Gospel Story Finder

On February 13, 1949, I sent a letter to Elder Widtsoe at Church headquarters in Salt Lake City. Elder Widtsoe answered my letter on October 3, 1950, explaining that he had been in Norway. I sent him a long letter in reply in which I asked him to help me to be quickly baptized, because I felt that I had proven myself to be a faithful son and servant of God, observing the laws and commandments of his kingdom. Elder Widtsoe asked President Samuel E. Bringhurst of the Swiss-Austrian Mission to go to Sicily to baptize me.
On January 18, 1951, President Bringhurst arrived on the island and baptized me at Imerese. Apparently, this was the first baptism performed in Sicily. Then, on April 28, 1956, I entered the temple at Bern, Switzerland, and received my endowment. At last, to be in the presence of my Heavenly Father! I felt that God’s promise had been fully fulfilled—the day had come indeed when the source of the book was known to me and I was able to enjoy the effects of my faith.

A true story from France.
Adeline finished drawing the last check box on her paper. Next to it, she wrote, Say prayers morning and night.
“What’s this?” Maman asked.
“I’m making a checklist for tomorrow,” Adeline said. “I’m going to have a perfect day!”
Maman raised her eyebrows. “Really?”
Adeline nodded. “In Primary we learned about being perfected in Christ. I’m going to be extra good so I can have perfect days.”
“I’m happy you want to make good choices,” Maman said. “But you know, there was only one person on the earth who was perfect—Jesus Christ.”
Adeline sighed. “I know. But I really want to try! I think I can do it.”
When morning came, Adeline was ready. She made her bed and said her morning prayer.
At breakfast, she helped feed her little sister, Sylvia. When Sylvia spilled her peaches all over her chair, Adeline took a deep breath. She counted to four and helped clean up.
At school, Adeline looked for people who needed help. Lucas had a sprained ankle, so she carried his lunch tray for him.
While leaving school, Adeline smiled her biggest grin at the lady who held the school gate open. The lady usually looked grumpy. But today she smiled back!
After school, Adeline gave Sylvia her favorite stuffed animal to play with. And before going to bed, she said a prayer. She checked off the items on her list and snuggled into her blankets. She felt very proud and very tired. She was ready for another perfect day tomorrow!
When Adeline woke up the next day, all her dolls were scattered around the floor. Sylvia was holding one and sucking on it. She must have pulled them all out!
“Sylvia!” Adeline yelled. “I told you not to touch my dolls!” She grabbed the doll Sylvia was holding. Sylvia cried and ran away.
Adeline glanced at her checklist on the door. Her heart sank.
Maman came in just as Adeline felt a tear on her cheek.
“What’s happened?” Maman asked.
“I forgot to say my prayer. I didn’t make my bed.” Adeline’s voice wobbled. “And I was mean to Sylvia. My perfect day is officially over!”
Maman gave Adeline a hug. “It’s very hard to be perfect all the time. Actually, it’s impossible.”
Adeline frowned. “But then how can I be perfect in Christ?”
“That’s just it! We can’t be perfected without Jesus Christ,” Maman said. “He gave His life for us because Heavenly Father knew we would make mistakes and would need help. Jesus takes our imperfect attempts and makes them better.”
Adeline thought about it. “So I can’t have perfect days every day?” she asked.
Maman shook her head. “No. You’ll have hard days. But you’ll have good days too.” Maman tucked Adeline’s hair behind her ear. “You trying your best is what matters. Even if a day starts out with a wrong choice, we can always say a prayer to repent and try again. With Jesus Christ’s help, you are enough.”
Adeline felt warm inside.
“Now, for your list.” Maman pointed to the list. “How about we just focus on one thing?”
Adeline looked at her list. She tore off part of the paper and taped what was left back on the door. The one item still there said, Say prayers morning and night.
Adeline smiled. “My day may not have started perfect, but I can still say a prayer now. And with Jesus Christ’s help, it will be enough!”

After high school, I decided to serve a mission. But I had some unexpected medical problems that kept me from leaving when I expected to.
I had to be patient, but I was eventually called to the Mexico Guadalajara East Mission. There, I taught many amazing people and even helped some of them be baptized. But even with my faith, obedience, and hard work, none of them stayed active in the Church.
Often, life events are out of our control. I couldn’t instantly solve my medical problems. And I can’t force others to live the gospel. But I can trust in the Lord’s timing and way.

I was at one of my last mission conferences, and as he often did, my mission president shared a message he had received from a missionary. Sometimes the messages were funny, sometimes they were inspiring, and sometimes they proved a point. This message was probably meant to be inspiring, but instead it hit me hard. He shared how much this anonymous missionary appreciated her companion. He shared how much love and care this missionary felt from her companion and what an amazing example her companion was to this missionary. As I listened, I felt my soul stretch in such great longing to be like that companion. I desperately wished that I could be that caring and be that loving and do that much good. And then I felt myself collapse inside when I realized I wasn’t.

That wasn’t me, and it wouldn’t ever be me. There wasn’t even time for me to change, and if there was, I probably wouldn’t be able to anyway.

Later that day, after my companion and I were back in our apartment, she referred to the very part of our mission president’s address that had so thoroughly crushed me and confided that she had written that about me. Those were her words about me. I had been staring into an endless, dark void, wishing desperately to be the kind of person I wanted to be—and failing. But her words flipped on a light, and rather than an endless void, I was in front of a mirror looking at a reflection of myself as I already was. Her words meant so much to me. That she would even think I was half the kind of person she made me out to be in her letter filled me with joy.

The first time my family drove through Yellowstone National Park, I had three things on my list of must-see wildlife: a bison, a bear, and a moose. I kept my eyes glued to the window, and by the time we left, I’d been able to spot two of the three—not a bad score!
It was only after talking to the park rangers and reading a book on Yellowstone ecosystems that I realized all the other amazing wildlife I had missed out on. I could have spotted a lot of other cool animals if I had just taken a closer look and explored a little more. Big-horned sheep and bobcats, badgers and minks, pikas and shrews, fish and birds of all sorts.
The bison, bear, and moose were the easiest to spot and the most fun to snap pictures of, but by ignoring the smaller animals surrounding them, we missed seeing all the other beauty right under our noses.

