Gospel Story Finder

In 1976, as the quarterback of this powerful team, I began to receive national recognition and honors. In 1977 we started the season red-hot. We won the first three games impressively and were nationally ranked, leading the country in many categories for offense as we headed to Corvallis to play Oregon State. During the fourth quarter of the contest, I was hit hard in the left knee, and I heard a pop. I didn’t want to leave the field. How ironic that a few plays later the same knee was hit again, and I knew that something was seriously wrong.

Caught up in the emotion of the moment, I persevered to finish the drive, but we failed to score a touchdown when we needed it most. As I hobbled to the sidelines, my knee felt unstable, and I knew I was finished for the day. I was replaced, and, to make matters worse, we lost the game.

During the flight back to Utah, worries consumed me. I felt anxious and fearful as I wondered what my future might hold. One doubt I had was about the success of our team. We had worked hard together to build a nationally respected program. Would I be letting everyone down?

At the Salt Lake airport, I was met by my wife, Wendy, who was worried but extremely supportive. We made our way to BYU’s Smith Fieldhouse, where we met Coach Edwards, athletic ­director Glen Tuckett, trainer Marv Roberson, and Dr. Robert Metcalf, who examined my knee. The look on the doctor’s face said it all. My college football career was over. I needed immediate ­surgery to repair a detached ligament.

How quickly our lives can change. I was devastated.

Where do you turn when life gets hard? In my state of mild shock, I needed additional strength, and it was right in front of me. I asked for a priesthood blessing. Without hesitation, these four remarkable “loyal, strong, and true” leaders were ready and worthy to act in the name of the Savior. A feeling of peace came over me as my fear turned to faith.

The operation was a success! To this day, and even through six years of playing in the National Football League, I have never had another problem with my knee.

The priesthood is not to be taken casually or lightly. It is “the power and authority that God gives to man to act in all things necessary for the salvation of God’s children.”5

I was grateful for honorable men who were ready at a moment’s notice to bless me. When I woke up the next morning after surgery, I tackled my “new normal.” I opened my scriptures and reviewed a list of priorities I had written before the season began.

1. The Savior and our eternal family.
2. The Church and building the kingdom.
3. My education at this great university.
4. My football team and athletic goals.

As I looked at life from an eternal perspective, I realized that in reality, very little had changed.

In the weeks that followed, my good friend and fellow quarterback Marc Wilson led the team to one victory after another—breaking passing records and gaining even greater national attention. So much for the concern that my team couldn’t be successful without me. What a powerful lesson that was! Because of my respect and love for my team, it became a privilege to offer support from the sidelines—although I have to admit that it was difficult standing there using crutches and not being on the field.

Some years ago in our meetinghouse in Darmstadt, Germany, a group of brethren was asked to move a grand piano from the chapel to the adjoining cultural hall, where it was needed for a musical event. None were professional movers, and the task of getting that gravity-friendly instrument through the chapel and into the cultural hall seemed nearly impossible. Everybody knew that this task required not only physical strength but also careful coordination. There were plenty of ideas, but not one could keep the piano balanced correctly. They repositioned the brethren by strength, height, and age over and over again—nothing worked.
As they stood around the piano, uncertain of what to do next, a good friend of mine, Brother Hanno Luschin, spoke up. He said, “Brethren, stand close together and lift where you stand.”
It seemed too simple. Nevertheless, each lifted where he stood, and the piano rose from the ground and moved into the cultural hall as if on its own power. That was the answer to the challenge. They merely needed to stand close together and lift where they stood.
I have often thought of Brother Luschin’s simple idea and have been impressed by its profound truth. Tonight I would like to expand on that simple concept, “lift where you stand.”

Anyone who has shipped cookies to a missionary can appreciate the anxiety Cheryl Martell, 19, and her mother felt while preparing for the California State Fair. They knew they would need to transport boxes and boxes of delicate cakes, breads, and pastries, as well as dozens of cookies, from their home in Thousand Oaks, California, to the fair grounds in Sacramento, 360 miles away. It would be disastrous to have even one of the items damaged, and yet everything had to arrive quickly so it could be judged while still fresh.
Air travel, obviously, would be the fastest transportation. But both Cheryl and her mother had nightmares of a baggage compartment splattered with frosting and breaded with brownie crumbs. Car or bus travel offered little alternative. Jostling bumps and sun beating through windows would reduce skillfully crafted cream puffs into gobs of goo.
It was Brother Martell who finally solved the problem. He called officials at the airline and explained what was going on. For half fare, they agreed to let the Martells have two extra seats for boxes of baked goods. The family finished the baking, wrapped each cake, cookie, or loaf separately, and then stored individual bundles carefully in styrofoam ice chests and cardboard boxes. When passengers boarded the plane that day, the two front seats were stacked high with containers strapped carefully in place with extended seat belts. In the next two seats sat Sister Martell and Cheryl, cautiously guarding their cargo.
The baked goods arrived safely at the fair, despite a racing taxi ride across town, and the Martells weren’t disappointed when the ribbons were taped on displays the next day. Mom amassed 23 ribbons, including 12 first places; Cheryl won a first- and a second-place ribbon; and younger sister Debbie, 11, took first in two categories and second in one.

