Gospel Story Finder

I had decided to follow my dad’s advice and not play intercollegiate sports in college. Then our high school football coach informed me that the Stanford football coach wanted to have lunch with Merlin Olsen and me. Those of you who are younger may not know Merlin. He was an incredible all-American tackle on the Logan High School football team where I played quarterback and safety and returned kickoffs and punts. In high school Merlin was recruited by most football powers across the nation. In college he won the Outland Trophy as the nation’s best interior lineman. Merlin was ultimately the third overall pick in the National Football League draft and played in an amazing 14 consecutive Pro Bowls. He was inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1982.
The lunch with the Stanford coach was at the Bluebird restaurant in Logan, Utah. After we shook hands, he never once made eye contact with me. He talked directly to Merlin but ignored me. At the end of the lunch, for the first time, he turned toward me, but he could not remember my name. He then informed Merlin, “If you choose Stanford and want to bring your friend with you, he has good enough grades and it could probably be arranged.” This experience confirmed for me that I should follow my dad’s wise counsel.

In the Locality File, Rebecca found that Rebecca Burdick Winters had an article written about her in the July 19, 1958, Deseret News. It was on a microfilm and was titled Lonely Grave of a Pioneer Mother. Reading it, she learned that in August 1852, Rebecca Winters and her family were traveling by wagon train to Salt Lake City. When deadly cholera invaded the wagon train outside Scotts Bluff, Nebraska, Rebecca helped care for the sick, and she watched her friends die until she herself was stricken with it and died.
As the family prepared to bury Rebecca’s body, a band of starving Indians rode into the camp, demanding food. When told that there was no food to spare, they became desperate and threatened to kill the pioneers.
Hiram Winters explained to the Indians that there was a terrible sickness among the wagon train. When the Indians failed to believe him, he removed the blanket from Rebecca’s body. The Indians quickly fled, leaving the pioneers to bury their dead in peace.
Rebecca’s lonely grave was marked only by an old metal wagon tire inscribed Rebecca Burdick Winters, Age 50.
Years later a survey party for a railroad discovered the wagon tire that marked the grave. The railroad track was to have gone over it, but the officials decided to reroute it around the grave of the brave pioneer mother.
The article went on to tell about Gideon and his family. Then Rebecca found a paragraph about Rebecca Burdick Winters. It said that in 1902 her descendants, in loving memory, erected a monument made of Salt Lake granite beside Rebecca’s grave. In 1964 a national patriotic organization erected another monument by the grave, naming Rebecca Burdick Winters “The Pioneer Mother of America.”

Several years ago, a young man in Michigan fell in love with an LDS girl. He was told forthrightly and with great love that she wanted the power of the priesthood in her home and the blessings of an eternal family, and she would marry only someone who could give her those blessings. The teachings she had received had taken root, and the seeds of faith, knowledge, and choice had grown, and she knew that they were true.
The young man felt her spirit and agreed to be taught the gospel. But after he had learned that the gospel was true, his father would not approve his baptism. A great shepherd, a bishop of the young girl, went to the father and helped him to see the value of that young woman, her standards, the Church, and the truly important things in life. The father was touched that day as he attended the baptism and saw about twenty young men and women of the Church. Following the service, he asked that the missionaries come teach him.
A young woman had taken on the divine nature and was able to share the priceless truths with others. I invite all to seek the blessings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The Lord and His church will bless you and your families—even into eternity.

Many years ago I was taught a lesson by a man I admired very much. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. He was steady and serene, with a deep spiritual strength that many drew upon.
He knew just how to minister to others who were suffering. On a number of occasions I was present when he gave blessings to those who were sick or otherwise afflicted.
His life had been a life of service, both in the Church and in the community.
He had presided over one of the missions of the Church and looked forward to the annual missionary reunion. When he was older he was not able to drive at night, and I offered to take him to the reunions.
This modest gesture was repaid a thousandfold.
On one occasion when we were alone and the spirit was right, he gave me a lesson for my life from an experience in his. Although I thought I had known him, he told me things I would not have supposed.
He grew up in a little community. Somehow in his youth he had a desire to make something of himself and struggled successfully to get an education.
He married a lovely young woman, and presently everything in his life was just right. He was well employed, with a bright future. They were deeply in love, and she was expecting their first child.
The night the baby was to be born there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick. They were not able to find him. After many hours of labor the condition of the mother-to-be became desperate.
Finally the doctor arrived. He sensed the emergency, acted quickly, and soon had things in order. The baby was born and the crisis, it appeared, was over.
Some days later the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at the other home that night.
My friend’s world was shattered. Everything was not right now; everything was all wrong. He had lost his wife, his sweetheart. He had no way to take care of a tiny baby and at once tend to his work.
As the weeks wore on his grief festered. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he would say. “He brought that infection to my wife; if he had been careful she would be alive today.” He thought of little else, and in his bitterness he became threatening.
Then one night a knock came at his door. A little youngster said, simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”
“Daddy” was the stake president. A grieving, heartbroken young man went to see his spiritual leader. This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock and had something to say to him.
The counsel from this wise servant was simply: “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.”
My friend told me then that this had been his trial, his Gethsemane.
How could he leave it alone? Right was right! A terrible wrong had been committed, and somebody must pay for it.
He struggled in agony to get hold of himself. It did not happen at once. Finally he determined that whatever else the issues were, he should be obedient.
Obedience is a powerful spiritual medicine. It comes close to being a cure-all.
He determined to follow the counsel of that wise spiritual leader. He would leave it alone.
Then he told me, “I was an old man before I finally understood. It was not until I was an old man that I could finally see a poor country doctor—over-worked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little proper medicine, no hospital, few instruments. He struggled to save lives, and succeeded for the most part.
“He had come in a moment of crisis when two lives hung in the balance and had acted without delay.
“I was an old man,” he repeated, “before finally I understood. I would have ruined my life,” he said, “and the lives of others.”
Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise spiritual leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”

