Gospel Story Finder

Annemarie and I met the summer before high school. We were the only freshmen on the varsity soccer team and had to stick together. It seemed we had nearly everything in common, until we attended our first end-of-the-season team party. It was the night after we became state champions.
“You’re not going to have a beer?” she questioned skeptically, snapping open the can of beer offered her. “Coach left already. You’re not going to get caught.”
“I know,” I replied. “That doesn’t matter. I don’t drink.” There was an uncomfortable pause as I awaited her reaction. Slowly, Annemarie put the can back on the counter as she watched me searchingly.
“Are you serious? Not even one to celebrate?”
I shook my head.
“Okay,” she conceded, “then I won’t drink tonight either. In fact, let’s leave.”
That night the two of us started a tradition of leaving team parties with the coach. Sometimes we went out for shakes instead, and often other team members joined us. But usually it was just Annemarie and me.

I so much enjoyed the article in the June 1981 New Era on not attending questionable movies. When my boyfriend and I started going together, we quickly decided not to go to the movies. Instead we formed an imaginary fund with the money saved. Now whenever we think someone deserves a surprise, the money is there for it. We have never regretted our decision.
Karen Dietz and Robert W. Henderson, Jr.Seattle, Washington

In high school I had many opportunities to drink and smoke and do a lot of other unwholesome things. It just didn’t make sense to me to participate. In fact, it seemed destructive. So I got very good at saying, “No thanks.” Sometimes I would even challenge my friends to give it up. Also, I could see the misery that immorality caused, and I wanted no part of it. I made a personal commitment to save sexual intimacy for marriage. It seemed the only right way. At times I felt pretty alone, but I held on to my personal beliefs.
My family was not religious, so I didn’t belong to a church. It was through evangelists on television that I first learned about prayer. It made sense to pray, so I did and it felt good to be able to talk to my Heavenly Father. I felt I had a friend I could talk to who understood how I felt.

Throughout my youth, I attended a lot of firesides. I admit, I don’t recall everything, but one talk has always stuck with me. One of my leaders, who was previously an Air Force pilot, shared his experience with hypoxia—the lack of oxygen to a person’s body, which impacts their brain.
The leader explained that Air Force pilots are at risk of becoming hypoxic, so they undergo training where they are exposed to it. In one training session, he was instructed to take his oxygen mask off and then to put it back on when he felt himself becoming hypoxic. But he never put his mask back on—his friends had to do it for him.
After the training, his friends explained that they watched him suffer all the signs of hypoxia—bad decision-making, incoherent speech, and confusion. He said he hadn’t felt any of those symptoms and thought he had been acting normal, even though his friends could see that he was in danger.

One day during school, my friend and I were talking about religion. I began to talk about the things I believe as a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a long conversation, and I had the privilege to explain about the power of God here on the earth, the organization of the Church, and most important, the Restoration of the gospel. I would have liked for him to meet with the missionaries and be baptized, but realistically that doesn’t always happen. I’m just grateful I had the opportunity to share truth. I felt strengthened by the Spirit and saw the importance of studying so that I can always be prepared to teach the gospel.
Luis H., São Paulo, Brazil

I remember being so homesick for Mama and Daddy that one day when I was about ten, I ran away from school during recess and headed down the country road to my house. The teacher saw me and called my father. He met me halfway, wiped away my tears, and told me that Mama was going to be all right and that we would be together again soon. When I got back to school, a good friend was there to comfort me. She helped me a lot through those next few months.

Steven Shaffer, 15, finds great rewards in his seminary work. “Seminary gives me something worth doing,” said Steven. “It makes me feel good when I do something like that. I study about four or five hours a week for seminary, and sometimes I have to get up early in the morning to do the lessons because I’m taking hard courses at school and study them a lot.
“But seminary gets me to read the scriptures, and in class we discuss what we’ve read at home. Seminary’s also had an influence on my wanting to go on a mission, and I know that reading the scriptures helps me prepare for that. I study them every day to keep my memory fresh. Last year the first counselor in the seminary presidency and I had a competition to memorize 40 scriptures. It was fun, and we both did it.”

Enter Sara, another friend. About the same time that Tiffani and Catlin were investigating the Church, three of Sara’s friends from high school were preparing to leave on missions. Sara couldn’t understand what was so important that these young men would put aside a normal life to become full-time missionaries for the Church. She thought she might find some answers if she read the Book of Mormon, so she asked Catlin for a copy. Once she started reading, Sara couldn’t put it down. She went to church with Catlin and there met the sister missionaries. One month after Catlin joined the Church, Sara followed her friend’s example.

