Gospel Story Finder

Sister Margerie Hinckley, wife of President Hinckley described a moment of deep regret in her life when she was sitting among a group of magnificent women in Argentina who of course spoke only Spanish. In Sister Hinckley’s words, “These were delightful, beautiful women. I wanted so much to be a part of that group. I was straining to catch any Spanish word I could and failing miserably.” Sister Hinckley then describes how in this moment of regret and confusion, her memory takes her back to a Spanish class she had taken years before. “I could see the class as plainly as if I were back there.” She remembers the sights and smells of the classroom, including a friend who sat right by her, looking over her shoulder, and popping gum in her ear. In Sister Hinckley’s words, “I did the very minimum required to get a respectable grade in that class and I promptly put every Spanish word out of my mind when I left. I took the class because I needed the credit.” Is that familiar?

“I certainly did not take it to learn Spanish. Who needed to know Spanish anyway? I didn’t know a single person who spoke Spanish. I missed out. I missed out on a valuable experience because I did not have a love affair with my Spanish textbook when the opportunity was there and the time and season were right. So you students, no matter the class, how irrelevant it may seem, you learn, learn, learn as if your life depended on it, and perhaps it will. Learn the thrill of digging for fossils on the mountainside, or working over a test tube until dark, or getting on the trail of something in the library and searching it down feverishly for hours. Learn to be a real student, an excellent student.”

I have recently thought about influences in my life that have developed my convictions about the human body and about my body in particular. Growing up on a farm in southeastern Idaho provided me with many opportunities to develop and test my physical body. While I was very young, one of my chores was to get up early and run to the pasture to bring the cows into the milk barn. I got up at five o’clock—that habit has stuck with me all of my life. This daily activity—considered a chore by others—was a wonderful experience for me as I ran through the pasture, jumping the ditches, dodging the gopher holes, skipping, leaping, changing movement patterns, finding new routes to travel, and finding the exhilaration of the body moving through the atmosphere. I also remember the wonderful inner feeling I received when I first noticed that the cows were interested in my physical entrance into their presence. Old Pet, the leader of the herd, would be the first, and soon the entire herd would watch my antics as I rounded them up.

I had another choice experience with impelling revelation a few months after I began my service at BYU. As a new and inexperienced president, I had many problems to analyze and many decisions to reach. I was very dependent on the Lord. One day in October, I drove up Provo Canyon to ponder a particular problem. Although alone and without any interruption, I found myself unable to think of the problem at hand. Another pending issue I was not yet ready to consider kept thrusting itself into my mind: Should we modify BYU’s academic calendar to complete the Fall Semester before Christmas? After ten or fifteen minutes of unsuccessful efforts to exclude thoughts of this subject, I finally realized what was happening. The issue of the calendar did not seem timely to me, and I was certainly not seeking any guidance on it, but the Spirit was trying to communicate with me on that subject. I immediately turned my full attention to that question and began to record my thoughts on a piece of paper. Within a few minutes, I had recorded the details of a three-semester calendar, with all of its powerful advantages. Hurrying back to the campus, I reviewed it with my colleagues and found them enthusiastic. A few days later the Board of Trustees approved our proposed new calendar, and we published its dates, barely in time to make them effective in the fall of 1972. Since that time, I have reread these words of the Prophet Joseph Smith and realized that I had the experience he described:

A person may profit by noticing the first intimation of the spirit of revelation; for instance, when you feel pure intelligence flowing into you, it may give you sudden strokes of ideas . . . and thus by learning the Spirit of God and understanding it, you may grow into the principle of revelation. [Teachings, p. 151]