In December 2020, I was called to be the bishop of my ward, and I gained a different insight into the struggles that people like Debbie face. I have been able to counsel with members who are caring for loved ones with various medical conditions, including dementia. Their trials, while certainly refining them spiritually, wear them down physically and mentally. I found that my role as bishop was to connect my ward members with resources that could provide comfort, support, and real help.
I engaged my ward council. Prayerful consideration was given to determine who would be the right ministering brothers and sisters to provide the best support. When we invited these ministering brothers and sisters to serve, I often connected them with community organizations to provide training and offer support. I made assignments of where and when to help. In their usual loving way, the Relief Society jumped into action to provide support to sisters and brothers who were caregivers.
In most instances, caregivers downplay the dementia symptoms and avoid involving other family members or friends and neighbors. This isolation deprives the person living with Alzheimer’s and their caregiver from receiving much needed support. Likewise, it increases the stress, both mental and physical, on those providing care.
Because of the strenuous toll on caregivers, at least 36 percent of them die before the person for whom they are caring dies. Often it is not until the family is in crisis that they seek outside help, and at this point intervention and support services are limited in what can be offered.
I have relied heavily on the counsel from President Henry B. Eyring, who said: “Remember that when the Lord lets us encounter someone in distress, we honor the good Samaritan for what he did not do as much as for what he did. He did not pass by. … He did what he could for the beaten man and then put in place a specific plan for others to do more.”
In the same general conference address, he mentioned the toll on caregivers: “Even though extended and loving service to people is richly rewarded, you have learned that there are physical, emotional, and financial limits to what is possible. The person giving care long enough can become the one who needs care.”1
For these reasons and many others, it is important for ward council members to provide support and assistance, even when caregivers aren’t quite sure what can be done. The ward council has many resources available to them through Church programs and from outside community agencies.
Another friend of mine, whom I will call Frank, reached out to me in my role with the Alzheimer’s Association a few years ago while he was serving as a bishop. He was concerned about several members of his ward who had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and suspected that others had some form of undiagnosed dementia. Frank was anxious to meet the needs of these ward members and support other members serving as caregivers. Unaware of any resources, he turned to me out of desperation with a plea for help.
We arranged for a presentation to his ward’s empty-nester home evening group. Normally about 25 people attended this monthly activity. After it was announced that the presentation would be about Alzheimer’s disease, more than 100 people attended. Many were concerned about getting Alzheimer’s disease but weren’t sure what it is or how they might be able to reduce their risk.
During this meeting, I shared a wide variety of tools available through the Alzheimer’s Association and from other community sources.
I encouraged them to visit alz.org to find free web-based services offered by the Alzheimer’s Association and other community organizations. The site includes family support services as well as education programs about the signs and symptoms of the disease and how to reduce risk of developing it. The site offers an online Alzheimer’s and Dementia Caregiver Center, with helpful tools for caregivers. It also provides connections for caregivers to local support groups, care consultations, and opportunities to connect with others who are in the early stages of the disease. Likewise, ward council members can use this resource to better understand the disease and learn how they can offer assistance to ward members serving as caregivers.
Another effective service is a free 24/7 helpline at 800-272-3900. Trained consultants offer callers advice, information about care, help with crisis situations, referrals to local organizations, and support in more than 200 languages and dialects.
The site communityresourcefinder.org is a database of organizations in the United States that offer services for people living with dementia and their caregivers. Services include respite care, adult day care, assisted living, and connection to local area agencies on aging. Alzheimer.ca provides similar help for those in Canada.
The Church has an excellent web page called “Support for Caregivers” that provides a number of helpful resources. It can be found at this shortened URL: bit.ly/3oXe5gZ.
As I shared these resources with Frank’s ward council, other members, and caregivers, he observed increased support for and engagement with those members affected by Alzheimer’s and other dementias in his ward and stronger support for caregivers. Increased knowledge can make all the difference!
In my capacity as bishop, I have seen these resources become valuable to help ward council members be more aware of Alzheimer’s disease and dementia and more capable of offering meaningful service to ward members who are caring for loved ones with dementia. Just like Nephi praying to ask the Lord where he might go to find ore from which he could make tools to build a ship, as ward members pray for resources to help those living with dementia and their caregivers, they can be guided to tools like those mentioned above that will allow them to minister with meaningful service. These resources will allow them to figuratively build a boat of care, support, and Christlike service.
Once my friend Debbie was released from the hospital, her husband and children sought out the Alzheimer’s Association. The local chapter provided support to the family. Debbie found the assistance she needed and realized the importance and power of allowing others to assist in caring for her mother.
The experiences of Debbie and Frank and myself within my own ward are evidence that there is a strong need for education and supportive information for caregivers, for ward leaders, and for people living with Alzheimer’s disease or other dementias. Perhaps more importantly, their experiences reflect the number of people who are suffering in silence and don’t know where to turn for assistance. Their stories demonstrate that many people in each ward and branch of the Church are dealing with these challenges.
The Christlike service we give to those with dementia and to their caregivers can help bring them peace.

