Gospel Story Finder

Nine times seven is 63. Six times eight is … 42? No, that’s not right!
Luca furiously erased his answer.
“Time!” Luca’s teacher called. “Everyone hand in your tests.”
“Oh no!” Luca thought. “But I’m not even done!”
Luca sighed as he handed in his test. He had to get a 90 percent on his timed tests to pass his multiplication tables and become a class Multiplication Master, but he just didn’t know how he was going to do it!
That night during family scripture study, Dad read from the Doctrine and Covenants: “Therefore, if you will ask of me you shall receive; if you will knock it shall be opened unto you” (D&C 6:5).
Luca’s head popped up. That was the answer! Prayer!
Luca started praying every day to do well on his timed multiplication test. This would work. It had to work. He would finally become a Multiplication Master!
On Tuesday, Luca came home from school and grabbed his basketball.
“Do you need help studying?” Mom asked.
“Nope! I’ve got it taken care of!” Luca said as he ran out the door. He believed so much in prayer that he didn’t even take out his flash cards to practice his math.
On Friday, Luca knew he was going to pass the test. But when he sat down to take it, the answers just didn’t come, and he did even worse than before!
Luca walked home from the bus stop with his head down. He had prayed so hard to be a Multiplication Master. Why didn’t Heavenly Father answer his prayer?
When he got home, he shot baskets until Dad came home from work. Dad honked the car horn as he pulled up.
“How was school?” Dad asked.
“Not very good,” Luca said, looking down. “I can’t pass my multiplication test.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dad said. He held up his hands for a pass.
“I should have passed!” Luca said. “I prayed and everything. Dad, you said that Heavenly Father answers prayers. He definitely didn’t answer mine today!”
“Did you practice with your flash cards?” Dad asked.
“No.”
“Did you study at all?”
“No,” Luca said. “But I prayed all week!”
Dad dribbled the ball and looked at Luca. “Well, multiplication is kind of like basketball. How did you get so good at basketball?”
“I practiced,” Luca said.
“Yes, and so when we pray for Heavenly Father to help you before your games, we’re not praying for Him to magically make you a better basketball player. What do we pray for?”
“For me to remember what I practiced,” Luca said.
“That’s right. Prayer works best when we do our part and also ask Heavenly Father to help us,” Dad said.
“So my part is studying my flash cards?” Luca asked.
“Exactly,” Dad said, passing the ball back to Luca.
Luca heaved a big sigh and took a shot. The ball bounced off the rim. “OK. It’s going to take a lot of work. But I guess I can study hard and ask Heavenly Father to help me.”
“There you go!” Dad said. “So, are you ready for a little one-on-one?”
Luca grinned and stole the ball from Dad. “Sure! As long as you help me study at the same time.”
“You’re on,” Dad said. “Six times eight is?”
“Forty-eight!” Luca said, taking another shot. This time it swished through the hoop.
Between practice and prayer, he would become a Multiplication Master after all.

I’ve always had anxiety. When I was 17, I noticed that most of my anxiety attacks occurred at church.
I was always told that if I’d read the scriptures, say my prayers, and go to church, I’d be happy. Well, that wasn’t the case for me. I’d enjoy the first few minutes of church, and then a panic attack would begin.
My bishop helped me realize that the spiritual expectations I had set for myself may be the cause. I thought I had to have the same miraculous spiritual experiences I heard about. It made sense to me that this pressure could cause my repeated attacks.
One day someone asked me, “Why do you still go to church?” I was taken aback. Why was I still going to church? I wasn’t forced to go. I didn’t receive any miraculous blessings. But I realized that I kept going because I knew the Church was true and that Heavenly Father wanted me to be there. My love for Him overpowered my desire to be free from anxiety.
Sometimes I wanted immediate blessings from Heavenly Father. I thought He’d bless me with fewer panic attacks just because I went to church. But I’ve learned that it doesn’t work that way. I often have to push through the attacks and attend church before I can see His blessings.
Now I’ve realized I can also ask for help from my parents and medical professionals. I still have bad days, but they don’t control me. Instead, they help me prove to my Heavenly Father that I love Him and that I’ll fight through this challenge with His help.
In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus Christ asked if His trial could be lifted, but in perfect obedience to our Heavenly Father, He pushed through the greatest trial of all. Because of this, I know He will give me the strength to endure my trials as well.
Heidi L., Hawaii, USA

