Gospel Story Finder

One night, while serving as a youth leader in my ward, I arrived at the church and was not surprised to find a group of young men playing basketball in the gym while they waited for opening exercises to begin. I was surprised, however, to see David. He was relatively new in the ward but had already demonstrated that attending Church-related activities was not a normal part of his routine. Coming to a Young Men activity was a big step.
David did a pretty good job of quietly easing into the group without being noticed—that is, until the basketball rebounded off the rim and went straight at him. He caught the ball and realized it was his turn to take a shot. He dribbled a few times and clumsily threw the ball up toward the hoop. It banged hard off the bottom of the rim and came right back at him, hitting him on the arms he had put up to protect his head. Everyone laughed, and so did David.
The ball then went into the hands of another boy, who mockingly imitated David’s awkward shot. As before, most of the boys laughed, but this time David was not laughing. He had come to be a part of his priests quorum but had become the brunt of their laughter.
David turned to the exit and walked out.
My heart broke for David. I was not sure what to do, but I knew I needed to try anything to get him to stay. I followed David out the door, trying to think of something to say that might help him have the courage to come back.
As I was walking after David, I was surprised to see Dennis, one of the other priests, run past me and put his arm around David. I do not know what he said, but Dennis must have been inspired, for David’s heart was softened and he hesitantly, but willingly, turned around and came back into the church. It was a wonderful moment.
It was only a few weeks later when a similar situation occurred. Some of our ward members, including many of our young men, were practicing for an upcoming theatrical performance. Todd, a priest, was one of the performers. During a rehearsal, someone mockingly mimicked Todd’s performance. He was offended and started walking toward the door dejectedly.
“Oh, no,” I thought, “here we go again.” I felt compelled to follow him outside and encourage him to ignore the offense and come back.
What happened next was a beautiful surprise.
This time it was not Dennis who hurried past me, but David. David, who only a few weeks earlier had been the dejected one, was now the inspired one. He ran up to Todd and, putting his arm around him, pleaded with him to return. Todd accepted the invitation, and within minutes both boys were standing side by side on the stage. David had now successfully convinced another to stay.
As I witnessed this example of the Aaronic Priesthood in action, I was reminded of a statement by Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “We are so busy checking on our own temperatures, we do not notice the burning fevers of others even when we can offer them some of the needed remedies, such as encouragement, kindness, and commendation. The hands which hang down and most need to be lifted up belong to those too discouraged even to reach out anymore” (“Swallowed Up in the Will of the Father,” Ensign, Nov. 1995, 23).
David’s hands had been ones that hung down. From the selfless act of one young man to another, David’s hands then became those that lifted up.

Then one day, about a year later, one of Olivio’s American teammates said, “Hey—you’re Mormon. Don’t Mormons go on missions? Are you going to quit the team and go too?”
That started Olivio thinking. “The things I learned made sense to me, and I said, ‘Well, if these things come from God. I have to explain them to other people.”
But leaving basketball—that would be tough. Olivio had just made the Portuguese national team, and his professional team had offered him a very lucrative contract—lots of money, a car, and a luxurious apartment.
“It was a difficult decision to leave basketball, so I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. There it said that I was going to serve the Lord, so I decided to do it. God prepared me to come here and find the gospel by giving me these talents to play basketball. I don’t have a problem leaving it to serve him. I think I can help many people.”
And now, Elder Olivio Gomes Manuel, who left northern Portugal almost two years ago to serve in southern Portugal, is helping many people. He’s well known throughout the mission for his good nature and easy smile, his hard work, and his gentle rapport with the people he towers over.

Throughout the scriptures, and indeed in the writings of thoughtful Christians through the centuries, we find examples of how Christ’s message of light and salvation can spiritually and physically sustain us. As a young priest traveling in Italy in 1833, Englishman John Henry Newman encountered emotional and physical darkness when illness detained him there for several weeks. He became deeply discouraged, and a nurse who saw his tears asked what troubled him. All he could reply was that he was sure God had work for him to do in England. Aching to return home, he finally found passage on a small boat.
Not long after the ship set sail, thick fog descended and obscured the hazardous cliffs surrounding them. Trapped for a week in the damp, gray darkness, the ship unable to travel forward or back, Newman pled for his Savior’s help as he penned the words we now know as the hymn “Lead, Kindly Light.”
Lead, kindly Light, amid th’encircling gloom; …
The night is dark, and I am far from home; …
Keep thou my feet; …
one step enough for me.
(Hymns, no. 97)
This hymn echoes a truth our hearts confirm: though trials may extinguish other sources of light, Christ will illuminate our path, “keep our feet,” and show us the way home. For as the Savior has promised, “he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness” (John 8:12).

Walking through town one June afternoon on my way to a business meeting, I was prompted to stop and look inside a tavern’s open door. All I could see was a long bar and a row of stools. I turned and left. I had no interest in being in such a place; in fact, I did not want to be in such a place. But as I continued walking up the street, I had the strongest feeling that I should return and investigate further.
Curious, I turned around, walked back to the tavern, and looked through the doorway. “This is rather a foolish thing to do,” I thought, especially when I saw only the bartender behind the bar. So I continued in my walk. But as I waited at the corner for the traffic light to change, I felt an even stronger prompting to go back to the tavern. I went back.
The tavern appeared empty. Even the bartender wasn’t in the room. I walked toward the rear of the room. Then I noticed the figure of a man in the corner, seated on a stool and hunched over the glass in front of him. Something seemed familiar about the ragged, unshaven face.
I moved closer, and the memory of someone from my past came to me. The man was about the right size, small and rather frail. Could it be Deuce? (His real name was Dwayne.) I hadn’t seen Deuce for almost eighteen years. But how could he be in this condition? “Deuce, Deuce is that you?” I asked. The man look around vaguely but didn’t respond. “Deuce, what are you doing here? I can’t believe it’s you!”
But it was him. We had been close friends in our teenage years.
Deuce and his twin brother, Ace, had had a good relationship with their parents but had received little guidance from them. Their father had been a hard-working barber who had cared for his lovable but alcoholic wife.
Deuce had had polio as a child, which left him with a bad limp and impaired use of one arm. A couple of serious accidents as a teenager left him having to use a cane. But these handicaps only seemed to concentrate his ability to paint. He was a talented oil painter and took his work very seriously. His paintings were vivid and life-like; I still remember his painting of a tiger that seemed to leap from the canvas.
I lost contact with Deuce when I went into the navy for several years. I had heard that Ace had also joined the navy and was subsequently reported missing.
“Huh! Who’s that?” Deuce responded sluggishly.
“It’s Richard, your old friend!”
His eyes lit with vague recognition. He looked as if he might cry. He was obviously in bad shape physically, and it appeared that he hadn’t been eating regularly. I finally convinced him that I was real and coaxed him off the bar stool. He could barely walk, even with the walker he now used. I took him to a nearby restaurant, where I got him to eat a little food. As he began to talk more sensibly, I discovered that he had no money and was sharing a room in a cheap hotel.
“Look, Deuce, I’m really late for an important appointment, but I want to spend some time with you,” I said, before taking him to his hotel with instructions to bathe and shave. Later, I picked up a change of clothes for him at a men’s store and returned to help him dress. We drove home, and I introduced him to my wife, Verna.
I related the story of our reunion during dinner, and then told Verna of my earlier friendship and boyhood experiences with Deuce and his family.
By then, he was quite clear in his thinking and was able to tell the harrowing story of how he had been driven to his present condition.
He described the shock of losing his twin brother. Several years later, his mother had died of alcoholism, and then his father had been killed in an automobile accident. Working as a commercial artist, he had tried to forget his problems by drinking. He eventually lost his job and lived on a small disability pension. This downward trend in his life had continued for many years. He had given up all hope and had been in total despair when I found him.
After I took him back to his hotel, Verna and I talked long into the night about his situation and possible solutions. He was obviously incapable of helping himself. “We can’t leave him where he is!” Verna said.
“But what can we do?” I asked.
“If nothing else, we’ll just have to bring him here,” she replied.
The next day at work, I couldn’t get Deuce off of my mind. In the afternoon I went searching for him. He was confused by my invitation, but agreed to come and live with my family. We gathered up his few possessions and went home.
It was a big decision for my family—not because we didn’t have room, but because having a strange man around the house was awkward at first, even if he was harmless. He was, in fact, quite pathetic. He had to use his walker to get around, and because his bedroom was in the basement, getting up and down the stairs several times a day was a tremendous challenge.
My family soon accepted Deuce. Good food, rest, companionship, and love helped him recover. The children loved him because he was so gentle and understanding. But the effects of the years of alcoholism were hard to overcome. His physical impairments and extreme loss of normal movement made recovery difficult and total recovery impossible. For the first month, he was content to just recuperate. At times, he tried to help the children with chores or Verna with household tasks, but he was too shaky and unstable.
Deuce often wanted alcohol, but Verna and I firmly refused him any, and there was no way he could get it himself. Frequently, he would break out in a cold sweat and shake. But with no additional alcohol to reinforce what was already in his system, he eventually gained control of himself.
With his recovery came restlessness, and Deuce decided that he should try to again develop his former talent. I built him a special heavy-duty easel that would not only hold the canvas but also help steady him, since he was still very shaky.
It had been years since he had painted, and he was disappointed and frustrated with his first attempts. But eventually he was able to paint a sea scene for Verna to show his gratitude. Many paintings followed, and I helped him sell a few of them. His former talent, however, never fully returned.
He soon became very much a part of our family. And although he had never been religious, he started coming to church with us. Verna and I had joined the Church after we were married, and Deuce was impressed with the obvious changes he had seen in me. He met with the missionaries and was baptized. The doctrines of the Church excited him, especially the idea of being resurrected to a whole and fit body, and the promise of being with his family again.
Although he found his new faith stimulating and enjoyed his new experiences, he felt concerned about being a burden on our family. He knew, however, that his limited capabilities restricted him from ever being independent again.
About this time, a second miraculous reunion occurred. On one of my monthly business trips to Portland, Oregon, approximately four hundred kilometers from our home in Seattle, Washington, I checked into a hotel I had never used before. To my amazement, the luggage attendant that assisted me with my bags was Deuce’s long-lost twin brother, whom we had believed to be dead.
Ace was overjoyed to see an old friend and to learn the whereabouts of his twin brother. A reunion was quickly arranged, and Ace, divorced and living alone, welcomed the opportunity to provide a home for Deuce.
My family kept close contact with “Uncle Deuce” until his death, prematurely brought on by his frailties and years of drinking. But he had found the gospel and had made many wholesome and eternal friendships.

