Gospel Story Finder

You are looking at a FIRST. I’ve never been impressed to write a letter to the editor until today. I’ve just read the little article “Wonderful Pest” by Glenn Latham in the December 1983 New Era. It made me think of Marian Jackson. Marian was the Blazer B leader in the Edgemont 8th Ward here in Provo when she decided that our son had lounged long enough at that “almost an Eagle” stage. He was about 15 when she took him under her wing. Under the guise of “helping her” with the Blazer B’s, our son began his final assault on his Eagle. And thanks to Marian, he made it!
Marian has six sons of her own, and if I’m not mistaken all are Eagles. I can’t begin to count the sons of other people who can credit her with their similar achievements. Marian was never thought of as a “wonderful pest,” but as I tried to thank her for the inspiration and motivation and hours of service to our son, she laughingly replied, “Oh, behind every Eagle there’s an old buzzard.”
It’s a “dirty job,” but aren’t we glad someone—Jeff Sessions, Marian Jackson, and many, many others—are willing to do it! God bless those wonderful pests and old buzzards everywhere! P.S. Even parents are sometimes successful as old buzzards—and it’s not really such a dirty job. It’s really lots of fun, as we learned with our second Eagle.
Ann JamisonProvo, Utah

My brothers, Billy, Tommy, and Jimmy, and I were gathered in the living room for family home evening. Father was talking about the importance of always prayerfully considering our actions before they become acts—thinking before doing. He said that Satan would rather we act on impulse, just like a fly that buzzes blindly into a spider web hidden in the shadow of an overripe July melon.
I guess that makes sense, I told myself. But what could possibly happen to a twelve-year-old boy like me?
Two weeks later, my brothers and I were sitting atop a huge rock on the crest of one of the forested hills behind town. The dry wind blew across our sweaty faces as we drank from bottles of water we’d brought in paper bags from home. After taking a swallow of cold water, Tommy thoughtlessly dropped his bottle back in his paper bag that was sitting near the edge of the rock. The bottle broke, its water spilling out. We all laughed, except for Tommy who glowered at the rest of us.
I lay back on the rock and gazed up at a buzzard that was circling high above. I wish I could fly, I thought. I also told myself that I was getting bored. To wish to do something I knew that I couldn’t do meant that I was running out of real things to do. I knew that my brothers were bored, too, because they were staring at the same buzzard and wishing that they could fly.
“Let’s play a game,” my oldest brother, Billy, said.
“What kind of game?” Tommy piped in crossly. “If it’s a running-around game, you can count me out. I’ll get thirsty, and I don’t have any water!”
“You can have some of mine,” Billy offered, “if you play.”
“What kind of game is it?” I asked.
Billy sat up. He took his water bottle out of his bag, slid down off the boulder, picked up a stick, and broke it in four pieces, each a different length. Then he dropped them into his bag and closed it up.
“Are you going to tell us about the dumb game or not?” my youngest brother, Jimmy, snapped impatiently.
“It’s kind of like tag, but different,” Billy explained as he picked up a small branch. “The one who draws the shortest stick from the bag is ‘It.’ He has to sit on this rock and count to fifty while everyone else hides. We can hide anywhere from up by the quarry down to the old graveyard.”
“What’s so different about that game?” Tommy asked.
“Well,” Billy went on, “the one who’s It uses this stick to tag with. Then the person tagged gets a stick, too, and he and It look for someone else together. Then—”
I sat up, my excitement growing. “Oh, I get it!” I interrupted. “Then they tag the third guy, and they all go after the last guy!”
Billy drew the shortest stick and started counting. Everyone else scattered.
About a half hour later, I was hiding behind an old shack. I saw Billy, Tommy, and Jimmy above me on the top of a hill, looking down on the dumped rocks from the quarry. We knew the area well because a lot of blue-belly lizards lived in those rocks, and we often tried to catch them. Anyway, now I knew that I was the last one left to be tagged! It was kind of scary in a fun sort of way because they were all after me! It would only take them a minute or two to see me and scurry down those rocks and tag me with their sticks.
I turned and bolted away. I looked back once and saw my brothers already close to the bottom of the hill. They had spotted me!
I lunged through the trees, jumping over rotting logs. I glanced behind me. I couldn’t see my brothers. For the moment I was safe from their sight, but I soon found myself in the middle of a clearing. They would spot me unless I lost myself in the tangles.
Suddenly I was face-to-face with a wall of thick brushwood. I’ll hide there until I can catch my wind, I thought as I protected my face with my hands and leaped through the dense undergrowth, not knowing what lay beyond, and not taking time to even think about it.
Everything beyond the wall of brushwood was a good ten to fifteen feet below me! I fell hard through its brittle branches and landed on my back.
The rest of the world above me was spinning—the sun, the clouds, the twisted tops of the towering oaks. And my wonder at what had happened. Rising between my right arm and side, protruding like a great spear with a big, ugly point, was the shaft of a long, iron spike from an old graveside!
I felt a stinging sensation on my arm and discovered that the point of the huge spike had torn my shirt and scraped the inner side of my arm. If I had landed few short inches farther to the right, the spear would have pierced my chest and my time on earth would have been brought to an immediate end.
I lay there listening to the sound of my pounding heart, glad it was still beating. Glad that when my brothers found me, after coming the long way around to where I lay in the old graveyard, it would be a happy tagging. As I waited, I remembered my father’s words at family home evening two weeks before. He had said that we should prayerfully consider our actions before they become acts. That we should let the Spirit, instead of blind impulse, be the guiding force in our day-to-day living. My father always said that it’s in our hearts and minds that God speaks to us.
In the quiet of the thicket that day, I promised Heavenly Father that from then on I would try to live as my father had counseled. As I gazed up and again caught sight of that buzzard high above me, I was glad that it was circling something else and not me!