It’s tough to be the only member or active member in your family. It seems as if the ward is full of ideal families who have family home evening, prayers, and scripture reading—all of which you want to have too. Meanwhile, you sit alone at church or tag along with another family to the ward party. It’s not that you want to change families, but you want your family to change, because you love them and want eternal blessings for them: you don’t want to sit alone in the congregation in the hereafter. Yet you get discouraged when their answer to your pleas is no. At times you might even feel sorry for yourself. But always you clutch on to the hope that someday they will join. Susan also had that hope.
Susan, 16, is a pretty and talented girl, pretty because she’s self-assured, and talented because she’s self-motivated. Rather than cautiously and worriedly dipping her toes into life, she plunges in head first, perhaps blue-lipped and sputtering at first, but having a good time anyway. After her baptism three years ago, Susan channeled her efforts toward home: she wanted her father baptized.
“I knew if my dad was baptized, Mom would come. So that was my number one goal,” Susan recalled. “I figured I could accomplish it by myself because I knew my parents kind of liked me, so I figured they’d want to do this,” she said with bold confidence. “I tried everything,” she added more humbly.
“I tried being forceful, but that didn’t work. Then I tried making them feel sorry for me. I told them that I had to sit in church by myself and sing by myself, and that everybody else was with their families. That didn’t work either.”
Although she sometimes felt discouraged, Susan would not give in. “After I learned more about missionary work,” she continued, “I tried a different approach: I invited them to come to my church meetings. I gave talks in sacrament meeting, and Mom would come. One time I sang in stake conference. I even got a new dress. Mom was going to come, but she got sick, so I went with no hope that either Mom or Dad would be there. We were singing our song when I looked at the back of the chapel and saw my dad coming through the door. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t because I had to sing.
“Another time that Dad came with me was at the ward father-daughter date. While we were sitting there eating our breakfast, I looked at Dad, and the thought came to me that someday he was going to be baptized. Right in the middle of bacon and eggs, I knew it, and I wanted it more than anything.”
But the baptism didn’t happen overnight, and Susan learned more about missionary work. “I knew I couldn’t do it by myself,” she admitted.
One day while walking home from school, Susan saw two parked bikes on her street and two missionaries knocking on someone’s door. The missionaries had been to Susan’s home five times before. Usually they had just come once. But Susan wouldn’t let that block her new excitement. Maybe this time her father was ready.
“I had hoped the missionaries wouldn’t get in to the house they were knocking at because I wanted to talk to them. They didn’t, so I told them about Dad. They told me that they had prayed that morning about where they should tract and were sent to my street. I think the Lord knew that my dad was ready to hear the gospel. Whether anyone else knew it or not, the Lord knew it, and that is all that matters.”
But all wasn’t perfect and easy. There were times when Susan got very discouraged, wondering why things weren’t happening faster. “Then I would have to remember that getting ready for baptism was a slow process for me also. I would look around and see other young people who sat by themselves in church or whose circumstances seemed worse than mine, but they didn’t seem discouraged. Their example helped me to quit feeling sorry for myself.”
Meanwhile, realizing that her example was crucial, Susan also reaped one of the blessings of missionary work—that of preparing and growing herself.
“I had to be as ready as Dad was. I had to do a lot of praying, some fasting, and even some repenting. I realized that missionary work is love and service, that it is telling your mom and dad you love them even if your little brother and sister are listening. I also tried to follow the missionaries’ example of showing love for Dad. I would try not to scream and holler at my family,” she admitted.
The missionaries came to Susan’s home seven times over a five-month period. Each time she could tell that her father was getting closer.
“One night in April I went for my birthday interview with the bishop. Dad came to pick me up after.” Susan continued mischievously, “I hid down the hall so Dad would have to come in and find me. When he came into the church, he asked if he could see the bishop alone. He was in there for about 30 minutes, and I was out in the foyer wondering what in the world they were talking about!
“On the way home I was dying to hear what went on. All of a sudden Dad said, ‘Well, Susie, I guess I’ll get baptized.’ I just sat there. I wanted to cry, but I knew I shouldn’t because Dad doesn’t like us to get emotional. All I said was, ‘Oh Dad, I think that’s so neat.’ That was kind of a dumb thing to say, but what do you say when your biggest goal has just been realized?”
Susan’s father was baptized on April 14th.
But Susan realizes that her missionary work isn’t over yet. “I still get impatient and discouraged at times, but I’ve come to realize that becoming a celestial family is a step-by-step process. And I must understand my parents. I try to do my part. When I’m spiritually down, it shows in the home. So I try to keep my testimony strong by doing what I’m supposed to do; I feel better when I do.”
Susan has learned a lot about missionary work, mostly through trial and error. She has learned that timing and responses are different for different people, that force and pity aren’t successful, that true service is far more important than lip service, that the Spirit must touch the person’s life, and that desire—well, as for desire, Susan isn’t lacking; she keeps on trying, regardless of mistakes, to boldly live the gospel, although it’s sometimes awkward, frightening, and even downright hard.
But positively, Susan summed it up: “My dad wanted absolutely nothing to do with the Church 20 years ago, but after going through a lot of visits from our home teachers, and after many different sets of missionaries, and after he had a daughter who wouldn’t leave him alone—my dad is a member of the Church.”
And when asked about her recent goals, Susan enthusiastically replied, “To have family home evening, family prayer, and to be sealed in the temple to my family—that’s my number one goal now!”

Rubén Alliaud was 14 when he left his home in Argentina to spend a year with his uncle in the United States. His father, Rubén Reynaldo Alliaud, had died earlier, and Rubén was developing “a rebellious spirit.”
His concerned mother, María, sent him to Houston, Texas, to live with her brother, Manuel Bustos, and his family. She asked one condition of her brother’s family: “Do not share your Latter-day Saint beliefs with my son.”
The spirit of the gospel, however, spoke to the struggling teenager. He observed how the Church united the Bustos family through prayer and service, and he couldn’t help but notice the numerous copies of the Book of Mormon on the shelves of his room.
Curious, he pulled down a copy and discovered Moroni’s promise that he could know through prayer that the Book of Mormon is true.
“That promise touched me,” says the newly called General Authority Seventy. “I wanted to read the book.”
He took Moroni’s promise to heart, received an affirmative answer, and told his surprised uncle that he wanted to be baptized. Uncle Manuel immediately sent Rubén back to Argentina to ask his mother’s permission. He was soon baptized. Since then, the restored gospel has anchored Elder Alliaud’s life.