One day when my companion and I went to visit a recent convert in Colombo, Brazil, the house was full of family members. It was crowded, but they still invited us to share a message. We were about to start when the convert’s brother came in. He was not a member of our Church and was not happy about our visit. He seemed to find any way he could to contradict us.
He had a notebook of all the members of his congregation and their sicknesses. He asked us if we believed in the gift of healing. “Of course we do,” we replied. “Well then,” he continued, “I’ve healed all the people in this notebook. How many people have you healed?”
We tried to explain the priesthood, faith, and how things happen according to God’s will, but after a few moments, we felt like we had been cornered and attacked.
Then “in the very moment” (D&C 100:6) we needed it, the Spirit whispered what to say. I explained that while we do believe in healing, our work as missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was to bring spiritual healing to those we taught, which healing is available only through accepting the Atonement of Jesus Christ through faith, repentance, baptism by immersion, receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, and enduring to the end.
So while we believe in physical healing, we explained, the most important healing is spiritual healing. And that kind of healing was the kind we saw every day. It really didn’t matter if people were healed physically if they didn’t repent and change their lives to follow Christ.
As the Spirit guided us to respond in a calm manner, the tension in the room dispersed, the brother stopped trying to fight, and we were able to share our message.

While I was serving as a deacon, teacher, and priest, we usually had a priesthood lesson about the value of keeping the Word of Wisdom, and almost always a part of that lesson would concern itself with the marvelous story of Creed Hammond. Creed was an excellent runner whose coach tried to get him to drink some wine the night before the national track championship. A few years ago in a stake conference I heard Creed himself tell of that experience, and I was very moved when I caught a detail that I had missed as a boy. President Hammond told of going as a young boy from Springville to Provo with his mother and sister to hear Apostle Reed Smoot speak. That evening Elder Smoot chose as his topic the Word of Wisdom. Returning home, Sister Hammond stopped the buggy, took her son and daughter by the hand, and they made a covenant together that they would never violate the principles contained in the Word of Wisdom. “The night,” Creed said, “when the coach wanted me to drink the wine, I could feel my mother’s hand and my sister’s hand, and, though it was long ago, I could hear my mother’s voice. I could not violate the covenant we had made together.”

Quorum members still talk about the time they touched down in a remote pasture to change crew members and found themselves right next to two campers who were slumbering peacefully in sleeping bags. The crew quietly made the transfer and, without a word, were off again. Awakened finally by the roar of the burners as the balloon lifted, the sleepers rolled over in time to see a huge balloon hanging in the sky above them. They may still be talking about the fantastic “dream” they both had.

Several years ago I had prayed for specific help but the answer didn't come. So one day, I decided to go to the temple to seek the Lord's help. I cried my heart out to our Heavenly Father for help. I remember complaining as I asked, "Why hast thou turned away from me when I need thy help? After all, I'm a Bishop, I paid a full tithing, I'm worthy, and I'm here at Thy holy temple. And Thou hast promised that if we ask, it shall be given."

I got my answer. It was more than an answer. It was a spiritual experience. To my mind came the still, small voice. It seemed to say, 'What are you talking about? When have I forsaken you? Was I not there when you received your testimony? Was I not there when you made the best decision in your life to marry your wife? What about when your son was critically ill? What about when your daughter had her surgery. I was there and I carried you.' Then I remembered the many, many times in my life when I had received the Lord's help and felt of His great love for me. I felt so bad. So I asked for forgiveness. Then I realized that it was I who had not always remembered the Lord; it was me. I was the problem. I do not always remember our Heavenly Father.

Rachel is already in the Beehive class in Young Women. But her birthday is in January, so she is still in Primary for class time.
She used to feel sad that she didn’t get to go to Sunday School with the girls who were a few months older. One reason she feels better about it now is that her Primary class is studying the Doctrine and Covenants. “It’s really interesting, and that helps keep me from thinking about not being in Sunday School,” Rachel says.
Rachel is also happy that she can still be in Primary class with her friend Marissa. “If I had moved on completely, she would have been left in a class with no other girls,” Rachel says.

