titter. I didn’t have any more trouble with that question.

At the close of my remarks, I told them that while I was the Presiding Bishop of the Church, we had charge of the building program. We had the plans prepared for the Los Angeles Temple. One day we took them and showed them to the First Presidency, but we didn’t have the electrical or plumbing plans completed. We had 84 pages about 4 feet long and 2 1/2 feet wide, and I imagine you have all seen blueprints. I said, “Now you could take those blueprints and try to fit them to every building in this world, but there is only one building they will fit, and that is the Mormon temple down in Los Angeles.” Then I said, “Of course you can find buildings that have material in them such as cement, lumber, electrical wiring, plumbing, and so forth, but you can’t find any building that they will fit.”

Then I held up the Bible. I said, “Here is the Lord’s blueprint. Isaiah said the Lord had declared the end from the beginning. It is all here. Now,” I said, “you could take this, the Lord’s blueprint, and try to fit it to every church in this world, but there is only one church that it will fit, and that is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Now,” I said, “I will proceed to illustrate to you what I mean.”

I said that in Canon Frederick William Farrar’s work Life of Christ (Cassell, 1902), he said there were two passages in the New Testament for which he could find no excuse. The first is John 10:16, where Jesus said, “And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.”

I said, “Do any of you men know why that is in the Bible? Do any of you know any church in the world that does know why it is in the Bible? Well, we know all about it.” And then I explained the promise to Joseph of a new land in the utmost bounds of the everlasting hills, and in describing that land, Moses uses the word precious five times in just a few verses. (See Deut. 33:13–16.)

I said, “Do any of you know where that land of Joseph is?” Then I explained that it was the land of America, and that Jesus visited his people here in America, and he told them that they were the other sheep of whom he spoke to his disciples. (See 2 Ne. 15:21.) He said that not at any time did the Father command him to tell his disciples who the other sheep were, only that he had other sheep. (See 3 Ne. 15:15–17.)

The other passage they couldn’t understand was the one where Paul said, “Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, if the dead rise not at all? why are they then baptized for the dead?” (1 Cor. 15:29.) I said, “Do any of you know why that is in the Bible? Do any of you know any church in the world that does know why it is in the Bible?” Then I explained this doctrine to them.

I quoted to them the words of Peter following the day of Pentecost, when he said to those who had put to death the Christ, “And he shall send Jesus Christ, which before was preached unto you: Whom the heaven must receive until the times of restitution of all things, which God hath spoken by the mouth of all his holy prophets since the world began.” (Acts 3:20–21.)

That is not a reformation; that is a restitution. I said, “That is what I have been telling you here for two hours and a half, and you can’t look for the coming of the Savior as was promised by Peter and the prophets until there has been a restitution, and not a reformation.”

When I concluded, the man in charge said, “Mr. Richards, this has been one of the most interesting experiences of my entire life.” That is what Isaiah meant when he said, “… the wisdom of their wise men shall perish, and the understanding of their prudent men shall be hid.” (Isa. 29:14.)

When I joined the Church at age 25, it was difficult to attend church because checkpoints, curfews, and other travel restrictions were imposed on us. I had to risk my life to sneak out so I could take the sacrament and be with fellow Latter-day Saints. It was hard being the only member of the Church in my family and in my town. I wanted to be with members of the Church, yet I was turned back by the soldiers almost every week.
One Sabbath as I was trying to cross the checkpoint, the soldier told me that I was not allowed out and demanded that I go home. I looked at the soldier and remembered the Savior’s words: “Love your enemies” (see Matthew 5:43–44).
I realized then that I did not love that soldier. The hate I felt as a teenager had disappeared after I joined the Church, but I did not love my enemies. The Savior Jesus Christ gave us this commandment, yet my heart could not love those occupying soldiers. This bothered me for days, especially since I was preparing to go to the temple at that time.
One day I came across the following scripture: “Pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ” (Moroni 7:48). I felt Mormon was speaking to me personally and showing me how to love.
I decided to ask Heavenly Father for help. I fasted and prayed for help to love my enemies. For days I felt no change, but I didn’t realize that Heavenly Father was gradually changing my heart. About a year later, as I was trying to pass through one of the checkpoints, the soldier told me I was not allowed in. This time I felt differently. As I looked into the eyes of that soldier, I felt an amazing love for him. I felt how much Heavenly Father loved him, and I saw him as a child of God.
I now know, like Nephi, that the Lord gives us no commandment save He shall prepare a way for us that we may accomplish the thing which He commands us (see 1 Nephi 3:7). When Christ commanded us to love our enemies, He knew it was possible with His help. He can teach us to love others if we but trust Him and learn from His great example.
Whom do you need to forgive? Prayerfully consider an appropriate time and place to speak with this person (or people) and express your love and forgiveness.

During World War II, while serving with the 31st Infantry Division in the Dutch East Indies, I was placed in command of a patrol charged with the responsibility of searching out and destroying enemy supply bases.
As we proceeded on one particular patrol behind enemy lines, a native dog fell in with our group; and try as we would, we couldn’t get that dog to leave. I became concerned about this. Later on, however, its alertness caused us to be suspicious to the point where we took extra precautions as we proceeded on to lower ground after coming to a fork in the trail. Therefore, when the enemy opened fire shortly thereafter, we were not caught completely by surprise. Four men were wounded in the initial burst of fire, but not a single man lost his life. We were able to evacuate the wounded and withdraw to the rear under heavy machine gun and rifle fire without losing a single man.
Sergeant Leslie E. Milam of Natchitoches, Louisiana, the only other Mormon in my company, was with me on this patrol. After we returned to the rear, he was contacted by Sergeant Dabbs, our platoon guide, who said that he was aware that Sergeant Milam and I had been meeting on Sundays, whenever conditions would permit, for short religious discussions. He indicated that he knew that our lives had been miraculously saved in this patrol, and he requested permission to meet with us in our next religious discussion. He did meet with us, and he was just as sincere as we were in expressing gratitude to our Father in heaven for his protection and watchful care.
Shortly after this ambush, Private Collins, who went through the ambush with us, sought me out one night after dark and said, “Lieutenant Bennett, I think we had some help from on high out there the other day.”
I replied, “Well, I don’t know just how you feel about it, Collins, or how the other boys feel; but as far as I’m concerned, I know we did.”
He then said, “And I know we did, Lieutenant Bennett, and there is something else I want to say. I’ve been a rough character in the past. I’ve done most of the things I shouldn’t have done, but it’s going to be different in the future. I’m a changed man.”
I have thought about this choice experience many times, for it provided me with a great opportunity to explain the gospel message to Private Collins under conditions where his heart and his mind were open.