One day our Primary visited the São Paulo Brazil Temple. The gardens were more beautiful than any I had ever seen. We learned that through the covenants we make in the temple, we can live with our families for all eternity. The president of the temple spoke to us in the waiting room, where we saw beautiful paintings. I had a very warm and happy feeling, and my mother told me it was the Holy Ghost testifying to me that what I was learning was true. I gained a testimony that the temple is the house of the Lord.
Renato B., age 8, Brazil

At one house, the vans were parked around the corner like they had been at previous houses. Then the assembly line of angelic hands started all over again. But somehow this experience was different. It was my assigned house, the family I had shopped for. That same good feeling went through me as the presents went through my hands. The gifts piled up on the front porch.
We decided to hide in the bushes and behind the surrounding snow mounds so that we could see the reactions of the family. I picked the nearest evergreen bush and knelt behind it. One boy rang the doorbell and hid behind the closest tree. The front door opened an inch, and then it closed. There were so many gifts that they couldn’t open the door.
A few seconds later two young children came running around the back of the house and, in surprise, they clasped their hands over their mouths. With a small push, the door opened a foot more. A little girl about age six came out of the house dressed in pink pajamas. In an excited voice she said, “Look, Mom, cereal! It’s cereal and milk, Mom!”
When I heard those innocent words, I wanted to reach out and hold her. I wanted that girl to have all that I had.
It was in that moment that I remembered back to when I was six. We had opened our front door one December night and were completely overwhelmed by the bags of gifts so generously placed on our doorstep. Our house was much warmer than usual that night because my father had been given firewood earlier that day. As a family of nine, we were barely making ends meet. That year especially, I could sense my parents’ uneasiness about Christmas day. I was limited to requesting only one toy. I had carefully chosen to ask for a “Peaches and Cream” Barbie doll, and I placed a torn-out newspaper picture of the doll up on the refrigerator. With my six-year-old heart and mind, I knew my one wish would come true.
Before heading off to bed, we knelt as a family on our old green carpet and gave a prayer of thanks for the few things that we did have. I remember going to bed feeling hungry. Each day food was practically the same—Cream of Wheat, oatmeal, or biscuits. I prayed that tomorrow—Christmas—would be different.
I snuggled in my blankets, and just as my eyes were about to close, I heard a muffled knock at the door. I followed the members of my family downstairs. As the door opened, an overwhelming feeling took over my little body. There were big black bags of gifts and food placed at our doorstep. I was so happy that I couldn’t believe my eyes. I said a whispered prayer of thanks, and I knew that my prayers that night had been heard. We carried the gifts inside and placed the bags of gifts under the tree.
Sleep did not come easily that night, but I managed a few hours before my sister Mary woke me. We eagerly ran downstairs, and to my eyes, it was as if the gifts had multiplied overnight. They were scattered around our tree. I again thought to myself about the one wish I had made. I picked up a gift that had “Meg” written on it, and I opened it carefully. I pulled out the most beautiful “Peaches and Cream” Barbie that I had ever seen. I hugged her, and I knew that I had not been forgotten. I learned several years later that my prayers were answered through the loving hands of those who generously helped out needy families.
Now as a teenager hiding behind a bush, watching that little six-year-old girl, I was so touched by the spirit of this family that my emotions overwhelmed me. The words of that sweet little girl were echoing in my mind.
I will always remember the peaceful, quiet night that I spent watching many families receive their miracle Christmas, just like the one my family received so many years before.

