Gospel Story Finder

A mother of a son with special needs says: “When we moved to a new ward, I called the bishop to see if there was a class for Adam. I called back several times, but no one ever contacted me. My visiting teachers and home teachers began to ask why we weren’t attending. Again we asked if someone could help us with our problem. But as time went on and no one responded, we began to drift away from the Church. My husband and I were divorced, and I began to go to another church because they had a class each Sunday for special children. Anyone of any faith was welcome.”

Fortunately, this good woman later met and married a man who was contacted by the missionaries and joined the Church. The family moved to a new area where the leaders responded to the needs of the son, and the whole family has now been sealed in the temple.

Last summer my friend and I were playing in the backyard. She wanted to go down the hill and play in our fort. We knew we needed to ask for permission, so we went to ask her mom. She said yes. Then we went to my mom, but she was out running some errands. My friend said, “Let’s play anyway. We’ll be done by the time your mom gets back. If she asks you where you’ve been, just say that we’ve been playing on the trampoline.”
I knew that I shouldn’t lie to my mom. I told my friend I couldn’t play in the fort, and she got mad. I was sad, but I knew that I had done the right thing. When I told my mom later that night, she was very happy that I had chosen to do the right thing.
Shybree Richins, age 8St. George, Utah

As summer was beginning, my family was getting ready for a short vacation to one of Utah’s beautiful canyons. For some reason, my 15-year-old brother and I got in a very heated argument. It began as a simple disagreement that led to name calling first, and almost slugging later. Both of us were thinking of the most insulting things we could say to each other. It was an emotional competition in which the winner was the one who didn’t start crying. Sadly enough, I was the winner.
The looks I received from my parents and siblings after the argument had ended were enough punishment for me. As I sat there struggling to enjoy my “victory,” my mother interrupted my celebration by telling me of her grave disappointment. With tears in her eyes, she told me how sad it made her to see us argue. My father responded by telling us he didn’t know if there would be a vacation now.
And while I was still fuming at my brother, I was also beginning to be extremely angry with my parents for their inability to understand my feelings. I was looking for someone to say I had done the right thing and that my brother had deserved what he had gotten. But no one would. No one, it seemed, was on my side.
Amidst all of the disappointed looks I was getting from my parents, my nine-year-old brother was sitting on the corner of the couch with his face hidden in the pillow. I suddenly stopped arguing with my parents when I heard the sound of him sobbing. I looked at him and asked what was wrong. He raised his head from the pillow, his eyes red and tears rolling down his cheeks. The room was silent except for his crying. Then he said something I will remember the rest of my life. He looked directly into my eyes and said, with a voice shaking from his sobs, “What would Jesus do?”
I sat there, helpless. I watched my younger brother continue to cry, and I began to feel the truthfulness of his words. Here I was, this supposedly mature young man being taught a lesson by someone half my age. I sat there in shock, feeling so angry with myself for what I had done and for the bad example I had set. As the words sank in, I immediately knew what to do.
I went downstairs to my brother’s room and tried desperately to apologize. Not surprisingly, he was not in the mood to accept. I left his room and went to mine. I fell on my bed and began to cry out of shame for what I had done. My younger brother’s words kept ringing in my head: “What would Jesus do?”
I realized how un-Christlike I had been. As I lay on my bed in tears, my brother came walking through the door ready to accept my apology. With our eyes red and puffy, we gave each other a hug. We continued to talk for a while, and I told him what our little brother had said. Just as it had touched me, it also touched him.
We walked up the stairs together where the rest of our family was waiting. We had obviously apologized, so my parents did not say very much about the incident. Instead we again began to prepare for our vacation.
I now realize the importance of that short question my brother asked, and will always be indebted to him and to whoever taught him that simple question: What would Jesus do?

Now if you could hear from each one of these men! For instance, I had a business with ten men and two girls working for me, and the President of the Church sent my father over to see how I would like to go to California and preside over the Hollywood Stake. I won’t take time to tell you all the details. In sixty days I’d sold my business, I’d sold my beautiful home, and moved my family down to California with no allowance to live on. I had to start all over again.
Then when I was in business here in Salt Lake and President Heber J. Grant called for a thousand short-term missionaries, he said: “Bishops and stake presidents are not exempt.” I was then a bishop. I landed back in New England—left my wife and seven kiddies and my business in the hands of my brother-in-law. You don’t do things like that with normal men! It takes men inspired by the Holy Spirit.

