Gospel Story Finder

When I was a boy living here in Salt Lake City, most homes were heated with coal stoves. Black smoke belched forth from almost every chimney. As winter came to a close, black soot and grime were everywhere, both inside and outside of the house. There was a ritual through which we passed each year, not a very pleasant one, as we viewed it. It involved every member of the family. It was known as spring-cleaning. When the weather warmed after the long winter, a week or so was designated as cleanup time. It was usually when there was a holiday and included two Saturdays.
My mother ran the show. All of the curtains were taken down and laundered. Then they were carefully ironed. The windows were washed inside and out, and oh, what a job that was in that big two-story house. Wallpaper was on all of the walls, and Father would bring home numerous cans of wallpaper cleaner. It was like bread dough, but it was a pretty pink in color when the container was opened. It had an interesting smell, a pleasant, refreshing kind of smell. We all pitched in. We would knead some of the cleaning dough in our hands, climb a ladder, and begin on the high ceiling and then work down the walls. The dough was soon black from the dirt it lifted from the paper. It was a terrible task, very tiring, but the results were like magic. We would stand back and compare the dirty surface with the clean surface. It was amazing to us how much better the clean walls looked.
All of the carpets were taken up and dragged out to the backyard, where they were hung over the clothesline, one by one. Each of us boys would have what we called a carpet beater, a device made of light steel rods with a wooden handle. As we beat the carpet, the dust would fly, and we would have to keep going until there was no dust left. We detested that work. But when all of it was done and everything was back in place, the result was wonderful. The house was clean, our spirits renewed. The whole world looked better.

