Gospel Story Finder

In 2009, I was offered a job teaching Scottish literature at a university in Scotland. I was thrilled by the opportunity but uncertain as to whether I wanted to leave BYU permanently or move my family out of the United States. So BYU generously allowed me to accept that position on a half-time basis, and for a couple of years, my wife, daughters, and I divided our time between Utah and Aberdeen, a beautiful Scottish city on the North Sea. While we loved the diversity of our experience and so many of the people we met in Scotland, we knew we couldn’t sustain a split existence, so we began pondering where to settle long-term. I thought exhaustively through our options and also sought guidance in prayer. And for a long time—weeks, then months—I received no answer. Or rather, I felt inspiration but no confirmation, no clear impressions to stay or go. Instead, I felt directed to wait and reflect on reasons why I might choose one path or the other, examining less what I should do and more the person I would be in making the decision. It was an important exercise, but my uncertainty persisted. And I was beginning to grow anxious.

I was at this place in life on the second-to-last Sunday of March 2012 when my ward’s priesthood quorum leader announced that the following week a man from our neighborhood, a lifelong member of the Church now in his eighties, would be attending our services for the first time in more than fifty years. “When you see him,” the leader encouraged us, “say hello; make him feel welcome.” Fair enough, I thought, though it didn’t seem like anybody in our friendly group would need such encouragement.

The following week, the last Sunday of March, this man, Jerry, joined us for priesthood meeting. I liked him instantly: he carried an air of understated elegance and stood and introduced himself in a soft, plainspoken voice. When the meeting adjourned, I stepped into the hallway for a couple of minutes. Sunday School, our next meeting, was held in the same room. When I returned, there was an open seat next to Jerry, so I took it and extended my hand.

I have forgotten the topic of our Sunday School lesson that day. I remember, though, that it was based on the Book of Mormon, and all Jerry had was an old Bible. So, as the teacher moved through the lesson, I opened my scriptures so that Jerry could follow along.

When the class ended, people began filing to the chapel for sacrament meeting. But Jerry remained slumped in his chair, staring at the floor. I stayed there with him.

“Everything alright?”

He blinked a couple times, formulating a thought. What he finally emitted was dour. “That discussion went over my head. Everyone here knows so much about the gospel and I know so little. I feel like I’ve wasted my life. I should never have come back.”

His words landed like a gut punch. Out of nowhere, I found myself in a crisis moment not of my own life but someone else’s, and I was completely unqualified to assess it. I did not know this man and was roughly half his age; my aim in sitting beside him had simply been to convey the welcoming spirit of our ward community. If he had said he didn’t understand a particular gospel principle, I might have filled in some gaps; if he had asked whether ward members socialized much outside church, I might have invited him over for dinner. What I was not equipped to deliver was judgment on the meaning of his life—on where it had been wasted and where it had been well spent.

But the occasion called for a substantive reply and for an understanding of this man and his circumstances that I simply did not possess. So I sat still: one second, two seconds, three—­praying silently to know what to say. And then, like a lightning flash, a thought burst into my mind.

I tapped his Bible. “When you get home today, I want you to open to Matthew 20. There’s a parable there about laborers in a vineyard. The Lord calls some workers early, some a little later, some later and then later still, and some at the last hour of the day. But if they go to work for him, he pays them all the same wage. The message is that it’s never too late for us to respond to God. In His eyes, we’re never too late.”

Jerry’s brow softened a little. “I like the sound of that.”

“I like it, too, and I believe it’s true. So today, after you get home, read that parable. And then, the next time we’re here at church, I want you to tell me what your impressions were as you read it.”

“Yeah, okay,” he pledged. “I can do that.”

The following week, the first Sunday of April, we didn’t hold meetings at our ward, as it was general conference, televised globally across the entire Church. One of the talks that weekend struck me with particular force. It was Elder Jeffrey R. Holland’s, and it was titled “The Laborers in the Vineyard.” Elder Holland expounded on that parable from Matthew 20 and then expressed this beautiful thought:

I do not know who in this vast audience today may need to hear the message of forgiveness inherent in this parable, but however late you think you are, however many chances you think you have missed, however many mistakes you feel you have made or talents you think you don’t have, or however far from home and family and God you feel you have traveled, I testify that you have not traveled beyond the reach of divine love. It is not possible for you to sink lower than the infinite light of Christ’s Atonement shines.