Jayme W. used to wake up during the night hearing her little sister, Katie, cough and struggle to breathe. Katie has cystic fibrosis, and the buildup of mucus in her lungs makes it hard to breathe. When Katie started on a new treatment, Jayme decided to write a science paper about it. She submitted the paper to an international science competition and ended up winning first place among 10,000 entries.
What was your paper about? I wrote my paper on hypertonic saline therapy. Basically, the therapy is a seven percent salt concentration solution that is inhaled as a vapor. It goes into the cells of the lungs, and it draws out the mucus in the cells and makes it easier for the patient to cough up the mucus.
How has your testimony been strengthened through working with your sister? I have definitely seen the hand of God in the transformation of my sister from a sickly child. Seeing color in her face, watching her develop a love for running, and watching her feel well has been so miraculous. I know that could have been accomplished only with the help of God. My testimony of the love of God for each of us has grown immensely.
What has science taught you about gaining spiritual knowledge? In science and research, you don’t just get the answers handed to you. Knowledge is built step by step, and you have to do a lot of work on your own. You have to experiment, try different things, and if something doesn’t work, you just have to try again. Spiritual knowledge is also gained in small increments. The answers don’t come all at once, just a little bit at a time. Like gaining scientific knowledge, you also have to do research on your own like studying the scriptures, pondering, and praying. And if the answer doesn’t come right away, you have to keep trying.
What is your favorite scripture? My favorite scripture is Luke 1:37, which states, “For with God nothing shall be impossible.” This is such a simple statement, yet it is so profound! Just the thought that with God we can do anything fills me with hope and courage.

It’s Saturday! You’ve been looking forward to today all week long. You and some friends have big plans to go mountain biking. However, despite the sunny forecast that had been predicted, it’s raining buckets outside. What do you do?

Contact your friends and see if they’d be up for something different. They now want to go roller-skating, but you’ve never tried that before. It sounds kind of boring. What do you do?

You head to the roller rink, and skating is actually kind of fun. You’re about to go home when your cell phone buzzes. Your ward needs help with a last-minute service project to help a family moving to the area. Can you come?

You’d rather not. Normally you like service projects, but your plans were already thrown out of whack today. You turn down the offer and head home.

My legs felt shaky and there was an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach as we approached the door. I was sure that I was going to faint as my companion told me that this was “my” door.
No, I wasn’t a new missionary. I was a fifteen-year-old home teacher climbing the stairs to the apartment of Sister Rice, a widow living in our ward. Don Gabbott, my high priest companion, was to teach me a great lesson that night about caring for those too sick or too old to be engaged in Church activity.
Brother Gabbott had given me a topic to present to the five families assigned us. I was prepared with some notes on a paper, but I was frightened and inexperienced. I was not sure how a young priesthood holder behaved in the presence of a high priest.
We knocked on the door, but there was no immediate response. I was about to suggest that no one was home when the door slowly opened. From behind it appeared the frail figure of an aged sister, uncertain of what she’d find at her door. She smiled as she recognized Brother Gabbott. We were invited in and asked to take a seat.
After a short greeting, Brother Gabbott looked at me as if to say, “Okay, Robert, it’s time to give our message.” The feeling in my stomach got worse as I began to speak. I cannot recall what I said, but as I looked up from my notes, I saw the tear-stained cheeks of that sweet, sensitive sister. She expressed her gratitude for the presence of priesthood bearers in her home.
I was speechless. What had I done? What could I do? Fortunately, Brother Gabbott helped me by bearing his testimony and asking if there were any needs in the home. There were.
Sister Rice said that she had not been feeling well and asked that she be remembered as we offered our prayer before leaving. She then turned to me and asked if I would offer that prayer. By that time, I was so overcome by the spirit of the occasion that the request numbed me. I was surprised that I was asked to pray when someone older and more experienced and trusted was present. Automatically, I consented and offered a benediction upon that home teaching visit, asking that a special blessing of health and strength be given to that faithful sister whom I barely knew but quickly came to love and respect.
Twenty-five years have passed since my introduction to home teaching in Sister Rice’s home, and she has long since died. But I cannot pass that house without thinking about the experience provided by Brother Gabbott and a faithful sister who knew the appropriateness of calling upon an obedient high priest and an insecure, frightened teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood.

