Gospel Story Finder

Seven-year-old Craig Parker of Spanish Fork, Utah, gained a testimony of the role of prayer in the repentance process. One day while he was playing, he said a word that he knew was wrong. He felt very bad afterward. “In our home and at church I have learned about Jesus, and I know that He would not want me to say that word.”
Craig decided to kneel and pray for forgiveness. “I folded my arms and told Heavenly Father I was sorry for saying that word. I felt better after praying. I knew that Heavenly Father forgave me, and I have never said that word again.”

I faced a lot of challenges after my baptism. The changes I needed to make in my life were significant. On top of that, sometimes I felt that I had no friends in the Church, and it was tempting to go back to my old friends. But my desire to feel joy—and my understanding that we can be happy regardless of external circumstances—helped me keep coming back to church. I knew I couldn’t “lay aside [my] faith” (Alma 32:36). Over time I made friends within the Church who helped me during the transition. And as I continued to live the gospel, my testimony and my happiness grew (see Alma 32:37).

I was invited to my best friend’s birthday party and was so excited to go. When Mommy told me it was on Sunday, I thought it might be OK to go since she was my friend. Mommy told me I could go into my room and ask Heavenly Father what I should do. I went into my room and asked Heavenly Father if I should go to the party. I felt that I should just go to church that day. We called my friend’s mommy and told her we wouldn’t be at the party, but would like to have my friend come and play. The next Friday my friend came to my house to play, and we had so much fun! I felt good that I did what Heavenly Father wanted me to do.

Robert put on his first-ever suit. He went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He adjusted his tie and made sure his white shirt was tucked in right.
He went to find Mom. “Do I look OK?” he asked.
“You look very grown up,” Mom said. Her voice did that thing it always did before she started to cry. Like she’d just swallowed a spoonful of peanut butter.
“Aw, Mom. Don’t cry.” Robert patted Mom awkwardly on the shoulder.
Mom wiped her eyes. “I just can’t believe you’re old enough to receive the priesthood.”
“Ready?” Dad called. “We don’t want to be late!”
Robert was so excited he could hardly sit still in the car. But he sat reverently during the sacrament. He watched the deacons pass the trays of bread and water. Next week, that will be me! he thought.
Robert had done a lot to prepare for today. He’d read in his scriptures about the priesthood, especially section 20 of the Doctrine and Covenants. On Monday, Mom and Dad gave a special family home evening about the priesthood. And last week the bishop had interviewed him to make sure he was worthy and ready to receive the priesthood. He knew he was ready, but he was still a little nervous.
After the meeting, Robert, Mom, and Dad went to the bishop’s office. Robert sat in a chair in the middle. He took a deep breath as Dad and the other priesthood holders gathered around him. Their hands felt heavy and warm on top of his head. He closed his eyes.
Dad started out with Robert’s full name. Usually Dad only used Robert’s middle name when he was in trouble, but Robert knew this time it was special. He listened carefully as Dad conferred on him the Aaronic Priesthood and ordained him to the office of deacon. He said Robert would be blessed if he honored the priesthood and kept his covenants.
Afterward Robert shook hands with everyone and gave Mom and Dad a hug. Mom was crying again, but Robert didn’t really mind.
“Holding the priesthood is a sacred privilege,” Dad said as they left the bishop’s office. “Do you know how we have the Aaronic Priesthood today?”
“Joseph Smith got it from John the Baptist?” Robert said.
“Yes! And do you know who sent John the Baptist to Joseph Smith?” Mom asked.
“Uh …” Robert frowned. “I’m not sure.”
“He was sent by Peter, James, and John. And they received their priesthood authority from Jesus Christ,” Mom said.
“Wait … so it’s like I got the priesthood from Jesus?” Robert asked.
“That’s right,” said Dad.
Robert’s eyes widened. It was hard to find a word special enough to say how he felt. “That’s so … awesome.”
“It really is awesome,” Dad said. He pulled something out of his pocket. “You can keep this with you to always remind you that the priesthood is Jesus Christ’s power.” He handed Robert a small picture of Jesus.
Robert stared down at it. Suddenly he felt very small. “Jesus Christ’s power … that’s a big responsibility.”
“But you know what that means?” Dad asked. “Heavenly Father and Jesus love and trust you enough to give you Their power. They know you can honor the priesthood.”
“But how do I honor it?” Robert asked.
Mom smiled. “By serving others. And doing your best to follow Jesus.”
Dad pulled Robert into a hug. “We’re so proud of you!”
Robert felt like the Holy Ghost was giving him a hug too. He smiled as he tucked the picture of Jesus in his wallet. He would always carry it with him so he could remember to honor the priesthood.

