Gospel Story Finder

A taxicab driver in Washington, D.C., displayed a picture of his two children on the sun visor in front of him. “They are beautiful children,” I said. “You must love them very much to carry their photos in your cab. I have children, too, and grandchildren, and I miss them when I’m away from them.”
“Why are you away?”
“I’m here for Church meetings. Are you a religious man?”
“Yes, ma’am. I am a Christian.”
“So am I! That’s wonderful!” I said. “You and I are alike in two ways—we both love our children, and we both are Christian.”
“Ma’am, do you believe in the Holy Spirit?” he asked.
“I do. I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
He looked puzzled.
“Have you heard of the Mormons?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s another name for our Church,” I explained. “We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.”
That started a discussion based on the first five articles of faith. The fifth article of faith led to our talking about the authority and power to seal families forever. This interested him—he had seen the beautiful Washington Temple.
I asked him if he’d like to know more. He said that he would, and he agreed to listen to the missionaries. I had him write his name and address for me, and as soon as I reached my hotel, I telephoned the mission office and gave his name to the elder who answered.

When I was very young, my father moved our family to Provo, Utah, where he operated a dental laboratory. After school, I would run to his lab and watch him make special false teeth. Often I would take a piece of wax and try to mold a tooth or a full denture. My efforts were awful! In my early teenage years, he would have me work by his side to learn each part of his trade. He was a perfectionist, and he constantly taught me how to remake the delicate, detailed work without any criticism from him but with continued explanations and demonstrations of how to improve. Each time I made a correction, he would tell me how much he appreciated my work and my effort. This gave me self-confidence, and my work improved.
Our time together, his constant encouragement and listening ear, and the many thousands of corrective counseling moments in the dental lab led to many discussions about God, the gospel, the plan of happiness, and the various aspects of life. This was how he guided me into a framework—a template, if you will—for me to try to order my own life.

“A brown butterfly to land on my hand,” my three-year-old squeaks with excitement. His response is an innocent reply to my offhanded question, “What do you want for Christmas?”
I mutter a hesitant “We’ll see” before putting him to bed, relishing the rare moments I get to spend with him. I’ve been too out of sorts to be present most of the time.
The unceasing screams of his sister, suffering from colic, keep pulling me into the black hole of postpartum depression. I feel like a shattered piece of china held together with tape—sharp, broken, and barely hanging on. I don’t want my bitter feelings to spoil my son’s excitement for the season.
I feel the weight of his answer on my shoulders. A brown butterfly had landed on his hand while we were taking one of our daily walks in the cool air of early spring. He talked about it for weeks. It is still the highlight of his short life.
I want to make his wish come true and see in his face some of the joy I desperately want for myself. I go to sleep praying for peace and relief, feeling that this is going to be a harsh Christmas for us both.
The next morning, we awake to a beautiful day—perfect for our annual Christmas Eve hike. My son prepares with more gusto than usual, talking about when and how his butterfly will arrive.
“It’s a little too cold,” I say as I zip up his coat and pull a hat over his head. “Perhaps the butterflies will all be staying warm inside their homes.”
“Not my butterfly,” he laughs, undeterred.
I put my daughter in the baby carrier and say a silent prayer: “Please don’t let him be too disappointed.”
As we walk, my son looks back and forth among the trees, more eager with each step. The cold wind shakes the leaves. He spins as they fall to the forest floor, where he stomps on them with a big crunch of his boots. To him, the world is full of magic, just waiting for his wish to come true. But I don’t see any butterflies.
We near the end of the trail. As I start to call him home, I hear his joyful laughter. I turn to see him by a tree holding his finger out as a small brown butterfly dances around him. With the faintest touch, they meet, and he smiles. His eyes find mine, and I feel warmth spreading all over me, marveling at the little miracle I’ve just witnessed.
I clap my hands in celebration and praise. God was listening. The weight of my sadness eases, and the Sprit witnesses that He is aware of me. He had heard my pleading prayers for strength and relief during tiring nights and depressing days.
Even small things, like finding a butterfly on a December day, prove that Heavenly Father is watching over my family—reminding me that miracles still happen when we have the faith of a child.

