Gospel Story Finder

Mindy pressed her nose against the frost-decorated window. “One, two, three,” she counted.
Mom stepped out of the den. “What are you doing, dear?”
“I’m counting the sparkly snowflakes. Four, five, six. … Mom, why is everything sparkly at Christmas?”
Mom sat beside her. “What do you see that is sparkly?”
“Snowflakes, angels, tree lights, wrapping paper, sugar cookies, …”
Mom took a tiny glass angel from the tree. “Some Christmas things have lights inside them, like the tree lights. But other things, like this angel, reflect the light—see? That’s what makes them sparkle.”
Mindy held the angel near the blinking lights. Star drops bounced around it. “That’s the sparkliest angel I have ever seen,” she whispered.
“Do you know where one of my sparkliest angels is?” Mother asked.
Mindy shook her head.
“Right here.” She hugged Mindy. “You are filled with more light than all these things.” She got up and hung the angel in its place on the tree. “Now, I have to get back to work. If you need me, just call.”
When Mom was gone, Mindy gazed at her reflection in the window. Am I really sparkly? she wondered. If I am, where is the light?
She nudged the angel. Its dress twinkled.
I wonder what light feels like. Mindy put her hands on her face. She knew she felt happy, but was happy the same as sparkly?
She touched the angel again. It danced. Mindy lifted her arms high above her head and danced too. When she stopped, her face felt warm and tingly. Her body felt strong. Is this what light feels like?
Suddenly something tugged her shirt. “Play?” asked two-year-old Kate.
“Not now. I’m busy. Why don’t you watch the tree?” Mindy suggested. “See the pretty lights?”
Kate’s lower lip curved toward her toes, and Mindy didn’t feel very happy anymore. “I’m sorry. Yes, I will play,” she said. Flashing her fingers open—shut—open—shut, she sang a sparkly Christmas song that Dad had taught her.
When she finished, Kate clapped her hands. “‘Gain!” she begged.
Mindy sang the song again and again and again.
Finally Kate jumped into her arms and gave her a big hug.
Mindy grinned. She felt happy, tingly-warm—and sparkly.

President David O. McKay and President Harold B. Lee used to relate an incident from the life of Bishop John Wells that is instructive to all of us. Bishop Wells was responsible for many Church reports and so had to devote a great deal of his time to details and statistics.
A son of Bishop and Sister Wells was killed in a railroad accident in Salt Lake canyon. He was run over by a freight train. Sister Wells could not be comforted at the loss. She felt no relief from her sorrow during the funeral and continued her mourning after her son’s burial. Bishop Wells was concerned for her health, as she was in a state of deep anguish.
One day, soon after the funeral, Sister Wells was lying on her bed in a state of mourning. The son appeared to her and said, “Mother, do not mourn, do not cry. I am all right.”
He then told her how the accident took place. Apparently there had been some question about how the accident had happened because the young man was an experienced railroad man. But he told his mother that it was clearly an accident.
Now note this: He also told her that as soon as he realized that he was beyond the mortal world, he had tried to reach his father but could not. His father was so busy with the details of his work that he could not respond to the promptings of the Spirit. Therefore, the son had come to his mother.
He then said, “Tell Father that all is well with me, and I want you not to mourn any more.” (See David O. McKay, Gospel Ideals, Salt Lake City: Improvement Era, 1953, pages 525–26.)
President McKay and President Lee used this experience to teach that we must always be responsive to the whisperings of the Spirit. These promptings most often come when we are not under the pressure of appointments and when we are not caught up in the worries of day-to-day life.