Mr. Thorndike had given an unexpected Spanish vocabulary test to us. It had surprised even me. Usually I anticipated his tests, but this time he had fooled me. I had only read over the vocabulary words once and had worked on my physics project the night before instead.
After the test was over, I knew I had flunked it completely. I’d missed at least 14 of the words. Then, to my humiliation, Mr. Thorndike had us correct the tests in class. He gathered them up and then passed them around at random. I wondered self-consciously who would get mine and think I was real stupid.
The next day after he had recorded the grades, Mr. Thorndike passed the tests back to us. “Congratulations, Bill. You are the only one who got 100% correct,” he said, as he handed my test back.
“I couldn’t have.”
“Well, you did.”
“No, I …” I looked at the test. It definitely had my name on it, and it also had a big underlined 100 percent in the corner. I controlled a gasp. All the spaces I had left blank had been carefully filled in. Someone had cheated for me. But why? I looked around the room and saw that the students sitting around Alyce were looking at me and giggling. Alyce had her head down but was grinning widely. I realized Alyce had somehow managed to get my test paper and had corrected it. As a prank she had filled in the right answers.
Now what do I do? I wondered. Alyce, why did you have to do that? I thought unhappily. I looked back down at the test. I couldn’t accept a perfect score and the grades were already recorded in Mr. Thorndike’s roll book. Yet, I couldn’t reveal Alyce’s guilt either.
“I thought you said you flunked it,” said Ralph, my buddy, as he walked out of class with me. I still had the test paper in my hand, my fingers covering the 100 percent.
“Alyce’s joke has really embarrassed me,” I said.
“Oh, no.” Ralph began to laugh.
“What can I do? What would you do?”
“I don’t know. Just forget it, I guess.”
“Ralph, I can’t accept the perfect score. I told you, I flunked it.”
“Go and change the grade when Thorndike isn’t looking?”
“Impossible.”
“Then just forget about it. If you get Alyce in trouble, the whole school will be angry with you.”
“But most people know what you and I represent. They know who all the Latter-day Saints are. Even if I didn’t mind being dishonest personally, and I do, I still can’t cheat because it would make the Church look bad.”
“Having everyone in the school hate you wouldn’t help the Church much either, would it?”
“No.”
“Just forget it.”
“You’re probably right.” Sure, I thought, Ralph is right. I won’t cause problems. It’ll just forget what has happened. But by the end of the day, by algebra class, I still hadn’t been able to forget it. I knew I would have to talk to Alyce about it.
“You got a 100% on the Spanish test, right?” Alyce said grinning. Her dark eyes were mischievous. When she wasn’t making funny faces, Alyce was a pretty girl.
“Yes,” I said. “Amazing isn’t it, since I didn’t study?” She could sense my misery.
“You don’t sound very happy for someone who just got a perfect score on a test you didn’t even study for.”
“I’m not,” I said. “Alyce, you’ve put me in an uncomfortable position. I’ve thought about it, and I can’t accept that perfect score. Now what do I do?”
“Oh, no! I should have known you would feel this way. You’re such a bore, Bill, so predictable.” She tried to pretend it was funny. “Well, go ahead and tell Mr. Thorndike. I don’t care.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“I said I don’t care. Do what you feel you have to do.” I could tell she did care. Talking to her hadn’t made the situation any easier. Then, in the middle of one of the algebra problems, I thought to myself, Mr. Thorndike would have no way of knowing that Alyce had corrected my test unless I told him. I could simply tell him that someone had changed my answers and that I really failed; I did not get a perfect score. He wouldn’t ask me if I knew who had corrected the test because he wouldn’t think I knew. How would I know? Even if he suspected Alyce, he had no proof of her guilt. And, if he asked me if I knew who had done it, I’d just tell him outright that I didn’t want to cause trouble for anyone. After algebra class, I smiled at Alyce and touched her arm.
“Don’t worry,” I said.
After school I went right into the Spanish room and told Mr. Thorndike what had happened. He seemed angry, but he didn’t ask me if I knew who had done it. I stood and watched as he crossed out the A and put a F in its place.
“Next time maybe I’d better be prepared,” I said sheepishly.
“Yes,” he said.
I thought that the problem was over, but is wasn’t. The next day I could tell by the way Thorndike stood up that he was extremely angry. I held my breath.
“The day before yesterday someone corrected Bill McKinley’s vocabulary test,” Mr. Thorndike said slowly. “That person filled in some right answers and gave Bill a grade he didn’t deserve. Now I want to know who that person is.” The color must have drained from my face. I didn’t dare look to see what Alyce was doing for fear I would reveal her guilt. “Let me continue,” Mr. Thorndike said. “If that person does not identify himself, this whole class will be punished. I don’t know how right now, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. Now who did it?”
I put my head in my hands and began moaning inwardly. Why did this have to be happening? Tension increased in the room as no one spoke. My chest felt tight inside. Then I surprised myself. I spoke out. “I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble.”
“Be quiet, Bill,” Mr. Thorndike said sternly. “Once again, I ask, who did it?” he said dramatically.
“I said I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble,” I repeated, once again surprising myself and Mr. Thorndike who still had his mouth open and was staring at me.
Before he had a chance to rebuke me, a clear voice said, “I corrected it.”
“Who said that?” Mr. Thorndike looked around the room.
“Mr. I did it,” Alyce said bravely. “It was just a joke.”
Mr. Thorndike, who had never liked Alyce much, nodded. Anger flared in his eyes. “I should have known. Yes, I should have known. Well, I’m tired of this kind of thing, young lady, and we’ll have no more of it.” He was speaking loudly. “You’re seniors now, and I’m tired of this kind of joking. It’s very immature. Next year you’ll be going out into the world, and you are still acting like children Alyce, I want to see you after class. I’ll have to do something about it. I’m tired of this nonsense and want it to stop. Is my meaning clear to you?”
“Yes, sir.”
The rest of the day I was miserable. I should have listened to Ralph, I thought. It was such a small thing, one insignificant (small) test. It was such a stupid thing to make such a fuss about, to have been so strict about. Why hadn’t I just kept my mouth shut?
I didn’t know what to say to Alyce later when I sat next to her in algebra class, and she wouldn’t look at me. She had her head down, and her hair had fallen down in front of her face. “Alyce,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know Mr. Thorndike would get angry. It makes me feel terrible. What did he say to you after class?”
“Oh, he said it would affect my citizenship grade for the semester. He was mad.”
“You know I didn’t want anything like that to happen.”
“I know,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about it.” But it did matter, for my relationship with Alyce changed. Although she still joked with others, she quit teasing me, and though we still spoke, she seemed aloof. At the time I though it was because Alyce was angry, but now I realize she was probably just embarrassed. It saddened me to have a barrier between us, but I hoped that soon, maybe before the end of the school year, our friendship would be back to normal.
“Now what do I do? … Alyce, why did you have to do that?”

I stared as a new boy entered the Primary room. A woman pushed him in a wheelchair toward the front of the room.
“Everyone, this is David,” Sister Olive said. “He and his grandmother have just moved into our ward.”
David smiled and waved to the Primary. I tried not to stare. David’s body was covered in red scars, and he carried a cane across his lap. His right hand was just a nub, and his left ear was completely missing. I had heard about David. When he was a baby, he had been burned in a fire. Whenever he grew, he had to have surgeries because his skin did not stretch with him as he got bigger.
David’s grandmother wheeled him to the end of the row of the CTR 7 class. I was in the back in the Valiant 11 class, too far away to try to help David feel welcome. Would any of the children in his class be brave enough to talk to him?
Just then, Joseph jumped out of his chair. He sat down on the seat next to David and started talking to him. Sister Olive had to tell them to be quiet so we could start singing time.
Sister Olive took out a big black paper music note. “We’re going to play ‘Hide the Note,’” she said. “I will choose one person to hide this note somewhere in the Primary room and another person to leave the room so he doesn’t know where the note is hidden. When the second person comes back into the room, we’ll all sing louder when he gets closer to the note.”
“And quieter when he gets farther away!” Joseph said.
“That’s right,” Sister Olive said. “Who wants to hide the note?”
Almost everyone raised their hands. We really liked this activity.
“Julia, you can hide the note,” Sister Olive said. Julia jumped up from her chair and walked to the front of the room.
“Who wants to find the note?” Sister Olive asked. We all raised our hands again. “David, you can be our finder.”
“I’ll help!” Joseph volunteered. He wheeled David outside and closed the door.
Julia hid the music note under the piano. It was a good hiding place.
Sister Olive called David and Joseph back into the room. Joseph slowly wheeled David down the aisle, and we started singing quietly.
David pointed to the left with his cane and Joseph wheeled him left, toward the CTR 6 class. We sang more quietly. David pointed to the right with his cane and Joseph wheeled him right, toward the Sunbeams. We sang even quieter. David looked confused. He thought for a moment and then pointed his cane backwards, toward the piano. Joseph wheeled him closer and closer to the piano, and we sang louder and louder.
David pointed his cane at the piano, and we all sang as loudly as we could. Joseph looked all over the piano until he finally found the music note on the ground, under the piano legs.
“We did it!” David cheered. He grinned from ear to ear and patted Joseph on the back.
“We make a great team,” Joseph said.
David and Joseph sat down and Sister Olive chose other children to hide and find the note. I could tell that David and Joseph had become friends. Joseph didn’t seem to notice David’s wheelchair. To Joseph, David wasn’t different.