I enjoyed reading the article about Samuel Chambers. My great-great-grandfather, Preston Thomas, baptized him. I thought you might enjoy reading this excerpt from an account written by Preston’s son Daniel: “Chambers had the greatest faith in the Church and the most profound reverence for the man who baptized him. As illustrating this reverence, I pause to narrate an incident which occurred just prior to the death of Chambers. I came into my office one morning and saw him sitting in the reception room. He was then about 92 years old. On seeing me, he, with no little difficulty, attempted to rise to his feet to shake my hand. I sought to dissuade him from the effort of getting up, but he arose and took me by the hand and said with great earnestness, ‘Your father baptized me, and I always stand in the presence of his son.‘ ”

Much of our public reputation as a university comes in and through the high visibility of our athletic teams. But for me the win-loss records, the national championships, the tremendous thrills of watching championship play are not as valued as the spiritual dimensions within athletic programs. I recorded this journal entry on December 7, 1996:
I joined the volleyball team at the national tournament Wednesday afternoon just in time to see their second match in pool play. They beat Hastings and Point-Loma in three sets. On Thursday, against Peru State, I saw something I had never experienced as a participant or as a spectator. Our girls crushed Peru State 15-1, 15-5 in the first two sets. Then, as if some powerful bewitchment came over them, they let down everything and they became as sheep at the slaughter. They lost miserably the next three sets and the match, the only loss of the season, breaking a string of 52 consecutive victories. I was traumatized, stunned and I could feel the humiliation of the girls who came to the tournament with such confidence and fanfare. The news of our defeat created shockwaves of disbelief back in Hawaii. BYU-Hawaii was beatable. The ladies collapsed. Fortunately, the defeat happened in pool play which was still double elimination. We would have another chance. The girls, to their credit rebounded from the defeat and won the rest of their matches and the national championship in straight sets. It was a thrilling comeback. Yet I was touched most by the sweetness of the sisterhood of the team. Coach Navalta told me he gives priesthood blessings periodically to players, including non-LDS players. It was a thrill to be in the devotional/testimony meeting after the final victory. Each person in the room expressed thanks and bore testimony. We knelt in prayer holding hands. A moment never to be forgotten.

