Gospel Story Finder

Members of the church in Ladysmith, South Africa donated almost 200 handmade curtains to the Môrester Children’s Home.

Môrester Children’s Home cares for children that were removed from their families by a court order because of unsafe and unhealthy circumstances in their homes. The home houses 157 children in 11 houses in Ladysmith and surrounding areas.

“During our visit to the care centre we found the curtains to be old and washed out and often two different curtains hung at the same window. We felt that curtains are associated with light, and this would fit in well with our campaign,” Sister Susan De Klerk, the communications director in Ladysmith District, said.

Hours of sewing the curtains, and more hours of altering the curtains to Môrester’s specifications yielded 198 curtains.

The group further donated a volleyball net and two volleyballs as well as boxes of biscuits.

With tears in her eyes, Nobambo Nzinya, a social worker at the Môrester Children’s Home expressed her gratitude for the efforts of the volunteers.

“The children kept asking when the centre is going to buy them cookies for Christmas. And I honestly didn’t know what to tell them as I knew that there was no funds available to buy cookies for Christmas,” Nobambo Nzinya said.

“We as the centre are so grateful. Your service proves that you work in collaboration with the Holy Spirit.”

“Should we turn back or move ahead?” This was the question that dominated the thoughts of the pioneer company on the night of 3 December 1879. Church President John Taylor had called this group of pioneers to settle the San Juan Mission, in the southeastern part of what is now the state of Utah. But at this point in the trek, there seemed to be no clear answer on how to proceed.
The pioneers were camped at 40-Mile Spring, located on a high plateau. Silas S. Smith, the president of the company, realized how serious their situation was. Camped in some 80 wagons were nearly 250 men, women, and children. Hundreds of cattle were also part of the caravan. Winter was upon them, and they had too few supplies and other resources to remain at this encampment until spring.
President Smith sat in his tent and deliberated with other leaders. Turning back seemed impossible. Behind them, to the west, heavy snows had buried the road through the Escalante Mountains, as well as any foliage the livestock could eat. Besides, the pioneers took seriously the calling President Taylor had given them to settle the San Juan Mission, which was part of President Brigham Young’s original plan to establish settlements throughout much of the West. Who among them would refuse such a call?
Ahead of the pioneers, to the east, lay more than 300 kilometers of rough terrain with no road and little water. A decision to go forward would force them to travel through Hole-in-the-Rock—a crevice in the west wall of Glen Canyon at a high plateau above the Colorado River. It was a dangerous shortcut, but the only other trail was more than 600 kilometers long. An exploring party’s report had been pessimistic. Going through Hole-in-the-Rock would mean taking wagons and cattle on a trail that dropped 610 meters, one-third of that drop at a 45-degree angle.
Most felt it was impossible. After much discussion, one of the men made the motion to leave the decision to “President Smith and the Lord.” A unanimous vote reflected the faith of those present that the Lord would inspire their leader.
The next morning, President Smith called a meeting to announce the decision to move ahead. “The miracle of this decision went through the company like an electric shock,” wrote Kumen Jones, a member of the group, “and all was good cheer and hustle.” In the meeting, many bore testimony in support of moving ahead. Someone began to sing. Others joined in, and soon the chilly December air rang with “The Spirit of God like a fire is burning!” (Hymns, 1985, number 2).

Let me give you an example from my own life. I have been blessed to have such dear friend-mentor relationships in my life with Elder Jon M. Huntsman—Area Seventy, philanthropist, benefactor, founder of the Huntsman group of companies, and my friend.

I first met Jon Huntsman in 1975, when I was 24 years old. I was an elders quorum president for a University of Utah married-student ward, and Jon Huntsman was my high council adviser. We became friends, and in my senior year, as I was preparing to conclude my education at the university, Brother Huntsman recruited me as a sales representative in his plastics company.

One of my very first assigned accounts was Avon, the cosmetic giant headquartered in New York City. To get me started with that important client, Brother Huntsman personally accompanied me to New York City for my initial introduction. Excited to be entering into a new career and anxious to make a good impression, I wore my best brown college suit with a brown tie and brown loafers. When we met at the airport, I noticed that Mr. Huntsman gave me a peculiar look. But he didn’t say anything!

When we arrived in New York City, he told me there was a stop we needed to make before calling upon Avon. We went directly to a famous men’s clothing store known as Brooks Brothers on swanky Madison Avenue. On the way, I recall him saying to me, “Now, Ron, if you are going to be a salesman in my company, and if you are going to represent me to Avon, you are going to learn how to dress, how to act, and how to serve in this new role.” And then he added, “You don’t wear brown suits in a business environment in New York City!” Not representing Jon Huntsman at least!

Jon knew the people at Brooks Brothers, and he watched as they fitted me with a beautiful, dark gray, pin-striped suit—the nicest I had ever seen and certainly the nicest I had ever owned. After it was taken away to be tailored for a perfect fit, we picked out a shirt, some ties, a belt, and all the accessories. Next we went to the shoe department, where Jon introduced me to my very first pair of black wingtip dress shoes.

I guess Brother Huntsman’s account at Brooks Brothers gave him special privileges because after we had had lunch, we returned to the store, where my new business wardrobe was ready, courtesy of Jon M. Huntsman.

