Gospel Story Finder

But because of declining health, both President Monson and Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles were noticeably absent from conference.
Absent, but not forgotten.
Though President Monson watched from home and Elder Hales passed away peacefully in the hospital just prior to the final session, both were not only in our thoughts as we prayed for them, but their influence was also evident throughout the addresses.
Elder Neil L. Andersen, the concluding speaker (see page 122), shared remarks that Elder Hales had been preparing for conference but was unable to deliver: “When we choose to have faith, we are prepared to stand in the presence of God,” Elder Hales wrote. Certainly, Elder Hales chose faith.
Absent, but not really missing, President Monson and Elder Hales weren’t at the pulpit, but they played an important part in making conference meaningful to many.

After four years of trying to have another baby, Anna (names have been changed) and her husband were grateful for the birth of a daughter. But Anna found that adapting to the needs of a newborn, in addition to caring for her sons, was overwhelming. She found herself sinking into depression in spite of her best attempts to manage everything and maintain a sense of normalcy. Anna was struggling with postpartum depression.
Other Helpful Outlets. Other activities might also be helpful in managing and overcoming postpartum depression:
Listening to uplifting music.
Reading the scriptures and other inspiring books. Anna reported that she especially enjoyed reading 2 Nephi 4, which documents Nephi’s feelings of discouragement and doubt, then his growing recognition of the love of the Lord for him: “My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions” (2 Nephi 4:20).
Keeping a journal. Rachel said, “As I wrote in my journal, I was able to articulate my feelings of deep despair. It helped me to become more aware of what seemed to trigger feelings of depression. It also helped me begin to count my blessings.”
Praying for help and comfort. Anna said, “Being depressed made it harder for me to feel the comfort of the Holy Spirit I so desperately needed. I tried to challenge the negative voices that left me feeling weaker and doubting my capacity to overcome my negative emotions.” Johanna asked herself and the Lord this question as she engaged in personal prayer and contemplation, “Heavenly Father, what am I supposed to learn from this?”
Anna explained the process she went through: “As I struggled to overcome postpartum depression, I sought to get beyond the darkness and into the light, the light of the Son of God. I wept as I read Isaiah 53:3–4, understanding fully for the first time that the Savior was ‘a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief. … Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.’ I held on to the promise that the Savior was my personal Savior, that He had been sent to ‘give unto [us] beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness’ (Isaiah 61:3). As I looked toward the Savior, I realized more fully that He knew my pain, that He could sensitively succor me as I reached out to Him.”