As I sat at home trying to calm my anxiety over what was going on in the world, I opened my journal randomly and landed on the following: “There are so many fears that come with getting up each day in this world, but with faith in the teachings of the gospel, we can put one foot in front of the other. … Faith always defeats fear.”
I knew that I had just received powerful personal revelation and that Heavenly Father gave it to me through my own journal entries from several years before. I was blessed with a moment of peace and the knowledge that Heavenly Father was with me back then, and He’s right here with me now.
Danette Gray, Utah, USA

Let me give you some examples from my college years at BYU, which is when I made a commitment to follow this pattern in my life. During my first two years at BYU, I worked for Custodial Services every day from 4 a.m. until 7 a.m. My first class was English at 7 a.m. It seemed logical to schedule my classes early because I would already be on campus. However, as you can guess, it wasn't always worth that convenience. The temptation many days after work was to find an empty recliner or cot in one of the women's restrooms on campus and skip that first class. If I did, and fell asleep, I could easily miss the whole morning of classes. (In those days we didn't have cell phone alarms.) I had to resist that temptation and walk sleepily to class repeating to myself, "Be where you are supposed to be when you are supposed to be there."
Following the pattern was great because it got me to class! But on those days when I had prepared by getting plenty of sleep the night before, I was much happier to leave work and go to class, and my participation in class was much more meaningful!

“Millicent’s escaped!” “The elephant is loose!” The cries filled the circus grounds.
Freddie peered anxiously out of the red and gold trailer where he lived. He saw Randolph, the roustabout, running past. A thick coil of rope hung over his shoulder. “Millicent pulled her stake out of the ground!” the tall young man explained as he stopped to talk to Freddie. “Our customers are going to be unhappy if they can’t see the sideshow, and she’s blocking the entrance. I’m going to tie this rope around her and try to lead her back to the field where she belongs.”
“That won’t work,” Freddie said, earnestly, “but I know how to make Millicent move.”
Randolph chuckled. “You? Why, you’re the smallest boy in the circus. How can you move an elephant?” And he hurried on.
Freddie just smiled and scampered off toward the sideshow. Before long he came upon Chester, the oldest and wisest clown in the circus. He was wearing knobby shoes and was pushing a big black cannon ahead of him. At his side trotted Phil, his fluffy pink poodle.
“Millicent’s loose!” shouted Chester. “I’m on my way to fire my cannon. When she hears the explosion, she’ll move out of the way! Come along and watch.”
“I don’t think that’ll work,” said Freddie, walking alongside the clown. “But I know how to make Millicent move.”
Chester stopped. “You? You can’t make that pesky pachyderm move an inch. You can’t even make Phil roll over, so how do you intend to make an elephant move?” Chester asked as he hurried away without waiting for a reply.
Freddie just smiled.
Shortly, Freddie came upon a great crowd of circus performers—jugglers, fire-eaters, and lovely bareback riders. They were all talking about the elephant that wouldn’t move.
Alonzo, the lion tamer, boasted, “I’m going to wave my chair and crack my whip in front of Millicent. That’ll make that stubborn elephant move!”
“I don’t think it’ll work,” said Freddie solemnly. “But I know how to make Millicent move.”
“You?” The lion tamer snorted. “You know nothing about handling wild animals. How could you move that blissful behemoth!”
Freddie simply smiled again.
“Everybody stand back, please,” said Mr. Bertelli, the circus owner.
Freddie watched Randolph loop his thick rope around the great elephant. She towered above them, and her legs were thick as tree trunks.
Randolph pulled and pulled. His muscles bulged, and glistening perspiration streamed down his face. The fire-eater and the juggler joined the roustabout and, with stern faces, tugged on the rope. Still, the elephant refused to move.
“That’s the most immovable mastodon I’ve ever encountered,” Randolph declared disgustedly. “I think Millicent has taken root.” He gathered up his rope and walked away.
Freddie approached Mr. Bertelli. “Please, sir, I can make Millicent move,” he said.
“Stay out of the way, Freddie,” Mr. Bertelli replied, but not unkindly. “This is a job for men.”
Next, Chester touched a flame to the touchhole of his cannon. Freddie put his fingers in his ears and shut his eyes tightly. There was a moment of silence and then a loud BOOOOOOM! The sawdust-filled circus grounds shook with the sound. Freddie opened his eyes. Millicent heard that sound twice a day while Chester was performing. Cool as custard, she stood where she was.
“She must be going deaf,” Chester said disgustedly. The clown flop-flopped away, sadly wheeling his cannon.
Freddie tugged at Mr. Bertelli’s sleeve. “I can make Millicent move,” he insisted.
“If Randolph and Chester couldn’t do it, how could you?” asked the circus owner, patting Freddie on the shoulder.
It was Alonzo’s turn to try. The lion tamer twisted the ends of his long moustache and waggled his chair under Millicent’s trunk. His long black whip snapped an earsplitting KER-WHACK! Millicent blinked her little round eyes. She softly wrapped her trunk around the chair, set it to one side, and picked up Alonzo. The lion tamer helplessly waved his legs in the air. Abruptly, Millicent dropped him into the chair and, with a great snort, mussed his carefully combed hair.
“That stupid elephant! She doesn’t have any respect for me. Me! The finest lion tamer in the world!” Alonzo stalked off.
After that it was plain to see nobody else had an idea how to make Millicent move. A crowd was beginning to line up at the entrance. If Millicent didn’t get out of the way, no one could get by to see the sideshow!
Freddie strode confidently up to the peanut vendor. “One bag, please,” he said.
The boy took his sack of peanuts and approached the towering elephant. Freddie placed a peanut on the ground in front of Millicent. The elephant slowly lowered her long gray trunk and picked it up. She curled it gently into her mouth and stared at Freddie.
Freddie dropped another peanut a few feet away. The elephant took one large step and picked it up. The circus folk cheered! Millicent was moving!
Freddie backed his way toward the grassy field, dropping peanuts as he went. The big elephant followed, eating every peanut in her path!
Before long, Millicent had followed the trail of peanuts and had joined the other elephants in the meadow. She was back where she belonged!
“Hooray for Freddie!” proclaimed Chester. “He really did know how to make Millicent move!”
And from that day on, Freddie’s circus friends asked him questions about all sorts of things. When Freddie said he knew the answer, they all believed him.