I remember my gratitude to Jon for sparing me the needless embarrassment of showing up in my college clothes. As I stuffed—and that’s exactly what I did—my brown outfit into a bag, I realized he had made sure I was properly dressed! Then it was off to Avon, where he introduced me as their new account representative from his company. Jon was teaching me much more than the importance of looking the part. He was introducing me into a whole new way of thinking, of doing things, of representing myself to others. He was mentoring me. This was the first of many such valuable lessons I learned from him.

Years later, while serving as an executive in Brother Huntsman’s company, I was very involved in my duties, which took me around the globe. Returning from one of these business trips, Brother Huntsman, a stake president at this time, asked me what I was doing in the Church. I told him I was happily teaching a gospel doctrine class in Sunday School. He asked me what kinds of experiences I had had in Church leadership. I told him I had enjoyed serving in several presidencies, but most of my Church service, very happily, had been in teaching.

After I explained this to Brother Huntsman, he told me of a similar time in his life when he had been called to serve in a student stake, first as a high councilor and later as a bishop. He found it ideal for his busy schedule. In fact, as I mentioned earlier in this message, that was where I first met Jon Huntsman.

He said he knew a brother at the University of Utah who was serving as the stake president of one of the university married stakes who could fill Church-service positions with brethren from across the Salt Lake Valley. Brother Huntsman asked if he might phone this stake president and let him know of my name. I agreed and really did not think of it again, knowing how busy he was.

Sometime later I received a call from Robert Fotheringham, the president of what was then the University of Utah First Stake. He asked if he and his counselors might come to our home and visit with Sister Rasband and me. Not many days later all three of the stake presidency were sitting on the couch in our living room, inquiring about our situation and feeling our testimonies. After a searching interview with each of us, the three men looked at each other knowingly, and the stake president then extended a call to me to serve as a member of the University of Utah First Stake high council. They said they had already talked to my resident stake president and that he felt fine about the call—if they should want to move forward.

I accepted that call and began my service in the University of Utah First Stake. As a part of my assignment, Sister Rasband and our young family enjoyed a wonderful opportunity to develop choice Christ-centered relationships with the young married students. After serving for a period of time on the high council, I was called as the bishop of the 10th Ward in that stake.

I later found out that Brother Huntsman did call President Fotheringham and simply suggested that he knew someone who might do well in a university campus setting. Hence, my dear friend and mentor Jon Huntsman, merely by mentioning my name for a possible interview, provided another kind of experience for me in Church service.

I think of the wonderful young people I met in that university ward setting and the opportunity I had to assist several of them in finding employment themselves, one who is here with us tonight. Most importantly, I had the privilege of bearing witness of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and establishing righteous friendships in a way similar to what Brother Huntsman did for me.

Illustrations by Casey Nelson
My neighbor Elsa was intimidating. Still, I decided I should get to know her better. I thought, “There must be good in there somewhere,” and I decided mowing her lawn would be a good way to bring it out.
After only a couple of weeks of mowing, Elsa approached my mom. She accused me of trying to kill her grass and told me to stop mowing. I couldn’t understand! I was trying to do something good for her, but she didn’t like it.
I went about a month without mowing. One day, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I was convinced she’d like her lawn to be cut, whether she knew it yet or not.
I worked quickly, making sure not to cut the grass too short, and never to make a divot. I was getting near the end when I heard her door slam. I wanted to run, but I held my ground. And then I saw her walking toward me.
She was carrying a small box of chocolates! “Here,” she said in a thick accent. “You take chocolates.”
After that Elsa and I became friends. She told me stories from her childhood in Germany, and I really enjoyed talking to her.
Because we became friends, I realized she wasn’t scary at all but was a very kindhearted lady. All it took was a little bit of service.

I remember, early in the days of nuclear engineering, when we were experimenting to confirm some of the hypotheses. One day I was in an area where a swimming pool had been built, and down deep in it were aluminum plates with uranium-aluminum contents arrayed. Three of us were taking turns at the controls, and I remember the thrill of excitement that came to me as we moved the control rods. I happened to be at the control panel when the count-rate meter indicated that the reactor had gone critical; and as I looked down into the pool I could see that shirinkoff radiation, the iridescent blue indicating that in fact there was a controlled chain reaction. That may not appear much to you now with today’s familiarity with physics, but it was a scientific thrill for me.

Later, we experimentally measured cross-sections of materials to determine their nuclear constants. We used a beam of high-energy neutrons from one of the graphite pile reactors, deflecting it with a crystal into experimental apparatus. A young janitor approached the experiment evidencing total disdain for what we were doing. He did not understand it nor did he want to understand it. In kind of an accusatory way he indicated that we were just wasting time, kidding people, doing that which had no real meaning. To show his disdain he reached up to touch the crystal that deflected the beam and to whirl it. Had he not been stopped, that powerful, dangerous beam of high-energy neutrons would have sprayed the room. His if-you-can’t-see-it-taste-it-smell-it-feel-it-hear-it-then-it-doesn’t-exist attitude is all too prevalent in the world today when we talk about things of God, things that really matter.

