Gospel Story Finder

I was only three when my parents got divorced, but I could still remember the guilt I felt when mom told me my father wasn’t going to live with us anymore. I thought it was my fault. I thought I’d done something wrong. For months I tried to be as perfect as I could, hoping that if I was a good girl he would come back, but he never did.
Then mom met Edward. I liked him immediately. He smiled a lot and brought me candy and tickled me to make me giggle. When he asked mom to marry him, I was happier than I had been for a long time. I even started calling him dad, a name I had stopped using for my real father long before. Edward wanted to adopt me and have me sealed to him and mom. I loved the idea. Then I overheard mom talking to Edward.
"It was my mistake," she said. "I should’ve talked to John before I said anything to Cathy. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her, but John simply refuses to let his daughter be adopted by another man."
I cried myself to sleep that night.
After that, I still called Edward dad. I waited outside the temple while he and mom were married. Edward baptized me and took me to all my daddy-daughter parties and treated me just as if I were really his own daughter. And when he and mom had children of their own, I was excited to finally have brothers and sisters. But every once in awhile, I would look at them and realize that they were a family—all of them sealed to each other. I wasn’t sealed to anyone, and it was all my father’s fault.

When I was a newly called counselor in our stake presidency, one of my assignments were the youth. One of the first major activities I helped organize and execute was the Stake Youth Camp. It was held in a campground in Mt. Makiling Los Baños, Laguna in October 2012.
At that time, I have only been a member of the Church for 4 years. Prior to the activity, I never had any experience in camping much more lead a 3-day youth camping activity. On day 1, we were welcomed by unexpected heavy rains.
I was the only member of the stake presidency present that morning. All youth were drenched in rain while setting up their tents. Their lips were purple from the cold when we started our opening exercise. The bishops and youth leaders approached me and with a deep sense of concern for the welfare of the youth asked me what we were to do. I did not have an answer.
I tried my best to call the other members of the stake presidency to counsel with them, but the spotty signal and the heavy rains made it difficult for me to reach them. I was afraid of being judged as an inconsiderate church leader.
I felt the need to seek guidance from the Lord Jesus Christ through prayer. As I was walking around and thinking of possible solutions, I turned my thoughts to Him and asked for guidance and inspiration. I also pleaded for strength for myself and for all the participants of the Youth Camp so we won’t get sick from the rain.
I was impressed to seek the assistance of the campground officer. He said he completely understood our situation and he would allow us to transfer to a covered hall with minimal additional charges. It was an answered prayer.
But challenges were not yet over. All day one plans were scrapped. The entire day was spent moving all of our camping gear from under the rain into the hall. We tried our best to dry all the wet items.
Now, the next question was what were we going to do the following day if the rain did not stop? That evening, all members of the stake presidency were already there. Our stake president decided that if the rain continues, we will cancel the camp and just go back to our homes.
Despite all the difficulty in day one, which we consider as character building experiences, most of the young men and young women still had a lot of fun and wanted to continue the camp. This desire prompted them to kneel down in groups and pray for better weather the following day.
Next day, everyone rose to a very beautiful sunny morning in Mt. Makiling. We were astonished by the power of faithful prayer. We were excited to continue with the activities!
The day two activity for young men was river trekking. They were asked to wear white shirts and neckerchiefs. Since there was a very recent downpour, the river was filled with ankle to knee-high deep water. Young Men leaders were situated in front, in the middle, and at the back of the pack. We were having a great time appreciating the Lord’s creation in the company of fellow priesthood holders.
We began feeling the heat of the sun as proceeded with the trek. Most young men took their neckerchiefs off. Many of them dropped their neckerchiefs just about anywhere. I was prompted to pick up every neckerchief I saw along the riverbank.
After about two hours of trekking, our stake president instructed the leaders in front to start our way out of the riverbanks. Thirty minutes have passed, and we still could not find a safe exit.
Finally, the leaders found an opening, but the climb was quite steep. We tried the suggested route but found out that it was too slippery and that it was almost impossible for us to climb up and out of the riverbank. We figured we needed to hold on to something to pull ourselves up the hill and out. Going back or finding another route was too tedious and was going to take longer. We each said a prayer in our hearts for a miracle to happen.
I was reminded of the neckerchiefs I collected. We tied each end together until we were able to create a strong enough rope where the young men could hold on to and pull themselves out. With everyone helping each other, we were all able to get out safely. That was the miracle of the neckerchief!