Picture with me a little six-year-old orphan girl traveling across the plains of America. Her name is Elsie Ann. Her mother died when she was two. Her father remarried, and so for a time she had a stepmother. Then her father died at Winter Quarters when she was five. Her stepmother remarried and moved away, leaving this little orphan behind with Peter and Selina Robison, who were related to her stepmother. Elsie Ann left Winter Quarters with the Robisons in July of 1849 to come west. She no doubt ached for the love of her own mother. Sometimes she would even ask, “Where is my mother?” Elsie Ann was my great-grandmother.

The power of plainness in discipline in the gospel of Jesus Christ is not always appreciated and understood, but to the repentant and remorseful, it is a great blessing. Discipline in the Church is plain, and repentance and forgiveness are available by following simple steps. Not long ago a wise member was stopped in the hall of one of our ward buildings and asked in a hushed voice if she had heard that brother so-and-so had been excommunicated from the Church. When the sister indicated that she already knew of the situation, the talebearer said, “Isn’t that awful!”
To this her friend responded with, “No, I think it is wonderful. Now the burden can be lifted and he can start back with all of us helping and loving him.” Here in simplicity and love was a lesson being taught by someone who could have been a contributor to idle, hurtful conversation.

The youth of one ward in Washington state came up with a plan to focus on service for an entire year. Throughout the year, each hour of service was marked by a white address label that was then attached to a large cardboard cutout of the temple. These young men and women came up with an amazing variety of ways to serve: babysitting, doing yard work, community coaching, doing baptisms for the dead, mentoring, helping at a community center, splitting wood, visiting a nursing home, tutoring, serving at school camp, and more. Many of the youth even turned down payment for their work, opting instead for the service stickers they could add to the temple cutouts. One of the main projects of the year was completely redoing the yard of a Young Women leader going through chemotherapy. At their ward conference in January, these youth presented their stake presidency with two huge temple cutouts covered with their service bricks representing the 2,070 hours given that year.

About a year after my husband and I were married, my youngest brother’s three daughters came to live with us. My husband’s youngest sister and a girlfriend of mine also asked if they could stay with us for a while, and since we didn’t have any children, we welcomed all of them. Suddenly we were no longer just a couple; we were a large family.
Prior to this time, my husband and I were not too serious about holding home evenings because it was just the two of us, but with the new additions to our family, we decided to implement the program earnestly in our home.
From our first family home evening together, our Mondays were never the same, nor will our lives be the same, because of those wonderful experiences. Our usually quiet home started to be filled with music. The children who couldn’t read started to learn and developed a love for it. Those who were shy and hesitant to accept assignments developed confidence and showed eagerness to contribute, even volunteering to do special presentations. There was excitement throughout the week as everyone talked about what we had done the previous Monday night and what we were going to do the next one. Excitement would build as Monday neared and as family members were busy making preparations for their “big surprises.”
The promise of an exciting home evening even became a motivation for all to do their assigned household chores. Each home evening brought insights and discoveries that enriched our lives.
My nieces have since returned to their father, my sister-in-law has moved out on her own, and my girlfriend now lives in a dorm close to the school she’s attending. We’re back to being just a couple again. But we are still having those fun-filled, meaningful home evenings. Sometimes we invite other families to join us, and other times we take pleasure in just getting to know each other better, working out our problems together, and expressing our appreciation for each other. Our themes and activities continue to be simple and focused on meeting our needs.

Later in my life, my father saved me again. This time I was not facing physical danger, but my spiritual life faced a challenge.
In high school I played sports, mostly football and baseball. During my last year, I was selected to play in an all-star baseball game at the end of the season. After that game, when the school year was ending, I was invited to play on a local baseball team. It wasn’t a professional or even semiprofessional team, but I was flattered to be invited to play. The only problem was that most of the games were played on Sunday afternoons.
I did a pretty good job rationalizing. I thought I could play because my Church meetings were in the morning. I could attend my meetings and teach my Sunday School class before going to the games each Sunday afternoon.
With this in mind I spoke to my father. I told him about the baseball invitation and what I was thinking of doing. Although he was the stake president at the time, he wisely restrained himself and did not tell me to give up my baseball wishes, as he could have. Instead, he simply said, “Well, when you make the final decision, just remember the impact it will have on your Sunday School class.”
Nothing more needed to be said. At that point the answer was absolutely clear in my mind. I turned down the invitation to play on that team, and I have not played a game of baseball since. Instead, I enjoyed playing on Church softball teams for many years, never having to play on Sunday.
I appreciated the way my father helped me make that difficult decision. He did it in such a way that allowed me to see the importance of such a choice and understand that the decisions I make can have a great impact on people other than myself. This decision also set the stage for a choice I had to make later about serving a mission.