My older son, who is currently serving a mission, told me of an experience he had while he worked as a disc jockey for K-96. He worked the two till six a.m. shift. One evening he received a phone call from a BYU coed who was not a member of the Church. He could sense that she was distraught and very emotional. She wanted to know the phone number of the Crisis Center since she said, “I am contemplating suicide.”

It seems that her roommates had never invited her to church meetings or activities. They had meant well by honoring her own beliefs, but in the process had forgotten to include her, had forgotten to reach out and touch her. They had not been harsh or mean, but, at the same time, their “neutral” position had not built or sustained a relationship. She felt so alone and unloved.

He was able to keep her on the telephone, telling her about the gospel and about the Savior, only occasionally breaking off to do the necessary station identification. As the sun started to peek over Timpanogos, only then was she able to bring her emotions under control. His two-hour conversation helped put her life into perspective. He had reached out and touched her.

The Isaac Morley farm in Kirtland was the site of the service project. Overgrown with thorny vines, grass choking the lanes, trees crowding the old home, the farm was discouraging. Cleaning it up looked like an impossible task. But never underestimate a determined group of LDS teenagers. They tore into their assigned tasks with a vengeance. “I haven’t worked that hard in years,” said Autumn Cornaby, 17, of the Dublin Ward. “You could feel everyone working together. I thought we would never be able to clear this road.”
The group stuck with it, ignoring the scratches and the heat. By the end of the day, the road was cleared, the lawn cut, the trees trimmed, and the flowerbeds around the house cleaned out.
After a day of hard work, they heard the stories about the wonderful visions that were given to early Church leaders on the farm. One verse in the 64th section of the Doctrine and Covenants, which was received on that farm, took on a personal meaning. “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great” (D&C 64:33).

My name is Somaro Manning, and I am a professional building contractor in Jamaica. In October 2023, my business partner, Loren McDonald, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and I had the opportunity to bid on and complete a Church humanitarian project in our area. Little did I know this opportunity would lead to my baptism into the Church.
My business partner, whom I consider to be my brother, would often nudge me, encouraging me to be baptized. After working on the humanitarian project and having in-depth conversations with strong men in the gospel, I met with the missionaries and saw how truthful and sincere they were in spreading the gospel of Christ. On November 6, 2023, I was baptized a member of the Church. My wife is not yet a member, but my hope is that she will accept the gospel soon so that she, too, can experience the joy and blessings that the gospel brings.

In an April 2000 general conference talk entitled “Your Eternal Voyage,” President Monson related one specific example from his childhood. He and his friends enjoyed playing baseball in the alleyway by their homes. There was one problem, though: a neighbor named Mrs. Shinas. If the ball went onto her property, her large dog would retrieve it and take it to Mrs. Shinas who would place it with all the other balls she had confiscated. In his own words he stated, “She was our nemesis, the destroyer of our fun—even the bane of our existence.” [6] There was some obvious suffering on both the part of the boys and Mrs. Shinas. One evening as he was watering his lawn, young Tommy noticed that Mrs. Shinas’ lawn was dry. He decided to take a few extra minutes and water her lawn. This service continued through the summer. When the fall came, he even cleaned up her leaves. During all this time he had not seen Mrs. Shinas. Early one evening, Mrs. Shinas opened her door and invited Tommy over for cookies and milk. She then presented him with a box filled with all the balls she had confiscated over the years. Let me finish the story in his own words:

The treasure, however, was not to be found in the gift but rather in her words. I saw for the first time a smile come across the face of Mrs. Shinas, and she said, “Tommy, I want you to have these baseballs, and I want to thank you for being kind to me.” I expressed my own gratitude to her and walked from her home a better boy than when I entered. No longer were we enemies. Now we were friends. [7]