My brethren and sisters, last Sunday as I sat in my study thinking of what I might say on this occasion, I received a phone call telling me that Staff Sergeant James W. Cawley of the U.S. Marines had been killed somewhere in Iraq. He was 41 years of age, leaving behind a wife and two small children.
Twenty years ago Elder Cawley was a missionary of the Church in Japan. Like so many others, he had grown up in the Church, had played as a schoolboy, had passed the sacrament as a deacon, and had been found worthy to serve a mission, to teach the gospel of peace to the people of Japan. He returned home, served in the Marines, married, became a policeman, and was then recalled to active military duty, to which he responded without hesitation.
His life, his mission, his military service, his death seem to represent the contradictions of the peace of the gospel and the tides of war.
And so I venture to say something about the war and the gospel we teach.

Recently, two Latter-day Saint boys were walking along a street in a city they were visiting.
“Hey, Brother Schmidt,” called out one of the boys to a man who was coming down the sidewalk toward them. “What are you doing here?”
With obvious pleasure the two greeted each other. The other boy was introduced but wasn’t too much a part of their conversation. As he watched, it was obvious that these two persons really cared for each other. After a few minutes and a warm good-bye, the man went on his way.
The other boy asked, “Is he your bishop?”
“No,” said the first boy. “He’s my home teacher.”
Well, what about you and your home teacher? Do you really know each other? Do you know him? And if you don’t, whose fault is it—yours? his? both?
We all know that some people—and some home teachers—have a manner that lets people know that they really care. Other kinds of home teachers care but don’t show it so obviously. And still others care but don’t dare to let it show at all.
Now then, what about your side of the coin? All of us know down deep that unless we are willing, we can keep anyone from becoming our friend, from helping us.
Sadly, some youths refuse a home teacher entry into their lives by the subtle messages that they send saying “Stay out.”
You send that kind of message if you display no enthusiasm regarding your home teachers’ visits.
You send that kind of message if you see your home teachers at church or elsewhere and make no special effort to shake their hands.
You send that kind of message if you don’t ask their counsel on matters with which they could help—perhaps a church talk or an issue or problem that concerns you.
You send that kind of message if you don’t call upon them when a priesthood administration is needed and when assistance outside the family is needed.
You send that kind of message by doing or not doing many things that only you know about.
Unfortunately, people who leave home teachers out of their lives are ignoring one of the most important links in Church government. Your home teachers are the Lord’s agents to you—they represent the bishop as well as the Church.
Home teachers are called and set apart to bless and help members of the Church, and because of that, the Lord will cause them to be able to help. That’s the key point. You may not think that they can help, but if you’ll give them a chance, if you’ll let them come into your lives, you will not only be strengthening your own personal links with Church government, but you will also be strengthening your home teachers. And don’t you have a responsibility to do that?
If you don’t know who your home teachers are, ask your bishop or branch president immediately. Then put their names, addresses, and telephone numbers on your bulletin board and in your purse or wallet.
If you will let them, these two persons can bless your lives more than you’ve ever realized, and you will gain two real friends. And I have never met anyone who didn’t need two more real, genuine friends.

As the youth learned, family history is a lot more than just looking at pedigree charts. They found out that part of genealogy is keeping journals and working on personal histories. Mandy Smith, of the Cumberland Gap Branch, is just 15, but she was the expert invited to speak about keeping scrapbooks for a personal history. As she puts clippings, certificates, and snapshots in her book, she also writes captions under each item, explaining a little about what she was feeling. Mandy pointed out, “Personal history is not just for your children someday. It can also be good for you. Lots of times when I’m feeling down or in a bad mood, I look back at the good times I have had. It helps me remember the things that are important to me.”

During his late teen years, Noel developed an addiction to alcohol. He eventually met and married my mother, Delbi, and they had four children. Through the years, his alcoholism took a toll on their marriage and after moving to San Francisco, California, USA, in their 50s, they separated. Unfortunately, he died by suicide a few years later.

My mother and I became members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints a few years before my father passed away. Some years after his death, all the vicarious temple ordinances were performed in his behalf, except for one: the sealing ordinance. At the time, I did not dare ask my mother if she wanted to be sealed to him, because I knew how strained their relationship had been.

My parents, Noel and Delbi Blanco
Then a miracle happened. My mother had a dream in which she saw her husband, Noel, outside the kitchen door in their home in Managua, extending his hand to her and inviting her to come with him. She woke up with a sweet feeling in her heart. Not too long after that, she called me one day and calmly said, “I am going to be sealed to your father this Saturday. You can come if you want.”

I replied excitedly, “Of course, I want to be there!” After our phone conversation ended, I joyfully realized that I could also be sealed to them.