Kathy Solomon thought carefully about whom her gift subscription should go to and felt impressed to choose a girl who was suffering a great many problems in her life and was not very popular at school. “When I said, ‘I want to give you a gift subscription to the New Era,’ she just started crying right there. She couldn’t believe that anybody would want to give her a gift.” When the first issue arrived, the girl read it from cover to cover and came to school with a lot of questions about it. Sometimes the least likely prospects turn out to be the most receptive. Sherilyn Oakey and some friends were feeling crestfallen one day because a friend had just refused a gift subscription. “Well, I’ll take it,” a voice behind them said. They looked and then they had to look again. The voice belonged to one of the most anti-Mormon students in the whole school. She hasn’t shown much interest in the Church yet, but she now reads and enjoys the New Era.
Lynne Nielsen has been sending the New Era to some nonmember relatives in England for three years. These relatives gratefully report that when they finish reading each issue, they send it to their cousin in Cheshire who reads it and then takes it to work where clients and fellow workers read it.
Perry Christensen sent a subscription to an inactive young man who received it with real gratitude.
Patti Mackelprang sent her gift to an old friend in Florida. She received a letter telling how much enjoyment the first issue had brought.
Kelly Manning gave the New Era to some girls who had received the missionary discussions in his home but didn’t feel they could join the Church at the time because of family loyalty. The girls came by his house and told him that they and their family both enjoyed it.
When looking for someone to give the New Era to, don’t overlook your school or public library. If they do not subscribe presently, you could expose a lot of people to gospel principles for the first time by subscribing for them. You might also want to give a subscription to a barbershop, doctor’s office, beauty parlor, or any other place with a waiting room.
So the who is really no problem, but what about the how? Basically all you have to do is fill out one of the subscription blanks in this magazine and send it in along with your money. But that still leaves you three possibilities: you can tell the recipient you are sending the subscription before you send it; you can just send in the subscription with your name as donor and a gift card will be sent to the recipient; or you can send the subscription anonymously. The seminary leaders suggested that the students check with their friends in advance to assure that no subscriptions would be wasted on someone who didn’t want one, but in practice everybody did it his own way. Kelly Manning, who was mentioned above, asked that his name be listed as donor but said nothing to the girls in advance. He felt that the element of surprise made the gift even more exciting. Shanna Grayson, on the other hand, sent an anonymous subscription to her nonmember cousins. A week later when visiting them, she saw the New Era on their coffee table and asked if they were reading it. They said they were and that they really enjoyed it.
Fawn Burrell found still another option. She sent a subscription to an inactive girl but did it in the name of her whole Mutual class. In the meantime somebody sent an anonymous gift subscription to her little brother who is a nonmember. He became an immediate fan and now reads every word as soon as a new issue comes, even if it means reading all night. He no sooner had the June issue open than he made Fawn sit down and play the leadership game with him. He is currently taking the missionary discussions.
Carrie Buffat told her friend in advance that she would be receiving a gift subscription. The friend was so excited that she kept coming back every few days, asking when the first issue was going to arrive. By the time it did, anticipation had whetted her appetite to a fine pitch. Many students reported this side-benefit of telling the recipient in advance, although some also said that if the magazine was late in coming, the person could get a little irritated.
In short, there doesn’t really seem to be a wrong way to send the New Era. You’ll have to examine each case on its own merits.
If you do decide to tell the lucky person in advance, what do you tell him? Vickie Owen simply said, “I’m giving you a gift subscription to the New Era magazine. I really enjoy reading it, and I think you will too.” Others explained in more detail what the New Era contained. Some mentioned specific articles they had enjoyed.
Just as we’re not all Captain M, we’re not all Mister Rich either, so we’re providing a special service for those with echoes in their pockets—a special six-month gift subscription for two dollars, in addition to the regular four dollar year’s subscription. Isn’t it worth giving up one movie in order to give your friend a six-month smile?
When your friend has received an issue or two of the magazine, you can mention specific articles from time to time in your conversation with him or her. If you feel there is a growing interest in the Church, you might want to follow up with some more direct missionary approaches. Be sensitive, use wisdom, and rely on the Spirit in making those decisions. Do not try to push the gospel down anyone’s throat. Missionary work requires love, not salesmanship. The gospel should be shared, not sold. We think that you, like the youth of Pocatello, will find it easier to share than you ever suspected, even if you’re not yet Captain M.
Although we at the New Era wholeheartedly recommend this program to you, we must humbly admit that it was not our idea. Ever since the first issue was published, many wise readers have been sharing the magazine with their nonmember friends through gift subscriptions. In fact, it was their success that inspired this program in the first place.
We’d like to share with you a little of their success through a few of the many letters we’ve received from nonmember readers.
Barbara Lemke of Sacramento, California, wrote: “This month marks my year-and-a-half anniversary. Since Christmas 1974 I have been receiving the New Era every month, and I’ve enjoyed each issue thoroughly. A very dear friend gave me a subscription as a gift, and I’m so glad she did. It keeps my Christmas spirit alive each month, renewing my awareness that Christ lived and died and rose again as an expression of our Father’s love for us. It reminds me that this isn’t just for a day in December, but for every day, every month, and every year of our lives, and the life hereafter. It also makes me happy to read about so many people who are in love with the idea of loving each other. Thank you for a wonderful magazine. Even though I’m not a Mormon, I can appreciate the love and thoughtfulness that go into every issue.”
Cindy Shufeldt of Jackson, Wyoming, demonstrates the missionary potential of the New Era in her letter: “The New Era really brightens my day. Just recently I read one through from cover to cover and then lent it to a girl friend. She quickly devoured every word, and then I took it to my place of employment—the Jackson Hole Playhouse Theatre—where it was passed around one evening. One of the guys in the cast adopted it, and I haven’t seen it since! I am an investigator of the Church, and I can’t express in words how much the New Era has helped me in my studies. In fact, you may wish to know that I plan to be baptized.”
In giving the New Era, you should always keep in mind that the personal example you set for your nonmember friends may have the largest influence of all on their attitude toward the Church. When they read the New Era, they will learn what the standards of an LDS youth should be. If you yourself are not living those standards, your gift may be in vain. If you are living those standards, the New Era’s effect will be multiplied.
Consider this letter from Kathleen Garvey of West Sacramento, California: “I am not a member of the Mormon church, but I really like the New Era and the inspiring articles it has each month. However, I wouldn’t be enjoying the New Era if it weren’t for my Mormon friend who has given me several subscriptions to your magazine. In addition to giving me the magazine, she has given me an even greater gift. She has set such a fantastic example for me by living the Church’s high standards that she has really helped me in leading a clean and spiritual life, which I might not have done otherwise. So thank you, Vicki, and thank you, New Era.”
“If it weren’t for my Mormon friend,” Kathleen wrote. Perhaps there is someone who will never have the opportunity of getting to know the gospel through the New Era, unless you give it to him.