The Sunday after general conference, back at our ward building, Jerry found me. “Hey, did you hear Elder Holland?” he asked. “He spoke about that parable!” It was a message, Jerry felt, intended directly for him. He became a vital member of our ward: beloved of the regulars, a minister to those on the margins, and a pilgrim to temples in several western states. Meanwhile, our family eventually received our answer as to where we were best planted. I stayed at BYU and some three years later accepted a church calling requiring me to pay regular visits to wards across our stake. As it happens, one of these wards was Elder Holland’s, and I would sometimes find myself seated beside him on the stand. One day, a couple years into my assignment, I told him the story about the impact his talk had made on Jerry. He smiled and invoked a theatrical metaphor. “You seek inspiration to know what to say,” he remarked, “but you don’t always see heaven working in the wings.”

I have one final experience to share that is very recent and very tender. A few weeks ago, two members of our Provo young single adult ward lost their lives in a tragic car accident. These young women and their two other roommates were a tightknit group. Naturally, the surviving roommates were extremely shaken and mourned the loss of their friends. Upon learning of the deaths, the father of one of the surviving roommates immediately packed a bag and drove eight hours through the middle of the night to reach his daughter. He could have waited for daylight to leave, but he knew what she needed and ran to her as fast as he could.

This father emulated the very way that Christ succors us. Jesus Christ knows us. He knows what we need, and He comes rushing to rescue us in all circumstances. He sends friends, family, ward members, leaders, and special sacred experiences to help us know that He is near and that He loves us perfectly.

As my parents reached middle age, my mother encountered early-onset Alzheimer’s. My father was determined to faithfully serve as her caretaker, even when her condition required full-time care. Even through these latter years, my father reached out to me through weekly, and, in some periods, daily, phone calls and letters. I had always had a close relationship with both my parents, but during the last 10 years of my father’s life, we became particularly close. I realized then too that he was equally successful in drawing near to my three siblings in the same way—even given the differences in interests and faiths we chose as we all grew older.
Photograph by Del Benson
My parents and my family lived on opposite coasts of the United States during those last years, and they made two cross-country visits, even though my mother’s Alzheimer’s had advanced to the point where assisting her on a long-distance flight was very difficult for Dad.
At this same time, one by one my children all decided to stop attending church. Two eventually had their names removed from Church records. This has certainly been the trial of both my wife’s and my life. And even though he wasn’t a Latter-day Saint, my father was pained and confused by our children’s choices as well. He was a privately religious man, and he joined us through those years in praying for them.
In 2005 my father passed away after being diagnosed with cancer, and my mother passed away three years later. My wife and I rejoiced in acting as their proxies in providing temple ordinances after their deaths.
I’ve long prayed to understand how best to relate to our children now that they’re adults, some with their own spouses and children, none of whom are LDS. We are emotionally close to all four of our children, and we are grateful that they often reach out in love to us.
I eventually received a very clear answer of how I must conduct myself, possibly for the rest of my life, regarding these adult children. I needed to do what my father had done with me. In spite of the different lives we lived and the different religious perspectives we had, my father was determined to draw closer to me as a father and a friend while I experienced the pain of seeing my children choose different lifestyles and beliefs from mine. I realized I must follow the example of my father, who taught me how to treat children of a different faith: love them completely, just as the Savior would.

I did not serve a regular mission until my wife and I were called to preside in New England. When I was of missionary age, young men could not be called to the mission field. It was World War II, and I spent four years in the military. But I did do missionary work; we did share the gospel. It was my privilege to baptize one of the first two Japanese to join the Church after the mission had been closed 22 years earlier. Brother Elliot Richards baptized Tatsui Sato. I baptized his wife, Chio. And the work in Japan was reopened. We baptized them in a swimming pool amid the rubble of a university that had been destroyed by bombs.

On one occasion, a young woman and I went out together to visit a less-active member of her class. The young Laurel president said before going, “I won’t know what to say.” I explained that I wouldn’t either, but in answer to our prayer, our Father in Heaven would be with us, and then we would know what to say. As we approached the door, we prayed again that we could feel the Spirit and be prompted in what to do and say. The door was only opened a crack at first, but gradually it opened wider, and eventually we sat talking with the young girl. She was home alone. This less-active daughter of God gradually began opening her heart as she had opened the door.
“I don’t have any friends,” she admitted.
“How about friends at church?” I asked.
“Oh, they’d never take me back,” she said in a tone of despair. “I left the Church to be with a friend, and then he left me.”
At once the Laurel president—who said she was afraid she wouldn’t know what to say—reached out, touched the hand of her friend, and said with eagerness, “Oh, we’ll take you back. We’ll take you back.”
At that moment I saw evidence of spirit speaking to spirit with a message stronger than words. It was a message of love. The class president reached the heart of that young woman like no one else could. She knew what to say.