Stepping gingerly into the baptismal font, I felt a surge of peace flood my mind and heart. My bishop smiled and took my hand. At the threshold of baptism, I stood comfortably and intently awaiting my purpose.
In the font, I knew the rest of my life would be different. It would be a lot harder, but I realized that part of growing up is making choices that are right. As I leaned back into the water, I felt peace! I could hardly believe the joy. I had decided what I believed and took courage in my own conviction.

It was a cloudy Sunday morning as I stood at the kitchen sink finishing the breakfast dishes. My two youngest children were watching a scripture video in the family room by the kitchen. I was lost in thought, and my cheeks were wet from tears. I couldn’t get my mind off the cancer that had invaded our home. My husband had been fighting it for several years, but now it had spread. My faith seemed to be wavering. My mind was crowded with “what if?” thoughts.
Suddenly the scripture video interrupted my thoughts with words from a calming voice: “Peace, be still. …
“Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith?” (Mark 4:39–40).
I dropped the dishrag and turned to look at the TV. The video was about the Savior calming the storm. It was as if the words had been spoken to me by the Savior Himself. A feeling of warmth and peace flooded over me. It was a reminder to stick to the faith I had learned so much about through the years of cancer. It was a faith buttressed by words in my patriarchal blessing.
I received my patriarchal blessing when I was 15. One sentence that then seemed just to describe a part of my temple marriage now held great promise for me. It spoke of the righteous priesthood holder I would marry and said that he would “help thee, guide thee and aid thee, not only in thy youth but clear into thy later years.”
As I read and reread my patriarchal blessing during the years of battling cancer, that sentence gave me great hope. Each time, I found renewed faith in the promise of our future together. I remembered the great comfort that the Spirit had given me when my husband was first diagnosed. I memorized that part of my patriarchal blessing, and when cancer tests came back with poor results, I remembered that promise.
I learned to let the Savior carry us, I learned that I must keep my faith constant, and I learned to combat mounting fears with faith. The video that morning reminded me to rely on the Lord.
Having faith gives me the ability to let Jesus Christ carry my burden. Just as the people of Alma who were in bondage did not feel the burden on their backs (see Mosiah 24:14), so it is for our family with fighting cancer. Our family has been able to face cancer without feeling the burdens it could bring.
Learning the Painful Lessons
“Difficulties come into our lives, problems we do not anticipate and which we would never choose. None of us is immune. The purpose of mortality is to learn and to grow to be more like our Father, and it is often during the difficult times that we learn the most, as painful as the lessons may be.”
President Thomas S. Monson, “God Be with You Till We Meet Again,” Liahona, Nov. 2012, 111.
My husband still undergoes tests to track the cancer cells or to find possible tumors. We still have medical bills and the remaining side effects of treatments. And I still pray every day that my husband will have no more cancer. I pray that we will both live to old age. I also say to Heavenly Father, “Thy will be done.”
I do not know when the “later years” spoken of in my blessing will come. I hope the words in my blessing mean that my husband and I will be able to go on a mission when our children are raised. I hope they mean that my husband will lead our horse while giving rides to our grandchildren and will bounce our grandchildren on his knee. But I know that whenever God takes him from this earth, it will be in His time.
I no longer worry about when those “later years” are. It does not matter. I trust that the Lord will honor that promise made to me in my patriarchal blessing. He has taken care of us through these years, and He will take care of us in the future.
If you have not received your patriarchal blessing, consider talking to your bishop or branch president about receiving one. If you have a patriarchal blessing, do you read and ponder it often? Do you have faith in the Lord’s promises?