The two holdouts, Christina and Kristin, could not believe what was happening to their friends. First it was Tiffani (who had not yet been baptized, though they assumed it was inevitable), then Catlin, and now Sara. But Christina and Kristin decided they weren’t going to let religion come between them and their best friends, so they supported their friend Sara by attending her baptismal service.

In the midst of this heavy competition, I should like to audaciously announce that Dick Davis and I are the champions—that is in our field. We are not the fastest, the longest, nor the strongest runners in the land, but I contend we are the most versatile.
Five years ago we looked at our physiques. Dick has the more traditional, chunky-jogger look, while I have what you might call a war refugee’s build. We decided that something—anything—must be done. Since our work in the entertainment business demands much travel, we have had to jog in some unusual places. In an effort to help those who feel they don’t have the time nor the proper place to jog, may we submit a sample of our record.
We have jogged: through the wheat fields of Saskatchewan and the rain forest near Olympia, Washington; over the Snake River in Idaho and along the Skunk River in Iowa; up and down the Capitol Records tower in Hollywood, and up and down the George Washington Monument; above the grape vineyards of Napa Valley, California, and through new snow in Cache Valley, Utah; along the Atlantic at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, along the Pacific at Santa Barbara and Vancouver, B.C.; through the hardwood forests near Nashville and the sagebrush around Las Vegas; along the Los Angeles storm canal system and around the Atlanta Civic Auditorium parking lot; around the high school track at Roseville, California, and down the railroad track near Ritzville, Washington; in Houston when it was 98 degrees, and in Calgary when it was 38 degrees below zero; in, near, around, or through the Montana prairies, the granite boulders near Silver City, New Mexico, the Czechoslovakian Embassy in Washington, the old western movie sets near Prescott, Arizona, and more freeway rest areas and public parks than we want to remember.
From this vast reserve of experience, we would like to offer some pieces of free advice that are worth every penny of it.
Start your jogging program slowly and build up gradually. The first day out, never do as much as you think you would like to. If you are over thirty, check with your doctor first. Come to think of it, if you’re over thirty, what are you reading this for anyway? You should be reading the Ensign.
People sometimes ask us: How do I get started jogging? One good way is to lean forward until you begin to fall on your face. Take a step to correct your balance. Keep leaning for a mile or so. Then either straighten the body and stop, or lean a little more and collapse on the ground, whichever seems appropriate.
The basic jogging form is head up, rib cage lifted, medium arm action, feet pointed forward. Most new joggers prefer rolling from heel to ball of the foot as it is easier on the calf muscle. Jogging should be easy and rhythmical. If you find yourself gasping for breath, clutching at your throat, staggering, turning gray, or inching along on all fours, cut back a little on your jogging program.
The sprint form is head erect, mouth open in large smile, arms agitated, feet barely touching the ground. This is used by new joggers their first morning out for approximately 25 yards.
The shuffle form is a good steady ground gainer used at the end of a five-mile run. It will get you there, but it wears out the toes on your shoes.
The pacer form is a sort of prancing gait, not unlike a show ring pony. Keep your head erect, chin tucked in, chest thrust out, knees pumping high, toes slightly pointed, jaw firmly set, but facial muscles giving the appearance of quiet control. This form is used mostly for passing girls of your own age coming the other direction on bicycles. With practice it can be sustained for bursts of 10 to 15 feet.
1. Pain in the side. Some joggers complain of a pain in the side. This is especially common among joggers who planned to jog past their girl friend’s house, and their mother said they had to take their little brother along. No medical cure known.
2. The blind staggers. This is a dizziness experienced from jumping up off the couch too fast and jogging out the door when your mother says, “Jim, did you cut the lawn yet?” Cure—cut the lawn yet.
3. Proper breathing while jogging. While jogging be sure to alternate breathing in and out, as too much of one or the other will cause discomfort.
4. Charley Horses in your calf muscles. This is mostly a rural ailment and hardly ever experienced any more since most people live in the cities.
5. Jogging in inclement weather. Track coach Stretch Scrimshaw said, “It don’t hurt nothin’ to run in inclement weather, but, however, I wouldn’t run in the rain. It gets your shoes all muddy.”
6. Shin Splints and Chill Blains. These were two of the most famous joggers in American history. They set out to jog from Baja, California, to Miami, Florida. Unfortunately, they forgot to consider the Gulf of Mexico.
7. Dogs. Dogs along your jogging route should not be considered a hindrance. They are an opportunity to develop your speed and endurance. Admittedly, dogs do present certain dangers. Dick is in danger of being bitten. I am in danger of being buried.
8. Jogging attire. This is a good idea, especially if the tire is hanging over your belt.
9. Palpitations of the heart. (See #1, “Jogging past girlfriend’s house.” Also no medical cure known.)
Happy jogging, and as the great baseball pitcher Satchel Page once said, “Don’t look back, something might be gaining on you.”

