Gospel Story Finder

As a young man of nineteen, experiencing my first contact with Latter-day Saints, I sat ready to put one dollar in the collection plate during Sunday School opening exercises. I would show my Mormon hosts that I was not stingy. After all, I was only earning thirty-five cents an hour, so one dollar was no small contribution. But Sunday School came and went, and there was no collection plate.
And again at sacrament meeting that Sunday evening, where I had decided to double my contribution to two dollars, there was no collection. The explanation must be, I was sure, that you contributed at the door on your way out. With my hand in my pocket, I was ready—but I had to switch pockets because everyone wanted to shake my hand.
Once outside the building, I casually asked my hosts, “When do they take up the collection?”
They smiled and answered, “We don’t pass the collection plate in our church.”
“Never?” I asked.
“Never,” they replied.
“Great!” I thought. “This is my kind of church.” Obviously, it was time for me to learn about tithing.
I had been praying long and hard about religion. An unrelenting feeling of uneasiness had come over me—a feeling that was driving me to find spiritual relief. On the following Wednesday night the missionaries gave me the lesson on tithing, and I found the relief I was looking for. Never will I forget the comfort that flowed into my system when those two elders began to instruct me about tithing. From their very first word until their last amen, I knew it was true. The very next Sunday I paid my first tithing, although it was six months before I was baptized.

Missionary work and service projects went together for the Modesto Sixth Ward, Modesto California Stake, when the young people in the ward met for a “Run and Rake.”
In teams of two, equipped with rakes and missionary pamphlets, each pair went from door to door asking if they could rake the leaves from people’s lawns and if they could leave a pamphlet about the Mormons. When their offer was accepted, the entire group lined up across the lawn, and in one sweep, the lawn was raked clean. The group was able to rake three blocks and place many pamphlets. The neighbors were impressed with the young people, and the missionaries gained two new investigators from the project.

Prison warden Kenyon J. Scudder has related this experience: A friend of his happened to be sitting in a railroad coach next to a young man who was obviously depressed. Finally the man revealed that he was a paroled convict returning from a distant prison. His imprisonment had brought shame to his family, and they had neither visited him nor written often. He hoped, however, that this was only because they were too poor to travel and too uneducated to write. He hoped, despite the evidence, that they had forgiven him.
To make it easy for them, however, he had written them to put up a signal for him when the train passed their little farm on the outskirts of town. If his family had forgiven him, they were to put a white ribbon in the big apple tree which stood near the tracks. If they didn’t want him to return, they were to do nothing, and he would remain on the train as it traveled west.
As the train neared his home town, the suspense became so great he couldn’t bear to look out of his window. He exclaimed, “In just five minutes the engineer will sound the whistle, indicating our approach to the long bend which opens into the valley I know as home. Will you watch for the apple tree at the side of the track?” His companion changed places with him and said he would. The minutes seemed like hours, but then there came the shrill sound of the train whistle. The young man asked, “Can you see the tree? Is there a white ribbon?”
Came the reply: “I see the tree. I see not one white ribbon, but many. There must be a white ribbon on every branch. Son, someone surely does love you.”
In that instant he stood cleansed by Christ.
His friend said, “I felt as if I had witnessed a miracle.”