Twelve-year-old Elizabeth watched Carol’s long fingers glide smoothly over the black and white piano keys.
“Excellent, Carol!” Mrs. Brown exclaimed for the second time in a matter of minutes. “You’ll do beautifully in Saturday’s competition. I’m expecting you to win that trophy again this year.”
Elizabeth squirmed uneasily and rubbed her moist palms together. The grandfather clock against the wall seemed to stare at her. It wasn’t easy following Mrs. Brown’s best student at piano lessons every week. No matter how hard Elizabeth practiced, she always felt a bit inadequate compared to Carol.
“The competition begins promptly at two o’clock Saturday,” Mrs. Brown told Carol.
“I’ll be here,” Carol replied. “I want to add this year’s trophy to my collection. See you Saturday, Mrs. Brown.” Carol walked confidently across the room to the door, ignoring Elizabeth.
“Let’s get started, Elizabeth,” the teacher said, motioning her toward the piano. The bench felt hard and unfriendly as Elizabeth sat down and slid to the center. In a way, Mrs. Brown still frightened her, even after two years of lessons.
“Arch those fingers, and wrists down,” Mrs. Brown began. “And please count out loud.”
Elizabeth began her scales. “One, two, and three and four and one,” she repeated again and again. Her fingers were loose and steady. Those extra hours of practicing were making a difference.
“Sounds good, Elizabeth.” Mrs. Brown’s voice sounded a little surprised. “Now let’s try your piece for the competition Saturday.”
Elizabeth took the teacher’s request as a challenge. Her fingers were like the smoothly moving parts of a machine as they glided almost effortlessly over the keys. The music was soft, then loud; sweet, then proud. She turned the last page and finished the piece boldly.
“Good, Elizabeth!” Mrs. Brown exclaimed. “Very good. In fact, Elizabeth, that performance deserves a bravo!”
Elizabeth smiled, her eyes glistening happily. She knew that she had to be good to receive comments like those from Mrs. Brown.
“Those judges are going to have quite a decision to make on Saturday if you play this well then, Elizabeth,” her teacher praised her at the end of the lesson. “The best of luck to you. Remember, the competition starts at two o’clock.”
Elizabeth walked outside in a daze and waited for her ride. Bravo! she thought, recalling Mrs. Brown’s words. She sat down on the grass and began imagining herself in a large, dark concert hall, bowing to thunderous applause. Hot theater lights made her perspire as she curtsied proudly.
The out-of-tune honk of her mother’s car horn startled Elizabeth and brought her back to reality. “Mother!” Elizabeth cried. She grabbed her books, jumped up, and ran excitedly to the car. “Mrs. Brown liked my playing today. She said I even have a chance for the trophy at the competition on—“
“Slow down, Elizabeth,” her mother interrupted. But there was a pleased look on her face. “Tell me all about it from the beginning.” She pulled the car slowly into the street.
“Oh, Mother,” Elizabeth began, “after I listened to Carol play today, I was really discouraged. She never makes a mistake, and she’s won the trophy the past three years.”
“Carol is a good player,” her mother responded honestly.
“But when I played my piece for Mrs. Brown, she liked it. She said ‘Bravo,’ Mother. And she said that the judges would have a hard time choosing a winner on Saturday.”
“All those hours at the piano are really beginning to pay off,” her mother replied encouragingly. “I always believed that you had a real talent for the piano.”
Elizabeth spent many hours the next three days seated at the upright piano in the corner of the living room. Her fingers worked endlessly. All she could think about was winning the trophy.
Autumn turned annoyingly into winter the Saturday of the competition. Gray black clouds filled the sky, and before noon large snowflakes were falling.
Elizabeth practiced playing her piece for what seemed to be the thousandth time. Nervously she put on her favorite blue dress. Her shining dark brown hair lay clean on her shoulders.
“I’m ready to go,” she told her father. Her little brothers wore their white shirts and dress pants.
“Let’s get started then,” Dad said. “This storm has turned into a blizzard. We’ll need extra time to get to the competition.”
The windshield wipers on the car slapped noisily from side to side, sweeping the snowflakes aside as they accumulated. As the car wound slowly toward the studio, the storm worsened, and cars began sliding on the road.
“What if we’re too late, Dad?” Elizabeth asked anxiously.
“I think we’ll make it, if we’re careful,” her father reassured her.
Elizabeth relaxed momentarily, leaned back in her seat, and closed her eyes. We just have to make it! she thought. I’ve worked too hard to miss the competition.
The monotony of the windshield wipers was interrupted by a slushy, skidding sound. Elizabeth opened her eyes to see a large sedan slide off the road.
“Looks like they’re in trouble,” her father said grimly.
Elizabeth stared out the window at the struggling vehicle as their own car crept slowly by. The sedan seemed to be hopelessly stuck.
Suddenly Elizabeth recognized it. It was the one always parked in front of the piano studio when she arrived for her lesson. Carol was inside that car! Mrs. Brown’s best piano student was agonizing, no doubt, as she listened to the car’s wheels whine desperately.
A triumphant smile spread over Elizabeth’s face as she imagined the trophy on her dresser. After all, it was not her fault that Carol’s car had slipped off the road.
The big sedan was not much more than a spot in the distance now, and Mrs. Brown’s studio was just a few minutes away. But Elizabeth felt uneasy. Her earlier enthusiasm for an easy victory had disappeared. Several times she squinted out the back window at the stalled car. It had not moved.
“We’re going to make it, Elizabeth!” her father said happily. “We’ll be there in no time.”
“Dad, you have to turn back,” Elizabeth declared firmly.
Elizabeth’s mother and brothers stared at her.
“Carol was in that car back there that slid off the road. If we don’t go back and help, she’ll never make it in time to play.”
“I’ll do whatever you want, Elizabeth, but we’re sure to be late.”
“Then stop and turn around, Dad. Now. We can both still make it if we play last.” Elizabeth sounded sure about her decision.
Slowly her father brought the car to a halt. He turned it around carefully and drove back to the car that was stuck.
Later the audience clapped enthusiastically as Carol stood and walked to the judges’ stand. She had performed flawlessly. Her hands grasped the tall trophy.
Behind Carol, out of the bright lights, Elizabeth stood with the other contenders. She had not won the trophy, but she knew that her parents were equally proud of her. A feeling of contentment came over her as she realized that some things were even more important than winning a trophy.