This Christmas seemed the worst ever. I longed for a BMX mountain bike like snowflakes want cold weather. My friend Simon had one for his 14th birthday last month. Cool blue and chrome with 15 gears. He’s always raving about riding through the Clent hills and forests, a couple of miles from our village in the central part of England.
But I didn’t get one. Instead my presents were a track suit, new skateboard, and the promise of a job starting the day after tomorrow. A paper round. A 6:00 A.M. paper round! I mean, how bad can things get?
Not only would I miss skimming over frosted hillsides at breathtaking speeds, but I would have to get up early, starting Wednesday. And it’s holiday time. Lying-in-bed time.
What were my parents thinking of? I can guess, of course. It’s all about working for things you badly want, so you’ll appreciate them. Old-fashioned nonsense if you ask me. Of course, I’d appreciate that bike. What could be more amazing than bombing into the distance along those mountain tracks? I’d be there every spare minute. Life can be mean at times.
It felt even more mean Wednesday morning. “Come on, Robert,” Mum whispered. “It’s quarter to six. Rise and shine. There’s porridge and hot black currant on the kitchen table.”
I couldn’t even focus properly. Surely this wasn’t for real. It’s liquorice black out there, freezing cold and lonely. The whole world’s asleep except for me—and my crazy Mum.
Breakfast didn’t taste too good. Lumpy porridge bounced in thick clumps as I stumbled onto our porch. Muffled in track suit, red jacket, white scarf, red woolly hat and boots, I felt like some undersized Santa.
“Now don’t forget houses 50 and 66 don’t want papers delivered,” Mum reminded, helping me stuff endless sheets into the dirty yellow bag.
I lifted the sagging load onto my shoulder. “Mum, I don’t want to sound weak or anything, but this is killing me. Have you felt the weight of these things?”
“Never mind, dear. Think of the muscles you’ll build. Here’s your skateboard. And remember, be quiet in the block of flats. Elderly people don’t like being wakened this early.”
“Huh!” I muttered, heading lopsidedly down the path. “They’re not the only ones.”
The first morning was painful. I never realized how many different letter box shapes there are. The wide ones move along with the newspaper. But others—I nearly lost my fingers a few times. Heavy gold ones that grab before the paper’s through are the worst. They look rich and splendid, but they grab.
I got quite a shock at one house. As I slid a paper through the wide chrome flap, I heard a snarling thud as a body hit the door, snatching the paper and just missing my fingers. A little shaken, I walked down the path and rode to the next house.
A muffled figure was climbing into his car. He turned as he heard me coming.
“Ah, there you are my lad.” The man actually sounded pleased to see me. No dogs. No fighting metal slits. Human hands to receive my offering.
“I hoped you’d arrive before I left for work.” His voice was soft, kindly. “We’ve been away, so we didn’t give our usual tip this year. Here, have this.” He put two pound coins into my hand in exchange for a paper. Two solid pounds. Brilliant!
“Thanks very much, sir.” I stood, open-mouthed, wondering if I should bow or shake his hand or something. But he was in the car and gone before I could move. I made mental notes never to take shortcuts over this man’s garden.
I moved on. With feet half iced and fingers black with ink, I began dreaming of earnings. Let’s see—if I get five pounds a week for sixteen weeks, in four months there will be enough for a secondhand bike. And I already have two pounds. I could almost smell spring sunshine and scorching tyres.
As six-thirty appeared, so did a lighter sky and household stirrings. I had ten houses to go before freedom. I never even saw the small lad until I reached his doorstep, because something else caught my eye. The newspaper fell open at page 4, and there, taking up a whole sheet of pictures, were bike adverts. Oh man, how my feet itched for those pedals. And look at those wheels!
The sound of sniveling brought my head up sharply. It was too cold for anyone to be sitting outside, let alone a little tot in his pyjamas.
“Hey, what’s up, mate?” I whispered, trying not to frighten him.
Lifting his brown curly head a moment, he wiped a sleeve across his face, like my youngest brother does when he’s trying to act braver than he feels. “Nothing much,” he said.
I knew he wasn’t telling the truth. I mean, pyjamas aren’t exactly outside gear, and that stone step can’t be the warmest place on earth.
I crouched at his level. “So why are you out here freezing?”
He squinted at me, as if weighing the friendship in my voice, then screwed up his face, pushing small fists at his eyes to stop the tears.
“Look kid,” I said, wondering how to get him inside without too much fuss. “It’s Christmas week. Don’t you want to go back in where it’s warm and play with your toys?”
Gulping sobs began shaking his body. Wrong line.
“Er … what’s your name?” I asked kindly.
His feet were curling sideways on the cold stone. I took off my hat, wrapping it around his purple toes. He half smiled. I put my scarf around his shoulders.
“I’m Jamie,” he said, “and … and … I wanted a bike for Christmas.”
You too, I thought.
“But my … my dad left home before Christmas came, and …”
Giving him a slightly grey tissue from the depths of my coat pocket, I nodded slowly and patted his arm. “You mean you didn’t have the bike after all?” I interrupted, feeling pleased at my cool detective instincts.
His big eyes looked up, reproaching me for being so dumb. “Yes, I did,” he exclaimed.
“Sorry,” I muttered, mystified. “Then why … ?”
“I was trying to tell you,” he interrupted. “You see, my mum got one for me. She thinks I think it was Santa, but I know it wasn’t ’cos I heard her talking on the phone. Anyway, all over Christmas I thunk and thunk. Dad used to take me to get her a present, but …” He scrubbed at fresh tears and hiccuped. “But this year no one did, and I didn’t have anything for her and …”
He stopped, and began shivering all over. I couldn’t think what to do next. Suppose he was getting pneumonia or something out here.
That’s when the brain wave arrived.
I touched his arm again. “Look, you get inside and sit by the window, watching. I’ll be back in 15 minutes.”
He rose to his feet, staring owlishly, one finger stuck in his mouth, his face filled with awe. He nudged open the front door and his voice sounded husky, wondering, as if magic were beginning. “What you going to do?”
“You’ll see,” I called, skating up the path.
By the time I’d finished the last delivery but one, I had second thoughts. Okay, so most of the shops are closed, but Dillons will be open already. It will take all of two pounds to get a present though. My dream bike slid into the distance. My subconscious dragged it back. I needed every penny. The kid won’t really expect to see me again. It was a stupid idea. He’ll be all right. He’ll soon forget.
I battled toward the final letter box … a gold one. As my cautious fingers outmanoeuvred the gleaming flap, I suddenly pictured Jamie’s pinched face gazing at me in wonder.
That did it. I slung the bag across my back and skated fast. Dillons looked warm, inviting. The box of chocolates came to £1.80.
I raced back to number 9, my skateboard taking bumps in harmony with my legs and feet. A strange bubbling was building inside me—and it definitely wasn’t the porridge.
Some massive clouds began unloading snow just then, but I could see Jamie’s window from several houses back. His nose was flattened against the glass, face squashed and goggle-eyed.
By the time I reached his door he was out on the step, bare feet wriggling, and eyes and mouth all but meeting in one huge grin.
“You forgot these,” he whispered, swapping my scarf and hat for the brightly wrapped box.
“What will you say to your mum?” I asked, catching his excitement.
“Happy Christmas!”
I nodded, “But where will you say the present came from?”
“Santa’s helper, of course.” He spoke the name firmly, the grin shouting pleasure and satisfaction.
I glanced down at my red jacket, feeling a little foolish. “Of course,” I muttered. “Who else?”
The door closed, but curiosity got the better of me. Gently lifting the letter flap, I peeped through. It was one of those scenes you know will stay in your mind forever.
Jamie was yelling, “Mum, Mum!” She came rushing from the kitchen. As she received her gift, both their faces shared a kind of glow, as if some magnetic power were zapping back and forth.
I could almost touch the joy. My inside felt odd once more—happily odd—as if something were melting deep down, melting and spreading upwards until it reached my throat.
The scene blurred. I had to swallow hard. Softly letting down the flap, I tiptoed back to the pavement.

The first time I ever said that I was going on a mission for the Mormon church was at the intermission of the New York Philharmonic Annual UNICEF concert. I was standing beside my parents as they discussed the performance with their friends and a Mr. Blaiseworthy turned to me and said, not that he really cared, “And what are you going to be doing after your graduation next spring?”
My mother immediately began to explain that we, meaning she, had sent off applications to Princeton and Harvard and New York University, that we would probably be studying business. I had heard this “we” answer before. But I swallowed once hard and without looking at my mother replied, “I will be going on a mission for the Mormon church, sir.” Then I smiled.
My mother, not smiling, smoothed things over carefully and explained that I have a wonderful sense of humor but that Harvard was really our preference. Mr. Blaiseworthy gave me a peculiar stare and politely hurried off. In minutes my mother was back laughing with some woman in blue hair. I believe they were discussing how we had loved Eaton.