The jaded, blank-faced crowd congesting the Las Vegas strip paid little attention to the boy behind the wheel of the shiny Corvette. “Just another kid out cruising in his father’s car,” thought anyone who happened to glance his way.
But that was all right with 18-year-old Jack Farley, because he didn’t care much for the crowd, either. He had other things on his mind. He’d started working at age 14, and four years later he’d become sort of a bubble gum baron, controlling his own vending business. He’d paid for the Corvette himself and he’d driven it from the California coast to the desert resort town for an exciting weekend.
Yet something was bothering him. Something wasn’t quite right. His mind kept reverting back to what those Mormons were teaching him in the Sunday School class he’d started attending—things like service to others and eternal families. He’d be missing that church Sunday. Or maybe he wouldn’t—what was he doing here anyway? If he turned around now, he could easily make it back by morning.
The decision to drive back to his home in Mission Viejo, California, was one of the most important choices Jack ever made. Although he’d fought and won many battles in his life, the choice to go home for church led to what he considers the ultimate victory of his life so far. “I’m real thankful for the Church,” he says, “real thankful. I can’t even dream of where I’d be without it. Outside the Church, it’s like you fall into a river and it carries you wherever it goes. In the Church, you have control.”
Jack had been battling strong currents in that river for a long time. He began one major battle clear back in the third grade. Although it was obvious that he was a bright child, he couldn’t keep up with the other kids in school. “I was diagnosed as having dyslexia,” Jack explained. “That’s a reading disability where your letters sometimes appear to be jumbled up a bit. Sometimes Ds look like Ps and stuff like that. You can still read; it just takes a bit longer.”
It took Jack a lot longer. He was placed in special classes and got a lot of help from specially trained teachers, but he never quite caught up. “The gap between me and the other kids just kept getting wider and wider,” he said. “At times, when the teacher would call on me to read out loud to a class of about 30 kids, it was embarrassing when I couldn’t even sound out the word the.”
But if Jack had trouble reading, there was one thing he excelled in, and that was work. Hard work. At 14 he got a job in a print shop, sweeping and doing various other cleanup chores. After that, choosing to work diligently became easy.
Work provided the reinforcement Jack wasn’t getting in the classroom. “I was behind all my friends at school, but I was doing really well at work, and I started learning about business,” he said. He decided to try his hand at entrepreneurship. With a little training and a lot of inspiration from a concerned teacher at his high school, Jack started a vending business.
“My main thing is gumball machines,” he explains. “I have about 100 in stores—mom-and-pop type stores, where I had to get permission from the owners to put them in. I also have a few pop machines, but I like gumball machines better. It just comes down to how much time you spend on getting new locations as to how much money you make.”
And Jack did make money. Lots of it. He met his material goals of buying his own sports car and just about anything else he wanted. He joined a special school/work program, where he could incorporate his business with his studies. Before he knew it, he had graduated from high school and was out on his own. “I should be happy now,” he thought. But he wasn’t.
“There had to be more. All I had faith in was money, and that had nothing to do with happiness at all,” he said. That realization started his search for the truth. He thought it might be a good idea to thank Heavenly Father for all the blessings he’d been given, so he went to pray in the only nearby church he knew of—San Juan Capistrano, the famous Catholic Mission, built centuries ago. It seemed logical that the Lord would hear his prayers from such a place.
The Lord did. In response, he sent a messenger to Jack’s door. But it wasn’t the type in a suit, white shirt, and tie. It was Randy Smith, an insulation salesman and a recent convert with a lot of enthusiasm. He started talking to Jack about insulation, and somehow the subject got around to the gospel. It didn’t take Randy long to invite Jack out to the missionary prep class that his brother Tom taught.
“But I didn’t join right off,” Jack said. “I kind of sat back and doubted for a while, but I wish I hadn’t.” His Las Vegas excursion helped him appreciate the truths they were teaching him. “I looked around at the people there and thought ‘Lots of these people have money, but they’re still looking for something to make them happy,’” Jack said. Maybe he really could find what he was looking for in the Church.
He’d previously been attending Sunday School with a lackadaisical attitude, but now he decided to take the gospel seriously and learn some more. He began the missionary lessons and discovered that it would take the gospel to make him happy—happier than banking billions from bubble gum ever could. “Once the missionaries started teaching me, it only took about a month and a half before I was baptized,” he said.
Jack’s choices didn’t end when he joined the Church, though. Other decisions were in store. “I decided to go on a mission right after I decided to get serious about the gospel,” Jack said. “I thought, if it’s true, it’s all true, and of course you want to tell other people about it. It would be wrong not to go.”
But what about his business, and what about his car? “I sold the Corvette,” Jack says, with a surprising lack of remorse. “The insurance was costing me a fortune anyway.” The bubble gum business is still booming, however. His mother will manage it while he’s in the mission field, and the profits will help keep him afloat financially.
Jack feels he is well prepared for the mission field, but when his call came, he was stunned. He will be serving in the Japan Nagoya Mission. He was surprised that with his reading disability, he would be called to learn such a difficult language as Japanese.
“I was confident I would go to an English-speaking mission,” he said. “When I went to take the language aptitude test, I asked the girl who administered it which were the hardest languages, and she said both Chinese and Japanese were challenging. I thought, good—at least I won’t have to worry about them. Then when I got my mission call, I was surprised.”
But Jack doesn’t worry about the battle with the language. “When you’re doing the work of the Lord, he’s going to help you out. When I first got a Book of Mormon, I found it really hard to read, but since I started reading the scriptures, my reading has improved, and it’s the first time I can really see that improvement.”
Jack pulls out the scriptures, and reads, out loud, his favorite: Alma 32:28. It talks about the faith he needs to serve, and the faith the people need to receive his message: “Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.”
As Jack reads that scripture, you notice that he reads clearly and precisely; he doesn’t stumble over a word.
Hey Jack—did you know you just read that scripture perfectly?
“I did? Wow, well thank you. I guess I’m getting a lot of help.”
The same Spirit that helped Jack choose to head home from Las Vegas is still helping him now. And it will continue to help him as he teaches the Japanese.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, Elder Farley has completed training in the MTC. He is now serving in the Japan Nagoya Mission.