My parents separated when I was born. I was three months old when I left Chile by ship with my mother, crossed the Strait of Magellan, and landed in Uruguay where I was raised. I knew who my father was but did not know if my father really loved me. I still have the two or three cryptic letters he wrote to me, generally responses to eager letters from me.
Like Joseph, I longed for my father’s love. When I became a teenager, the need to have this love was exacerbated. My heart became hungry for a father’s understanding. During those years, my rebellious, angry statement, “I do not have a father,” only meant, “I wish I had one.” It was then that I found the missionaries of the Church, and they taught me the gospel.
I still remember the first discussion. Elder Giles asked me to read the first scripture I ever read. “Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19).
That day I found my family and my Father in Heaven. The scripture told me that He, my Heavenly Father, was yet alive.

Together and with the help of the Spirit we chose our secretary. She was a dependable, friendly mother of five who had always been dedicated to the Church. We knew we could depend on her to be there every week.
Our first challenge was to get to know each child and teacher personally. In particular we noticed one ten-year-old boy who was the only one in his class. His name was Troy. His attendance had begun to drop off as he was assigned one teacher after another, and he continued to miss Primary often. Several times we heard his teachers say, “Why prepare a lesson just for one child, when he usually doesn’t even show up? I’m wasting my time.”
There were suggestions that we move Troy forward or move him back a class so that he could be with a larger group. We tried both. Before long, Troy wasn’t coming to Primary at all. We sensed a real loss, and as a Primary presidency we decided to fast and pray about how to help Troy.
Once again I was amazed to see this principle at work. When we met, we all seemed to have our thoughts turned to our secretary, though we wondered how we could ever replace her.
When I talked to her, I found that she had just completed the Teacher Development Basic Course. We gave her name to the bishop and told him we felt certain Jackie was the one the Lord wanted to help Troy. She accepted the position, knowing it was a class with only one boy who often didn’t come; and she, too, had heard other teachers talk about how hard he was to handle and how discouraging it was to teach just one child. Nevertheless, Jackie tackled this teaching job with a very positive attitude and a feeling of love towards a boy who would very likely give her every reason not to love him.
I made it a point to tell Troy that he had a great new teacher. Unconvinced, he missed Primary that week, and the next.
But as the weeks slipped by, Troy occasionally came to Primary as if checking to see if his teacher really was there to teach just him. Jackie always was. And many times she went to Troy’s home to get him to come.
Jackie prayed often to know how she might be able to reach him. One night as she was thinking about Troy just before going to sleep, the thought came so strongly to her: “Be his friend.”
We gradually watched this ten-year-old boy being loved right back into Primary. There seemed to be a special relationship between Troy and Jackie, his friend. She taught him in the good, usual ways and used the Scouting program for the many fun and interesting activities she created for Troy. Those invaluable teaching moments were used so well by a dedicated teacher who truly knew the value of one child. It wasn’t long before we had perfect attendance from Troy.
Jackie remained Troy’s teacher, advancing with him until he graduated from Primary. Everyone was very proud of him. There were few who knew that if it hadn’t been for the efforts of one special teacher, it just wouldn’t have happened.
Not long after his graduation, Troy developed a serious infection around his heart and, critically ill, was taken to the Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City, Utah. It was many weeks before he began to slowly improve. Troy’s mother remembers how amazed everyone was as he taught both nurses and the other patients around him about the gospel. He was not afraid to inquire about their religious faith, and his parents noticed that he was teaching the same basic principles he had learned from his Primary teacher and in his home.
Troy did not recover, and we were greatly sorrowed when we heard he died. He was only thirteen years old. The ward and community were stricken with this news. Most devastated were his family, who had to let go of many hopes and dreams for Troy.
As the plans for his funeral were made, Troy’s parents chose someone to give his life sketch who had been especially close to him—his former Primary teacher. As she spoke that day, everyone could feel her love for Troy, and we understood why he had responded to her.
The years have come and gone, but I have never forgotten this experience. I know that the worth of one soul is great in the sight of our Heavenly Father. That is a testimony I will always have because of Troy and Jackie.

After many promptings during his young adult years, Elder Larry S. Kacher began to recognize a greater power guiding him in his life. At age 19, sensitivity to the Spirit led him to the gospel of Jesus Christ—a change that has made all the difference.
After high school he went to Europe to ski, and after more than six months there he felt he needed to return home. Once home, he felt like he needed to go somewhere else but didn’t know where. A childhood friend planned to move to Utah, and Elder Kacher decided to move with him. While in Utah, Elder Kacher enrolled at Brigham Young University, learned about the Church, and was baptized.
“As the missionaries taught us, I felt it was true,” he says. “As I prayed, I felt that the Church was true.”

A depressing spirit pervaded the funeral congregation as the services for a young mother who had died in childbirth drew to a close. The eulogies had been eloquent, but many gathered there that day felt some bitterness. How could a loving Father in Heaven allow such a lovely mother to be taken, leaving behind a family of four little ones to be cared for alone by a grieving father?

At the conclusion of the formal program the young father calmly rose from his seat and walked to the pulpit. "I sense your grief and concern," he said quietly, "but there is something I should tell you to comfort you. The first hour after my wife’s death I didn’t know how I could possibly endure it—how I could possibly go on without her. But then a sweet, peaceful spirit filled my soul, and since then I have had the assurance that everything will be all right. Don’t worry about us, we’re going to be just fine."

This same comforting spirit spread throughout the congregation. Everyone went home comforted.