I'm sure we can all think of people that we know that have demonstrated these gifts. One person in particular that I remember was Judy White. I became acquainted with her while we lived in Arizona. Both of us were employees for the electric utilities that sponsored the Washington Youth Tour. She and others helped me to organize our annual trip to Washington, D.C. She lived in a small home in a very small rural town in Duncan, Arizona. Although she was older and never married, she had a remarkable influence in her community.
She was an avid fan of all the local high school sports teams. She attended almost every sporting event and provided encouragement to all of the students involved. Although she had no children of her own, she treated nearly every student at that small school as if he or she was her very own. She volunteered her time for many school and civic projects. She gave freely of her time with the students for many years and became their dear friend.
She served faithfully in the callings she was given in the Church. She gave her best efforts to her employer at the local electric utility. When she attended several of our meetings in her employment capacity, it was if a breeze of fresh air entered into the room. She was always genuine, happy, friendly and humorous with everyone who was there. I was amazed at how she remembered not only the names of the people in our group, but she remembered the names of each group member's family and even the names of their pets. I was astonished at times by the way she simply loved and really cared about other people. She was like a magnet that drew people in around her.
She was never afraid to express her opinions even when they differed from others. Many people admired and respected her for that.
It was a sad day, when we learned that Judy passed away of a sudden heart attack. I remember attending her funeral at the Duncan Stake Center. When I walked in I was stunned by the throngs of people that were there. Every seat was filled. The overflow area and the cultural hall were filled to capacity. Although she had few family members, I said to myself, "Look at the impact just one woman had on her community."
Regarding gifts given to people, the Lord said, "To some is given one, and to some is given another, that all may be profited thereby."[8] Here was a woman who was given a gift and many were certainly "profited thereby." There are many gifts and we are commanded to seek earnestly the best gifts, "always remembering for what they are given."[9] The variety of gifts bestowed upon us are essential for God to do his great work in bringing to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.

I prayed for two years for a baby sister. I was the only child in my family. One morning, Mom had to go to the hospital because of pains in her side. Later that day, when we went to pick her up, she handed us a picture. She was going to have a baby. I was so excited that I screamed with happiness. My daddy cried, and Mom hugged us.
My mom was sure that the baby would be a boy, but when she had another ultrasound, the lady at the hospital said, “It’s a girl.” My mom was shocked. I wasn’t. Heavenly Father told me through the Holy Ghost that I would have a sister. I love my sister.
I have a lot of faith. I know Heavenly Father hears my prayers.Mariah Hamilton, age 7Cross City, Florida