We went to church in Port Harcourt from Omoku, our hometown. It was about two-hour drive. We did this every Sunday until sometime in 2001 when the Port Harcourt West Stake Presidency authorized me and family to stay back and worship in Omoku under the supervision of the Rumueme Ward. We reactivated some members of the Church who resided in our town and surrounding towns, two of whom were old schoolmates at the university. We started worshipping in my one-room apartment and later moved into a three-rooms flat in the city center where, on the 9th of January 2005, the Church was officially organized with me as the first branch president and my wife as first counsellor in the Relief Society. We had 36 members of our branch.

David Wichtermann, 17, a member of the Schwamendingen Ward, Zürich Switzerland Stake, knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of priesthood service. “I was sick and in a lot of pain,” he says. “When my father gave me a blessing, the pain went away immediately. I look forward to the time when I can also use the priesthood to give blessings.” In the meantime David loves serving with the priesthood authority he already has. “I was able to help ordain my younger brother a deacon,” he says. “To participate in giving someone else the priesthood is a nice feeling.”

Dad said no sacrifice by the family would be too great for the privilege of supporting me in the mission field, and he meant it. He knew what that kind of sacrifice was. I remember how the family had spread margarine on the bread and then scraped most of it off again while my older brother Ron was in the mission field. I also sensed Dad’s special gratitude when occasionally I was able to spare a few dollars of the earnings from my part-time job to add to what was sent to Ron.

Yes, I knew it would mean sacrifice, gladly offered. I also knew I had to do all I could.