Eleven-year-old Jennifer stared out the window of her Primary classroom. Marshmallow clouds drifted across a blue March sky. Sometimes she saw imaginary faces in the clouds.
“Jennifer,” the teacher said impatiently, “what do you think of the idea?”
“I’m sorry, Sister Sparks. I guess I wasn’t listening.”
“I know,” Sister Sparks said dryly, at which the other students giggled. “We’ve been discussing a service project, and it’s been decided that we will visit the Golden Years Rest Home once a week for the next two months.”
“What will we do there?” Jennifer asked.
“We can sing, put on skits, play checkers and other games, and just visit with the folks who live there.”
Jennifer didn’t think that sounded like very much fun. She was apprehensive about being with people she didn’t know, especially older people.
The first visit to the home was not very successful. The children felt awkward and uncomfortable. The second visit was better. They felt a bit more relaxed, and the residents seemed to enjoy their company.
By the third visit the children felt at home, and they hurried to pick out their favorite partners to visit and play games with.
During one visit Jennifer noticed an elderly lady for the first time. She sat alone, looking out the window. Her fine, wispy white hair framed a face with deep wrinkles. Jennifer went over and stood silently beside the lady for a moment. Finally she said, “Hi, I’m Jennifer Wheeler. Would you like me to read to you?”
The old lady looked up with watery blue eyes. Her pale lips spread in a slow, sweet smile. “That would be very nice, dear, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather just talk.”
Jennifer drew up a chair and sat down. “What’s your name?” she asked.
The old lady laughed softly. “It might be one you’ve never heard. It’s Clementine. Clementine Dodd. But everyone here calls me Clemmie. Tell me about yourself.”
Jennifer told her about school and her family and friends. Her eyes sparkled as she added, “Oh, you should see my cat! Her name is Bounce. Don’t you think that’s a nice name?”
Clemmie agreed, and they sat in silence for a while. Then Jennifer said, “Tell me about when you were a little girl. Did you like school?”
Clemmie’s eyes misted over as her memory went back to those long-ago days. She was quiet for so long that Jennifer thought she hadn’t heard the question.
At last she said, “Yes, Jennifer, I liked school, but I had to quit in the sixth grade. We were very poor. Oh, the chores we had to do! There was wood to chop and carry in, buckets of water to bring in from the well, oil lamps to clean and fill. We didn’t have much time for school or for play.”
Jennifer found it hard to imagine Clemmie as a young girl, harder still to think of anyone’s working so hard just to survive. She thought of her own warm, bright home and the simple chores she had to do. “But didn’t you ever get to do anything you wanted to do?” she asked.
Clemmie chuckled. “I remember one time when I was about sixteen. I had a beau, one of the hired hands from a neighboring farm, who had invited me to a barn dance. Shortly before the dance my father noticed that the chicken coop hadn’t been cleaned and reminded me that it was my turn to clean it. I had completely forgotten! He said I couldn’t go out that night until the job was done.”
“What did you do, Clemmie? Did you have to stay home?”
Clemmie smiled as she continued: “No, I talked my brother into doing it for me. I had to promise to take his turn the next three times. If you knew what a hated job it was, you’d know how much I wanted to go to that dance!”
Jennifer went back home, thinking that things were sure a lot different now than they were in Clemmie’s day.
Over the next few weeks, Jennifer and Clemmie became great friends. Clemmie had new stories of her childhood to tell every visit, and Jennifer came to appreciate what it was like to live in those bygone days.
As they were going to the nursing home one week toward the end of April, Jennifer was thinking about how much she would miss Clemmie and her stories at the end of the month. When they entered the home, Jennifer noticed right away that Clemmie was not in her usual spot by the window. “Where do you suppose Clemmie is?” she asked her teacher.
“I’ll find out,” Sister Sparks replied and went to talk to the head nurse.
When she came back, Jennifer could tell by her expression that something was wrong. “What is it, Sister Sparks? Is Clemmie sick?”
“No, dear. I’m sorry to have to tell you, but Clemmie died a few days ago. The nurse said she went peacefully in her sleep.”
Jennifer felt the hot tears burn her eyes, and she turned away so the others wouldn’t see her crying.
Sister Sparks put an arm around her shoulders and said, “You brought a lot of pleasure and happiness into the last weeks of her life.”
As the class left the nursing home, Sister Sparks drew Jennifer aside. She handed her a small leather-bound book. The cover was cracked and worn at the edges, and Jennifer could just make out the faded gilt lettering, Daily Journal.
“The nurse gave me this to give to you,” Sister Sparks said. “It was Clemmie’s journal when she was a young girl. Clemmie wanted you to have it.”
Jennifer almost cried again as she looked at the writing on the worn pages. She knew the journal was something she would treasure always.

“OK! We’re going to play a game called ‘Quiz Show’! Question #1: Do you want to empty the dishwasher?”
“Um … no.”
“Bzzzt! Wrong answer! So sorry. Question #2: Would you like to empty the dishwasher and mow the lawn?”
“What?! No!”
“Bzzzt! Wrong again! Question #3: Would you like to empty the dishwasher, mow the lawn, and wash the car?”
“OK! I get it! Yes!”
“Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner!”
Clap! Clap! Clap!
Ryan Stoker