I was kicking a ball around in my sister’s room until it was time for family prayer at bedtime. The ball hit the wall and then knocked over the lamp on her dresser, and the light went out. I put the lamp back, but the light didn’t go on again. I was scared that it was broken for good, and I didn’t want to tell my mom. I did tell Mom, though, and she found out that all it needed was a new bulb, so I was glad. I learned that you should tell right away when you do something bad. If you don’t tell, you can get in big trouble.
Sam Yoder, age 7Crete, Illinois

Not too long ago I attended a missionary fireside in Idaho, after which I was introduced to a beautiful eighteen-year-old young woman who was fighting a battle with cancer. I was told that for the third time her cancer had come out of remission, and I was asked if it would be possible for me to give her a blessing. The family were converts to the Church, and her father said, “Brother Ballard, we are aware that our daughter is in the hands of Heavenly Father, and we’re not asking you to do anything that would be contrary to His mind and will. We just want to feel that we’ve done everything we possibly can to appeal to Him for her life.”

Of course I understood. Any parent would understand that feeling. We went into a private room where I was able to visit with this extraordinary young woman for a few minutes. I wish I could communicate to you the sweet and wonderful spirit that I felt from her. This beautiful young woman looked into my eyes and with powerful simplicity said, “Brother Ballard, I’m not afraid to die. I would like to live. There are things that I would still like to accomplish in this life. But I know that Jesus is my Savior and my Redeemer, and during these past few years He has become my best friend. I trust Him, and I trust you as His representative. Whatever He wants for me, I’m prepared.”

We gave her a blessing, during which we pled with God for a miracle, but at her request left the matter with Heavenly Father. My wife Barbara was with me, and as we returned to our car we looked at each other with tears in our eyes as we said to one another, “Oh, thank heavens for the gospel. Thank heavens for a plan that makes it possible for an eighteen-year-old girl to know what it means to come unto Christ. What ever happens, she is going to be fine.” She died on June 23, 1995, with the peace of the Lord accompanying her and her family.

In the spring of 1848, my great-great-grandparents, Charles Stewart Miller and Mary McGowan Miller, left their home in Scotland and journeyed to St. Louis, Missouri, with a group of Saints, arriving there in 1849.
While the family was in St. Louis working to earn enough money to complete their journey to the Salt Lake Valley, a plague of cholera swept through the area. In the space of two weeks, four of the family members succumbed. The children who survived were left orphans, including my great-grandmother Margaret, who was 13 years old at the time.
The nine remaining Miller children continued to work and save for that journey their parents and brothers would never make. They left St. Louis in the spring of 1850 with four oxen and one wagon, arriving finally in the Salt Lake Valley that same year.

Illustration by Jens Magnusson
I didn’t know many people at my new middle school. Most of the kids I knew went to a different school, and the few friends I did have were making some bad choices. I was in a tough spot. I didn’t want to be a loner, but I knew I needed to leave the friends I had in order to do what was right.
I was going to have to make new friends.
That has always been a challenge for me. My self-confidence was awful. I was super self-conscious. Small talk was ridiculously hard. And I’m not comfortable opening up to people. The few times I tried, things just didn’t work out. You know things aren’t going your way trying to find good friends when your most promising prospect ends up asking if he can copy off your test. I was beginning to lose hope.
Yet, the prophet had just promised that God could “raise up friends” for those who turn their lives over to Him.1 That’s what I desperately wanted, but I had no idea what it meant to turn my life over to God—until one day, of all places, in the lunchroom.
My daily lunch routine was a series of painful decisions. Sandwich or mystery meat. Peas or carrots. Sit with friends who were headed the wrong direction or sit alone, making it clear to everyone in the room that I was friendless. Mostly it was sandwich. Sometimes it was peas. Sometimes it was carrots. But I could never bear the shame of sitting alone.
Until one day, as I stood holding my sandwich and peas, I finally decided I would rather sit alone than continue down the path my friends and I were headed. Without realizing it, I had just turned my life over to God. I had chosen what was right over what was easy.
Making the right decision was all He needed me to do. I didn’t even have time to take a step toward an empty table before I heard a voice call, “Hey, Adam! Come sit with us.”
It was Curtis. I was shocked. Not only was he one of the most popular kids in the school, but I also knew he had a strong testimony and high standards. His group of friends made a space for me at their table. They remained my friends through our school years, missions, and temple marriages.
I learned a couple of really important lessons that day. I learned God loved me. I learned He wanted to bless me but couldn’t until I had made my decision to follow Him. And I learned that turning my life over to Him wasn’t easy, but it was simple. I just need to choose Him over me.