Ten-year-old David took a piece of bread from the sacrament tray and placed it in his mouth. He nudged the white-haired gentleman next to him and whispered, “Brother Graham, the bread is here.”
Brother Graham raised his head, opened his eyes, and smiled warmly at David as he took the sacrament. Then he passed the tray on, bowed his head, and closed his eyes again.
David tried to keep his mind on some of his favorite stories about Jesus as the bread and water were passed. But he couldn’t help wondering why Brother Graham always fell asleep during the sacrament, when he seemed wide awake during all the rest of the meeting. I guess being old is like that, he thought. You can fall asleep anywhere at anytime. That’s how Grandpa Owen is, but he’s a lot older than Brother Graham.
The last time he’d seen Grandpa Owen, he was sitting in a reclining chair with his feet propped up. Even though it was June, he’d had a fire in the wood stove and a blanket across his legs. While the family visited with each other, Grandpa dozed off. When he woke up, you could tell that he’d been sleeping because his eyes looked like he was trying to focus them.
When the water was passed, David decided to pay close attention to Brother Graham’s eyes when he opened them. They were clear and alert as he opened them to take the sacrament. And he smiled so warmly at David that he was sure that the older man hadn’t just woke up. Then what is he doing? David wondered.
When his family had moved to Smithfield the previous July, David had felt sad. Before, for years he had stopped by Grandpa’s every day after school. He’d spent a lot of his summers taking walks with Grandpa around the neighborhood, listening to him tell about how things were in the “olden days.”
When Grandpa couldn’t walk anymore, David had pushed his wheelchair. When even that became too tiring for Grandpa, David read to him. But since his Dad had been transferred and they’d had to move, David couldn’t do any of that anymore. He just swung idly in the hammock in the backyard.
“You look like a strong boy,” a deep voice had called out to him one afternoon through a knothole in the back fence. “Do you want a job mowing my lawn?”
“Who, me?” David sat up, startled. “Yes, I guess so.”
“Be at my front door in five minutes if you want the job.”
“Mom,” he yelled as he ran in the kitchen door, “I have a job!”
“Great! Doing what?”
“Mowing the lawn next door! But I have to be at his front door in five minutes if I want the job. Probably three minutes by now. Is it OK?”
“All right. But if you take the job, do the best work you can.”
David was out of breath when he rang the doorbell. “I’m Brother Graham,” the man who answered the door told him. “What’s your name, young fellow?”
“David Andersen,” he replied, taking the out-stretched hand.
“I’m glad to meet you, David. I’ve met your parents at church and have been meaning to get over to your house to meet you for several weeks now, but I’ve been in bed with a summer cold. Meanwhile my yard has grown shabby. I’m mighty glad to have someone take over the mowing for me. The pay’s modest, but I’ll try to be good company for you. Is five dollars enough?”
“That’s great!” David answered.
“Let’s go out back, and I’ll show you the shed where the lawn mower is so that you can get started.”
“Shall I start now?” David asked.
“Go ahead. I’ll sit over there on that bench under the tree and watch, if you don’t mind.”
David pulled out the mower, checked its fuel tank, and started it up. He mowed around the edge of the entire backyard. It made a neat rectangle. Then he moved the mower inside the first rectangle and made a smaller rectangle inside, making sure that the mower blade overlapped the first swath so that none of the grass would be missed. Just the way Grandpa Owen taught me, he thought.
“I can tell you’ve mowed lawns before,” Brother Graham praised him when he finished the backyard. “I think you’ll do just fine. When you finish the front yard, let me know and I’ll give you your pay.”
When David finished mowing, he surveyed his work. It looked great, except for the edges. He remembered what his mother had said: “If you take the job, do the best work you can.” When he took the mower back to the shed, he looked around for a trimmer. All he saw were hand clippers hanging on the wall. Thinking, It will go faster if I use our trimmer, he ran home and poked his head inside the kitchen door. “Mom, is it OK if I use our trimmer on Brother Graham’s yard? He doesn’t have one.”
“That’s fine,” she called from the laundry room.
He grabbed the trimmer and the long extension cord from its hook in the garage and headed back next door. Brother Graham was sitting under the tree, sipping lemonade. There was a second glassful on the table, and five silver dollars.
“I thought you’d be thirsty,” Brother Graham said, nodding towards the glass.
“I am,” David said. “But I want to trim the edges first. Do you have someplace where I can plug in this extension cord?”
“There’s an outlet next to the back door, and another one by the front door. I’ll go find another dollar for you. I didn’t realize I was going to get such fine service.”
David shook his head, “The trimming is on the house.”
After he finished the trimming, he and Brother Graham visited while they sipped their lemonade. Brother Graham reminded David of Grandpa Owen. David was happy when Brother Graham asked him to mow the lawn every Thursday—and to visit any time!
The next Sunday he invited Brother Graham to sit with his family. After that it became a tradition. Every week Brother Graham sat next to David, and every week, David had to nudge him before he took the sacrament bread and water.
It was Thursday, lawn-mowing day, before David next went to Brother Graham’s. His family had taken a few days to visit Grandpa Owen. When they’d arrived, he hadn’t recognized any of them. David thought, almost angrily, Why doesn’t Grandpa know me?
Brother Graham noticed David’s quiet mood when he came to collect his pay after mowing and trimming the lawn. Motioning for David to sit on the sofa, he handed the boy a cold glass of lemonade, then sat down himself.
Pictures of several families hung on the wall. On top of the piano was a picture of a young woman. It was an old-fashioned picture, so David guessed that it must be Sister Graham.
“That’s my wife, Martha,” Brother Graham said. Pointing to each of the family pictures, he named his children and grandchildren. “That’s my family, David. The older I get, the more I realize that all that matters in this life is a man’s family and the other people he grows to love—like his neighbors!” He winked at David.
David smiled.
“So there is a smile behind that sober face today, after all. Is something troubling you, Davy, my boy?”
Tears welled up unbidden in David’s eyes. “That’s what Grandpa Owen calls me. At least, that’s what he used to call me.” He told Brother Graham all about his grandpa and about how he didn’t even recognize David any more. “It just isn’t fair!”
Brother Graham sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. His lips were drawn tight. “I know what you mean, David,” he said after a few moments. Opening his eyes, he leaned toward David. “Martha didn’t know me, either, just before she died. It hurt a lot. Then one day I read a story in the New Testament that changed how I felt about it.
“You see, just after Jesus was crucified, two of His disciples were walking down a road, talking, and a stranger joined them. He asked them why they were so sad. They told him about Jesus and how He had been crucified. They told him how discouraged they were. They had believed that Jesus would free Israel from the Romans. They couldn’t believe that He had let Himself be crucified. They told the stranger that some of the women who were friends of Jesus had gone to His tomb and found it empty. They didn’t know what it meant.
“Then the stranger taught them from the scriptures why it was necessary for Jesus to suffer the things He had, and about the Resurrection.
“By then, they had reached their destination, and they asked the stranger to stay and eat with them. Then, when the stranger took bread and broke it and blessed it and gave it to them, they gasped in astonishment. The stranger was no stranger at all—it was Jesus! How could He have walked with them so long without their recognizing him? they asked each other. ‘Did not our heart burn within us … while he opened to us the scriptures?’*
“Then Martha’s not knowing me didn’t seem so hard. I just became even more thankful that because of our Savior and His Atonement and Resurrection, someday Martha and I will be together again. Her mind will be clear again, and just as the two disciples of Jesus Christ once again recognized, or “knew” Him, she will know me then—probably better than she ever did in this life. Your grandpa will know you, too, David. It will be one of the sweetest reunions in heaven, I’m sure.”
David wiped the tears from his eyes. He knew what the disciples meant when they said their hearts burned. “Thank you, Brother Graham. That helps me a lot.”
After a few minutes of silence David asked, “Brother Graham, may I ask you something?”
“Go ahead, David. Ask me anything.”
“It’s about church. Why do you always close your eyes while they pass the sacrament? At first I thought you were asleep. But I soon figured out that you weren’t.”
“I’m thinking about that story I told you, about the disciples of Jesus not knowing who He was. I try to remember what I’ve done during the week that would make it hard for me to recognize Him. Then I ask for forgiveness for the mistakes I’ve made and for help to do better in the coming week. I really want to know the Savior the first time I see Him face-to-face, David. I believe that He gave us the sacrament to help prepare us for that day.”
“That’s what I’ll think about, too, from now on—and that someday Grandpa Owen will know me again.”
Mr. Graham smiled. “I’m sure that he will.”