I lay in bed after my mom tucked me in for the night. I thought about some secrets I was keeping. My mind was filled with guilt. Then I remembered to pray. As I did, the Holy Ghost told me to talk to my mom about what was on my mind.
For some reason, I was hesitant to talk to my mom about it. I knew Satan was trying to make me feel scared. I also knew through the Holy Ghost that talking to my mom was the right thing to do.
At last I got the courage to go ask my mom if we could talk. I told her all about what I had done and how I was feeling. To my surprise, she wasn’t upset at all. She told me how happy she was that I was brave enough to talk to her. We hugged, and I asked her to forgive me. I felt relieved and happy.
I prayed again to my Father in Heaven and asked Him to forgive me too. It felt so good to follow the Spirit and do what’s right. I’m grateful for Jesus, who made it so that I can repent when I make a mistake. I’m also grateful for the Holy Ghost, who helped me feel better. And I’m grateful for a loving mom who listens and understands me.

My dad got sick when I was one year old. He prayed that he would stay alive long enough to baptize me, and he did. Two months after my baptism, he died. After my dad died, I was sad, so I prayed about it. I asked Heavenly Father to help me not be sad. Now I am not so sad anymore. I still think of my dad, and I think of how we are an eternal family. I think about how I will get to see Dad again.Tyler Miller, age 8Orchard Park, New York

For the past three years the name of “Bob Gunther” had appeared on seminary rolls, yet no one had ever seen him at any Church meeting.
Just who is this Bob Gunther then? The seminary students from the San Lorenzo wards in California could tell you. At the beginning of each seminary year for the past few years, the students had signed the name of Bob Gunther to the roll as a practical joke. This joke led to what is now known as “The Bob Gunther Story.”
Early one Monday morning Neal Jarecki, a 16-year-old boy, was on his way to school. To Neal this was just another normal school day, but unknown to him, it was a day that would change the rest of his life. Neal was going to school early this particular morning to meet a girl he knew—Kim Spier, a Latter-day Saint.
When Neal arrived at school, he found Kim with a group of LDS girls studying in the library. He asked them why they were always at school so early, and they proceeded to tell him about seminary. Suddenly a voice from among the girls said, “Hey, we can get Neal to be Bob Gunther!”
Neal just stood there, not knowing what was happening, and said, “What?” The girls then told Neal that they would like him to play the part of Bob Gunther, an imaginary person who had been enrolled in seminary for the last few years. After asking a few questions about what he would have to do at seminary, Neal finally agreed to be part of this practical joke. As the day went on, though, Neal began to have second thoughts and wondered what he was getting himself into.
During the afternoon Neal received a phone call from Kim and Marlene from the seminary class, asking him if they could drop off some Church books for him to read. He said yes, so at 5:30 P.M. Kim and Marlene dropped by Neal’s home to give him a half dozen pamphlets, a Book of Mormon, a Doctrine and Covenants, a Pearl of Great Price, Gospel Principles, and one volume of Church history. Neal’s mouth dropped open, and he said, “I still have to do my homework this evening.”
He finished his homework as quickly as possible that evening. Then a thought flashed through his mind. “If I’m going to seminary tomorrow, the teacher is going to be suspicious, so I’ll need some proof of identification.” Neal hurriedly went over to the public library and purchased a library card with the official name “Robert Neal Gunther” printed on it. The rest of the evening Neal studied as much Mormon literature as he possibly could. But he really didn’t absorb too much because there were too many facts going into his mind in such a short period of time.
Tuesday morning came early as Kim drove over to pick up Neal for seminary. Many students in the class knew Neal, so she told as many as possible before the teacher arrived that Neal was playing the part of Bob Gunther. Finally Neal was introduced to Brother Mike Danielson, the seminary teacher. Only Brother Danielson didn’t believe he was Bob Gunther at all. He even had a good laugh when he was shown the library card.
Now that the climax of the joke was over for Neal, it was just a matter of sitting through the class. And the lesson that day, from the book of Daniel in the Old Testament, really sparked Neal’s interest. It ended with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego being cast into the fiery furnace under orders from King Nebuchadnezzar. Brother Danielson told them that the next day in class they would find out what happened to Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Neal decided to come again the following day to find out what happened.
Early Wednesday morning Neal showed up at seminary like he said he would, and from then on, Neal went to seminary every morning. It wasn’t long before Neal was asked if he would like the missionaries to come to his home and teach him about the Church. He agreed, and on a Friday two elders taught him the first lesson. Approximately two weeks later, Neal was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Today Neal is an active priest and a strong member of the San Lorenzo Second Ward in California.
What started off as a simple, practical joke by a group of seminary students ended with a young man’s membership in the Savior’s true church. The nonexistent “Bob Gunther” had developed into a fine missionary.