Have you ever had opportunity to do something for which you felt unprepared or inadequate but that you were blessed for trying?
I have. Here’s one example.
Some years ago, Elder Richard G. Scott, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, kindly invited, “Gerrit, would you like to watercolor with me?”
Elder Scott said painting helped him observe and create. He has written: “Attempt to be creative, even if the results are modest. … Creativity can engender a spirit of gratitude for life and for what the Lord has woven into your being. … If you choose wisely, it doesn’t have to absorb a lot of time.”2
President Henry B. Eyring describes his artistic meditations as motivated by “a feeling of love,” including “the love of a Creator who expects His children to become like Him—to create and to build.”3 President Eyring’s creative works provide a “unique, spiritual perspective on testimony and faith.”4
President Boyd K. Packer’s artwork illustrates a fundamental gospel message: “God is the Creator of the heavens and the earth and all things that are in them, that all nature bears testimony of that divinely directed creation, and that there is [a] complete harmony between nature, science, and the gospel of Jesus Christ.”5
Alma testifies, “All things denote there is a God.”6 Our Primary children sing, “Whenever I hear the song of a bird or look at the blue, blue sky, … I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world Heav’nly Father created for me.”7 Author Victor Hugo celebrates the “miraculous relationships between beings and things; in this inexhaustible whole, from sun to aphid. … All the birds that fly hold the thread of eternity in their claws. … A nebula is an anthill of stars.”8
And that brings us back to Elder Scott’s invitation.
“Elder Scott,” I replied, “I would like to become more observant and creative. I thrill to imagine Heavenly Father paints with billowing clouds and every hue of sky and water. But”—here was a long pause—“Elder Scott,” I said, “I have no skill to watercolor. I worry it may frustrate you to try and teach me.”
Elder Scott smiled and arranged for us to meet. On the appointed day, he prepared the paper, paints, and brushes. He sketched some outlines and helped wet the paper for me.
We used as a model his beautiful watercolor titled Campfire at Sunset. As we painted, we talked about faith—how as we face the light and warmth of a campfire, we leave the darkness and uncertainty behind us—how on sometimes long, lonely nights, our campfire of faith can give hope and assurance. And the dawn does come. Our campfire of faith—our memories, experiences, and heritage of faith in God’s goodness and tender mercies in our life—has strengthened us through the night.
My testimony is—for those who seek, allow, and live for it—the dawn of faith, sometimes gradually, will come or can return. The light will come when we desire and seek it, when we are patient and obedient to God’s commandments, when we are open to God’s grace, healing, and covenants.
As we began painting, Elder Scott encouraged, “Gerrit, even with one lesson you will paint something you will want to keep and remember.” Elder Scott was right. I treasure the watercolor of our campfire of faith Elder Scott helped me paint. My artistic ability was and remains limited, but the remembrance of our campfire of faith can encourage us in five ways.
First, our campfire of faith can encourage us to find joy in wholesome creativity.
There is joy in imagining, learning, doing worthwhile new things. This is especially true as we deepen faith and trust in Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. We cannot love ourselves enough to save ourselves. But Heavenly Father loves us more and knows us better than we love or know ourselves. We can trust the Lord and lean not unto our own understanding.9
Have you ever been the only one not invited to someone’s birthday party?
Have you ever been chosen last, or not chosen, when teams were selected?
Have you prepared for a school test, a job interview, an opportunity you really wanted—and you felt you failed?
Have you prayed for a relationship that, for whatever reason, has not worked out?
Have you faced chronic illness, been abandoned by a spouse, agonized for family?
Our Savior knows our circumstances. As we exercise God-given agency and engage all our faculties in humility and faith, our Savior, Jesus Christ, can help us meet life’s challenges and joys. Faith includes a desire and choice to believe. Faith also comes from obeying God’s commandments, given to bless us, as we follow His covenant path.
When we have felt, or feel, uncertain, alone, frustrated, angry, let down, disappointed, or estranged from God and His restored Church, it may take an extra measure of effort and faith to enter again on His covenant path. But it is worth it! Please come, or come again, unto the Lord Jesus Christ! God’s love is stronger than the cords of death—temporal or spiritual.10 Our Savior’s Atonement is infinite and eternal. Each of us strays and falls short. We may, for a time, lose our way. God lovingly assures us, no matter where we are or what we have done, there is no point of no return. He waits ready to embrace us.11
Second, our campfire of faith can encourage us to minister in new, higher, and holier Spirit-filled ways.
Such ministering brings miracles and the blessings of covenant belonging—where we feel God’s love and seek to minister to others in that spirit.
Not long ago, Sister Gong and I became acquainted with a father and family blessed by a faithful priesthood brother who came to their bishop and asked if he (the priesthood brother) could be a home teaching companion with the father. The father was not active and not interested in home teaching. But as the father’s heart changed, he and this loving priesthood brother began visiting “their” families. After one such visit, his wife—herself not then attending church—asked her husband how things had gone. The father admitted, “I may have felt something”—then he went to the kitchen to get a beer.12
But one thing followed another: tender experiences, ministering service, changing hearts, temple preparation class, coming to church, being sealed as a family in the holy temple. Imagine how grateful the children and grandchildren are to their father and mother and to the ministering brother who came as a friend and companion with their father to minister to and love others.
A third campfire of faith encouragement: creative gospel joy and blessings come when we seek to love the Lord and others with all our hearts and souls.
The scriptures invite us to place all we are and are becoming on the altar of love and service. In the Old Testament, Deuteronomy enjoins us to “love the Lord thy God” with all our heart, soul, and might.13 Joshua exhorts, “Love the Lord your God, … walk in all his ways, … keep his commandments, … cleave unto him, and … serve him with all your heart and with all your soul.”14
In the New Testament, our Savior states the two great commandments: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, … and thy neighbour as thyself.”15
In the Book of Mormon: Another Testament of Jesus Christ, King Benjamin labored “with all the might of his body and the faculty of his whole soul” and established peace in the land.16 In the Doctrine and Covenants, as every missionary knows, the Lord asks us to serve Him with all our “heart, might, mind and strength.”17 When the Saints entered Jackson County, the Lord commanded them to keep the Sabbath holy by loving “the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy might, mind, and strength; and in the name of Jesus Christ thou shalt serve him.”18
We rejoice in the invitation to devote our whole souls to seeking higher and holier ways to love God and those around us and to strengthen our faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in our hearts and in our homes and at church.
Fourth, our campfire of faith encourages us to establish regular patterns of righteous living that deepen faith and spirituality.
These holy habits, righteous routines, or prayerful patterns may include prayer; scripture study; fasting; remembering our Savior and covenants through the ordinance of the sacrament; sharing gospel blessings through missionary, temple and family history, and other service; keeping a thoughtful personal journal; and so on.
When righteous patterns and spiritual yearnings join, time and eternity come together. Spiritual light and life come when regular religious observance draws us closer to our Heavenly Father and our Savior, Jesus Christ. When we love the spirit and letter of the law, the things of eternity can distill upon our souls like the dews from heaven.19 With daily obedience and refreshing living water, we find answers, faith, and strength to meet everyday challenges and opportunities with gospel patience, perspective, and joy.
Fifth, as we keep the best of familiar patterns while seeking new and holier ways to love God and help us and others prepare to meet Him, our campfire of faith can encourage us to remember perfection is in Christ, not in ourselves or in the perfectionism of the world.
God’s invitations are full of love and possibility because Jesus Christ is “the way, the truth, and the life.”20 To those who feel burdened, He invites, “Come unto me,” and to those who come to Him, He promises, “I will give you rest.”21 “Come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, … love God with all your might, mind and strength, then is his grace sufficient for you, that by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ.”22
In this assurance “by his grace ye may be perfect in Christ” is also the comfort, peace, and promise that we can continue forward with faith and confidence in the Lord even when things do not go as we hope, expect, or perhaps deserve, through no fault of our own, even after we have done our best.
In various times and ways, we all feel inadequate, uncertain, perhaps unworthy. Yet in our faithful efforts to love God and to minister to our neighbor, we may feel God’s love and needed inspiration for their and our lives in new and holier ways.
With compassion, our Savior encourages and promises we can “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men.”23 The doctrine of Christ, our Savior’s Atonement, and our whole-souled following of His covenant path can help us know His truths and make us free.24
I testify the fulness of His gospel and His plan of happiness are restored and taught in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in holy scripture, and by prophets from the Prophet Joseph Smith to President Russell M. Nelson today. I testify His covenant path leads to the greatest gift our loving Heavenly Father promises: “Ye shall have eternal life.”25
May His blessings and enduring joy be ours as we warm our hearts and hopes and commitment at our campfire of faith, I pray in the sacred and holy name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Two years later the Prophet came out of Liberty Jail and planned a winter trip to Washington, D.C. to seek federal help for the Latter-day Saints who had lost their homes and property in Missouri. Not far from the nation’s capital, the stagecoach team ran uncontrolled downhill without a driver for three miles. Joseph decisively assured the other passengers, then carefully opened the door of the careening coach, pulled himself up over the side to the driver’s seat, where he “got the lines, and stopped the horses, and also saved the life of a lady and child” (History of the Church, 4:23, 42). An anonymous letter of appreciation appeared in a Philadelphia paper at the time, with full confirmation of the above events.

My first job was building an oil production pipeline to connect a new offshore oil platform to an existing platform, and hence the pipeline network. The offshore pipeline was the first in the world (in 1982) to be installed using the bottom tow technique. For many reasons, this was an exciting project for a young engineer. The excitement intensified when my boss, the project manager, was moved to another international assignment, making me the responsible project engineer.

The project involved making up 1-kilometer-long strings of 12-inch-diameter steel pipe at a beach site, then towing lengths of pipe into the ocean and joining sections until a 3.5-kilometer pipeline was complete. A tow vessel would pull the complete pipeline 85 kilometers along the seafloor to the offshore location. Sophisticated deflection connection procedures, using winches and hydraulic connectors, were planned for the final connections.

Success depended on towing the pipeline along a prescribed path, then stopping the tow so that it would be exactly positioned and aligned for subsea connection at 280-foot water depth.

This was many years before GPS satellites. We used the best available navigation systems and acoustics transponders on the pipeline to track its position.

The tow had some significant challenges; however, we followed the prescribed route exactly and felt that we had stopped the tow leaving the connecting sleds at the front and back end of the pipeline exactly in the target positions.

With the tow complete, a survey boat pinged acoustic transponders on the pipeline and reported positioning data by radio to a control hut on one of the platforms. We were delighted as the survey confirmed that the front end was exactly in the right position and, a little later, that the pipeline alignment was also perfect.

That, however, was the end of the good news.

The final check on the tail end of the pipeline reported that it was 36 meters out of position. After triple-checking, we concluded that the pipeline was 36 meters too long.

Everyone immediately wanted to know how we had measured and confirmed the length before the tow. As the responsible project engineer, I could not answer the question. I had been so deeply engaged and interested (as a young engineer) in all the high-tech systems and processes that I had missed the fact that the pipeline length was equally vital to success.