I took a firmer grasp on the handle, holding it a little lower this time to get a better weight advantage from the heavy steel head. Several more strokes, and now I could feel myself becoming angry. How could I strike any harder? Why didn’t the cement break?
“I hope he doesn’t get back before I’ve shown some kind of progress,” I said to myself, glancing toward the tool shop.
When I had told the boss on Monday morning that I had quit school to work for a few months so I could go on a mission, I had hoped he would be kind of proud of me. Instead he had said, “Why do you want to waste your time like that?” Ever since then he had seemed bent on going out of his way to make snide comments about the Church and other crude remarks that, I suspected, were designed to shock me. But he was the boss and the one who would let me stay or let me go.
I had been much more comfortable last week when I first got this job and was helping Bert Godfrey lay a brick wall to replace an old wooden one that had burned down. How could I help but like that leather-faced but kind-hearted man who had served three missions, two of them building missions.
The company had hired me for ten days, mostly to help build that wall. But Bert and I had worked so well together that we had finished it in a week. He didn’t seem to mind that I was a bit clumsy and lacked experience. He knew I was trying and he knew why. He just kept talking to me about serving the Lord.
Bert hadn’t told me that the real boss was on vacation, and it had come as a surprise when I showed up for work the next Monday morning. So far, though, my strategy seemed to be working. Although I was earning more than I had ever earned before, I figured that if I worked so hard that I was worth still more than they were paying me, maybe the boss would feel he just couldn’t afford to let me go.
I looked again at the long I-beam rail with 13 steel legs extending from it like a giant comb with most of its teeth missing. It had long ago served as a bumper guard, preventing cars in the parking lot from hitting the adjacent building. It had been installed by digging 13 large holes in the ground in a straight line, spaced at eight-foot intervals. A steel post was cemented into each hole, and the connecting bumper rail welded to each post. Recently the entire rail had been removed by having two large “hysters” extract the whole thing in one piece, and it was lying in the driveway with each post encased in a barrel-sized cement block.
As I heard boots scuff the loose gravel on the asphalt pavement leading from the tool shop, I let loose a wild flurry of blows. I was glad that a few beads of sweat had formed on my forehead. “Here, try this,” the boss said as he handed me a heavier sledgehammer. That wasn’t quite the kind of help I had in mind.
I smiled as I traded him the smaller hammer, but I could tell that he sensed it wasn’t a completely honest smile. He watched me for a few minutes more, and then without further comment, turned away to supervise the crew working on the remodeling project in the steel fabrication plant.
“The only difference between the hammers is that this one is heavier and harder to lift,” I grumbled silently as the steel head collided with the stone-hard cement. Finally one small chunk broke off. After several more strokes my arms started to ache, but the cement still remained intact.
At this rate I knew it would take me three days to complete the job. I also knew that if I didn’t show substantial progress by noon, I’d be out of a job and back standing in the labor lines at the Employment Security Office taking any kind of work available. Three days of that had made me especially anxious to keep this job.
Besides, it was 1954, and thousands of striking workers with families to feed were looking for short-term, full-time employment. How was a 20-year-old youth going to compete with them for the few jobs available?
It took only a few more hard but unsuccessful strokes to persuade me that I had reached my limit and that it was time for me to treat the problem as one needing more strength and wisdom than I possessed.
Resting the heavy hammer on the ground and trying to compose my anger and frustration, I felt the need and desire to discuss the problem with the Lord. Without either kneeling or closing my eyes, I started praying aloud to the Lord and explaining the task I faced. In a conversational but sincere way I reminded him that I wasn’t asking for the money so I could buy a yellow convertible. He had called me on a mission, and I knew he wanted me to go. This job had already been an answer to my prayers, but I needed to keep it. I didn’t expect him to send a host of angels from heaven with sledgehammers, but I knew he could help me.
Never in my life has a prayer been answered more immediately or clearly. Suddenly my mind was filled with a thought so lucid and strong that my heart started pounding. It was a simple solution, as I later considered it. To brighter or more experienced minds it might have occurred earlier, but to me it came as a direct answer to my prayer.
The compelling instruction said to me, “Instead of striking the cement, strike the steel.”
Still not fathoming exactly why, I raised the hammer and brought it crashing down five or six times on the steel post right next to the cement. As a large section of the cement cracked into big chunks and fell off, I realized that the blows to the steel had started a series of strong vibrations that were transmitted all along the steel shaft.
I quickly forgot the weight of the hammer. With new energy I struck the steel again and again, then moved on to the next post, amazed at the magnification of my efforts as the steel vibrated and the cement cracked.
Less than two hours later I had removed the cement from all 13 posts and stacked the large chunks in a pile. With the sledgehammer on my shoulder and a prayer of gratitude in my heart, I went to find the boss.
“I’ll need some help moving the railing out of the driveway,” I said, trying to conceal the excitement I felt inside. Thinking I was giving up on the project, he motioned me to follow him to the parking lot.
As we rounded the corner of the building and he saw the railing and the pile of cement, he stopped quite suddenly. His eyes blinked and opened wide. His chin started to drop a bit. For a full minute he stood silently, looking first at the railing, then at the cement. After a moment more he turned, motioned me to follow him again, and said, “Come on, I’ll give you another job.”
Nothing more was said about the incident, but the following morning when I arrived for work, he simply said, “Lloyd, you’re welcome to stay on as long as you like.”
I worked there for nearly three months before entering the mission home. He then let me come back to work again for another ten days until I departed with my group for the mission field. Never after that memorable morning did he, in my presence, make a disparaging remark about the Church or my plans to serve a mission.
Many times since that day the Lord has helped me strike the steel instead of the cement in solving other problems. But as I departed for the mission field in late November 1954, I knew that I was called of the Lord. I knew that he was listening to my prayers. And I knew for myself that he would give no commandment save he would prepare a way for it to be accomplished.