Valeria Pontelli of Río Gallegos, Santa Cruz, Argentina, didn’t set out to convert her friend. She simply lived her standards with conviction. Because she is a member of the Church, there were certain things she did and certain things she didn’t do, and all her friends knew it. One of those friends was Paula Alvarez, who always watched Valeria closely and was impressed with how faithfully and consistently she lived her beliefs.
Paula had a wonderful family, but they didn’t have the gospel—at least not until Valeria came on the scene. Paula remembers, “Valeria was not ashamed of the testimony she had. She knew who she was. She knew she was a daughter of a royal and eternal King, a daughter of God.”
That knowledge and confidence impressed Paula’s uncle, Moises. He began investigating the Church and meeting with the missionaries. The day he announced he was getting baptized, Paula was a little shocked. She hadn’t expected her uncle to be willing to make such big changes in his life.
The whole family was invited to the baptism, but Paula was hesitant to attend. She didn’t know what to expect. Finally, her family convinced her to accompany them to her uncle’s baptism. Paula remembers, “As we witnessed my uncle entering the waters of baptism, the Spirit touched my heart. The impact was deep, even undeniable. In that moment I also wanted to commit myself to God and do whatever He might ask of me.”
“May I speak to you?” Paula said, pulling Valeria aside. “I felt something special at my uncle’s baptism,” she explained quietly.
Valeria told her friend she had felt the promptings of the Spirit. “He’s telling you that you need to follow your uncle’s example.”
“But I can’t do it alone,” said Paula.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you,” assured her friend. Before long, Paula and her whole family were meeting with the missionaries and accepting the invitation to be baptized. Their lives changed forever.
Paula says, “The standards I always saw my friend live were now mine. My friend’s testimony was now mine.” Not long after, Paula began to feel an intense desire to share with others what she had been given. When she had been a member for one year, she filled out her mission papers, met with her priesthood leaders, and received a call to serve in the Chile Santiago East Mission.
Valeria says, “As I watched my friend prepare to serve her mission, the Spirit touched my heart. I wanted to commit myself to serve God the way she was.”
“May I speak to you?” This time it was Valeria who had pulled Paula aside. “I’ve felt something special as you have been preparing to leave on your mission.”
Paula told her friend the same thing her friend had once told her: “It’s the Spirit telling you what you need to do.”
Valeria’s plans hadn’t included a full-time mission. She wasn’t quite sure how to proceed. “I can’t do it alone,” she told Paula.
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you,” her friend assured.
Later, when Valeria opened her call, she was surprised to be going to the same mission as her friend. Paula began serving in October 2002; Valeria joined her in February 2003.
During their missions they saw each other quite often at conferences and activities. They enjoyed catching up and sharing news from their separate areas. They never dreamed that in November 2003 they would be assigned as companions. Their friendship bloomed into a relationship that will last forever. They have gone from being friends to sisters in the gospel to missionary companions.
Sister Valeria Pontelli says, “At first I was afraid that working together might damage our friendship, but that fear faded the first day. This chance to work together has only strengthened our relationship, and our friendship has helped us in the work.”
Others agree. One woman, who used to be less active but has come back to church because of the efforts of these two missionaries, says, “You can’t help but love them because you can see the love they feel for each other and for everyone around them. They are my angels.”
It was hard for these two companions to say good-bye in March 2004, when Sister Paula Alvarez’s mission came to an end. She was nervous about returning to Argentina and all that the future might bring. These two sisters talked about her concerns as they walked to their appointments together. “I can’t do it alone,” said Sister Alvarez.
“Don’t worry,” came the familiar words from her companion, Sister Pontelli. “I’ll help you.”

Last August, I had an important decision to make. I could either go to Young Women camp with my ward or attend a volleyball camp. I would be trying out for the volleyball team at school, and the volleyball camp was highly encouraged. It showed you were dedicated if you attended it. I had been praying about whether I should go to Young Women camp or volleyball camp. I had a strong impression to go to Young Women camp.
The biggest lesson I learned at Young Women camp was about blessings we receive when we follow the Lord. The following week, I went to tryouts. I made the volleyball team and progressed to varsity at the end of the season. My testimony grew immensely. I know whenever we are faced with decisions, we can pray and receive answers.