“OK, Mckay, it sounds like you need a time out.” Mother’s voice was smooth and calm, but Mckay could still hear the strain in it. “You two shouldn’t be acting this way.”
Mckay frowned. “Then why doesn’t Josie have to sit in a ‘quiet’ chair? She started it by calling me names.”
Mother sighed as she peeled and sliced bananas on top of the banana cream pie she was making. Instead of answering Mckay’s question, she asked him one, “How old is Josie?”
“She’s only three, but she drives me crazy,” Mckay replied, huffing the words from his mouth as if they were hot peppers.
Mother ignored his rudeness. “And how old are you, Mckay?”
Mckay swallowed some of the angry lump in his throat as he began to realize what his mother was trying to say. “I’m eight.”
Mother smiled and nodded. “Do you think that that might be why you’re sitting there, instead of Josie?”
Mckay only shrugged. Mother continued, “I think that Josie knows something is wrong, but she doesn’t quite understand what or why.” Mother slipped the pie into the refrigerator. “But you understand, right?”
Again Mckay shrugged.
“Read Josie a story, and then you may be excused,” Mother said.
Josie overheard and ran to the bookcase. She picked out her favorite story about Adam and Eve and scooted her chair next to Mckay.
As Mckay read, he knew that Josie was more interested in the pictures of the animals than the story, but he still read every word because he knew that his mother could hear.
Mckay closed the book when he’d finished. Josie opened it and begged him to read the story again. Mckay looked at Mother, who was waiting to see what he would do.
“Fine,” Mckay said. This time he simply told the story. “Adam and Eve chose to eat the fruit that God told them not to eat. As a result, they knew right from wrong and they had to leave the Garden of Eden, and that’s the end.”
Josie giggled, “Read again.”
This time Mckay grumbled, “Mom, do I have to?”
“I don’t think she minds your quick version,” Mother said with a smile. “But there’s one thing that you could add this time.”
“What?”
“You forgot the part where Adam and Eve told the Lord they had eaten of the fruit. They understood that they had made the choice to disobey one law to obey another, and that they were accountable for that choice, right?”
Mckay was thoughtful as he looked at the picture of Adam and Eve leaving the garden. They knew what they had done, and they were ready to accept the consequences of their choice. In other words, they were ready to do whatever Heavenly Father said that they needed to do now. McKay had never thought of it that way before.
“They don’t look happy and carefree anymore, do they?” Mother asked.
Mckay flipped the pages back to the beginning of the book. His mother was right. At the start of the story, they looked different—sort of like Josie.
Mckay was quiet all through dinner. He thought of his baptism, remembering how long he had waited to be eight so that he could be accountable. For the first time, he was thankful that Heavenly Father had made him wait to be baptized until he truly understood that he was responsible for his own choices.
When Mother passed out the banana cream pie, Josie couldn’t wait politely for Mother to help her eat her piece. She quickly grabbed it and started eating with both hands.
“Oh, Josie,” Mother gently scolded. “What a mess!” She wiped Josie’s hands and mouth and changed her bib.
Mckay ate his piece as quickly as he could. He dropped a gooey banana on his shirt.
“What a mess!” Josie repeated to her mother as she pointed at Mckay’s dirty shirt.
Taking his napkin, Mckay wiped his shirt clean, smiled, and simply said, “Yep, but I’m old enough to know when I’ve made a mess, and I take care of it the best I can.”
“Mess all gone!” Josie clapped her hands in surprise as if she thought the shirt had been cleaned by magic.
Mckay laughed, “Wait till you’re eight, little sister. Then you’ll get to clean up your messes, too.”
Mother smiled and winked at Mckay. “That’s right, Josie. Just wait.”

During my early teenage years in Glendale, California, my father, Wayne M. P. Hancock, was not a member of the Church, had habits contrary to the Word of Wisdom, and was a traveling salesman frequently gone from home. Harry V. Brooks, bishop of the Glendale West Ward, took a special interest in the youth of his ward and became my personal role model, counselor, and friend. I would do nothing that would disappoint him or bring him sorrow.
When it was announced that there would be a centennial Scout encampment at Salt Lake City in 1947 as part of the centennial celebration, Bishop Brooks determined that his Scout troop would participate. He readily saw in my nonmember father a man with organizational skills and a salesman’s boldness. Dad was called by him to be finance committee chairman. The close association that developed between Bishop Brooks and my father led to Dad’s joining the Church when I was 16 years old.

Another awakening came when Heath was ten. He was already a great swimmer and he knew it. At one meet in particular, Heath had won several races and then proceeded to tell—even brag—to everybody about his accomplishments. “I had five or six blue ribbons and I was going around to everybody else saying, ‘I got these. What do you have?’ A friend of mine who was probably about 15 had been watching me and she just stopped me dead and said, ‘Why are you so arrogant? You’re the cockiest little boy. You need to grow up,’” Heath says, remembering the incident very well. “After she talked to me, I promised myself I would never do that anymore and I don’t think I have.”
Heath, much more humble now, still remembers the girl’s words: “You need to grow up.” Seven years later, anybody who knows Heath could pass along this message to that same girl: He has.