Joseph annually went to where the plates were buried and received further instruction from Moroni. However, in the excitement and temptation of potentially finding other valuable objects in the stone box, Joseph put down the plates in violation of the command God previously gave to him. Joseph was thrown violently to the ground; when he recovered, the angel Moroni was gone, and Joseph returned to the house “weeping with grief and disappointment.”3

This incident filled the Smith family with great uneasiness that Joseph might fail to get the plates due to his own negligence. “We therefore doubled our diligence in prayer and supplication to God,” Lucy recalled, “in order that he might be more fully instructed in his duty.”4 Shortly thereafter, tragedy struck the Smith family when the oldest son, Alvin, died. His deathbed instruction to Joseph was to keep the commandments God gave him and to do everything in his power to obtain the record. Joseph in time received the plates to translate.

Long years ago, Elder Frank Croft was serving a mission in the state of Alabama. While preaching to the people, he was abducted by a vicious gang, to be whipped and lashed across his back. Elder Croft was ordered to remove his coat and shirt before he was tied to a tree. As he did so, a letter he had recently received from his mother fell to the ground. The vile leader of the gang picked up the letter. Elder Croft closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer. The attacker read the letter from Elder Croft’s mother. From a copy of that letter, I quote:
“My beloved son, … remember the words of the Savior when he said, … ‘Blessed are ye when men shall revile you and persecute you and say all manner of evil against you falsely for my name’s sake. Rejoice and be exceeding glad for you will have your reward in Heaven for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.’ Also remember the Savior upon the cross suffering from the sins of the world when He had uttered these immortal words, ‘Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ Surely, my boy, they who are mistreating you … know not what they do or they would not do it. Sometime, somewhere, they will understand and then they will regret their action and they will honor you for the glorious work you are doing. So be patient, my son, love those who mistreat you and say all manner of evil against you and the Lord will bless you and magnify you. … Remember also, my son, that day and night, your mother is praying for you.”
Elder Croft watched the hateful man as he studied the letter. He would read a line or two, then sit and ponder. He arose to approach his captive. The man said: “Feller, you must have a wonderful mother. You see, I once had one, too.” Then, addressing the mob, he said: “Men, after reading this Mormon’s mother’s letter, I just can’t go ahead with the job. Maybe we had better let him go.” Elder Croft was released without harm.

Christ's injunction to let your communications be "yea, yea, and nay, nay" is about the importance of commitment. I learned an important lesson about commitment from my rock climbing teacher and companion, Dave. Dave had climbed many rock walls, including El Capitan in California's Yosemite Park. In most climbs there is a difficult section called the crux. When I first started climbing I would climb to beneath the crux, then, hanging on the wall, I would stare at the crux and wonder, "how am I ever going to get over that." When Dave noticed me hesitating he would yell up to me, "Troy, committing is the hardest part. Just commit." It took me a while before I understand what Dave was saying, but with some experience I learned the value of his words. When I attempted, or tried, or went for it, I often fell. But when I truly committed myself that I would give everything I had, I found myself doing things that had seemed impossible, and I rarely fell. Sometimes we fear committing because we fear failing. Instead we merely show up or "try." Commitment creates a power that can be matched in no other way.

In Canada, it’s quite a feat to receive the Queen’s Venturer award—it’s one of Scouting’s highest honors in the country. Recently Harvey Calfrobe, a member of the Blood tribe in the Province of Alberta, earned that award.
Harvey had some unique challenges. At four he was diagnosed with leukemia, and he spent most of his younger years fighting it. A severe learning disability also made things even tougher. Now Harvey’s leukemia is in remission, and he excels in a vocational school. He loves to ski, swim, bowl, and, of course, scout.
Harvey was baptized three years ago and is now a priest in the Calgary Eighth Ward, Calgary Alberta West Stake.
In a speech given at the Scouting awards ceremony, Harvey said, “I am proud to be in the Venturer program. It produces winners, and we are winners.”

