Gospel Story Finder

The Knaupps later lived in Oregon. Then last year, after we heard that Wendy had cancer, we were blessed to discover them visiting in Utah during general conference. Wendy’s husband, their returned missionary son, and I gave her a blessing. We shared our experiences from the past four decades. It was clear that the gospel meant absolutely everything to them. It was the center and purpose of their lives and their children’s lives. Paul and Wendy fervently wanted to be healthy so they could fulfill their dream of serving a mission together.
Not long before she died, Wendy wrote to me in a letter, “I really feel that I am in the arms of the Lord. He can do anything He wants, and I am in His care.” She expressed gratitude for the gospel and her family, then wrote, “Isn’t the Lord wonderful!”
Now Wendy is gone, and her family misses her terribly. When her son wrote us about her death, he said, “Thank you for bringing Mom into the light of the gospel. She has lived in obedience to the commandments.” He said his mother once wrote to him, “I love the Lord and am eternally grateful [to Him] for bringing the priceless gospel into my life. I want to prove faithful more than anything else and am really trying to do so.”

At a conference championship game of American football, Joseph B. Wirthlin had what he called “a defining experience” during a crucial play.
Illustrations by Ben Sowards
“The play called for me to run the ball up the middle to score the go-ahead touchdown,” he said. “I took the handoff and plunged into the line. I knew I was close to the goal line, but I didn’t know how close. Although I was pinned at the bottom of the pile, I reached my fingers forward a couple of inches and I could feel it. The goal line was two inches (5 cm) away.
“At that moment I was tempted to push the ball forward. I could have done it. … But then I remembered the words of my mother. ‘Joseph,’ she had often said to me, ‘do what is right, no matter the consequence. Do what is right and things will turn out OK.’
“I wanted so desperately to score that touchdown. But more than being a hero in the eyes of my friends, I wanted to be a hero in the eyes of my mother. And so I left the ball where it was—two inches from the goal line.”1 Elder Wirthlin (1917–2008) later served as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

In the distance we can hear voices descending through the mountain trees. Looking up the rocky slope, we see three Italian girls, arm in arm, singing and walking toward us. Gradually we recognize the song—a favorite among LDS young women—“I Walk by Faith.” As Iris Cartia, Annalisa Brandonisio, and Stefania Ferrazzano come closer, they all begin talking at once—part in English, part in Italian, and part in French, with a lot of hand gestures. Then Stefania starts to sing a popular Italian song for us, accompanied with dancing and good-natured laughter. Soon, the girls get serious again and sing several LDS hymns. These girls, who range in age from fifteen to seventeen, come from widely different areas and backgrounds in Italy, but it is obvious that they enjoy each other.
It was the summer of 1990, and the occasion was Torchlight 90, a multi-stake LDS Young Women camp in Italy. More than 130 girls attended this week-long camp in the rugged mountains near L’Aquilla, about fifty miles from Rome.
Quite by accident, we just happened to be in Trieste, Italy, the day before the Young Women of the ward there were to leave for the camp. Rita Schina, the Young Women leader in the Trieste Ward, invited us to accompany the group. We had other plans, but a whisper in our hearts told us to go to the camp instead, so we heeded the prompting. We have been thankful ever since that we did.
There was something about the girls we met at the camp that touched us spiritually. Perhaps it was their vibrant glow and the excitement they expressed about their ideals. Or maybe it was their respect for their leaders. Certainly, much of it was their love for each other, which grew deeper every day they were together.
As the years have passed, we have corresponded with some of the girls that were part of Torchlight 90 to see if the extraordinary spirit we witnessed had continued in their lives. We have been pleased to find that it has.
The camp was divided into seven individual campsites, each representing one of the seven Young Women values. At every campsite, the girls were mixed from several stakes or districts so they could develop friends from other areas of Italy. The campsite was located on Rocco di Mezzo plateau, surrounded by rugged mountains and dotted with scattered tents full of talking, laughing girls.
Three short whistle blasts—the call to supper. The three girls hesitate for a moment, but supper can wait while they finish sharing expressions of testimony and friendship. After a few more songs from these unpretentious girls, we all reluctantly and slowly return to camp.
Every morning, all the girls gather for a flag-raising ceremony, then engage in games. This morning, there are clouds overhead and the mountain winds blow cold. The girls make a semicircle in front of the flags. As the sun gradually blossoms over the mountain peaks, everyone stands quietly for the opening prayer. The sounds of birds and crickets lightly pepper the soft whisper of the wind. This is a special morning, because Brother Christian Euvrard, a regional leader in the area, is speaking to the girls. He talks about the Young Women program as a guide for planning the future. When he finishes, he picks up a stick and breaks it as a symbol that the ceremony is over. Now it is time for games. And that’s when something unusual begins to happen.
As the girls join together in various groups, one of the groups appears isolated from the others. It is a small group of American girls whose parents work or are stationed temporarily in Italy. They don’t speak Italian, and they are not familiar with some of the everyday customs that come naturally to the Italian girls. They feel awkward. The Italian girls huddle together, then walk over to the Americans and tell them about an experience they had at a Church-sponsored event in Florence last year. “One of the members of our group did not speak Italian, so we decided to go through a whole day without speaking, using only hand signs. When the day ended, we all felt much closer to each other.” Soon both Americans and Italians are talking and singing together. It is a beginning.
The American girls’ Young Women leader, Linda Black, still lives in Verona, Italy. She wrote to us that several of the American girls became close friends with some of the Italian girls and have continued to write to them.