One of the most spiritual experiences of my life occurred when my Mom was first diagnosed with cancer. As anyone who knew her would attest, my Mom was one of the most vibrant, loving, selfless persons on earth. If anyone deserved to live, and would have the will to live, it was Mom. We were all hopeful she would beat the cancer. I went to the hospital to see her and give her a blessing. I fully expected to bless her that she would overcome the cancer and be made whole. However, shortly after starting the blessing, I had an overwhelming feeling that many of Mom’s loved ones who had passed on were in the room, surrounding her with loving arms outstretched, welcoming her to their Heavenly home. I knew instantly that Mom wouldn’t survive the cancer, but would be welcomed home when she died. I didn’t share this experience with anyone except maybe Bonnie until after Mom passed away. I didn’t want to discourage anyone from having hope and sharing their hope with Mom. My Aunt Lucy, who was a nurse, and my Grandma Jones were particular sources of hope. Their hope that she would continue to live in this life wasn’t granted, but we all knew that Mom had hope for a better life.

Another story out of the Philippines that follows the formula is of a young man with a young family who were starving to death. They had nothing. He finally decided he had to leave the little area where he was and go to the city to try and make a living for his wife and his children. He finally arrived in Manila with 200 pesos. For those of us ignorant in money changing, that's four dollars. He had four dollars to his name. He began to fast to see what he could do with four dollars to save his family's financial life. He fasted for three days. He was tempted to use some of his four dollars to eat, but he knew if he did he would have nothing to start with. So he didn't eat any of his ta, but he finally had this vision come that said, "your family has this famous recipe, a barbeque recipe." He went and spent a few of his pesos on ingredients for this barbeque sauce and spent the rest on some chicken. He borrowed a grill from a friend and then stood on the edge of the street in Manila and put his four dollars worth of chicken and barbeque sauce on display as he cooked it. And as the people came by, and one person bought a piece of chicken, and then a second person, until finally he sold out.
At the end of the day, he had eight dollars. He had doubled his net worth with this borrowed grill. He spent one of those dollars to eat his first meal, and now he has seven dollars left to spend on the next days' supplies. He went out and bought more chicken and more ingredients for the barbeque sauce, and the second day he doubled his money again, and third day he doubled it again, and continued to double it. Finally he started sending money home go his wife and children. And then he had enough to buy his own grill so he didn't have to borrow one anymore.
And then he was enough ahead that his neighbor had been watching him and said, "I'd like to do that too." So he said, "I'll tell you what, I'll set you up with a cart and a grill and give you enough money to buy chicken and you meet me here at eight o'clock tomorrow night and we'll take the money out that you need to buy the chicken for the next day, and then we'll split the money 50/50, half for me for the cart and grill and half for you."
He did that over and over again, until today, and this may be an old story, but somehow, after a year or two or three of that hard work, this man became a very prosperous man with over a hundred carts to his ownership of which he had 50/50 partners all over the Philippines operating his carts and famous formula. He became a very famous and well to do, successful man.

A number of firsts occurred in 2008 for young women in the New Delhi India District. At the first ever Young Women camp in the district, young women built wood fires, cooked over open flames, slept in tents, and learned survival and camping skills while filling the air with friendly laughter.
“My favorite part of camp was talking to and getting to know the girls,” said Hanna Smith of the New Delhi First Branch. “I got to make friends with girls I had never met before.”
For many of the young women it was their first experience camping, and they learned the basics of outdoor survival and living. The girls also learned how to interpret maps and how to read and conduct music. Youth camp leaders taught a variety of other skills, including dancing, sewing, water safety, and glass painting. Cumorah Taylor, one of the young women in the district, said she felt more confident in her abilities after the camp ended.

Elder Walker was on assignment in Tonga when he met a couple whose lives exemplified faith and devotion. This couple was known for their unwavering obedience to the Lord, consistently prioritizing His work, even at the expense of their own health and personal needs.

As he got to know them, Elder Walker learned that the husband suffered from a heart condition that required surgery, an operation that would cost $24,000 and needed to be performed in Australia. The couple could not afford the procedure or the travel expenses, but thankfully, a family member in Australia offered financial help.

Soon after arriving in Australia for the surgery, however, the man felt a strong prompting to return home, even before the operation. Trusting this spiritual impression, he returned to Tonga, where he was soon called as the stake president. His sense of duty replaced any consideration for his own wellbeing, and he postponed addressing his health concerns to focus on serving the members of his stake.

Elder Walker counselled with the couple, urging them to prioritize the husband’s health so that the Lord could continue to bless him and use him to care for his family and his stake. Shortly after, the man was able to receive financial assistance and returned to Australia for health tests and medical advice.

Following some of these tests, Elder Walker received an intriguing message from a family member in Australia. The family member reported that during one scan, the technician noticed something unusual—something resembling a metal stent appeared exactly where the pain originated. When asked if the husband had undergone any surgery before, the family member assured the technician that he had not.

This unexpected finding was a sign of divine intervention, a miracle that allowed the husband to continue his service without needing the costly operation.

This experience left a lasting impression on Elder Walker, strengthening his testimony of the miracles that occur when we exercise faith and obey the promptings of the Holy Ghost. The humble couple’s willingness to sacrifice and trust in the Lord exemplifies the truth in 2 Nephi 27:23: "For behold, I am God; and I am a God of miracles; and I will show unto the world that I am the same yesterday, today, and forever; and I work not among the children of men save it be according to their faith."