Several years ago as I began my career with a large corporation, I heard rumors here and there about the padded expense accounts and white collar pilfering, but had no concrete evidence to make accusations. Corporate headquarters had their own suspicions and called for an audit unbeknownst to the managers and sales staff. For the next few months, they carefully perused our reports, files, expense accounts, hotel receipts and even restaurant tabs, verifying with customers and other establishments each and every detail of their employee's expenditures. Pursuant to their findings, a meeting was called for managers and sales representatives from all over the nation. The meeting convened, individuals were interviewed, evidence was presented and the punishments given. Some were fined large sums of money while others lost their bonuses or were demoted. I remember sitting there in a numbed state of disbelief for my colleagues and friends, but felt an inner peace. Toward the end of this "Corporate Courtroom," very few were found to be in total compliance with company accounting practices. One was me! Those who were aware of my religion even presented me with the "Donny Osmond Good Guy Award" to bring a lighter moment to the austere occasion. In the elevator as we were leaving, one man who had been found guilty, looked at me somberly and said: "What I wouldn't give to be in your shoes." I don't know when I have been more grateful for the teachings of the gospel and the courage to live them.

Previous to my time in college athletics, I worked as a guidance counselor and high school basketball coach. I loved helping young people in their academic and athletic pursuits. One of the wonderful student-athletes I was privileged to counsel and coach was Morgan Bailey. When I first met Morgan, she was a shy ninth grader who was tall but not particularly athletic or skilled. As I started coaching her, it was clear that she had the potential to play the post position and the desire and work ethic to be great.

One of the first skills Morgan and I worked on developing was how to effectively post up and receive all sorts of post entry passes. It is natural to think of receiving as something passive and dismiss its importance. We may envision passively sticking out our arms and letting someone else do the active work of providing us something. But receiving is an action word. And it is a skill that can and should be developed.

Morgan practiced getting to the right spot with her knees bent, her elbows wide, and her hands up to create a big target. She learned how to hold off the defense and confidently call for the ball to communicate to her teammate that she was willing and ready to receive the pass. Morgan struggled to catch the ball at first, which was frustrating to her. But with repetition after repetition, she practiced meeting the pass and seeing the ball into her hands. With consistent and continual practice, Morgan developed the skill of receiving and became a trusted target in the post.

Morgan Bailey, the shy ninth grader who couldn’t receive a pass, went on to play basketball here at BYU, eventually earning West Coast Conference Player of the Year and honorable mention All-America recognition. We have stayed in close touch, and I was thrilled when she told me she was preparing to receive her temple endowment last year. I texted her, asking what she had been learning during her preparation that stood out to her. She responded with the following:

It feels like every talk I’ve read lately and every conversation I have about the gospel is, “Don’t wait; get to the temple.” I’ve learned so much, but something that has stuck out through this whole process is the realization and my testimony that I am a child of God and that I am working to become more like Him so that I can return to His presence one day. The temple is where I need to be, especially in this craziness, to get me a step closer by making sacred covenants and receiving my endowment and the blessings it can bring as I keep those covenants. Through my preparation, I have gained a strong understanding and testimony of God’s plan and the Savior’s Atonement. I have an overwhelming love for our Savior, and I feel His love every day.

Morgan prepared to receive her temple endowment with the same focus and drive that she used in her basketball career. Through study, prayer, and keeping her baptismal covenants, she showed the Lord that she was prepared to receive more. It was a sacred privilege to accompany Morgan to the Provo Utah Temple last fall. My heart was full, knowing how well she had prepared to receive temple ordinances and make further covenants with God.