On another occasion, when Governor Carlin of Illinois sent Sheriff Thomas King of Adams County and several others as a posse to apprehend the Prophet and deliver him to the emissaries of Governor Boggs of Missouri, Sheriff King became deathly ill. At Nauvoo the Prophet took the sheriff to his home and nursed him like a brother for four days (Cannon, p. 372). Small, kind, and yet significant acts of service were not occasional for the Prophet.

A couple of years ago, when I turned 12, I was invited to attend my first Aaronic Priesthood quorum overnight camp. This was a long-awaited invitation, as my father was a quorum leader and often went camping with the boys in the ward, while I was left at home.
When the day came, I was excited. And I must admit that I desperately wanted to fit in with the older boys. I was determined to prove myself. In that effort it wasn’t long before I was tested to see if I would play along and be part of the group.
My assigned task was to get my father’s car keys so a prank could be pulled on the leaders. I don’t remember exactly what I said to convince my dad, but I soon ran to the group of boys with keys in hand, proud of my accomplishment.
Then came the next assignment. I was to unlock the car door and wedge a stick between the driver’s seat-back and the car horn. And I was to lock the door so the horn would blare into the evening without any way for the leaders to access the car to remove the crude device.
Now, this is where the story turns painfully embarrassing for me. Once I secured the stick in place, I locked the door and ran as fast as I could to hide in a nearby patch of bushes. As I crouched down to the ground, I felt a searing pain. In the darkness and in my haste, I had sat upon a prickly pear cactus.
My screams of pain were drowned out by the blaring horn, and I had no recourse other than gingerly hobbling back to the car, confessing my “sins,” and seeking rudimentary and embarrassing medical attention.
The remainder of that night, I lay on my stomach in a tent while my father, using pliers, removed the cactus spines from my … well, let me just say that I did not sit comfortably for several days afterward.
I have reflected on that experience many times. I can now laugh at the folly of my youth, even as some underlying principles have become clear to me.