My collection of the Mormonads I got from the different issues of the New Era makes up my bedroom “wallpaper.” I’d also like to thank you for the June 2000 special issue. I was so thrilled when I got it because it was very timely. I was preparing my papers for my mission at that time, and so were a number of my friends in my ward and in the institute. We did our part, working with the missionaries and attending missionary preparation class. But I was lacking a little confidence in filling out the papers. The last missionary in my family was released in 1988 while the last missionary our ward (or branch then) ever sent to the field left in 1994. Nobody close to me had fresh enough knowledge about applying for a mission to help me prepare. That issue not only helped me fill out my application, but the articles were very inspiring. They made me more excited to go. Since not many people here subscribe to the New Era, I was happy to share my copy with my friends who were also preparing to go. Five weeks after I sent in my application, I got my call to serve in the Philippines Ilagan Mission. Thanks a lot!
Sister Maria Corazon PeroyPhilippines Ilagan Mission (via e-mail)

Illustration by Mark Robison
Abby loved her house. But not the coat closet. She was afraid a monster would jump out of it. Abby always ran by it as fast as she could.
“Why do we even have a closet, Mommy?” Abby asked one day. “I don’t like being afraid.”
“Sometimes we’re afraid of what we can’t see,” Mommy said. “You can’t see what’s behind the door. Maybe that’s what scares you.”
“I always think there might be monsters,” Abby said.
“I promise there are no monsters. But you could say a prayer to Heavenly Father and ask Him to help you not feel scared,” Mommy said.
“OK,” Abby said.
The next day Abby was playing in her room. Mommy called her to come eat. Abby jumped up. Dinner smelled really good.
She started down the hall. Then she saw the coat closet waiting at the end.
Abby’s tummy felt tight. She thought about what might be hiding behind the closet door. She wanted to run. Then she thought about what Mommy had said. Abby stopped walking. She folded her arms.
“Please help me to not be so afraid,” Annie prayed.
Abby took two slow steps. She didn’t feel afraid any more! She felt warm and safe. She felt like she did when Mommy gave her a hug.
This time Abby didn’t run past the closet. She stopped right in front of it. She reached out. She touched the handle. Her tummy got tight for a few seconds, but then she remembered her happy feeling. She turned the knob and pulled the door open.
Abby laughed. “Hey! There aren’t any monsters in here. Just a bunch of coats.”
She folded her arms again. She bowed her head. “Heavenly Father, thank you for helping me not be afraid.”
Abby smiled and closed the closet door. She was hungry!

The room is charged with competitive energy. Dancers in sparkling dresses and sharp tuxedoes swirl and spin on an open dance floor under brightly colored lights. The Brigham Young University DanceSport Ballroom Competition is in full swing, and the music and tension mount as more and more competitors fill the floor.
Then suddenly the din of the crowd quiets, and the competitive edge of the atmosphere dissipates as a new group of couples takes the floor.
Who are they? Special Olympics athletes and their volunteer partners are competing in their first-ever ballroom dance event. The music begins, and the crowd, with supportive enthusiasm, erupts into cheers as the couples begin to gracefully waltz across the floor.
From the sidelines, college sophomore Allie Edgington watches as her goal to create a Special Olympics dance event unfolds. It was a dream that was sparked, in part, by her love for her sisters. And now it is a reality blessing many lives and helping Allie and others understand how Heavenly Father loves His children.
Support and encouragement are second nature among Allie and her siblings. Their trials bring them closer, and their triumphs take them all higher. Allie’s brother and twin sisters were all diagnosed with Fragile X Syndrome, a genetic condition resulting in mental impairment and autistic behaviors.
Allie, an avid dancer, is a dance education major and a member of BYU’s touring ballroom team. In 2008 she was named Miss Provo, going on to become the first runner-up to Miss Utah 2009. As the title holder, Allie needed a platform or specific cause to promote. She showed her support for her siblings by promoting Special Olympics. For the past seven years Allie’s brother, Tanner, has competed in Special Olympics, a program providing Olympic-style athletic events for disabled children and adults.
However, Allie noticed that her younger sisters, 17-year-old twins Courtney and Cassidy, were reluctant to participate. “Our brother has done well in Special Olympics, and he likes it a lot, but we’re just not so into it,” Courtney explains.
Wanting her sisters to succeed, Allie started looking for ideas. “I got to thinking that maybe there was some way to get them involved, some way to help them be comfortable enough to participate,” Allie says.
When a friend mentioned that the state of Indiana had held the first Special Olympics dance event, Allie knew she had found her solution. Combining her dance education major with her Special Olympics platform and her desire to help her sisters, Allie hatched a plan to create a Special Olympics ballroom dance event in Provo.
The waltz music finishes, and the Special Olympics couples spin out and take deep bows for the enthusiastic crowd. Then they exit the floor and file into a row of chairs on the sidelines or go backstage to wait for their next event, the cha-cha.
Backstage, Courtney sits with her sister Cassidy and cradles a pair of high-heeled ballroom shoes in her lap. They are scuffed and very flexible. “They’re comfortable because Allie wore them out,” Courtney explains, “and now I get to use them.”
While lively music blares from the speakers, Courtney quietly talks about her sister. “I want to be like Allie. She dances a lot, and I want to do a lot of dance at my school.” Cassidy chimes in, “I’ve learned a lot from just watching her.”
More than just learning steps and routines, these sisters know that they’ve learned a lot about life by dancing with their sister. “I can have fun, even though some things are still a little scary. I can be comfortable,” Courtney says. When asked about what advice she would give to other teens, she adds, “Just get involved and do things that you don’t usually do. Get out and have fun!”
Allie’s idea helped her sisters to get out and have fun and, in the end, it was also a great way for the other athletes and volunteers to try something new.
Out by the dance floor, Emily Chai, one of the volunteers, sits with Connor Morris, her cha-cha partner. Like other athletes and volunteers, they’ve become good friends while learning to dance together. “After practices we all would stay and get involved in an impromptu dance party. I think we all just loved the interaction,” Emily says.
Interaction was one of Allie’s biggest goals for the athletes. Over the course of a few months, she taught six weekly workshops where the athletes were matched with a volunteer partner and learned to dance. “I hoped that the experience would give the athletes a chance to interact with people they really look up to and admire,” Allie explains.
For Emily, these workshops were one of the best parts of the experience. “It has been fun to watch the participants get really excited. I think that excitement became the whole reason I wanted to do this.”
The other competitors soon take their final bow, and it’s time for the Special Olympics athletes to perform the cha-cha. While everyone lines up and gets ready to go back onto the floor, Keilani Stolk, another volunteer, excitedly describes the feeling of dancing with the Special Olympics athletes. “It’s not about how good you are; it’s about having fun and being friends.” In Special Olympics, there are no winners and losers, only athletes trying their best and having fun.
Richard, a past member of the BYU ballroom touring team, adds, “It is so rare to have an event where you just care how everyone else is doing. I just want everyone to have fun and to do well.”
Under the bright lights these special dancers spin, twirl, and cha-cha to a chorus of cheers and claps from the crowd. It is clear from the smiles on their faces and the enthusiasm they show in their dance that, for these dancers, having fun and supporting each other is the goal.
“The athletes just have the most wonderful spirit about them,” Allie says, watching from the sidelines as her students perform. “Instead of focusing on those things they can’t do, they come and have so much happiness in the things they can do.”
Looking back on her experience, Allie knows that she has been blessed. Beginning a Special Olympics ballroom event allowed her to help her sisters, helped her move forward on her own goals, and strengthened her understanding of God’s love. Watching her students take their final bow, Allie says, “The athletes’ love for life is such a testimony to me of the purity and goodness that can exist in the world. They give so freely of their own love to everyone. I know that Heavenly Father loves them.”