Stay physically fit, healthy, and active. We are thrilled with the efforts being made by so many of the elderly to ensure good health in advancing years. We see many walking in the early mornings. We hear of others who use exercise equipment in their own homes. Some even enter marathons and do remarkably well. Still others have swimming programs to keep them fit. Until recently our own beloved General Authority emeritus, Joseph Anderson, now in his one hundredth year, would swim a mile every day. I am not quite up to that, but I do enjoy a vigorous walk each day, which refreshes me.

For some time I have thought whimsically, as this occasion approached, of a counselor in a stake presidency some years ago who began his remarks by recalling a day after World War II when he had been surrounded by an unfriendly mob in a foreign place. He said, as he escaped with his life, and that barely, that he had been ill with fright. He said, “My voice quavered, my heart palpitated, my mouth was dry; I was really frightened. Knowing that you love me,” he said, “I can’t quite imagine why I feel that same way as I speak to you.”

The class bell rang, and a few stragglers darted quickly into their classrooms, leaving Jed Fischer stranded in a new school with a locker that wouldn’t open. For the fifth time he slowly turned through the numbers written on a slip of paper, but it wouldn’t open.
“What are you doing in the hall during class time?” a voice sternly barked behind him.
He turned, expecting to face an angry teacher, but instead found a girl his age sporting an impish grin.
“Scared you, didn’t I?” Her face was freckled and she had short, tossled, reddish-brown hair. Plopping her books in his arms, she took the paper giving his combination. After dialing the three numbers, she slammed the locker with her foot. The locker flew open.
“It sticks. You have to hit it.” She opened her own locker, next to his, and took her books from him.
“Thanks,” he said. “I just transferred here from Idaho.”
“Welcome to New York. I’m Pam Burgess.”
“My name is Jed Fischer.”
“I know. I work in the office in the afternoon. My family is very big for volunteer work,” she said, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice. “I looked at your records when they came here. I found out that you’re a junior, that your dad is a nuclear engineer transferred from Idaho to Brookhaven Lab, and that you’re a football player. Are you a Mormon?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re the only one in this school.”
“My sister goes here too. She’s a sophomore. So there’re two Mormons.”
“What’s her name?”
“Brenda.”
“Does she have curly hair like her brother?” Pam asked.
“No. That’s the curse of our family. The girls have straight hair.”
“Do you want to walk around, and I’ll give you the tour?” Pam asked, closing her locker.
“What about you?” he asked as they leisurely strolled the halls.
“My mom and dad both work in the city. Mom is in advertising. Dad’s a stockbroker. I see him about twice a month.”
They passed the cafeteria. The smell of tuna fish casserole invaded the hall.
“Nobody eats there,” she said.
“Somebody must.”
“Oh, sure, the losers.”
“Who are the losers?” he asked.
“There are just two kinds of people in the world, the winners and the losers. Didn’t you know that? You look to me like a winner.”
“Where do the winners eat?” he asked.
“We go to a little pizza place a couple of blocks from here. I’ll meet you at noon and show you.”
He met Pam at noon. They were joined by one other boy, Doug Cabot, who spent his time complaining about how rotten everything was.
The pizza shop was old. Two large fans resembling airplane propellers stuck from the ceiling. At noon the place was crowded with kids from school. All the booths were being used, and several people were jammed around the stand-up counter. After they had ordered, they stood and waited.
“I think we can sit down over there,” Doug said, looking at a small booth near the corner.
They walked over to the booth. There was just one boy in the booth. He was overweight and wore a pair of thick glasses that seemed to magnify his eyes to an observer. He ate his pizza without looking up, avoiding eye contact with any person in the room.
“Ernie, how’s it going?” Doug asked, his voice conveying a mood of cruelty.
The boy looked up with a weak smile.
“We saw you sitting all alone in this big booth, and we thought you might be nearly through.”
Ernie understood the threat. “You can sit here. I’m almost finished.”
Ernie stood up, grabbing his cardboard platter with pizza still on it, and started to leave the booth. Doug stood in his way.
“You sure gorge yourself, Ernie,” Doug said. “What’s it like to be fat? Since you have such a weight problem, would you mind if we borrowed a couple of slices to nibble on until our order is done?” Doug reached out and took a slice.
“Give him back his pizza, Doug,” Jed said firmly.
“Why? He’s letting me have it.”
“Leave him alone.”
“Are you a friend of his?” Doug asked. “Because if you are, you’re the only one he’s got.”
Pam broke the mounting tension. “Lay off, Doug. Our pizza is done.”
Doug stepped aside for Ernie to pass. About halfway to the door, somebody deliberately bumped Ernie’s arm and his pizza fell on the floor. Ernie knelt down, scraped up the mess, and threw it in the garbage can on his way out.
During lunch, Doug talked about the injustices committed against a group of people in South America.
Jed found out when he went to class that Pam was in his chemistry class. On that day they were having a lab. Each group was given a test tube with an unknown solution in it. The purpose of the lab was to determine what the unknown was by performing a series of chemical tests.
Pam invited Jed to work with her. “Nothing to it,” she smiled. She walked to the checkout counter in the back of the room and started talking to the lab assistant. The others in the class were testing for the unknown.
In a few minutes Pam came back with a slip of paper. “I found out what our unknown is. Just copy this down on your lab notebook.”
“What about the tests we’re supposed to perform?” Jed asked.
“All the reactions are negative except numbers 3 and 11.”
“Aren’t we going to do it?”
“What for? This is how I do all the experiments. If you want to be a hero and smell like hydrochloric acid, be my guest.”
Jed sheepishly signed his name to the report and turned it in.
As they walked downstairs to their lockers, she suggested driving to Montauk Point on the tip of Long Island.
She let him drive her car, a late model sports car. When they arrived, the wind was whipping up white caps on the incoming waves. The turbulent waves smashed against huge boulders, sending up geysers of spray.
They walked along a path that climbed up to a rocky precipice. Near the top they found a place where they could sit and watch the endless water.
“Most people come here in the summer,” she said, her arms wrapped around her legs. “Sometimes it seems like there are a million, and every one of them has a bag of potato chips and a bottle of suntan lotion. They gobble the chips, throw the bag on the beach, douse themselves with oil, and fry.”