Illustration by Jim Madsen
At the beginning of my mission, I served in a small city in South Korea. One rainy day we had not had a lot of success but wanted to keep working until it was time to go home. My companion and I decided that we would knock on a few more doors.
At one door a woman answered, and my companion started talking to her. As a new missionary, I had a hard time understanding, but after a few minutes she began speaking to us in English. We found out that she was from Chicago, Illinois, USA, and had moved here with her family. Her husband was a preacher for a church that did not have friendly feelings toward our beliefs.
The woman was nice but eager to disprove the Book of Mormon and convince us that our church was incorrect. I stood there with my companion as he tried to answer her difficult questions. My companion tried to testify to her that the Book of Mormon is true and that it could help her, but she insisted on believing that he was incorrect.
After about 30 minutes of discussion at the door, she asked my companion, “Where will we go after this life?” I could tell she was eager to refute my companion’s teachings, as she had before. My companion testified of the plan of salvation and that we can live with our families forever in the celestial kingdom. Before he could continue, she stopped him and asked him to repeat what he had just said about families being together. He again replied with the same response. I felt the Spirit so strongly, and I could see in her eyes that something had touched her deeply too. After that short but powerful testimony, she stopped arguing with us, took a Book of Mormon, and asked us to come back to talk with her and her husband about the Book of Mormon.
I remember walking home with my companion that evening, amazed by the effect of my companion’s testimony. I understood then that a testimony accompanied by the Spirit is the most powerful teaching tool we have. I’ll never forget my companion and his testimony that night. After that experience I decided that, even with my limited ability to speak Korean, I would try to bear my testimony no matter what. As I did, I began to feel the Spirit more and more. I learned that the best communication happens when you teach by the Spirit.