Annalisa Brandonisio, from Venice, wrote us, “Even though our language and customs were different, I felt united to the American group because of the strong influence of the Spirit of the Lord that was with us.”
Telling us about the camp, she said, “It was often hard for me to sleep at night, because my heart was so filled with emotion and feelings for that special week in the mountains. Torchlight 90 helped me to realize that I can get closer to God by having the right kind of friends.”
Annalisa is nineteen now. She is a stake missionary and a visiting teacher in the Modena Ward, in the Venice Italy Stake. She plans to serve a “mini-mission” this summer and a full-time mission when she is old enough.
Sonia Plescovich, from the Genoa Third Branch, Torino Italy District, wrote: “Torchlight 90 will remain in my heart for the rest of my life. Though we were many girls from many places, we all had the same ideals, the same thoughts and beliefs. Even though we had never seen each other before, it was as if we were friends from birth. I learned to love those girls as much as my own family. Because of the example of some of them, I learned to read the Book of Mormon every night. Being there and feeling the love of everyone in the camp, I felt closer to God than I have ever felt before. It seemed that the veil that divides us from God didn’t exist for a time.”
Sonia, now twenty, is the first counselor in the branch Relief Society presidency, a visiting teacher, and the branch choir director and organist. She is planning to begin a full-time mission sometime this year. In her most recent letter, she commented: “I saw some of the girls I met at Torchlight 90 at one of our latest Young Adult conferences, and we talked of the wonderful memories we have of the camp. I still have special feelings for the girls I met at Torchlight 90.”
Iris Cartia from the Vimercate Branch, Milan Italy Stake, wrote about her feelings toward the girls she met at the camp: “The Church is not spread widely in Italy yet, and even the members within a branch or ward often live far from each other. So I cherished the opportunities to get together with girls who share my beliefs and feelings. Those were special moments in my life. And from them I drew the strength to go on and be different from the world, to be a light for those around me. I know that neither time nor distance can prevent those who love the gospel from meeting together with joy, no matter where they come from.”
Shortly after the camp, Iris had written to us, “This experience helped me concentrate on the important things, like planning my life so I can go on a mission and get married in the temple someday.”
Three years later, those goals are still important to Iris. She is now nineteen and serves as the branch organist, director of the Relief Society choir, and a visiting teacher. She served a “mini-mission” in Torino, Italy, and corresponds with a 73-year-old woman she contacted as a missionary there. She plans to go on a full-time mission.
Iris continues to feel the influence of the camp in her life: “Torchlight 90 gave me an ideal and example that still lives in my heart. The example set by the leaders at the camp guides my leadership style considerably.”
Stefania Ferrazzano from the Foggia Branch, Puglia Italy District, wrote about the camp: “Being in the mountains without modern conveniences made me realize how much I took for granted and how much the Lord has blessed my life. It helped me to know that my life depends on God and that the gospel is my anchor and my guide. At the camp I learned that we have to work for the things we want to achieve, but if we do our part, the Lord will do the rest.”
Stefania is twenty now and is ready to go on a full-time mission when she turns twenty-one. Her sister is currently serving a mission in Milan. Stefania is the first counselor in the branch Relief Society presidency, branch librarian, and assistant clerk. She has also served as a Sunday School teacher for young people from twelve to eighteen. She tells us, “Even after three years, Torchlight 90’s influence on my testimony is still present.”
The Young Women gather in a “campfire circle” that has no fire—it is not lawful to have a large open campfire in these mountains. The excited conversations race back and forth, and there is vivid hand-waving as one girl or another tries to emphasize a point. All this is mixed with smiles and laughter and an occasional tear of understanding.
The girls continue to laugh and talk noisily until Sister Adele Peloni, a Young Women leader from the Venice Italy Stake and one of the camp leaders, stands, ushering in a stillness that amplifies the soft sounds of the mountain breezes. “Remember the standards of Young Women. … Be true to yourself,” she tells them.
The camp theme, “From the top, upward,” and the camp theme song, “I Walk by Faith,” reflect the ideals of the Young Women program all over the world. The girls have heard these concepts before, but somehow, in this setting, with the mountains so near and new friends by their sides, the girls feel exhilarating energy in the words that instill deeper feelings of love for one another and a greater desire to be close to the Spirit.
As the sun sets behind the towering mountains, leaving a gray cold, the girls huddle in their tents and talk about their experiences at the camp—putting up tents in the wind, making tables from wooden poles and ropes, and cooking without modern conveniences. They laugh about the games and the tricks they played on each other. Then, as the night closes in, they get more personal, and the girls share their feelings and hopes. Often these thoughts turn toward the gospel and what it means in their lives.
We had to leave the camp before the final night, so Tiziana Rossato, one of the leaders from the Venice Italy Stake, wrote to share with us that night’s experience: “In the final testimony meeting, the girls and leaders formed a big circle, hand in hand, and sang a goodbye song. They started with strong voices, but ended in tears and sobs, then total silence for a long time after the closing prayer.”
We attended the camp to see if such an experience could change the lives of young LDS girls. Now we realize that the experience changed our lives as well. The joy the girls felt in living simple gospel standards, and the unpretentious love and respect they showed to us and to each other, have been lasting influences in our lives.
We still receive letters from the girls, and they often recall for us their special feelings for the camp and for the people they met there and how their lives have been changed because of Torchlight 90. One of the girls summed up the feelings of all who attended the camp: “The Spirit of the Lord works like magic in our Young Women camps; it can touch your heart for a split second, but change your life forever.”