They watched the clouds changing shapes as they swept across the sky.
“I like to come in the winter,” she continued, “after the wind and the breakers have ripped away all the debris, leaving it clean.”
She pointed out to him the silhouette of a freighter on the horizon.
“Hard to believe all this is an accident,” she said, observing the harsh beauty of the ocean.
“It didn’t just happen.”
“You seem sure of yourself.”
“I am,” he replied.
“Back in school or at home, I really get so I don’t care about God. But sometimes, when I walk here, there’s a feeling I get. It’s hard to explain, but a feeling that He’s there somewhere. But by the time I’m back in my car and stuck in traffic on the freeway, the feeling is gone.”
He studied her face as she talked. She was beautiful even with the wind scattering her hair. He felt as if he cared for her, not really like being her boyfriend, but more like a brother. It was a good, clean feeling, and he thought that she felt it too.
“Pam, I want to tell you about my church.”
They made a date for her to attend his ward on Sunday. When they returned to the car, the feeling was gone.
“Well, that turned into a real prayer group, didn’t it?” she said, embarrassed.
They made it back to his home at 7:30. Luckily his parents had gone out that night to have dinner with his father’s new boss. While Jed got out of the car, Pam slid over to the driver’s side, smiled, and drove away. When he walked in the house, his sister Brenda was standing at the window.
“Well, I don’t have to ask you how your first day of school went,” she teased. She was tall and graceful, looking like she could be a ballet dancer. Yet at home she preferred levis and an old long-sleeved shirt of Jed’s. The hardest thing about the move for her had been the sale of her quarter horse.
“Her name is Pam, and I think she’s interested in the Church.”
“Where have you been?”
“We went to Montauk Point. How was your day?”
“Not too bad, considering I don’t know anybody in the school.”
The next day after English class, Ernie walked over to Jed and said, “Thanks for trying to help me yesterday.” His eyes darted up to Jed’s face and then down again, uncertain of his standing.
“Sure.”
“They say you’re a Mormon. I’ve got an uncle who’s a Mormon. He joined a year ago. Is there a Mormon church on the island?”
“Several.”
“Can people who aren’t members go to it?”
“Yes.” Jed inwardly cringed at the thought of Pam seeing Ernie at church.
“I’d like to go this Sunday. My uncle keeps telling me how friendly the people are.”
“You can’t smoke on church property,” Jed said coolly.
“I know. I have a jacket with these pants. Is that okay to wear?”
Jed looked at the wrinkled, gray dress slacks with tiny cuffs. They must be ten years old, he thought to himself. “I guess so,” he said dryly.
It was only the second time that Jed had been to church in New York. After priesthood meeting he was in the hall putting on his jacket so that he could drive out to pick up Pam. Ernie walked in. His forehead was sweating, and he was puffing.
Elder Baker, one of the missionaries assigned to the ward, rushed Ernie shortly after he walked in, shaking his hand and welcoming him to church.
Jed reluctantly came out from the coat rack area and said hello to Ernie, “I see you made it,” he said. Ernie rambled on about missing an exit and going three miles out of his way. Jed looked nervously at his watch and excused himself.
Pam’s home was a three-story brick house set on a hill overlooking Long Island Sound. A maid answered Jed’s ring and showed him to the den. He sat and studied the wall of bookshelves; in the middle of the room was a large, natural-stone fireplace.
In a few minutes Pam appeared. It was the first time he had ever seen her dressed up. She looked beautiful and rich.
“What’s it going to be like?” she asked on the way. “Will you help me so I’ll know when to kneel or what to say?”
“It’s not like that. It’s very simple. More like a big family than anything. In fact, we teach that we’re all brothers and sisters. So if anyone calls you Sister Burgess, don’t faint.”
He took the exit from the freeway. “Oh, Pam, there’s one other thing. That fat kid, Ernie, cornered me in class, and well, he’s going to be in church too.”
She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Ernie?”
They got there late. Jed saw the elders taking Ernie to the investigator’s class, and so he decided to take Pam to the class for high school students.
Sacrament meeting was held immediately after Sunday School. It seemed extra long to Jed. The high council visitor was there. He talked about welfare and explained how he used to hoe sugar beets on a welfare farm in Utah as a boy. Jed counted him using poor grammar ten times during the talk. A young mother in front of them struggled with her two-year-old boy, feeding him soda crackers one at a time. Jed felt embarrassed about church for the first time in his life.
On the way home Pam talked enthusiastically about their summer home in Maine and how she’d like him to see it sometime when her folks took her there.
“Thanks,” she said as they pulled up in her driveway.
“I guess it seemed a little different from the church you usually go to,” he said.
“Yes, it did.”
“I’m sorry about the noise.”
“That’s okay. I guess it’s what you get used to.”
“Will you let the missionaries explain about our beliefs?”
She grinned. “I’m more interested in you than I am in your church.”
“It means a lot to me.”
“I’ll see,” she answered.
When Jed got home, Elder Baker and his companion were there.
“Ernie’s really ready for the gospel!” Elder Baker announced. “He wants to have the discussions. It’d be great if we could have them here so he could be fellowshipped.”
Jed’s mother agreed, and they arranged the first discussion for Tuesday evening.
“How about inviting that girl you brought to church to hear the lessons at the same time?”
“No, not with Ernie.”
The discussion on Tuesday was a success as far as the missionaries were concerned. After Ernie had left, Elder Baker said, “He’ll be baptized. Jed, you can really help him by fellowshipping. Eat lunch with him, take him to activity night, get to be friends with him.”
“A guy like that will never join the Church,” Jed said grimly.
“What do you mean by that?” his father challenged.
“Nothing,” Jed said, unwilling to get into an argument.
The next week Jed started on the next chemistry lab experiment, determined to quit his reliance on Pam’s friendship with the student lab assistant. He was still reading the complicated directions when Pam came back to where he was working.
“Sodium hydroxide,” she whispered in his ear.
“Go away. I’m busy.”
“The unknown is sodium hydroxide. But now that I’ve told you, it’s not unknown, is it? I’ve saved you two hours of work. Will you come home with me and help me fix my ten-speed?”
After they’d looked at the bike, she gave him a piece of cake. They sat and ate in the kitchen. The kitchen floor looked like it could have been used for a commercial about floor wax.
“My dad says he knew a Mormon in the service; he respects them.”
“Did you ask him about taking the missionary lessons?”
“I never ask him anything unless it costs money,” she answered.
“Well, are you going to take them?”