The funeral was over. Almost all the people on High Street had attended it, and I had gone with Mom and Dad. Now I was home sitting on the back porch steps. I glanced over at Mr. Sedgwick’s house and thought it seemed strange not to see him working in his garden.
As the afternoon sun began sinking behind the trees, I stared at the ground and remembered other yellow, sunny days when Mr. Sedgwick was still alive …
“Worms are marvelous creatures, Margaret,” Mr. Sedgwick had said with a quick laugh. “Just trust me and hold out your hand.”
I trusted Mr. Sedgwick, but my nose wrinkled as he placed the squirming, crawling thing in the palm of my hand. After a second or two, I was surprised that it didn’t bother me anymore. “What are they good for?” I had asked as I gently touched it.
“They aerate the soil for one thing,” he explained. “They crawl around in the ground and dig tiny tunnels. Then the rain and air can get down in there and help things grow.”
I thought of Mr. Sedgwick’s body in the ground. Dad said it was in a cement box, and I wondered if it bothered Mr. Sedgwick to be in a box with no light. But Mr. Sedgwick isn’t in that box, I reminded myself. Only his old worn-out body is there. But his body hadn’t seemed worn-out to me. He was always doing something!
I pulled a long blade of grass from beside the steps, then stretched it between my palms and thumbs like Mr. Sedgwick had taught me. When I blew on it, it made a low, funny sound, and Patches barked down by his doghouse. Patches! I hadn’t even thought of him. He loved Mr. Sedgwick too. I knew it was up to me to tell him.
“Mom,” I said, pressing my nose against the screen door, “may I take Patches for a walk?”
Mom came to the screen and smiled at me. “It’s almost time for dinner, honey,” she replied.
“I’d like to take him to the cemetery and explain about Mr. Sedgwick.”
“Would you like your father or me to go with you?”
I shook my head.
“All right, Margaret, but don’t be gone long.”
Patches jumped up and down, pulling on his chain and barking excitedly. I snapped the leash to his collar hook and undid the chain. He was off with a jerk, so I had to make him behave and walk beside me. As we passed Mr. Sedgwick’s house, Patches started to turn in at the gate.
“Come on, Patches,” I said, tugging his leash. “I have something to tell you, but not here.”
We walked through the quiet of the cemetery where shadows rested behind every tombstone. The smell of lilacs was in the air, and the breeze carried the song of the wood thrush. We walked up the slope where I could see the mound of fresh flowers. Patches started sniffing the ground.
I sat on the warm grass, put my arm around his neck, and hugged him tightly. “I don’t know how to tell you, Patches,” I whispered. “I guess the best way is to say it straight out. Mr. Sedgwick died, Patches. He’s buried under those flowers. We won’t see him here anymore. He won’t give you any more scraps … or teach me any more about gardening.”
Tears started rolling down my cheeks. Patches seemed to understand what I said and how I felt, because he turned and kind of smiled at me. Then he started licking the tears from my face and his tail stopped wagging and his ears drooped. I put my head down on my crossed arms and really sobbed. I don’t know how long I cried, but Patches finally wiggled his nose under my arm and started whimpering.
I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and held Patches’s face between my hands. “It’s OK,” I said as I rubbed his ears. “Mr. Sedgwick was a good friend, and Mom and Dad said it’s OK to miss him.”
Patches lay down and put his head on his paws. His brown eyes looked as sad as I felt, and I wished I could cheer him up.
“But you know what?” I said, forcing a smile. “Mr. Sedgwick is with his wife again. Just think how happy they must be to see each other. We’ll see him again, too, when we die. Remember how he always came here and put flowers on her grave? Well, he didn’t have a family, so you and I will have to do that now for both of them.”
Patches sat up and put his paw on my arm. I wiped my eyes again and stood up. It’s a nice place to be buried, I thought as I looked toward the west. Mr. Sedgwick always liked the sunset.
“Come on, boy,” I said. “Let’s go home.”
We walked down the shady street, and when we passed Mr. Sedgwick’s house, Patches glanced in at the gate. I looked in, too, but both of us just kept on walking.
I chained Patches to his doghouse and gave him fresh water; then I sat and combed his hair. He stayed real still, like he was thinking. I was glad I had told him. Soon I heard the screen door open.
“Margaret?” Dad called.
“I’m here with Patches, Dad,” I replied. Dad waved, then sat down on the porch step, waiting.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Patches,” I whispered as I hugged him good night.
He seemed to sigh, then went and lapped up some water from his dish. I walked up to the house and sat on the step beside my dad. He put his arm around my shoulders and hugged me.
“Everything OK?” he asked.
“I told Patches about Mr. Sedgwick.”
Dad nodded. “How did he take it?”
“I think he feels better.”
“Yes, I’m sure he does,” Dad agreed.
“I think I’ll get ready for dinner now,” I said. I kissed Dad on the cheek.
“Mom and I are proud of you, Margaret,” he said quietly.
I smiled at him and said, “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, honey.”

One family that has felt the effects of following this counsel is that of Bishop Richard Auger of the Banbury Ward; his wife, Gill; and their two daughters, Hannah and Charlotte, both recently married in the London England Temple. Bishop Auger, an inspector with Thames Valley Police, is very aware of the world’s poor standards and their effects on youth and their behavior. “Gill and I used For the Strength of Youth to learn about parenting so we could be consistent and based on the scriptures,” he says. “Throughout the girls’ teenage years, we used it as a ready guide and in many different ways. When the girls wanted to shop for their own clothes, it was a worry to us, so we sent them out with the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet so they could refer to it when making choices.”
Hannah, 21, says, “We kept the booklet in our purses as it states clearly what is and what isn’t appropriate.” The sisters learnt they could make some clothing more modest with a little sewing or by adding accessories. Charlotte, 19, adds, “Hannah and I never felt that our parents made decisions for us. We knew that our parents followed the prophet and the Savior, and so by following our parents, we would always be living the teachings of the Savior too.”

When we got married, I found out that even in a small home like ours, there is tons of stuff to do. You can’t imagine how much stuff! In the beginning, I wasn’t really helping out. I did some little things, but Jackie was doing most of the work. She is very caring and giving. One day she became upset, and I’m like, “What’s wrong?”

I grew up thinking that girls were supposed to do all the housework. I quickly learned that was not realistic. Jackie was very busy and under a lot of pressure with her job. While I’m under a lot of pressure too, I realized that I should start doing more to help.