The scene was familiar enough—just another junior high school basketball game, this one in Boston, Massachusetts. But something unusual was happening. Spectators who listened carefully overheard one of the visiting players complaining early in the game, “Hey, coach, there are two guys out there who look just alike. I can’t keep track of them.”
“Nonsense,” replied the coach. “The one guy is probable just too fast for you. Now get out there and hustle.”
Moments later the same player, this time looking really alarmed, reported, “Coach, there are three guys out there who look just alike!”
A quick glance at the home team would have shown he was right. The unsuspecting visitors had just come across Dan, Dave, and Doug Rozsa, identical triplets playing on the same team.
A couple of years later the Rozsas, by now well-known throughout the area, were again on the same basketball team, this time one that was preparing for the championship playoffs. The coach of the team they would play next was in attendance at one of their games, trying to figure out how to deal with the triple threat.
“Our biggest problem is that our guys don’t know which one to guard,” he confided to his assistant. “But I’ve got it all figured out. They each wear different colored shoes.” Unknown to the coach was the fact that seated right behind him and hearing every word was Sister Dawna Rozsa, mother of the triplets. And the next week as the confident coach came out to face the triplets, he was dismayed to find they really were identical right down to the color of their shoes.
The triplets lived in Boston while their father, Brother Allen Rosza, served as president of the Massachusetts Boston Mission. Since then, the family had been in California, where the boys are finishing up their senior year at El Modena High School in Orange.
All three young men are starting players on El Modena’s championship football team, with Dan at the defensive end, Dave at guard, and Doug at linebacker. In 1978 their team took home the Southern Conference Championship of the California Interscholastic Federation. On a rain-drenched evening they defeated Pacifica High School before a crowd of more that 10,000 spectators at Anaheim Stadium. In 1979 the team reached the semi-finals before being eliminated by the eventual champions.
The Rozsas have grown up playing on the same football, basketball, baseball, track, and wrestling teams, often much to the confusion of their opponents and even their coaches, who still haven’t figured out a way to tell them apart. The results of their collective athletic endeavors give the bedroom they share the appearance of a trophy case. Awards such as “Most Valuable, “All League,” “Player of the Game,” “All-County,” and All-CIF” seem to fill up every shelf and corner.
Many young people would be more than content with just the athletic success the triplets enjoy. Yet a look at their lives shows that this same high level of performance carries over into other areas. Each maintains a grade-point average that is nearly straight-A and each has received numerous scholastic and citizenship honors. All are Eagle Scouts and have earned their Duty to God awards. Each is active in all church activities, has served a youth mission, and is now in his fourth year at early morning seminary. Since they became deacons, the three have taken turns as president of their various Aaronic Priesthood quorums. In addition, Doug is this year’s student-body president at El Modena, with Dan assisting him as vice-president, while Dave heads up the senior class as president. Their attitude has always been to make the maximum effort at everything they do.
“We just try to be the best we can,” says Doug. “You only have an experience or situation once, and it’s a waste to say, ‘Oh, I could have done that if I’d only tried.’”
“Sure, it’s fun to be number one, but if you’re not, at least you know you never lose if you try your hardest,” agrees Dave. “We try not to think about what we’ve already done. Those things have been in the past, and we feel you have to keep proving yourself.”
Brother and Sister Rozsa were living in Greenville, Texas, in 1961 when the boys were born. Already the parents of four daughters, the couple were convinced they were never going to have any sons, so they had selected only girls’ names for the twins they thought were coming. A few days before the birth, the doctor called the Rozsas in and told them to get ready for triplets. So, with the addition of one more girl’s name, the couple thought they were prepared.
When the big day came, Brother Rozsa had his ear up against the delivery room door and heard just what he expected—“It’s a girl.” But before that had a chance to register the doctor broke in with “No, wait a minute; it’s a boy,” soon followed by exclamations of “Another boy,” “And another one.”
Practically having to pick himself up off the floor, Brother Rozsa’s first thoughts were “Scouting, fishing, and little league—at last!” An avid athlete and sportsman, Brother Rozsa says he had tried unsuccessfully to turn his very feminine daughters into tomboys. Thus he was overjoyed at the thoughts of not one but three fishing and football companions.
Brother and Sister Rozsa soon realized their three identical sons presented them with some special opportunities. One family home evening the parents and daughters decided they would read the entire New Testament by the end of the year.
“We figured out how many pages a day we would have to read to finish and talked it over, never dreaming that the boys, who were only eight years old, would be able to read the New Testament,” recalls Sister Rozsa. “But they didn’t realize they weren’t really a part of the conversation, so they started reading along with us. By the end of the year, each one had finished the New Testament along with the rest of the family.”