Of these women, the only one I had known was my cousin Olga.
Olga, who was from Italy, married at a very young age, but sadly, her husband was violent and unfaithful to her. With the help of her father and her brother, Olga decided to escape when she was expecting her fifth child.
She went to live with her parents and brother. After the birth of her child, Olga passed away. Olga’s parents never recovered from the shock of her sudden death.

Kirtland, January 14, 1833. … The Lord commanded us, in Kirtland, [Ohio,] to build a house of God, … this is the word of the Lord to us, and … the Lord helping us, we will obey. …
June 1st [1833] I received the following:
“Ye have sinned against me. …
“Yea, verily I say unto you, I gave unto you a commandment that you should build a house, in the which house I design to endow those whom I have chosen with power from on high. …
“Verily I say unto you, it is my will that you should build a house. If you keep my commandments you shall have power to build it.”
June 5 [1833].—George A. Smith hauled the first load of stone for the Temple, and Hyrum Smith and Reynolds Cahoon commenced digging the trench for the walls of the Lord’s house, and finished the same with their own hands.
On [July 23, 1833], … the corner stones of the Lord’s House were laid in Kirtland, after the order of the Holy Priesthood.
October 1–15 [1834].—Great exertions were made to [speed up] the work of the Lord’s house, and notwithstanding it was commenced almost with nothing, as to means, yet the way opened as we proceeded. …
Sunday, March 27 [1836].—The congregation began to assemble at the Temple, at about seven o’clock … to witness the dedication of the Lord’s House. …
Presidents Rigdon, Cowdery and myself seated the congregation as they came in. …
At nine o’clock a. m. President Sidney Rigdon commenced the services. … He admitted there were many houses … built for the worship of God, but not one except this … that was built by divine revelation. …
I then made a short address. …
[The dedicatory prayer was offered next—see D&C 109.]
The assembly dispersed a little past four o’clock. …
I met the quorums in the evening. …
Brother George A. Smith arose and began to prophesy, when a noise was heard like the sound of a rushing mighty wind, which filled the Temple, and all the congregation simultaneously arose, being moved upon by an invisible power; many began to speak in tongues and prophesy; others saw glorious visions; and I beheld the Temple was filled with angels. … The people of the neighborhood came running together (hearing an unusual sound within, and seeing a bright light like a pillar of fire resting upon the Temple), and were astonished at what was taking place. This continued until the meeting closed at eleven p. m.

When he served in the Tampa Florida Mission, he shared the Book of Mormon with everyone he taught. Missionary work also taught Elder Alvarado key lessons of obedience that serve him well to this day.
He knew little English growing up, so it was thrilling to receive an English-speaking missionary assignment. But just weeks after arriving in Florida, mission president G. Vern Albright told him he was assigning him to a Spanish-speaking area. It was frustrating news.
“But President Albright told me, ‘Elder, I’ll make you a promise: if you work in Spanish [areas], you will have opportunities to use English—and you will always be successful in your jobs and in the Church’.”
The new missionary chose to trust his priesthood leader. “And following my mission, all of my work and Church callings have been in English. It’s been a great blessing.”

This new position that I play on the Lord’s team reminds me of a selection I read a short time ago that I would like to share with you. It comes from Sports Illustrated (5 April 1971). Before going into college baseball coaching, Dick Schultz, the head coach at the University of Iowa, was a minor league baseball catcher. He once had a manager, so the report goes, who was given to eccentric lineup changes: that is, before each game he would change the lineup, not paying much attention to the positions the players were accustomed to. Schultz tells of a very interesting thing that happened one night. (Perhaps you have heard this.) The manager decided to put a rookie third baseman at first base. Picture this, if you will, in your own mind. This was a position he had never played before. The inevitable happened. The left-handed batter drilled a grounder to the terrified first baseman, who grabbed the ball. Instead of stepping on the base for the out, he reflexively began to throw, quite as if he were playing third base. But halfway through the throwing motion he realized where he was and fell into a series of contortions in an effort to keep from throwing the ball away. The runner was so startled by all of this that he stopped on the baseline. The first baseman finally fired the ball back to home plate, where catcher Schultz made a very startled grab. “I didn’t want the ball,” he said, “so I threw it back to him.” Although the runner had stopped, the first baseman still did not think to step on first. Instead, he did what any good third baseman would do. He cut him off and started a run-down play. The runner, by now as confused as anyone, fell into the act as the first baseman and Schultz began throwing the ball back and forth. Finally the runner made his break back to his last base, which happened to be home plate. Schultz grabbed the ball, made the tag, and the umpire bellowed, “You’re out.” Well, Schultz had only one question. He turned to the umpire and inquired rather innocently, “What would you have done if he’d been safe?”