“Why can’t you keep your half of the room clean?” Alicia complained to her new stepsister. “It looks like a tornado just hit the place!”
“It isn’t that bad,” Megan answered. “Anyway, as soon as softball season ends, I’ll have more time to clean up. I may have to spend some extra time in practice for the next few days.” She folded a pair of jeans and put them into a drawer, threw her baseball mitt onto a chair, and put her pajamas under a pillow. “There—a start!”
Alicia sighed. She was glad to have Megan as a stepsister, but they were about as different as night and day. Megan was tall, slender, and very good at sports—but not very good at cleaning her room. Alicia was short, not-so-slender, and very good at cleaning her room—but her athletic skills were limited to being a substitute umpire in the junior girls softball league.
No wonder, then, that after Megan’s dad married Alicia’s mom, patience was in demand in their new home!
Actually it was a new home only for Alicia and her mom. After the marriage, they had moved into Megan’s dad’s house. “Welcome to my jungle!” Megan had said. “Here, let me push some of my junk out of the way. You can have this half of the room, OK?”
Alicia’s heart sank. Her old room had been as neat as a pin. Here, the clutter was unavoidable! On the floor were magazines, socks, baseball mitts, jeans, shoes, softball trophies, pillows, even orange peelings. Well, Mom told me there would be adjustments, she thought. I guess this is what she meant.
There were two more adjustments Alicia had to make. The first one came that weekend. Alicia’s old ward had been small enough that everyone knew everyone else’s first name. That’s where her dad’s funeral had been held three years ago. That’s where she had been baptized, had learned about Heavenly Father’s love, and had prayed for guidance when her mom said that she was going to remarry.
Her new ward was so big! So many people! After Megan had introduced her friends, she felt a little better. Singing the old familiar hymns was comforting too.
“You’ll get used to our new ward,” her mom told her that first Sunday. “Just remember, the important thing is not the building, but the reason for the building—to worship Heavenly Father and to learn to live the gospel.”
The next adjustment came when Alicia went to her new school. All the kids stared at her in her new classes.
Some of them giggled and whispered behind their hands to each other.
The teachers were all nice. And when Miss Younger found out that Alicia had been a substitute umpire at her old school, she asked her to umpire at the softball game that evening. “Megan’s team is playing for the school championship,” Miss Younger explained. “Our regular umpire is sick today. We could really use someone with your experience.”
Alicia wasn’t sure she was that experienced, but Megan had said, “Oh, come on, Alicia! You can do it! Just call them the way you see them.”
“OK,” Alicia had reluctantly agreed.
Now she reminded Megan as they headed out the door for the ballpark, “Remember that during the game I’m not your stepsister—I’m the umpire!”
“Fair enough!” Megan replied. “And you remember that if we win this game, we go to the city championship game next week.” She grinned. “I hope that won’t affect your decisions, Miss Umpire!”
“Why would it?” Alicia asked.
Megan laughed. “Because that means it would be another week before my half of the room gets cleaned!”
Alicia laughed too. “Well, if you win, I’ll clean your half of the room myself.” She quickly added, “But just for one week. And I don’t do orange peelings!”
* * * * * *
The stands were crowded. Alicia’s heart pounded as she took her place behind the catcher. “Play ball!” she called. She hoped that her voice sounded more confident than she felt.
As the game progressed, Alicia’s self-confidence returned. Finally it was the bottom of the last inning. Megan’s team, one run behind, was at bat.
The first batter flied out to the shortstop. The second batter drew a base on balls. After the next batter struck out swinging, Megan—the cleanup hitter—was up!
“Home run! Home run!” her team’s fans shouted.
“Strike out! Strike out!” the other team’s fans screamed.
“Strike one!” Alicia called as Megan let the first pitch go by without swinging.
Megan turned to look questioningly at Alicia but didn’t say a word. She tightened her grip on the bat, took a practice swing, then stepped back into the batter’s box.
The next pitch was right over the middle of the plate. Megan put all her strength into a smooth, level swing. The crack of the bat against the ball echoed over the field like a rifle shot. The ball arced high, headed for deep center field.
The center fielder took off like a small cyclone, but the ball landed just beyond her outstretched glove. Quickly scrambling after it, she wheeled and threw with all her might toward home plate.
The runner on first pounded around second, then third. The ball and the runner seemed to reach home plate at the same time.
“Out!” shouted Alicia, raising her thumb high in the air.
“What? No way!” Megan’s teammates shouted angrily, crowding around Alicia. Their shouting grew louder and angrier. Butterflies began doing flip-flops in her stomach.
Megan pushed her way through the crowd. “Leave her alone! If she called her out, that’s the way it was.” She led Alicia through the crowd. “Come on, Ump, let’s go home.”
Home! The word sounded like music to Alicia. She had a new ward, a new school, a new home—and a new family. She smiled gratefully at Megan. “You can stop calling me ‘umpire’ now. The game’s over. Now you can call me ‘sister!’” She laughed. “And even though your team didn’t win, I’ll still help you clean your half of the room!”