I felt impressed to pray that someone he respected would come into his life. The name of one of his former Primary teachers came to mind, a peace officer whom I saw soon after at stake conference. I told him about my son and the impression I’d had. He said without hesitation that he would go and see him.
Two days later I was sitting at the sewing machine when I saw in my mind the officer standing in a room embracing my son. Tears were flowing down both of their faces. I looked at the clock. It was 2:15 P.M. When he called later that evening, I told him I knew he had been to see my son at 2:15 that afternoon. He confirmed that he had gone where I could not go and be welcomed. My heart overflowed with gratitude.
From that time on, I felt powerful spiritual confidence infuse me. I realized that my prayers were being heard and that deeply spiritual blessings could result if I would continue to be faithful and diligent in my efforts.

As impressive as each of the presenters was that night, describing the various accomplishments of President Nelson, I was even more spellbound by a conversation I struck up with a man seated next to me in the audience. He didn't know who I was, but he knew President Nelson, then Dr. Nelson, director of the Thoracic Surgery Residency Program of the University of Utah Medical School in 1955.

This man described to me how he was a student of President Nelson's at the time. He shared with me many memories, affirming what I was hearing from the lectern. Most interesting to me was his description of the teaching style of President Nelson, which he said brought with it a large measure of notoriety. He explained that much of the teaching of residents who were to become heart surgeons was conducted by faculty members in the operating room. Here they observed and performed surgery under faculty supervision--which served as a laboratory classroom. He shared that the operating room environment under certain faculty surgeons was chaotic, competitive, filled with ego--a pressure cooker where resident surgeons felt their career was on the line each and every moment. He described how it was very difficult, sometimes even demeaning. He then explained the unique environment found in President Nelson's operating room. It was a peaceful, calm, and dignified atmosphere. Residents were treated with deep respect. However, following the demonstration of a procedure, Dr. Nelson expected the highest standard of performance from each of the residents. This man described how the best patient outcomes and the best surgeons came out of Dr. Nelson's operating room. This doesn't surprise me at all. This is the exact leadership style that I have experienced and observed firsthand and have been the recipient of in the Quorum of the Twelve. I feel that I have been, in a sense, one of his "residents in training."

I am an inmate at the Utah State Prison. Last year I got a card from my mom and dad that said they were giving me a year’s subscription to the New Era. I told them that it was a waste of money, considering where I was. But I soon changed my mind when I received my first copy and learned what it was all about. I love the New Era. It makes me feel good inside when I read it. It helps me come closer to God, and it gives me a better attitude about life. I want to say to all the youth of the Church that it is for you that your parents tell you to be home by 10:00. All the things they tell you will help you. If I had done all that my mom and dad told me, I would not be here in prison. I pray that you will all listen to your parents and stay close to your Father in heaven.
Name Withheld