One Church member received this gift—and the joy promised—when reading the Book of Mormon for the second time. The first reading had been quick—simply to finish the book as fast as possible. But the second reading was motivated by a desire to understand what the book taught.
“As I read, new ideas flowed into my mind, and I began to make connections between what I read and experiences I was having. I recognized ways I needed to improve. But rather than feeling chastised, I felt loved. My heart swelled with joy.”

I was excited when Mom told me Sean was coming for dinner. He’s my big brother, but he moved away from home when he finished high school. My brother Mike went on a mission when he finished high school, but Sean doesn’t even go to church. He’s a great brother, though, and I love him. I especially love it when he plays with me. When I was smaller, I’d take horse rides on his back. He ran all over the yard with me hanging onto his neck and him holding onto my legs. He snorted and bucked around like a real horse.
I’m too big for that now, so he shows me wrestling moves instead. He won the city wrestling championship in the 11th grade. Sometimes we play ball, and sometimes we just sit and talk. I was really looking forward to his coming over tonight because I wanted him to help me make a model race car. Sean is good with his hands, and I like to work with him.
I helped Mom set the table to make the time go faster. As I put the knives and forks out, I noticed something was wrong. “Hey, you have too many plates on the table,” I said.
“No, dear. Sean is coming tonight, and so are the missionaries.”
“The missionaries!” I cried, slamming down the last fork. “Why do we have to have the missionaries when Sean is here? I want to have him to myself. I want it to be a special night.”
Mom looked at me in surprise. “It can still be a special night,” she replied gently. “The missionaries are nice young men. I’m sure you’ll like them.”
That’s what she thought. How could Sean play and work with me when the missionaries were here? I knew he’d be polite and spend his time talking to them.
By the time Sean arrived, I was upset. He could tell I wasn’t happy, but I knew better than to tell him why. Mom and Dad would be really disappointed if I ever complained about the missionaries to him. More than anything else, they wanted him to come back to church. So did I, but I didn’t think talking to the missionaries all night would make it happen.
When the missionaries arrived, Mom had dinner ready, so we sat down to eat. Everyone had a good time. Mom was right—the missionaries were great guys. They cracked jokes with Sean, and both faked surprise when he told them he wrestled in high school. Sean’s not my big brother just because he’s older, but also because he’s big—tall and strong and big.
Dinner ended with everyone laughing. Then it happened. Elder Blair asked if they could leave a message and a prayer before they went to their next appointment. This is the end of the night for me, I thought, disappointed. Sean won’t be helping me with my model car tonight. He’ll escape before anyone talks religion to him.
I waited to hear his chair move and the excuse why he couldn’t stay. But nothing happened. Slowly I looked up, and he was still there, watching Elder Blair thumb through his Book of Mormon. When Elder Blair found what he wanted, he read a few verses. Then he started asking Sean questions. Mom and Dad looked worried and hopeful. Sean answered each question in a humorous kind of way. He had stayed because he was having fun with the missionaries, and now he was going to go on joking even though the elders were being serious.
Suddenly Elder Peterson, the short, skinny one, caught on to what Sean was doing. “Sean,” he said, looking him in the eye, “do you believe in Jesus Christ?”
Everything seemed to change. Sean looked back at Elder Peterson, and instead of answering with a joke, he very softly said, “Yes.”
“Then why are you making fun of what we’re saying?” Elder Peterson asked.
I looked at Mom. She had tears in her eyes. Dad did, too. What’s the matter with them? I wondered. Were they upset with Sean or with the missionaries?
Sean and Elder Peterson continued talking, Elder Peterson asking questions and Sean giving him honest answers. Finally Elder Peterson said, “Sean, when was the last time you went to church?” Sean shrugged and looked at Mom and Dad for help, but they both shook their heads. They couldn’t remember either.
I could remember—not the date but how happy I had felt sitting beside him, proud to be his brother, glad to sing along with him, even though he couldn’t sing very well. I wanted to tell him, but suddenly there was a big lump in my throat, and I wasn’t sure I could talk.
“Sean,” Elder Peterson asked, “will you go to church with us on Sunday?”
Sean was looking at his hands. I couldn’t see his face, but we could all see his head slowly nod up and down. The lump in my throat grew bigger, and now I had tears in my eyes, too. Everyone was crying, but we all had smiles on our faces.
As I looked at Sean and Elder Peterson, I didn’t see a scrawny elder and a big wrestling champion. I saw David and Goliath. David had saved the day because he had the Spirit of the Lord with him. That’s why we were all crying—we could feel that Spirit, and it felt good.
I love my brother Sean, but at that moment I wanted to be like Elder Peterson. I wanted to have the Lord on my side, and I think Sean wanted that, too. Mom was right. This had been a special evening. I had seen David, unafraid, go into battle with Goliath. Fortunately, they both won!

A true story from Denmark.
Amalie loved to be a helper. She helped Mom put plates on the table. She helped Dad find his shoes. And she said the prayer at family scripture time.
Every Sunday, Amalie’s family went to church. Mom played the piano. Her older sister, Emma, held the door for everyone. Dad said the announcements. Her older brother, Alexander, passed the sacrament. Everyone got to help at church.
Everyone except her!
Amalie knew that Jesus Christ helped everyone He met. She wanted to help like He did! But she couldn’t play the piano. She couldn’t help with the announcements either. She felt a little sad. Maybe she would get to help when she was older.
One day before church, the branch president came up to Amalie. He smiled “Would you pass out the hymnbooks?” he asked.
Amalie smiled back. “Yes!”
Carefully, she took a stack of green hymnbooks off a shelf. She put a book on each seat.
When church started, everyone opened their hymnbooks. Amalie felt so happy. She had helped them all so they could sing together!
From then on, everyone in Amalie’s family helped at church. Mom played the piano. Emma held the door. Dad said the announcements. Alexander passed the sacrament. And Amalie put the hymnbooks on the seats.
Amalie felt happy that she could help Heavenly Father. She knew He wanted her to help like Jesus did.
Illustrations by Dave Williams

When the time came for my mission, I felt prepared. I had attended seminary for two years, I took the missionary preparation class, and I went to institute. I felt spiritually strong at the time, but my parents began to increase their persecution. My whole family was involved in trying to get me out of the Church.
I submitted my mission papers and received my call to serve in the Brazil Recife Mission. I told my parents I was going to Recife to represent Jesus Christ as a missionary. My father fought with me, and my mother went so far as to burn my church clothes and throw my books away. They were very angry.
I did not go on a mission. This was the hardest time in my life. I wanted to serve a mission, but I faced great opposition. I did nothing wrong, but I became discouraged and depressed, and I still suffered persecution at home. My parents hoped I would give up and not go to church anymore.
It was difficult for me to be a young man and to not be on a mission. I felt inferior to my friends who had already left on missions, and I felt alone at church. Some people thought I did not go because I was unworthy. But I did my best to remain firm in the faith.
During this time I met Kelly, who would become my wife. When I met her, my depression lifted and I was able to see myself as a child of God. Kelly was not a member of the Church when we started dating. We were eventually married, and after some time I baptized her. It was a special and sacred moment for me.
After our first child, Rafael, was born, we brought him to church to receive a blessing. My parents attended the blessing. It was the first time they ever went to church. From then on they started to hear the missionary lessons in their home. I eventually had the privilege to baptize my brothers and my parents.
It is funny because my father was very systematic about it. He said, “My son, when are you going to baptize me?” When he was baptized, I raised him out of the water and he hugged me. It was such an extraordinary moment in my life!
Years later I met with Elder Jairo Mazzagardi of the Seventy when he came to reorganize our stake. He asked me about my mission.
Elder Mazzagardi said, “Brother Murilo, I see that you were baptized when you were 16, but you did not serve a mission.”
“I did not serve a mission,” I said, starting to cry.
“But I do everything possible so the Lord will forgive me. I have served as a branch president for seven months, and I try to be a missionary and give my best. I work hard to help others. I want the Lord to forgive me. I do not want this blemish at the last day.”
“Brother Murilo,” he said, “do not look back; look forward. Whoever looks back walks backwards, and whoever looks forward walks forward. You are clean.”
I was happy to hear this! I felt light, happy, and peaceful.
It felt like a six-ton backpack was lifted off my back.
He told me to return with my wife and called me to serve as stake president.
Elder Mazzagardi then said, “Your experiences will help you be stake president. You will be able to help young people who have difficulties or who do not have the support of their parents. You did not have the opportunity to serve a mission, but this is your mission now. You will help send young people on missions.”
As stake president one of my main goals is to help young men and young women prepare to serve missions. The Lord has given me the right words at the right time to talk to these young people. I am grateful the Lord has given me the opportunity to help others choose to serve missions.

Sister Quashigah remembers hearing for the first time the Primary song, “I Know My Father Lives”. She felt empowered by the words “He sent me here to earth, by faith to live his plan. The Spirit whispers this to me and tells me that I can.”1
When she is faced with a difficult task, she has learned that the Savior will give her the power and strength that she needs, and the Spirit will guide her steps. Upon receiving her first Come Follow Me book, Sister Quashigah was devastated that she could not read it, but through the gospel literacy program, she has learned to read and can now explain the doctrines and principles of the gospel to her family and friends.