Let me tell you about Noelle Pikus-Pace, one of those Latter-day Saint athletes. Her event was the skeleton. Imagine traveling headfirst with your face inches above the ground down a winding, icy track at 90 miles (145 km) an hour, all on a small sled! In the Olympics, Noelle had only four minutes—four 60-second runs—to win her medal.
For Noelle, this was not the first time she’d tried for the Olympics. In 2006 she broke her leg and couldn’t compete in the Olympics. In 2010 she missed winning a medal by one-tenth of a second. But she didn’t give up. She trained for hours, days, weeks, and months. In the 2014 Olympics, her runs were flawless! She won the silver medal!

The day after I was called to serve as a stake mission president, my mother, who was unaware of my new calling, told me that she had dreamed about me. She said that in this dream I had received a new position of responsibility in my church and that an older man put his hands on my head as if he were anointing me while a roomful of people watched. Then I told her about my new calling and explained the process of being set apart. I said that I would probably be set apart by an older man. I was electrified when my mother said, “I would recognize him if I saw him.”
I invited my parents to attend the meeting. After Elder S. Dilworth Young set me apart, my mother wept as she said, “That was the man in my dream!” I took this opportunity to bear my testimony to my parents and to assure them that they need not worry about me. For the first time, my dad asked me several questions about the Church. My mom just cried tears of joy as we all enjoyed the Spirit of the Lord.

A particularly sacred experience was when the missionaries taught me to pray. I learned that we should address God by name. When we pray, we should speak from our hearts, express our gratitude, and share our hopes and desires. Once we have said all that we want to say, we end our prayer by saying, “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” We do this because Jesus commanded us to pray in His name. Praying to Heavenly Father helped me know who He is and my relationship with Him—that I was His beloved spirit son. I learned that because Heavenly Father knows and loves me, He would speak to me personally, uniquely, and in ways I would understand through the Holy Ghost.
There was a time when I really could not recognize the Holy Ghost. I misunderstood, thinking that all I had to do was follow the steps of prayer and something dramatic would happen. One day, during a lesson with the missionaries, I stepped out of the lesson to take a break. I was still confused about what I should do with my life if the restored gospel of Jesus Christ really was true.
As I was about to return to the room where the missionaries were waiting, I heard the voice of one of the missionaries. I heard my name. Instead of opening the door, I listened to the voice on the other side of the door. I was stunned. They were simply praying to Heavenly Father. The one saying the prayer was pleading to God that He would hear my prayer. Though his Japanese was not fluent, hearing his sincere prayer softened my heart. I wondered why they cared about me so much. Then I realized that their prayer in my behalf was a reflection of Heavenly Father and the Savior’s love for me. That love gave me hope, and afterward I did ask God in faith and with real intent. When I did, I felt a joyful and peaceful feeling that I was indeed a child of God and that I had a divine potential and destiny. The plan of salvation sank deep into my heart.