Brother Rozsa, now serving as a member of the Los Angeles Temple presidency, says he feels this incident taught his sons a lot about success. “They learned very early that if they stuck with a task they could be successful at it. We believe in our family that you can do anything if you set priorities and then follow them.”
As young boys, the triplets learned a lot about priorities from their parents and sisters. They soon knew that family and church came first, followed by school work, Scouting, music lessons, and sports. Over the years, they’ve kept up the same active pace. How do they do it?
“Well, we try not to waste much time. And we don’t have room for much sleep or television,” the three agree.
Serving full-time missions has been a priority with the triplets from the beginning. Their desire to do this grew even more when they were 12 and their father was called as a mission president.
“We decided when we were very young that we wanted to serve missions,” says Dave. “But being in the mission home gave us a better idea of what missionaries really do and what a mission is really like.” The three brothers still discuss the many dedicated and outstanding missionaries they knew in Boston.
Of course, they also admit they had great fun confusing the missionaries about which triplet was which. And, they remember many early morning bargaining sessions, trying unsuccessfully to convince the missionaries in the mission home to drive them around on their paper routes in the sub-zero Boston winters.
Serving a mission can be a financial burden to any missionary and his family, but what do you do when you have three sons all wanting to leave at the same time? The Rozsa family has foreseen this, and the boys have been working since the age of 13 toward their missions. In addition to those icy Boston paper routes, they’ve sold avocados, worked in construction, and held other odd jobs. Last summer all three worked at the same taco stand at the same time, guaranteeing considerable confusion among unsuspecting customers. They report their bank accounts are in good shape for the missions to come.
Even though the Rozsas have spent their lives in areas where the Church is a definite minority, none of the triplets feels he has ever had to compromise his beliefs to be successful.
“We always let people know where we stand, right from the beginning. Some guys bug us a few times, but now they respect us,” says Doug. “We don’t argue, we just say, ‘Hey, I’m not going to do that.’ Our coaches and friends know we have to be out of practice in time for Mutual, they know we don’t participate in sports on Sundays, and they know where we stand on the Word of Wisdom.”
For the most part, all three enjoy playing on the same teams. The only problem comes with wrestling season when the triplets, who stand 6 feet 2 1/2 inches tall and normally weigh in at 200 pounds, struggle to get into three different weight classes. One of them diets as another tries to eat his way into a higher weight class. The lucky third member of the trio gets to maintain the status quo.
A joint sports experience they remember is the football game when each of them made a touchdown. During another game, they all recovered the same fumble. Doug got to it first, then Dan drove in on top of him, followed by Dave.
“I guess sometimes we have an advantage,” says Dan. “We can usually figure out what each other would do in a situation.”
However it is that they do it, their coaches like it. El Modena’s football coach, Bob Lester, has only one complaint—“I wish they were quintuplets!”
Even with all their many activities, the Rozsas naturally find time for some relaxation. All three enjoy waterskiing, tinkering with cars, fishing, and other outdoor activities. Of course, some of the fun times they recall most revolve around their being triplets. At an early age, a favorite trick was to insist to Junior Sunday School teachers that all three of them were Dan. The next week they would all profess to be Dave and then Doug.
Sister Rozsa remembers a prayer offered by one of her sons at age four. “Bless my parents, bless my sisters, and bless those other two who look like me.”
Trading classes and teachers has been a source of occasional amusement, but the boys say they’ve kept this to a minimum. It’s always been a rule among them that while they often study together, each one has to take his own tests.
Now that the triplets are old enough to date, they’re really finding their threesome to be an advantage at times. Dan recalls one evening when he was trying to phone a girl to ask her out, but her number was always busy. He had to run off to a meeting, so he assigned brother Dave to fill in for him.
“Dave finally got hold of her and asked for a date. She said yes, I took her out, and she never found out what really happened,” says Dan. The three brothers remain sworn to secrecy as to the name of the young lady in question.
One thing people always ask the boys is “What’s it like to be a triplet?” Their response is really quite logical: “We’ve never been anything but triplets. It feels really normal to us,” says Doug.
“It’s easy for us to tell each other apart, too, because we look so different to each other,” says Dan. (Or was that Dave?)
The triplets are often amused by people’s reactions to seeing them for the first time.
“For some reason they get really mixed-up,” chuckles Dave. “They always come up to all three of us and ask, ‘Are you twins?’ Only rarely are we asked if we’re triplets. It’s like people think that’s just too much to be believed.”
Being triplets has its definite advantages, the boys claim. When they were young, their dad’s career in the air force took them all over the country. And unlike most kids, the triplets always got to take their best friends along with them wherever they went. In fact, in over 18 years the only time they’ve been apart was when serving their youth missions last summer. This togetherness will undoubtedly change in the next couple of years, though, as new experiences such as college and missions enter their lives. That is, unless missionaries start going forth three-by-three instead of two-by-two.