Every Sunday on their way home from church, the Amblers drove down Tate Street until it ended, turned left onto Clermont Avenue, then turned right onto Clarktown Road. Halfway down Clarktown Road Dad stopped the car, and the family got out and looked around. In January they saw a snow-covered meadow; in March, a muddy hole in the ground. In May the Amblers saw the wood and brick outline of a building.
“A new church.” Lissy sighed happily.
“Our new church,” Jude exulted.
“A new church that’s all ours,” Caddy echoed their feelings.
“The work’s progressing nicely,” Dad said as he walked closer to the building, his arms clasped behind his back.
Mom reached out to hug the children. “How nice it will be to not meet in that rented hall anymore.”
The hall was where the Amblers and the other members of the Accrington Branch went to meetings each Sunday. Anticipating the move into the new building seemed to make everyone in the branch even less satisfied with their present meeting place. Lissy, Jude, Caddy, and the other Primary children often complained about the hall.
“There’s no parking lot, and we have to park way down the street and walk for miles,” Madeleine complained.
“There’s just not enough room!” Lissy said each Sunday when she scrunched between her parents in sacrament meeting. “I feel like a sausage in a can!”
“We don’t have any classrooms, and even with the dividers Brothers Magnuson made, I can hear everybody’s lesson but mine,” Jude grumbled.
“The piano’s out of tune, and lots of the keys don’t even work!” Freddy lamented. “I sound horrible on this old thing.”
“The hall isn’t like any of the pictures in the Ensign or the lesson manuals,” Caddy said, looking longingly at a picture of a meetinghouse set in the middle of a lush green lawn.
The children complained so much and so loudly that the Primary president scolded them. “Why, when I was on my mission, I went to a branch of the Church that met in a small room above a restaurant, and we were glad to have it! You don’t know how lucky you are!”
But even she was happy when the new building was finished. The Saturday before their first Sunday meeting, the branch president gave the Primary children a special tour. They could hardly believe their eyes.
“Carpet on the floor!” Silvia rubbed her shoes back and forth.
“Cushioned benches to sit on.” Eva ran her hand over the polished wood. “They even have holders with new hymnbooks.”
“A gym!” Eva’s brother George jumped up and caught an imaginary ball. “Now we won’t have to go to the park or the elementary school when we want to play games.”
“A stage!” someone exclaimed.
“A drinking fountain my size!” Lily took a long drink of water.
“And this is the library,” the branch president said. The children smiled at the meetinghouse librarian, who was unpacking boxes of pictures, books, and magazines.
“How many classrooms are there?” Jude asked.
“Eight,” answered the branch president. “Now let’s go see the baptismal font.”
“A baptismal font!” Christina exclaimed. “We won’t have to drive all the way to Clinton Ward anymore for baptisms.”
“More than one piano—and I bet that they’re all in tune like this one!” Freddy played a scale, up and down. “And an organ too. Wow!”
“Next spring we’ll plant grass, trees, and flowers,” the branch president told them.
John pulled the door open, shaded his eyes, and craned his neck. “It has a steeple, too, so everyone will know that this is a church.”
“Yes,” said the branch president, “and when it’s completely finished and paid for, we’ll have a special meeting to dedicate it to Heavenly Father.”
All through the cold winter months Lissy, Jude, Caddy, and the other Primary children prepared for what they called “Dedication Sunday.” They talked about reverence and about how important it was to take good care of the new building. They learned special songs. They drew pictures of the things that they did at church and pinned them up to make wonderful, colorful classroom bulletin boards. And the day before the dedication all the children and their families cleaned the whole building until it sparkled.
Early the next morning the Amblers, dressed in their nicest clothes, drove down Clarktown Road to the meetinghouse. They sniffed the lovely flowers Mom had carefully arranged in vases the night before and packed in a large box. They breathed in the fresh spring air coming through the open windows.
“Do you remember when our new church wasn’t even here?” Lissy asked.
“And when there was just a big hole in the ground?” Jude added.
“But now it’s a beautiful church, and soon it will belong to Heavenly Father,” Caddy said eagerly.
“Yes, this is an important day,” Dad said, turning into the parking lot. “The stake president will be here with his counselors, and many other special people are coming.”
He stopped the car, and they got out and looked happily at their new meetinghouse. Mom and Dad held the hands of the three children as they went up the walk. “Oh, how good it is to finally have our very own building to meet in!” they all agreed.

I was praying to my Heavenly Father, and I know many other people were praying for me also. Through all of my trials, I prayed that I would be healed, that my joints would recover, and that I wouldn’t have to go through the rest of chemotherapy. I felt that my prayers weren’t being answered because I still had to go to Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City every week for more chemotherapy. I still hurt. And I was still stuck in a wheelchair. At one point, I started to think that my parents were crazy for believing in a God who wouldn’t even listen to a poor little sick girl.
Years before, I had gone through a similar trial of my faith when I prayed for my mom to get better. She was on oxygen all the time and was too weak to even walk around the house. I prayed and hoped and prayed some more that she would miraculously be healed. However, she wasn’t. After she died, I learned that we can pray for what we want all that we want to, but we need to pray for the right things—praying that the Lord’s will be done—to have our prayers answered.
Remembering this lesson, I changed my prayers from “Please heal me” to “Heavenly Father, I would really like to be done with these trials, but I will accept Thy will.” As soon as I changed my prayers, I found that I was able to handle the chemotherapy more easily, and I had a better attitude. That was just the beginning of the blessings and the answers to my prayers and questions.
My dad and grandfather gave me many priesthood blessings. Whenever I had to go in for surgery, I would ask for a blessing. The blessings helped me and my family feel calm about the procedure. One time I had a high fever, and we had to go to the hospital. I received a blessing from my dad and a neighbor before we left. By the time we pulled up at the emergency room door, my fever was gone, and I didn’t have to stay the night in the hospital. I know that priesthood power is a gift from a loving Heavenly Father.
One moment that will always stand out in my mind was the day I came home from the hospital after I was diagnosed with leukemia. The young women and Relief Society sisters had moved my stuff from the basement into a room on the main floor so I would be closer to my parents and wouldn’t have to use the stairs. They had cleaned and decorated the room to make a great place for me to live while I was sick. My family was the recipient of many other service projects. In the beginning, it was hard for me to accept service. When people would do service for me, it would make me feel like I couldn’t do anything for myself. However, I soon learned that it was OK to ask for help. When I started feeling better, I began looking for opportunities to serve other people more. Now I try to serve as much as I can. I get a good feeling when I serve other people. I have come to realize that by letting other people serve me, I allow them the same good feelings.
I have learned to think more about the future and my choices because I was so close to death. At school, I heard girls complaining about how they were having a “bad hair day.” As I was sitting there in my hot pink wheelchair with a wig on my head, I would think, “Well at least you have hair!” Girls would also complain about their feet hurting from walking around in high heels. I would think to myself, “At least you can walk.” Now I try to focus more on the big picture instead of the small things I used to worry about.
Over the past few years I have learned many other things through the blessings of having leukemia and the complications from chemotherapy. I have become closer to my Heavenly Father. My testimony has grown. And I have learned what is truly important. I have learned to appreciate all of the small things that people do for me. I am now in remission, in less pain, and gradually getting back some of the use of my joints. As I continue to heal, the blessings and learning experiences keep coming.
So why me? Why now? I don’t ask those questions anymore because I grew spiritually during my trials. I have discovered who I really am because the Lord loved me enough to let me experience adversity and the blessings that can come with it.