The youth of Calgary Alberta West Stake planned a big day devoted to service. The project included holding car washes in several locations and donating the money collected to the Alberta Children’s Hospital. But the weather had something to say in the matter. Their plans were not only rained out; they were snowed out.
Instead of washing dirty cars, the youth turned their brushes and buckets to the windows and baseboards of two chapels. After a thorough job, they turned the rest of the day into a fun time with food and volleyball.
The Super Saturday activity concluded with a banquet and special speaker. In the testimonies borne by several young people, they mentioned learning a vivid lesson about being flexible and dealing with life’s disappointments.

Years ago, President Joseph Fielding Smith, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, attended a stake conference where a relatively new stake president had been called. A man repeatedly came up to President Smith and asked him for counsel concerning a personal matter. Finally, President Smith said he would see the man, provided the new stake president could be there. As the man unfolded his situation, the stake president was prompted with what the person needed to do. Yet President Smith listened to the brother and surprised everyone by saying, “I have no counsel for you.” The man was surprised, and he left. After he had gone, President Smith turned to the stake president and said, “I knew how to counsel that man, but I was also prompted to know that he would go against the counsel. So rather than condemn him for going against the counsel of the priesthood, I told him nothing.”

Let me just conclude with a little experience I had recently in New England.

I think one of the greatest thrills that a mission president experiences is to receive a new missionary. I received notice from the First Presidency that eight young men were to be assigned to New England. Shortly they arrived. This was a great treat for Jeanne and me, as we greeted these new missionaries in the mission home. One by one, as they came in, we tried to set them at ease.

The first one was a brilliant-looking boy. I won’t describe him, but I thought, “Thank heaven he is here.” The second was just like him, and the third and the fourth. Now this, I thought, will put our mission on top.

Then I got down to number seven, and I don’t mind telling you some of the concerns of my heart. I thought, This will be a challenge. I couldn’t believe it; and unlike the counsel that President Tanner gave us not to judge our neighbors, here I was judging him. I thought, This kid just doesn’t have the image.

My wife gave me a glance, and her look said, “Good luck for the next two years.”

Let me just describe him to you. He was wearing a shirt that was size 17; his neck was an 11. I could have pulled out his collar and put another elder in it. He had on a coat that he inherited from his dad, and you couldn’t see his hands. He had a trench coat that he got from an uncle from World War I, and he had a haircut that was an Idaho original.

The New England Mission contains six of the United States and four provinces of Canada, including Labrador. As my wife and I lay in bed that night, she said, “What are you going to do with him?”

I said, “It’s time to open up Labrador.” I thought I had to protect the Church’s image from this interesting-looking elder.

Well, that morning before I made my assignments, I knelt in prayer—thank the Lord for prayer—and I asked the Lord what I should do now; and the Spirit whispered, “Keep him in Cambridge.”

And I said, “Spirit, I won’t.” I said, “I am the president of this mission.”

And the Spirit seemed to respond with the counsel, “Yes, but you will keep him in Cambridge.”

Cambridge is a very sophisticated area, with all of those universities and art centers. Well, I kept him. When I went down to breakfast, my two assistants were sitting there; and they said, “What are you going to do with him?”

I said, “We are going to keep him in Cambridge.”

And they said, “President, you are kidding.”

I said, “I have been seeking guidance all night, and we will keep him in Cambridge.”

Two days later I got a call from a distinguished professor. I haven’t time to give you the details. He said, “Paul, Friday night may I be baptized?”

I questioned him a bit. He had been through several score of missionaries the past nine years. I said, “What happened?”

He said, “This little fellow you sent me.” (He was referring to my new elder.) And then he described the experience.

He said, “No sooner had he and his companion entered the office and shook my hand when he asked, ‘Would you mind if we had a word of prayer?’” (This was a meeting over in his school office.) The professor said, “Not if it will do you any good.” Then he remarked, “Before I could get back to my desk, this little fellow fell on his knees and started to talk to the Lord.” And he said, “Paul, I looked up three times to see if the Lord was standing there.” He said, “I don’t know what happened to me; you describe it, but I had the most wonderful feeling come over me, and I now know what the Spirit is. I want to be baptized.”

We baptized him, and he is doing a fine work for the Church and is a great asset on campus. It was all accomplished because this young elder from Idaho, whom I had misjudged, guided by the Spirit, gave himself to the Lord.

And I learned as President Tanner has taught us. Don’t judge! “Within the oyster shell uncouth, the purest pearl may hide, but oft you’ll find a heart of truth within a rough outside.”

Extremely unusual circumstances had led my son and me from our home in Salem, Utah, to our adventure in the Northwest, a 1,126 kilometer trip I never would have undertaken without the direction and inspiration of the Lord. When Bob was 17 years old, like most teenagers he wanted a job. A large portion of his income was to go to his mission fund. He had dreamed of a mission most of his life and longed to follow the example of his older brother, David, who had served in the Florida Tallahassee Mission.
But the job brought bad influence with it. At first Bob thought he could rise above it, and he should have been able to, but little by little it began to soak in. My wife and I suggested that he change jobs, and he did. But the second job was even worse than the first. Severe changes—lack of personal prayer, for example—became evident. His desire for a mission faded, and he spent several thousand dollars of his mission fund for fun and parties.
Heartbroken, his mother and I had fasted and prayed and visited the temple often. On one occasion as we sat in the Provo Temple, the answer came. My wife whispered that she had a strong impression that if I would take Bob on the Coppermine River, he would regain his love for the gospel. At first I thought she was crazy.
My sons and I had read about the Coppermine River in an outdoor magazine several years earlier. Six American explorers told how, in 1974, they had been the first to travel the length of the river, which wanders through 482 kilometers of barren tundra before emptying into the Coronation Gulf of the Arctic Ocean. Maps show 38 sets of rapids, and a government report rates some of the rapids at a turbulence of five on a scale of zero to six. One set of rapids is said to have waves 2.7 meters tall. A Canadian group had attempted to follow the same route in 1973, but had been forced back by violent weather.
Ever since that article appeared, David and Bob and I had dreamed of conquering the Coppermine River. But it had always been a dream. Our finances wouldn’t allow us to fly in to the headwaters, and that would mean paddling our canoe and carrying our equipment through 644 additional kilometers of small lakes and hostile terrain just to get to the river. Even though all of us had considerable wilderness experiences, it would be a difficult, arduous journey.
But I knew my wife had been inspired. I trusted the Lord to tell me the same thing, and before we left the temple, I received the same confirmation. Still, it was hard to imagine ahead of time what such a trek would mean.