My husband, Jerry, had been in poor health for several years when he became seminary principal for the wards that met in our meetinghouse. I don’t think anyone knew how difficult it was for him to get up early every morning—especially during the dark, cold winter months—and go to our building. Sometime later, he passed away.
Several years after Jerry’s passing, I was surprised to receive a touching letter from a young woman who had moved away years earlier. She had tucked it into her wedding announcement. The letter read:
“I absolutely adored your husband and was so sad to hear he had passed away. He was the best seminary principal we ever had. Every morning he would wait in between the doors and open them as he wished everyone a good morning. After class, he would open the door again and say, ‘Have a good day at school!’
“I always made sure to say thank you and occasionally tell him how grateful we were to have him. I felt safer with him there.
“He was always so humble, and his kindness was recognized by all. I think my attendance was better because I didn’t want Brother Bergevin waiting in the cold, thinking I was on my way or I was late. He was an incredible man and he will always be remembered.”
I’m sure that Jerry had no idea anyone would still think of him so many years later. Yet this thoughtful young woman still did, and she was kind enough to send me this sweet letter, which I was grateful to receive.

I have a friend who learned this truth in a very personal way. His son was raised in the gospel, but he seemed to be wandering spiritually. He frequently declined opportunities to exercise the priesthood. His parents were disappointed when he declared that he had decided not to serve a mission. My friend prayed earnestly for his son, hoping that he would have a change of heart. Those hopes were dashed when his son announced that he was engaged to be married. The father pleaded with his son to get his patriarchal blessing. The son finally agreed but insisted on visiting the patriarch alone.

When he returned after the blessing, he was very emotional. He took his girlfriend outside, where he could talk to her privately. The father peeked out the window to see the young couple wiping away each other’s tears.

Later the son shared with his father what had happened. With great emotion he explained that during the blessing, he had a glimpse of who he was in the premortal world. He saw how valiant and influential he was in persuading others to follow Christ. Knowing who he really was, how could he not serve a mission?

When I was 19, I left my small village in central Cambodia to live with my older brother in the capital city of Phnom Penh. Several years earlier my brother had met two young men wearing white shirts, ties, and name tags. Now my brother introduced me to the gospel and baptized me into the Church.
When I was baptized, my district president, President Pen Vibol, told me, “Memorize the Articles of Faith. They explain everything that is good in the Church, things you should always remember.” I thought this was wise advice, so I memorized all 13 and reviewed them regularly. But I never imagined how important President Vibol’s advice would turn out to be.
My brother always encouraged me to improve myself and get an education. A few years after I was baptized, I was able to pass the English university entrance test, and I received a four-year scholarship to study international marketing at Brigham Young University–Hawaii.
But as difficult as the entrance test was, the hardest part was still ahead—getting an American visa. Permission to enter the United States is difficult and expensive. Sometimes permission is denied even for students who have scholarships to attend American universities. I filled out the proper forms, made an appointment for an interview at the U.S. Embassy, and soon found myself sitting across the desk from a young man with blue eyes.
“There are a lot of American universities,” the interviewer said. “Why do you want to go to BYU–Hawaii?”
“Because I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and it’s a Church-owned university,” I replied.
The interviewer shuffled his papers. “I see your brother is already there,” he said. I knew that the embassy didn’t like more than one member of a family to leave the country at the same time.
“Yes,” I admitted. “My older brother is attending BYU–Hawaii.” The interview wasn’t looking good.
“Can your parents support you?” was the next question.
“My father is a farmer, and my mother is a seller,” I said. I told him they didn’t make much money.
“Then how can you afford to study in the United States?” asked the interviewer.
I pulled out my acceptance letter and explained that I had a scholarship to attend the university.
After looking at the letter, the interviewer reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small card. “Recite four of these Articles of Faith,” he said.
I knew them as well as I knew my own name. “We believe in God, the Eternal Father, and in His Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost,” I began. After I had finished the third, the interviewer stopped me.
“OK, great!” he said, putting the card back in his desk. “You can pick up your visa tomorrow.”
I don’t know why the interviewer had an Articles of Faith card in his desk, but I was grateful I didn’t have to think twice when he asked me to recite them. Knowing the Articles of Faith may not always bring such dramatic results, but they’ll always be good to know.