President Tanner’s Constancy number four: “Develop and live within a budget.” A friend of President Tanner’s has a daughter who went overseas with a BYU Study Abroad program for a semester. She was constantly writing home for more money. His concern was such that the father called her long distance and questioned her about the need for additional funds. At one point in the conversation the daughter explained, “But Dad, I can tell you where every penny you have sent me has been spent.” He replied, “You don’t seem to get the point. I’m interested in a budget—a plan for spending—not in a diary of where the money has gone.”

Karen, whose parents divorced when she was in high school, says, “It’s a heavy burden packing your parents’ problems around. I don’t have to suffer for their mistakes, and I know that now.”

Karen received help from her grandparents. They listened compassionately and showered their love on her. “I found great comfort in things that were stable,” she says. “I was drawn to people who had regularity and routine in their lives.”

Karen says she pretended to be happy and carefree for several years after her parents’ divorce. “I watched my brothers and sister grieve and thought they were being melodramatic. It’s not that big of a deal, I thought. I couldn’t see that I was in major aftershock; I covered it up and ran from the problem.” Karen believes it took her longer to work through the pain because she tried to repress it at first.

John was a young boy when his father left home. Even as a teenager, if he doesn’t discuss his feelings occasionally, his anger seems to fester.

“Sometimes it builds up so much that I won’t say anything to anyone,” he says. “Then I’ll completely blow up. You need to talk things over with somebody who loves you.”

It’s okay to cry about a divorce and to feel the loss deeply. It’s healthy to admit things have changed. Then, when you’ve acknowledged and worked through your difficult feelings, it’s easier to move on.

One pivotal learning experience occurred in the central part of Africa in the Republic of the Congo. The village of Luputa is a community of about 250,000 people. There was no central water system to support the daily needs of the people. Missionaries found it difficult to teach people, because they were always walking to obtain water to meet their daily water needs. The women of the village walked about thirty-five kilometers (twenty miles) to a spring where they loaded a forty-pound water container and then returned home carrying the container on their head. It took about eight hours a day to obtain their water for cooking, washing, drinking, bathing and all other needs. There was precious little time left in the day to do anything else.
Seeing this commitment to provide clean water for their families, the Church offered to assist the villages by building a reservoir and distribution system for the community. The villagers would have to sacrifice their time and energy to dig the trench for the water line from the spring to the reservoir. The Church bought the pipe and built the concrete water stations. It took three years of hard work and sacrifice to dig the trench, but with the installation completed, the women now only had to walk an average of fifteen to twenty minutes to obtain their water.
Just think of the change that brought into their lives. Now they had time to care for their children, read, learn and serve each other. In changing their time commitment to obtaining water, the people of Luputa now had time to listen to the message of the gospel. Within one year of putting the new pipes in place, over two thousand people had joined the Church. In June of 2011 the tenth stake was organized in the Republic of the Congo.

One mother was puzzled by the unruly behavior of her young son, Nathan. As she struggled to turn his negative talk and actions to positive ones, she watched how other families directed their children. She also confided in a friend who knew how to listen. Her friend asked helpful questions, such as, “When Nathan comes home from school, what do you do?” As the mother described her daily response, she realized she was reinforcing Nathan’s negative behavior and that she needed to change her own attitudes and actions. She tried a different approach, and her son changed, too. Lives were blessed by the careful listening and questioning of a caring friend.