Pornchai Juntratip carefully walks into the room and senses the location of his visitor. He smiles, brings the palms of his hands together, bows his head, and offers the traditional Thai greeting: “Sawat dee khrap.”
Brother Juntratip is a slim, delicate-looking man whose youthful face belies his forty-six years. Visitors sense an ethereal quality about Brother Juntratip, who has been described as “a man without guile, untouched by worldly influences.” A Church translator in his native city of Bangkok, Thailand, Brother Juntratip has achieved much in his life despite losing his sight in his teenage years.
“I was about eight or nine years old when I lost the sight in my right eye. But it wasn’t until I looked through binoculars that I realized I could see only through my left eye. I lost the use of that eye when I was about fourteen years old. Now I can see only the difference between light and dark.”
But having lost the ability to see with his eyes, Brother Juntratip has been able to develop the ability to see with the Spirit.
“I was in my late twenties when I first met the Latter-day Saint missionaries. They were bicycling by the house one day and saw me. They stopped and introduced themselves and asked if I had ever heard of the Church. When I said no, they told me about Joseph Smith and the First Vision.
“From what they told me, I felt that Joseph Smith was a good man who had done nothing wrong. At their suggestion, I knelt and prayed to Heavenly Father to know if what they had told me was true. When I got up from my knees, I had this soft, warm feeling down my spine.”
The elders arranged to come again, this time bringing Braille editions of the Book of Mormon and The Articles of Faith by Elder James E. Talmage—both in English.
But Pornchai says he had been prepared for this moment. His father, a bank clerk, started teaching him English when Pornchai was nine years old. When he was ten, he began working with a tutor. Later, he enrolled in a four-year high school correspondence course offered by a college for the blind in the United States. He had completed the course and received an American high school diploma shortly before the missionaries stopped to talk to him.
“When I look back on those years, I realize that everything fitted into place,” says Brother Juntratip. “Not only was I able to read the books the missionaries gave me, but I think I was also prepared spiritually to receive the gospel message.
“I grew up observing the customs of two religions. Like most Thais, I was raised a Buddhist. My parents, being of Chinese descent, would observe Chinese religious customs, such as the new-year festival, the ancestral festival, and the new-moon festival.
“But I had read of Jesus Christ, and as a small boy—a long, long time ago—I had watched movies in which the Lord was depicted, like The Ten Commandments and The Robe. And I believed in God. I told myself that there must be a God, because if there were no God, who created the universe and all the good and beautiful things in it? There had to be an omnipotent Being.”
Brother Juntratip was baptized on 6 December 1976, at the age of twenty-eight.
By then, his parents had died, but he faced opposition from his two younger brothers. “They were university-trained engineers, and their only religion was materialism. They couldn’t understand what I was doing.”
Three years later, they opposed his decision to attend Brigham Young University—Hawaii Campus. “My brothers were sure I’d fail,” recalls Brother Juntratip, “and they didn’t want the embarrassment of having to bring me home.” To try to keep him from going, his brothers took control of a piece of property his mother had left him. He had planned to sell the property to acquire money for college expenses. But his brothers said they would hold the property so that if he failed, they could sell it and use the money to bring him home.
But Brother Juntratip still went ahead with his plans and enrolled at BYU—Hawaii. He wrote to an airline company asking them to let him fly half-fare. They responded by giving him a free ticket.
Pornchai studied English literature at the university, taping the lectures and also listening to taped versions of the study text. He supported himself by transcribing oral history tapes.
He graduated in December 1983 and then entered BYU at Provo, Utah, for graduate work in English literature. “Because I did well while in college in Hawaii, my brothers let me have the money from the property sale to pay my way to Utah,” says Brother Juntratip. “I had to give so much time to my studies that I couldn’t work to support myself, but luckily I was awarded a scholarship. I received my master’s degree in June 1986 and returned to Thailand.”
For seven months after returning to Thailand, Brother Juntratip taught students in his home. Then he was offered a position as translator for the Church.
“I had been praying that I would find employment that would fit my particular circumstances, and the translation job does that. I translate seminary and institute student manuals into Thai.”
At first, Brother Juntratip hired someone to read the English text to him. He would dictate the Thai translation into a tape recorder, and the tapes would then be transcribed. These last two steps were eliminated when he taught himself to use a Thai-language typewriter. Later, he replaced the typewriter with a computer, making revisions and corrections easier. In addition, he now receives a taped version of the original English text.
Brother Juntratip met his wife, Kwanjai, a couple of years after his return from BYU. She had served a mission in Thailand.
The Juntratips were sealed in the Manila Philippines Temple in June 1990 by the temple president, Floyd Hogan, who had been Kwanjai’s mission president. Their son, Pituporn, was born in August 1991. “His name means patriarchal blessing,” explains Brother Juntratip. “We hope he grows up to be a good missionary like his mother.
“I remember that when the missionaries presented the discussions to me, I felt the gospel message they taught me was true, was good,” he says. “By striving to live my life according to the gospel, I have come to know for a certainty that it is true and it is good.”

As the girls join together in various groups, one of the groups appears isolated from the others. It is a small group of American girls whose parents work or are stationed temporarily in Italy. They don’t speak Italian, and they are not familiar with some of the everyday customs that come naturally to the Italian girls. They feel awkward. The Italian girls huddle together, then walk over to the Americans and tell them about an experience they had at a Church-sponsored event in Florence last year. “One of the members of our group did not speak Italian, so we decided to go through a whole day without speaking, using only hand signs. When the day ended, we all felt much closer to each other.” Soon both Americans and Italians are talking and singing together. It is a beginning.

Brother and Sister Willes Cheney were called as missionaries to the Canada Halifax Mission and assigned to the far north, to Canbrook, Newfoundland. The instructions from their mission president were: “Go up there and strengthen the branch. Find some housing so the people will have their own place to meet in. And be ambassadors of good will.”