When I was 11 years old, my bishop called me in for an interview in his office. He said, “Ulisses, it’s time to start your preparation to go on a mission.” I was astonished because I was only 11 years old! But he said, “We have to start that process now.”
My bishop said, “I’ll interview you once in a while to see how your progress is.” Then he gave me some direction. He taught me about the commandments, the priesthood, worthiness, and honesty. I was so impressed because he looked in my eyes and said, “You will serve a mission if you follow the directions I am giving you.”
I always remembered his words, especially when I faced a challenge. For example, one time my mother gave me money to go to a store to buy some fruit. For some reason the cashier gave me back more money than I gave her to pay for the fruit. I started walking home, and when I opened my hand, I saw that I had more money than I had started with.
Satan tried to convince me that I could keep the money for myself. I thought, “I have some money to do whatever I want, and then I will give back the correct change to my mother.” But then I thought, “No, that’s not what the bishop told me. To be a missionary, I have to be honest.” I felt the Spirit at that time and went back to the store to give back the money. I felt good in my heart. I thought, “I was honest, I obeyed the commandments, and I am preparing for my mission. I will be a missionary, and I need to be honest.”
When I was going to high school, I worked to save money for my mission. My parents were poor and couldn’t afford to pay for everything. I didn’t earn a lot of money, but after paying tithing, I decided to buy one piece of clothing per month for my mission. One month I bought a shirt, another month a tie, another month another shirt. During those three years, I saved enough to buy everything I needed. I saved enough to pay for my mission. I learned the principle of saving. I learned the principle of being obedient to the law of tithing and how many blessings we receive when we pay tithing.
My mission was a great experience because it helped me understand the principles of life and how to apply the gospel in my daily activities.
Boys and girls, prepare for a good mission and a good life. The Lord is waiting to give us all the blessings we need.

The path since has not been easy. My former church asked us to leave the church-owned home we lived in. For a time, my family and I stayed in a dilapidated, half-built garage with a leaking roof, shifting our mattresses to avoid the rain when it poured. Yet, through these trials, my family has stood by me. My wife’s simple declaration, “Where you will be, there I will be also,” has been my anchor. My children have shown unwavering faith.
I am a pioneer for my family in this gospel. The struggles are real, but they are not a sign of defeat. They are the refining fire of a new beginning. I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the restored Church of Jesus Christ. I know that priesthood authority is real. And I know that the same God who led me through a lifetime of searching to find this truth will never abandon me or my family. My faith now is what I call “crazy faith”—believing in the promised land even while wandering in the wilderness, because I have seen the pillar of fire, and I know who leads the way.