I always looked forward to Primary activity day because it meant exciting activities, great games, and tasty treats. Sometimes the activities were serious and spiritual, and I liked those, too, because I learned so much. But of all the great activities I went to, I remember one more than any other.
At 10:00 on the dot that Saturday, I showed up at church, along with the rest of the Primary-age children in my ward. After an opening prayer, a song, and a few instructions, we split into groups. I followed my group into a classroom and was surprised to find a large piece of green-and-white-checked fabric and a piece of solid green fabric, with a layer of fluffy stuff in between. It was all stretched out and tacked to some boards. Nearby were yarn and big needles. “A quilt,” I thought. “Who would be tying a quilt right in the middle of our Primary activity?”
“We are all going to help tie this quilt for someone in the ward who isn’t feeling well,” one of our Primary leaders explained. “After it’s finished, we’ll give it to her.”
“What a great idea!” I thought. When I’m having a hard time, I enjoy wrapping up in a nice warm blanket. But I wondered how well it would turn out since I had never tied a quilt and was pretty sure the rest of the Primary hadn’t either.
Then the Primary president announced who would receive the quilt—my own lucky mom! I was even more excited to try my hardest so the quilt would look nice.
My mom had been very ill all month. In fact, Grandma had to stay with us for a while because Mom was so sick she couldn’t take care of us. She had to be released from her Primary calling, too. Even though Mom’s illness wasn’t easy for our family, something good was going to happen. I would have a baby brother!
With the help of our leaders, we set to work. Even though I wondered if we could really do it, we tied that quilt. Everyone made a stitch or two. Then we each wrote a message, signed our name, or drew a picture in a book that went along with the quilt. I knew what we were doing would mean a lot to Mom because she told me how much she loved and missed all the children in Primary. And the person who bought the fabric must have been inspired, because green is Mom’s favorite color.
Tying the quilt wasn’t hard, but keeping quiet about it sure was. A few weeks later, the secret was finally revealed. On a sunny Sunday morning during singing time, we all walked a block from the church and around the corner to my backyard. We sat on the lawn and waited while one of our leaders knocked on the door.
You can probably guess that when Mom stepped outside and saw all the children gathered, she cried. She cried even more when we sang some of our favorite Primary songs in our best voices. Then the Primary president presented the finished quilt and the book of messages.
“Your singing was beautiful,” Mom said through her tears. “This is one of the nicest things that has ever happened to me.” I knew she meant it. She smiled and cried some more and said that she was going to go inside, wrap up in the quilt, and read every message we had written.
Mom still has that quilt, and I know she always will. It has a few extra-long loops of yarn on the back where some of the stitches weren’t pulled all the way through. Mom says that makes it even more special. To this day, when someone in the family is sick or has a bad day, nothing makes us feel better than wrapping up in the memories and warmth of what we affectionately call the “Primary quilt.”

When Juliana Circe da Costa, a member of the Colônia Branch, Jundiaí Brazil Stake, turned 18, she was worried about attending Relief Society. “I was afraid I would be alone and wouldn’t be comfortable with the adult women in the branch,” she says. “In the beginning it was strange, but the Lord has a purpose for everything. I’m not saying it was easy, but I’m grateful to the Lord and the sisters who were so wonderful to me.”
Juliana’s Relief Society president, Rita Ribereiro Pandolfi, played a key role in Juliana’s transition. “In our branch we receive the young women with open arms,” she says. “We know they face many changes when they leave Young Women and begin attending Relief Society.”

As Heber J. Grant matured, his faith in God also matured. When his first wife, Lucy Stringham Grant, lay critically ill, he called his children into her hospital room and told them she was going to die. His daughter Lutie pleaded with him to exercise his priesthood in her mother’s behalf and not let her die. When the children left the room, Elder Grant knelt by his wife’s bed. Of that prayer, he later said:
“I told the Lord, I acknowledged his hand in life and in death, in joy or in sorrow, in prosperity or adversity. I did not complain because my wife was dying, but that I lacked the strength to see my wife die and have her death affect the faith of my children in the ordinances of the gospel. I therefore pleaded with him to give to my daughter Lutie a testimony that it was his will that her mother should die. Within a few short hours, my wife breathed her last. Then I called the children into the bedroom and announced that their mamma was dead. My little boy Heber commenced weeping bitterly, and Lutie put her arms around him and kissed him, and told him not to cry, that the voice of the Lord had said to her, `In the death of your mamma the will of the Lord will be.’ Lutie knew nothing of my prayers, and this manifestation to her was direct answer to my supplication to the Lord, and for it I have never ceased to be grateful.”