A friend spoke to me recently of her father, who had suffered a stroke. She faced a hard time of life as she tried to determine the best way to care for and support him and also consider her mother, who had good health and days still filled with promise and grandchildren. Then my friend spoke of the reverence she felt for this time. She said, “I am finding I enjoy learning from him, watching him deal with this difficult process of an aging body.”

A few days after the May 2006 Friend arrived, my six-year-old daughter, Kari, leaned over to me and whispered, “Dad, I have a secret. Let’s mow the word Mom into our lawn and surprise her.” I had seen the May cover illustration and knew how the seed had been planted. Kari and her sisters had a giggly sense of excitement all the next week and a half. I made sure my wife was gone the Saturday morning before Mother’s Day while my girls and I mowed those three wonderful letters into our front lawn. Kari told me she wanted to do this to make her mom happy and tell her she loved her.

Another returned missionary, Bishop Fortunate Chitiyo from Nketa Second Ward, Nkulumane Zimbabwe Stake shares his and his dear wife’s mountain experience: “When our dear daughter Amalia Chitiyo was born, she had bilateral clubfoot” (a birth defect in which the foot is twisted out of shape or position). The Chitiyos couldn’t afford the funds for treatment and the special shoes which were recommended for their daughter. Bishop Chitiyo said, “During this process we prayed and fasted continuously and pleaded with God to heal our daughter and remove this mountain according to His will”.
After several months, the Chitiyos’s daughter was miraculously healed. Bishop and Sister Chitiyo testified of this healing experience: “This [experience] increased our faith and through it all we testify with the prophet of God, President Russell M. Nelson that the Lord loves effort! Truly, faith is the power that enables the unlikely to accomplish the impossible. The healing of our daughter did not happen according to our timing and in the manner we expected, but according to God’s timing and in His own way.”

I had planned to attend the University of Utah, but in August I had a strong impression that I should go to Ricks--an impression that may have been amplified by the fact that Jane Stringham was also planning to go to Ricks. I called the football coach, and he said he could offer a scholarship. Before I knew it, I was on the football field during the first day of practice. Coach Tiny Grant shook my hand, assigned two players to be my roommates, and told me to get a haircut--my hair did not quite meet the dress and grooming standards. Now, at about 6-foot-5, 300 pounds, Tiny Grant was not so tiny, so I obeyed!
I made the first team as a running back, but soon I faced a dilemma. My sister was getting sealed in the Salt Lake Temple the next weekend, so I asked Coach Grant if I could go home for her wedding. He said it was my choice, but I might not retain my starting spot when I returned. I chose to go. I got tickets for an 8 a.m. flight from Idaho Falls to Salt Lake.
This would be my first time flying alone, but I wasn't worried. I had everything planned out: I woke up that morning at 7, got ready, and made the 30-minute drive to Idaho Falls. I arrived at the airport at 7:55 feeling pretty good--I had a good five minutes to spare! On my way from the parking lot to the terminal, however, I learned that my plane was about to leave. "You'll never make it," the airport personnel told me. In a panic, I ran onto the tarmac--you could do that in a small airport in those days--and waved my hands in front of the plane, yelling, "Don't leave! I need to get on the plane! It's my sister's wedding!" The next thing I remember was two security men hauling me off the tarmac, saying, "You're not getting on that plane!"
Needless to say, I missed my sister's wedding. But I did manage to convince security that I was not a serious threat, and I caught a later flight in time for her reception. When I returned to Rexburg on Monday, I also learned that I had lost my starting spot on the team for the next week's game.
As you can see, I had plenty of growing up to do during my first few months at Ricks College.