“Life’s not fair!” exclaimed Amy, twisting and plaiting her long auburn hair.
Sam, who’d been around since Sunbeam days, raised his eyebrows. They were the last youth in the foyer waiting for lifts home from seminary.
She turned to the notice board, jabbing a finger at a dazzling poster. “‘New Year’s Social,’ it says.” She jabbed again. “‘Bring a date,’ it says. How am I supposed to do that? No one ever asks me. There’s just nobody around this place.”
She slumped gloomily onto the bench, contemplating a dateless Christmas, dateless New Year, dateless forever.
“Thanks a lot.” Sam pulled himself to full frame, short, lean, and topped with a cheery face, nicely sprinkled with spots and freckles.
“So, Mike, Adam, and I are nobody, are we? I’ll remember that next time you want a puncture fixing or algebra sorting out, or …”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t mean to make you mad. It’s just that you’ve always been here. You’re more like … well … brothers. You know—good friends. Dating’s different.”
“How different?”
“Very different. A date should be exciting, romantic, unusual. I want to be whisked off my feet by someone who reveals a delicious character under a tough skin. Someone hard to reach, but cool and …”
“Mushy.”
“Pardon?”
“Really mushy. You’re describing a TV soap star, Amy. People in real life aren’t like that. Sounds as though you’re expecting some posh bloke to roll up in a Jag. I’m afraid you’re in for a long wait.”
He picked up his scriptures. “Come on, there’s your mum’s Austin. Looks like she’s in her usual hurry. She’s reversing already. She’ll be down at the gates if we’re not quick.”
Amy bent down to her bag. “Hang on,” she added, handing him a seminary booklet. “Don’t forget next week’s work. Doesn’t sound very easy reading to me, that section 95. There’s another unfair thing. How can someone be loved at the same time as being chastened? It doesn’t make me feel very loved when I’m getting a telling off.”
“Depends how you listen,” said Sam, reaching for the door. “And whether you hear with your brain or your spirit.”
“You don’t make much sense sometimes, Sam Harper.” She paused, buttoning her coat. “Sam?”
“What?”
“Between you and me, do you think I’m pretty enough to get a date?”
Sam looked away. “Yes,” he said.
“Then why don’t I?”
He stood quiet for a while, keeping the door open with his foot. Then he tapped his scriptures. “Another part of that section 95 might hold the answer. Verse 6 is very interesting.”
Amy poked him in the ribs and brushed past, head in the air.
“Oh, you’re so … so … serious.” This final word came shooting out. “Move it, then.” She began running. “Last one to the car buys chips on the way to your house.”
Sam moved. He took the shortcut, hedgehopping a stone wall and a few rose bushes.
“Slow coach,” he panted, as Amy came in a close second. Then he smiled. “But the chips are on me anyway.”
“Thanks,” she gasped, regaining her breath as he opened the car door. “But you don’t have to.”
Sam’s smile widened as her mother revved the engine. “And some for Sister Frank, seeing as we kept her waiting.”
Before the inner car light switched off, Amy glanced up just in time to catch that smile reflected in the depth of his eyes. It was mingled with such an expression of kindness that a warmth seemed to bounce right back into the whole of her being.
How odd, she pondered, while the car gathered speed. I’ve never noticed Sam’s eyes do that before. She tried to recall the last time she’d ever watched his eyes while he talked. She couldn’t.
She gave a shrug as the chip shop came in sight, quickly dismissing such unfamiliar thoughts.
The following weekend brought snow and ice.
The atmosphere in Sunday School wasn’t much warmer. Amy had read Doctrine and Covenants 95:6 that morning: “They who are not chosen have sinned a very grievous sin, in that they are walking in darkness at noonday.” [D&C 95:6]
Her first reaction had been indignation, followed swiftly by tears. Now she sat amidst her friends feeling dejected.
“What’s up, Amy?” asked Sam, dropping into the empty chair on her left. “You look like you’re having a good-cheer famine.”
She glanced briefly at him, then sniffed. “You really took that verse 6 out of context, didn’t you Sam.”
With a sheepish grin, he cringed a little. “Oh—that.”
Amy half turned away. “Why, may I ask, is it a sin to have no date? And I’m not in darkness.” Her voice rose with a slight wobble. “And everything’s quite bright and sunny, thank you.”
Sam sighed with embarrassment. “Look here, Amy,” he touched her arm. “I … I didn’t want to hurt you. It’s just that … I mean …” he stammered, turning crimson. “Uh oh, I think I’ve blown it. I can’t explain properly. It was a kind of joke. You know a play on words?”
Bending her head forward to let long strands of hair hide her face, she said in a small voice, “I wasn’t very amused, Sam.”
“Maybe you didn’t listen with your spirit, Amy. I mean, think of it this way. …”
Fortunately, the teacher arrived before he could tangle things further.
Amy sat through the lesson in a dream, letting everything slide over, like warm breath on frosted windows.
By the time midweek seminary came round again, she had melted a little and could see the funny side, even half admiring his weird sense of humour. Imagine Sam having nerve to say that to her. Walking in darkness indeed. Who did he think she’d missed around here?
She chuckled to herself. It was worth catching the early bus to seminary and getting there in time for some teasing.
But Sam wasn’t there. For the first time ever Sam was not at seminary. No one had heard from him all week. Amy felt a niggle of worry.
However, all such problems soon vanished when Amy’s mother arrived at nine. She could hear Mum’s voice before the car door was half open.
“You’ll never believe what’s happened. Maybe I was seeing things. No, they were real all right. But how could they be? Didn’t have time to double-check. Too late leaving. But how in the world … I mean … bananas—at this time of the year?”
“Mum, what are you talking about?” asked Amy, with a worried frown.
“There they were, dear. On the beech tree in the front garden. Bunches of bananas. All over the branches!”
“But, Mother, bananas never grow in England. You must have been imagining things.”
Sister Frank started the engine, shaking her head resolutely. “I may get slightly muddled at times, but I’m definitely not senile yet.”
The homeward trip was even faster than usual. And sure enough, there in the front garden was a banana tree.
Amy clambered out of the car in a daze, vaguely aware of a telephone ringing in the distance. She walked slowly up the path. “Must be some sort of hoax, Mum. They’re tied on,” she called over her shoulder whilst reaching out to touch the nearest one.
But Mother had turned her back towards the house. “Won’t be a minute dear—let me answer that phone.”
Amy pulled down the fruit, shivering. It felt cold and uninviting. She was just about to let it slither to the ground, when she noticed half stuck tape crumpled round the top. Peeling back the skin wasn’t easy. Then her eyes stretched in amazement. Folded neatly under the surface was a piece of paper.
Her fingers were too chilled to be careful, but she managed to straighten the paper enough to decipher a message.
“Is this an exciting, romantic and different enough way to ask for a date? If so, please climb the nearest easy branch and pull down banana number two. The one with a red heart stuck at the top.”
Clambering up the lumpy trunk and onto the first branch, Amy found the next one. The heart had slipped a bit, but another message fell out.
“Well, you’ve been whisked off your feet and this fruit reveals a delicious character under a tough skin.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You’ve got to be joking,” she muttered, prodding the banana, now squishy and turning brown.
“Now go for the fruit on that branch overhanging the hedge,” she read. “The one with two hearts. Be careful. It’s not easy.”
Amy hesitated, then quickly climbing, she stretched across the hedge top, only to find herself sliding gracefully into it. Spitting frosted twigs from her mouth, she reached again, grabbing at the banana.
As brown pulp squirted in her hands, she immediately wished she hadn’t bothered. Letting out an exasperated yell, she jumped down. “Oh, that Sam Harper! Just wait till …”
But she couldn’t resist opening the note. Her voice sounded surprised when she read out loud. “So sorry this one was hard to reach, but it’s definitely cool and …”
“Mushy?” came a familiar voice from behind the hedge.
“You can say that again,” exploded Amy. She tossed back her hair, then pulled down another banana. In seconds war would have broken out, but for Sam’s infectious laughter.
“So this is where you were during seminary. You’re a nut case, Sam. What am I going to do with you?” She shook her head and began brushing bits of tree off her coat.
He took out a tissue and gently wiped banana mush from her hand. “You could try answering my question,” he replied softly.
“Which one?”
“Please will you be my date for the New Year’s social?”
She looked at him for a long moment. There was that smile, hovering in his eyes again, only this time it seemed anxious and hopeful as well as kind.
“I think I must be slightly mad, but yes—on two conditions.”
Sam knelt in the slush at her feet, and with a flourish, pulled out a box of Cadbury’s milk tray from inside his coat. “Anything,” he promised, solemnly. “And here’s something to take away the taste of bananas. I know in the TV advert the man leaps off a mountain at this moment, but, … as we don’t have one handy …”
Amy giggled, giving a mock curtsy whilst he gallantly placed them in her outstretched hand.
She pulled him to his feet with the other hand. “Okay, I’ll be your date, but only if there are no more bananas—not ever.”
“And the other condition?”
She paused. “Will this mean I’m no longer walking in darkness at noonday?”
Sam grinned. “How could anyone be in the dark with me around? Come on, let’s celebrate.”
“Does a drink of Mum’s hot black current and toast sound exciting enough?”
Sam closed his eyes and sighed. “Umm! Delicious!”
Amy nudged him towards the house. The rest of the bananas could wait until morning. After all, dates don’t grow on trees every day of the week.