Eritai Kateibwi is making life better for the people of his homeland of Kiribati.
“People on my island have a strong bond to each other,” he explains. “The word ‘family’ is very important, and it drives me to help my own people.”
Eritai learned about hydroponic sustainability while attending Brigham Young University–Hawaii. He spent hundreds of hours developing that idea into a solution to take to his people.
In 2017, he returned to Kiribati and introduced innovative hydroponic gardening to families and communities in response to the challenges faced in accessing healthier food options. He explained that “it provided a healthy alternative to the processed foods that people were eating.”
Although Eritai continues to work on developing a sustainable hydroponics model on his home island, Marakei, his primary focus changed from hydroponics to construction with the mentorship and support of Jeff and Judy Brock.
They were serving as humanitarian missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Judy said, “Jeff loaded him up with tools and now Eritai is their go-to for all things construction.”
Her description of Eritai fits perfectly for the path his life has taken: “Eritai is now a leading local contractor and is working miracles,” she says.
Eritai says he feels happy and accomplished after overseeing the construction of a solar-powered Church building and missionary housing in Tabonibara, North Tarawa.
“I have never done anything as critical as this,” Eritai explained.
He told of answers to many prayers during the construction. He found it remarkable the way “every detail of the plans came together, and they were able to finish it so quickly despite setbacks with construction and weather.”
He is also working on a desalination project which is funded by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints working in collaboration with the government of Kiribati and the SUEZ Group.
“The mentorship provided by Elder and Sister Brock came full circle, as some years later they became project managers for the national desalination project,” says Ruth Cross, welfare and self-reliance manager for the Church in Kiribati and local coordinator for the desalination project.
“Eritai Kateibwi is a great example of hard work and determination built upon faith in God,” Cross continues. “Eritai’s deep sense of commitment propels the urgency of a shared vision to help people.”

Every school morning at 7:15, harp music cascades from a house in Narragansett, Rhode Island. Who is making such beautiful music?
It’s 10-year-old Alexis.
What’s her secret formula for playing so well?
“I practice every day,” she says with a smile.
Alexis almost always practices for half an hour before catching the school bus at 8 a.m.
Isn’t all that practice boring? Not to Alexis. Ever since she was a baby, she has loved listening to her mother play the harp. She was excited on her third birthday when her mom gave her her first lesson.
Now the two play together in a harp ensemble made up of adults—plus Alexis. She likes the exciting, up-tempo pieces. At Christmastime—when the group plays for visitors in a historic mansion called “The Breakers” in nearby Newport—it makes those early-morning practice sessions worth the sacrifice.