Years ago when I first received an appointment that resulted in my picture being in the newspapers, one of my high school teachers, evidently quite astonished, was heard to say, “That just proves that you can’t tell by looking at a frog how high he is going to jump!”
The image of that frog, sitting in the mud instead of jumping, illustrates how inadequate I have felt when facing the responsibilities that have come to me.
These feelings fix it so that thereafter one can never feel superior to anyone, not anyone.
For a long time, something else puzzled me. Forty-six years ago I was a 37-year-old seminary supervisor. My Church calling was as an assistant teacher in a class in the Lindon Ward.
To my great surprise, I was called to meet with President David O. McKay. He took both of my hands in his and called me to be one of the General Authorities, an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
A few days later, I came to Salt Lake City to meet with the First Presidency to be set apart as one of the General Authorities of the Church. This was the first time I had met with the First Presidency—President David O. McKay and his counselors, President Hugh B. Brown and President Henry D. Moyle.
President McKay explained that one of the responsibilities of an Assistant to the Twelve was to stand with the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles as a special witness and to bear testimony that Jesus is the Christ. What he said next overwhelmed me: “Before we proceed to set you apart, I ask you to bear your testimony to us. We want to know if you have that witness.”
I did the best I could. I bore my testimony the same as I might have in a fast and testimony meeting in my ward. To my surprise, the Brethren of the Presidency seemed pleased and proceeded to confer the office upon me.
That puzzled me greatly, for I had supposed that someone called to such an office would have an unusual, different, and greatly enlarged testimony and spiritual power.
It puzzled me for a long time until finally I could see that I already had what was required: an abiding testimony in my heart of the Restoration of the fulness of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith, that we have a Heavenly Father, and that Jesus Christ is our Redeemer. I may not have known all about it, but I did have a testimony, and I was willing to learn.
I was perhaps no different from those spoken of in the Book of Mormon: “And whoso cometh unto me with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, him will I baptize with fire and with the Holy Ghost, even as the Lamanites, because of their faith in me at the time of their conversion, were baptized with fire and with the Holy Ghost, and they knew it not” (3 Nephi 9:20; emphasis added).
Over the years, I have come to see how powerfully important that simple testimony is. I have come to understand that our Heavenly Father is the Father of our spirits (see Numbers 16:22; Hebrews 12:9; D&C 93:29). He is a father with all the tender love of a father. Jesus said, “For the Father himself loveth you, because ye have loved me, and have believed that I came out from God” (John 16:27).
Some years ago, I was with President Marion G. Romney, meeting with mission presidents and their wives in Geneva, Switzerland. He told them that 50 years before, as a missionary boy in Australia, late one afternoon he had gone to a library to study. When he walked out, it was night. He looked up into the starry sky, and it happened. The Spirit touched him, and a certain witness was born in his soul.
He told those mission presidents that he did not know any more surely then as a member of the First Presidency that God the Father lives; that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, the Only Begotten of the Father; and that the fulness of the gospel had been restored than he did as a missionary boy 50 years before in Australia. He said that his testimony had changed in that it was much easier to get an answer from the Lord. The Lord’s presence was nearer, and he knew the Lord much better than he had 50 years before.
There is the natural tendency to look at those who are sustained to presiding positions, to consider them to be higher and of more value in the Church or to their families than an ordinary member. Somehow we feel they are worth more to the Lord than are we. It just does not work that way!
It would be very disappointing to my wife and to me if we supposed any one of our children would think that we think we are of more worth to the family or to the Church than they are, or to think that one calling in the Church was esteemed over another or that any calling would be thought to be less important.
Recently, one of our sons was sustained as ward mission leader. His wife told us how thrilled he was with the call. It fits the very heavy demands of his work. He has the missionary spirit and will find good use for his Spanish, which he has kept polished from his missionary days. We also were very, very pleased at his call.
What my son and his wife are doing with their little children transcends anything they could do in the Church or out. No service could be more important to the Lord than the devotion they give to one another and to their little children. And so it is with all our other children. The ultimate end of all activity in the Church centers in the home and the family.
As General Authorities of the Church, we are just the same as you are, and you are just the same as we are. You have the same access to the powers of revelation for your families and for your work and for your callings as we do.
It is also true that there is an order to things in the Church. When you are called to an office, you then receive revelation that belongs to that office that would not be given to others.
No member of the Church is esteemed by the Lord as more or less than any other. It just does not work that way! Remember, He is a father—our Father. The Lord is “no respecter of persons.”
We are not worth more to the onrolling of the Lord’s work than were Brother and Sister Toutai Paletu‘a in Nuku‘alofa, Tonga; or Brother and Sister Carlos Cifuentes in Santiago, Chile; or Brother and Sister Peter Dalebout in the Netherlands; or Brother and Sister Tatsui Sato of Japan; or hundreds of others I have met while traveling about the world. It just does not work that way.
And so the Church moves on. It is carried upon the shoulders of worthy members living ordinary lives among ordinary families, guided by the Holy Ghost and the Light of Christ, which is in them.
I bear witness that the gospel is true and that the worth of souls is great in the sight of God—every soul—and that we are blessed to be members of the Church. I have the witness that would qualify me for the calling I have. I’ve had it since I met the First Presidency those many years ago. I bear it to you in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A word about the lovely music. This choir has sung from the place where a choir sang the day I was inaugurated as the president of Ricks College. As they sang, somehow that came back to me again. I was touched then as I was now, not just by the beauty of your voices but by the faith. And I realized that I wasn’t the only one in that room who was touched that day.

Just a month or so ago, I was on assignment and I was in an airport in San Francisco, waiting between planes. I saw a man that I thought I recognized, and I realized that he probably was having trouble recognizing me, too. It had been a number of years. He was the dean of the graduate school at Stanford University when I left that faculty to come here to become the president many, many years ago. I remember being surprised that he came to my inauguration, knowing how busy he was. I recall that somehow in the moments of the inaugural party, moving about, I saw him. I encountered him that day, and he was crying. He expressed gratitude for having been here.