Maybe I have lived a pampered life, but I am just not used to being told that I am headed for Hades. Actually, it only happened once, but that was enough to shake me up a bit and spur some thought that has not left my mind even now.
It happened when I left school at BYU for a summer and went to Washington, D.C., to work in a government office. Another office employee was an exceptionally bright and articulate young man who not only worked full-time, but was also completing his studies in law school. He was not a member of the Church, but he had been surrounded by members for several years. He probably knew the technical points of the doctrine even better than I, and his knowledge of the Bible was superb. Had our conversations ever degenerated to the level of argument, his nimble lawyer’s mind and tongue would have left my inexperienced self stunned and breathless. To accomplish this, I think, was actually his desire, for he took great delight in asking questions designed to confuse and baffle me, and his attacks on the Church were well planned and skillfully executed. His intentions became clear when, after one long discussion, he commented, “I didn’t even succeed in making you cry, did I?”
To be honest, he did make me cry once, or at least I cried in his presence. But that was not at all because I was frustrated or beaten. That never seemed to be a problem, for the harder he attacked, the more I felt the Spirit behind me, reassuring me of the validity of my testimony and filling me with a calmness that erased any desire to fight back.
The tears came after one session in which he explained his primary objection to the Church. He felt that men are saved by grace. The Savior atoned for our sins, he believed, and all that is required of us is to believe in the Lord and accept him as our Savior. My friend said that he had a personal relationship with Christ; thus, nothing else was required of him to be saved. Latter-day Saints, on the other hand, he claimed bitterly, have no appreciation for Christ and what he did. Their belief in requirements other than faith, such as baptism and keeping the commandments, demeans the Savior’s atonement by implying that it is insufficient to save men. Mormons’ beliefs, he maintained, are nearly blasphemous. He could think of many adjectives to describe them, but Christian was definitely not on the list. And that, he told me, was why I was going to hell.
As I listened to this tirade, many possible responses ran through my mind. I could say that it was Christ who instituted the ordinance of baptism and was baptized himself. I could say that he himself was one who most consistently taught the keeping of the commandments. I could say that it was one of his own disciples who said that “faith without works is dead.” But I said none of these things. Instead, when my friend paused long enough to catch a breath, I simply looked at him and said, “The Savior is more important than anything else in my life.” And then I bore my testimony of Jesus Christ. I told him of my love for the Savior and of my knowledge of his love for me. I told him how the Savior’s atonement was the only thing that gave purpose to my life. I told him that Christ’s gospel was the one anchor I had to cling to when everything else seemed determined to beat me down. I told him that my whole life was centered around trying to live the Lord’s gospel and that I did have a personal testimony of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I am sure that I did not speak eloquently or impressively, but that is when the tears came.
When I had finished speaking, a surprising thing happened—my skillfully verbal friend was actually silent for several moments. When he spoke, his voice decreased in volume from its typical forte nearly to mezzo piano. “You are the first Mormon,” he said, “who has actually borne witness to me of Jesus Christ.”
We are members of the Church of Jesus Christ. It is his church. At our baptisms we covenanted “to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places, … even until death” (Mosiah 18:9). Then why is it that I could have a friend who had lived and worked and socialized among Latter-day Saints for several years and yet had never heard borne a testimony of Jesus Christ? My friend’s case may be unique, and I certainly hope that it is. But my experience with him has made me more aware of our sacred obligation to stand boldly and unashamedly as witnesses for our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.

In October 1946 General Conference, following the end of World War II, President George F. Richards of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles related the following experience: "A few years ago...I had a remarkable dream. I have seldom mentioned it to other people. I dreamed a group of my own associates found ourselves in a courtyard where, around the outer edge of it, were German soldiers-and Fuhrer Adolph Hitler was there with this group, and they seemed to be sharpening their swords and cleaning their guns, and making preparations for a slaughter of some kind, or an execution. We knew not what, but evidently we were their objects. But presently a circle formed and this Fuhrer and his men were all within the circle, and my group and I were circled on the outside; and he was sitting on the inside of the circle with his back to the outside, and when we walked around and I got directly opposite to him, I stepped inside the circle and walked across to where he was sitting, and spoke to him in a manner something like this: "I am your brother. You are my brother. In our heavenly home we lived together in love and peace. Why can we not so live together here on earth?" And it seemed to me that I felt in myself, welling up in my soul, a love for that man, and I could feel that he was having the same experience, and presently he arose, and we embraced each other and kissed each other, a kiss of affection...I think the Lord gave me that dream. Why should I dream of this man, one of the greatest enemies of mankind, and one of the wickedest, but that the Lord should teach me to love my enemies, and I must love the wicked as well as the good?" Remember, Elder Richards made these remarks not one full year after the end of hostilities in World War II. Present in his audience were, undoubtedly, servicemen and women who had been injured, even maimed for life. Widows and children of the slain may have been included among those who heard his words that day. Forgiveness and peace are not easy messages. But they are the message of the Savior nonetheless.