Joel stopped by Brandon’s house on the way home from school. Brandon had been diagnosed with cancer a year ago, and now he had home school because his treatments made him weak. Brandon also had to stop playing on their baseball team. School and baseball practice just weren’t the same without him.
Brandon’s mom answered the door. “Thank you for coming, Joel,” she said. “Some of Brandon’s friends don’t visit anymore. I think they feel uncomfortable.”
Joel looked down at his feet. He hadn’t visited Brandon for a few weeks. Then he ducked into Brandon’s room.
Brandon’s face brightened when he saw Joel. “Thanks for coming,” he said.
“No problem,” Joel said. “How are you feeling?”
“Not too bad. The chemotherapy makes me tired, but the worst thing is having to wear this hat all the time.” Brandon pulled off his baseball cap to reveal his bald head.
“Did the chemotherapy do that?” Joel asked.
Brandon nodded.
“That’s rough.”
Brandon rubbed his head. “Actually, it’s pretty smooth.”
Joel grinned. Brandon had a great sense of humor. He’d even kept it through his sickness and all the hard treatments.
Joel stayed until he could tell Brandon was getting tired. As he walked home, Joel thought about how he could help his friend feel better. He took off his baseball cap and looked at it. He remembered how excited he and Brandon had been when they’d gotten their team hats. Now Brandon wore his all the time to cover his head.
Joel had an idea. He smiled as he hurried home to share it with his mom.
“Are you sure?” Mom asked when Joel told her his plan.
Joel nodded. “That way Brandon won’t feel so alone,” he said. “I need to talk with the rest of the team.”
The next day Joel and his teammates went to Brandon’s house.
When they walked into Brandon’s room, Joel could tell it had been a bad day for his friend. Brandon’s freckles stood out on his pale face.
“Guess what?” Joel asked.
Brandon gave a tired smile. “I’m not really in the mood for guessing games today.”
“We’re getting our heads shaved.”
Brandon stared at the boys. “Why?”
“We thought it’d be cool,” Joel said. “And teammates stick together.”
On Saturday the team gathered at Brandon’s house. Brandon’s dad set a stool in the front yard. Joel was first in line. He grinned nervously as Brandon’s dad shaved off hunks of hair.
“All done,” Brandon’s dad said. “Next!”
All the boys on the baseball team had their heads shaved.
“It feels a little funny,” Todd said, rubbing his head.
Everyone laughed.
“You guys are the best,” Brandon said. He was smiling too, even though he had tears in his eyes.
Joel punched Brandon lightly on the shoulder. “Well, you’re our best pitcher,” he said. “We hope you’re back soon, helping us win!”

We will have opportunities throughout our lives to share our beliefs, although we don’t always know when we will be called upon to do so. Such an opportunity came to me in 1957, when I worked in the publishing business and was asked to go to Dallas, Texas, sometimes called “the city of churches,” to address a business convention. Following the conclusion of the convention, I took a sightseeing bus ride through the city’s suburbs. As we passed the various churches, our driver would comment, “On the left you see the Methodist church” or “There on the right is the Catholic cathedral.”
As we passed a beautiful red brick building situated upon a hill, the driver exclaimed, “That building is where the Mormons meet.” A lady in the rear of the bus called out, “Driver, can you tell us something more about the Mormons?”
The driver pulled the bus over to the side of the road, turned around in his seat, and replied, “Lady, all I know about the Mormons is that they meet in that red brick building. Is there anyone on this bus who knows anything more about the Mormons?”
I waited for someone to respond. I gazed at the expression on each person’s face for some sign of recognition, some desire to comment. Nothing. I realized it was up to me to do as the Apostle Peter suggested, to “be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.” I also realized the truth of the adage “When the time for decision arrives, the time for preparation is past.”
For the next 15 or so minutes, I had the privilege of sharing with those on the bus my testimony concerning the Church and our beliefs. I was grateful for my testimony and grateful that I was prepared to share it.

That could have happened to me. After graduating from college, I worked for a couple of years at a local nonprofit organization, where I was inspired by the skills of a new manager. I decided to pursue a master’s degree so that I could gain the kinds of skills he had.

Between the time I was accepted to the program and the time I was to attend, we learned that I was pregnant with our first child. Pregnancy is always a challenge, but due to some medical complications, pregnancies are particularly difficult for me. When I arrived to begin my master’s program, the heaviest question in my heart was whether I should be pursuing the degree at all. After all, I was now anticipating motherhood.