We sometimes get into peculiar situations when we play a new position.

A Primary teacher shared the following example. “Today,” she said, “our five- and six-year-old class made love necklaces. Each child drew pictures on strips of paper: one of themselves, one of Jesus, and some of members of their family and loved ones. We glued the strips into circles that looped through each other to make a chain that we turned into love necklaces. As they were drawing, the children talked about their families.
“Heather said, ‘I don’t think my sister loves me. We are always fighting. … I even hate myself. I have a bad life.’ And she put her head in her hands.
“I thought about her family circumstances and felt that maybe she did indeed have a hard life. But after Heather had said this, Anna, down at the other end of the table, responded, ‘Heather, I am putting you in my necklace between me and Jesus because He loves you and I love you.’
“When Anna said that, Heather crawled under the table to get to Anna and threw her arms around her.
“At the end of class, when her grandmother came to pick her up, Heather said, ‘Guess what, Grandma? Jesus loves me.’”

One day at the hotel restaurant, another cook, for inappropriate reasons, tried to get dates with some of the waitresses there. He was mad because the waitresses, who were Latter-day Saints, refused to go out with him.
Remembering the missionaries I had met in Milan, I told the cook that the waitresses had a right to turn him down.
“So, are you a Mormon too?” he asked.
Because I liked the principles the missionaries had taught me and because I felt justified in defending the waitresses, I replied, “Yes.”
The next time the cook saw the waitresses, he told them I was a Latter-day Saint. They were excited. When we gathered for lunch, they began asking me questions about the Church in Milan. I told them about the city and that I had met the missionaries there. When our lunch arrived, I reached for a glass of wine on the table.
“What are you doing drinking wine?” one of the waitresses asked.
“Is there something wrong with that?” I said.
“Are you even active?” another one asked.
“In what sense?” I said.
“How were you dressed the day you were baptized?” they asked.
“I don’t remember,” I told them. “I was only a month old.”
They were extremely mad because they thought I was making fun of them. I assured them I wasn’t. I admitted that I wasn’t a member of the Church, but I told them that I liked the Book of Mormon and the gospel principles I had learned. Then I asked how I could learn more about their church.
The waitresses soon introduced me to the missionaries. They could hardly believe it when I finished the discussions and got baptized.

Susan Hardy, California, USA
When I was 11 years old, my Sunday School teacher, Brother Deets, told our class that if we would memorize the Articles of Faith and explain to him what they meant, he would buy us our own set of scriptures.
Brother and Sister Deets were a young couple, just starting out. I wasn’t sure Brother Deets could afford to buy a gift for anyone. But I decided that if he thought the Articles of Faith were important enough to memorize, I would take the challenge.
After I finished all 13, time went by and I forgot about his promise.
Then, on Christmas Day, I received a package with my name on it. I opened it to find a set of scriptures just for me, with a card encouraging me to read them regularly. That was in 1972, and to this day I still have those scriptures. They are precious to me.
It wasn’t the cost of the gift but the kindness he showed to me and the sacrifice he was willing to make for me that left me with a deep desire to study the word of God. I try to follow Brother Deets’s example of ministering by giving meaningful gifts to those around me, hoping that I can bless others’ lives as he has blessed mine.

At the time, there were only two Aaronic Priesthood bearers in the Immokalee Branch: Junior and another young man named Jorge Caceres. Jorge was born in the Church but had become discouraged because for a long time he had been the only Aaronic Priesthood bearer in the branch. So Junior, a convert, was the only one who went to stake firesides.
Today there are 26 active young men in the branch—and one of them is Jorge Caceres, the one who had previously been discouraged about having no other young men with whom to associate.
“I became friends with Junior, too,” Jorge says, “Then when he started inviting his friends to church, I became friends with them. Every week new people kept coming.”
And Jorge noticed something. “Once they started getting to know the Church, they changed.” The gospel was changing them; getting to know Christ was changing them. “When I saw that, I started to take church more seriously. I worked on my own testimony, and now I know the Church is true.”