On Scott’s 16th birthday, his father entered Scott’s room and, clearing off a stack of oboe music from a chair so he could sit down, said, “Okay, you’ve been asking us to let you date Pam. You’re 16 now. So go ahead and ask her out.”
“I’m not ready to date yet,” Scott said.
“But that’s all you’ve talked about for a solid year,” his father replied.
“I’m sorry, but a guy just can’t rush into something like that. I’ll date Pam when I’m ready.”
His father left, shaking his head, wishing he understood his son.
Scott tried to get ready to date Pam, but he had known her for four years and couldn’t remember when she hadn’t made him nervous. Even when he was 12 at a Scout-Beehive class breakfast, he’d dropped his pancakes when she asked him if he’d show her how to tie a square knot.
He spent hours thinking about how he’d ask her out. Every morning when he delivered a newspaper to her family’s porch, he looked to see if he might discover a fire in the house from which he could rescue her and the whole family. He imagined her saying, “Oh, how can I ever repay you?” and he would say, “Ma’am, if you’d go with me to the stake youth dance, that’d be repayment enough.”
Every night he’d take the hall phone with the long cord into his room and close the door. With great care he’d position the phone exactly in the center of the desk. Then he would stare at it. As a warm-up to phoning Pam, he’d dial the time-of-day number and talk to the recorded voice, concentrating on lowering his voice.
He’d become sensitive about his voice when he realized that most of the other guys in the priests group were singing bass and he was still singing the melody. In the morning when he delivered papers, he sometimes put pebbles in his mouth and yelled to the dogs who chased him along the route. He tried to imitate as much as possible what John Wayne, with pebbles in his mouth, would say to dogs chasing him if he delivered papers on a secondhand, one-speed bike.
Once he dialed Pam’s number completely. When Pam answered, he cleared his throat and hung up, his face covered with perspiration.
In order to earn money for a karate course, complete with illustrated instruction manual and phonograph records (the course was guaranteed to build confidence), he found a summer job at the Dairy Dip Drive-in. He worked from 10:00 in the morning to 5:00 in the afternoon.
He worked with Becky Williams. It was apparent from the first that they would be “just friends” because she was taller than Scott—his eyes came level with her chin—she was older than he—17 compared with 16—she had little interest in the oboe, and she had a hot-tempered steady named Joe Kruglak who had gained local fame as a fighter. Joe worked as a mechanic in a garage. It was rumored that he lifted automobile engine blocks for exercise.
During the first week, Scott learned from Becky the details of working in a drive-in. Becky worked hard. When business was slow, she launched out on a project of cleaning the grill or washing the windows. But even when they were working side by side, she would seem to withdraw from him, her blue eyes reflecting unhappiness. Scott didn’t say anything to her, and in a few minutes she’d return and they could talk again.
“Basically, what’s wrong with me?” Scott asked one morning while they cleaned out the grease trays on the grill.
“Nothing.”
“C’mon, Becky, be honest. I can take it. Is it that my silver braces clash with the gold-rimmed glasses?”
“I’ve never noticed.”
“I’ve got so much metal on my face I’m afraid to get too close to a TV set. I ruin the reception. Is it that I’m only 160 centimeters tall?”
“Centimeters?” she asked.
“I think I sound taller in the metric system. Do people make fun about my playing the oboe in orchestra?”
“No.”
“The oboe hasn’t really made it in the popular market. But someday I’m going to have a group that plays for dances that will have an electronic oboe. I haven’t figured out the details yet.”
Becky never stopped working.
“Why can’t I get a date?” he asked.
“Beats me,” she answered. “Are you going to help me lift out this rack?”
“Sure.” He bent down and slid out the grease-laden rack.
“Do you try to get dates?” she asked.
“I phoned Pam once.”
“What’d she say?”
“Hello.”
“That’s all?” she asked.
“I’d rather not go into it. It’s personal.”
Everyday at noon Joe walked over from the garage to have lunch.
“C’mon out,” he’d order Becky.
While Scott cooked Joe’s hamburger, she’d sit for a few minutes with him. Joe spent his time complaining about his boss, the people who brought their cars into the garage, and her. Before he left, he’d say to Scott, “Put it on my tab,” which meant Becky would pay for it.
During the second week Scott worked there, Joe got angry at Becky for some reason. They began to argue about something. Scott tried to listen but he had a line of little league players waiting for super dips. Finally Joe stood up, banged his fist on the table, and walked off. Becky watched him go, came inside, paid for Joe’s meal, and helped Scott serve super dips. She remained quiet for the rest of the day.
After two days Joe came back. She hurried out to talk to him while he wolfed down a hamburger and fries. When she came back, she seemed happy.
A week later Scott asked her if she’d mind if he called her up at night to help him build his confidence.
“Becky, this is Scott.”
“Hello, Scott.”
“Hello, Becky,” he said confidently. “You don’t mind if I talk on the phone with you?”
“No, I don’t mind. Joe’s out at a party with some guys tonight.”
“I just want to get practice talking. Nothing serious, you understand. Like the weather. How do you like the weather?”
“Fine.”
“Me too. I’ve always liked weather,” Scott added, and then after a long pause asked, “Becky, what do girls look for in a guy?”
“That’s hard to say. It depends on the girl.”
“Well, what do you like? Somebody who treats you rotten?”
There was silence from the other end.
“He even swears in front of you, doesn’t he?” Scott asked.
“You don’t like him, do you?” she asked.
“What do I know? He’s the success, not me. Maybe it’s something I should try. Let’s say you and I were going steady. I’d go to your home after work, sit down in front of the TV, drink Fresca, and watch the baseball game. Say something to me.”
“How’s the game?”
“Don’t bother me when the White Sox are batting!” Scott roared into the phone. “Can’t you let me have five minutes in peace?
“How’d I do?” Scott asked, returning to his normal voice. “I really walked over you, didn’t I? It’s not as hard as I thought it’d be.”
“I don’t like it,” Becky said, her voice straining.
“But that’s what Joe does to you.”
“Is it?” she asked.
“Sure. You’re not very serious about him, are you? I mean, you’d never do a dumb thing like get married to him, would you?”
“I don’t know. He’s asked me.”
“I think he’d probably treat you the same way after you were married. I’d never treat you that way, though, even if we were married.”
“Oh? How would you treat me?”
“Special. Like if we were married and had two cars, I’d trade cars with you once a month and take yours in to have the oil changed. You’d never have to worry. And I’d empty the bag on the vacuum cleaner.”
“I think we’d better hang up now,” she said, her voice melancholy.
“Sure. I didn’t say anything wrong, did I?”
“No. Goodbye.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When he went to work the next day, she worked quietly.
“You’re not mad at me or anything, are you?” he finally asked.
“No. Just thinking.”
“I’m sorry if I said anything that hurt you—about you and Joe.”
“It’s okay. Maybe I needed to hear it.”
“I think you’re a fine person, Becky. Like the time you threw in four cents of your own money so that little kid could have enough for a cone.”
“I think you’re nice too.”
“You, a girl, think that?” Scott asked, wiping off the counter. “I wish I were. I feel like the friendly neighborhood zero.”
“You aren’t.”
“If I lettered in football, then I’d be somebody. I’d have a red R on my jacket. When I walked down the street, people would stop and say, ‘Look, he’s got a letter on his jacket.’ Then I’d be somebody, and Pam would go out with me.”
“You’re somebody now. You just haven’t realized it.”
“If I was just better at talking to people. My dad talks to people all the time. Even gas station attendants. He just walks up and starts talking. By the time the tank’s full, they’re old friends.”
“You can learn,” she said. “Talk to the customers.”
“Why not?” he answered.
A few minutes later a Volkswagen with three college girls from California stopped for burgers and fries and drinks. Becky cooked the burgers and fries while Scott got the drinks ready.
“Nice day, isn’t it?” Scott leaned over the counter to talk to one of the girls.
“Yeah.”
“Tell me, how’re things in California? Are the oranges doing well?”
“What?” the startled girl asked, upset by the intense manner with which Scott spoke to her.
“The oranges in California. How’re they doing?”
“I dunno.”
Scott leaned farther out, straining to catch some threads of sanity in the conversation. “I guess if they weren’t doing well, we’d have heard?”
Now almost shouting, Scott continued. “I mean, since we haven’t heard, we can assume we’ll have a good crop of oranges this year.” Almost as a command, he barked out, “Wouldn’t you say that?”
The girl slowly backed away.
“I see you are driving a Volkswagen. How is the gas mileage?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I think that’s funny!” Scott yelled, his eyes open wide. “You got a small car so you’d get good gas mileage. And yet you don’t even know what gas mileage you’re getting. Don’t you think that’s funny? Well, don’t you?” Scott barked, his voice cracking.
“Please, could we have our food?” one of the girls pleaded.
As soon as the food and money exchanged hands, the girls ran to the car and drove off, missing the driveway and going over the curb.
Scott and Becky watched them speed off. “Now you see what I mean. I never say the right thing. That’s why I’m so afraid to call Pam. I’d mess the whole thing up.”
“Look, if you want, Scott, I’ll help you phone her after work.”
After work they crossed the street to the bowling alley where there was a phone booth. Becky sat Scott down and calmly discussed with him how to make the phone call to Pam.
Then she led him to the phone booth. Halfway there, he stopped and practiced saying hello in lower and lower tones. “Hello, hello, hello, hello.” A departing bowler stole a worried glance at him and then quickly hurried out the door.