In my new ward, I was promptly called to be an assistant nursery leader. The counselor in the bishopric who set me apart for my new calling laid his hands upon my head and bestowed upon me all the usual authority, gifts, and admonitions attendant on a calling in nursery. Then, speaking to my most hidden fears and my deepest questions, he told me, in the name of Christ, to pursue and complete my master’s degree, that this was the will of God.

So I did.

Near the conclusion of my master’s degree, my husband received a good job offer in Washington, DC. I was preparing to be a stay-at-home mom to our then-one-year-old daughter. I felt unsettled by the move, and I wanted the confirmation of the Spirit to help soothe me. But the more I prayed, the more agitated I became. So my husband and I prayed, fasted, and attended the temple to seek guidance about whether or not to take the job.

The matter of our imminent move remained unresolved until the very last day of class in my master’s program. I felt a tremendous and unmistakable outpouring of the Spirit, and a clear, quiet, and calm voice spoke to my mind, telling me I would return for a PhD. I knew why I had been so uneasy about the move to Washington.

I didn’t tell my husband right away what my prompting had been—only that I’d had one and that I was at peace. We decided that when he had the same sense of peace, we could make a plan together based on our individual promptings.

Soon thereafter, he felt strongly that we should make a short-term move to Finland for an internship he had been offered. From Finland I applied for the doctoral program. In Finland my husband started his business.

I finished the doctoral program in about three years and soon found myself—most unexpectedly—on the full-time faculty at BYU. In addition to food, clothing, and shelter, our work has afforded us freedom, family time, fulfillment, challenges, and a great deal of happiness. We now have four children, and they are—individually and collectively—the central joy of my life. This was a future only God could see for me.

I remember telling this story to my friend Kris, who shared that her own story was very similar to mine but had resulted in almost the exact opposite educational path. Kris had always hoped to pursue a PhD. But when she inquired of the Lord, He led her in a different direction. Kris focused on raising her young children at home, finding fulfillment and joy in her decision and trusting the Lord and His guidance.

Merrell: Well, I gained a feeling of self-worth and determination to do my best. For example, while still in elementary school, I worked long hours in the hayfields, cutting and raking, and sometimes I would run into difficulties that would cut into my productivity. But no matter how many or how few rows I had cut, when my father came out to see my work in the evening, he would say, “Boy, Merrell, you got a lot accomplished! Did you get all that done while I was gone?” I was convinced I was the fastest cutter in the valley! I don’t know if I really was or not, but my father always made me feel that way.

After the meeting my daughter Alyssa told me a story about her friend Jessie, who has a small catering business. Jessie was asked by her stake Relief Society leaders to make a dessert to serve after the general Relief Society meeting. Jessie told Alyssa she knew immediately what she should make—250 cupcakes. Alyssa volunteered to help transport the cupcakes to the stake center.
The day of the meeting arrived, and when Alyssa went to help, she found Jessie nearly in tears. The cupcakes were ready, but Jessie had sent a picture of them to a relative who said they were not fancy enough for the meeting.
Jessie began to doubt herself. She concluded that the stake Relief Society leaders would be expecting something more elaborate than her simple cupcakes. She was frantically trying to figure out a way to redecorate the cupcakes, but there wasn’t time. She and Alyssa took the cupcakes as they were, with Jessie feeling that she had let the sisters down—until President Uchtdorf spoke.
As he spoke about the tiny forget-me-not flower, a picture of the little blue flower appeared on the screen. It was such a simple flower but so beautiful with its delicately veined petals. President Uchtdorf’s message touched everyone’s heart as he pleaded with us not to become so distracted with the large exotic blooms around us that we forget the five simple but important truths he was teaching us.
After the closing prayer, the sisters made their way to the cultural hall. When Alyssa and Jessie walked in, they found everyone surrounding the dessert table and asking, “How did they know?”
Each cupcake was frosted in plain white frosting and decorated with one simple, beautiful, delicate, five-petaled forget-me-not flower.