Investigation identified the cause of the error. Late in the project, we needed a weight change for stability during the tow and added 3-by-12-meter lengths of heavy wall pipe to the tail end. We had inadvertently added 36 meters without taking anything off.

I radioed the developments project director at Esso to report the problem. He simply said, "Meurs, don't come back onshore until that pipeline is connected."

Things initially went from bad to worse. We were still able to complete the first pull-in procedure connecting the tail end of the pipeline to the new platform. We then decided to use the tow vessel to lift the other end of the pipeline off the seafloor by tensioning the tow wire. The plan was to walk the suspended length of pipeline sideways to use the extra length.

With the pipeline under tension and lifted off the seafloor, we commenced the sideways maneuver. Partway through the critical move, the tow vessel engines stopped. Under tension, the boat was pulled backwards, and the pipeline hit the seafloor with such great force that a rubber shear sphere in the end dislodged. Sea water rushed in, and the pipeline weight went from 80 tons to 400 tons in a few seconds.

What had seemed like a most exciting and challenging project for a young engineer suddenly looked like a disaster. I had been praying night and morning, but now I poured out my soul to Heavenly Father. I explained that I had served a mission, married in the temple, we had started our family while at university and now had two beautiful daughters. After all of this, it looked to me like my engineering career was coming to an end. I pleaded for inspiration and help.

My prayers were answered, and within a couple of weeks, with promptings, hard work, and input from a wonderful team, we connected the pipeline and tested it. I returned to shore to face the music. The extra 36 meters had added $3 million to a $15 million project.

I had to write a project closeout report. Thankfully I understood repentance.

To my surprise, my report was received very positively. Over the next two years, I led a team that installed longer and more complicated bottom-tow pipelines. Cost savings were more than twice the extra cost of the first installation.

I had learned many more important lessons than checking the measurement before towing a pipeline--I had learned that Heavenly Father is willing to answer all our prayers, even when we pray about our work. I also learned the power, in the world, of stepping forward and taking responsibility when we make mistakes.

One day I sat with a handsome, young, prospective missionary as he poured out his sad story through sobs of sorrow, anguish, and remorse. I wanted to cry with him. Pressured by his so-called friends, he found himself at a mixed party where liquor was served. Against everything he knew to be right, he succumbed to the taunts and jeers of all those present, became drunk, and before the evening was over, lost his virtue.

Unable to resist the peer pressure he faced, his resolution to stay chaste being dissipated by the circumstances he found himself in, he had seen his lifelong dream of a mission and a temple marriage change to a nightmare—and now he felt ashamed, unclean, unworthy.

“Have I forfeited my opportunity for a mission, for marriage in the temple?” he asked. “How can my Father in Heaven forgive me for what I have done? I wish the earth would open up and swallow me!” My heart ached for him.

Almost overriding my sympathy for him was the anger I felt toward those who had led him down that “primrose path,” seemingly oblivious to the pain they had caused, listening to Satan’s siren song that chastity is outdated.

The full force of his actions was obvious to my tearful friend, who understood, at last, the reality of Alma’s words: “Wickedness never was happiness.” (Alma 41:10.)

A quick shoulder fake to the right, and then with pistonlike force, his legs drove him down the left side of the foul lane. By now the opponent had recovered from his very slight disadvantage caused by the fake and with blinding speed had caught up sufficiently to block the shot. But there was no shot. It was a fake and then a pivot back to the left; a right-handed hook shot came off the glass into the net. The grueling tournament competition that had lasted all morning was over. Devin Durrant had just been victorious in the most prestigious high school one-on-one tournament in the nation. In so doing he had defeated, one at a time, five all-Americans.
There was little time to savor that victory in Louisville, Kentucky. In just a few more hours the big game between the United States all-stars and the Kentucky-Indiana all-stars would begin.
That evening as the game progressed through the first quarter, it was a see-saw battle all the way. But then, midway through the second half, the public address announcer shouted out in quick succession: “Devin Durrant with a jump shot.” “Durrant with a driving lay-in.” “A jump shot from the kid from Utah.” The United States all-stars now had the lead.
A few minutes later the game was over. As the excited crowd of 12,000 stood anxiously listening to the post-game announcement, the public address man shouted enthusiastically, “Tonight’s most valuable player is Devin Durrant.”
After Devin’s seventh-, eighth-, and ninth-grade years, we moved back to Utah. As we did, Devin left many choice memories in Kentucky. It was there that he formed the dream that he would be a star and someday, somehow, he would play in the Kentucky Derby basketball all-star game. The chances of ever doing that were minute, even if we stayed in Kentucky. But now that we had left Kentucky, the chances were a million to one, for no Utahn had ever been so honored.
After his graduation, Devin’s fondest dream to that time came true. He was asked to play in the McDonald’s high school all-American games, the third of which was a fulfillment of his dream—the Kentucky Derby Classic. I’ve never seen him more thrilled than he was at the news that he would return to his beloved Louisville.
Our family took the opportunity to return to our former home to see him play, and we rejoiced with him at the successes which I related earlier. The next day’s papers told the story of the boy from Utah, his dream, and how he had come home to Kentucky to make that dream come true.
A night later at a fireside, hundreds gathered and heard Devin explain his dream, his prayer, and his joy.

You are probably all aware that most of the buildings on campus have both fire alarm systems and fire sprinkler systems in them that are meant to warn the occupants of the buildings of impending fire dangers and to assist in the extinguishment of any fire that might occur in the buildings. Both systems are designed to protect the occupants of the buildings on their way out if there is a fire in the building. I am not sure how many of you may be aware that we are required by federal code to test every fire alarm device and to exercise every fire sprinkler device on a regular basis. In order to accomplish this, during every summer break, the Campus Fire Safety Coordinator and his student employees trigger every smoke detector, sound every fire alarm, turn every fire sprinkler valve, and flow water from every fire sprinkler system in every building throughout campus. It is a monumental task to say the least! But the benefit of doing it is that we are able to find any weaknesses in the systems before the emergency and get them fixed so that we can confidently know that they will work correctly during an emergency.
One summer right in the midst of this testing period, I was talking with a co-worker that works in a different office than mine, and he told me that he had used what I and my current team were doing as an example in one of his staff meetings. Curious, I asked how what I was doing applied to anything that he was working on with his team, and he explained that he told his team that he wanted the same peace of mind of knowing that before the emergency, the systems they were using would work effectively during the emergency because they had already tested them and knew they worked correctly.

When we are told “no” by the Lord, the Holy Ghost can soften that “no.” Elder Boyd K. Packer tells of an incident where he was “invited to speak to a group at Harvard University.” He says:
Both faculty members and students were to be present. I, of course, hoped that the gospel message would be accepted and that the meeting would end in a harmony of views. As I prayed that this might result, there came to me the strong impression that this petition would not be granted. I determined that, however preposterous talk about angels and golden plates and restoration might be to my audience, I would teach the truth with quiet confidence, for I have a testimony of the truth. If some must come from the meeting unsettled and disturbed, it would not be me. Let them be disturbed, if they would.
It was as the Spirit foretold. Some in the group shook their heads in amazement, even cynical amusement, that anyone could believe such things. But I was at peace. I had taught the truth, and they could accept it or reject it, as they pleased. [Boyd K. Packer, Let Not Your Heart Be Troubled (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1991), 88; emphasis in original]

Brenna Pink, a Beehive from the Rockford Illinois Second Ward, Rockford Illinois Stake, is the latest participant in an activity that seems to be growing in popularity among LDS Young Women—completing all of the Young Women Personal Progress goals instead of just a selected few.
Why would anyone go so far out of her way?
“Completing Young Women goals makes you feel good,” she says. “I learned a lot about Heavenly Father and the scriptures.”
Brenna says that while some goals, like evaluating plays and dance concerts, were easy, the hard ones really helped her become a better person.
“For one of my goals in the category of Integrity, I didn’t listen to bad jokes or bad language. I tried to change the conversation to better topics and to keep myself out of bad situations.”