Let me tell you a story of a great missionary in our stake. Tyler is a young man attending high school. He loves to share the gospel and is bold in sharing his faith. He started talking to one of his teachers in school about baptism, and there was some interest in learning more. Tyler made a referral to the sister missionaries in his ward, who made a referral to the elders in my ward. The missionaries quickly discovered that this teacher is a neighbor to the stake president. The elders showed up to my home, and the pressure was on. I immediately took them across the street, through the pasture, and to the home of Dave, Bidya, and their two daughters. The invitation was made to come over and continue the discussion about baptism. The missionaries taught all of the discussions, and they were baptized just a few months ago. They are doing well in their early efforts to live the gospel. It’s always a joy to see God’s children accept and embrace the restored gospel.

“Shortly after we were married, we began looking for a church. We had promised each other we would have a Christian home. Our neighbors had a daughter who had just joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She asked us if we’d like to talk to the missionaries. As soon as they walked onto our porch, we knew these men were different. There was a spirit about them.”
Another homecoming, this one leading to serious study, fasting, prayer, and finally the realization that Heavenly Father was welcoming them into the only true church.
“All the pieces fit. Everything was right. And since then our love for God has grown, our faith has grown, and we’ve seen the truth in action in the lives of Latter-day Saints everywhere we’ve lived.”