After several weeks of formal discussions, the missionaries asked if I would be willing to be baptized. I told them sure. Then they told me that before I could be baptized, I needed to be living the Word of Wisdom.
I hadn’t been drinking or abusing drugs as much as in the past. Things were changing in my life; I felt more hopeful than I had in ages—but surely those habits would be impossible to break completely. Besides, I had already given up so much in embracing the gospel—including several friends who thought I was crazy for showing interest in the Mormon Church. I had persisted because I felt that the gospel was true. But could I completely abandon long-standing addictions?
The missionaries offered to give me a priesthood blessing to help me. Immediately afterward, I threw away all the drugs and alcohol I had. And that night the desire to partake of anything that was against the Word of Wisdom left me. It was a true miracle.
I was baptized in June 1978. A little more than a year later, Bruce and I were married in the Washington D.C. Temple.

In 1849, President Brigham Young called a small number of men to travel to various parts of the world to preach the gospel. A former Swedish sailor, John Forsgren, who had joined the Church in Massachusetts, USA, and traveled to the Salt Lake Valley, asked President Young to be sent to Sweden as a missionary. He was called to serve and arrived in Sweden in June 1850.
Elder Forsgren first visited his younger siblings in Gävle. His brother Peter was ill, and doctors said he was beyond help. Elder Forsgren explained the purpose of his mission to his siblings, then anointed and blessed Peter, who was restored to full health. On July 19, 1850, Elder Forsgren baptized his brother, who became the first convert in Sweden.
In 1850 Peter Forsgren, above, was baptized by his brother John.
Photograph courtesy of Susan Easton Black

Here’s a true story about a friend from Europe whom I’ll call Mattias. After his mission and temple marriage, Mattias raised a beautiful family. He became a stake president. Later after I’d come to know him well, I saw a prominent American news story reporting that Mattias was “grappling with a wave of doubt and disillusionment” because he had “encountered information on the Internet that sabotaged” his religious faith. When the reporter asked what had happened, Mattias said that for years as a Church member and leader, he’d been “living in a bubble and we felt so happy.” Then some of his LDS friends came to him for answers to questions they had encountered on the Internet. He said many of the issues were new to him—such as, how did Joseph Smith translate the Book of Mormon and the Book of Abraham, why were blacks excluded from the priesthood until 1978, and did Joseph Smith really practice polygamy. Mattias’s problem was not with what had happened in each instance, once he learned the details. Rather, he was distressed that he hadn’t previously known these things, so he felt betrayed. Because I knew and cared a great deal about Mattias, I wondered how these questions could have surprised him. My experience had been so different from his. Marie told you about our BYU class, “Your Religious Problems,” where we learned that asking gospel questions can be a productive way to learn—if we move through all of the three levels we’ve just discussed. We encountered Mattias’s questions years ago—not because we were digging into secret historical closets, but because we and our friends had what felt like a normal college experience for LDS students.

In the Church classrooms where we’ve sat ever since, these issues were not hidden or discouraged. On the contrary, we have often discussed them, always in an open atmosphere of faith. Remember when Mattias said that before these questions came to his attention, “I was just in a bubble, and we felt so happy?” That sentence is actually a good illustration of level one idealism in the steps of dealing with uncertainty. Holly, so active that she was on auto-pilot, at first lived in the same bubble. Then the shock of bumping into level two realism felt to both Mattias and Holly like an earthquake. This wasn’t really their fault—or perhaps anybody’s fault. Their experience may just tell us that in this day of both the Internet and the international Church, we need to do a better job of introducing our children, young people, new converts, and others to the process of learning and applying the levels of dealing with uncertainty.

I met John near the front porch as he was leaving the wedding reception. He was 17, full of fire and activity, president of the student body at high school, deeply involved in a senior class fund-raising activity he had thought up for the school, active in priesthood—a real achiever. He was also a Life Scout, only a couple of merit badges away from Eagle. I was age 62, Scout commissioner, Eagle Scout, and former everything from “den mother” and Scoutmaster to member of the bishopric and vice-president of the Scout council.