In May 1977 the sun had finally come out in Sweden and my companion and I had an appointment one morning in a suburb on the south side of Stockholm. We arrived at the apartment complex 20 minutes early. Not much time to accomplish anything and we could conceivably have sat on a bench and enjoyed the sunshine after the long winter. However we discussed it and my companion suggested that we knock on some doors and see if we could talk to someone for a few minutes. Neither of us felt any special prompting to do so. We concluded that we were missionaries and that is what missionaries should be doing. After a few minutes we knocked on a door and a woman came to the door. We introduced ourselves and explained that we had a short message and asked to come in. She said that it was not her apartment. She was just visiting a friend who had stepped out for a moment. We asked her where she lived. She said she lived on the North side of Stockholm. We said that while that was not I our area we had missionaries all over the city. We asked if we could have her address and have some of our colleagues visit her. She agreed. She gave us her address and we gave her a pamphlet about Joseph Smith. I thought no more about the encounter until February 1978. In the intervening months I had served at different places in the mission and in February received a transfer to the Stockholm north zone. At church one Sunday not long after my arrival I was approached by a sister who asked "Elder Bates, do you remember me?" I said "no I'm sorry." She said "last May you and your companion knocked on a door in Jordbro. I was visiting a friend. I gave you my address and you gave me a pamphlet. I was baptized in September." When we do what we are supposed to do, what we are called to do, the Lord will use us to bless the lives of others. Whether it is through missionary work, visiting, home teaching, primary, young women's or young men's if we walk uprightly we will be blessed and we will and bless others.

Toby looked down at the ring Jerome had slipped onto his third finger. “It will keep us close while I am on my mission,” Jerome had said, smiling down at his ten-year-old brother.
Toby knew how special this ring was to Jerome. Their great-uncle had made it and given it to him when he was ordained to the priesthood. The band was silver, and Uncle had painstakingly carved “LDS” out of turquoise and soldered it to the band. Toby had never seen the ring off Jerome’s finger. “I won’t take it off my finger until I return it to you in two years,” he had promised the handsome missionary.
“Get up, Wind Wolf,” Grandfather called early the next morning. He used Toby’s Indian name only when he wanted him to hurry. “Today we must plant the corn, and old Grandfather Sun will scorch our backs if we do not begin soon.”
Toby quickly dressed, ate a biscuit, drank a glass of milk, and hurried outside. He loved helping Grandfather plant the corn, and he knew that if he kept busy, he wouldn’t miss Jerome as much.
Grandfather dug holes with the narrow, wooden spade that he had made himself. Toby crawled along the rows, dropping two kernels of corn into each hole from the leather pouch he wore around his neck. The sun caused bright sparkles to dance across the silver band on Jerome’s ring, making Toby squint at times.
When all the corn had been planted, Toby and Grandfather looked around at the large plot, pleased with their work.
Still on his knees, Toby reached up to wipe his forehead. He gasped. “Jerome’s ring! It’s gone!” He jumped up, looking frantically.
Grandfather placed his hand on Toby’s shoulder. “Nothing will be accomplished by acting like a chicken with its head cut off. You walk up and down these rows and look for the ring. I will do the same on the rows over there.”
But they did not find the ring.
“Oh, Grandfather, what can I do? The ring means so much to Jerome.”
“There is One who knows where the ring is,” Grandfather said, kneeling on the ground.
Of course! Heavenly Father knew where the ring was. He would help them find it. Toby knelt beside his wise grandfather.
“Now I am sure that I will find it,” Toby said. He got up and began to slowly walk up and down each row again.
But the ring still couldn’t be found.
“Why doesn’t Heavenly Father show me where the ring is?” Toby asked impatiently. “He knows that Jerome is serving him.”
“We will ask again tonight and look again tomorrow,” Grandfather said.
The next morning Toby was on his hands and knees when the sun cast its first beams across the field. He crawled along each row, looking desperately for the ring. Grandfather found him slumped against the hogan. “Grandfather, I have prayed many times and have gone over every inch of the cornfield. Why doesn’t Heavenly Father show me where it is?”
“Heavenly Father knows where the ring is, Toby. If he wants us to find it, we will—but in his own time.”
“Why wouldn’t he want me to find it right now?”
“Maybe there is something you need to find even more than the ring,” Grandfather answered.
“What would I need to find more than Jerome’s ring?”
“That is something you must find out for yourself.”
Sometimes Grandfather doesn’t make any sense, Toby thought. If my prayer isn’t answered right now, the ring will be lost forever.
But it was not found that day, either.
Each morning Toby got up early and made his way slowly and carefully through the cornfield, hoping to see the turquoise initials popping up through the soil. It did not happen. He was very discouraged, but he continued to ask Heavenly Father to help him find the ring.
“Why don’t you fast about it?” suggested his good friend Vincent.
Toby remembered the lesson his Primary teacher had given on fasting and on how miracles may happen when fasting and prayer are used together. He had thought that that was just for grown-ups. The more he thought about it now, however, the more he liked the idea.
It was hard going to school without breakfast, and even harder when all his friends brought out their lunches, but at the end of the school day, he felt good inside. He did not find the ring as he went through the cornfield that evening, but he did find peace. He felt very close to Heavenly Father.
One early morning a few weeks later, Toby heard his grandfather call, “Wind Wolf, come quickly!”
Toby ran outside wondering what was wrong. “Where are you, Grandfather?”
“Here in the cornfield.”
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
Grandfather pointed at a small, green plant sticking up through the brown soil.
“Jerome’s ring!” Toby fell on his hands and knees to see better. The bright, green cornstalk had grown through the silver band and lifted the ring right out of the ground. “It is as if the cornstalk is handing it to me.” Toby carefully lifted it from the tender seedling.
That evening when Grandfather was hoeing in the cornfield, Toby wanted to be near him. “Grandfather, you are very wise.”
“Many years make much experience; much experience makes much wisdom.” Grandfather smiled at Toby.
“I think I know now what it was that I needed to find more than Jerome’s ring.”
Grandfather sat down and leaned against a fence post. “Tell me,” he said, motioning for Toby to sit beside him.
“Well, if I had found Jerome’s ring right away, I would never have prayed all the times I did. I knew that I really needed Heavenly Father’s help, so I prayed differently than I usually do. I really talked to him. And when I fasted, I felt really good.”
“So what did you find, my grandson?”
“I found Heavenly Father’s love for me, Grandfather.”
Neither Toby nor Grandfather said anything for a time. Then Grandfather said, “Tomorrow you must write to your brother about his first convert.”