Becky dialed the number and handed him the phone.
“Hello, hello, hello,” he said, finally reaching the desired pitch. “Pam, this is Scott. I’m your paper boy … Oh, I’m sorry about that. Tell your father I’ll try not to throw it on the roof anymore. Goodbye.
“Maybe I’ll call her a couple of times just to break the ice.” Scott told Becky as they left. “Was my voice low enough?”
Joe had been waiting for Becky, his late model sports car parked at the drive-in. When he saw Becky and Scott coming out of the bowling alley, he hurried over to them.
“What were you two doing?” he asked suspiciously.
“We were making a phone call,” Becky said.
Joe walked over to Scott, and stared at him angrily. Joe jabbed one finger at Scott’s chest.
“Don’t get ideas about spending time with Becky after work,” he said sharply.
Glancing over to Becky, he ordered, “C’mon. I’m in a hurry.”
A few days later Scott received the box containing an instruction book and record teaching karate, and an eight-by-ten glossy photograph of someone who claimed to be the king of karate.
That night Scott began his instruction. Over the next several days he spent hours looking in the full length mirror and shouting “Heaaah!” His parents grew to love and appreciate their backyard, spending much time there, as far away as they could get from the house.
“Becky, how come you sometimes don’t come to church?” he asked one morning while they cleaned up the wrappers left from the night before.
“Some Sundays I’m with Joe at the beach or else at the car races. Why?”
“Your parents don’t make you go?” he asked.
“My real parents are divorced. My stepfather isn’t a member, and my mom doesn’t want to make him mad. About the only time he’s home is on Sunday.”
They finished up outside and went in to make up some hamburger patties. “I thought it was going to be great at first when Mom remarried. The second week he took me and my sister out on Saturday. He took us to a fair and bought us cotton candy and hot dogs, took us on rides, and even bought us both a huge teddy bear. After he got us home, he quit paying any attention to us. It was as if his getting us the teddy bear proved what a loving stepdad he was. Now he doesn’t talk to us except to yell. Sometimes I wish I could leave home.”
“With Joe?”
“I don’t know. Him or somebody else. I seem to attract guys like Joe.”
Scott wiped his eyes and then continued to slice up some onions. “Becky, come with me Wednesday to church. Our Explorer post is having somebody come in to teach dancing. You’d have a good time. And you should see some of those guys. They’re all taller than me, and some of them have their own cars.”
“What about Joe?” she asked. “He gets very mad.”
“You leave Joe to me,” Scott said, looking at his karate-toughened, onion-juice-covered hand.
“What would I wear?” she asked.
“A dress if you have one.”
“I do, but I don’t wear dresses much because Joe never likes me to dress up. He says we’re never going any place where we need to worry about how we look.”
After work Scott and Becky walked over to phone Pam.
“What’re you going to say?” Becky asked.
“Don’t worry. You treat me like such a kid sometimes. I have it all figured out. A little light conversation to put her at ease. Then I just ask her if she’ll go with me to the movies Saturday.”
Becky got in the phone booth first, and he crowded in after her. With the door open they had more room in the booth, but the fan didn’t run.
Becky dialed the number for him.
“Hello, is this Pamela Robertson who lives at 345 Riverside Drive? … Pam, this is Scott McCovick who lives at 349 Riverside Drive.”
Scott cupped his hands over the phone and asked Becky, “Now what?”
“I told you we should’ve practiced,” she whispered. “A little light conversation, remember?”
He stood looking at the phone as if he’d never seen one before.
“Say something!” Becky said.
“Pam,” he continued, “I saw you spraying for dandelions a few days ago. What kind of weed killer do you use?”
Becky grimaced.
“No, that’s okay,” Scott added. “You don’t need to go all the way out to the garage to find out. I’ll ask your dad someday.”
In order to start the fan running so they could get some air, Scott crowded into the booth and closed the door. Becky could just barely breathe.
“You sure did a great job. I bet you killed off every dandelion in your yard. That’s what I like about you, Pam. You’re very thorough.”
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Becky whispered to Scott. He put the phone down, opened the door, and let her out. Then he grabbed the phone, and stepped inside the booth.
“Pam, are you still there? … No, nothing’s wrong. Pam, I’m planning on going on a mission … Yes, in about three years … Well, that’s kind of you to say. I just didn’t want you to think I was out to get married out of high school.”
“What are you doing?” Becky asked impatiently.
“I’m putting her at ease,” Scott defended.
“Pam, what did you say? … Yes, I guess it does sound like I’m talking to somebody else at the same time. Well, keep it up with your lawn. Goodbye.”
“You didn’t ask her out,” Becky said, trying to be kind.
“It didn’t come up in the conversation. Give me time. Pam is a wonderful girl. She pays attention in seminary class. I know because I sit behind her and watch her all the time. What if she says no?”
“Why should she say no?”
“Why? Who wants to go out with an oboe player who is also the oldest paper boy in town?”
“So what if she does say no?”
“Don’t say it. If she says no, it’s all over between me and girls. I’ll become an Olympic swimming champion.”
The next day at work, Scott gave Becky a karate demonstration. Resting a board between two bricks, he brought his hand down swiftly and broke the board neatly in two.
“Scott, that’s great!” Becky said.
“Well, it’s a start,” he said modestly.
“What do you mean? It’s terrific!”
“Actually it’s not as impressive as it looks. I took a board and cut about two-thirds of the way through and then filled it up with plastic wood. I’ve got another board here to show off when those little league players show up.”
During lunch Joe found out that Becky was going to activity night with Scott.
He walked up to the window and said, “Come out here.”
“Your hamburger’s almost ready,” Scott answered.
“Stay away from my girl!” Joe yelled at him.
“I just asked her if she’d like to go to church with me tonight.”
“She’s not going anywhere with you or anybody else!” Turning around to Becky, he asked, “Are you?”
“You don’t own me, Joe. I can go to church if I want to.”
Joe whirled around to talk to Scott.
“You come out here, or I’m going to come in and get you.”
“Yes, sir.” On his way out, Scott spotted the board and the two bricks. He picked them up and carried them out, setting them up on the picnic table.
“Ahhhhmmm,” Scott cleared his voice, “I should warn you,” he said, his voice still too high, “that although I may appear to the casual observer to be harmless, I’ve been trained in the martial arts.”
“Break your date with her,” Joe demanded.
“Why? So you can yell at her and make her feel crummy. She deserves better treatment.”
“I’m gonna break your head.” Joe started walking toward Scott.
“If you hit me in the mouth, you’re going to waste over a thousand dollars in dental care. There may be a law suit.”
“You asked for it, kid.”
“Wait, Joe. Don’t do anything hasty. See this board. Heeaaah!” Scott’s hand broke the board in two.
Joe stepped up to Scott and launched his right fist into Scott’s mid-section, doubling him over. Joe turned and left.
Scott lay down on the ground, gasping for breath, while Becky knelt down and tried to comfort him.
The first words he was able to speak were, “I want my money back.”
That night he met Becky at church. As she walked up to the door, one of the older guys in the post saw her and said, “Wow! Look at that! She’s beautiful! Who’s she gonna dance with?”
“That’s my friend. I invited her tonight. Of course, I had to fight her former boyfriend first. Joe Kruglak.”
“You fought Joe Kruglak?”
“Sure, I’ll tell you about it sometime. But you’ll excuse me now, won’t you?” Scott made a grandiose gesture of opening the door for Becky.
Thursday after work, Scott and Becky again called Pam.
“Pam, this is Scott … You found out what weed killer you were using? … Yes, I’m sure it’s very good. Pam, when do you get your braces off? … You know, we got braces about the same time and we’re going to get them off about the same time. I mean, it’s an experience we’ve shared, isn’t it? When I first got them, I got part of an apple peeling caught in them. Maybe you remember. That was when I spent a couple of days with my hand in front of my mouth.”
Becky closed her eyes and shook her head.
“No, Pam, Becky’s just a friend. Why? … Oh, really? He is? Look, you tell him that Becky is a fine girl … No, I think she broke up with Joe. Look, to give you an idea of what kind of girl Becky is, I hope she won’t mind me saying this. You know I work with her at the Dairy Dip. She is very good about cleaning the grease trays on the grill. Not just once a month, but at least once a week. You know what I mean? … Look, you tell Mike to come around tomorrow and I’ll introduce him to her.”
Scott turned to Becky and gave her a smile.
“Pam, if you come with him, I’ll let you have our 89 cent banana split for only 59 cents.”
Becky tapped him on the shoulder and shook her head, making a round O with her thumb and index finger.
“Pam, I’ll even do better than that. I will buy you a banana split. Just for you, though, not for Mike. Okay? Bye.”
He hung up the phone and grinned at Becky.
“Pam’s cousin is in the Explorer post at church, and he really likes you. He wants to take you to a fireside Sunday evening. You’ll say yes, won’t you? Because if you do, then I can ask Pam, and we can double, and Pam’s cousin can use his dad’s car.”
“Is he the tall one?” Becky said with interest.
“None other.”
He walked Becky home, wheeling his bike.
“Poor girl,” he finally muttered.
“What do you mean?” Becky asked.
“Pam. She’s really fallen for me.”
“How can you tell?”
“Well, maybe I shouldn’t say this, but this morning when I was delivering papers, she was outside spraying for crabgrass.”
“So?” Becky asked.
“So? You don’t see what that means?”
“No.”
“Becky,” Scott said, placing his hand on her arm, “You’d better stick with me for awhile. When it comes to things like this, you’re such a child.”