When I met him in the lounge in San Francisco recently, his first words were: “I’ve retired now. I’m living in Montana.” Then he wanted to tell me about a bishop of the Church that he had met. So of all the things that he would remember about me, he remembered the feelings of the gospel of Jesus Christ that he’d felt. He has not joined the Church yet, but he felt something here that you’ve felt. And I wanted you to know that as much as we thank the singers and those who prepared the music, what happened here today has been happening here for generations. That is, the Spirit of the Lord comes and touches people; and you’ve been in such a place and in such a moment today. You will years later, just like the dean of the Stanford Graduate School of Business, remember that there was a spirit here today.

I didn’t know where to turn. After hearing my friends talk about a controversial issue in Church history, I did the first thing I could think of to find answers to my new questions. I searched the internet.
After reading online about this debated topic, I became very confused and even angry. Why had I never known about this? Was the Church trying to hide something? How was I supposed to know if what these people were writing was true or if it was made up?
I felt a lot of fear and uncertainty after reading so many conflicting views. It was scary to realize my faith was being tested. Without noticing it, I slowly withdrew myself from God. At a time when I should’ve been praying and reading my scriptures the most, I found myself constantly forgetting and then eventually avoiding these habits.
I was trying to discover truth without the help of God—and it wasn’t working.
One Sunday I was sitting in testimony meeting and had the strong impression to talk to one of my priesthood leaders about my concerns. After the meeting, I asked my leader if we could talk. It felt so good to finally talk about what was worrying me. I cried as I explained what I had been going through the past few months and my desire to understand the truth.
He patiently listened, and then offered me comfort and advice that immediately lifted a heavy burden from my shoulders; but the most valuable thing he taught me that day was how to respond when you are faced with concerns and doubts about Church history and doctrine.
His advice included some important principles that I developed into four tools any of us can use when we come across materials that seem to undermine our faith:
Don’t forget to continue to fast and pray for guidance, read the scriptures for revelation, attend church, and worship in the temple. Amidst confusion and doubt, it might sometimes seem like prayer and scripture study are tedious tasks, but they are your most valuable tools. Remember that God is the source of all truth; as you seek to be close to Him, you will be able to find the peace you are looking for.
If you ever feel overwhelmed by negative information and don’t know where to look next, don’t give up! Make sure your parents and Church leaders know what you are struggling with. They can help you find answers to your questions and guide you to reliable resources.
Church leaders have given us many resources to learn more about Church history, including those in the scriptures, the Gospel Topics essays found on ChurchofJesusChrist.org, the Joseph Smith Papers, and the Church’s official history books, Saints. When you know the facts and the Church’s official stance on controversial subjects, you will feel more confident when you’re confronted with opposition.
While there is a lot of information now available to us, some questions do not yet have answers. We need to “remember that although Heavenly Father has revealed all that is necessary for our salvation, He has not yet revealed all truth.”1 We must have the faith and humility to persevere until we receive a greater knowledge. God teaches us line upon line, and we can experience an increase of faith and hope in the future as we draw closer to Him.
I am so grateful for what I learned through my experience. It was scary and hard at times, but now I know how to search for truth with confidence. I also know that fear and doubt are not of God and don’t help me answer my questions (see Doctrine and Covenants 6:36). The accessibility of information on the internet makes it even more important to follow the counsel in Doctrine and Covenants 88:118: “Seek ye out of the best books words of wisdom; seek learning, even by study and also by faith.” As we search for truth in holy places, we can strengthen our testimonies and faithfully endure through trials.