The tears just wouldn’t come anymore. I had squeezed out the last one. Now my eyes were stiff and dry like a lemon that has been wrung out for lemonade.
Crying wasn’t any use anyway. I’d tried it all afternoon and I was still lost. Whatever direction I looked I couldn’t see anything but sand—and more sand. There had been hills of it this morning, but now, as the evening shadows stretched out, the sand dunes looked more like mountains. Just the thought of climbing another one made me too tired to start.
I knew now I would never find my way back to the wagon. Soon it would be night and even if someone came looking for me, it would be too dark for them to see. Have they even missed me yet? I wondered. In a family the size of ours we had to learn to look out for ourselves. Maybe Ed has missed me and will come looking, I hoped.
“Mama! … Papa! … Ed!” I called again, but only a hollow echo came back, hoarse like my voice.
The sun was gone now. I had to find a place to spend the night while I could still see. I knew there would be no light from the moon, because I had seen the silver sliver sink out of sight soon after the sun had set. The thought of darkness brought to my memory the howling of coyotes. When I’d shudder up to Papa for comfort as I listened to them at home, he’d always say, “Don’t be afraid. They are clear out in the sand dunes. They’d never come this close.”
Now I was out in the sand dunes, too, and a new terror took possession of me. How can I protect myself from those demons of the night? I worried.
There was only sand, endless sand and the prickly bear grass that hugged it into little clumps. I wanted to be near the top of a hill so I could see as far as possible, but I knew a hollow would be warmer when the sun left the sand and the chill of night settled down, so I dug a little cave near the largest bunch of grass I could find. I pulled a handful of the spiny stems to beat back the coyotes if they came near, and I backed into my cavern.
I tried to figure out how our annual plum-picking outing that had started so happily could be ending so sadly. Our Indian Grandma had told us where to find the reddest and sweetest of the marble-size fruit, and we came every year and picked as many as we could find. The plums were beautiful, all rosy-cheeked on the sun-kissed side, golden yellow on the stem side, and frosted with a gray sheen that made them shine like silver balls underwater when we put them in the pan to wash them. They tasted mealy and sweet at first bite, but sour if chewed close to the skin or pit. They were especially good for jelly, jam, or when bottled fresh. Plum picking became an annual outing with a picnic for lunch. This day I had become tired and ached to go rest in the shade of the wagon for a little while.
Papa said, “Do you know the way back to the wagon?”
“Sure I do, Papa. You go straight back over those first three hills and it’s just a little way from there.” I pointed out the direction.
“That’s right,” he said, and I started off.
I couldn’t figure out where I’d gone wrong. I’d spent all afternoon climbing hills and looking for the family, but all I saw were hills—more and more hills. My bare feet were used to the prickles of the bear grass and the heat of the sand and I had wandered for a long time. Now I was lost and maybe miles from the wagon.
I’d been so sure I could find my way back that now I was ashamed to be lost. I hadn’t even bothered to ask Heavenly Father to help me. But now I had to ask Him. If I didn’t get some help soon, I might have to stay here until I died. So I talked to Him about it as I crouched in my little hideaway and I soon felt better.
I watched the sky as the stars came out one by one, until it was filled from edge to edge with little pinpricks of light. They seemed to twinkle a message of hope. But when I heard the lonely wail of a far-off coyote, the prickles on my skin lifted into little goose bumps, and the hope of a moment before turned into fear.
Then I noticed a new light, bigger than the stars, and it seemed to be moving in circles. Someone’s looking for me, I thought excitedly.
I wanted to run and find whoever it was, but I decided to stay in the same place because Papa had always told me to do that if I ever got lost. I crawled out of my hole, stood at the top of the hill, and tried to call but I couldn’t utter a sound. I tried again, but it was no use. My throat was as dry from calling all day as my eyes were from crying.
I watched the light. Finally I decided to start toward it, for I just knew it was my only chance.
As I went down the hill, I lost sight of the lantern, but I could see it again when I came to the top of the next knoll. I never quit looking in the direction of the light, even when it faded from view as I went up and down, and at last I could tell I was getting closer. I ran the last few steps and grabbed the legs of the person swinging the lantern. I couldn’t let go.
“You all right, Dora?” a man’s voice asked. It was Mr. Cooper, our neighbor. He gave the signal that I was found and carried me back to the wagon.
Then there was such excitement! All the neighbors had been looking for me. Mama grabbed me in a tight hug and kissed me like I never remembered before, and no one scolded me for getting lost.
Later Papa made a hole in the wagon rim that left a little rounded hump in the dirt every time the wheel made a complete turn. After that it was easy to spot the wagon’s track and to follow it, and it led us to where we wanted to go.

—Click! A switch was flipped, and a tiny sewing machine light guided adroit fingers over a swatch of terrycloth. The cultural hall of the Irvine California Stake Center was lined with sewing machines, and the middle was filled with cutting tables. The young women were making bibs for a local home for abused children.
“When they told us they use about 350 bibs per day, I thought, Wow—this service project really will make a difference,” said Katheryn Clayton.

One mother told the following experience that helps to explain this idea. She said, “Sometimes while we are eating, one of my children will get my attention and signal to me while his mouth is full of food. Grunting and waving, he will try to motion for me to do something for him. I know perfectly well that what he wants is for me to pour him a glass of milk, but I will wait until he uses words to ask me before I will do it. It’s not that I can’t understand what he wants but that I feel it is important for him to learn how to communicate well.”

Lucy thought about the day she had come to Grandma Irma’s house to visit and they had decided to drive over to the post office and get the mail. When they arrived home, Grandma discovered that she had locked the keys in the house. So they pushed out the screen in the bedroom window, and Grandma hoisted Lucy up. Lucy had climbed in the window, trotted through the house, and unlocked the door. When they found the keys on the kitchen table, they laughed until their tummies ached.