“I don’t know. Is it all that important?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Is good old Ernie going to be a Mormon?” she teased.
“No.”
“If he did, you’d have to call him Brother Ernie, wouldn’t you? And if I joined too, he’d call me Sister Pam. That’d be great,” she said cynically. “He’s a loser, Jed. Face it.”
That Friday night Pam’s parents took Jed and Pam to dinner with them in Manhattan. They ate at a Japanese restaurant where they removed their shoes and ate on bamboo mats in a small enclosed room. Afterwards they went to a Broadway play. They talked during intermission about inviting him up to see their summer cabin in Maine.
The next week the elders persuaded Jed to pick up Ernie for activity night. He and his mother lived in a housing development built for low-income people. Ernie’s mother was a tired-looking woman with a deep, hacking smoker’s cough.
They played volleyball that night. At first Ernie was just going to watch, but Brenda talked him into playing on her side. She stood next to him and instructed him about how to set up the ball for players in the front row to spike. When he missed, which he did frequently, she’d say, “That’s okay, Ernie,” or, “Nice try.” By the end of the first game, he was returning most of the serves hit to him. By the end of the second game, he was excited about the game, encouraging other players, and shouting when they gained a point.
Jed and Brenda drove him home after it was over. He joked with Brenda about his poor eyesight, telling how he stepped on his glasses once while he was looking for them. Jed was silent.
After they had let Ernie out at his home, Brenda started in with Jed. “The only time you paid any attention to Ernie was when you spiked the ball toward him.”
“He was the weakest member of your team. It was just good strategy.”
“You aren’t helping him any.”
“You’re wasting your time, Brenda. He’ll never join the Church.”
“But your precious Pam will?”
“Yes, in time she will.”
“My big brother is a dummy.”
“My little sister can’t face reality.”
“Jed, why do you ignore him?”
“How can anybody ignore him? He’s got bad breath.”
“Do you think you’re better than he is?” she asked.
“That’s not the point. If I can get Pam interested in the Church, the Church will be made stronger. She knows a lot of people. But she’ll never even look at the Church if Ernie is baptized.”
“So you’re just going to let Ernie go. His only chance, maybe, to hear the truth.”
“I picked him up tonight. Isn’t that enough?”
She was quiet for several minutes, and then, quietly, she asked, “What would the Savior do?”
“You’re not going to trap me,” Jed answered brusquely.
“Just tell me what He would do.”
“It’s more complicated than that. You don’t understand. If I get tied up with Ernie, I won’t have a friend in that whole school.”
“Because he’s fat.”
“Yes, and sloppy and clumsy.”
“Jed, you’re my big brother. I used to be proud of you, but I’m not sure that I like you very much anymore. You’ve changed. Pam’s changing you. Did you know that?”
“Tough,” Jed said angrily.
The next Monday when Pam and Jed met at their lockers, she invited him to come with her and her family for the weekend while they did some work on the cabin in Maine. The plans called for them to fly up Friday and return on Monday afternoon.
His parents were not happy about the plan. “You’re going to be missing two days of school. You’re already behind,” his mother said.
“What will you do about church on Sunday?” his dad asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll have to miss one time. It won’t kill me.”
“That’s not the point. Where are your priorities?” his dad asked.
After an hour’s discussion his dad finally said that Jed was getting old enough to make his own decisions, that he’d been taught what was right, and that he would be allowed to make his own decision.
Jed went to his room, knowing what he should decide, knowing what he was going to decide. After an hour of listening to his tapes, he walked downstairs and announced simply, “I’m going this weekend.”
The next night Elder Baker and his companion came over and announced that Ernie was to be baptized Saturday. “And he wants you to baptize him, Jed.”
There was an uneasy silence in the room. “I can’t,” Jed said. “I’m going with Pam and her parents to Maine for the weekend.”
“Oh,” Elder Baker said, looking at Jed’s parents.
The next day at school Jed decided the least he could do was to explain to Ernie why he wouldn’t be able to baptize him on Saturday.
“I’m sorry I can’t go to your baptism. Pam’s parents asked me up to their summer home in Maine.”
“Do you think you might be falling in love with her?” Ernie asked.
“What’s that to you?” Jed shot back.
“Nothing, I guess. Are you falling in love with her way of life?”
“Why?”
“I’ve got a friend in chemistry who says you and Pam are cheating.”
“Just on the labs,” Jed defended.
“Oh, just on the labs. I’ll be sure to tell him. I’m sure he’ll be much more interested in learning about the Church when I tell him you’re only cheating on the labs.”
“I’m going to make it up.”
“I don’t know if he’ll believe that, but I’ll tell him.”
Jed felt his face flush with embarrassment. “Anything else? I’m in a hurry.”
“Yes, one other thing,” Ernie replied, looking straight at Jed. “I guess you’re upset about my joining the Church, aren’t you?”
“No,” Jed said. “The Church is for everyone.”
“But you’d like to choose which of those everyones joins, wouldn’t you? A rich man, or a beautiful girl, an athlete, a talented artist, an influential politician. I’m not any of those things, am I? Do you think there’s room in your church for me?”
Jed felt stunned as if he’d been hit.
“For the first time in my life, I now have a reason to live. But you’ve always had that, haven’t you? It was very comfortable, wasn’t it? Having the truth while the rest of us stumbled in the dark. I’d like to know how you feel, Jed. Not that it matters, I guess, because I’m going to be baptized. Not because of your example, but in spite of it.”
Jed walked away. His face felt as if it were on fire.
He walked to a park, sat on a deserted park swing, and thought.
He went back at noon, ate in the cafeteria with Brenda, and for the first time they were able to talk again. After his last class, he met Pam at her locker.
“Pam, something has come up. I won’t be able to go with your family this weekend.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I’m going to baptize Ernie Saturday.”
“That’s more important than being with us in Maine?”
“Tell your parents I’m sorry.”
“I can’t believe you’d back out of this trip just so you can baptize that clown Ernie.”
“He’s my brother.”
“Then you’re a loser too,” she snapped, slamming her locker and walking away.
“Pam?” he called, when she was no more than 20 feet away.
She turned around, tearful yet defiant.
“Nobody’s born a loser. We make the losers, you and me, by the way we treat them. We carefully mold them each day of their lives. But to the Savior, nobody’s a loser.”
She shook her head, turned away, and walked quickly down the long hall.
Jed watched her go and then slowly walked up the stairs for what became a long conversation with his chemistry teacher.