Have you ever heard of Alice Liddell? Probably not. Yet when Alice Liddell was only ten years old, she earned a unique place in literary history.
It happened July 4, 1862.
For many days Alice and her two sisters, Lorina and Edith, had been planning a picnic. Even their father was going. As a dean at Oxford University in England, Henry Liddell had little time for such diversions. But after much coaxing by his daughters, he finally agreed to go.
The next morning Alice arose early. She wanted to enjoy every minute of such an exciting day. After she had washed and dressed, she hurried downstairs. Her father was seated at the breakfast table. When he did not smile at her, Alice knew something was wrong.
“I’m sorry, Alice, but I have to miss the picnic today. A messenger just brought word that some very important people are coming to visit the college.”
“But—but why did they have to come today?” Alice questioned. “Why do they have to ruin our picnic?”
Dean Liddell arose and walked over to his daughter. Gently smoothing her long dark hair, he answered, “Now, you know I wouldn’t let anyone ruin your picnic. I’ve already sent word to Reverend Charles Dodgson and Canon Duckworth, inviting them to join you.”
Alice pulled her father down and gave him a big hug. “I still wish you could go with us,” she whispered. “But if you can’t, I’m glad you invited Reverend Dodgson. We will have a merry time with him!”
“Indeed, you are certain to have a merry time with the distinguished Reverend Dodgson, as do the students in his mathematics classes at the college. I had always thought mathematics to be a strictly serious science, but the laughter from his classroom often shakes the entire building.”
Alice giggled. “He is amusing. He always tells such wonderful stories. Thank you for inviting him and Canon Duckworth. I know Lorina and Edith will be glad too.”
Lorina and Edith were glad. They had also spent many pleasant hours listening to Reverend Dodgson’s stories.
Upon arriving at the Liddell home, Reverend Dodgson proposed an added feature to the picnic plans. “Let’s make this a real holiday,” he declared. “We’ll hire a boat and row to Godstow!”
The idea of a boat trip on the River Isis to Godstow three miles away thrilled the girls.
“I can handle one set of oars,” Alice offered, “and we will be in Godstow in an hour!”
Reverend Dodgson smiled, shaking his head. “Oh, no, dear Alice. The canon and I shall man the oars. You would likely row us into the ocean and we would never return.”
A short time later, the happy quintet was sitting in the rowboat. For almost half an hour the girls sang while the men rowed. Then Alice made a suggestion. “Reverend Dodgson, please tell us one of your stories.”
“Oh, yes!” Lorina encouraged.
Reverend Dodgson winked at Canon Duckworth. “Well, I suppose I could come up with some little tale. Then at least the swans won’t be frightened away by your singing.”
As the sturdy rowboat slipped and dipped its way through the water, a story was born on that picnic holiday over one hundred years ago. It was a story of adventure and fantasy, of a young girl named Alice and her exciting adventures in a place called Wonderland.
Since that day, millions of readers and listeners have shared the delight of Alice’s encounters with such lovable and unusual characters as the Mad Hatter, the Cheshire Cat, the Queen of Hearts, and many more. Millions of copies of the book, Alice in Wonderland, have been sold in many countries of the world. It has been translated into more than thirty languages, including Arabic and Chinese and is also available in braille for the blind.
Had it not been for little Alice Liddell, the story might have been forgotten after the picnic. “I became a real nuisance to Reverend Dodgson,” Alice recalled years later. “I pestered and pestered him until he finally wrote it down.”
The original story was called Alice’s Adventures Underground, and Reverend Dodgson illustrated the story before giving it to Alice. Keeping a copy for himself, he enjoyed reading it to other children he knew.
Reverend Dodgson’s friends encouraged him to have the story published so that other boys and girls and adults, too, might read it. Finally, after considerable coaxing, he enlarged the story to book length and offered it for publication. He chose to be called Lewis Carroll because not everyone would have approved of a reverend creating tales of a fantasy world.
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland quickly captured a vast reading audience for Lewis Carroll. Until his death in 1898, he continued to produce enchanting stories for people around the world. He wrote a fantasy based on a chess game called Through the Looking Glass that introduced several new characters, including the silly twins Tweedledum and Tweedledee.
Although willing to share her memories of the delightful British author, Alice attempted to avoid publicity for herself. Requests for autographs, pictures, and interviews were graciously but firmly refused. “I have done nothing to receive any special attention,” she insisted. “I was only fortunate to be a friend of a kind storyteller.” But who can say that she was not more than that? Perhaps she provided just the inspiration needed for Lewis Carroll to create his classic story of fun and fantasy.