In our neighborhood everyone is mostly Lutheran or Jewish, that is, if they admit to any religion at all. Mostly everyone is tolerant, and I have a lot of pretty good friends who aren’t LDS. They watch out for me, too—they know I don’t drink, so there’s always a can of soda for me. Whenever anyone felt a prayer was appropriate they’d call on one of the Mormons. They respected us.
Until the Cartchers moved in.
Cheryl Cartcher was nice enough. When they moved in a couple of blocks away had no idea they were members until I heard my mother saying Alice Cartcher was new in her visiting teaching district.
I asked, “That’s not Cheryl and David Cartcher’s mother, is it?”
Mom said, “Yes, I think those are her children’s names.”
“Oh, no,” I groaned. “They haven’t been coming to church, have they?”
“I’m afraid not,” my mother said. “The Relief Society presidency wanted me to help fellowship the family. They’re having some problems.”
“That’s an understatement,” I said. “They are problems. I hope nobody finds out they’re Mormons.”
“Marnee, whatever makes you say that?”
“Ever since they’ve been coming to school Dave Cartcher thinks he’s some big hotshot basketball player, only he fights with the referee and gets sidelined. He drives this big noisy black motorcycle around. And Cheryl …”
“What about Cheryl?”
“She’s okay. She just acts like a mouse. She’s about six inches taller than all the girls, only she hunches over and tries to look shorter, and she’s clumsy so she won’t try sports. She hardly says a word, either. Some example.”
I could feel my mother giving me “the look,” so I tried to slide out of the room without making eye contact.
“Marnee,” she said, using “the voice.”
“What?”
“We have an opportunity to help, don’t we?”
“Yes, Mom.”
“I know you’re a good example to the kids at school. Less active members are no less important. Maybe even more important.”
“Yes, Mom.”
She waited. I sighed.
“All right, Mom,” I said. “I’ll fellowship Cheryl.”
That shouldn’t be too hard, I thought. Anyone who says five words in a row to Cheryl would be her friend forever. But Mom wasn’t through.
“What about Dave?” she said.
“Dave, too? Can’t you find some boy to fellowship him? He’ll just get the idea that I think he’s a hotshot, and he sure doesn’t need any more encouragement along that line.”
“All right, Marnee. Just be friendly. I don’t want the Cartchers to have any excuse to feel that they’re not welcome in church.”
No problem of that, I thought. They’ll never show up at church.
Cheryl was at sacrament meeting on Sunday. Maybe she’d been there before and I hadn’t noticed her. She was sitting in the back as if she wanted to melt into the wall. A lot of the time she didn’t look up, just sat with her head bowed. When the meeting ended she started to go out the front doors instead of toward the classrooms. I followed her out into the parking lot.
“Cheryl,” I called out.
She turned around, surprised. I motioned to her to come back in. She hung back. I motioned harder. “Come on,” I shouted.
Finally she came up the steps, looking like a five-foot, ten-inch cornered rabbit. “Hi, Marnee,” she said in a faint voice.
“You forgot we have Sunday School and Young Women next. Come on back inside.”
“I have to get home.”
“How did you get here?”
“I walked.”
It was my turn to be surprised. Their house was over three miles away. “We’ll give you a ride home. So you’ll have enough time anyway. Save wear and tear on your feet.”
Her presence in Sunday School class increased the number of girls to three. The boys looked her over without interest, and the other girl, Shanna who is everyone’s friend, said hi.
When we took her home it was a tight fit, with all eight members of my family besides, but she seemed to enjoy it. When we dropped her off I saw Dave practicing free throw shots at a backboard in the driveway. He didn’t even turn around. Cheryl waved until we drove out of sight.
After that she followed me around. She was a dreamy girl, living in a world of her own. One day she gave me some of her poems to read. I’m not real good with poetry, so I suggested she take them to the creative writing club that met during lunch. In fact, I took her there myself. They welcomed her with open arms. I stayed to listen, but I’m not the poetic type. Cheryl, however, spent every lunch hour there after that.
My family did take her to church every week and I thought I was doing my fellowshipping job pretty well.
Mom was having a harder time with Cheryl’s mother, though. Sister Cartcher worked at a truck stop, and her husband was a trucker. When he came home on weekends sometimes they’d take off together and leave Dave and Cheryl alone. Sister Cartcher wasn’t interested in Relief Society. Mom didn’t know what to do.
“Have you managed to become friendly with David Cartcher?” she asked one day in desperation. “I called to talk to Alice, and he was awfully rude.”
“Don’t take it personally, Mom,” I said. “He’s rude to everyone. In fact, I did say something to him once. I told him he was a pretty good basketball player.”
“And what did he say?”
“He stood there with his mouth hanging open. He must have thought I was going to lecture him for being a bad example.”
“Keep up the good work,” my mother said.
Actually he was a pretty good player. I even went to a basketball game. I’d been practicing with the golf team after school, and by the time we were finished, the basketball team had an early game going, so I went over to watch.
There weren’t that many people on the bleachers yet, but I saw Cheryl sitting next to a gray-haired couple that looked like they might be her grandparents. She waved at me to come sit next to her.
“This is my mother and father,” she said. “Mother, this is Marnee Wingate.”
“Wingate?” her mother said. She had light blue eyes and looked like she’d seen a lot of problems, and her mouth was set in an unsmiling line. “Are you Martha Wingate’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother has been trying to get me to go to church. You might as well tell her I don’t have time for that anymore. I used to be in the Relief Society presidency once, you know.”
Then they jumped up and cheered at a basket Dave made.