This faithful couple touched many lives. Brother Cheney reported of their numerous successes with people and concluded with this tribute to his lovely companion:

“Aside from the many examples, the major contribution to our success was Sister Cheney. Her whole mission was a labor of love—teaching how to make a garden, can, sew, quilt, and give compassionate service. She was loved by all because of her excellent example as a wife, a mother, and as a friend.”

He went on to say, “We helped the branch acquire a chapel and saw twenty-seven new members come into the Church, and many who were inactive return.”

This lovely couple had shown their love for the Lord and for their newly found neighbors, though they were far away from home.

Brother Brownie Tomlinson helped to demolish the interior of the old tabernacle and excavate the ground under and around it. His sons, Russell (13) and Shawn (11), assisted by hauling bricks and stones and doing other jobs that were safe for boys their age. They donated long hours and worked hard to prepare the site. Brother Tomlinson noticed that as Shawn became covered with white dust, it looked as if an angel were working among them. Although Shawn can’t remember feeling like an angel, he reported that it felt good to help build the temple. “I got to thinking about all the people who would be married and sealed and baptized there, and it was really special to be part of it.”

The Saints in Singapore have been tested, in ways common to all as well as peculiar to their circumstances. Joseph Goh, Bedok Branch executive secretary, has fought through two bouts of cancer, with the help of his wife, Jemmie, and his two children. In 1987, Joseph discovered a growth on his left leg. He relates, “I’d been playing soccer and felt some pain while walking. When the pain persisted, my wife insisted that I see our doctor. X-rays revealed a tumor. The doctor later said that he might have to amputate if the growth was connected to the bone. But we remembered the priesthood blessing I had received the night before. It had promised that I would walk again.”
The operation successfully removed the growth, then Joseph underwent radiation treatment for three months. “I had to relearn balance and walking. Our seven-year-old son, Kelvin, prayed every day for me and often held my hand to comfort me. I recovered in time to baptize him. I worried about falling during the baptism since I couldn’t put weight on the leg, but everything went smoothly.”
Then, in January 1988, X-rays uncovered white spots on his left lung. He underwent chemotherapy for six months, losing all his hair. Because his natural immunities were weakened, he suffered through several illnesses, including chicken pox. Eventually, all spots but one disappeared. The remaining spot is being monitored closely. Joseph was well enough by December for his family to travel to the New Zealand Temple to be sealed.
Jemmie, who serves as first counselor in the Relief Society presidency, says, “These experiences taught us how to pray deeply. I had never really known what sorrow was before, or joy. I learned a lot about faith from Joseph: he did not blame God, and he did not murmur. The second fight with cancer was very frustrating. But during one prayer, some words came to my mind, ‘I know what I am doing,’ and I realized that I must trust God.”
Joseph adds, “The problems drew us together. Through our testing, I learned of the love my wife and children have for me, and I loved them more. I believe the Lord wants us to learn to be more patient and to know how people suffer so we can be more compassionate and understanding.”

The young women around the world have taught me so much about seeking Christ and gaining a daily, personal witness of Him. Let me share the wisdom of two of them:

Livvy has watched general conference her entire life. In fact, in her home they traditionally watch all five sessions as a family. In the past, conference for Livvy had meant doodling or drifting into the occasional unintended nap. But this past October general conference was different. It became personal.

This time, Livvy decided to be an active recipient. She silenced notifications on her phone and took notes of impressions from the Spirit. She was amazed as she felt specific things God wanted her to hear and do. This decision made a difference in her life almost immediately.

Just days later her friends invited her to an inappropriate movie. She reflected, “I felt the words and spirit of conference return into my heart, and I heard myself declining their invitation.” She also had the courage to share her testimony of the Savior in her ward.

After these events she stated, “The amazing thing is, when I heard myself testify that Jesus is the Christ, I felt the Holy Ghost confirm it again for me.”

Livvy did not skip like a stone over the surface of conference weekend; she dove in, mind and spirit, and found the Savior there.

Many years ago I spoke of one who took his example from the Savior, one who stood firm and true, strong and worthy through the storms of life. He courageously magnified his priesthood callings. He provides an example to each of us. His name was Thomas Michael Wilson, the son of Willie and Julia Wilson of Lafayette, Alabama.
When he was but a teenager and he and his family were not yet members of the Church, he was stricken with cancer, followed by painful radiation therapy, and then blessed remission. This illness caused his family to realize that not only is life precious but that it can also be short. They began to look to religion to help them through this time of tribulation. Subsequently, they were introduced to the Church, and eventually all but the father were baptized. After accepting the gospel, young Brother Wilson yearned for the opportunity of being a missionary, even though he was older than most young men when they begin their missionary service. At the age of 23, he received a mission call to serve in the Utah Salt Lake City Mission.
Elder Wilson’s missionary companions described his faith as unquestioning, undeviating, and unyielding. He was an example to all. However, after 11 months of missionary service, illness returned. Bone cancer now required the amputation of his arm and shoulder. Yet he persisted in his missionary labors.
Elder Wilson’s courage and consuming desire to remain on his mission so touched his nonmember father that he investigated the teachings of the Church and also became a member.
I learned that an investigator whom Elder Wilson had taught was baptized but then wanted to be confirmed by Elder Wilson, whom she respected so much. She, with a few others, journeyed to Elder Wilson’s bedside in the hospital. There, with his remaining hand resting upon her head, Elder Wilson confirmed her a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Elder Wilson continued month after month his precious but painful service as a missionary. Blessings were given; prayers were offered. Because of his example of dedication, his fellow missionaries lived closer to God.
Elder Wilson’s physical condition deteriorated. The end drew near, and he was to return home. He asked to serve but one additional month, and his request was granted. He put his faith in God, and He whom Thomas Michael Wilson silently trusted opened the windows of heaven and abundantly blessed him. His parents, Willie and Julia Wilson, and his brother Tony came to Salt Lake City to help their son and brother home to Alabama. However, there was yet a prayed-for, a yearned-for blessing to be bestowed. The family invited me to come with them to the Jordan River temple, where those sacred ordinances which bind families for eternity, as well as for time, were performed.
I said good-bye to the Wilson family. I can see Elder Wilson yet as he thanked me for being with him and his loved ones. He said, “It doesn’t matter what happens to us in this life as long as we have the gospel of Jesus Christ and live it. It doesn’t matter whether I teach the gospel on this or the other side of the veil, so long as I can teach it.” What courage. What confidence. What love. The Wilson family made the long trek home to Lafayette, where Elder Thomas Michael Wilson slipped from here to eternity. He was buried there with his missionary tag in place.