Illustration by Allen Garns
On a Saturday afternoon, I was getting ready to go to the beach with my family. They had traveled from Amazonas to La Guaira to spend a few days with me. The sun was bright, the ocean breezes were perfect, and I was happy to see my sisters’ excitement.
Once we were on the road, I remembered that I was in charge of cleaning the church building that day. I now had a choice to make: Should I fulfill my responsibility or continue to the beach with my family? I decided to talk to my mom and sisters about it. They had never been inside an LDS church and enthusiastically offered to help me clean, as long as we headed right to the beach when we finished.
When we entered the church, I explained what needed to be done and how to do it. What we thought would be a quick cleaning job ended up taking four hours because they were so interested! I showed my family each room, the paintings, and the baptismal font. An immense joy filled my heart. I couldn’t believe my family was helping me with something that meant so much to me. While we were there, my teenage sisters, Thalia and Gineska, learned some hymns and asked me questions about the Church.
On Sunday my family attended church for the first time. They were well received in the ward. The young women quickly welcomed my sisters. The sister missionaries met them and set an appointment to meet with them the next day. We held family home evening, and I taught them how to pray. We prayed together often. We also listened to hymns and watched Church videos.
Before my family returned home, I took my sisters to Caracas to see the temple and its grounds. I bore my testimony of temple blessings and encouraged them to find the Church when they returned to Amazonas.
When they left for home, I contacted the missionaries in their area. The missionaries and members of the ward council visited my family and helped them on their way to conversion. My sisters prayed often for our father to give them permission to be baptized.
With great gratitude and joy, I traveled to Amazonas to baptize Thalia and Gineska. The glow in their eyes reflected their hope and their gratitude to Heavenly Father for leading them to the gospel. Through fulfilling an assignment to clean the church, my family came closer together and was strengthened. I will never forget this experience and I know my sisters will not either.