One sister, shortly after moving to a new ward, suffered a devastating illness that left her nearly bedridden for almost two years. She describes how the sisters of her new ward, working through the Relief Society organization, blessed her life:
“A loving and sensitive Relief Society president visited often, and other sisters checked on me every day of the week. I forged bonds of friendship with each one as we shared feelings of the heart, discussed current affairs, laughed at the small indignities of illness, and generally enjoyed each other’s company. One sister quietly did my laundry, freshened my dogs’ food and water, and brought her grandchildren to visit. Another … made delicious custard for me when I could eat no other food. …
“I rarely was able to attend church during my illness, but I still felt right at home in the ward family” (JoAnn Jolley, Ensign, September 1994, 51–52).

Evan Payne owned and operated a gasoline and auto repair station in Thousand Oaks, California. He was quick with a smile and even quicker to remember people’s names. He knew his customers, their children, and their cars. Evan worked long hours, six days a week, and was genuinely interested in helping people. He gave jobs to teenagers who had family problems or who were preparing for or returning from missions. He would stay late or arrive early to accommodate a customer. Nearly everyone in town knew Evan Payne and liked him.
Evan was also busy at home and at church. He and his wife, Becky, had five children, ages 7 to 13. He had served twice as a counselor in the bishopric, as bishop, and now as a counselor in our stake presidency.
Evan was young, athletic, happy, and outgoing. He had dark hair and a handsome face. He loved to ski and play Church softball and basketball. So it didn’t seem possible when I heard that Evan had leukemia.
In the months following his diagnosis there were family, ward, and stake fasts. Evan went through chemotherapy and radiation. When Evan’s illness did not go into remission, his brothers were tested to determine if they could be bone marrow donors. None matched. He and Becky got their affairs in order and prepared for the worst, but in spite of the pain Evan remained upbeat and positive. He continued to work nearly every day, although he was clearly suffering.
One day my office phone rang. “Joel,” Evan said, “what are you doing tonight? I want you to come with me to give a blessing to someone in your ward. Can you do it?”
“Sure,” I said. “Who are we going to bless?”
“Sally Carlisle (names have been changed). She is an elderly lady from San Diego. She is in town visiting her daughter, Joan Wilson, who isn’t active. I should be taking the Wilsons’ home teacher, but I don’t know who it is, and she needs a blessing right away. Can you pick me up?”
I had a sudden sinking feeling, and a wave of guilt flooded over me. For many months I had been assigned to home teach the Wilson family, but I had not even called them. Numerous times I had intended to call or stop by, but each time I rationalized my way out. I had not done my duty. I told Evan I would pick him up at 7:00.
As we drove Evan explained that the Wilsons had been customers at his service station for many years. Joan had been raised in the Church but had drifted into inactivity as a young adult. She had married Mike Wilson, who was not a member of the Church, and they had raised their four boys in Mike’s religion. Evan explained that we would be giving a blessing to Joan’s mother, who had the flu. Joan had called Evan at the station and asked him to come. He was the only member of the Church she knew.
When we arrived at the Wilson home, Joan greeted us at the door but excused herself while we visited with her mother. Sally explained how much she wanted her daughter to come back to the Church and how she prayed for Mike and Joan to be able to receive the blessings of the gospel. After we visited for a few minutes, I anointed Sally and Evan blessed her. It was a simple blessing of comfort and good health.
As I drove Evan home, I felt grateful to have witnessed that priesthood blessing. I was also grateful for the introduction to the Wilson family and for spending those moments with Evan Payne, who passed away just a few months later.
In the following years I visited the Wilson home regularly. They welcomed me and remembered me as Evan’s friend. At first we just talked about Evan and what a great power for good he had been in our community. I remained the Wilsons’ home teacher for 15 years, and I tried to be like Evan and help whenever I could. Mike and Joan became my good friends and blessed my life in return.
Although Joan did not return to activity and Mike did not join the Church, I will always treasure their love and friendship. I was serving as bishop when Joan passed away. At the time of her death, Mike donated a large sum to the ward missionary fund. That money supported a missionary from our ward who joined the Church as a teenager and had no family resources to allow him to serve. Mike’s contribution indirectly touched the lives of the many converts that young elder taught.
Although I am certain Evan Payne did not intend to teach me any lessons that night many years ago, I learned that it is no burden to be about the Lord’s business. I try to be, as Evan was, truly interested in and concerned for our Heavenly Father’s children. And as a home teacher I try to be as faithful as Evan was and as the Savior would want me to be.