When my friends and I heard that President Gordon B. Hinckley had asked the teens in our temple district to participate in the Manhattan New York Temple youth jubilee, we were excited because we would perform in Radio City Music Hall. We also thought it would be fun to practice with the other stakes in the area and meet new friends.
It wasn’t until the first practice that it hit me that there was a more important reason I was participating in the jubilee—it was something the Lord wanted me to do.
Twelve stakes from the New York Manhattan Temple district were involved in the jubilee, and we practiced every Saturday for three months. Youth from 12 stakes were divided into six groups, and each group learned different songs and dances that represented some Church history events in New York and the ethnic diversity of our area. The practices took time, but knowing President Hinckley was coming to watch our performance gave me the push I needed to get things right.
When the night of the jubilee arrived, I had a bad case of the butterflies. But then I looked into the audience and saw President Hinckley. I had never seen him in person before, and it was incredible to be so close. In his presence, the Spirit was strong.
The night was a big success. Although we were performing in front of a huge audience, I was able to calm down and have fun. The audience laughed and clapped throughout the performance. Nearly 2,400 youth participated. It was the largest group that has ever been onstage at Radio City Music Hall.
After the performance, we were invited to attend a devotional. At the devotional, President Hinckley said he asked the youth to participate in the jubilee because he wanted the Church to be fun for us. Doctrine and Covenants 136:28 says: “If thou art merry, praise the Lord with singing, with music, with dancing, and with a prayer of praise and thanksgiving.” The jubilee helped me appreciate just how much song and dance can lift our spirits and help us be happy. President Hinckley also read to us from his journal about the time two years before when he had been inspired to have the Manhattan temple constructed. He told us that Church members in this generation have a great responsibility to make a difference in the lives of those we come in contact with.
The jubilee made a difference in my life. Meeting youth from other stakes has helped me become more outgoing and happy. I’ve also been blessed with many missionary moments with my friends at school who asked me about the jubilee and my reasons for participating in it.
Church members in this area have waited to have a temple nearby. I am grateful to a latter-day prophet who had the wisdom to allow the youth to celebrate the temple dedication through song and dance. It was truly a time of jubilation.

Families are the backbone of the Church. They also are important in “Project Hope.” Lynn Curtis of Torrance, California, originated the idea of doing a benefit project for Orthopedic Hospital of Los Angeles, California, when he was studentbody president of Torrance High four years ago. Younger brother Dean has come along to be studentbody president too and has spearheaded the project, which recently netted $15,000. More than 100,000 people attended the super-festival. The entire Torrance High campus was turned into model regional sections of the United States. The state flags were on display, and special features of the areas were erected in miniature, such as a Coney Island hot dog stand, a hula hut, a lighthouse, and a huge mountain range for the Rockies. The carnival drew students together in a great cause, and the townspeople are glad there are Mormon boys to stir up involvement.