2. The blind staggers. This is a dizziness experienced from jumping up off the couch too fast and jogging out the door when your mother says, “Jim, did you cut the lawn yet?” Cure—cut the lawn yet.

As I was being introduced as a speaker recently, the person conducting politely mentioned some of my more prominent past Church callings, such as bishop, mission president, and member of a stake presidency. This brother was being gracious, but the thought occurred to me, why not introduce me as a ward mission leader (my current calling) or by some of my less-public callings?
I can honestly say that I felt the same guiding spirit in each calling, and each has been rewarding. I have always sought the Lord’s guidance in my callings, and never have I felt let down. I have concluded that the Lord delights to bless us—regardless of where we serve.

One time some enemy officers were captured and brought before Garibaldi. He had been so feared by the opposing armies that the officers expected to face a cruel, harsh person. To their surprise, this great man shook their hands, told them they had fought bravely, and offered sympathy that they had been captured.

Some years ago when I was serving as a bishop, a family in our ward experienced a crisis when the father lost his job. I was concerned about their well-being, and I visited their home to counsel with them and to offer Church assistance. Interestingly, they were reluctant to respond to my offer of temporary assistance, and so I took the matter to the ward council. In a spirit of loving confidentiality, I shared with them my concern for this wonderful family and asked for their ideas as to how we could bless them.
Our Relief Society president volunteered to visit with the mother to ascertain their temporal needs and to work with them in obtaining any commodities they needed—which, of course, was her responsibility according to the program of the Church. Within a couple of days, she had accomplished what I had been unable to accomplish, and the family humbly and gratefully accepted commodity assistance. The elders quorum president counseled with the father of the family—which, of course, was his right and duty—and worked with him on ways to find a job. Our Young Men president noticed that the family’s house was in desperate need of painting, and he arranged for his priests to work with the high priests group to paint the house.
During the course of my conversation with the parents, I discovered that they were heavily in debt and were in arrears on their mortgage. Following approved welfare guidelines, I inquired about the ability of their extended family to help but received little information. Our Relief Society president, however, was able to learn that the mother had a brother who was wealthy.
“There’s no reason to contact him,” the mother said. “We haven’t even spoken in years.”
I understood her dilemma, and yet I felt it was important to follow the order of the Church. And so I counseled with her and eventually received her permission to contact her brother, who lived in a distant city. I called him and explained the difficult circumstances in which his younger sister was living. Within three days he arrived in Salt Lake City and helped get his sister’s financial affairs in order. Meanwhile, our elders quorum president helped her husband find a steady job with a good income.
More important, however, was that they were closer and more united as a family. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that tender moment of reunion between the mother and her brother after years of estrangement. Although her brother had become alienated from the Church, there was an immediate spirit-to-spirit bonding. As a result, the brother eventually returned to full activity in the Church and renewed his relationship with his family.
All of this happened because of the inspired work of a faithful ward council functioning according to the program that God has outlined for His children through His servants.

You probably wouldn’t expect to find a Nephite army in Riverton, Utah. But this choir, which is made up of youth from the Summerhill Stake, is as rough and ready as a military unit, and sounds a lot better.

More than 300 young people participated in a presentation of “From Cumorah’s Hill,” a musical presentation of selected portions of the Book of Mormon. Getting that many people coordinated to give a presentation is no easy task, but all the youth say the hard work was worth it.

“Working hard in preparation for the program helped me to understand the music and appreciate what it really meant,” says deacon Jacob Easton.

He has to lie down to relax because his neck brace makes it difficult to sit. That’s been part of his struggle, too—illness. A disease in the bones of his neck has hampered him with the brace for two years, and he’s also fought off pneumonia twice. He told about swimming in CIF finals after only one week of training and missing first place by a single stroke. “I swam better than I have all my life. I couldn’t have done it by myself. I needed the Lord to help me because I was three or four months out of shape.”

When I drove home that night, I asked myself, “What kind of father will Pablo be?” And the answer was crystal clear: he’ll be just like his dad. Jesus said, “The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do.” This is the pattern of how Heavenly Father blesses His children from generation to generation.

As I continued to think about my experience with Pablo, I felt sad because my four daughters were grown and the nine grandchildren I had at the time didn’t live nearby. I then thought, “How could I ever help them the way Pablo’s father helped him? Had too much time gone by?” As I offered a prayer in my heart, the Spirit whispered this profound truth: “It’s never too early and it’s never too late to begin this important process.” I knew immediately what that meant. I could hardly wait to get home. I asked my wife, Sharol, to call all of our children and tell them that we needed to visit with them; I had something really important to tell them. My urgency startled them a little.

We began with our oldest daughter and her husband. I said: “Your mother and I want you to know that we were your age once. We were 31, with a small family. We have an idea of what you might encounter. It might be a financial or health challenge. It may be a crisis of faith. You may just get overwhelmed with life. When these things happen, we want you to come and talk to us. We’ll help you get through them. Now, we don’t want to be in your business all the time, but we want you to know that we are always in your corner. And while we’re together, I want to tell you about an interview I just had with a young man named Pablo.”

After the story, I said, “We don’t want you to miss helping your children and our grandchildren understand these important truths.”