We need not worry about knowing the right thing to say or do when we get there. The love of God and the Holy Spirit may be enough. When I was a young man I feared that I would not know what to do or to say to people in great need.
Once I was at the hospital bedside of my father as he seemed near death. I heard a commotion among the nurses in the hallway. Suddenly, President Spencer W. Kimball walked into the room and sat in a chair on the opposite side of the bed from me. I thought to myself, “Now here is my chance to watch and listen to a master at going to those in pain and suffering.”
President Kimball said a few words of greeting, asked my father if he had received a priesthood blessing, and then, when Dad said that he had, the prophet sat back in his chair.
I waited for a demonstration of the comforting skills I felt I lacked and so much needed. After perhaps five minutes of watching the two of them simply smiling silently at each other, I saw President Kimball rise and say, “Henry, I think I’ll go before we tire you.”
I thought I had missed the lesson, but it came later. In a quiet moment with Dad after he recovered enough to go home, our conversation turned to the visit by President Kimball. Dad said quietly, “Of all the visits I had, that visit I had from him lifted my spirits the most.”
President Kimball didn’t speak many words of comfort, at least that I could hear, but he went with the Spirit of the Lord as his companion to give the comfort. I realize now that he was demonstrating the lesson President Monson taught: “How does one magnify a calling? Simply by performing the service that pertains to it.”