I started sweeping the floors and washing dishes. Then I learned how to use the washing machine. I put notes on it to help me remember. Seriously! I have a sticker to help me know which washing powder to use. These things have now become my habit.

It’s been good since I started doing things in the house. It has made Jackie happier.

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.”

Service is the gospel of Jesus Christ in action, and it’s evident in a story I love about Brigham Young. Upon learning that hundreds of handcart pioneers were stranded on the plains in unbearable conditions, he taught with power in this simple sermon at the October 1856 general conference: “I will now give this people the subject and the text for the Elders who may speak, … it is this, … many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with hand-carts, and probably many are now 700 miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them. The text will be, ‘to get them here.’ …

“That is my religion; that is the dictation of the Holy Ghost that I possess, it is to save the people. …

“I shall call upon the Bishops this day, I shall not wait until to-morrow, nor until next day, for 60 good mule teams and 12 or 15 wagons. I do not want to send oxen, I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them; also 12 tons of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams. …

“I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the celestial kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains.”2

I love the joy of learning. For example, I have always enjoyed words. When I was a boy, and I would encounter a word I didn’t know, sometimes I would ask my father what it meant. He would often reply, “Look it up.” My father usually knew the answer, but he wanted me to learn how to look words up. So I would open the dictionary on the bookshelf and look the word up.

Later I wanted to learn more words. One summer a friend and I worked as groundskeepers at the Oakland California Temple. On some days we would each write five words and their definitions on a 3-by-5 card, and put the card in our shirt pocket. Then, we would share the words and use them in sentences during the day. My favorite word from that summer was “halcyon.” It means calm, peaceful, tranquil, or golden. As we pulled weeds and performed other physical labor, we would exclaim, “Oh, those halcyon days of youth.” Now, as I look back, I see that they really were halcyon days.

Photo illustrations by Cody Bell
Students flooded the hallways going every which way to get to their classes. There were 1,500 students crowded into a high school built for 1,000. Ironically, every time the bell rang I found myself trudging through the masses but feeling completely alone.
As an 11th-grader at a new school, I was growing to hate high school. At the beginning of the year, I had put forth great effort to introduce myself to people and initiate conversations with others. But as the weeks passed, I began to feel invisible. I sat alone in my classes, never spoke, and eventually stopped smiling.
I had been the class president and a cheerleader just the year before at my old school, and my family began to worry as they saw my demeanor change from bubbly and enthusiastic to sad and distressed. My dad would ask, “How was school?” and all I could mutter was, “Fine,” before heading upstairs to my room to cry. Ashamed of my failed attempts at making friends, I lied to my parents, not telling them that instead of eating lunch with my classmates I went and studied in the library by myself.
Toward the end of the school year, I reached my breaking point, surprising myself at the response I gave one day to my dad’s usual question. “I don’t want to go back,” I told him. “I hate my life.” Seeing the hurt and concern on his face only made me feel worse. That night as I got ready for bed, I knelt down and poured out my heart to the Lord, praying longer and harder than I ever had before. Instead of praying that I would find friends at school, I prayed that I would simply find worth and joy in my life again.
The next morning at school I found myself silently praying that I would be comforted. As the bell rang for the first class and the hallways began to fill up, I focused on my prayer. Surprisingly, my nervous anxiety seemed to melt away and was immediately replaced by a sense of calm. It was at that moment, in the midst of the bustling hallway, that I felt closer to the Savior than I ever had before. I felt His arms seemingly wrap around me in a warm embrace of understanding and reassurance.
I turned to the Lord often during the rest of that year, and I continue to rely on Him now. Although I did not have a huge group of friends, I did make several close friends that year—friends that have become some of my best friends in the years since. Looking back, I am grateful for that difficult experience, because it helped make the transition to college an easy one. I learned that the Lord saw me, one of His precious daughters, as having infinite worth. He will always be there to help us through moments of desperation, and we can recognize His presence with us if we pray to feel His loving embrace.