Jack Frost had painted the windowpanes frosty white early that Saturday morning. So, late in the afternoon before it got dark and chilly, I went out to the garden to see my pumpkins. I grabbed the edge of the big plastic tarp that Dad had thrown over them to keep the frost away, lifted it up, and looked under it. There they were, all fourteen of them.
“Well, Jarom, how are your pumpkins doing?” Dad asked as he came around the corner of the house to look at his potato plants.
“Jack Frost hasn’t nipped them yet,” I said, “but I’d better pick them pretty soon. It’s only a week till Halloween.”
“What are you going to do with fourteen pumpkins?” Dad asked, shaking his head.
“I’m going to make jack-o’-lanterns.”
“Fourteen of them!” he exclaimed, wrinkling his brow. “Isn’t that a lot of jack-o’-lanterns? It takes a lot of work to carve just one. You’ll be carving pumpkins until Thanksgiving.”
I hadn’t thought of that. I scratched my head and peered under the tarp again. I just loved pumpkins. Dad had given me a corner of the family garden and had helped me plant five hills of pumpkins. During the summer, I’d watered and weeded them and had lifted up all the leaves to hunt for bugs. I had squashed every pumpkin-eating bug I could find.
Now I had fourteen of the orangiest, fattest, prettiest pumpkins in the whole town. I only had one problem: What was I going to do with all those pumpkins?
While Dad checked his potatoes, I sat on my very biggest pumpkin and thought. “Maybe we could make pumpkin pie,” I called to Dad.
“We’d be eating pumpkin pie until the Fourth of July,” he grunted.
“We could feed some to my hamster.”
“I don’t think your hamster is too crazy about pumpkins, but even if he is, it would take him a whole year to eat just one.”
Dad went into the house, and I stayed out in my pumpkin patch, thinking. Suddenly I smiled. I knew what I would do.
I jumped up and got my wagon and pulled it to the pumpkin patch. I picked three of my best pumpkins and put them into the wagon. Then I ran into the house for a pencil and some paper.
It was still light as I pulled my wagon down the sidewalk. I went straight to my friend Kirky’s house and pulled my wagon behind some bushes where no one could see me. I scribbled a note: “To Kirky from the Pumpkin Phantom.” Then, making certain that no one was looking, I grabbed one of my pumpkins, left it and the note on Kirky’s front porch, knocked loudly, and ran.
Next I sneaked over to Billy’s house because I knew that he didn’t have a pumpkin. I left him one on his front steps with a note: “To Billy from the Pumpkin Phantom.” And since Suzanne didn’t have her pumpkin yet, either, I knew right where to go next with the last pumpkin in my wagon.
I was having so much fun being the Pumpkin Phantom that I decided to go home and fill my wagon again. I took a pumpkin to Vanessa’s house and one to Cassie’s and three to Stephen (so that he and his two little sisters would each have one). The more pumpkins that I gave away, the better I felt. I hadn’t known that being a “phantom” could be so exciting.
It was starting to get dark when I got back home after making four trips with my wagon. My legs were sore from running, and my arms and back ached from lifting pumpkins, but boy was I happy!
After supper Dad asked, “Jarom, do you want me to help you carve one of your pumpkins tonight?”
My eyes got great big. “I sure do! I’ll go get one.”
I ran outside with a flashlight and looked under the tarp. But there wasn’t a single pumpkin left—I’d given them all away!
“I guess I don’t want a jack-o’-lantern this year,” I told my dad when I went back inside.
“You don’t want a jack-o’-lantern?” he asked. “Then why did you plant all those pumpkins?”
“I decided to be a pumpkin phantom, and I gave them away. I thought that I’d saved one for me, but I guess I hadn’t.”
“You gave all your pumpkins away?”
I nodded.
“All of them?” he asked again.
I nodded again.
The next day in Primary Sister Heaton, my teacher, said that she was going to tell us a story about sharing. Before she could, though, Vanessa raised her hand and said, “Sister Heaton, I know someone who shared.”
“Who?” Sister Heaton asked.
“The Pumpkin Phantom!”
“The Pumpkin Phantom?”
“Yes. Last night he left me the biggest, best pumpkin I’ve ever seen. I can hardly wait to make a jack-o’-lantern.”
“The Pumpkin Phantom came to my house, too,” Suzanne said with a grin.
“And to mine!” Stephen called out.
Pretty soon everyone was grinning and talking about the Pumpkin Phantom. “Well, just who is the Pumpkin Phantom?” Sister Heaton asked.
Everybody looked around, and said, “We don’t know, but he sure likes to share. He must be a very nice phantom.”
I didn’t say anything. I just sat with my arms folded and listened. But I was smiling great big inside. I didn’t even care that I didn’t have my own pumpkin, because I had a secret: I knew who the Pumpkin Phantom was.
As soon as I got home from Primary, I said to my dad, “I want an even bigger pumpkin patch next summer.”
“But Jarom, you had a hard time figuring out what to do with all of your pumpkins this year. Why do you want a bigger patch?”
“Because I’m the Pumpkin Phantom, and I need lots of pumpkins so that everybody in the neighborhood will have one. Besides, being the Pumpkin Phantom is better than having a whole house full of jack-o’-lanterns or a whole kitchen full of pumpkin pies!”