Corey: Did you ever see it rain that hard before? I thought that I was going to have to start growing gills like a fish.
Dale: And it got dark so fast!
Morgan: Dad says that they often get sudden storms in these mountains.
Dale: We’re lucky that we were close to this cave when the rain started.
Corey: It’s not very much of a cave.
Dale: No, but at least we’re out of the rain.
Corey: Hey, what if … ? Nah.
Dale: What if what, Corey?
Corey: I was just wondering if any animals use this cave.
Dale: You mean like a mountain lion or a bear or something?
Morgan: Dad said that he didn’t think there were any mountain lions or bears still around here. But we have seen deer, and once we heard some coyotes.
Dale: Coyotes don’t attack people, do they?
Corey: If they’re trying to protect their babies, they might.
Morgan: Well, there aren’t any coyote pups or other animals here, or we’d hear them.
Corey: It’s awfully dark! Maybe some old mountain lion dragged its prey up here to eat, and these aren’t rocks we’re sitting on, but old bones.
Dale: Corey, stop imagining things! And why are you always thinking about food?
Morgan: I’m a little hungry myself. At least when we get back to the cabin, Mom will have dinner ready.
Corey: And we’ll have dry clothes to change into.
Morgan: And after dinner we can crawl into our sleeping bags and watch the fire in the fireplace.
Corey: And tell ghost stories!
Dale: Listen! The rain is letting up. [They pause to listen.]
Morgan: It is stopping.
Corey: I’m beginning to taste that stew already.
Morgan: And toasted marshmallows.
Corey: Let’s go!
Morgan: The ground will be slippery, so we’ll have to be careful.
[Dale bows his head, shakes it, then looks up again.]
Dale: I don’t think that we should go yet.
Morgan: But the rain’s stopped.
Corey: And I’m hungry.
Dale: No. We need to wait.
Corey: What’s the matter with you? Are you scared of the dark?
Dale: No, it isn’t that.
Morgan: It’s easy to find our way back. We just have to climb down the hill to the bottom of Anklebone Canyon. It’s so narrow that we can touch both canyon walls while we follow the riverbed to the trail that leads up to our cabin.
Corey: And the sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll get that hot stew.
Dale: I just have this feeling that we shouldn’t go yet.
Corey: Well, I have feelings, too—feelings of being hungry and cold and wet.
Dale: I feel all those things, too, Corey. But I have this stronger feeling that we shouldn’t go yet.
Corey: Think of Morgan’s parents. They’ll be worried about us.
Morgan: And what if this cave is the home of some kind of animal and it comes back now that the rain’s stopped?
Dale: All I know is that we ought to stay here.
[Corey and Morgan grumble a bit and try to push Dale out of the cave.]
Morgan: Wait a minute. Do you hear something?
Corey: Nothing but water dripping off the trees.
Dale: I hear it—a faint rumbling sound.
Corey: I hear it now. It’s probably just the storm off in the distance.
Morgan: We’d better hurry back.
Corey [To Dale]: Are you coming or not?
Dale: No, and you’d better stay too.
Morgan: This feeling of yours, Dale—is it like being scared that we’re in some kind of danger?
Dale: Sort of. But mostly it’s just a feeling that we should stay where we are.
Morgan: I’ve had that feeling before when I’ve prayed for Heavenly Father to help me. I’d get this strong feeling inside of me about what I should do, and I’d feel real calm and peaceful.
Corey: I’ve been baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost, and I don’t feel anything right now but my teeth chattering.
Morgan: Maybe you’re not really listening.
Dale: Just put everything else out of your mind and listen “inside.”
Corey: You two are making too much out of this. I’m not waiting around here to freeze to death when I can be eating hot stew at the cabin in less than half an hour.
[Corey starts to leave, but Dale grabs his arm.]
Dale: Wait a minute, Corey. Listen to that noise. It’s not the storm—it’s coming from below us!
Morgan: It sounds like a giant waterfall.
Corey: With rocks crashing against each other.
Dale: You know what that sound is? It’s a flash flood!
Morgan: You’re right!
Corey: Do you think that it will reach us up here?
Dale: No, we’ll be safe this high.
Morgan: And the cabin is high enough to be safe.
Corey: But if we had started back—
Morgan: We’d have been caught in the bottom of the canyon!
Corey: We could have been killed!
Dale: Well, we’re OK now.
Morgan: Thanks to you, Dale. You stuck up for what you felt was right, and because you did, you saved our lives!
Dale: I’m just thankful that the Holy Ghost guides us when we need help.
Morgan: But some of us need to listen a little better to the promptings of the Spirit.
Corey: That’s right—and to the promptings of good friends too!