On a glorious Saturday morning, my mother, my husband, and I knelt at a sacred temple altar and performed the living and vicarious sealing ordinances that gave my parents and me the opportunity to be together forever. My son was also there as proxy for my brother, who had passed away years before. At that holy moment, all the pains and sorrows were forgotten. We all felt the soothing and healing balm that our Savior, Jesus Christ, offers us through His Atonement, on both sides of the veil.

When I was in the National Football League, I looked up to Gifford Nielsen, who had also played for BYU before going on to the NFL, eventually becoming a sportscaster and later a General Authority Seventy. I ran into him one day on a golf course, and he gave me advice that changed the course of my professional career.
We were sitting in a golf cart, just me and him, and after I told him about my plan to go into television like he had after I finished playing football, he gave me advice to not continue pursuing a career that would require me to be at the games on Sundays. That way, I’d always be able to have a calling on Sundays and serve in the Church.
It was that simple, but it was advice that I hadn’t thought about. And that changed the course of my life.

Some time ago I had the difficult responsibility of informing a young missionary that his father had been killed in a tragic accident that morning. He was shocked, his chin quivered, and tears welled up in his eyes. Then I observed some of the miracle that comes from personal testimony and the cultivation of spirituality. He slowly lifted his head and an expression of quiet resolve came over him. He agreed to call his mother, but there was never even a hint that he would leave his mission. He said he knew that he was where his father and his Father in Heaven wanted him to be and he was going to stay. He exhibited an attitude of peace and courage I’ve seldom seen. He is an example of a strong, committed, well-prepared young man that any father would be proud to have as a son.
Fortunately, into his life along the way had come personal revelation that the gospel is true, that Jesus is the Christ, that there literally is a resurrection. All of these truths helped strengthen him in this time of crisis.

Tara had special feelings about adoption. She had known since she was very young that she was adopted.

She never got tired of hearing the story of how she had come to her family. Her parents had volunteered to become foster parents through the county’s social services department. Tara’s birth parents hadn’t been able to take care of her, and she had been placed in foster care.

Her parents explained how police officers had brought Tara to them. Mom told her that she had been dressed in a diaper and a T-shirt and had been wrapped in a pink blanket. Tara now kept the blanket in a chest along with other special things.

“As soon as I held you in my arms, I knew that you were going to be an important part of our family,” her mother said when she told the story.

Eight years ago, when Tara was three years old, her parents had adopted her. Her whole family had gone to the Denver Colorado Temple for the sealing. The story always made Tara feel good.

Besides seeing his family sealed together, Michael has another hope—of becoming a champion wrestler. He’s been undefeated for three years in his weight and age division in the South New Jersey Wrestling Association. But sometimes he has to make tough choices between two things he loves—wrestling and the Church.
A few years ago, a very important tournament was coming up. Michael’s parents thought that the tournament was on a Saturday, and he signed up to go. When they found out it was on a Sunday, his father asked him if he still wanted to be in the tournament. Although he knew that his team was counting on him to score some team points for it, he said, “Well then, I can’t go.” He explained, “It’s hard not to go to Sunday tournaments, but I don’t, because it’s against a commandment. And I’ve had a lot of blessings.” Since making that decision the first time, not competing on Sundays has been easier. And his decision has showed others that he lives what he believes.

His father took a deep breath and began to speak: “I knew a boy once who stood up a girl. He was a senior, like you. She was a junior. It was a hayride for a girls’ glee club. She asked him to go, and he accepted—reluctantly.
“First of all he felt quite superior to the girl. He was an athlete and rather popular. She was shy and a little homely. Her complexion wasn’t good. She wore braces and glasses. For two weeks he thought of how he might get out of his commitment. Well, the night of the hayride he had a bit of a cold. Nothing serious. He had gone to school, but he rationalized that he was too sick to go on a hayride.
“Half an hour before the date he called her and cancelled. He tried to sound sick, but she wasn’t fooled, even though she did accept his excuse graciously. He went to bed to at least give his excuse a semblance of truth. But he didn’t sleep. He had lied, and he knew it; he knew that there were some girls who could have asked him and he would have made the date regardless.
“At 11 o’clock that evening he got out of bed and went over and apologized to her. I know for a fact that it was the most difficult thing he had ever done up to that point. I also know for a fact that he never regretted doing it.”
They were both pensively silent for several minutes, each content to be alone with his own thoughts. Finally his father sighed. “You know that boy I told you about earlier?” he asked. Trevor nodded. “Well, he forgot about that girl—for a little while anyway.” He smiled. “After his mission and two years of college, he saw her again. She had changed.” He chuckled, leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling. “She had shed her braces and glasses, and her complexion had improved. She wasn’t the same girl. In fact, he didn’t even recognize her at first. He wanted to ask her out, but he didn’t dare. He was afraid she would remember. She was in demand then. Finally he built up his courage and asked her out, hoping all along that she wouldn’t remember that night five years earlier. She did though, but she accepted anyway. She told him later—after they were engaged to be married—that it was because he had gone to her home that evening and apologized that she accepted his date later. She said she knew how much courage it must have taken and she always respected him for that.”
Trevor smiled and glanced slyly at his father. “I think I know that boy.”
“Which boy?” his father asked with mock surprise.
“The boy you’re talking about.”
His father smiled, pushed himself to his feet, stepped up to his son, and put his arm over his shoulders. “Yes,” he said with a smile, “I think you do know him. I believe he married your mother.”