Photographs by Cody Bell and courtesy of Sydney G.
For an entire week, Sydney G., 14, from Utah, USA, visibly carried a copy of the Book of Mormon everywhere she went—to school, to her extracurricular activities, and to church. She was prayerfully trying to find someone to share the gospel with, and keeping the Book of Mormon out with her was a constant reminder of that goal.
One day, she went to the office at school and accidentally left the book there. Without even opening the cover, the office secretary knew immediately whose it was. That week, Sydney had become known at her school for carrying that Book of Mormon with her. And throughout her life, she’s become known for many other things as well.
For instance, she participates in student council. She dances for her school’s dance company. She was the lead in an Alice in Wonderland musical. She volunteers for a service group. She cheers. She crafts. She loves to spend time with her friends and family.
She’s also a strong advocate of type 1 diabetes awareness and research.
When Sydney was three, her parents noticed changes in her behavior. Among other things, she was extremely thirsty, moody, and fatigued. One day she slept for 22 hours, waking up only for moments before falling back asleep. Her parents knew something was wrong and took her to a doctor the next morning. The doctor said she was on the verge of a diabetic coma and was lucky she came in that day. Sydney and her parents now recognize that the timing was more than luck; it was a blessing.
Sydney’s diagnosis flipped her life upside down, but that hasn’t stopped her from living a life that gives back to others. Despite her age, Sydney is a leader, role model, and friend as she works to help promote diabetes awareness.
What Is Type 1 Diabetes?
Type 1 diabetes is a disease in which the pancreas produces little or no insulin, the hormone that converts glucose into energy. To treat this, people with type 1 diabetes take insulin every time they eat to help their bodies get the energy they need.
If left untreated, diabetes can have serious complications. It’s important to recognize the symptoms and be treated as early as possible. Type 1 diabetes requires constant care and vigilance throughout a person’s entire life.
In 2015, Sydney and her family participated in a fundraising managed by JDRF, an organization that helps fund research for type 1 diabetes. After the walk, Sydney wanted to keep helping. She says, “I was super excited to get out and do stuff, and I wanted to inform people of the symptoms of type 1 diabetes so they would know to get tested.” To do this, she and her mom created a social media page to promote awareness. Their first post included pictures of the walk, and they’ve continued with regular posts debunking myths about diabetes, promoting fundraisers, and showcasing diabetes-related events and activities Sydney participates in.
Sydney knows the impact youth can have in their communities, and she hopes to keep helping those around her. “Young people can make a huge difference,” she says, “and it’s good for them! They get to get out and help the community. It’s just good for the soul.”
She’s already seen some positive results from her efforts. One day, soon after they started the page, Sydney’s mom felt prompted to post Sydney’s diagnosis story. A woman in their neighborhood read the post and then, two days later, recognized the symptoms in her own daughter. As a result of a prompting, this five-year-old girl was able to receive an early diagnosis and get the medical attention she needed.
Sydney knows it’s important to have friends during times of trial, and she always strives to be that friend for people in times of need. When she heard of another young girl in the community who was just diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, Sydney immediately reached out and met with her. The girl’s mother later told Sydney about the great influence she had on her daughter. The daughter had felt alone in her trial because no one else she knew had diabetes. But immediately after Sydney’s visit, she had a friend, and that made all the difference.
Sydney also recognizes the importance of friendship in her own life and strives to include and love others. When she was about to turn 12, she was “probably more excited than anyone to go to the temple for the first time.” So for her birthday party, she invited some friends over to eat a formal dinner and then go to the temple to do baptisms and confirmations on behalf of those who have died. One of her close friends, Lindsay,* wasn’t a member of the Church, but Sydney still wanted to include her. So Sydney invited Lindsay to the birthday dinner with them and explained why the temple was so important to her.
Remember that Book of Mormon that Sydney carried around with her? She felt prompted to give it to Lindsay with her testimony. Though Lindsay respectfully said she didn’t believe in the book, Sydney didn’t focus on the rejection. Instead, Sydney just appreciated the opportunity she had to share her testimony with someone she cares about.
Though she sometimes feels discouraged, Sydney tries to stay positive and move forward in her goal to help others. She says, “I think it’s important to just keep going if you’re having a trial. It helps to focus on something positive. Like, if you fall off your bike, you just get back up and keep going, and soon you’ll forget you even fell off in the first place.”
Every day, Sydney chooses to focus on the positive of her situation by striving to be a leader in her community and a friend to those who need one. She’s learned that the smallest decisions—like deciding one day to go to a fundraiser walk with her family—can make a big difference.