The morning of my eighteenth birthday was beautiful. I opened my birthday gifts and left for college classes knowing that the best part of the day would be at 7:30 that evening, when I would be baptized.
My family met me for lunch. Shortly after eating, I became ill and began to have great pain. My mother suggested I go home, where she put me to bed. I couldn’t sleep. The pain was so great that I got out of bed and knelt in prayer. As I pleaded for the Lord to take away the pain so I could go through with my long-awaited baptism, a great darkness filled the room. Frightened, I cried for help to see me through this terror. When I opened my eyes, it was three hours later and my older sister stood beside me. She asked how I was and suggested I get ready for the baptism. I looked out of the window and saw the sun was shining brightly. I thanked my Father in Heaven for my answered prayer, and my family and I went to the church.

I remember two friends from my high school and university years. He was a boy from a country town, plain in appearance, without money or apparent promise. He had grown up on a farm, and if he had any quality that was attractive it was the capacity to work. He carried sandwiches in a brown paper bag for his lunch and swept the school floors to pay for his education. But with all of his country appearance, he had a smile and a personality that seemed to sing of goodness. She was a city girl who had come out of a comfortable home. She would not have won a beauty contest. But she was wholesome in her decency and integrity and attractive in her good manners and dress.
Something wonderful took place between them. They fell in love. Some people whispered that there were far more promising boys for her, and a gossip or two noted that perhaps other girls might have interested him. But these two laughed and danced and studied together through their school years. They married when people wondered how they could ever earn enough to stay alive. He struggled through his professional school and came out well in his class. She saved and worked and prayed. She encouraged and sustained, and when things were really tough, she said quietly, “Somehow we can make it.” Buoyed by her faith in him, he kept going through these difficult years. Children came, and together they loved them and nourished them and gave them the security that came of their own love for and loyalty to one another. Now many years have passed. Their children are grown, a lasting credit to them, to the Church, and to the communities in which they live.
I remember seeing them on an airplane, as I returned from a Church assignment. I walked down the aisle in the semi-darkness of the aircraft cabin and saw a woman, white-haired, her head on her husband’s shoulder as she dozed. His hand was clasped warmly about hers. He was awake and recognized me. She awakened, and we talked. They were returning from a convention where he had delivered a paper before a learned society. He said little about it, but she proudly spoke of the honors accorded him.
I wish that I might have caught with a camera the look on her face as she talked of him. Forty-five years earlier people without understanding had asked what they saw in each other. I thought of that as I returned to my seat on the airplane. Their friends of those days saw only a farm boy from the country and a smiling girl with freckles on her nose. But these two found in each other love and loyalty, peace and faith in the future.
There was a flowering in them of something divine, planted there by that Father who is our God. In their school days they had lived worthy of that flowering of love. They had lived with virtue and faith, with appreciation and respect for self and one another. In the years of their difficult professional and economic struggles, they had found their greatest earthly strength in their companionship. Now in mature age, they were finding peace and quiet satisfaction together. Beyond all this, they were assured of an eternity of joyful association through priesthood covenants long since made and promises long since given in the House of the Lord.

The enthusiastic young people of the Cleveland First Ward, Huntington Utah Stake treated the senior citizens in their ward to a Red Carpet Honor Night. The Young Men, dressed in suits and ties, first delivered an invitation to each home. Then on the night of the activity, they served as chauffeurs and escorts; they drove to each home, rolled out the red carpet, and escorted their guests to the meetinghouse. There they seated the elderly members of their ward and served them a delicious meal prepared by the Young Women.
After dinner, the senior ward members were seated in a semicircle at the front of the auditorium. They were each given an opportunity to tell how they arrived in the community, what life was like when they were growing up, and how they met their companions. They also answered questions from the audience, offered several good words of advice to the youth, and thanked them for a wonderful evening.