The time had finally come. My family was about to take our annual trip to Bear Lake, Utah, and the excitement was as apparent as a flash of lightning. My brother, Mike, and I were more ecstatic than anyone else. We had talked our parents into letting us invite our next-door neighbor Kevin to come along. He had just received a two-man raft for his birthday, and we couldn’t wait to get that raft out on the lake.
As we all traveled to Bear Lake in our big, red van, Kevin, Mike, and I talked about all the things we would conquer in our “ship.” We were going to cruise from one side of the lake to the other. We were going to catch the biggest fish ever. And, best of all, we were going to wipe out all the evil pirates and their ships that might be lurking on the lake’s uncharted waters.
We arrived at Bear Lake in the early evening, and to our disappointment, it was too late to go to the beach. Although our spirits drooped a bit, we decided that it would be best if we had a good night’s rest before starting our adventures on the lake, anyway.
The next morning, Mike, Kevin, and I awoke before the sun had even taken its first peek at the northern part of Utah. We knew we couldn’t wake anyone else up, so we just whispered quietly about what the day would hold. After breakfast, we hurried to Rendezvous Beach. It was a beautiful day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the temperature was just right. As we got our first glimpse of the deep, blue water, we knew that “magic” was in the air.
We took turns pumping up the inflatable raft and were disappointed in its smallness. Sure, the raft was called a two-man raft, but we hadn’t believed that only two people would really fit in it. We’d thought all three of us could be out on the water together. However, we weren’t going to let this setback ruin our entire trip. We would just have to take turns. Since the raft was Kevin’s, he was the designated captain, and Mike and I took turns rafting with him. Mike went first. Their journey went as planned, and I couldn’t wait for mine.
After lunch, Kevin and I got in the raft and pushed off from shore. We were having the time of our lives. We took turns rowing; the person not rowing looked for a ship to attack. As time went on, we kept getting farther and farther from the beach. Before we knew it, my family looked like miniature figures who could fit into a dollhouse.
Kevin decided that we should start back. Before long, we realized that we weren’t making any progress. The wind had suddenly started blowing, and instead of getting closer to the shore where my family was, we were being blown farther away. Kevin and I were scared. We no longer felt as if we ruled the lake. We just wanted to be back with my family.
Kevin suggested that one of us get out of the raft and pull it back to shore while swimming. How could he even suggest such a thing? Everyone knows that the Bear Lake Monster isn’t real, but neither of us wanted to prove it! We started to panic. I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach. The sun was starting to go down, and the temperature was going down with it. I looked at Kevin, and instead of seeing the “mighty captain” he was supposed to be, I saw a nine-year-old boy, a boy one year younger than me, shivering from both fright and the cold.
I was just as scared as Kevin. I started feeling the effects of being sopping wet, windblown, and cold. My “thinking wheels” started spinning, but I couldn’t come up with any plan. Hot tears formed a waterfall on my face, and I knew that this was one problem I wasn’t going to solve on my own.
I suggested that we say a prayer, and Kevin agreed. It was a short prayer and to the point. We told Heavenly Father that we needed His help and asked Him to please return us safely to the shore and to my family.
In less than a minute, three men in a motorboat were at our side to help us. Heavenly Father had sent them. When we arrived safely back on shore, we received a warm welcome from my family.
The rest of the week at Bear Lake was full of fun and excitement. However, our conversations were no longer centered on the lake we would rule and conquer in the raft. Instead, we talked about the small miracle we received because of our short, sincere prayer.

I thought our talk had helped, but all night long I wondered. Crawford still had a lot of things to sort out. Had I said the right things? The next day, I kept wondering. Finally, that night, as we were eating dinner, there was a knock at the door.
My wife, Sally, welcomed Crawford and invited him in.
“Good evening, Brother North,” he greeted. “May I have a word with you?”
We moved to the living room while Sally and our one-year-old, Kelly, finished eating.
“I want to apologize for my moodiness last night,” Crawford began. “I had many deep and introspective thoughts last night about our discussion in the foyer. I have concluded that you are absolutely correct. I will find my place. If I continue to do what is right, I will be okay. In your words, more than okay, though I thought it was an unusual way to express it.”
“No need to apologize, Crawford. I remember crying my eyes out in a high school baseball game when the coach replaced me with a pinch hitter. I couldn’t even look at the other guys. I didn’t feel like part of the human race. Things like that happen. Rough spots, remember?”
His eyes opened wide.
“You have had thoughts about not fitting in?”
“Of course. And I still have them, sometimes.”
Crawford looked thoughtful. “I wouldn’t have guessed. You have a good job, a splendid family. You are not the kind to wear masking tape on your glasses. Everything seems to be going your way. And yet we have a lot in common. I’m beginning to understand. One must not base his outlook on life on a single incident, good or otherwise. One must learn to keep the larger picture in perspective.”
“Exactly,” I enthused. “And by the way, what you just said is very astute.” That was the first time I ever heard him laugh.