I should like to tell you of an experience I had many years ago while serving as a stake president. I received a telephone call from a bishop who reported that a husband and wife in his ward were seeking a divorce. Having gone beyond all limits of prudence in installment buying, they now argued endlessly over money matters.
The husband in his employment faced the constant threat of garnishment of wages, and the wife refused to remain at home because of the harassment of bill collectors. Furthermore, they soon would be without a home because they had received notice of foreclosure. In their mutual frustration, he shouted at her for being a poor manager, and she at him for being a poor provider.
The bishop reported that he had taken care of their emergency needs, and that he had counseled with them at length in an effort to restore the love and respect they once had known. He had reached the point where he felt he had done all he could to help them.
I asked whether the man belonged to a priesthood quorum. The bishop replied that he was an elder. That evening the quorum presidency responded to a call to meet with the bishop. On a confidential basis the problem was outlined. Then the quorum presidency suggested the names of a committee who might work with the family. As I recall, the committee included a lawyer, a credit manager, and an accountant, all members of that quorum.
The couple was then called in and asked whether they would be willing to put their financial affairs in the hands of these brethren. They broke into tears at this sign of help with the burden they had found too heavy to bear themselves.
The men nominated for the committee were then approached and each agreed to serve. What they discovered was a dismal picture indeed. Obligated monthly payments totaled almost twice the monthly income. But these men were accustomed to dealing with problems of this kind. They analyzed the situation thoroughly.
They found, for instance, two cars where one could do at the price of a little inconvenience. There were other things that could be dispensed with.
Then, with the facts before them, they called on the various creditors. They did what the beleaguered husband could not do for himself. They spoke the language of the creditors, and worked out a plan of payment with each. They gave the creditors the assurance that they had control of the assets of the family, and with this assurance and the evident expertise of the committee, the creditors were willing to go along.
While in the process of managing the family’s affairs, the committee effectively taught principles of budgeting, financial responsibility, and money management. The problem was not cured in a day. It required many months. But miracles happened. A new and satisfying discipline came into the lives of the husband and wife. The creditors received their just due. The home was saved, and—most important—love and peace returned to that home.

At church on Sunday everyone was talking about the call to go to New Mexico. Brother Golden took me on his lap as usual, and while I brushed and braided his long red beard, he talked to Mama and Papa about the best place to buy a good cover for the wagon. I remembered the first time that he’d picked me up several years before, and I’d reached up to feel his stiff, prickly beard.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Can’t you get rid of it?” I tried to say. He must have thought my mumble meant yes because he just laughed, patted my head, and said, “You’re an angel.”
I wasn’t much of an angel, but maybe I looked a little like one because I had a headful of yellow curls, blue eyes, and a smile that made a dimple hole in my cheek.
When I went to Sunday School class that day my teacher was giving out red leather Bibles to some of the children who had 100 percent attendance for a year. I wanted one of those Bibles so bad I could hardly stand it, but there was no way I could get one now. I’d be gone in less than a month.
After class I went up to the front of the room just to look at the one beautiful book that was left. As I reached up to touch it, the teacher turned around from cleaning the blackboard and looked at me.
“You’re moving away, aren’t you, Dora?” she said.
I nodded my head.
“I’ll miss you in my class. I can tell when I see you listening that you are very close to our Heavenly Father.”
I nodded. She was right. I was close to Him. I knew He understood me even when no one else did.
“Would you like to have that Bible to take with you?” she asked kindly.
I bobbed my head up and down so fast I could feel my curls bouncing. She handed me the book, and I hugged it to me.
I reached up and kissed her cheek and skipped from the room, so happy I wanted to sing.
“Thank You, oh, thank You,” I murmured, glancing heavenward.
Papa made me a little wooden box with a hinged lid for my birthday that October when I was seven. It was to hold my precious things to take with me, he said. I packed it and repacked it many times, trying to find the best way to get the most in; but I never could get it to hold everything I wanted to take.
Papa and Mama were busy getting the wagon ready to go, and my friend Eileen was watching me pack the box for the last time.
“Where do you think the best place is for the chickens?” Mama asked.
“Chickens?” Papa said. “We’re not taking any chickens.”
“Of course we are. Three or four of the best layers and Caroline’s rooster, so we can raise some chicks in the spring and maybe a couple of hens to eat along the way.”
Papa sighed. When Mama had that sound in her voice, he knew it was no use to argue.
“I guess we can put them in a crate and tie it to the side behind the washtubs. You’d better put chicken feed on your list.”
“I already did.”
“I think I’ve figured out how to load the stove so we can cook on it while we’re traveling,” Papa told her.
“That’ll come in handy. Will we have plenty of water?”
“Four barrels: two in front and two behind. That should be enough to get us through the driest places.”
I carefully placed the soft leather Bible in one end of my box. Pressed between its pages were beautiful red leaves I had gathered from the autumn trees. I’d tied a string round and round both ways so they wouldn’t fall out. I dropped the seeds in next, in the little crack that was left behind the book: two red beans and four watermelon seeds and then the long strand of tiny glass beads I had strung myself. Sister Johnson had given them to me in a slim bottle with a cork one day when Mama was visiting her. While they talked, I had picked up the beads one at a time with the thin needle and slipped them along the thread, choosing the colors to suit me as I went.
I tried to fold the doll quilt small enough to fit into the box, but it was no use. I handed it to Eileen instead and indicated it was to be hers.
“For keeps?” she asked, and I nodded my head.
She rubbed it against her cheek. I’d made it by sewing together scraps from the new baby clothes, and I knew I could stitch another after we’d moved.
“Will the doll fit?” she wanted to know, and I answered by placing Henrietta on the soft bed I’d made with her folded flannel nightie. Henrietta was a beautiful painted-eye doll with china head, hands, and feet, and a stuffed cloth body. Some girls had shut-eye dolls, but I wouldn’t have traded because I loved Henrietta.
“What about those?” Eileen asked, pointing to the rest of my treasures beside her on the step.
I shook my head and handed them to her one by one—an old hat and pair of shoes I used to play dress-up, some more doll clothes, a worn-out Mother Goose book. When I came to the bag of marbles, I dumped them out, selected five or six of my favorites, and pushed them into the folds of the doll dresses in the box. The rest I returned to the bag and gave to Eileen.
After she ran off home with her hands full, I noticed again the pain in my head. It had started two or three days before as a tender spot behind my right ear and now was a sore and throbbing lump. I went inside to talk to Heavenly Father and ask Him to make it better.
By morning I was burning up with fever and crying with pain. Mama took one look at the spot I pointed to and said, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We’ll have to get you to a doctor fast!”
The doctor decided just as quickly that he should lance the boil, and before long he had drained it.
“There, doesn’t that feel better?” the doctor asked.
I tried to say it sure did, but he couldn’t understand my mumble.
“Can’t this child talk?” he asked Mama.
“Not too good,” she said.
He took a look in my mouth and said, “Why, she’s tongue-tied! This should have been taken care of a long time ago. It’s a very simple procedure.”
He explained to me that my tongue was fastened down on the bottom where it should not be. All he had to do was cut it loose a little, and then I’d be able to talk like everyone else. I couldn’t believe it.
For a few minutes life was wonderful. The pain was gone in my head and the doctor could help me talk. When we get to our home in New Mexico, I’ll be talking like everyone else, I dreamed. I can go to school with Ed and, best of all, no one will tease me.
I did not know yet that it would take lots of pain and effort before I could talk and years of hard work before we had a place of our own.
The doctor asked Mama when would be a good time for the operation, and she said, “You’d better do it now; we’re leaving tomorrow.”