On many occasions our children have had dinners on a tennis court. It was interesting to watch them plan who would attend, where the food would come from, and what type of date would want to spread a checkered cloth on a piece of cement and have a picnic on a tennis court. On another occasion this same group had dinner inside a playhouse and acted like they were on the roof garden of an elegant hotel. It was interesting to watch them plan and grow and develop as they made assignments and had a truly wonderful time without it costing very much.

Ask Jeff Ryan, 17, about alligators, and he could tell you a lot. One showed up for his younger brother’s baptism. The alligator wasn’t really invited, but Jeff and his family live on a lake shore near the Florida Everglades, and the alligator just happened to live in the same lake.
Actually, Jeff could tell you about a lot of things. Some people have been blessed with the gift of singing, or putting mechanical things together, or playing tennis, or knowing when a friend needs help. Jeff has been blessed with a gift for learning. The more you get to know Jeff, the more you realize he’s got an insatiable curiosity about the things around him—and he works hard to learn as much as he can.
When Jeff was four years old, someone asked him to say the alphabet. “Do you want it backwards or forwards?” responded the pint-sized scholar. He had just tested out in vocabulary skills at a 12th-grade level.
It isn’t always easy being so smart. As a child, he was turned down by three public schools that didn’t have facilities to deal with gifted children. As it ended up, Jeff was taught at home until the third grade.
He started high school at age 12, graduated at 14, then started college. Jeff has really enjoyed going to college and making friends there. Even though he’s younger than the other college students, Jeff is tall for his age and fits right in. He has earned a bachelor’s degree at Nova University in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. His goal is to earn a master’s degree by age 18, then go on a mission when he’s 19.
“I’ve always wanted to go on a mission,” says Jeff. “It would be a nice thing to serve the Lord and other people.”
Although Jeff is gifted academically, he doesn’t keep his nose in books all day. He has friends and lots of hobbies, and he enjoys doing things with his family.
Some families go on picnics together. Jeff’s family goes snake hunting together. Looking out in the Everglades not far from Jeff’s house, with trees scattered here and there in the swampy, spongy land, you figure snakes would like this country. They do.
“I learned about snakes by catching them, watching them, reading books about them, and keeping them as pets for a while,” says Jeff. “I’ve stayed away from the poisonous snakes, though.”
The Ryan family has also gone hunting for panthers—well, panther tracks, actually, which they fill with plaster of paris to make casts. They’ve gone hunting for fossilized seashells too. And Jeff loves to go scuba diving in the warm Florida waters.
“If we lived in the western United States we’d probably be mountain climbers or hikers, but they don’t do that here. So we enjoy what we have around us,” says Jeff’s mother.
Scouting provides a lot of opportunities for Jeff to explore, too. “Our Scoutmaster is really dedicated to helping us learn,” says Jeff. “I like the outdoors and being with the guys, going out and testing our skills and abilities against each other. The troop is second nature now, because I’ve been with them so long and enjoy it so much.”
Jeff is junior assistant Scoutmaster of his troop and recently earned his Eagle Award. For his Eagle project, he and a young woman from his stake planned a three-day stake youth conference.
“I’ve made a lot of good friends at youth conferences,” he says. “Those conferences have probably been the biggest testimony builders in my life. It helps to interact with kids who believe the same things you do and feel the same way, and who you can share good, clean fun with.”
In the evenings, Jeff works at the photography counter of a local drugstore. Photography is his latest hobby, which makes his job fun. He’s saving money for a mission.
“I just realized how much it’s actually going to cost to go on a mission,” says Jeff. “With saving for school books and tuition, it’s not going to be easy.” He’s starting a business of his own so he can earn money. He’ll be matching up students with financial aid that’s available.
The Church is important to Jeff. He was the only Church member in his high school, and the only seminary student in his ward. He graduated from seminary this year. The first year of high school he attended early-morning seminary with two other youth from the stake. “It was a nice way to wake up,” says Jeff. The next year his mom became his home-study teacher. “We’d get into discussions about the scriptures and learn along with each other.
“Ever since I can remember we’ve been studying the scriptures as a family together in the mornings. The scriptures have given me a lot of guidance in my life and helped me with my problems,” says Jeff.
Despite all his accomplishments, Jeff doesn’t seem overly impressed with himself. His mom says that he realized that his ability to learn wasn’t something he could take credit for; it was a gift from Heavenly Father.
“The Church has shown me that you can stay above the world and still enjoy yourself,” says Jeff. “I’ve tried to turn to the Lord and the scriptures to feel good influences in my life. I’m trying to accomplish as much as I can, based on the abilities I’ve been given.”