—The snow outside didn’t mute the lights inside of the Paisley Scotland Stake celebration, either. They were putting bows all over the stake Christmas tree, each bow representing an act of service performed by one of the young women. Among other things, they had collected household equipment and used clothing for a women’s refuge center and had put on a concert at a home for the elderly.
“We should serve everyone, not just those we like being around. Christ is our best example of service,” said Heather Wallis, as she pulled her coat on and prepared to walk out into the snowy dusk.

Some years ago while I was attending a priesthood leadership session of the Monument Park West Stake conference, this scripture became the theme for the visitor from the Welfare Committee, my former stake president, Paul C. Child. In his accustomed style, Brother Child left the stand and began to walk down the aisle among the assembled priesthood brethren. He quoted the verse, “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.” (D&C 18:10.) Then he asked the question, “Who can tell me the worth of a human soul?”

Every man in attendance began to think of an answer in the event Brother Child were to call on him. I had grown up under his leadership, and I knew he would never call on a high councilor or member of a bishopric; rather, he would select one who would least expect to be called. Sure enough, he called from a list he carried the name of an elders quorum president. Thunderstruck, the brother stammered as he asked, “Would you repeat the question, please?” The question was repeated, followed by an even longer pause. Suddenly the response came forth, “The worth of a human soul is its capacity to become as God.”

Brother Child closed his scripture, walked back to the pulpit, and, while passing me whispered, “A profound reply; a profound reply.”

When I was asked to sing in general conference, I was worried because I play football and I was afraid I couldn’t do both because of scheduling conflicts. So I went home and prayed to Heavenly Father that it would work out. Then I called the Primary president to say I would do it. The next week my football coach handed out our game schedule, and I was so happy! None of my games would conflict with my singing practices. I know that Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers and that saying yes to singing was the right thing to choose.
Braden G., age 10

Let me give an example. Some years ago, a young couple we will call the Joneses visited with their bishop about a problem the wife had. The details are not important, but through the direction of the Spirit, the bishop’s decision was that, among other things, Sister Jones would not partake of the sacrament for a period of time while she worked out some attitudes and problems.

With lots of love and support, she continued to attend meetings with her family, and few but her husband and the bishop were aware of the situation or even noticed that week after week she did not partake of the sacrament. At first she didn’t feel much difference; but as time went on, she became more and more desirous to be worthy to partake of the sacrament. She thought she had repented before, but as the real soul-searching deepened and as her desire to worthily partake of the sacrament increased, true fundamental changes began to take place in her life and in her actions and in her thinking.

More time passed. Finally, during one sacrament meeting, the Spirit bore witness to the bishop and to Brother and Sister Jones that the time had come for her to again partake of the sacrament. “Next Sunday,” the bishop said.

Next Sunday came, and Sister Jones sat again with her family, nervous, yet excited and full of anticipation. “Am I really worthy? How I want to be!” she thought. The sacrament hymn was more meaningful than ever. She sang with such feeling that it was difficult to hold back the tears. And the sacrament prayers—how profound! She listened so intently that every word sank deep into her soul—to take his name, always remember him, keep his commandments, always have his Spirit. (See D&C 20:77, 79.) “Oh, how I desire this,” she thought.

The deacons began to move up and down the aisles, and the trays were passed from person to person across the rows. As one young deacon got closer and closer to her row, her heart began to pound harder and harder. Then the tray was coming down her very row. Now her husband was holding the tray in front of her! Tears streamed down her face. There was a barely audible sob of joy, “Oh!” as she reached for the emblem of the Lord’s love for her. The congregation did not hear the sob, but they did notice the tears in the bishop’s eyes.

Life and hope and forgiveness and spiritual strength had been given and received. No one could be more worthy. Sister Jones truly wanted to have his Spirit. She wanted to take his name upon her. With all her heart, she wanted to remember him and keep his commandments. She wanted to repent, to improve, and to follow the guidance of his Spirit.