President Harold B. Lee had a marked influence on Sister Monson and me and our three children. On rather brief occasions he commented to each of our children in a tone which reflected deep spirituality, genuine interest, and inspired counsel.
Our youngest son, Clark, was about to turn twelve when we chanced to meet Brother Lee in the parking lot of the Church Office Building. He asked Clark how old he was. Clark answered, “Soon to be twelve.”
Came the question: “What happens to you when you turn twelve?”
The response: “I’ll receive the Aaronic Priesthood and be ordained a deacon.”
With a warm smile and the clasp of his hand, Brother Lee said, “Bless you, my boy.”
Our daughter, Ann, as a young teenager was with her mother and me when we encountered Brother Lee, and proper introductions were made. Brother Lee took our daughter’s hand in his and, with a lovely smile, said to her, “You, my dear one, are beautiful inside as well as outside. What a choice young lady you are.”
In a more solemn setting, Brother Lee met me one evening on the steps of the LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City. By appointment we were to give a blessing to my eldest son, Tom, who was then in his later teens. Surgery awaited which could be of a most serious nature. Brother Lee took my hand before we ascended the stairs and, looking me straight in the eye, said, “Tom, there is no place I would rather be at this moment than by your side to participate with you in providing a sacred priesthood blessing to your son.”
We then went to the room, where he said to Tom, “We are about to give you a blessing, even to provide a priesthood ordinance. We approach this privilege in humility, for we remember the counsel of the Prophet Joseph Smith, who said that when those who hold the priesthood place their hands on the head of a person in this sacred ordinance, it is as though the hands of the Lord are placed thereon.” The blessing was given; the surgery turned out to be minor. But lessons were learned, spirituality of a great leader was observed, and a model to follow was provided.

“I have something in my pocket,” Katy told Stan, the school bus driver. She was wearing a new flowered jumpsuit, with extra deep pockets.
“Is it a shiny new quarter?” asked Stan.
“No. I have three quarters, but they’re all at home. I’ll tell you what’s in my pocket on the way home.”
Katy took her seat next to her best friend, Lucy. “I have something in my pocket,” Katy told Lucy.
“Is it candy?” asked Lucy.
“No,” said Katy, “but I brought two cookies in my lunch, so I could share one with you.” Katy and Lucy smiled happily at each other and compared lunches all the way to school.
“I have something in my pocket,” Katy told Mrs. Raker, her teacher.
“Is it a fresh, new pencil?” asked Mrs. Raker.
“No. I have a new pencil, but it’s in my schoolbag.” Katy sat down and put her new pencil in her desk.
At recess, Katy told her classmates, “I have something in my pocket.”
“Is it a ball?”
“Is it a ring?”
“Is it a bug?”
“No, no, no.” Katy smiled mysteriously and reached into her pocket to touch her surprise.
“Is it a hole?”
Everyone laughed. “No,” Katy said, “I don’t have a hole in my pocket.”
“I know—it’s your hand!”
Katy laughed again, because she had just pulled her hand out of her pocket. “No, it’s not my hand.”
“Tell us what’s in your pocket, Katy?”
“I’ll tell you right after school.”
The rest of the day, Katy’s friends wondered what was in her pocket. They peeked at her from behind their books, and giggled at their guesses.
Just before the bell, Lucy raised her hand.
“Yes, Lucy?” said Mrs. Raker.
“May we have a minute to find out what Katy has in her pocket, please?”
“Yes, Lucy. Katy, what do you have in your pocket today?”
“I have a party in my pocket!”
“A party!”
“A party?”
“How can you carry a party in your pocket?”
Katy drew a folded piece of paper from her pocket. “I’m having a birthday party next Saturday, and this invitation is for all of you—Mrs. Raker and Stan-the-bus-driver too. That’s what I was carrying in my pocket.”
The class cheered as Katy tacked her party invitation on the bulletin board. “Hurray! Hurray for Katy’s pocket!”