I asked John about those merit badges and suggested that his school fund-raising project, if approved in advance by Scout authorities, might qualify as his Eagle service project. We referred to his approaching 18th birthday; from that day on he would be an adult and no longer eligible for the Eagle Award, which is designed to challenge boys, not men.

John wanted the award, but he also had some other priorities. He hoped that he could work it in. His mother sure wanted him to. (Indeed she did; she had phoned me several times, and the family routines had been shifted sharply to accommodate merit badge counselors.)

We were about to part. His parents were waiting for him at their car. “You know,” I heard myself say, “the best thing that could ever happen to you might be to not get your Eagle. You will always know that you could have, but muffed it by putting it off too long. Then you might have sharper priorities in other more important decisions you will make as you mature and govern the rest of your life.” He seemed very surprised at my words. He knew that I wanted him to become an Eagle. What he did not fully realize was that I regarded the Eagle trail as preparation for life, not an end in itself, and that I would much rather see him develop into an active elder, a good husband and father, and a disciple of Jesus Christ than to just become an Eagle Scout and stop at that. Maybe I talk too much about “getting your Eagle.” It is like urging young people to “marry in the temple” as if that would solve all problems. Both are good advice as far as they go, but they are only parts of the great plan of life.

John earned his remaining merit badges at the last minute, but fair and square. Most people think that is it, that he is then an Eagle except for the formalities. Not so. Boy Scouts of America reaches for evidence of deeper values. A Life Scout who has earned the required badges and would become an Eagle must also be active in his troop and patrol for at least six months, “show Scout spirit,” and complete the approved service project. There is one further requirement. All of the above must be completed prior to the 18th birthday, although the processing of the paperwork and the awarding of the badge may take place thereafter.

I am sure that John believed he had beat the deadline. He led in his school activities and graduated with academic honors and praise for his extracurricular and athletic achievements. He served as bishop’s assistant in the priests quorum. Finally he got around to the application for Eagle Scout. All went fine until he and the troop advancement chairman tried to document compliance with requirement number 4:

“While a Life Scout, serve actively for a period of six months in one or more of the following positions: patrol leader, senior patrol leader, assistant senior patrol leader, den chief, scribe, librarian, quartermaster, member of the leadership corps, junior assistant Scoutmaster, chaplain aide, instructor.”

You know how it is whenever you try to put it all together at the last minute—writing your term paper on the last weekend; making notes for your youth talk in the back seat of the car on the way to sacrament meeting. Well, it is worse when the deadline is past and essential actions were not double-checked and completed in time.

How to comply with requirement number 4? Maybe being the bishop’s assistant to the priests would count as “chaplain aide” because the bishop is the spiritual adviser to the Scouts—but that was just the last two months before the 18th birthday. Troop instructor maybe? No, not honestly. Member of leadership corps? That would be forcing it. No hope in the others; they are all too specific. There was no question that John had engaged in great and useful activities during that period. Among other things, he had set up and coordinated a great athletic program in the ward. But how could he show that he had met any of the specifics of requirement 4 for six months?

“For behold, this life is the time for men to prepare to meet God; yea, behold the day of this life is the day for men to perform their labors.

“And now, as I said unto you before, as ye have had so many witnesses, therefore I beseech of you that ye do not procrastinate the day of your repentance until the end; for after this day of life, which is given us to prepare for eternity, behold, if we do not improve our time while in this life, then cometh the night of darkness wherein there can be no labor performed” (Alma 34:32–33).

How easy it would have been to have served for six months as a den chief, or as a junior assistant Scoutmaster helping a grateful Blazer leader, or as a troop instructor teaching young Scouts how to qualify for merit badges or perhaps the whole troop how to cook dehydrated foods for the 50-miler. Easy except for one thing: John’s priorities at age 17 had been on other things. Yes, they were good worthy things, but not the Eagle Award. It would have been easier at age 15 or 16.

So now John is back to me, and I ponder his question. I can’t really answer it. Everyone wants him to receive the award. The adult troop leaders and the bishop are doing their best to convert priesthood activities into the format of requirement 4 as they rewrite that part of the application. The people on the local Scout council want to forward an application that will be approved by the National Council. But it’s like the way we want a lot of blessings—blessings that are predicated upon our complying with certain laws and principles.