We’ve found this to be true in our own family. When we were first married, Ed would occasionally come home upset about something that happened at work. As he walked in the door, Ann would immediately wonder what she had done to make him irritable. It took many reassurances for her to understand that Ed wasn’t angry with her. We have noticed a similar reaction in our children when the two of us have been disagreeing about something. They seem to feel an element of responsibility for our problems.
By the same token, they seem to feel peaceful and secure when we are on good and friendly terms. And they’re more cooperative and considerate when that’s the feeling of our marriage.

Marta dug a hole in the dirt. She put a tomato plant in the hole and patted the dirt around it. Then she planted some round onions. Next, Marta carefully put watermelon seeds in the dirt.
Marta gave the garden water every day. Finally the garden was ready. Mom picked tomatoes. Marta pulled onions out of the ground. Dad carried a watermelon into the kitchen. Mom used the tomatoes and onions to make sauce for spaghetti. Dad cut the watermelon into sweet, juicy pieces. Marta said, “My favorite foods are the ones we grow!”

I had been on my mission for 13 months when I received a phone call from my mission president informing me of the death of my dear sister Solange. This news broke my heart, and I shed tears of sadness as I remembered the beautiful moments we had spent together throughout her life of nearly 20 years. My pain over losing her was very deep.
As we approached the weekend, I realized that we were coming up on general conference. And in spite of my sorrow and pain, my companion and I went to watch the conference broadcast at the chapel.
Who would have known, but in his talk entitled “Confide in God Unwaveringly,” Elder Ulisses Soares recounted an experience that exactly described my situation. He said, “Years ago while serving as a mission president, I received a phone call from the parents of one of our beloved missionaries informing me of the death of his sister. I remember, in the tenderness of that moment, that missionary and I discussed God’s marvelous plan of salvation for His children and how this knowledge would comfort him.
“Although he was stunned and saddened by that adversity, this missionary—through his tears and with faith in God—rejoiced in his sister’s life. He expressed unwavering confidence in the tender mercies of the Lord. Resolutely, he told me that he would continue to serve his mission with all faith and diligence in order to be worthy of the promises that God had for him and his family. In this time of need, that faithful missionary turned his heart to God, placed all of his trust in Him, and renewed his commitment to serve the Lord with faith and with all diligence” (Liahona, May 2017, 35).
Dear brothers and sisters, I felt that every word, every sentence of this talk was addressed directly to me—and what a source of comfort! I testify that God speaks to us every six months through the mouths of His servants in general conference.

Kate scooped creamy mashed potatoes onto her plate. She couldn’t help but grin. She loved Thanksgiving, and there was a lot to be thankful for. Soon she’d get to eat Grandma’s famous apple pie. Plus, her aunts, uncles, and cousins were all crowded around the table for dinner, and she loved being with her family!
But the best part of Thanksgiving was at the end of the day.
“Gather around!” Grandma said once dinner was over. She handed out an envelope to each family.
Kate opened it and saw money inside.
“Who remembers what we do with the money?” Grandpa asked.
Kate raised her hand. “We use it to help someone else for Christmas!”
“That’s right,” Grandma said. “I hope you find wonderful ways to help.”
When they got home, Kate and her family talked about how they could use their money this year. They could buy a Christmas tree for a neighbor. Or help another family buy presents. Then Kate had an idea! Once when she had to stay in the hospital, someone had given her a warm, fuzzy blanket. Maybe her family could make blankets for hospital patients! Kate’s sisters, Hailey and Rachel, loved her idea.
A few days later, Mom took the family shopping for supplies. They had fun picking out fabric together.
“I like this one,” Hailey said. She held up some orange fleece with flowers.
“I do too,” Mom said. “And we have enough money for two more.”
Rachel pointed to some fabric with lions and tigers on it. “This would be purrrfect for lion around!”
Kate laughed. Her sister was so goofy. Then Kate picked up a pattern with bright colors and shapes. It reminded her of the blanket she had gotten in the hospital.
Mom and the girls spent the rest of the day at home, cutting and tying the soft fleece into blankets. It was so much fun!
Just before Christmas, Kate’s whole family brought the blankets to the children’s hospital where Kate had stayed. As they walked in, Kate recognized the bright colored walls and the sounds of beeping machines. It was fun to see the kids smile when they got their blankets.
On Christmas Eve, Kate’s family gathered at Grandpa and Grandma’s house again. She was excited to hear what her cousins had done with their Thanksgiving money. After dinner, each family talked about their holiday service adventure. One family bought gifts to donate to a charity. Another family gave their money to help a neighbor. Kate’s family told about the blankets.
At the end of the night, Kate’s heart felt as warm and fuzzy as fluffy fleece. Thanksgiving had been about thanks and giving, and that felt really good.