Mrs. Burton always makes the VIP announcement at school the very last thing on Friday afternoon. “VIP” means very important person, and you have to turn in all your work and be a really good citizen all week long if you want to be the VIP.
I thought I would explode when she said, “Our VIP for next week is Margie Martin.” Me! I was VIP! My face must have turned as red as my hair when she said that. Everyone looked at me, my best friend, Susan, grinned at me, and I felt great.
The VIP of the week gets to be class leader and has lots of responsibilities. On Monday morning I got to school early, just in case Mrs. Burton had any special jobs for me to do. As I went to hang up my jacket and put my lunch box in the back of the classroom, I saw Mrs. Burton talking to a new boy. He didn’t look like much. His hair stood up in back like a rooster’s tail, and he almost didn’t have a chin. He was wearing faded jeans and a plaid shirt, and his sneakers were all holey. Besides looking kind of grubby, he looked mad.
I stood by my desk and waited for Mrs. Burton to notice me.
She saw me and said, “Margie, I’m glad you’re here early today. This is Delbert Wiggins. He’s new to our school, and since you are this week’s VIP, he is your responsibility.”
“Hi,” I said.
Delbert Wiggins didn’t say anything. He just looked at the floor.
“First,” said Mrs. Burton, “please take Delbert around the school. Show him where the cafeteria and the rest rooms are. The bell will ring soon, so hurry back. We have a lot to do today.” She started listing assignments on the chalkboard.
“Come on, Delbert,” I said, trying to sound friendly.
We started down the hall, and Delbert muttered, “There’s no way I’m going to be your responsibility!”
“What?” I asked.
He stopped and glared at me. “I said I’m not your responsibility. I’m going outside, so buzz off, hotshot.”
“But I have to show you the cafeteria and—”
“No way. Get lost.” He looked around, and when he saw the exit door at the end of the hallway, he ran for it.
“Wait!” I yelled. “You’re not supposed to run in the halls.”
But he went out that door like a horse bolting. I stood there a minute, then went back to the classroom.
Mrs. Burton was still writing on the chalkboard. She saw me and asked, “Where’s Delbert?”
I felt terrible. I had failed my first job as VIP. “He said he wouldn’t be my responsibility, and he went outside.”
“All right, Margie,” said Mrs. Burton, sitting at her desk and scribbling a note. “Thank you for trying. Please take this message to the office. Wait for an answer, then hurry back. It’s almost time for the bell.”
I got back to class just as the bell rang. And there was Delbert Wiggins in the desk behind mine! Being VIP isn’t so wonderful after all, I thought. I put the note from the office on Mrs. Burton’s desk and sat down without looking at Delbert.
Mrs. Burton introduced him to the class. Then she announced, “Today we will have the classroom spelling bee to determine who will represent the fifth grade in the school spelling bee on Friday. I hope you’ll all do your best. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the fifth grade won? It’s never happened before.”
Susan raised her hand. “Mrs. Burton,” she said, “why don’t we save time and choose Margie? She’s the best speller in the class.”
“The rules say that there has to be a classroom spelling bee, Susan. Everyone, stand, please. If you miss a word, sit down.”
We spelled words for nearly an hour, and finally everyone was sitting down except—Delbert Wiggins! He beat me, I thought. And just because I mixed up the e and the i in foreign. I felt sick. This awful, new boy was going to represent the fifth grade on Friday!
Well, it was a terrible week. Delbert wouldn’t be my responsibility. He wouldn’t let me help him study the spelling list for Friday. Every time I tried to help him, he said, “Buzz off, get lost.” He called me “birdbrain” because my last name is Martin, and he made fun of my red hair.
Finally I got mad. I stamped my foot and yelled at him, “All right—I’ll get lost. But I hope you lose! You don’t deserve to win!” Then I went to the girl’s rest room and hid in a stall and cried.
On Friday the whole school was in the auditorium for the spelling bee. It lasted forever. But for the first time, the fifth grade won! That Delbert Wiggins spelled down everyone, even the eighth-graders!
Our class went wild. Everyone crowded around Delbert as if he was a movie star, and said things like, “You’re really great!” “Terrific job!” “Boy, can you spell!” Everyone but me. I just stood against the wall and watched. I thought, I won’t tell him he’s great. I’m no fan of his.
“Margie,” said a quiet voice beside me. It was Mrs. Burton. “I expect it’s hard for you, but try to be a good sport. Maybe this success will help Delbert to be a nicer person.”
Ha! I thought. But all I said was, “I don’t think it will.”
After a minute I had another thought. I asked, “Am I still responsible for him?”
“Till the new VIP is announced,” said Mrs. Burton.
“OK,” I said. I took a deep breath and squared up my shoulders the way I do when I have to give a speech in class. I went over to where the kids were still bunched around Delbert, and pushed my way through them till I was in front of him. I said, “Congratulations. You did a good job.”
He looked surprised. His face got all pink. He rubbed his hand over his hair. Then he scowled and said, “Thanks.” He looked at the floor and turned away a little bit, then sort of looked sideways at me. And he smiled! “Thanks,” he repeated.
“You’re welcome,” I said. And for the first time since becoming responsible for Delbert Wiggins, I was glad I got to be VIP.

“Roberto,” Mama called. “Time for dinner!” Roberto forgot all about the toy cars he was playing with and ran to the table. Papa and Carlos were already sitting in their places. Roberto could smell fideos, his favorite food. He climbed into his seat and reached for the steaming bowl of slippery noodles.
“Roberto, did you forget something?” Papa asked.
Roberto slid down and raced to the sink. He washed his hands and dried them quickly. Mama was just sitting down at the table when Roberto returned. He climbed up on the chair beside her and reached for the noodles again.
This time Mama stopped him. “Roberto, have you forgotten something?” Roberto looked around. Everyone’s arms were folded, and Carlos was bowing his head. Roberto folded his arms and bowed his head, too. Papa asked Carlos to pray.
Roberto heard Carlos thank Heavenly Father for the food, but then Roberto began to think about Mama’s yummy fideos and he didn’t listen to the rest of the prayer. As soon as Carlos said amen, Roberto grabbed the serving spoon. He piled the noodles on his plate until Mama took the spoon away.
“Eat that much,” she said. “Then if you’re still hungry, you can have more.”
When he finished all the noodles on his plate, Roberto wasn’t hungry at all. He couldn’t eat one more bite, not even when Mama brought out the flan she had made for dessert. He watched Carlos smile as he spooned the custard into his bowl. Roberto wished everyone would hurry and finish so he could go back to his toys.
At last Papa leaned back and smiled at Mama. “That was wonderful,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you, Mama,” Carlos said.
“May I be excused?” Roberto asked.
Roberto played until bedtime. Carlos helped him make buildings and houses out of blocks. They made tunnels to drive their toy cars under. They had almost finished making a city when Mama announced, “Bedtime.”
After Roberto and Carlos said their prayers, Papa told them a story. It was a story from the Bible about when Jesus Christ helped 10 men who were lepers. “Do you know what a leper is, Roberto?” Papa asked. Then he explained: “Lepers are people who are very sick—so sick that sometimes they have to go away and live by themselves. The Savior made the 10 lepers well again so they could go home and live with their families. But only one of the men remembered to say thank you.”
“Oh,” Roberto said. “Why?”
“I don’t know why they didn’t thank Jesus. What do you think, Carlos?” Papa asked.
Carlos thought for a moment. “I think they were so happy to go home they forgot all about it.”
Papa nodded. “And what do you think, Roberto?”
Roberto suddenly jumped out of his bed. “Just a minute,” he said. “I remembered something.” He ran downstairs.
Mama was putting away the dinner dishes. She was surprised to see Roberto. “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”
“I have to tell you something first. You made my favorite food for me, and I forgot to say thank you,” Roberto explained.
Mama smiled. “You’re welcome. I like to do things for you, especially when you remember to say thank you.”
Roberto ran back upstairs to his bedroom. Carlos was listening to Papa finish the story. “Thank you for playing with me today,” Roberto told Carlos. “And thank you, Papa, for telling me stories about Jesus.”
“You’re welcome,” Papa said and turned off the light. “Good night, Roberto. Good night, Carlos.”
But Roberto didn’t go right to sleep. He lay still and thought of the many things he was thankful for. He felt happy, and he wished he could give Heavenly Father a hug. At last he slipped out of bed and said another prayer. This time he really meant it when he thanked Heavenly Father for fideos, for Mama, Papa, and Carlos—and for helping him remember to say thank you.