My friend Melinda and I were trying to decide who to share a batch of freshly baked cookies with. After a minute of thinking, we both looked at each other and said, “Sister Cobabe!” She had been our Mia Maid adviser, and I often baby-sat her two young children. She was one of our favorite people.
We wrapped the cookies up and wrote a short note. It read: “We think you are a wonderful person. Thanks for all you have done. We hope you have a wonderful day. Love, Wendi and Melinda.”
We left the cookies on the doorstep, rang the doorbell, and ran, leaving our surprise on the Cobabes’ porch.
In Young Women class the next week, Sister Cobabe approached me and handed me a card. I walked over to Melinda, and we read the card together. It said:
“I wanted to thank you both for the cookies. They were so good! I also wanted you both to know that I think the love you show to me and others is wonderful. I really needed a lift the day you brought the card and the cookies over. The next day, I had a death in my family. It was such a comfort knowing someone was thinking of me. Always remember you deserve only the best in life. Love you both, Sister Cobabe.”
I felt a warm feeling blanket my heart. A large smile crept onto my face. We had really helped her.
Melinda and I recalled that her name had seemed to occur to both of us out of nowhere. Now we realized that we had received a prompting to give the cookies to her.
My heart swelled as I read the note again. Even though it was only a small gesture of kindness, Sister Cobabe had really needed it. The Lord had used me to help someone else.

President Brigham Young used the following story to illustrate the potential influence of teachers: “A traveller in the Eastern country overtook an old gentleman walking towards a town, and asked him, ‘Who is the great man of that little town? Who is your leading man? Who is the governor and controlling spirit of that little place?’ The old gentleman replied, ‘I am the king of that little town.’ ‘Really,’ says the traveller, ‘are you the leading man?’ ‘Yes, sir, I am king in that place, and reign as king.’ ‘How do you make this to appear? Are you in affluent circumstances?’ ‘No, I am poor; but in that little village there are so many children. All those children go to my school; I rule the children, and they rule their parents, and that makes me king.’” (Journal of Discourses, 9:39.)

When Paul H. Dunn of the First Quorum of the Seventy was eleven years old, baseball was an important part of his life. Paul’s parents permitted his team to use their large backyard for a baseball diamond. It was completely fenced in, with an alley running along the outside. Beyond the alley was a large church with a beautiful stained glass window that faced the center-field fence.
One hot summer evening an exciting baseball game was in progress in the Dunn backyard. Paul came to bat late in the game and hit an outside pitch. It looked like it might be the best hit he had ever made! The ball cleared the center-field fence, crossed the alley, and then, to everyone’s dismay, entered the church building through the large stained glass window some 260 feet away. It seemed to young Paul that the glass fell for hours. The players scattered in every direction.
When Paul got up the courage to return home, he discovered that his father had two visitors. They were both ministers from the neighboring church. To Paul’s surprise, they seemed to know from which house the baseball had come. Paul admitted to the ministers that he had hit the ball that had broken the window and told them that he was very sorry.
Paul’s father put his arm around his son’s shoulder, patted him on the head, and said, “This is a good boy.” He, too, apologized for the mishap and asked how much it would cost to replace the stained glass window. They told him that it would be about $500.
It was then that his father taught young Paul a great lesson. He asked the ministers if they understood the principle of Christ’s atonement. They seemed a little puzzled. His father said, “In our Church, we believe that ‘through the Atonement of Christ, all mankind may be saved by obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel’” (third article of faith). He explained that the atonement allows each of us to be forgiven of our sins if we repent. Jesus paid for all our sins when He suffered in the Garden of Gethsemane. As the only perfect person who ever lived on earth, He was the only one who could do this for us. We could not do it for ourselves. Without His sacrifice, we could never be forgiven of our sins and would not be able to live with Heavenly Father and Jesus again.
Paul’s father pointed out that although Paul had broken a window, he could never pay for it himself. His allowance of 25¢ a week would never pay for a $500 window. Taking his checkbook from his coat pocket, he wrote out a check for the amount needed and said, “As Paul’s father, and because I love him, I will pay the price that he cannot.”
This experience helped Paul understand what Jesus did for us when He atoned for our sins. At this Easter time we can be thankful that Heavenly Father loved us enough to send His Son so that we can be forgiven when we do something wrong.