Inspiration. To Michelangelo it was a block of marble. To Michael A. McBride of Rialto, California, it’s a dented fender.
While attending Eisenhower High School, Mike worked at a body and fender shop. When the county industrial arts contest was held, he entered the auto mechanics competition. He won first place.
From there he went to Fresno, California, for the statewide contest. He walked away with first place, winning an all-expense paid trip to Washington, D.C., for the national competition.
In the nation’s capital Mike took fourth place. During the competition he had to finish a written examination on auto repairs, estimate the cost of repairing a damaged car, repair and paint a dent—and do it all against the clock.
Mike is active in Church sports and is planning to enter the mission field soon.

John R. Moyle lived in Alpine, Utah, about 22 miles as the crow flies to the Salt Lake Temple, where he was the chief superintendent of masonry during its construction. To make certain he was always at work by 8:00 A.M., Brother Moyle would start walking about 2:00 on Monday mornings. He would finish his work week at 5:00 P.M. on Friday and then start the walk home, arriving there shortly before midnight. Each week he would repeat that schedule for the entire time he served on the construction of the temple.
Once when he was home on the weekend, one of his cows bolted during milking and kicked Brother Moyle in the leg, shattering the bone just below the knee. With no better medical help than they had in such rural circumstances, his family and friends took a door off the hinges and strapped him onto that makeshift operating table. They then took the bucksaw they had been using to cut branches from a nearby tree and amputated his leg just a few inches below the knee.
When against all medical likelihood the leg finally started to heal, Brother Moyle took a piece of wood and carved an artificial leg. First he walked in the house. Then he walked around the yard. Finally he ventured out about his property. When he felt he could stand the pain, he strapped on his leg, walked the 22 miles to the Salt Lake Temple, climbed the scaffolding, and with a chisel in his hand hammered out the declaration “Holiness to the Lord.” (See “Two Traditions of John Rowe Moyle,” in Biographies and Reminiscences, ed. Gene A. Sessions, 1974, 202–3.)