The youth of the Phoenix 41st Ward, Phoenix North Stake, truly experienced the joy that can be received in giving service. A couple of days after Christmas, they went to Caborca, Mexico, to paint the public school and the bleachers at the baseball field and to take food and clothing to the bishop for distribution to the needy.
Early one morning, the youth loaded the trucks with the supplies that had been donated and purchased, and their personal baggage. The trip to Caborca from Phoenix is a five-hour drive.
The group was met by the youth and leaders of the branch and a large welcome sign at the church. They unloaded quickly and started to paint. The language barrier was broken bit by bit as the two groups worked together. That evening the branch hosted a dinner and dance. Then the youth were invited into the homes of the branch members for the evening.
At Sunday meetings, talks were given both in Spanish and in English, with translators assisting. The day ended with a testimony meeting, and many commented on the feeling of friendship that had developed.
After exchanging addresses, and with promises to keep in touch, the group said their good-byes and headed home, tired but with pleasant memories of a wonderful experience.

David’s father, Raymond, had taught him two important secrets to obtaining goals: give it your all and never quit. David was used to giving his all, so it was no surprise when he was back at school the Monday after he left the hospital.
“I was in a body cast and neck brace,” David says. “I had absolute faith I would get better but soon realized I was completely unlike the other 800 kids in my school. After that first hard week, though, I knew I could do anything I wanted; I just had to find a different way.”
A few months later his brother suggested David run for student body president. David again gave it his all, and he went from sports star to school leader. “That year was awesome,” he says. “It was the perfect preparation for my mission.”

Not all problems or unpleasant situations with nannies are the fault of the employers. Girls who do not treat their employment as a job or who do not live up to the moral and ethical codes that their employers expect are a cause of disappointment. One employer said that although she has had three nannies work for her, in only one case was it a good situation.
“When I talked to these nannies before I hired them, they were nice girls. They had good things going for them. But it doesn’t mean I can live with them or that they would be a good nanny. To have someone in your house is hard. There are too many things to measure to know if it would be a good situation.
“One nanny I had to fire genuinely liked kids. But she wasn’t ready to work. She didn’t see it as a job. She would sleep in until noon after being out the night before until two. She continued to do that even after we talked about it. She didn’t see clear responsibilities or put forth any worthwhile effort.”
This employer will not be hiring another nanny. She considers the one good experience her family had with a nanny as a fluke.

I recall sitting in this historical Tabernacle back on October 1948 when the semi-annual conference of the Church was in session. Elder Matthew Cowley of the Council of the Twelve was speaking. He related an incident that made a deep and lasting impression on me. While serving as president of the New Zealand Mission he visited a good Maori sister who sincerely believed and observed the principle of tithing. Brother Cowley told of this experience in these words:
“Now, on one occasion I called in as I always did when I visited that vicinity, to see this grand little woman, then in her eighties, and blind. She did not live in an organized branch, had no contact with the priesthood except as the missionaries visited there. We had no missionaries in those days. They were away at war.
“I went in and greeted her in the Maori fashion. She was out in the back yard by her little fire. I reached forth my hand to shake hands with her, and I was going to rub noses with her and she said: ‘Do not shake hands with me. …’
“I said: “Oh, that is clean dirt on your hands. I am willing to shake hands with you. I am glad to. I want to.
“She said: ‘Not yet.’ Then she got on her hands and knees and crawled over to her little house. At the corner of the house there was a spade. She lifted up that spade and crawled off in another direction, measuring the distance she went. She finally arrived at a spot and started digging down into the soil with that spade. It finally struck something hard. She took out the soil with her hands and lifted out a fruit jar. She opened that fruit jar and reached down in it, took something out and handed it to me, and it turned out to be New Zealand money. In American money it would have been equivalent to [about] one hundred dollars.
“She said: ‘There is my tithing. Now I can shake hands with the priesthood of God.’
“I said: ‘You do not owe that much tithing.’
“She said: ‘I know it. I do not owe it now, but I am paying some in advance, for I do not know when the priesthood of God will get around this way again.’”
Then after a brief pause and with considerable emotion Brother Cowley continued: “And then I leaned over and pressed my nose and forehead against hers, and the tears from my eyes ran down her cheeks. …” (CR, Oct. 1948, pp. 159–60.)