Clarette watched impatiently at the window for her father’s car. The delicious smell of roast lamb floating in from the kitchen assured her that dinnertime was near and that Papa would soon be home.
Clarette wasn’t thinking of food, though, but of the very important question she must ask her father. She had just returned from the home of her friend, Briget, where Sister Macy and Sister Wright, the LDS missionaries from America, were teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. Clarette’s parents were content with their religious beliefs and weren’t interested in learning more, but they allowed Clarette to hear the Mormon missionaries. They felt that she should learn for herself about Heavenly Father.
As the sister missionaries explained each gospel idea, Clarette listened carefully. Never had Heavenly Father and Jesus seemed so real to her. Things she had read in the Bible became clearer to her, and she was anxious to learn more.
Finally the headlights of Papa’s car announced his arrival. Clarette ran to open the door for him. After a hug and a kiss, Clarette began, “Papa, I want to be baptized.”
“Why, my dear, you were baptized when you were a baby,” her father replied as he hung up his overcoat.
“But, Papa. I want to be baptized the way Jesus was. I want to be a Mormon.”
Her father looked at her searchingly, then said, “Twelve is much too young to make such a big decision. You may go to the Mormon church if you like, but you may not join any church until you are older. Now let’s have dinner.”
Clarette knew further pleading wouldn’t help. Her mama and papa were reasonable parents, but when they believed something firmly, it was almost impossible to change their minds.
For the next few weeks Clarette continued to hear the missionary discussions at Briget’s home. Her parents drove her to the LDS chapel on Sundays and picked her up after meetings, but the subject of baptism was closed.
As Christmas neared, Clarette felt closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus than she ever had before. She knew that the gospel of Jesus Christ was true, and every day she prayed that her father would change his mind.
One evening Clarette’s father asked her what she would like for Christmas. Mustering all the courage she could, Clarette looked into her father’s eyes and said, “Papa, the only thing I want for Christmas is to be baptized. I don’t want anything else.”
She was afraid that her father would be angry with her for bringing up the forbidden subject, but instead he looked back into her eyes. “Clarette, my dear, if it is that important to you, I will give my permission.”
Three days later, on Christmas Eve, Clarette was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