While most of their southern California peers were out soaking up rays at the beach, the youth of the Glendora California Stake spent their spring break getting dishpan hands, aching muscles, and sore feet from serving at a mission for the homeless in the heart of Los Angeles.
And they wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. “Serving at the mission was the greatest thing we could have ever done for a youth conference,” said Heath Hamilton, 17.
At first, some of the youth were skeptical. Chris Walker, a priest, said, “Lots of people thought that it couldn’t be a youth conference without going away to the mountains or some place like that. Those who went to the mission discovered that this is what the gospel is all about—helping someone else, not yourself. 17 where it says ‘When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God,’ hit me hard.”
Jeremy Baird, a teacher, said it this way, “I thought this youth conference was going to be a bummer, but it was a great learning experience. At the mission I talked to a man who had been successful in business, but was now homeless and had lost his family as a result of drugs. It taught me that what I had thought about all the people who are homeless is not true.”
Some people were a little concerned about going into the inner city. Caroline James, a Mia Maid, said, “When we first got to the mission, we were scared to get out of the car. After we were there, though, it was real neat talking to the people about the Church.”
Two three-hour shifts of 12 young people each went to the Los Angeles Mission daily, where they served a noon meal and an evening meal to nearly 600 homeless people. They also sorted clothes and helped prepare for the Easter meals.
In addition, the youth filled more than 150 Easter baskets with toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, and other personal hygiene items. Collection boxes had been placed in each ward building and in several community locations to receive the donated items. Some candy and stuffed animals were included for the children, and the baskets were distributed Sunday afternoon.
On Sunday, the youth committee and leaders traveled the 25 miles from their suburban homes to downtown Los Angeles, in two shifts, so no one would have to miss any meetings. Tables were set up next to the Union Rescue Mission, where breakfast was served in the early morning and a traditional Easter dinner was served in the afternoon. Nearly 2,500 meals were served on each shift.
When the bulk of the serving was complete, the youth were invited to sing. “As I Have Loved You” and “I Am a Child of God” brought tears to everyone involved, and “Because I Have Been Given Much” took on a whole new meaning.
“All the homeless there at the mission were reaching out for something in addition to the food we were serving. I know it is the gospel they need,” said Harleigh Williams, 17.
After serving the Sunday meal, many of the youth sat around talking to the homeless. Jeff Fuller discussed Bible points with one man. “This was definitely one of the best experiences of my life,” he said.
“They are all children of God. They gave me great advice on staying away from things by telling me how they got there.”
Of course, the youth conference did include the traditional activities like a “Funniest Ward Video” contest, breakfast prepared by the bishops, workshops, games, and a dance. But at the fireside capping the conference, the main topic of the testimonies was the service project and how it had affected their lives.
“I know that you who had a negative attitude going down there definitely changed your attitude about the needy. It was by far the most rewarding youth conference I have ever participated in,” said Lisa Summerhays, 17, youth co-chair of the conference.
Justin Beck, the other youth co-chair said, “I know the people at the mission have problems, but we still need to appreciate them because Heavenly Father loves each of them.”
Becky Patterson, 17, agreed. “One thing I have learned this week is that everybody is equally important. It doesn’t matter who or where you are; Heavenly Father loves you.”
“The bottom line,” said Sister Arnetus Raymond, second counselor in the stake Young Women presidency who worked with the young people to help plan the conference, “is that we learned that to develop love and unity, we have to serve. Service is the key. Our youth learned firsthand the meaning of serving ‘one of the least of these.’”

At our next stake high council meeting, a brother told us he had two sons eligible to serve missions. One had a desire to serve the Lord, the other did not. This son, Sione, had been living in the States, had a girlfriend, and said he had not received an answer to his prayers as to whether he should serve a mission.
In the same spirit as Alma, and with tears in his eyes, this father asked if we would pray for Sione to receive an answer from the Lord.
Like everyone, I continued to pray, and to fast for this young man.
I awoke early one Saturday morning and lay pondering when I had a most amazing and humbling experience. A vision of Sione came to my mind. I was instructed to visit with him the next day, after my daily duties were completed. The vision unfolded and I was given specific questions to ask Sione. And I heard what his answers would be, and how I was to respond to him. The message was clear and specific.
That evening, I opened my fast and prayed everything in the vision would remain clear so I could complete the assignment I had been given.
I attended a ward conference the following day, conducted some interviews then headed to my car. As I drove from the chapel, the Spirit reminded me of my assignment. In a strange but spiritual way, I saw again the vision I had received the day before.
Arriving at the family’s home, I knocked on the door and was told their dad was overseas, but that Mum was home. When Mum came to the door, I asked if I could meet with her and Sione. He was busy cooking dinner. Mum invited me in and the three of us sat in the lounge and talked.
I asked Sione to offer a prayer and immediately the vision unfolded as clearly as it had the previous day.
I asked Sione what he thought about serving a mission? Word for word, he answered as I saw in the vision. He explained he wasn’t sure if he should serve a mission; that he had pondered and prayed but didn’t think he’d received an answer. I enquired if he had a patriarchal blessing. He said, “yes”. I asked, “What does your patriarchal blessing say?” He replied, “I will serve a mission”.
Exactly as I had been instructed, I inquired, “How does the Lord answer prayers?” Sione struggled, but then shared his thoughts. Strengthened by the Spirit and in an emotional and humble attitude, I said, “I have been instructed by the Lord, Jesus Christ, through revelation, to come and visit with you today. I testify to you that prayers are answered by feelings, impressions, reading the scriptures and many other ways. Today I am here on behalf of the Saviour, Jesus Christ, in answer to your prayer and to remove all confusion and doubt. Sione, the Saviour invites you to serve a mission. He has a work for you to do and it is a work that only Elder Hala can do as there is someone special waiting for you to invite into the waters of baptism”. This is where the vision ended.
I asked how he felt. He bowed his head and cried, “My prayer has been answered and I want to serve a mission”.
Brother Hala will soon complete his medical and dental checks then submit his mission application. Modern miracles really do happen when we put our trust in the Lord Jesus Christ.