When I was 15 years old, my parents were hit by a drunk driver on their way to the Los Angeles California Temple.
When my brothers and I arrived at the hospital, we were informed that my dad had already passed away and that my mom had suffered massive traumatic injuries.
My mom ended up surviving, but her life was nothing like the one she had before. After the accident, she was no longer able to move, speak, eat, or drink. For the next 18 years until her passing, she lay in a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling, or propped up in a wheelchair.
For years, I thought it was my unrighteousness that had caused my parents’ accident. I had the mistaken belief that I had done something wrong to incur the displeasure of a wrathful God upon me. I thought that no matter how hard I tried, God was against me, and I was doomed to a constant state of misery.
That was the story I told myself, and it was extremely destructive. That narrative colored the way I viewed everything in life.
Like Laman and Lemuel, I also told myself a false narrative for a long time. I believed I had been wronged and robbed, mainly by God. I had sought my whole life to do the right things and felt I was being presented with one trial after another. I too felt angry.
I lived with this perspective until a friend explained to me that we all suffer and said that I should consider how I am labeling my suffering.
My first impression was, How dare he? How could he understand what I had been through?
But then my thoughts slowly changed, and I felt embarrassed at the rage I felt as I pondered.
I wondered: Do I really think Heavenly Father is punishing me? Do I think everything in life is unfair? Do I only focus on my suffering and nothing else? Do I see the world like Laman and Lemuel did?
Hoping to better understand my mindset and the narrative I had been telling myself, I started writing. I wrote and rewrote my life story, exploring different life choices to see what might have happened if the accident that transformed my life hadn’t occurred.
As I looked back on my life and considered alternative paths, I realized that if I had been able to pursue my own interests, I likely would’ve gone down some wrong paths and may not have gained the strong testimony that I have today. As extremely hard as it was to go through the experiences I did, I wouldn’t have gained the strength, courage, and faith in Jesus Christ that those years of hardship had developed.
Due to my parents’ accident, I was forced to make critical, life-altering decisions at a young age that caused me to stay true to Heavenly Father. And though I chose Him over and over again, I was furious about it because I thought He was being unfair and punishing me.
However, after 20 years, when I decided to stop kicking and screaming and told myself a new story, I started viewing myself through the eyes of a loving Heavenly Father. I realized Heavenly Father would guide me in and through tragedy. Knowing this gave me great hope and confidence in Him and how I could live my life. If I was on Heavenly Father’s side, then who could be against me? (see Romans 8:31). With this perspective in mind, I started to make changes, and my life got infinitely better in numerous ways—and with surprising speed:
I began to love, support, and care for myself as a loving parent would.
I made it a daily practice to exercise, journal, and immerse myself in the scriptures.
I sought meaningful relationships that brought connection and community into my life.
I met with a therapist to better understand myself and the consequences of my choices.
I developed my talents and pursued my goals.
I served others and attended the temple often.
I stopped blaming God and others for the circumstances of my life and started taking responsibility for them.
I woke up each morning excited to start the day; life became joyful.
I have experienced change firsthand through the actions I’ve taken. As I have relied on the Savior, He has helped bring true joy into my life.

Constancy #4: Develop and live within a budget. A friend of mine has a daughter who went overseas with a BYU study-abroad program for a semester. She was constantly writing home for more money. His concern was such that he called her long-distance and questioned her about the need for the additional funds. At one point in the conversation the daughter explained, “But dad, I can tell you where every penny you have sent me has been spent.”
He replied, “You don’t seem to get the point. I’m interested in a budget—a plan for spending—not in a diary of where the money has gone.”

Julius Caesar himself would have been proud of the costume.
A brass breastplate, red cape, centurion’s helmet, and pleated warrior’s toga made President A. Brent Brockbank, second counselor in the San Jose California Stake presidency, look like one of Rome’s conquering legionnaires. President Brockbank was participating in a weekend of games and service projects planned by the youth of the stake. The activities included a multi-stake dance and a fireside.
His outfit was in complete harmony with the final Saturday afternoon event—a chariot race pitting homemade vehicles from each ward in the stake against each other.
The stake’s teenagers, divided into six groups by wards, had labored on service projects since early Saturday morning. No wonder they were happy now to relish a well-earned lunch (organized by the Laurels), served from food-laden tables in the Del Mar High School stadium. Let the second counselor steal the spotlight—momentarily.
President Brockbank’s biceps bulged under the weight of a gold-painted plaster-of-paris statue of a charioteer cracking his whip over the heads of six galloping stallions. He explained to the crowd that the Ben Hur Memorial Traveling Award was destined for the ward whose team was fastest in a 440-yard dash around the track. One person was to ride in the chariot, six would pull. Turning first to those still heaping their plates with food, then to those in the stands basking in the west coast sunshine, President Brockbank raised the trophy in the air.
“Those who are about to die, we salute you!” he shouted to rivals in another ward, making fun of ancient Coliseum rites. Stake members, young and old alike, cheered the “emperor” on. The tone for the afternoon—a mood of happy excitement—was set.