Imagine graduating from Young Women and a few months later being called as Relief Society president. Impossible, you say? Mallory Higginson and Macie Murphy could tell you otherwise.
Both 18-year-old freshmen at BYU–Idaho, Macie and Mallory are serving as presidents of the Relief Society groups in their student wards. They had hardly even attended Relief Society before they were each called to serve as president.
They smile confidently as they talk about their callings, but each admits being surprised and overwhelmed after her first meeting with the bishop. Neither of them had been attending Relief Society for very long before arriving at school. Now all of a sudden they were in charge. Despite their initial doubts and fears, Macie and Mallory have quickly come to see that they are not on their own. Their mothers, who have both served as Relief Society presidents, are only a phone call away with comfort and advice. Their bishop is also there to support them, and, of course, so is the Lord.
Although from very different parts of the country—Macie is from Columbus, Georgia, and Mallory is from Mesa, Arizona—they are both learning together that Relief Society is about women being united in the gospel.

The first day of my senior year, I felt lucky to discover that Alyce Pringle was in two of my classes. I say lucky because a class with Alyce meant a class with pizzazz. No one ever knew what to expect from her. Alyce was Hollenda High’s school clown, a true comedienne who, with the raise of an eyebrow, could create hysteria. The teachers, therefore, weren’t particularly wild about her, but we, her classmates, loved her.
It was Alyce who was chosen to play the part of the domineering mother in our school play Goodbye Birdie and who brought down the house just by walking out on the stage wearing a gray wig and big sloppy shoes. It was Alyce who ran for cheerleader in her dad’s old army uniform. It was Alyce who outwitted all the candidates for secretary of the school by using portions of all their speeches for her speech. “Did you hear what Alyce did (or said) today?” people would ask each other in the halls. No one asked which Alyce. Everyone knew it was the Alyce.
Why Alyce began picking on me, I’m not sure. Perhaps it was because I was shy and blushed easily. She always mentioned my blushing, which made me blush more. Maybe it was because I was too stoic and serious for my own good. “Here’s Bill,” she’d say, mimicking the way I pushed my glasses back, my nose in a book. Maybe it was because she had found out that I am a Mormon.
One day when Mr. Jackson asked me to work out a problem on the blackboard, I unthinkingly put the chalk in my mouth for a moment. Alyce noticed it right away. “Bill!” she said loudly. “What will people think!” I took the chalk out quickly and blushed as 25 students giggled. When I got back to my seat, I surprised Alyce by joking back. I faked a cough. Alyce liked that.
I didn’t really mind Alyce’s teasing. I’d never been in the limelight before, and it was fun and exciting. If Alyce had been malicious in her teasing, it might have been a different story, but she was never cruel. She never teased behind anyone’s back. Being teased by Alyce, I felt, was a compliment. Because we sat next to each other in one of our classes—algebra—we began talking once in a while before class. At first Alyce only joked, no matter what I said. But then in time she let her mask slip once in a while, and I saw that Alyce wasn’t all clown. I doubted that many people knew that. It was just when I thought Alyce and I might become fairly good friends, however, that I did something that almost ruined our friendship.
Mr. Thorndike had thrown a surprise Spanish vocabulary test at us. It had surprised even me. Usually I was one step ahead of Thorndike and anticipated his tests, but this time he had fooled me. I had only read over the words once and had worked on my physics project the night before instead.
After the test was over, I knew I’d flunked it royally. 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 haphazardly. I wondered self-consciously who would get mine and think I was a real dunce.
The next day after he had recorded the grades, Mr. Thorndike passed the tests back to us. “Congratulations, Bill. You got the only 100,” 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 what I should have known. Somehow Alyce had 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 an A, and the grades were already recorded in Mr. Thorndike’s roll book. Yet, I couldn’t tell on Alyce either.
“Thought you said you flunked it.” Ralph, my buddy, walked out of class with me. I still had the test paper in my hand, my fingers covering the 100 percent.
“Alyce has really done it,” 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 an A. I told you, I flunked it.”
“Sneak up and change the grade when Thorndike isn’t looking?”
“Sure.”
“Then just forget about it. You get Alyce in trouble and the whole school will be down on you.”
“But most people know what you and I stand for. 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 put the Church in a bad light.”
“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 make waves. I’ll just forget it. But by the end of the day, by algebra, I still hadn’t been able to forget it. I knew I’d have to talk to Alyce about it.
“Got a 100 on the Spanish test, huh?” Alyce said grinning. Her dark eyes crinkled mischievously. When she wasn’t pulling 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 an A on a test he didn’t even study for.”
“I’m not,” I said. “Alyce, you’ve put me in a spot. I’ve thought about it, and I can’t accept that A. Now what do I do?”
“Oh, brother! I should have known better. You’re such a bore, Bill, so predictable.” She tried to laugh it off. “Well, go ahead and tell. 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 of something. 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 deserved an F, not an A. 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. And, if he asked me if I knew who had done it, I’d just tell him outright that I didn’t want to get anyone in trouble. After algebra, I smiled at Alyce and touched her arm.
“Don’t worry,” I said.
After school I went right into Spanish 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 an F in its place.
“Next time maybe I’d better be prepared,” I said sheepishly.
“Yes,” he said.
I thought that was the end of it, but it wasn’t. The next day I could tell by the way Thorndike stood up that he was wearing war paint. I held my breath.
“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’d give her away. “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 thick inside. Then I surprised myself. “Look,” I spoke out. “I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble.”
“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.
“Me. 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 business. It’s thoroughly immature. Next year you’ll be going out into the world, and you are still acting like children. Alyce, you’ll see me after class. I’ll have to take measures. I’m sick of it, and I’ll have no more of it. Do I make myself clear?”
“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 lousy test. Such a stupid thing to make such a big deal about, to have been such a stickler over. 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, and she wouldn’t look at me. She had her head down, and her hair had draped down in front of her face. “Alyce,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d do that. It makes me sick. What did he say after class?”
“Oh, he said it would affect my citizenship 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 thought 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 figured that in time, maybe before the end of the school year, our friendship would be back to normal.