Timothy John Harris was a bully. Everyone at Pierce School stayed out of his way, including me. I could count on three hands the times he got me into trouble. He didn’t just push everybody around, he tattled. If I so much as rested my head, T. J. would tell the teacher, “Danny’s looking at his neighbor’s paper!”
Well, Timothy John had been here for about three weeks when my chance to get even came. Mr. Roundy, our teacher, had sent us to the school bookfair in groups of six. I happened to be by T. J. when he slipped a book into a folder that cost fifty cents. The book was Cool Cars, and everybody wanted it. I wanted it, too, but I didn’t have $4.95, which is what it cost. When it was time to buy, Timothy John was in line in front of me and was only charged the fifty cents for the folder. They didn’t see the book. I wondered if I should say something right then, but I didn’t.
When we got back to class, I thought I’d tell the teacher. Then I thought, What if T. J. really picks on me after school? I have to admit—he was pretty scary. He had blond hair that stuck out all over his head, and he had dirty hands with scabs on them. Well, scary or not, I had to do something!
Mr. Roundy said that he was going to show us a film about a family starting a farm. When the lights were off, I thought I could tell Mr. Roundy without T. J. noticing. I looked over at T. J. and couldn’t believe my eyes. He was crying! Crying over a film! I hardly felt like telling on him then.
By the time the lights came on, Timothy John looked as hard and mean as ever. I decided to write him a note before I chickened out: “I know you stole that book. Just take it back, and I won’t tell.”
I set it on his desk when I went to sharpen my pencil, and when I came back, I could feel him watching me. I’m in for it now, I thought.
At the start of recess, T. J. came over to me. He had mean green eyes and gave me the creeps. “OK, Danny, I’ll do it,” he said. “You come with me.”
We walked in silence to the book fair. I watched T. J. over the top of a book I picked up. He tipped his folder upside down, and the book slipped neatly back into it’s place on the shelf.
When we went out for the rest of recess, I kept expecting to get clobbered, but he picked on other kids.
I couldn’t play after school that day because my whole family had to go to the dentist. That evening it was my turn to wash the dishes, and when it was time for bed, I couldn’t sleep. It’s impossible to sleep when you live in a trailer and the wind is blowing. It sounds exactly like monsters moaning all around you.
The next day, after eating lunch, I played tetherball with Morse, my best friend. His real name is Cody, but on the roll, his name says, “Morris, Cody,” so we call him Morse Code. He doesn’t mind. Anyway, I was actually winning, when T. J. walked over. I sure didn’t want to play against him, so as soon as I won, I yelled, “I’m going to get a drink!”
I looked back to see T. J. slump down, holding his stomach. I hoped someone else would help him, but nobody did, so I walked him to the nurse’s office. He looked pretty sick.
“Did you eat lunch today?” the nurse asked him, taking his temperature. T. J. shook his head.
“How about breakfast?” He shook his head again.
The nurse got him some juice out of her little fridge, and a paper about the free breakfast program.
“You have a temperature,” the nurse said. “If you’ll give me your phone number, I’ll call your mom to come get you.”
“We don’t have a phone,” T. J. mumbled.
“How can we reach your mother?”
“I don’t have a mom.”
The nurse looked at me. T. J. drank his juice.
“I’ll walk him home,” I said.
“No!” T. J. said sharply. Then, softening, “I’ll get there OK.”
“I think Danny’s right,” the nurse said. “Someone should make sure that you get in the door.”
T. J. and I checked out and walked toward the river without saying much. We call it the river even though it’s dry most of the year. The air smelled like people were starting to burn wood in their fireplaces.
I had some peanuts in my pocket left over from lunch, so I held them out. “Want some?”
We shared my leftovers, and he cracked the shells with his fingers instead of his teeth, just like I do.
When we got to the end of the street, T. J. said, looking toward the river, “I never stole anything before. I’m glad you stopped me.”
I didn’t know what to say. He went on, “I just live a few houses down. You can go back now.”
“No,” I said, “I told the nurse I’d see you in the door.”
“Look,” he said, clenching his teeth, “this is as far as I want you to go.”
“All right,” I said. “See you tomorrow.” I walked off, wondering why he was so touchy.
Then he called after me, “Danny, thanks!”
“It’s OK,” I called back. I felt kind of good.
I watched him from around a fence. He kept walking and walking, way past the houses. I found a closer lookout point and saw him walk clear to the river bottom.
A man in a baseball cap got out of an old car and gave him a hug. T. J. leaned against him, and the man felt his head. Then he put T. J. in the backseat and tucked a blanket around him. They didn’t drive anywhere. I couldn’t figure out what was going on until the man got some things out of a sack and started to build a little fire. Then it hit me: T. J. lived in that car! That’s why he didn’t want me to come with him.
I thought about T. J. a lot that night. His dad must have been out of a job. Suddenly our trailer seemed like a pretty nice place to live.
Morse and I were playing tetherball the next morning before school started, when T. J. came over and just stood looking on. “Hey, T.J.,” I yelled. “Want to play?”
Morse looked at me like I was crazy, but T. J. shrugged his shoulders and walked over.
“No rope swings,” I said, hitting the ball to him. T. J. almost smiled and played hard. He skunked me!
“Come on, Morse,” I said. “You play the winner.”
T. J. beat him too. Soon there were kids lined up, bragging that they could beat T.J.—but not one did.
From then on, kids started hitting T. J. on the back instead of in the stomach. He stopped trying to get kids into trouble, and he wasn’t a bully anymore.
The art teacher said, “Timothy John, you are a fine artist!” T.J., of all people!
The day T. J. won the district art contest, he told us that he was going to move. “My dad got a new job.”
Even though he was a friend now and I would miss him, I was happy for him.
Two months went by before I heard from T. J. again. I smiled when I got his postcard; there was an apartment number on it.
It’s winter now. I kick holes in the ice puddles with my heels on the way to school. Sometimes when I walk home by way of the river bottom, I think about T. J. And peanuts. And friendship.

Elder David A. Bednar told a story about two of his sons. Once, when the younger brother got a little hurt playing outside, the older brother took care of him. He washed the scrape, put on medical ointment, and bandaged his brother’s whole arm. The younger brother was so happy to feel better that he went outside and started putting ointment and bandages on his friends, so they could be happy too! Elder Bednar explained that this is like missionary work. Because the gospel has blessed our lives in many ways, we want to share that blessing with others.