“Again, I found heaven in Europe:
“Elder Vogel was a local convert German boy of great faith. His parents refused to assist him in the mission which he so desired to fill. A kind American member helped with a monthly check to assist with the mission expenses. He enjoyed his work and all went well for a year and a half. One day a letter came from the wife of his sponsor, advising that her husband had been killed in an auto accident and it would be impossible to send any more money.
“Elder Vogel kept his disappointment hidden and prayed earnestly for a solution. As he and his American companion, Elder Smith, passed a hospital one day, a solution to his financial problem was born in his mind. The next day he made an excuse and was gone for a time. When he came back he said little but went to bed early. When asked the reason, he said he was a little extra weary. A few days later Elder Smith noted a small bandage on the arm of the German brother, but his question was passed off lightly.
“Time passed and Elder Smith became suspicious of the periodical bandages until one day, unable to keep his secret longer, Elder Vogel told him: ‘You see, my friend in America is dead and can no longer give support to my mission. My parents are still unwilling to help me, so I visit the blood bank at the hospital so I can finish my mission.’ Selling his precious blood to save souls! Well, isn’t that what the Master did when he gave his every drop in the supreme sacrifice?

Many years ago this conference heard of a young man who found the restored gospel while he was studying in the United States. As this man was about to return to his native land, President Gordon B. Hinckley asked him what would happen to him when he returned home as a Christian. “My family will be disappointed,” the young man answered. “They may cast me out and regard me as dead. As for my future and my career, all opportunity may be foreclosed against me.”

“Are you willing to pay so great a price for the gospel?” President Hinckley asked.

Tearfully the young man answered, “It’s true, isn’t it?” When that was affirmed, he replied, “Then what else matters?”8 That is the spirit of sacrifice among many of our new members.