It was hard for me to imagine Alice Cartcher as a member of a Relief Society presidency, but then, you couldn’t tell Cheryl wrote poetry just by looking, either. Cheryl told me she was having three of her poems published in the school’s literary magazine. I said congratulations.
At halftime Dave came over to see us. Cheryl said, “Look who’s coming over to talk. Usually he acts like we aren’t here.”
“Do you always come to his basketball games?”
“Whenever Dad’s not on the road. Dad’s really proud of him, you know. Dave acts like it’s no big thing. But I think he really is glad we come.”
Dave talked to his parents, and he didn’t swear once. Then as he was leaving he gave me one of those chin-up nods like some guys do when they think they’re too good for you. I smiled anyway and waved. I guess this fellowshipping wasn’t so hard.
When I told Mom about it afterward she asked all about the Cartchers, what they had said, etc. I told her how the parents had their two kids when they were older, and sometimes Cheryl and Dave felt like they were imposing. It wasn’t like our family—I mean, our family may be like a three-ring circus, but it’s fun, and everyone pulls together. Mom and Dad are busy all the time, but we know they love each other and they love us. They want what’s best and they expect the best from us. I had a hard time describing my feelings.
Mom was nodding like she understood. “That was lovely what you said about our family, Marnee.”
I wished I could write a poem about it, like Cheryl, put it into words. Then I said to Mom, “The Cartchers act like they’re afraid to let their feelings show. I think they love each other, but I’m not sure any of them knows how much.”
“Maybe they don’t know how to be close, like you said,” my mother said. “But even Cheryl realizes that underneath they all really do care. Maybe they just need some encouragement. Keep trying, Marnee.”
One Sunday we took Cheryl home after church. Her parents’ cars were gone and so was Dave’s motorcycle, so I knew she’d be alone. I asked if she wanted to have lunch with us. She said she’d better make lunch for Dave. She stood in the yard and watched us go. The noisy, laughing Wingate bunch. I thought it might be nice to spend a quiet afternoon alone, like she did, but I’d probably never know.
Cheryl called that afternoon. Dave had been in an accident, and would we come down to the hospital with her?
Mom and Dad and I went to pick her up. I knew motorcycle accidents could be bad, but she hadn’t sounded as if it were a life and death situation. Still, you can’t help worrying until you get there and see how things are.
When she ran out of the house I couldn’t help thinking how different she was from when I first met her. She wasn’t hunched over anymore. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkling, like she was interested in life, not afraid of it.
When she got into the van she said, “Thanks so much for coming. Mom and Dad are in Las Vegas this weekend. Maybe they’ll call tonight. When they aren’t here I always think of you as my family. With your mom being our visiting teacher and your dad our home teacher, I guess I just thought of you first when there was a problem. They said at the hospital that Dave never lost consciousness. He broke some bones, but it’s not too serious. The other driver was driving a little foreign car and ran a stop sign. It’s good it wasn’t a big car. Oh, Marnee, I’m so glad you’re here.”
Mom was looking over the front seat at us with a big smile on her face. She’d never heard Cheryl chatter like that. I hadn’t either. In spite of the fact that we were on our way to the hospital, something good had happened.
Dave was sitting up in the hospital bed. His right leg was up on some sort of frame to hold the blankets off, and a sling was around his right wrist. He’d broken his shin bone just below the knee, and his wrist. He looked dazed and in pain, and his face was white. When we walked in, he asked Cheryl, “Did Mom and Dad call?”
“No, Dave.” She sat down beside him. “I came over as soon as I heard. The Wingates brought me. Brother Wingate says the home teachers can give you a blessing if you want one.” She handed him a card in an envelope. He opened it and read it, smiling at his sister shyly.
Then he looked straight at me, as if waiting for me to pass judgment on him. I said, “Hi, Dave. I’m glad … you weren’t hurt any worse. I mean, you could have been killed, but you just … broke some bones.
Talk about stupid. I’m sure that cheered him up immensely. My mother was standing there with a strained expression. Father had his best concerned look on. Cheryl started to chuckle, then to laugh out loud.
Dave started to laugh too. Finally I started laughing, too. When the laughing died down, I said, “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right. I meant we’re glad everything wasn’t worse.”
He sat there staring at me as if I’d said something profound. I decided not to try to say anything else. Then Brother Harker, Dad’s home teaching companion, walked in and saved me.
Dave had them give him a blessing. I always peek during the prayer, because sometimes it feels like there are angels in the room when my dad gives a blessing. Dave’s eyes were closed like a little boy’s, and there were tears on his cheeks.
On the way back home Cheryl said, “Do you know, Dave must respect you a lot.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He acts like a gentleman around you, and he listens to you,” she said. “You know that card I gave him? I wrote a poem telling him how much he means to me. I put in about how broken bones don’t matter as long as the spirit is safe. I think that’s why I laughed when you said what you did. I was so relieved it was just broken bones!”
After that Sister Cartcher came to church with Cheryl several times, and when Dave got his cast off he came on crutches. I never saw the dad. In the summer they moved away.
Cheryl wrote to me after they moved. She said her mother had better hours on her new job, so she was able to go to church more often. Dave got a scholarship to play basketball, and he was attending institute at the college he went to. She said that being friends with our family had changed their family, except her dad, but she wasn’t going to give up on him.
At the end of her letter there was a poem.