Even with my career under way, however, the goal of marriage continued to occupy my mind. As a lifelong member of the Church, I had learned the importance of eternal marriage all through my teenage dating years. I had always fully expected to have a temple marriage.
However, I had spent four years at Brigham Young University, where thousands of young Saints find their eternal mates, without being blessed with any marriage opportunities. As an African American at a predominantly Caucasian university, I did not find many dating partners who were seriously interested in marriage.
In Maine, my challenge was different: the area simply had very few Latter-day Saint men. I began dating a young man named James, a less-active member of the Church. When I learned that he still had a testimony of Jesus Christ and the gospel, I felt hope that he might come back to church. I prayed often that the Lord would help him do so.
As I began to fall in love with James, my prayers grew more desperate. He started to attend church regularly, but after a year he was still having challenges with the Word of Wisdom. He asked me several times to marry him, but I was hesitant to make a commitment under the circumstances. Nevertheless, I came to feel that James was the right person for me.
I eventually realized that I couldn’t keep putting off my decision indefinitely. Knowing that I did love James and believing that the Lord approved of our union, I consented to a civil marriage, with the intention that we would strive for a temple sealing later. My decision was bittersweet: I loved James, but I found it hard to accept that ours would be a lifelong marriage rather than an eternal one.
Still, I held fast to my decision. As I went to bed the night before the wedding, I began to feel uneasy and ill. I had heard of brides who get last-minute jitters, and I thought that might be happening to me. To my dismay, I discovered that instead of easing as the night progressed, the tension grew worse toward morning. Scenes flashed through my mind of what my future life might be like without a temple marriage. I could see myself in church alone or possibly not at all. I feared that one of us might die before we made it to the temple.
Thoroughly distraught and confused, I sought counsel from my bishop just hours before the wedding. As I talked with him and received a priesthood blessing, the Spirit bore witness to me that I shouldn’t go forward with my plans. To James’s great heartache and my own, I called off the wedding. Through my hurt, however, I felt a calming influence and an inner peace.
Crying and praying often, I spent the following days humbly reflecting on the situation and pondering what to do next. Instead of putting the Lord first in my decision making, I realized that I had put my desire for marriage first. Instead of having the faith to believe that the Lord would help me achieve the righteous goal of an eternal marriage, I had given up and convinced myself that a civil union was the best I could do in my circumstances.
I decided to put the Lord first in my life. As I prayed for forgiveness for my lack of faith and misguided sense of direction, I felt a burden lift, and a new sense of power began to grow within me. I knew that the Lord would carry me through my difficult situation. I was able to say, “Thy will be done,” even if it meant that I would not marry James.
I didn’t realize it at first, but James was going through a similar experience. He too made a decision to put the Lord first in his life. It was wonderful to see him take on a new glow as he became worthy in the eyes of the Lord. Shortly afterwards, he obtained the Melchizedek Priesthood and asked me to marry him in the Washington Temple.
Today, James and I are active members of the Sanford Ward in Maine. I am overwhelmed at the blessings the Lord has given me. I’m so grateful that he has greater insight than I do and knew that a temple marriage was a realistic expectation for me.

President Harold B. Lee was my grandfather. One of his favorite hymns was “Lead, Kindly Light.” I remember how often he would say that he was, as Nephi of old, “led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which [he] should do” (1 Nephi 4:6).

I remember going to him as a young man, just finishing my senior year here at BYU, trying to decide what I would be when I grew up. I took to him my patriarchal blessing and asked him to read it and counsel me. I think in my heart of hearts, though I would not have admitted it at the time, I expected that his counsel would operate something like a crystal ball—that he would help me find my occupation or, even better, my wife, whom I still hadn’t found at that time.

He read the blessing and then paused for a minute and said, “Alan, I think you worry too much about the future.” This was not what I had come to hear. He went on to say, “Let me give you a thumbnail sketch of my life.” He said, in essence:

I grew up as a boy in Clifton, Idaho. We prayed for the “pillars of the Church”—we meant the Brethren, the General Authorities. I could no more have dreamed of becoming one of them than of flying to the moon, which also seemed impossible in those days. And had I known that would happen, I might have been like Jonah, who ran from Nineveh when he received that assignment. And then I came back from a mission and thought I might be a farmer. But the farm was in real financial difficulty, and I had to go someplace else. I went to the University of Utah and got an education and met my wife. I didn’t know what I would be when I grew up, but I was lucky to get a job as a principal in an educational institution following graduation. A few years later there was another opening in a book-distribution company. And then a city commissioner died in midterm, and I was appointed to fill his term. I was called as a very young stake president, and half the members of my stake were out of work during the Great Depression. We had to struggle with how to provide welfare for them. Then I was called to start the welfare program for the whole Church. A few years later I was called as an apostle.

At this time, as he was talking to me, he was a member of the First Presidency. He said, “Looking back, Alan, do you think I could have taken thought and planned any of those steps? Do you think it would have helped me to do so?”

“Minding the gap” does not mean spending too much time in the future. My grandfather would say to me, “Don’t live too far into the future. Live for today.” He would say, “Survey large fields and cultivate small ones. Do the good that is right before you.” “Live for today, and let the Spirit guide you to do the good you can today. Don’t live too far into the future.” These were his words to me. He knew that if we would get on the path of obedience and faith, it would lead to the right end, even if we couldn’t see which way it was going. It is only human to want to see how to close the gaps in our lives as individuals or as groups. But the Lord often asks us to walk by faith.