I remember the day my tenth-grade English teacher announced she had some exchange-student applications. Though I had never considered applying before, it felt right. I was thrilled to learn I would spend a year in Denmark. My ancestors had emigrated to Zion from Denmark well over a century ago.
My new home was in Nakskov, on the island of Lolland. Unfortunately, the nearest ward was several hours away.
After two months in Denmark, however, I learned about a small group of Saints who met closer to my home. To get there, I would have to ride a private railway. The train fare was around 40 crowns, nearly all my spending allowance for the week. It was fast Sunday, and I scraped together all the money I had—about 43 Danish crowns. I figured it would be sufficient if I got the round-trip discount. There would not be any money left over for a fast offering, but I felt the Lord would understand why.
As the train moved away from the station, the conductor came by and said, “Two crowns.” My fledgling Danish had to be mistaken—I knew the trip cost more than two crowns. After offering him most of what I had, he took a bill and gave me change. The fare was only two crowns! I knew the Lord was watching out for me.
In a little attic apartment above a store was a tiny room containing a group of elderly women. One of them smiled, motioned me inside, and knocked on an adjoining door. I was greeted into priesthood meeting. There were about five older brethren and two young missionaries.
I couldn’t understand much of what went on, but some hymns were familiar. There were tears as testimonies were shared.
When I told the missionaries my train fare was only two crowns, they couldn’t believe it. I soon discovered the return trip was also just two crowns. I realized I could pay my fast offering after all. Later, I learned that in celebration of the centennial of the train system the fare had been reduced to two crowns for just that one day.
That was the beginning of my church experiences in Denmark. I was ordained a priest there, and the first time I ever blessed the sacrament was in Danish. As my language improved, I even spoke in church. Eventually, I was called on a mission to Denmark. I attended church with those members again, four years after my first visit. I watched as the man who ordained me a priest was sustained as president of the newly organized branch.
In Denmark I received spiritual depth, both as an exchange student and as a missionary. It began with my miraculous fast offering and a train ride to church one bright Sunday morning.

One Christmas time my friends and I decided to secretly do the “Twelve Days of Sharing” for a special woman. She loved little children, served in the Primary nursery, and gave out cookies to children in the neighborhood. But she was alone in her home for Christmas.
On December 14 we gave her a small, decorated Christmas tree with little birds on it. We left it on her porch, then hid in the bushes so that we could see the look on her face when she saw it. She looked all around but couldn’t see us. We waited until she went back inside before we ran home.
The second night we gave her two silver bird whistles. The third night we gave her a gallon of apple cider. Each day we gave her something different, and each day we couldn’t wait to see the different expressions on her face. Sometimes she looked concerned about opening the door, but she was always happy to find something there for her.
One night it was so cold and snowy that we thought about not going. But we knew that she would be disappointed—and we would have been too. We climbed over the fence and headed toward the front porch. I had just put the plate of cookies on the step, rung the doorbell, and started to run to my hiding place, when I heard her door opening. I slipped and fell headfirst into the bushes. Although I was covered with snow, I was still surprised that she didn’t see me. I couldn’t keep from laughing as I headed home.
The Twelve Days of Sharing were special days to my friends and me. Later I overheard her say that that Christmas was one of the best she had ever had.

Hadley Peay is now seven years old. Hadley was born with a very serious hearing impairment requiring extensive surgery to bring even limited hearing. Her parents followed with tireless training to help her learn to speak. Hadley and her family have cheerfully adapted to the challenge of her deafness.

Once, when Hadley was four, she was standing in the checkout line at the grocery store with her mother. She looked behind her and saw a little boy sitting in a wheelchair. She noticed that the boy did not have legs.

Although Hadley had learned to speak, she had difficulty controlling the volume of her voice. In her louder voice, she asked her mother why the little boy did not have legs.

Her mother quietly and simply explained to Hadley that “Heavenly Father makes all of His children different.” “OK,” Hadley replied.

Then, unexpectedly, Hadley turned to the little boy and said, “Did you know that when Heavenly Father made me, my ears did not work? That makes me special. He made you with no legs, and that makes you special. When Jesus comes, I will be able to hear and you will get your legs. Jesus will make everything all right.”

“Except ye … become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.”

Hadley knew enough.

As a child, I enjoyed writing to my grandmother. She lived across the country, so I rarely saw her more than once a year. But as a teenager, I gradually became too busy to write, and our relationship slowly faded. When Grandma would come to visit for a few days, I would occasionally ask her a question or make a comment, but our conversations were seldom genuine or heartfelt. By the time I turned 16, I barely knew her, and I didn’t know how to talk to her.
On the last day of one of her visits, I was alone in the kitchen preparing dinner when she came in and sat down. I greeted her, but afterward I found myself at a loss for words. I could tell that she wanted to talk to me and had probably been seeking an opportunity for some time, but how was I supposed to strike up a conversation with a 75-year-old woman with whom I thought I had nothing in common?
I commented on what I was cooking, but that subject didn’t last long. Finally, I asked Grandma about what her life was like at my age. She told me stories about work and social activities, then talked about meeting my grandfather and falling in love. I realized that her life and desires as a teenager weren’t that different from my own.
A few months later, President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, spoke about grandparents in general conference. In his talk, “The Golden Years,” he spoke of the wisdom and guidance older members of the Church can provide. His theme made me reflect on my relationship with my grandmother, and I realized I was missing out on a valuable friendship.
I decided to write to Grandma again. I still wasn’t quite sure what to say, so I just wrote about work, friends, family, and what I was doing. She responded to each of my letters and told me about other relatives, her garden, and her day-to-day activities. The next time we were together, talking to her was easy.
I’m grateful for the conference talk that came at a time when I was ready and willing to get to know my grandmother again. Through President Packer’s words, I realized that I had overlooked the “priceless resource of experience, wisdom, and inspiration”2 that my grandmother really is. Now I have come to appreciate this wonderful woman and have been blessed by her example and friendship.
Laura A. Austin, Utah, USA