The young people of a certain ward had worked to earn the large sum of money needed to go on an adventure trip.
I had had some acquaintance with their bishop. He called and asked if I would help him get some news publicity so these young people would be recognized for the fine things they were doing.
I said I would not help him. He was surprised and asked why. I answered that although it was commendable that the young people had worked hard to earn this money, some things are interesting while other things are important, and that there may be a higher purpose for the funds they had obtained from all the energy they had expended.
He was even more surprised and asked what I meant. I explained that my ministry takes me into countries where the people are less privileged than where he lives. I know of their challenges and sacrifices. I told him of the struggles of young people in those areas to obtain the needed funds to support themselves on missions. For the family to have enough food is often a challenge. Clothing is shared and worn out. Fashion is whatever is available, and in many cases that is not much. I explained that the amount of money these fine young people had earned would keep several of these missionaries in the field for their entire missions. We talked about the relative value of an adventure trip as compared to that of missionary service.
He said, “Are you asking me to have these young people donate these funds to the general missionary fund of the Church?” I said, “No, I have not asked you to do that. I have just said that there are finer things to do.” I explained that I was not against the kind of project they were planning, but there must be a balance, and, by comparison, some things are interesting and enticing while other things are important.
Later, the bishop said he had talked to the young people and they had caught the vision and spirit of our previous conversation. They wanted to sacrifice their adventure trip and donate all the money to the general missionary fund. They asked if they could come and bring the check and have their picture taken with me as they made the donation, and could they have the picture and an article put into the news?
I surprised him again. I said no. Then I said, “You might consider helping your young people learn a higher law of recognition. Recognition from on high is silent. It is carefully and quietly recorded there. Let them feel the joy and gain the treasure in their heart and soul that come from silent, selfless service.”
They did this, and now, as a reward, each has a memory and a pride which they recognize as one of the finer and more important things that they have ever done.

When we arrived in Merthyr, the scene had already been set by those who had been directing our lives for the past year. It felt as though we were in a giant genealogical chess game over which we had no control. Terry was beginning to feel the same forces in action as well. Every morning he would present us with a list of places we would visit that day. One day he showed us his list, which had two sides. He said that he created one list the night before and then this morning, for some unknown reason, he changed it and added a new place: Gadfield Elm Chapel in Gloucestershire. He said he didn’t know why he added it but thought it would be interesting for us to see. Of course, we acquiesced.
Miracle number eight: As we got to Gadfield Elm we discovered the reason. The first ownership of the chapel was given to Wilford Woodruff by the United Brethren, but it rested on or near brother Benbow’s farm. Many of the early members were baptized in Benbow’s pond. And Benbow was the maiden name of Terry’s wife. Terry was stunned. He kept saying he had no idea why he had changed the itinerary for the day, but we all knew why.

Long ago I worked for one of our railroads whose tracks threaded the passes through these western mountains. I frequently rode the trains. It was in the days when there were steam locomotives. Those great monsters of the rails were huge and fast and dangerous. I often wondered how the engineer dared the long journey through the night. Then I came to realize that it was not one long journey, but rather a constant continuation of a short journey. The engine had a powerful headlight that made bright the way for a distance of 400 or 500 yards. The engineer saw only that distance, and that was enough, because it was constantly before him all through the night into the dawn of the new day.