“Roberts, we’ve got you surrounded, so don’t try anything. We think the whole structure may be weakened. So just sit still until we can get both of you out safely. You’ve got a charge of kidnapping against you, but things will go easier for you if the girl gets down safely.”
The policeman handed the portable megaphone to Charly’s mother. “Charly, this is your mother. Don’t worry. The police are doing everything possible to get you down. Just don’t panic …” She broke down and began to sob.
Charly, her long, wheat-blonde hair waving as the car of the stalled Ferris wheel rocked gently in the wind, grabbed my hand and smiled. “Roberts, I hope you let this be a lesson to you. You can’t hi-jack a Ferris wheel to Cuba.”
It started innocently enough a year ago in May. Dad and I had jogged our two miles in the morning, and we were eating our nutlike cereal on the patio overlooking the city.
“Sam, you know the new manager I was telling you about?” Dad said as he took a vitamin pill and downed it with the rest of his orange juice. “Transferred here from Boston. He’s finally found a house, and his family moved out here last week. He has a daughter Charlene about your age. Naturally, she doesn’t know anybody here.”
He paused, hoping I would volunteer and not force him to spell it out. “I was wondering if you’d take her out once just as a favor.”
“Well, I’d like to but I’m kind of low on money right now. They don’t pay much in the basement,” I said, referring to his office on the eighth floor and my summer job as a shipping clerk in the basement of one of the large buildings in the city.
“Maybe I could help you out,” Dad said. I was enjoying this.
“I won’t need much. I’ll take her to the museum, and then to the visitor’s center, and then to the drug store for a milk shake.”
“Why don’t you take her to the country club for dinner?”
“Okay. I’ll even get my jeep washed. I sure wish I could get it out of four-wheel drive.”
“Okay. You win; take my car.”
“That’s a good idea. Thanks, Dad.”
A few days later I made my way to her home. It was an ornate building, a little north of the capitol. I spent about ten minutes talking with her parents about the difference in humidity between Boston and Utah. Then finally she came down the stairs.
She was almost as tall as I, with a face that didn’t need make-up. She was skinny and looked like a model for a diet soft drink.
I stood up, remembering a Cary Grant movie I saw once on TV. “Charlene, it is indeed a pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine,” she said. As we shook hands she, still smiling, dug her finger nails into my palm.
We drove silently down the interstate to the country club.
“How much did your dad pay you for taking me out?” she asked.
“I was happy to ask you out,” I exaggerated.
“What would you think about turning off the air conditioning? It’s freezing in here.”
“Why don’t you check the blower so it’s not aimed directly at you? It’s very seldom I get to drive a car with air conditioning.”
She sat and glared at the dashboard.
“Tell me, Charlene, how do you find the difference in humidity here as compared to Boston?”
“Don’t call me Charlene.”
“What then?”
“Charly.”
She opened the side window and deliberately adjusted it so the hot air outside was blowing directly at me.
“It’s wasting gas to have the air conditioner on and the window open,” I said.
“You never told me how much your dad is paying you to take me out.”
“Not enough, I think.”
She folded her arms, turning away from me. The periodic brightness as we passed lamp posts showed tears on her face.
“I didn’t mean that. Look, I’m turning off the air conditioner. There’s a Kleenex in the glove compartment.”
“Why would I want one?” she asked.
“Because you’re crying.”
“I’m not crying. My contacts are bothering me.”
“Well, whatever,” I replied. “The Kleenex is still in the jockey box.”
“I’ve got my own,” she said, rummaging through an old leather bag. Eventually she found one crumpled tissue that she smoothed out and used. “Will you take me home please?”
We rode in silence back to her home. I shut off the motor at her curb. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”
“It’s no big thing.”
“I did my best to make it a night you’d enjoy.”
“Implying that I didn’t do my best?”
“No, you probably did the best you could,” I answered.
“I’d better go now. It’s getting late,” she said.
“It’s only nine o’clock.”
“Time really flies when I’m with you. I thought it was eleven.”
“You think it’s easy going out with a girl from Boston? My dad and I thought you’d like the country club.”
“Listening to you talk about humidity and watching old golfers slap each other on the back?”
“Well, it’s not my idea of fun either,” I said.
“No?” We stopped halfway up the walk.
“No.”
We walked back to the curb, sat down and talked about things we always wanted to do but could never find anyone else to do them with.
A few minutes later we got back in the car, drove to a park, and bought 30 dollars worth of tickets for the Ferris wheel.
“What’s your name?” Charly asked the attendant as he helped her into the Ferris wheel car.
“Raferty.”
“Mr. Raferty, I’d like you to meet my fiancé. He’s just proposed, and you’re the first one we’ve told.”
“It’s not true,” I said. “I’ve just met her.”
Mr. Raferty was hard of hearing. “Congratulations, kids.”
“Thank you,” Charly smiled. “Sam and I want to ride on your Ferris wheel for a long time. You understand, don’t you?”
“Sure, I’m not that old,” he said as I gave him several tickets.
We rode and talked. Up over the trees, the laughing children, the crying children, the picnicking families, the merry-go-round, and then back to earth and Mr. Raferty, who gave us a wink as often as he could.
“Sam, alias Utah Kid, maybe we’re going to be friends.”
I took her to church that next Sunday. The following Wednesday she began the missionary lessons. She began to jog with Dad and me in the mornings.
About three weeks later I took her fishing with me at Strawberry Reservoir. We left about four in the morning. When we got there, we rented a boat, rowed out to my favorite spot, and threw out the anchors. I baited the hooks with cheese and marshmallows and tossed my line out.
She curled up and went to sleep.
When she woke up, I had caught four nice trout, the sun had come and driven off the patches of fog, and ten other boats were anchored near us.
She studied the people in the boats around us. They were sitting quietly, watching their lines.
Suddenly she stood up, cleared her throat, and addressed the boaters with a Kissinger-like accent. “I suppose you know why we have asked you here this morning. We’ll dispense with the minutes and move right along.”
The people in the boats looked at her with disbelief.
“Because some of you have been putting marshmallows on your hooks, the Fish and Game Department has asked me to speak today. Clinical reports indicate that the fish in this lake have 53 percent more cavities. Do you know what this means?” she asked.
She waited. Most of the other boaters tried to ignore her. But that was hard to do.
“It means that the state of Utah now must stand the expense of sending a trout through dental school.”
“Charly?” I asked.
“Yes, Utah,” she said meekly.
“Normally we don’t talk between boats. Please sit down.”
I baited her hook and tossed it out. In a few minutes her line began to feed out steadily. I could tell it was going to be big when she set the hook. She followed my directions, and soon I dipped the net into the water, bringing up a four-pound rainbow.
After the fish had been taken care of, she stood up again and addressed the other boaters. “Do you people wish to know how I caught this fish? I used peanut butter on my hook. It sticks very well, it’s nutritious, and it does not cause cavities.”
I pulled in the anchors and began to row out farther.
“We recommend creamy instead of chunky,” she shouted as a parting shot.
“Sam, where are we going?”
“Away.”
“Is the fishing better where we’re going?”
“No.”
“I embarrassed you; is that it? Go ahead and say it.”
“You embarrassed me.” I splashed a little water on her so she wouldn’t think I was mad.
“You’ve got no sense of humor, Utah. Life is for laughing.”
I stopped rowing and threw out the anchors again.
“Sam, how many of those people in the boats do you think were Mormons?”
“Maybe half.”
“A school of Mormons,” she said.
I baited the hooks again and tossed the lines out. “Charly, you haven’t said much about the Church to me, except ‘Very interesting.’”
“Very interesting,” she mocked. “I wanted to be fair, Sam. We New Englanders are noted for our fairness.”
“Yes, I’ve read about the Salem witch trials,” I countered.
“Very good, Sam. Stick with me and I’ll make you a wit.” She opened a sack of oranges and threw me one. “Okay, Sam, I guess I’m ready.”
For a few minutes she concentrated on peeling her orange, her face strangely solemn. “Utah, I’ve read the Book of Mormon.”
“What do you think about it?”
For a long time, she just looked out over the lake. And then in a quiet voice she began, “Humor them along, I said. Take the lessons; go to church. It’s all just part of the tour after all. And then walk away laughing.
“I grew up in Cambridge, Sam. Our next door neighbor wrote a best seller on economics. My mother played bridge with the wife of a man who became one of Kennedy’s advisers. We had as a weekend guest a man who later received a Nobel Prize. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“I’ve been exposed to the finest intellectual environment. Then you come to me with your 2 1/2 minute talks. Why not three minutes for crying out loud? I thought I’d spend my life laughing at the world. There was so much to ridicule, so many balloons to pop. It would take a lifetime.”
“Don’t give me a dissertation, Charly. What about the Book of Mormon?”
“It’s true,” she answered simply. “I believe every word. The plates, the angels—all of it. Now I’m afraid of what that implies.”
“Why?”
“When fall comes and I go back to school, and my friends come up giving the cynical smile and asking, ‘Well, did the Mormons get you?’ what do I say?”
“Tell them.”
“They’ll think I’m a fool.”
“What are you interested in, truth or pretense?”
“You ask me that? That’s the same question I’ve been using as a weapon against the world.”
It was too late to be fishing, and the wind was starting to come up. I pulled in the anchor and started rowing for shore.
A week later she was baptized. She was beautiful in white. Her parents didn’t come to the baptism.
“Are you going to ask me to marry you, Sam?” she asked while putting suntan lotion on my shoulders as we soaked in the sun one Saturday at the country club pool.
“You’re not supposed to ask that.”
“Male chauvinist. Why can’t I ask it? Are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t be so insistent, Sam. You’ve got to give me time. I’ll have to think it over and let you know. So don’t rush me, okay?”
I ignored her and lay back down on the warm sun deck.
“Sam, are you awake? You’re going to get a sunburn.”
“I’m awake,” I answered sluggishly.
“Sam, I’ve thought it over. I accept. You’re a lucky man.”
I sat up and put a towel on my sore shoulders.
She leaned over like she was going to kiss me, but instead slapped me on my sunburn. “Race you to the diving board!”
She beat me there. We took turns diving. She was very good. While we were waiting our turn, she punched me on the chin in slow motion. “Sam, you son of a gun, asking me to marry you when we’ve only known each other part of a summer. You’ve got some nerve, Utah.”
She stood on the board and did a perfect swan dive. I just dived off.
“Why the joke about marriage?” I asked.
“Who said I’m joking?”
She stood up at the board again. She addressed the line of swimmers waiting to dive. “For this next dive, I must have silence so that I may concentrate,” she announced dramatically with a slightly European accent. “This dive is one that my family has passed down from generation to generation. If you will be quiet, then I will do it for you today.”