My Grandmother passed away in 1972 while I was a student at BYU. The night of her funeral I remember lying in bed, reminiscing about Grandma with my cousin who was the same age. We had spent many hours together at Grandma's house and felt so blessed by the precious memories we had of her.

The last day I saw my Grandma's house was the day of her funeral. The house was sold after her death, and I didn't return to see her home until 25 years later. I had shared with our sons many memories about my Grandmother and her house--some of the things I have shared with you. You can imagine my disappointment when I drove past her home to show our boys this cute old house, only to find that the home wasn't anything like I had described to them. Time and lack of care and attention had taken their toll. Drab, brown paint was peeling from the exterior of the house; and it seemed to beg for repairs. Instead of a white picket fence, there was netted wire. Huge, tall weeds had replaced the beautiful rose bushes and flower gardens. The lush, green, well-manicured lawn had died; and the parched earth surrounding her home was strewn with trash, junk, and litter. What I had imagined would be there had vanished. All I had were the memories. With a pit in my stomach I remember wanting to pound on the door and say, "Don't you know that this is my Grandma's house?"

I’ll never be able to last the whole two years, thought Suzanne, as she rested her head against the old seawall. She often came here when homesickness overwhelmed her, to dream of home and to look out over the blue water of the Gulf of Aegina.
Suddenly she heard a sound coming from the other side of the wall. Someone was crying. She stood up, and there on the other side of the wall was Katia, her arms hugging her knees. Suzanne had seen her every day in their class at the American school in Athens, Greece, but had never spoken to her.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
Startled, the girl stood up and then recognized Suzanne. “I’m sorry you’ve seen me this way. I do not often cry,” she said, brushing away her tears.
“Please,” said Suzanne, “tell me what’s wrong. I won’t say anything about it if you don’t want me to.”
“It was the test today. I saw everyone writing and writing. My mind would not work. I am very stupid.” Katia began to cry again.
“Someone who speaks English as well as you is not stupid,” said Suzanne.
As the girls talked, Suzanne learned that Katia was from the island of Hydra and had never been away from home before. All the city girls seemed to be smarter and wealthier than the island people she had always known.
“My people are only fishermen,” Katia explained. “It was a sacrifice for them to send me here. I thought I could win the big scholarship and go to study in America, but now I know I never will.”
“Well, don’t give up so easily. You have lots more time to study,” Suzanne comforted.
“It will not help,” insisted Katia. “I have made a big mistake to come here.”
“I feel the same way,” said Suzanne. “I am lonely for my old home, and I think that the years my father will be working at the embassy in Greece will be very long.”
Before the girls parted, they agreed to help each other and Suzanne suggested that they study together. “Perhaps,” she said, “you will win the scholarship to America after all.”
The next afternoon the girls took their books and met again at the seawall that they laughingly named their crying wall. Before they left, Suzanne assured Katia, “You are every bit as smart as the rest of the class. No one is better than anyone else, and no one is worse. You just have to have more confidence in yourself and know that you can do it.”
“But I don’t know,” said Katia sadly.
“You will.”
Almost every day the girls studied together and one was seldom seen without the other. Katia soon was passing tests with high marks.
The day the tests for the scholarship were given, Suzanne waited for Katia outside the classroom. “How did you do?” she asked.
“I think I’ve done well,” Katia answered. The girls hugged each other in excitement. “But we must wait for the results until the Friday before the weekend you have promised to visit my family on Hydra.”
“How could I forget that!” Suzanne replied.
The day that the results of the tests came back was gray and cold. Suzanne looked all over for Katia and finally hurried to their crying wall. Sure enough, Katia was there, crying bitterly.
“Oh, Suzanne, I came in second, and second gets nothing. It was all for nothing!”
Suzanne tried to comfort her, but her own thoughts were as gray as the clouds above and the sea below. Maybe I was wrong to build up Katia’s hopes, she thought as she packed for her weekend with Katia’s family. The trip on the boat to Hydra was fun, and Katia became excited, telling Suzanne about what they were going to do.
On Hydra they went quickly to Katia’s house. It was a small, whitewashed building with a lemon tree in the courtyard. Although Katia’s mother and father spoke only Greek, they were able to let Suzanne know how welcome she was.
It didn’t take long to see the entire village and to visit the shops and cafes. Katia seemed to know everyone and they all nodded and smiled in greeting. Although Katia seemed happy to see her old friends, Suzanne could tell that she was still sad and worried about the scholarship. Late in the afternoon as Suzanne rested, she could hear Katia downstairs talking long and earnestly with her mother.
That evening the girls went for a walk. The stars, big and bright, were just beginning to dot the sky, and Suzanne had the feeling that Katia was as distant and silent as the heavens were. “Is something wrong?” she asked at last. “What are you thinking? Can I help?”
“I was just thinking that my mother is right,” Katia answered. “My place is here. I am needed to teach right here on my island when I graduate from the school in Athens. It is not necessary that I go away to school. And also I am thinking that the studying we did was not for nothing. I learned very much. But most of all I am thinking how glad I am to have you for a friend.”
“And I’m thinking,” said Suzanne, “that since the day I met you at the crying wall, time has just flown. I will be sorry to leave Greece. Maybe we need a new name for that wall.”
“I think we do,” answered Katia.
The girls were both silent for a few minutes. Then at almost the same time they said, “How about calling it the laughing wall?”