I have a very good friend who was the chief executive officer and manager of a very large corporation. The call came to him to preside over a mission, and like so many of our wonderful men who have great skills and capabilities and responsibilities, when the call came from the Lord, there was no question. He had thought enough through his life that it was instantaneous in his thought process to accept the call. What was to happen to the business? What was to happen to this great enterprise? Well, situations were worked out, and management was worked out to the best degree. But in three years lots of things can happen to a business when the guiding light is not there to lead on a day to day basis. Ultimately, some of the assets of the company were sold. But toward the end of the mission of this great man, an opportunity arose. Within days after his release, he was back in business with a program far bigger than anything he had before he was called to be a mission president and is presently managing and, I believe, bringing about one of the major corporations to be based in the state of Utah.

Now how did he do that? Well, I suppose by the mistakes he had learned through his life, but most importantly he had learned to think straight so when this second opportunity came up it was easier for him to define, to determine, to make decisions, and to move forward.

In a day or two we all boarded a little steamer for Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark. Because I wasn’t a member of the Mormon church, I didn’t sing and feel as happy as the rest of them, but I could both hear and see they were so happy. I remember well one of the hymns: “Oh Babylon, oh Babylon, we bid thee farewell; we’re going to the mountains of Ephraim to dwell,” (Hymn No. 344, “Ye Elders of Israel.”) Of course it was in Norwegian. We arrived in Copenhagen the next day after staying on the steamer all night. There was no place to lie down, so I crawled up on some sacks of grain and found me a place to sleep. While I was up there and had me a good sleep, my parents and some of the rest of them were nearly frantic. They had searched for me until they had given me up. They knew it was against my will to go, and they did not say so, but from the way they acted when I came down, they must have thought I had jumped overboard. It brought joy to their souls when someone told them they had seen me and that I was all right. They could not believe it until they saw me. If I had never brought joy to their souls, I did on that occasion.

They recognized that their challenges were not at an end. Juan, a priest, was about to enter the army. “It will not be easy to maintain Church standards in the military,” he said, “but I believe that through many prayers I can do it. I do not intend to isolate myself from others who do not share my standards or to try to appear better than they are. But when one of them offers me a cigarette, I will ask for a stick of chewing gum instead. I want to teach the gospel to them.” He felt that the priesthood he bears will be a real help in difficult circumstances. “I don’t believe that anyone who holds the priesthood could possibly ask for anything more. We must be faithful and steadfast in this great calling in order to carry the work forward.”

At the time of our arrival in Florida, each missionary companionship had their individual pagers and my pager received lots of action since there were about 200 missionaries. I always kept my pager tuned to "vibrate" so there was no audible sound. However, I quickly became used to the feeling of the vibration from the pager. Even at night I would leave the pager on the night stand where the vibration from the pager would awaken me. It was several weeks before Sister Munson and I felt that we could take a P-Day. We were about 45 minutes away from the mission home when that familiar vibrating feeling occurred. I reached for my pager only to find that I had failed to attach the pager to my belt! Nevertheless, there was no doubt that the pager was vibrating. I mentioned the feeling to my wife and she knew as I did that one of the missionaries needed to get in touch with his or her mission president. We arrived at the mission home and found that the pager had vibrated off the night stand and on to the floor. A call to the telephone number shown on the pager received an instant answer. The Elder said that he paged me several times and had been praying that I would call because his specific problem could be handled only by his president. There was no doubt in my mind that the Holy Ghost functioned in an unusual but effective manner that day.