The next week they had a zone conference. They met in a ward meetinghouse 40 miles away. President Snowden was there and interviewed each missionary.

Scott was one of the first to be interviewed. President Snowden was intensely interested in the work being done in the new area.

Before Scott left after the interview, he asked if he could talk to President Snowden about something that was bothering him.

“President, what do you say to someone who asks if you know Jesus Christ?”

“I guess I’d need to know the circumstance.”

Scott described the incident.

“Why does the question still haunt me?” Scott asked.

“Is it such a difficult question? Since you were a child, you’ve been taking the sacrament, promising to always remember the Savior.”

“I felt such an emptiness when that man kept hammering away with that one question. Why?”

“You have a notebook with goals written in it, don’t you? Do you have any goals that relate to the Savior?”

“In a way, they all do.”

“Let me see if I can explain. The Savior once asked the question, ‘What manner of men ought ye to be?’ Do you remember the Savior’s answer?”

“He said that we should be like him.”

“That’s right. Do you have any goals to become more like the Savior?”

“No, sir.”

“What if you tried to radiate love for others the way Jesus did? What if you tried to carry out your priesthood assignments the way the Savior would? Do you think it would make a difference in your life?”

“I’ll never be like him.”

“Wouldn’t it make a difference if you tried?”

President Snowden came around the desk and put his arm on Scott’s shoulder. “We have mission rules. We have commandments to obey. We have counsel from our leaders to follow. But the final requirement is to learn to follow the Master. Can you put a goal like that in your little notebook?”

They had lunch in the cultural hall after the morning meeting. As he sat down at a table, Scott’s companion called over to him, “Hello, oh hairless one!”
The elders within hearing range smirked.

“My companion is the only one in the mission who takes 30 minutes to wash his face. It’s because it goes clear to the back of his neck.”
More laughter.
Scott ate quickly and left. He found the chapel open and vacant, so he sat down and began reading the scriptures.

“Looks like you’re busy as usual.” Scott looked up to see the wife of his mission president. “Are you all right?” she asked with kindness.

“Do you know any way to make hair grow back?” he asked her.

“The elders can be cruel, can’t they?”

He felt the pent up frustration pouring forth as he talked to her about his problems.
She listened to him attentively, and just talking about it made him feel better.
Missionaries began to file into the chapel for the meeting. Before she left to go up on the stand, she showed him a book she was reading. “It’s by Brother Stephen Covey. Look at his picture on the inside cover. You can see he’s bald, but do you see any fear or shame on his face?”

“No,” Scott said, looking at the picture.

“He’s a very positive man and, I think, handsome too. You know, Elder, you really have a nicely shaped head.”

“I do?” Scott said.

“Sure you do. It’d be a shame to hide that with hair.”
The next morning Scott cut his hair very short.

“What have you done?” his companion gasped as he came out of the bathroom.

“I’ve decided to quit hiding my good looking head.”
Before he knew it, there were only six months left of his mission. Scott felt that there still was so much to learn. For the first time in his life, the scriptures seemed to come alive for him. He cherished reading the New Testament.
He was beginning to feel a closeness to the Savior.
Now, as they traveled in the car, Scott avoided the usual light conversation and instead talked enthusiastically about Jesus.