“Call me anonymous,” I scrawled on the inside of my notebook cover. It was geography, my most depressing class, not only because I’m not exactly a scholar in geography, but also because I was sitting behind two somebodies in our school, Beverly Allred and Jenny Banks.
Beverly, who had been voted “Miss Dental Hygiene” just two days after she’d had her braces removed, was beautiful and self-confident. I suspected she would have won the honor even if her dad hadn’t been a dentist. Jenny, a cheerleader, was animated and vivacious. The two were good friends who giggled and spoke secrets and excluded me. Even when they looked toward the back of the room or out the rear door into the hall, they never looked at me. They always looked around me as if I were merely a fixture in the room.
What makes a person anonymous? I didn’t know. I just knew with a gnawing ache that nobody at Jackson knew or cared that I was around except maybe Lucy Price and Jim Wilcox, the only other Mormons. But they were older than I and not in any of my classes.
I knew even before I asked her what my married sister Janet would say, but I asked her anyway.
“Why am I so anonymous at school? Nobody even noticed when I was out with the flu.”
“You’re only anonymous because you think you are,” Janet answered. “Honestly, Martha, you walk around with such a scowl on your face that people are afraid of you.”
“When you’re a dud, why smile,” I said.
“You are not a dud!” she said getting exasperated. “How many times do I have to tell you that? Just smile, for goodness sake!”
Other members of my family had been hinting the same thing for the last year. Mom had put a quote on the bulletin board in the kitchen for my benefit. It read: “A smile is a light in the window that says the heart is at home.” Jeff, my brother, didn’t hint, he just called me “the Sphinx.”
“Well, maybe you’re right,” I said. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to just try it.”
“Hallelujah!” Janet said. “Will you try it tomorrow?”
“Okay, maybe I will.” It surely couldn’t hurt me to try, I thought. Besides, I knew I had a nice smile. My teeth were straight, and Dad had told me once I could easily be in a toothpaste advertisement.
I meant to try the experiment the next day, but it began with one of those rushed mornings when everything goes wrong. I had spent over two hours on the algebra assignment that I left on my desk. That meant I had to hurry and recopy it between classes. Luckily, I still had the rough draft in my notebook. I was so busy that I didn’t even remember I had teeth until I overheard Jenny and Beverly talking about that very subject.
“I have to get braces next week,” Jenny complained. “I wish I’d gotten them when you did so that I’d be finished with them now. Your teeth really look fantastic.”
“Thanks, I think they turned out pretty good,” Beverly said, obviously pleased. Then she turned slightly.
“Know who else has pretty teeth?”
Suddenly, I was listening intently. The blood rushed to my face. Me, I thought. I do! They were going to acknowledge my existence at last.
“Alice,” Beverly said.
“Alice?” We all turned to look at Alice who sat two rows from us.
“We’re just talking about how pretty your teeth are,” Jenny said when Alice gave them an inquiring look.
“Oh, thanks,” she said happily. I looked at Alice’s teeth as she smiled. They were pretty, but no prettier than mine. I should have been happy for her, but instead I was miserable for myself. Why hadn’t they complimented me instead of Alice?
“Did you have to wear braces?” Jenny asked.
“No, I was just lucky,” Alice answered.
I was lucky too, I wanted to say. Especially considering the fact that I sucked my thumb until I was eight. But, of course, I didn’t say it. It would have been a dumb thing to say—a “notice me” scream. Nor did I say, my dad thinks I could easily be in a toothpaste advertisement because my teeth are so straight. There are some things you just don’t say. But, what I did was just as bad. When Beverly turned and happened to glance at me, I was grinning widely, a silly, empty, hopeful grin, so that the girls would see that yes, indeed, my teeth were pretty too. Beverly gave me a “you’re odd” look, shrugged her shoulders at Jenny, who giggled slightly, and the two girls turned to face the front of the room.
Again the blood rushed to my face when I realized how obviously I was shouting “notice me” with that toothy grin. What a fool I am, I thought. What a ridiculous fool, sitting here grinning, hoping that someone will notice that my teeth are nice. They noticed all right. They noticed that I was trying too hard. Well, so much for the smiling experiment. I’m never going to smile again!
For the next few months I scowled. Of course, that wasn’t unusual for me, and nobody noticed much of a change. I retired more deeply into my shell, and things got worse instead of better. By the time spring came, I was more lonely and miserable than I had ever been in my life. I had faded into the scenery. I was not a person, I was part of the hall, part of the woodwork, a nobody with no place at Jackson … until that day.
It was one of those surprising days when suddenly it’s spring. Just the day before it had snowed, and now the sun was shining so brightly into the windows that even I felt the rush of warmth into the normally cold, unfeeling halls. I had gone to the office and was walking down the front hall when it happened.
“Hi!” Nancy Patrick in my home economics class said it first.
“Hi,” I answered. Then a boy in geography said it. And then Margaret, a girl in my gym class smiled broadly at me. “Hi,” I responded. I couldn’t figure it out. Why was everyone so friendly? Was it a special day at school?
“Hi,” said a boy I didn’t even know.
“Hi,” I said in almost a whisper. Then I cleared my throat. “Hi,” I said more loudly. It must be “Hi day” or something like that, I thought. Funny, I hadn’t heard anything about a special day. When two more people smiled at me, I studied the situation, and then I studied myself. Suddenly, I knew. The sun was so bright at the far end of the hall that it had created a glare that was causing me to squint and pull my mouth into a grimace. No, I wasn’t smiling. I only looked as if I was smiling. People thought I was friendly. Was that really all it took? No, that couldn’t be all. It couldn’t be that easy. Or could it? I carefully changed my grimace into a smile, a real smile.
“Hi,” said Jackie Rollins. She’d never spoken to me before.
“Hi,” I said with mounting enthusiasm. Then I saw them. Beverly and Jenny had just turned the corner. My smile faded and I felt the enthusiasm slipping out of me. I stopped it before it got away completely. No, just for once, I would not let them defeat me. Just for once, I would let them know I existed and smile at them. But, what if they didn’t smile back? What if they ignored me? Well, that would be their problem. As they approached, I mustered up all my courage.
“Hi!” I said, smiling broadly. The boldness of that hi surprised me as well as the girls. It wasn’t a nobody hi. It was a somebody hi.
“Hi,” Beverly said uncertainly.
“Hi,” Jenny said with more vigor. “See you in geog!” After they had passed me, I was still smiling, inside and out. I did it! I thought. It works! I’m a somebody, a real person! An important person!
I walked into my science class with the broad, brave smile still on my face. Bill, the tall redhead who sat next to me and who had only spoken to me twice all year (once to borrow a pencil), wrinkled his freckled nose and grinned at me. “Hey! You have teeth.”
“What’s wrong with a person smiling?” I asked defensively.
“Nothing. Believe me, nothing. It’s just that I thought maybe Mormons weren’t allowed to smile or something.” I stared at him. Had he really said what I thought he had just said?
“Hey, turn off the icy stare. I’m just kidding.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, coming to my senses. “But how did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That I’m a Mormon.”
“When you’re different, word just gets around. Everybody knows.”
Still in shock, I opened my notebook and saw the words “Call me anonymous.” I scratched them out. Underneath I drew a window, and inside I drew a smile, a big, toothy smile. Then I wrote “Call me friendly!”