The year began well. The missionaries were blessed to find and teach Craig Smith, then 17 years old. Though at the time there were no priests in their ward, Craig was welcomed by all the young men and fit in well.

“I was made to feel so welcome by the other young men and quickly felt comfortable being around them, even though they knew much more about the Church than I did,” Craig recounts. “It was hard letting go of some of the things that I used to do with my friends before I joined the Church, but I know that living the gospel will make me much happier.”

The Lord had been preparing the hearts of Patrick and Miguel, who were of deacon and teacher age, respectively. Together with Craig, their baptisms meant that each quorum had increased by one, which exactly matched the goal the quorums had prayerfully set. On their baptismal day, most of the ward members were there to see these two young men make a sacred covenant with their Heavenly Father.

Seven years ago, Kathy and I met Diego Gomez and his beautiful family in Salt Lake City. They attended a temple open house with us but graciously declined our invitation to learn more about the Church. This past May, I received a surprising telephone call from Diego. Events in his life had led him to his knees. He had found the missionaries on his own, taken the discussions, and was ready for baptism. This past June 11, I walked into the waters of baptism with my friend and fellow disciple Diego Gomez. His conversion had its own timetable and came with the help and support of many who reached out to him as “witnesses of God.”

In a few days we will dedicate the beautiful Denver Temple.

When it was announced that we would build a temple in that city and had selected a site on which it should stand, opposition rose against us. We gave up that site and tried another. Again we were thwarted. But we were determined to go forward, putting our trust in the Lord that He would guide us in accomplishing His purposes. Two other possible sites were selected. At the time, President Kimball and President Romney were both ill, and mine was a serious responsibility. I asked President Benson, then President of the Council of the Twelve, if we might go to Denver together, and there with Elder Russell Taylor we looked over these sites. I give you my testimony that we were guided by the Spirit in choosing the ground on which that beautiful new structure now stands. It will be dedicated later this month as a house of God.

“Thanks for the ride!” I yelled, waving at the red car as it pulled out of the driveway. I was excited to be hanging out with two new friends, Steve and Mark. It had taken a while to persuade Steve’s older brother to give the three of us a ride to the town’s music store, but we’d had a lot of fun there. We had just come back to Mark’s house.
“Is anyone else as hungry as I am?” I heard Steve ask. I realized then that my stomach was growling. I hadn’t noticed with all the fun I was having.
“Do you guys have any money? Maybe we could get a pizza,” suggested Mark. We went inside and pooled our money on Mark’s kitchen table. We found we had just enough for a small pizza but not enough to have it delivered.
“Hey, Mark, maybe your parents can give us a ride,” Steve said.
“No, they just left to see a movie,” Mark said with a frown.
I tried to make a joke, “Too bad none of us has a driver’s license. Then we could go down and get the pizza ourselves.”
Steve and Mark looked at each other. “I have my learner’s permit,” Mark said slowly. “My parents say I’m a pretty good driver, even though I’m only 15.”
“Didn’t your parents take the car?” Steve asked.
Mark answered, “They took my dad’s car, but they left my mom’s.”
We stood still for a moment, looking at each other. I began to feel nervous.
“Let’s just go outside and sit in the car,” Steve suggested. “We could just see how we feel.”
Mark looked at me. “What do you think, Danny?”
I shrugged. I really didn’t think that we should do it, but I also wanted my new friends to think I was cool.
“Let’s go,” said Mark, and he led the way through his back door and into the garage. Mark climbed into the driver’s seat, and Steve sat in the passenger seat next to him. Hesitantly, I entered the car, sat in the backseat, and shut the door behind me.
It had started out as a joke, but now I felt terrible. I imagined what my parents would think if they knew I was going along with this. What if we got caught? I would feel awful. I knew the Holy Ghost was telling me this was wrong. Then a thought hit me. My friends weren’t bad people. They were probably having the same feelings I was having.
Mark put the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. I couldn’t take it any more. “Guys, we really shouldn’t be doing this,” I said quietly. Mark and Steve both looked back at me. I felt myself blush. They were going to make fun of me. I just knew it.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Steve agreed, nodding. “What would our parents think? What would our teachers quorum leaders think?”
Mark also nodded and took the key out of the ignition. The growl of the engine died, and relief came flooding into me. “Sorry, guys. I’m just hungry,” Mark said. He then looked up and smiled. “Hey, I have a bag of chips and half a loaf of bread. Why don’t we make sandwiches?”
“That sounds great!” I said, grinning.
We climbed out of the car and headed toward the house, laughing and joking again. I knew then that all three of us were glad about the decision we had made.
I don’t know what would have happened if we had taken the car. Maybe we would have been caught, maybe we wouldn’t have. But I know that the choice we made was right.