“You know,” he said one morning as they drove to their tracting area, “I think the Apostles were probably always trying to keep the Savior on a schedule. I think they had so many miles to travel to get to a place to stay, and they didn’t want to travel at night. But there were so many interruptions.
“One time Jesus and the Apostles were going to Jericho. There was a blind man sitting along the road, maybe begging. He heard the sound of the crowd coming. Someone told him that Jesus was coming. He began shouting for Jesus. The people told him to shut up, but he yelled even louder. I think the people traveling with the Savior were really mad because they wanted to make good time. If it had happened in modern times, they’d all have been looking at their watches. They were behind schedule.
“But the Savior stopped. He asked them to bring the man to him. They did. He asked the man what he wanted. The man said that he wanted to be able to see. Jesus looked with compassion on the man and healed him.”
Scott drove in silence for several blocks. “That man was probably considered by many to be the scum of the earth. Jesus could have walked away from him—like I walked away from a man once—but he loved others so deeply.”
Four weeks later they baptized a family of four. Then the brother of the wife of the first family joined. Then his wife. Then his parents. Soon they had ten members meeting in a home for a sacrament meeting.
Then it was time for another zone conference. It was a rainy April day as they got on the interstate to travel to the conference.
Scott was driving. As he rounded a curve, he saw a car pulled over to the side of the road. A young mother wrestled with a tire jack while two small children peered out the back of the station wagon at their dripping mother.
Scott slowed down.
“We’ll be late if we stop,” his companion warned.
“I know.”
“If we help, we’ll get wet.”
“I know,” he said, pulling off the road.
“Then why are you stopping?”
“She needs some help.”
“Maybe it’s a trap. How do you know there’s not a couple of guys hiding, ready to take our money?”
“We don’t have any money,” Scott smiled.
Scott stepped outside into the pouring rain. “Can I help?”
“I can’t figure out how to work the jack.”
“Why don’t you get out of the rain? No use both of us getting wet.”
He worked quickly changing the tire. As he worked, he realized that he was singing. He looked up once and saw the faces of the two children pressed against the back window of the station wagon. He winked at them and made a silly face. They both giggled.
When he was finished, he opened the back door of the station wagon and put the flat tire and jack in the back.
The woman got out to thank him. “Can I pay you something?”
“No, but there is something you can do,” he said, running back to his car. He picked up a copy of the Book of Mormon and ran it back to her.
“Read this,” he said, thrusting it into her hand.
Then he turned and ran back to the car.
He had never felt so happy in his life.
“You look like a drowned rat,” his companion complained as they continued down the road.
“At least my hair isn’t wet,” he answered, smiling.
“I suppose you know that we’re going to be late for the meeting.”
“I’m sorry for making you late. It couldn’t be helped.”
“Yes it could. You could’ve passed her by. Someone else would have come along.”
“Will that lady ever have a better reason for reading the Book of Mormon?” Scott asked with a wide grin.
“She doesn’t even live in our area. Even if she’s baptized, someone else will get the credit.”
Scott found himself humming.
“Why are you so happy?”
“Because I’ve just done something that the Savior would have done.”
They arrived a few minutes late. Scott’s suit was soaked. Sister Snowden saw them come in and hurried over to Scott. She wouldn’t let him stay in wet clothes. She talked to the custodian, who found an extra pair of coveralls for Scott to wear while his suit dried. Scott sat in the back of the chapel and listened to the conference.
President Snowden interviewed Scott while he was still in the borrowed coveralls.
“How’s my goal setter?”
“President, I’ve changed some of my goals. I’ve replaced some of them for one goal—to try to become more like the Savior.”
“That’s a lifelong goal,” President Snowden said.
Scott agreed. “President, I’ve found out that it’s true what you said. It’s not where we serve; it’s how we serve.”
A few minutes later, President Snowden asked, “How would you feel about serving as a zone leader for the remainder of your mission?”
“I don’t need it anymore. I’m content where I am, in our little branch.”
“It is the will of the Lord that you labor as a zone leader.”
“I’ll serve wherever he wants me.”
A few more baptisms, a few more meetings, a few more washings of the same eight white shirts and it was over.
He walked back into the mission home for his last night before flying home. President Snowden had it arranged so that the missionaries going home and the missionaries just coming into the mission field could have a testimony meeting together the night before they went their separate ways.
“I guess this has been the happiest 18 months of your life. Right?” one of the new elders asked him after the testimony meeting.
“What?” Scott asked, coming out of his deep thoughts.
“The happiest 18 months of your life—that’s what all the elders say in our ward when they return.”
“Happy?” Scott said. “Yes, I guess it has been happy.”
“You’ve lost all your hair, haven’t you? How are you going to find anyone to marry?”
“I’ll set a goal, Elder,” Scott said with a smile.
“They tell me you were a zone leader. How long did it take you to be a zone leader?”
“Why do you want to know?” Scott asked.
“Oh, nothing.”
“I hope you’re not planning on that as some kind of a goal.”
“I want to succeed on my mission,” the elder said with determination.
“Look,” Scott said firmly, “let me sum up 18 months of my life. Jesus Christ stands at the head of this church. We are commissioned by the Savior to teach the gospel. He loves the people in this mission. You must focus your entire energy on serving Jesus by loving and serving the people.”
“I know that already,” the new elder said confidently.
“Don’t worry about artificial goals—like being a zone leader. That kind of a goal has no place in this work.”
“Sure, you can say that,” the new elder said. “You are a zone leader. How long did it take you?”
Scott shook his head in frustration. “Elder, you’re going to learn a great deal out here.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve pretty much got the discussions learned already.”
Scott reached out and shook the elder’s hand. “I wasn’t talking about the discussions.”
“You never told me how long it took you before you became a zone leader,” the new elder called after Scott as he ascended the stairs to his room.
Before he went to bed, Scott read 1 Corinthians 13 [1 Cor. 13] and Moroni 7 [Moro. 7].