When I was serving as a missionary in northern Mexico, a few days after the baptismal service of the Valdez family we received a telephone call from Brother Valdez asking us to come to his house. He had an important question for us. Now that he knew the will of the Lord regarding the Word of Wisdom, and even though it would be difficult to find a new job, he wondered if he should continue to work for the cigarette company where he had worked for many years. Only a few days later Brother Valdez again asked us to come by and visit him. He had decided to quit his job because he was not willing to go against his convictions. Then with a smile and emotion in his voice, he told us that the very day he quit his old job, another company had called to offer him a much better position.

This summer the older girls in our ward Primary went swimming at the local pool for activity day. Every girl came, and one brought a friend from another church. They were polite and courteous to each other and everyone around them. That alone would have made me proud, but the girls’ next actions were such that I’m sure Heavenly Father was proud, too.
In the pool, an argument arose between some children not in our group. They were fighting over a raft, and the tension was growing. Some of our girls stepped in and helped make peace. They spoke in soft voices and helped keep the situation calm. In the end, everyone went away happy. A woman who saw the incident was so impressed that she approached one of our leaders to praise our girls and ask who they were.
Neither the woman nor the man asked to be taught by missionaries right then and there. But if they come into contact with the Church again, perhaps they will remember the examples set by the activity-day girls.