On Saturday, August 24, 2024, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in collaboration with the National Council of Religions for Peace and the Ministry of Gender, Family, and Children, accompanied several couples during the celebration of their civil marriages, which took place at the Palais du Peuple in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of Congo. The Palais du Peuple’s performance hall was prepared to host 100 couples, and 98 had their marriages celebrated in the presence of civil, political, and religious authorities. The event aimed to address the financial difficulties related to the conditions of access to marriage that couples face in the Democratic Republic of Congo.
In the DRC, it is customary for couples to first pay a dowry to the bride’s family and then a marriage application fee as part of the legal marriage procedure. The dowry is a requirement for the registration of the marriage in the civil registry, which makes it the only legally recognized marriage in the DRC. However, over the years, these fees have become increasingly high, creating significant obstacles for young couples who wish to marry. Recognizing this problem, the Ministry of Gender, Family, and Children has started working towards eliminating application fees and setting a rate for dowry. This initiative is part of a broader effort to make legal marriage more accessible and affordable for all couples.
The ceremony featured several speakers, each providing a unique perspective on the event.
Cheikh Abdallah Mangala Lwaba, the legal representative of the Islamic community of the DRC, spoke on behalf of the council, presenting the Islamic perspective on marriage. He emphasized the values shared by different religions and the symbolic significance of the dowry in Islam. He also highlighted the role of religious organizations in supporting and strengthening marriages and families.
Elder Thierry K. Mutombo, President of the Central Africa Area of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, addressed the audience, emphasizing the importance of marriage between a man and a woman and of the family within the community, especially its importance in God’s plan for the salvation of humanity: “Unfortunately, there are several practices that continue to be a major obstacle, hindering the key actors from achieving this objective. Some of these practices include the exaggerated rate of the dowry imposed on the future husband by the in-laws; the exaggerated list of goods in nature requested by the wife’s family; this dowry system impoverishes the youth, enriches the older generation, and worsens the social inequalities; the administrative costs and other gifts requested by the various state services before the celebration and registration of the marriage and the need to have wedding officiants assigned to remote areas and sectors.”
He also stated, “It is of the utmost importance that we—churches, the government, and parliament—promote the best conditions for access to marriage. This should consider the failures, nonfulfillment of commitments and promises made by future spouses, as well as any procrastination noted during marriage celebrations in the family and before the civil registry authority.”
Roger Sesani, an expert working on marriage projects, provided an overview of efforts made by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the National Council of Religions for Peace, and the government to obtain reforms of marriage laws and reduce financial obstacles for couples. He stated, “Marriage is the foundation of family life. Marriage is what creates a family. However, the state only recognizes marriages that are celebrated publicly and solemnly, or registered at the civil registry office, following a traditional family celebration.”
He also made the following recommendation that “the state efforts to promote family unity and stability should involve creating a legal framework and establishing civil registry offices to centralize the marriage registration system.”
Leonnie Kandolo, minister of Gender, Families, and Children, described the ministry’s vision and commitment to supporting and promoting marriages, families, and children in the DRC. She acknowledged that the variation in dowry amounts is set according to ethnic groups and traditions. “My priority will be to continue working to address the challenges of determining the amount of the dowry while respecting the customs of the different ethnic groups present in the country. Additionally, I aim to gradually eliminate certain administrative fees related to civil marriage. The Ministry of Gender, Family, and Children has a cross-cutting mission and is involved in all sectors of the country. I am committed to working diligently to uphold all laws regarding marriage, families, and children in Congo.”
After the speeches, the mayor of Matete’s commune attended a solemn celebration of 98 couples. The event was enriched by musical performances by a choir of Church members, creating a joyous and uplifting atmosphere for this memorable day. This wedding ceremony marks a significant advancement in promoting accessible and affordable marriage in the DRC. The event not only celebrated the unions of the couples but also signified a commitment to promoting strong, stable, and legally recognized marriages throughout the country.

I think of Royce Flandro and his wife, who after retirement served a mission in Spain, performing valuable service. Upon returning home, they missed that beautiful experience, so they came to the Missionary Department to ask where they could help the most. It was suggested to them that they might learn Hungarian, which they did. A few months later they were called to Hungary, once again serving with distinction. Now they are headed for Mongolia.

When Elder Dallin H. Oaks was a 12-year-old deacon, he went with his bishop to take Christmas baskets to the widows who lived in their ward. A widow is a woman whose husband has died. The backseat of the bishop’s car was filled with baskets of grapefruit and oranges. The bishop waited in the car while Dallin took a basket to each door. He would knock on the door and say, “The bishop asked me to give you this Christmas basket from the ward.”
When they had delivered all the baskets but one, the bishop stopped the car in front of Dallin’s house. He gave Dallin the last basket of fruit and said, “This is for your mother.”
After the bishop drove away, Dallin stood in front of his house wondering, snowflakes falling on his face. His father had died when Dallin was seven. But he had never thought of his mother as a widow. His mother had always taught her children that they had a father and that she had a husband and that they would always be a family because of their temple marriage.
Dallin knew that other boys and girls had dads who played with them and took them fishing. And it hurt sometimes that his dad wasn’t there. He knew he wouldn’t see his dad for a very long time. But he also knew that someday they would all be together again as an eternal family.

To attend Johns Hopkins University, the Renlunds moved to Baltimore, Maryland. In addition to being a busy doctor and a young husband and father, Dale was called to be the bishop of the Baltimore Ward.
A year after moving to Baltimore, the Renlunds faced a severe trial: Sister Renlund was diagnosed with cancer. She had to have two surgeries and nine months of chemotherapy. Struggling to take care of Ruth and their daughter, Elder Renlund recalled, “I was hurting, and it seemed as if my prayers wouldn’t go heavenward.”
One time when he brought Ruth home from the hospital, she was weak, but they wanted to pray together. He asked Sister Renlund if she would pray. “Her first words were, ‘Our Father in Heaven, we thank Thee for priesthood power that makes it so that no matter what happens, we can be together forever.’”
In that moment he felt a special closeness to his wife and to God. “What I’d previously understood about eternal families in my mind, I now understood in my heart,” he said. “Ruth’s illness changed the course of our lives.”

I have read the Liahona since I became a member of the Church when I was 14 years old. The magazine has truly changed my personal life and the lives of my family members.
I served a mission, and as soon as we baptized new members, I gave them a subscription to the magazine because I knew it would help them as it did me.
Yormys Gonzalez, Venezuela