From the time the tooth fairy left her first quarter under my pillow, my parents have been teaching me to be careful with my money. I always paid tithing first on everything I earned and put at least half into savings for college.
By the time I met my husband, I was pretty sure I had done everything right when it came to managing my money. I didn’t have a credit card or a car loan, and I had worked part time during college so I didn’t have to take out a student loan. I had followed my parents’ advice about money to the letter.
So I was shocked when my husband and I sat down to open a joint bank account and get our first credit card. The bank clerk came back and told us that our application for a credit card had been rejected. I couldn’t understand what I had done wrong.
As it turns out, there is a lot more to credit than I realized. I set out to learn the basics, and I now understand why our first credit card application was denied. What I learned will help you prepare to handle credit wisely in the future.
I knew that using credit usually ends up costing you money, so I avoided credit cards. But I didn’t understand that there are some times when using credit might be necessary and beneficial.
It turns out my credit card application was rejected because neither my husband nor I had a credit history. This is a record kept on any person who has ever used credit before (whether a car loan, a credit card, or even a store card). A credit report lists all the lines of credit you have, what the balances are, and whether you’ve made your payments on time. All of this information is combined to create a credit score—a number usually between 300 and 850 that tells lenders how likely you are to repay a loan. The higher your score, the more lenders will trust you to make your payments on time. Plus, you’ll get better interest rates and terms on loans.
Because my husband and I had never used credit before, lenders had to assume we weren’t a safe investment. When we bought our first car, we had to make a large down payment and pay a high interest rate until our credit score improved. It was an expensive mistake. By getting a credit card earlier and paying off the bill in full each month, we could have built a good credit history without ever paying interest. This would have allowed us to get better terms on our car loan and saved us money.

When I was a young mother of several small children, at the end of days filled with diapering, dish washing, and disciplining, no one sang more emphatically the Primary song “I’m so glad when daddy comes home.” I’m sad to admit, however, I was not always cheerful when Craig seemed to bounce through the door after a hard day of work. He always greeted each of us with a hug and kiss and turned many difficult and sometimes disastrous days into delightful daddy times. I wish I had been a little less preoccupied with the endless list of to-dos still to be done and had more wisely focused, like he did, on things that mattered most. I would have stopped more often and enjoyed sacred family time and would have thanked him more often for blessing our lives!