Emma Orrilla Perry Merrill, a widow, had a child in the school at which she herself was the teacher. During a recess her son was playing with the other children in the newly-dug basement of Thatcher Church. One of the children led a donkey over the bank causing it to cave in. Her son was buried under the avalanche. Some of the children ran immediately to tell her, and she came running and screaming.

“When I reached the cave-in I started digging frantically with my bare hands. I dug my fingers into the quick but kept digging. Finally I found one of his hands and followed it to his head. I uncovered his head just in time, for when I got him out he was black and blue with suffocation.”7

This hardy sister, incidentally, lived to be ninety-two.

Fourteen-year-old Jason said the closing prayer at the conclusion of our Sunday School class. It had been one of my most successful lessons, and I kept my eyes shut a moment longer to add my own words of gratitude. The boys unfolded their lanky bodies from the chairs and ambled out of the classroom.
Jason paused as he passed me. “That was a good discussion, Sister Udy. It really made me think.”
I smiled. “Thank you, Jason. I enjoyed it, too. I’ll see you next week.”
I packed my lesson book and scriptures into my tote bag and made my way along the congested hallway toward the foyer.
“Sister Udy! Sister Udy!” A voice rose above the babble. I turned to see Brother Richardson, the Sunday School president, frantically waving at me as he tried to maneuver through the crowd.
“Sister Udy, I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but I haven’t had a chance,” he said as he guided me into an empty classroom. You’ve been doing a wonderful job with your Sunday School class.”
“Thank you.” I smiled.
“That’s why we feel we can ask you to take another student,” he continued. “You know that the Housman family recently moved into our ward, and we really haven’t known where to put Deedra until now. We think she would fit well into your class.”
“Deedra?” I stammered. “But she must be at least eighteen years old. Shouldn’t she be in with the adults?” Or in Primary? I thought. Anywhere but in my class.
I knew about Deedra—knew that she was intellectually impaired and that she talked out loud during the sacrament and sang all the hymns at the top of her lungs. I knew that some girls made fun of her. The boys simply ignored her. What would this eighteen-year-old girl have in common with a class of lively fourteen- and fifteen-year-old boys?
“You know that there are no other girls in my class this year,” I reminded Brother Richardson. “And the boys tend to be a little rowdy at times. Don’t you think Deedra might be more comfortable somewhere else?”
Brother Richardson smiled reassuringly. “No, no,” he said kindly. “We think that you will be the perfect teacher for Deedra.” He looked at me expectantly, then added, “Of course, it’s up to you.”
I sighed. “Of course Deedra is welcome in my class.”
Brother Richardson beamed. “I’ll tell her parents,” he said happily. “She’ll be there next Sunday.”
I knew she would. Deedra was never absent. My heart sank as I thought about the lesson I had already been preparing for the next class. How could I ever keep the boys’ interest if I had to teach on Deedra’s level too? The boys were used to lots of questions and discussion of scriptures. Deedra couldn’t even read.
Maybe she won’t like the class. I comforted myself with the thought. Then they’ll see that it is wrong for her.
The next Sunday morning dawned bright and fair, but the beautiful day failed to lighten my spirits. My prayers were perfunctory—my heart just wasn’t in them.
After Sunday School opening exercises, I hurried to my classroom. Deedra was already there, horn-rimmed glasses tilting crookedly across her freckled nose.
Deedra’s face broke into a wide grin when she saw me. “Hi, buddy,” she said as she bounced out of her chair to give me a hug. “Can I help you?”
I smiled in spite of myself. “You can move the chairs if you want. I like them in a big circle.”
She was busily moving the chairs as the boys walked in. They looked at her warily. “Here,” said Deedra, pointing to Jim. “You can sit in this one, buddy.” She set the chair down. Jim sat. One by one, Deedra assigned each of the boys a seat. Then she sat herself down, facing the boys. She smiled at me. “I did a good job,” she said.
“Yes, … thank you,” I replied. I introduced her to the subdued boys and began my lesson.
Deedra was quiet while the boys responded to the questions. The discussion became animated as the class attempted to determine the function of each member of the Godhead.
“And what does Jesus do?” I finally asked Deedra. She looked up. “He loves me,” she replied.
I stopped for a moment, stunned. “That’s right,” I said. “He does.” I slowed the pace of the lesson, aiming more questions at Deedra. She responded simply but with unerring accuracy. She knew the things that mattered. I pointed out to the boys that her answers were correct, even if they weren’t what we expected. The class ended before we knew it, and Deedra gave me a hug as she left. This time I hugged her back.
I can’t say that the following weeks were easy. Often Deedra became bored, and sometimes the boys grew restless. But gradually they loosened up and began to exchange friendly banter with Deedra, who could hold her own.
“I want to sit next to Jim,” Deedra announced one Sunday. Jim’s ears reddened as the boys teased him, but he good-naturedly made a place for her. After that, Deedra always sat with the boys instead of across from them. Whoever was her choice for the week would share his scriptures with her and be on her team if we had a game. No one ever complained. Deedra was as much a part of the class now as anyone else.
January was almost here, and most of my class would be moving on. I sought out Brother Richardson.
“Would you like me to keep her another year?” I asked.
He gently smiled at me. “You’ve done a good job with Deedra. But I’ve already spoken to her and her parents, and we think she’s ready to go on.”
A feeling of disappointment overcame me. I hadn’t realized just how much I had grown to love Deedra, with her cheerful spirit and ever-ready hug. “I’ll miss her,” I said sincerely.
“I told you that you were the perfect teacher for her,” Brother Richardson said.
“No,” I said softly. “I was the one who learned the lesson this year. It was Deedra who was the perfect teacher.”

At the end of that summer, I walked onto this campus with two pieces of luggage and $45 in hand. I met with Brother Charlie Goo who encouraged me to find a job and to not be picky about it. And so I did. I worked in the cafeteria as a dish room worker in the early mornings and a line server during lunch and dinner. When I left home that summer, my family was very upset that I had converted to the LDS Church and so I did not get any support from them. There was a point in my dorm life that I had only enough money to do my laundry but I did not have any laundry soap. I remember the spirit whispering to me, "Go ask Evie!" and so I did. She gave me a cup of soap and I was able to do my laundry. Once I had to leave my laundry and return to my room for something. When I came back, my new pair of jeans were no where to be found. The Lord told me, go tell Char about this. And so I did. A couple days later, I found my new jeans nicely folded on my bed. I suppose if I had had lots of money and extra pairs of jeans this would not have mattered, but my meager paycheck and no support from home made this difficult. The whole year was such a humbling experience. I relied on the Lord for everything. He helped me. Elijah's reliance on the Lord to be fed by the ravens and the widow helps me to appreciate how I relied and continue to rely on the Lord on a daily basis. I live so that I can have the still small voice guide me.

For Bernardo and Leonides Obedoza of General Santos, going to the temple in faraway Manila seemed impossible. But like the merchant man who went and sold all he had to buy one pearl of great price (see Matthew 13:45–46), this couple decided to sell their house to pay for the trip so that they and their children could be sealed as an eternal family. After they sold their home and most of their possessions, they managed to scrape together the exact amount to pay the boat fare to Manila for their family of nine. Leonides was worried because they would have no home to return to. But Bernardo assured her that the Lord would provide. They were sealed as a family for time and all eternity in the temple in 1985. It was worth every sacrifice they had made, for in the temple they found joy incomparable—their priceless pearl. And true to Bernardo’s words, the Lord did provide. On their return from Manila, kind acquaintances gave them places to stay. Their children completed their schooling, and the family eventually acquired their own home in a new location.