Lorenzo Snow was one of the few early Church leaders who had an opportunity for formal college training. Young Lorenzo attended Oberlin College, a Presbyterian college with a national reputation for its progressiveness. It was one of the first American colleges to admit young women equally with young men. In 1830, a group of prominent young men who had banded together to oppose slavery moved as a group to Oberlin. In 1836, they persuaded Charles Finney, a prominent minister, to come to Oberlin as professor of theology. All of this happened about the time Lorenzo Snow attended school there.
Lorenzo went to Oberlin, “full of worldly aspirations, with bright prospects and means to gratify my ambition in acquiring a liberal college education.” Coming from a wealthy family, he had many friends and relatives who watched eagerly for him to achieve high honors in life. One of his acquaintances, William McKinley, later became president of the United States. Lorenzo was expected, as were all respectable young men of his day, to develop a certain degree of piety and concern for religious matters. Yet, as he observed happenings around the campus, he wrote to his sister, Eliza, “If there is nothing better than is to be found here at Oberlin College, goodbye to all religion.”
Eliza, always close to her brother, had worried about him because of his interest in military affairs. Born in 1814, at the end of America’s “second war of independence” and during the Napoleonic era, Lorenzo had been attracted by the glamour of a soldier’s life. Eliza had always worried that her brother’s life would be cut short on some foreign battlefield. Her mind, however, had been turned to religious matters. She, along with her mother and sister, had joined the Church and moved to Kirtland, Ohio, while Lorenzo was at Oberlin. Sensing that he, too, might find satisfaction in the gospel, Eliza watched for an opportunity to bring Lorenzo to Kirtland, where he might come to know the Prophet Joseph Smith and be influenced by him.
Lorenzo had met Joseph Smith briefly in 1831 in Hiram, Ohio, and felt that the Prophet was “honest and sincere.” At that time, he said, “A light arose in my understanding which has never been extinguished.” Later, while studying at Oberlin, Lorenzo met David W. Patten, an Apostle, and discussed the gospel further with him. As a result, he began to argue in defense of the Church—and fell out of favor with students and professors at the college.
In the early days of American education, every respectable scholar was required to learn Hebrew and Greek. In 1836, Joseph Smith and other Church leaders in Kirtland, Ohio, had organized the School of the Prophets and had employed a Hebrew scholar, Dr. Joshua Seixas, to teach there. Lorenzo had just completed his study of classical languages at Oberlin but had not as yet mastered Hebrew; so Eliza invited her younger brother to come to Kirtland and study Hebrew. He accepted. Lorenzo probably never dreamed what a change would be effected in his life by his journey to Kirtland.
In Kirtland, Lorenzo was deeply impressed by Joseph Smith, Sr., the Patriarch of the Church and father of the Prophet. Still wrestling with his pride and worldly ambitions, Lorenzo found himself caught in a spiritual struggle. He listened to the Prophet as he spoke on occasion, “filled with the Holy Ghost, speaking as with the voice of an archangel and filled with the power of God.” The Prophet’s face lightened until it appeared as “the whiteness of the driven snow.”
Lorenzo’s soul responded—but his mind held back. What would it mean to his friends and relatives who were anticipating a brilliant future for him if he were to “disappoint those expectations and join the poor, ignorant, despised ‘Mormons,’” as they were then regarded?
Father Smith was sensitive to the problems of young Lorenzo and advised him on one occasion, “Don’t worry, take it calmly and the Lord will show you the truth of this great latter-day work, and you will want to be baptized.” This comment startled the young man, but as he continued to seek the Lord, the Patriarch’s promise was fulfilled. Lorenzo was baptized in 1836, at the age of twenty-two. Yet he still felt incomplete. He desired to have all doubt removed; he wanted a greater confirmation of the Spirit than he had previously received.