It was almost Halloween. Every year the Master Monster Makers built a frightening monster for the Halloween party at the church. The boys were busy bringing monster parts to Billy’s backyard.
Billy had a big cardboard box that a washing machine had come in, and many smaller boxes. He also had some coat hangers for fastening the boxes together.
Tommy brought ropes and a worn-out tent that his brother had given to him.
Donald brought spray paints and a plastic bucket.
“We are the Master Monster Makers,” they said. “We make the best monsters!”
Billy’s little sister, Cathy, came outside. She had a toy megaphone in her hand. When she talked through it, her voice was very loud.
“Can I help?” she asked. “We could put my megaphone in your monster.”
“Sorry,” said Billy. “You are not one of the Master Monster Makers. You would only get in the way.”
Cathy shouted, “I would not!”
Billy shook his head. “No.”
Cathy put the megaphone to her mouth and shouted, “YOU ARE NOT VERY NICE!”
“Quiet, mega-mouth,” said Billy.
The Master Monster Makers laughed. Cathy turned and marched back inside. The boys started working.
Billy put the boxes together to make the monster’s body.
Tommy wrapped the tent around the boxes, then tied on ropes to make the arms move.
Donald painted the monster scary colors. He put the little bucket on top for a head.
The Master Monster Makers worked hard all morning. At last Billy put an awful Halloween mask on the monster’s head, and the three boys stood back and admired their work. The monster looked so real that they thought it might reach out and grab them.
“That’s the best monster we’ve ever made,” said Donald. The others agreed.
Cathy came out of the house with her megaphone. “Is anybody thirsty?” she asked. “I poured you some cold root beer in the kitchen.”
The Master Monster Makers were all thirsty. They hurried inside.
“That was nice of Cathy,” said Donald, sipping through a straw. “I thought she would still be mad.”
“Me, too,” said Tommy. “Maybe we should have let her help.”
“No,” said Billy. “She doesn’t know anything about making monsters.”
The three boys finished their drinks and went back outside. They wanted to thank Cathy for the root beer, but they didn’t see her anywhere. They were alone with the monster.
“It sure looks scary,” said Billy.
“Yes,” said Tommy. “Spooky.”
“Ooooohhhhh …”
“What was that?” asked Donald.
The monster’s arms came up a little.
“It—it moved!” Tommy croaked.
The monster’s arms went up high. It growled, “COME HERE, LITTLE BOYS. I AM VERY HUNGRY!”
“It’s almost like it’s alive!” yelped Billy.
“Neat!” Donald squawked.
“Who thought of that?” the Master Monster Makers asked each other.
Just then they heard the monster again. It giggled.
Giggled?
“Oh,” said Billy. “I know.” He marched right up to the monster and banged on its chest. “OK,” he said. “Come on out, Cathy.”
There was silence for a minute. Then Billy’s little sister poked her head out. “How did you know it was me?” she asked.
“Monsters don’t giggle,” said Billy.
Cathy climbed out of the monster with her megaphone. “Are you angry?” she asked.
Billy thought for a minute. “I guess not,” he said. “I didn’t think you could make our monster any scarier. But you did.”
“You sure did,” agreed Tommy and Donald.
The boys looked at each other. They all had the same idea at the same time.
“Cathy,” Billy asked, “would you be the monster’s voice at the Halloween party?”
“That would be fun!” Cathy exclaimed.
“We are the Master Monster Makers,” they all four shouted, “and we make the best monsters!”

Becoming who you really are sounds like a paradox. How can I become who I already am? I will illustrate this principle through a story.
The film The Age of Reason tells the story of Marguerite, a prosperous banker who leads a hectic life filled with travels and conferences. Even though she has an adoring suitor, she says she doesn’t have time for marriage or children.
The day she turns 40 she receives a mysterious letter that says, “Dear me, today I am seven years old and I’m writing you this letter to help you remember the promises I made when I was seven, and also to remind you of what I want to become.” The author of the letter is none other than Marguerite when she was seven years old. What follows are several letters in which the little girl describes in detail her life’s goals.
Marguerite realizes that the person she has become is nothing like the person she wanted to become when she was a young girl. As she decides to reclaim the person she envisioned as a child, her life is turned upside down. She reconciles with her family and determines to consecrate the rest of her life to serving people in need.3

“When we left Germany, the country was in the midst of skyrocketing inflation; a million marks wouldn’t even buy a loaf of bread. Upon arriving in America, we found it in the throes of the Depression. My father’s professional skills as a tool and die maker were in short demand, and he couldn’t find work. My mother, however, was able to find housework. Because she was an extremely good cook, she also was able to get a job with a German salad-making company. She worked hard just to put food on the table for us. Then Dad got a job as a maintenance man, and I helped him during much of my growing-up years. We would go early in the morning to about fourteen or fifteen different buildings and shovel coal into the furnaces.
“Because we had to work hard, we developed strength. My brother and I participated in basketball, baseball, football, tennis, table tennis, and swimming and became quite good. Our classmates began to accept us more readily. Our family still enjoys sports together.
“My father was the oldest of eleven children, and he was the only one who accepted the gospel. Some of our children who have gone on missions to Germany have testified to my relatives, but none of them have yet accepted the gospel.
“I was born in a land that is now behind the Iron Curtain. Probably one of my choicest experiences was to be at the dedication ceremony of the Freiberg Temple. The temple is very near the place where I was born. It was a soul-stirring experience to see my own people waving white handkerchiefs to President Gordon B. Hinckley and Elder Thomas S. Monson as the bus pulled away at the conclusion of the dedication.
“My suggestion to children is this: Live each day so that the Holy Ghost will be your constant companion. Serving the Savior will bring abundant blessings to you, and family ties will be made stronger and homes will be more heavenly. Sustain your leaders and follow their counsel.”

Along with six other Mormons, Debra attends the Hazelwood Integrated College in Belfast, a school where the student body is about 50 percent Catholic and 50 percent Protestant. “I’m fairly new at the school, and at the start they’re all, ‘Oh, she’s one of them mad Mormons,’ and they tease you about being a moron, because it sounds the same,” Debra says. “But now, they’re asking questions, like why I don’t take tea or coffee. They’re kind of interested in it more.”