Elder Christofferson graduated from BYU with a bachelor’s degree in 1969 and then pursued a law degree at Duke University. Upon graduating in 1972, he was hired as a law clerk for Judge John J. Sirica, serving during the Watergate proceedings.
“It was an exciting experience for a first job out of school,” Elder Christofferson says. “I saw some of the best and some of the worst in the legal profession all mixed together. But that experience showed me what good legal work could do, and that gave me confidence and aspiration.”

Allison Bowman of Chandler, Arizona, explains her way of saying no. “I don’t preach; I just say no. You can’t be rude or they’ll think you’re stuck up. I just let them know what my standards are, and that’s the way I am. They can’t change me.

“When I moved to Arizona, there were some older guys in my debate class who wanted me to ditch class and go out to lunch with them. I told them, ‘No, I don’t do that.’

“They used to ask me to go on dates too. Every time they’d ask me, I’d tell them, ‘No, I can’t date until I’m 16.’ I must have explained it 100 times. But now they kind of look out for me. We’re all still good friends.”

One beautiful morning a salesman sold us a can of chemical cleaner to be used on stainless steel sinks, drinking fountains, and other types of metal. I decided to try it out on the brass light switch plates, which were covered with film and grime. After polishing a half dozen with good results, I went into the boys rest room where there was a larger plate with three switches on it. I wiped it off with the chemical, and was reaching for my damp sponge, when I heard a crackling sound. I turned to see flames shooting out of the plate clear to the ceiling! I raced down the hall shrieking. “Fire! Fire! I’ve set the church on fire!” Ace came bounding down the hall into the rest room. The fire was out and it was pitch dark. The switch box had completely burned out. I learned that chemicals and electricity don’t mix.