Brant sat on the curb and ran his fingers through his hair. “Look at this stupid report card!”
Willard shook his head and got to his feet. “You want to see a really stupid one? Look at mine!” He aimed his arm as if he was going to throw a javelin, then ran a couple of steps and threw his ball as hard as he could into the air.
Brant squinted in the afternoon sun. “It’s going over the fence! No! Right onto Mr. Lawson’s shed!” He covered his ears as the ball thudded on the roof and rolled off the other side.
The crash of the ball against the roof brought Brant to his feet and sent Willard ducking behind a bush. Mr. Lawson’s scowling face immediately appeared at his back screen door. Brant felt like hiding, too, but his dad always told him to face what was coming.
“What broke?” Mr. Lawson shouted angrily.
From his shelter, Willard nudged Brant forward. “Nothing, Mr. Lawson,” Brant replied. “Willard’s—” Willard socked Brant’s shoulder—“I mean, our ball bounced off your shed and landed on your property.”
Mr. Lawson’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose you want to get it.”
Brant shrugged. “It would only take a minute, if it’s OK.”
“What if I said no? You kids track through my yard and garden without any regard to the time and work that went into it.” Mr. Lawson opened the screen door and came outside, waving his arms. “Get your ball, but stay off my plants—especially my everbearing strawberries! I’ll be watching.”
Brant shoved his report card back into his pocket and put his books on the curb. He felt as if he was going into a mine field. He glanced at Willard, then entered the yard through the gate. Carefully he moved along the neatly weeded stone walkway and past the porch from which Mr. Lawson glared. Brant could almost feel his neighbor’s angry breath as he hurried around the corner of the shed and down the three timbered steps into the garden.
Bright flowers bobbed beneath the shed windows and along the walkway where the plump, juicy strawberries grew. Brant located the tattered ball among the lush green leaves. Sitting on his heels, he leaned forward, carefully maneuvered among the strawberry leaves, and grasped the ball. The sweet smell of the delicious fruit made his mouth water, but he didn’t take any.
He stood and returned just as carefully along the walkway. Mr. Lawson was standing by the timbered steps, still watching him like a hawk. “Thank you,” Brant muttered.
“Next time watch where you throw that thing!” Mr. Lawson thundered.
Back on the road, Brant tossed Willard the ball, and Willard handed him his books. “I always get the dirty work,” Brant grumbled as they continued to their homes.
“You handle stuff better.”
At the corner, they turned down the alley. “How am I going to handle this report card?” Brant said.
“What’s to handle? You usually get good grades.”
“Yeah, right! Then how do I explain a D in math?”
Willard laughed. “That will take some explaining!”
“Not funny, Will.”
“It is to me. I’m the one with bad grades. What happened to you?”
Brant shrugged and looked ahead toward his house. “Math happened. I’m lost.”
Willard patted Brant’s shoulder. “I don’t even show my folks my report card. Try that.”
Brant frowned. “Yeah, right! Hide it for a whole year? Get serious.”
“That’s what I do.” Willard flipped the ball in his hand. “My folks are too busy to even notice.”
“My folks know when report card day is. And if they forget, Randy reminds them.” Brant nodded toward the end of the street, where his little brother was walking home with a friend.
“Hi!” Randy called excitedly. “I got my report card!”
Brant jabbed Willard’s side. “See what I mean?”
“Wanna see my grades?” Randy offered eagerly. He shoved his report card into Brant’s face. “All A’s except one B!”
Brant patted Randy’s head. “Good work, Ran.”
“I get a dollar for every A,” Randy announced proudly.
Willard leaned close to Brant. “How much for a D?” he snickered.
Randy looked up quickly. “I didn’t get any D’s. After I tell Mom, I’m calling Dad at work and telling him my grades!” He raced toward the house.
Brant’s head throbbed. He knew he was slipping in math, but he hadn’t expected a D! Was this his year to hit his head against a brick wall? Please, Heavenly Father, he prayed silently, help me convince Mom and Dad I haven’t been goofing off. He opened the door and heard his brother’s excited voice.
“Yeah, Dad, all A’s and a B! Thanks! Do you want to talk to Brant?”
Brant shook his head and shivered, but it was too late. Randy shoved the phone into his hand. “Here, Brant, Dad wants to hear about your grades.”
At dinner everyone listened as Randy babbled about his good grades. Brant knew that Dad and Mom would wait till they were alone to drop the ax. After dinner, Randy ran out to play, leaving Brant alone. He wished he could disappear too. Instead, he went out onto the deck, where Dad was restringing the lawn trimmer.
As Brant slumped into a lawn chair, Dad looked up. “OK, so what’s with the D?”
Brant shrugged. “I’m having trouble with math.”
Dad leaned back and wiped his hands with a rag. “That’s no news flash.”
“I’ll do better next report period.”
“Good, but how do you plan to do that?”
Brant squirmed. “I’ll spend more time on my homework.”
Dad smiled. “That’s a step in the right direction. Another is no more after-school street hockey—homework first. No friends in, and no TV while you’re doing it. Plus, doing homework doesn’t mean rushing through and putting answers on paper. It means understanding how to solve the problems. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now get your homework, and we’ll look at it. I used to be pretty good at math.”
The following morning, Willard and Brant hurried to school. “How’d it go with the report card?” Willard asked.
Brant shrugged. “I’m kind of grounded till I get this math thing right.”
“What’s ‘kind of grounded’?”
“It means that homework gets top priority. Dad explained some things, and I understand the math a little better already. What happened with you?”
Willard grinned. “Nothing. I told you I’d get away without showing them my report card.”
Brant frowned. Willard got away with everything! Then they passed Mr. Lawson’s home, and he remembered how Willard had wanted him to get the ball because “you handle stuff better.”
Brant smiled to himself. If he did handle stuff better, it was because his folks took the time and trouble to show him and Randy the right way to do things. Thank you, Heavenly Father, he prayed silently. Thanks for giving us parents who love us enough to not let us get away with anything.