A hush fell over the swimmers. She surveyed the pool. A waiter carrying food to a lounging couple stopped to wait. “So, I will do it.” She slowly approached the middle of the board, stopped, put her arms out, seeming to be reaching for psychological strength. Then, summoning courage, she raced to the edge of the board, jumped in the air, tucked in her knees, and did a cannonball.
Two or three times a week we went back to the Ferris wheel.
Near the end of August we were walking around a shopping center on a Saturday afternoon. We were in a large discount department store. We passed the maternity clothes.
“How many children do you want, Sam?”
“At least six.”
“So many? How come? Religious reasons?”
“That’s right.”
“Six kids. That’s a bunch.”
“They come one at a time. That way you can make all your mistakes on the first one.”
“Careful, fella, I was the first one,” she warned.
A while later we walked by the toy department and a row of dolls. She picked up six, but one fell down. “I can’t get six, Sam.” She put all but one of the dolls back. “I’ll be a good mother, Sam. When I was little I had a doll and she was no problem at all. I just said, ‘Go to bed and sleep,’ and she did. So six will be nothing.”
“You know, Charly, I’ve never really asked you to marry me.”
“I noticed that. Yes, sir, I have noticed that.”
We got what she needed, but on the way out I remembered I needed to get a coupling for our water hose. Since she was not really interested, we agreed to separate and then meet later. She suggested the jewelry counter.
I found the hardware section, found the coupling, and went back to the jewelry counter. She wasn’t there. I waited for five minutes and then started walking around to see if I could find her.
After 15 minutes of looking, I heard a strangely familiar voice over the P.A. system. “Sam, Sammy, you hear me? This is Mommy. The nice men let me talk to you on the big radio. Sammy wherever you are in this big store, stop and listen to Mommy.”
I looked around to see if anyone was looking at me.
“Sammy, if you can hear me, listen carefully. Remember when Mommy bought you a big bag of popcorn last week. Sam, go to the popcorn machine, and Mommy will be there. Do you understand? The popcorn place. Mommy will get you a big bag of popcorn. Mommy loves you, Sam.”
A man standing next to me grabbed a handkerchief and blew his nose. “Poor little guy,” he muttered to himself.
I walked over to the popcorn machine. There was Charly with a bag of popcorn in her hand.
I grabbed her arm and quickly escorted her out of the store.
“Sam, do you want some popcorn?” she asked. “You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”
“Get in the car.”
“I was a bad girl.”
“Why don’t you grow up, Charly? You think the world was made for your amusement?”
“Don’t preach to me, Sam. I’m sorry. Okay?”
I should have waited until I got control before I said anything, but I didn’t.
She didn’t defend herself but just sat there, holding that ridiculous bag of popcorn in her lap.
Then I said the thing that I shouldn’t have. “You’ve been talking about marriage. Well, I’m not ready for marriage and especially not to someone who hasn’t grown up yet.” I drove her home, and she opened the door by herself and ran up the walk alone to the door.
I sat and watched her go.
I suppose I figured I’d let her stew for a couple of days and then call her up and tell her she was forgiven. But on Monday when I called, her mother said that she’d decided to go back to Massachusetts early for school. She’d left that morning. Her mother told me that Charly didn’t want me to know where she was going, didn’t want me to write or call, and didn’t want to see me again.
After a week of long distance phone calls I was finally able to get her address. When I phoned, she hung up. I wrote to her several times. But she never answered. One day I got a large envelope with all my letters inside. None of them had been opened.
Then I quit my job and went back to school.
I tried to get in touch with her during Christmas vacation, but her parents went back to see her so she wasn’t in town.
In June I was back in town. My dad got me a job on the first floor of the same building, in line with additional schooling, I guess.
One day at work I got a phone call from my dad who now was on the ninth floor. “She’s back in town with a boy named Mark. I thought you might want to know.”
That night I drove by her house. There was a small sports car with Massachusetts license plates parked in the driveway. I drove around her block about 20 times trying to formulate a plan. Nothing came to mind, so I finally just parked and walked up to the door.
They were in the backyard. The door was open and I went in. I could see Charly through the kitchen window, standing next to a Harvard type gesturing with a pipe in one hand.
“I’ll be back in a minute. I’m going to change.” Charly left him, walked into the kitchen, and into the hall.
She saw me and stopped. “Sam?”
“Hi, Charly.”
“Are you real? For a minute there I thought you were the ghost of boyfriends past.”
“My dad told me you were back. They say it’s serious when she brings the guy home to meet the parents. Are you engaged?”
“I could be.”
“Do you love him?”
“You’re not supposed to ask that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Would you like to meet Mark? He’s discovered a lot of investment opportunities right here in Utah. Maybe you two could work out a partnership.”
“No, I’d better go.” I started for the door.
Charly walked out with me. “Whatever happened to all those tickets we got for the Ferris wheel?”
“I still have them.”
“I thought you’d use them for your other dates.”
“No one else would understand.”
“Oh.”
We walked out to the jeep. “Did you ever get this thing out of four-wheel drive?” Charly asked.
“Sort of. Now I can’t get it into four-wheel drive.” We both smiled faintly.
“Why didn’t you answer my letters?” I asked.
“I guess I felt like I’d made a fool of myself and didn’t want to be reminded.”
I walked over to the right-hand side of the jeep, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out several faded, bent tickets.
“There are still a few left,” I said, walking back to her.
“I wonder if they’re still good,” she said. Then, so I wouldn’t misunderstand, she quickly added, “I mean, you should find someone else to use them with.”
“It wouldn’t be the same. I’ll just get rid of them,” I said, ripping one of them up, letting the pieces flutter to the ground.
“Don’t,” she said, grabbing the others.
Our eyes met.
“Charly, couldn’t we go somewhere and talk? Just to make sure things are the way we want them.”
“I can’t. It’s too late.”
“Maybe there’s nothing left between us, Charly. I don’t know. But I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if. If there’s nothing left, give me the piece of mind of knowing that.”
“What do I tell Mark?”
“Just leave a note saying you’re going for a ride, and you’ll explain when you get back.”
She went in the house and in a minute was back again.
We drove to the park, gave Mr. Raferty the rest of the tickets, and got in the Ferris wheel car.
“I was listening to Mark while I wrote the note. I think he just sold my dad an apartment building in Newton.”
“Then the trip out here won’t be a complete waste,” I said.
“Mark will someday be governor of Massachusetts. I’m sure of it.”
“He has a Word of Wisdom problem.”
“You’re always classifying people, aren’t you? Do all Mormons do that?”
“You’re a Mormon, remember?”
“You won’t believe this, but I have been going to Church. And I have asked Mark about taking the lessons. He thought that was very funny.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“I don’t know. I have a high regard for him.”
“That sounds pretty weak to me. You could say that about your milkman.”
“Don’t push me, Sam.”
“I’m just asking you to wait before you do anything dumb like getting engaged to him.”
“Why?”
“Well, for starters, he can’t take you to the temple. A marriage with him would have a built-in divorce clause. And I can’t forget you. Maybe at first you loved me more than I loved you. But I’ve had a year to catch up. Give me a chance.”
She started going through her old leather bag. “You never can find anything when you need it. I put Kleenex in here, and it’s there for months, but the minute I want it, it’s gone.”
“I have a clean handkerchief,” I volunteered.
She took it, and wiped her eyes. “My mother ordered a cake for a garden party we are going to have tomorrow for Mark. She knows I haven’t said yes to Mark yet, but the cake looks a lot like a wedding cake. She’s trying to talk me into making an announcement at the party. You know, she isn’t really that fond of you. What do we do about that?”
“Cake will freeze for months. Put it in the freezer until you decide.”
“What about Mark?”
“I don’t think you should freeze him. It’s up to you, though.”
Just then we noticed somebody arguing with Mr. Raferty. Charly scrunched down in her seat, but Mark had already seen her.
“I want this thing stopped! He’s kidnapped her!”
“I’m not stopping anything until their ride’s up. They’ve got ten more rides coming, and that’s what they’re going to get.”
Mark stormed away, walked to a pay phone, and made two phone calls.
“Charly, what did your note say?”
“I think it was, ‘Am being taken for a ride. Will explain later.’ Is that bad?”
“Not usually. But Mark thinks you’ve been kidnapped. He probably found the torn up Ferris wheel ticket and came here first.”
Mark stormed back to the Ferris wheel and began arguing with Mr. Raferty.
On our way down, Charly started to explain. But Mark lunged for me, missed, didn’t get away soon enough, and was struck on the shoulder by part of the frame. The blow threw him against Mr. Raferty. Raferty and Mark fell down and in the process broke off the speed control lever.
We started going very fast. I put my arms around Charly and held her close to me.
Raferty was knocked unconscious. Mark got up, looked around, grabbed a long pole, and crammed the pole into the gear mechanism. The pole jerked out of his hand, throwing him against the ground. Suddenly the pulley for the drive mechanism snapped, and the Ferris wheel slowed down and stopped.
A few minutes later the police arrived, apparently called by Mark from a pay phone earlier. A police ambulance took away Mark and Mr. Raferty, unconscious.
Then Charly’s mother and dad arrived.
Charly stood up to yell that everything was okay, but the motion caused one of the other cars to break loose and fall to the ground.
That was when the police told us not to move around and to be quiet.
“Roberts, I want you to throw down the weapon you used against the Ferris wheel operator and this girl’s boyfriend. I don’t want you harming the girl.”
“No, I don’t ever want to do that,” I said to Charly.
“Roberts, you’ve already got a charge of kidnapping against you. Don’t make it worse. Throw down the weapon.”
“Sam, you’re not cooperating.”
“I don’t have a weapon.”
“Let’s see if I can help.” She opened her bag, and we sifted through the stuff she carried in it. Finally we found a pair of scissors, which we tossed down. It seemed to please everybody.
In a few minutes a fire truck with a ladder pulled close to the Ferris wheel. “Miss, just reach slowly and grab hold. I’ll have you down in no time,” the fireman on the extended ladder told Charly.
“If I jumped, I’d be down in no time. Let’s go very slowly. See you, Sam.”
In a minute I was back down on the ground also. After Charly talked to the police and after we called the hospital and had Mr. Raferty and Mark explain things, they undid the handcuffs.
On our way to the hospital, Charly explained to her parents that she probably would get engaged, but not at the party the next day, and maybe not to Mark.
“But what about the cake?” her mother asked.
“Freeze it,” Charly and I answered.
That’s just what we did.