Every year, each member of my family picks another family member’s name out of a hat and secretly gets a gift for that person. We first got the idea from the movie Christmas for a Dollar. We tried it, and now it’s been a tradition for the past couple years.
This past year, I picked my brother’s name. At first, I thought, “Oh, great,” because we had been butting heads. But looking for a gift he would like really humbled me. After Christmas, we were best friends again.
I like our tradition because it changed my perspective on Christmas. I used to always focus on what gifts I’d get and what I wanted, but after we started this tradition, it made me focus more on thinking about my family members and the looks on their faces as they opened their gifts. I put more time and thought into giving gifts. Even before Christmastime, I try to look for things my family members will like and what I could get them.
Makenna B., 16, Oklahoma, USA

Work was coming to an end for the day at Laidlaw Waste Management Systems in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, and Don Hughes, a high councilor in the Edmonton Alberta Millwoods Stake, was sitting at his desk thinking about leaving for home a little earlier than usual.
It was about 3:30 on the afternoon of 31 July 1987, during the hottest week many residents of Edmonton could remember for a long time. It had been unusually humid. The evening before, a strange cloud mass had moved across the city, looking almost like a special visual effect made for a movie.
Brother Hughes’ wife had visited him a little earlier in the day and had suggested that he leave the office then.
“I had this feeling that I wanted to go home, but I had a stronger feeling that said, ‘Stay. You have some things to do here,’” he recalls. “I didn’t know what I had left to finish, but I listened to the prompting and stayed. I told my wife I’d come home soon.”
Shortly afterward, the electricity went out in that part of the city. One of the seven people in the office, looking from the window, pointed out the funnel cloud of a tornado coming from the south. “As soon as I saw it,” Brother Hughes said, “it was as though the Spirit said to me, ‘That is going to come right through this place. You’ve got to get these people ready.’”
Brother Hughes told his co-workers to keep watching the approaching storm, then he went into the back area of the building. The twelve or more workers there were also watching the storm develop. It grew bigger by the second. The tornado was clearly moving toward them.
Brother Hughes remembered that a friend who used to live in the United States told him that if a tornado ever came his way, to get to a sturdy, protected spot. “I told the men to get to the spare parts room. It had concrete block walls and was in a central part of the building. But I could tell that no one was really listening to me, they were too busy watching the approaching tornado.”
He ran to the front office and saw the tornado ready to touch down to the ground. It made contact in a nearby lumberyard, which was rapidly sucked up into the cloud. By now the tornado filled the whole sky. Sounding like a huge freight train, it sucked piles of wood into its blackness, along with vehicles, sheds, and machinery.
“I told all the office staff to get to the lunchroom right away and stay there until the storm was over. I watched until everyone had gone, then went to check on the other employees at the rear of the building,” Brother Hughes says. “The building south of us was collapsing in the storm. One of our men was taking a photograph, but the rest of them looked nervous. They were wondering where they could go for safety.”
Again, Brother Hughes directed them to the spare parts room, but they still hesitated.
“Then I shouted instructions to them louder and stronger than I knew I could. I felt it was the Spirit working, telling them to ‘Move, now!’ It seemed to clear their minds.” They all quickly went to the spare parts room.
When he was sure his co-workers were safe, Brother Hughes started running to the front of the building. The tornado had already destroyed the trucking company across the highway and was gaining on Brother Hughes as he ran.
Windows started blowing out in the Laidlaw building. “The noise was like shotguns going off—BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM—as they shattered and exploded.”
Running into a small storage room for shelter, he slammed the door shut and braced himself against the wall, hoping everyone else in the building was protected.
“I felt more than heard the storm get louder outside. It roared like a train or a jet engine, a rumbling sound mixed with a high-pitched moan.
“I did a lot of praying quickly. I prayed for the people who were there with me. I prayed for my family and the families of those who were there, that they would be watched over and protected. I prayed and hoped it was the Lord’s will that I would survive, but said I was ready to come before him if that was his will.”
As Brother Hughes prayed, the building—sheets of steel on a steel framework—blew apart. Outside, semi-trailer tractors, steel storage vaults, massive air compressors, and industrial garbage containers were tossed around in the air like toys. A wall of the storage room fell in, pushing Brother Hughes to the floor, but sheltering him from other debris. When he opened his eyes and looked up where the ceiling had been, the roaring black cloud was over his head. He was terrified that it might touch down to earth again, but the tornado moved away from the building.
Brother Hughes crawled out of his shelter and forced the battered door open to escape from the storage room. “I expected to see part of the building damaged, but there was nothing left intact. It was as though someone had flattened things with a giant mallet.”
The husband of one of the women from the front office had arrived just before the tornado hit, and had found shelter nearby. He and Brother Hughes ran to where the lunchroom walls had caved in on top of each other, forming a mound of debris. Climbing to the top of the mound, the two men were relieved to find the office staff safely together in a corner where two walls had formed a rough shelter.
Brother Hughes and his companion then made their way to where the spare parts room had been. They found four or five of the men there already out from under the rubble. The group used their bare hands to pull twisted steel and concrete blocks off the debris that had sheltered the rest of their coworkers. Then the men pulled the front office staff out of the wreckage at the other end of the building. During the destruction, only one person had suffered any lasting damage—a back injury.
When an emergency rescue team arrived, they found the Laidlaw workers using one of the company’s large industrial garbage containers for protection from the baseball size hail that fell following the tornado.
The tornado caused more destruction than had ever been seen before in Edmonton. It did more than a quarter of a billion dollars’ worth of damage. Twenty-seven people throughout the city were killed.
Standing on a hill overlooking the destroyed Laidlaw buildings, Don Hughes reflected on what might have happened. “It’s a miracle that none of our workers were killed. Only the areas where we went for safety survived to provide any kind of protection. When I look at the total devastation, it’s almost as if the Lord put out his hands and made a protective shelter for us.”