This telestial world is much like a class in laboratory chemistry; it is the place to make choices, including mistakes, and to learn from them. But as important as repentance is, it does not grant all that might have been had a different choice been made.

The Eagle Scout Award is a telestial honor. The eternal aspect will be in the attitudes and acts that flow from the granting or denial of the badge under the circumstances.

I want you to be an Eagle Scout, John. I don’t want you to go through life knowing how close you came and muttering excuses to yourself. I want to help word that application in a way that will be accepted. But I do not know if this will be possible, and if it is not, I still think it might be one of the best things that ever happened to you. I hope to see you a leader in the celestial kingdom throughout all eternity, elder!

Karen and Susan Jacobs of Walnut Creek, California, found it fun and rewarding. It started when Karen was in the fifth grade at the American School in Copenhagen, Denmark. She was looking for a subject for a rather ambitious American history report. The teacher called for footnotes, bibliography, note cards, and oral reports—everything. Her biggest challenge was to choose a subject. Her parents suggested that she do her report on the Mormon trek westward.
“Why not?” she said.
Once started it was an easier topic to write on than most, with all that help at home, her interest, and her background on the subject from Primary and Sunday School.
Few in the class knew much about the Mormons, and the oral report, filled with interest-raising points, created a lively discussion for months afterwards. She got an A grade too!

Tamma Miner’s first husband, Albert, died in January of 1848 when their youngest child was not yet two years old and their oldest only fifteen years of age. Tamma’s father, Edmond, was murdered by a mob at Nauvoo, Illinois, when Tamma was thirty-two and expecting her ninth child. Her daughter Melissa died during the persecution era at seven months; her son Orson died of a fever at seventeen; and another daughter, Sylvia, died at age two. Tamma, with her five remaining boys and two girls, started the journey to Salt Lake City across the Plains on June 10, 1850. Tamma’s writings include this wonderful declaration:
“I have passed through all the hardships and drivings and burnings and mobbings and threatenings and have been with the Saints in all their persecutions from Huron county to Kirtland and from Kirtland to Missouri back to Illinois and then across the desert. I write this that my children may have a little idea of what their parents passed through. I hope my children will appreciate these lines for I do feel highly honored to be numbered with the Latter-day Saints.”

Then there was the time they went underground. They heard one day that someone had discovered a cave up a nearby canyon, and from that moment on nothing would do but that they should find a cave of their own. So everyday after school, and all day on Saturdays, they could be seen up in the canyons with their cameras, pretending to be sightseeing and picture taking.

They were really cave hunting and doing it with the same all-out dedication they do everything. They checked out about every crack in every rock in the canyons, looking for the telltale air currents that reveal a cavern behind the crack. They learned to look for the slightest movement in spiderwebs and grasses; they lit matches and held them to cracks to see if the flame flickered under some imperceptible breeze.

For two months they searched, and they were prepared to go on searching until heavy snow made it impossible, and then to start again the following spring. But one day the search suddenly stopped for a moment as they squatted in front of a tiny crack looking at an extinguished match. They fumbled another into flame and held it in front of the crack. It was immediately blown out. Grabbing a nearby stick, they started to dig. The next day they returned with picks and shovels. Their callouses grew during the following days, but the crack remained a crack. They told no one about their search, knowing that many fine caves have been vandalized by thoughtless sightseers.

After 20 feet of hard digging, they came to a little room almost big enough for both of them to sit up in. A couple of anemic stalactites straggled down from the ceiling, but the room ended in a blank wall. They got the matches out, found another breezy crack, and started digging again. Fifteen feet farther in they broke through into a large cavern shimmering with the jeweled spires and daggers that cave hunters dream about. It had taken two months of search and 35 feet of back-breaking, dirty digging, but it was all worth it.

The cave turned out to be about 300 feet deep, fanning out on either side into many smaller rooms. They left a register of their discovery in the largest chamber and covered the entrance back up so that no one could come in and destroy the formations. For several years it was their own private, secret cave, a little magic kingdom that no other human beings had ever seen. Recently, members of a local spelunking club found the signs of digging at the entrance and broke through into the cave, but they too wish to preserve the cave’s beauty and have agreed to keep its location a secret.