Tyson had just moved to Big Forest. He didn’t know anyone, and he did not make friends easily. When anyone spoke to him, he withdrew into his shell. He was sitting on the bank of the stream that ran through Big Forest, wishing for someone to play with, when Sorrell Squirrel came racing by. “Hi,” chattered Sorrell, skidding to a halt. “I’m Sorrell Squirrel. Who are you?”
“Hello,” said Tyson from inside his shell. “I’m Tyson Turtle.”
“I’m going to the birthday party,” chattered Sorrell. “Want to come with me?”
“I wasn’t invited,” said Tyson, shyly peeping out from under his shell.
“Everyone in Big Forest is invited,” said Sorrell. “It’s the forest queen’s birthday.”
“I don’t have a present for her,” said Tyson.
“You don’t need one,” said Sorrell. “Each year when the queen has her party, instead of receiving gifts, she gives them.”
“I’d love to go,” said Tyson.
Tyson and Sorrell set out for the queen’s court in the center of Big Forest. Sorrell chattered happily as he jumped from one tree to the next. Tyson plodded along on the ground below, listening to Sorrell.
“Besides giving everyone a present, the forest queen grants a wish to someone who is really deserving,” said Sorrell.
“What do you have to do to deserve it?” asked Tyson.
“Something very courageous,” said Sorrell.
“Oh,” said Tyson. I could never get my wish, he thought. I’m certainly not brave. I wish I could be brave and not timid.
Soon they reached the clearing in the forest where the queen held court. Tyson had never seen anything so beautiful. The court was in a clearing surrounded by tall, green ferns. The queen, dressed in a long, flowing white robe, was sitting on her toadstool throne. Her hair was the color of sun-ripened wheat. On her head was a shining crown, and she held a scepter in her hand.
Sorrell and Tyson walked along the moss-carpeted path leading to the throne. “Your Majesty,” said Sorrell, “I am Sorrell Squirrel, and this is Tyson Turtle.”
“Welcome to my birthday party, Sorrell and Tyson,” said the queen. “I am so happy that you could come. Enjoy yourselves. There are treats for everyone.”
Tyson’s face burned with embarrassment. He bowed, but he just could not bring himself to speak to her. He walked over to the place where all the other animals were gathered. There was a large bowl of nuts for Sorrell Squirrel, a big green leaf for Prudy Porcupine, a bowl of honey for Boris Bear, a wedge of cheese for Morty Mouse, a bowl of ripe acorns for Chauncey Chipmunk, and berries and other goodies for all the other animals.
The animals ate the food, then chose up sides to play games. No one asked Tyson to join in, and he was too timid to ask. He sat off to one side, watching the others have fun. He peered out and sniffed the air. An unpleasant odor was tickling his nose. Smoke! thought Tyson. Where there’s smoke there’s fire. “Fire!” he shouted, forgetting for once that he was timid.
“Everyone down to the stream,” said the queen. “Quickly now—there’s no time to waste.”
“The water is deep and swift,” said Myrna Mole. “How shall we little creatures get across?” The larger animals had already started across the stream. Some were already on the other side. The smaller animals were afraid to jump into the rapidly flowing water.
“Climb onto my back,” said Tyson. “I’ll take you across.”
Myrna Mole and Morty Mouse climbed up onto Tyson’s back, and he swam across the stream. When they were safe on the other side, Tyson went back to help more of the smaller animals across. He made many trips back and forth across the stream until everyone was safe on the other side. The fire came down to the stream but could not cross it. Thanks to Tyson, all the animals were safe on the other side.
“Hurray for Tyson!” shouted the animals.
The forest queen came over to Tyson and kissed his very red cheek. “Tyson, from now on you will not be called Timid Tyson. You will be known as Sir Tyson because of your courage.” She touched his shoulder with her scepter and said, “I dub thee Sir Tyson, Brave Knight of Big Forest.”
Tyson gave the queen a big, happy grin. “I didn’t know that I was being brave,” he said. “Thank you, Your Majesty, for making my wish come true.”
“I didn’t do anything, Tyson,” said the queen. “You did it all yourself. When you saw someone else in trouble, you tried to help, and you forgot about being timid.”
“Hurray for Sir Tyson!” yelled all the animals.

When Mamie was 14, a little sister was born at the ranch. Her father, by now stake president, had gone to general conference in Salt Lake City. Before leaving, however, he had brought from Kanab a midwife, Macey Stewart, who promised she would stay till his return, or at least till the mother was able to be up and around. “When the baby was a week old,” wrote Mamie, the midwife got homesick and “regardless of her promise to Father that she would stay, she left Mother in bed with me to care for her and the baby, besides all the housework, washing, etc., for the family and hired men. Talk about responsibility for a 14-year-old!” she concluded.

Of my parents’ three daughters, I am the middle one. It wasn’t until the dawn of a January morning that a fourth child, a son, was born. David seemed just like any other newborn to me—tiny, chubby, and fun. By virtue of my being merely a first-grader when he was born, my parents found no reason for telling me then that my baby brother was “different.” Hindsight tells me that it would only have compounded their already-numbed feelings to explain to me what they could hardly believe themselves. Besides, I was too young, and the word mongoloid would not have meant a thing to me. All I knew, or cared about then, was that my little brother was beautiful!
We grew to love him. He was a kind, loving, and cheerful child. It was not until I was in the sixth grade that David’s difference caused any concern to me at all. It was at the end of that school year that my class was visited by the principal. She asked those of us who had brothers or sisters who were or would be five years old next fall to raise our hands. I raised mine, and just as she counted it, I was prompted to ask something. I hesitated a split second, thinking that I should not even bother her with such a question. But, as she counted my hand, I asked, “Does this school allow mongoloids?” When I heard the words, “No, I’m sorry,” I took my hand down, wondering numbly why they would not let my brother come to their school. My naiveté about David had been shattered.
As the years passed, David was continually shunned by the majority of the neighborhood children. They had been warned by fearful parents. More than once our front door was darkened by an irate mother who told my mother to keep David away from her young ones.
It often seemed that if I would look into his eyes, I could see him peering over his inner wall of quietness with the tender, smiling eyes of someone who really knows a great deal more than will ever be credited to him. I wished that I could step inside that wall and talk with him for just one hour.
These past years have seen my family pass through many sorrows because of David’s difference. But to say that his presence with us has been destructive would be false. Rather, his presence has been like a powerful steel cable strongly binding our family together. As a family we are close, and because David is a part of it, we have learned real love, sweet patience, a pure and undefiled faith, and a tender, guileless approach to life. Still a child, even though he has passed into the age of adulthood, he continues in his innocent state. He is my brother. He is my friend. Heaven itself was granted to my family in this one single gift.
I know that in the bright hereafter I will finally be allowed to pass through David’s wall. I hope he will take me by the hand and sit with me, and I will ask him to share his world with me—his bit of heaven.