As a serviceman stationed in one of the more remote areas of Vietnam, I want to thank you for the confidence, knowledge, and small touch of home your magazine brings to me and the members here in Phu Bai. Before arriving here, I was scared of the possibility of spending a year here away from family and Church, and I could imagine all types of long days ahead as a result. However, the anxiety was needless. Within a day I saw the chaplain and he referred me to other Latter-day Saints. On Sunday when we met, it was like coming home after a long trip. In the truest sense, members of the Church are one family, and I am always pleasantly surprised at the warm response given to all who seek them out. It is like an oasis in the desert. The gospel is truly a beautiful companion and guide; and here, away from all that is familiar to me, I’ve come to recognize that God is over all and that as long as we are faithful and do his will, we have a constant strength. Since I’ve come to know this, it has been much easier to forget myself and the time and to concentrate on what God would like to use me for here. Thank you for your magazine. We are all more fully aware of our responsibilities, our callings, and our obligations, especially in a place like this, because of it. Our branch is growing. We baptized two new converts last week. A group of us flew to the China Sea for the baptism, ferried by an all-Mormon helicopter crew.
SP4 Jerry D. WilliamsVietnam

We loved to visit Grandma and Grandpa Bateman in West Jordan, Utah, too. In wintertime, we went sledding on their big hill. One time we went sledding on my uncle’s prize sled. As we went down the hill toward the irrigation canal, we bounced off the sled, and it landed in the canal. Grandpa had to divert the irrigation water out of the canal so we could find the sled. When we got back to the house, we were cold and wet. We warmed up by the stove while Grandma laid our clothes out to dry.

Her life-long dream had turned into what now seemed like a nightmare. During the long, hot summer days of picking potatoes and cucumbers, Alice had envisioned herself walking across the campus as a student at BYU. It was the goal that had kept her going when she would otherwise have given up.
Her determination had brought her to BYU for fall semester. And now the frustration, the pressure, the anguish that she faced seemed more like a nightmare than a reward for such effort.
She hadn’t planned it this way. In fact, after arriving she had hardly planned at all.
Alice was one of the students in my class. Somehow she hadn’t realized the big difference between going to school and learning.
Alice found the social side of college life more enticing than studying and learning. The urgency of preparing for her final exams hit her only after the opportunity for preparation had almost passed. It all seemed like a nightmare now. She must not fail, but she was unprepared. She had not committed herself to an education; she was just going to school.
She remembered people often asking her back home, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Growing up had seemed so far away until this day. Now she was searching for the answer to that question, not for them but for herself. What did she want to do with her life and how did an education fit in?
We must all face that question eventually if we are to be responsible for our lives.
When you find the answer, you’ll have a sense of what you want to learn or what kind of job you may someday have or how you can become a better mother and wife, because of your education. You’ll catch a glimpse of a bigger picture—a purpose, a destination, a course of action for this life that determines what you can become through the eternities. It’s when you catch even a glimpse of the excitement, the benefits, the opportunities, the richness of life that an education can provide, that the discipline required to study becomes a small price to pay.
With your eye toward eternity, education is the treasure you will take with you and give you so much the advantage in the world to come (see D&C 130:18–19). And for today, it opens doors to opportunities that would otherwise be closed tight. Nephi writes, “To be learned is good if they hearken unto the counsels of God” (2 Ne. 9:29). If we lack wisdom we are to ask, and when we seek diligently we will know the truth. And the truth shall make us free (see John 8:32)—free to make wise choices; free to experience life with ever-changing, wonderful, new horizons; free to speak up and speak out for what’s right; free to influence those who are seeking truth; free to prepare in the time of youth for a rich and rewarding lifetime; free to hold on to the love of learning your whole life long making every day more zestful.