Some books tell us things we should know; others just entertain us. This 1968 Newbery Award book does both—and more. It is one of the most unusual and delightful books you could find to read.
Claudia decides that her family takes her too much for granted. She plans to leave home so they will miss her. She invites her brother Jamie to go with her because he is the miser of the family and can be depended upon to have money. They run away to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, where they become involved in mystery, adventure, and excitement. Their story and the unexpected things Claudia and Jamie find out about themselves are recorded by the wealthy Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler in a long letter to her lawyer.
This book is a must for older readers of the Friend.

My grandmother and I went to a pizza place to get a pizza for us and my brother and my grandfather. There was a candy machine there, so I asked for a quarter so I could get some candy.
My grandmother said no. We went to fill the car with gas on the way home, and I saw a quarter in her car. I took it and put it in my pocket. Then I had a bad feeling, so I put it back. I had promised to choose the right when I was baptized, and I’m glad I did.
Crystal Moffat, age 8Fresno, California

While serving as president of the European area, Sister Wirthlin and I traveled throughout Finland, Sweden, Denmark, and Norway holding meetings and conferences with members and missionaries. As we neared the end of our travels, we arrived with President and Sister John Langeland in the small city of Alta, Norway. We were happy that we had made the extra effort to meet the members in such a remote place. But while chatting with the local Church leaders, we learned there was yet one more small branch even farther north in Hammerfest. Hammerfest is one of the world’s northernmost cities, making its tiny branch one of the most remote units of the Church.
To our surprise, we learned that several years earlier, Elder Howard W. Hunter had been the first General Authority to visit the Hammerfest Branch. The story of that visit says so much about the man whom the Lord would later choose as his prophet, seer, and revelator:
“Hammerfest is difficult to reach by normal transportation. It was originally planned that the visitors would fly … by seaplane. A change in the weather eliminated any possibility of using a plane, as is often the case. It was decided that they should travel by car from Alta, the closest city to Hammerfest with a commercial airport. Snow had started to cover the roads. Several times en route Elder Hunter and Pres. [Leo M.] Jacobsen had to push their car through the snow. When it seemed as if further progress was impossible, a truck towed the car over the summit to Hammerfest.
“They finally arrived at ten-thirty that night for a meeting that was to have started at seven o’clock, and found that most of the members had waited” (quoted in Eleanor Knowles, Howard W. Hunter, 1994, 175–76).
The members in Hammerfest, anxious to meet an Apostle and hear the voice of one called as a special witness, waited three and a half hours for Elder Hunter’s delayed arrival. Their faith, hope, and prayers were rewarded as he shared with them his powerful testimony of the Savior.

Gerard and Annie had met in college, when both were working toward degrees in civil engineering. They were married and had their first child while still in school. After graduation, Gerard needed to complete his military obligations, so Annie earned the living for the family.
“While Annie worked,” Gerard says, “our children were cared for by a nurse. Although the conditions were good, it was not like having Mom there. I had been home only one month from my military service when Annie decided she should no longer wait to apply the counsel of the prophet and stay home with our family. We will always remember the joy of our little ones when she announced her decision. Our little son collected as many stones as there were days from then until Mom would be home full-time. Each day he threw away one little stone until the time came to have his mother home.
“Annie has never regretted her decision. She has been a wonderful mother to our seven children and has been a great support to me. She has also served in the community, especially in the parents’ associations for our children’s schools.”

From the time she was a young teen, Emilie struggled with substance abuse. Experimentation led to habit, and habit eventually hardened into an addiction that held her captive for years, notwithstanding occasional periods of wellness. Emilie carefully concealed her problem, especially after she became a wife and mother.

The beginning of her deliverance did not feel like deliverance at all. One minute, Emilie was undergoing a routine medical exam, and the next, she was being driven by ambulance to an inpatient treatment facility. She began to panic as she thought of being separated from her children, her husband, her home.

That night, alone in a cold, dark room, Emilie curled up on her bed and sobbed. Her ability to reason diminished until finally, overcome with anxiety, fear, and the oppressive darkness in that room and in her soul, Emilie actually thought she would die that night. Alone.

In that desperate condition, Emilie somehow summoned the strength to roll off the bed and onto her knees. Without any posturing that had sometimes been part of previous prayers, Emilie completely surrendered herself to the Lord as she desperately pleaded, “Dear God, I need You. Please help me. I don’t want to be alone. Please get me through this night.”

And immediately, as He had done with Peter of old, Jesus stretched forth His hand and caught her sinking soul.11 There came over Emilie a wondrous calm, courage, assurance, and love. The room was no longer cold, she knew she was not alone, and for the first time since she was 14 years old, Emilie knew everything would be all right. As she “awoke unto God,”12 Emilie fell asleep in peace. And thus we see that “if ye will repent and harden not your hearts, immediately shall the great plan of redemption be brought about unto you.”13

Emilie’s healing and ultimate deliverance took a long time—months of treatment, training, and counseling, during which she was sustained and sometimes carried by His goodness. And that goodness continued with her as she entered the temple with her husband and children to be sealed together forever. Like the people of Zarahemla, Emilie now gives thanks as she reflects on the immediate goodness of God and His power in delivering her from bondage.