Moving was a challenge for Mary, too, but she met it with independence and tenacity. Once when they moved, “I took her to Germany, dropped her off in Frankfurt with the two boys, and then I had to fly on to Berlin for a temporary assignment,” says Elder Hales. “Mary got the boys into school, learned to find her way around the busy autobahn, and eventually learned to speak German. This was typical. She has always made it work.”

“Matthew, Brother Erickson is here!” These were the words I had been dreading to hear all day. It was the type of situation you knew you would have to face eventually but hoped desperately would always be one more day away. But this was the day.
Earlier that morning, just before opening exercises for priesthood, 80-year-old Brother Erickson had caught me. “You have been called as my home teaching companion. Would it be all right if we visited one of our families later today?”
I was shocked. All my friends had been assigned to be their dads’ companions. At least when they made a fool of themselves it would be in front of a family member, not someone who has had eight decades to get to know everything about the gospel. I muttered to him that it would be fine.
He replied, “We will be going to the Wiseman family. You are going to love it!”
I was convinced this was a rather large lie.
The Wiseman family truly lived up to their name. Like Brother Erickson, they were older and wiser members of the ward. They had known apostles and even prophets and had a reputation for having a great understanding of the gospel. If that weren’t enough, there were two of them; what one didn’t know, I was sure the other one would. So I trudged out the door and into the car where Brother Erickson waited, smiling.
We talked a bit about school and my family on the way to the Wisemans. I think Brother Erickson sensed I was nervous. We finally arrived at the door, and I forced a smile. When I entered the home, warm smiles and hearty handshakes greeted me. The Wisemans were as amazing as I had thought, only they were so much cooler than I imagined they would be.
“Will you be starting school soon, Matt?” Sister Wiseman asked.
“I will be in ninth grade in August,” I responded quickly, not knowing how Sister Wiseman would react.
“That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed, and she actually meant it.
“What things do you like to do in school?” she said, diving in for more.
“Well, I’m in the choir,” I said a little less timidly.
“I used to love to sing too,” Sister Wiseman said, and the conversation continued more fluidly from there as my nervousness slowly eased away.
We continued talking about school, skiing, television, and everything else imaginable. I was amazed that I actually had things in common with these people! And more than that, they seemed to enjoy talking to me. To my great surprise I found that when the lesson was over and the closing prayer said, I didn’t want to leave. My fear of home teaching turned into a fear of the clock telling us it was time to go.
As I continued as a home teacher I grew to love my companion, Brother Erickson, and the Wiseman family more than I thought I ever could. They taught me much and allowed me to teach them as well. I never knew I had so much in common with other members of the Church, regardless of age, background, or education.
I know that even though the home teaching program is meant to bless the lives of the families taught, it also has a great impact on the home teachers. To this day I still consider Brother Erickson and the Wisemans as three of my best friends.

As a boy, I well remember Sunday School on Mother’s Day. We would hand to each mother present a small potted plant and sit in silent reverie as Melvin Watson, a blind member, would stand by the piano and sing, “That Wonderful Mother of Mine.” This was the first time I saw a blind man cry. Even today, in memory, I can see the moist tears move from those sightless eyes, then form tiny rivulets and course down his cheeks, falling finally upon the lapel of the suit he had never seen. In boyhood puzzlement I wondered why all of the grown men were silent, why so many handkerchiefs came forth. Now I know. You see, mother was remembered. Each boy, every girl, all fathers and husbands seemed to make a silent pledge: “I will remember that wonderful mother of mine.”

I think of the woman I met in the Dominican Republic right after Christmas in 1983. Some missionaries and I were sitting in her San Francisco home as she told us of the dramatic changes Church membership had brought into her life. I was impressed with her courage in blazing trails through habits and traditions she felt needed to be changed. My faith was strengthened as this great pioneer soul spoke of her deepest feelings about Jesus Christ and her joy in discovering the gospel.

I cried as I had to leave. We had been together for only a short while, yet I felt as if I had known her forever. As my companions and I walked down the street, I kept looking back to wave. She was still waving back as we turned a corner and lost sight of her radiant face.