One sunny afternoon Cory slipped into the kitchen after finishing his daily chores. “Hi, Mom. What’s for dinner?”
“Hungry so soon?” Mom replied as she wiped flour from her elbows. “I’m making chicken potpie, but it won’t be ready for an hour or so. Think you can wait, big guy?”
“Sure,” Cory said. But instead of running to his room to grab his baseball and glove to practice pitching, Cory stayed in the kitchen and sat stiffly on a chair. “Can I help you, Mom?”
Mom put down the ball of dough she had been molding in the middle of the table and gave Cory a quick glance. “Isn’t it your turn to do the dishes tonight, Cory?”
“I think so.” Cory was staring out the large window over the sink into the bright blue sky. Mom could tell that something was bothering him.
“Hand me the rolling pin from the big drawer there, please.”
As he handed her the rolling pin, Cory asked, “Mom, how do you know when you have done something right”—he paused—“or wrong?”
Mom sat down, dusting off her apron. “Well, I look inside myself. I listen for the Holy Ghost to guide me. If I feel good, it’s usually a good thing. I feel warm all over.”
Cory was confused. “You look inside yourself?”
Mom began again. “Imagine yourself taking a bath. If the water’s warm, you’re comfortable, right?”
“Right.”
“What if it’s cold?” Mom asked.
“You want to get out.”
“Exactly. When something is right, you might never question it. It’s like taking a warm bath. But when something is wrong, it’s like a cold bath; you want to get out. Many times the Holy Ghost guides us by the way we feel.”
There was silence.
“Is something bothering you, Cory?”
“Yeah.” Cory hesitated. “A kid at school wanted me to give him the answers to our homework.” He glanced down to his shoes. “He said I would be a great friend if I did.”
Mom looked at Cory as he wriggled in his chair.
“I said no, Mom, but I didn’t feel warm.”
“Well, what if your friend had asked you for your help instead of just your answers?” Mom asked.
Cory’s eyes brightened. “I would have liked that. That’s not wrong.”
“See the difference?”
“I think so.”
Talking and laughing, they chopped vegetables and cut up chicken and got the pie ready for the oven.
“Thanks for your help, Cory,” Mom said.
“Thank you, too, Mom.”
After school the next day, Mom was in the kitchen, writing out checks for bills, Cory bounded in, followed by a shy, stocky boy. “Mom, this is John. Can we study together at the kitchen table this afternoon?”
“Of course,” Mom answered. She hid her smile as she slipped her checkbook into her purse. She winked at Cory. “I’ll be upstairs taking a warm bath.”

“I feel uncomfortable; let’s get out of here,” Autumn whispered to me in the dark theater. I had never walked out of a movie before, and by normal standards, was this PG-13 movie that bad? Besides, we weren’t even 15 minutes into the show.
Two seats down, I could almost see our friend John rolling his eyes as he said, “Don’t be stupid. This is nothing!”
Autumn persisted, “Dane, this isn’t good; let’s leave.” What I should have done at that point is admit she was right and get up and walk out. Instead, I sat and thought about what to do. This had never happened to me before. I felt like everybody in the theater was watching me. They weren’t, of course, but two good friends were. John was planning on a mission. He was the one who chose the movie in the first place. If it were that offensive, wouldn’t he feel it too? I wondered what would happen to our friendship if I decided to walk out.
Then there was Autumn. We had been close friends for a few years, and I really didn’t want to offend her—not just because she was my friend and fairly sensitive, but at the time, she was also investigating the Church. I felt a bit guilty that she was the one asking to leave.
Autumn was right. The movie made us both feel uneasy, but she had been the one to speak up. Her quiet but firm resolve was admirable, even though it sent me packing for a guilt trip. The fact was I didn’t want to watch the movie either. As I continued to decide what to do, Autumn became more agitated. She then sent me an unforgettable look. I knew exactly what that look meant. It said, “Dane, you are one of my best friends, but with or without you, I’m leaving this movie!”
She didn’t care what others thought. Why should I? For all the right reasons, Autumn and I stood up and walked out of the movie theater. We walked right past John, and right past my notions that it is the member of the Church who always sets the example. It felt great. There was no regret, but so much more respect for Autumn, and for all those who stand up and walk out. I vowed never again to risk offending the Spirit for entertainment’s sake whether I was alone or with a friend.