Amber stared up at the movie theater marquee and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Her stomach twisted this way and that. Why does this have to happen to me now that I’m finally making friends here? she wondered. Trish, Sarah, and Kristin are so popular that I’m lucky they invited a new kid like me.
There were several people ahead of them in the ticket line. Amber knew that she had only a few minutes to make one of the toughest decisions of her twelve-year-old life.
She ran her fingers through her hair and pinched her lips together as she looked around at the girls with her. Their eyes sparkled with excitement.
“Only Trish could have come up with such a great plan!” exclaimed Sarah.
Trish, a tall, thin girl, laughed. “Well, since Bambi and TeenAgent are playing here together, why not take advantage of it?”
“I’m not sure my parents would let me go to a PG-13 movie if I asked them,” said Kristin, shoving her hands down into the back pockets of her jeans.
“But what parent would say no to good old Bambi!” Trish observed with a mischievous giggle. “Bambi—what a bore! It’s OK for five-year-olds, but we’re almost thirteen. Why shouldn’t we go to a PG-13 movie?”
Sarah moved a few steps closer to the ticket office. “It’ll be perfect. We see the other movie, and our parents think we’re at the kid show. Amber, you’re going to love TeenAgent. My older sister saw it, and she said it was great. The only reason it’s rated PG-13 is the bad language and a little bit of violence.”
“But it’s nothing we haven’t already heard at school,” Trish put in. “And what’s the big deal about a little violence? I can handle it, can’t you?” she asked Amber. Turning to the other two girls she continued, “TeenAgent will run longer than Bambi, so we’ll have to really hurry over to the pizza parlor afterward. If we’re still eating when my parents come, we’ll just tell them that the restaurant was really busy and it took a long time to get our pizza.” With a crooked smile, she added, “They’ll believe us.”
Amber’s stomach twisted into another knot as she looked at Trish and thought, Why didn’t you tell me the truth when you invited me? Why are you putting me in this awful—she couldn’t think of a right word for a second—situation. The word triggered a memory in Amber’s troubled mind. “You’re going to be put in situations that will test your spiritual strength.” She could picture Sister Hansen, her last Primary teacher, saying those words. “You may find yourself in situations that demand that you lower your standards. Unless you have a firm testimony of Jesus Christ and His Church, your spiritual strength may give way under peer pressure.” Spiritual strength. Testimony. The words echoed in Amber’s mind.
Sarah was buying her ticket now.
Which is more important to me right now: following our prophet, or my new friends? Amber’s mind raced as she watched Trish step up to buy her ticket. Do I really, truly believe?
“Amber, it’s your turn,” Kristin whispered after she’d bought her own ticket. Trish and Sarah were standing to the side of the ticket booth, watching her.
Stepping up to the booth, Amber said in a confident tone, “One ticket for Bambi, please.”
Sarah gasped. Trish’s look of surprise quickly turned into a smug glare. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said as Amber joined them. “We’re all going to the other movie. What’s the big deal? Don’t you think you can handle a little blood and bad language?”
“I’d rather see Bambi,” Amber answered in a firm voice.
“Your parents won’t find out that you …” Sarah faltered.
Amber shook her head. “It’s not their decision. It’s mine. And I just don’t want to see the other movie.”
“But what about going for pizza afterward?” asked Kristin, now standing next to Trish.
Amber turned to Kristin. She could see worry in her kind eyes. “Bambi gets out a lot earlier, so I’ll just call my parents to come get me. Maybe we can all go for pizza another—”
“Come on,” Trish interrupted, taking Sarah’s arm. “I guess I made a big mistake inviting her.”
Amber thought she saw a glimmer of understanding in Sarah’s eyes as she was whisked away by Trish. After two or three hurried steps, Trish turned and called, “Come on, Kristin, or we won’t get good seats.”
“I think I’ll go to Bambi, too,” Kristin said, her voice sounding apologetic. Turning to Amber, she added, “If that’s OK with you.”
“Great—just great!” grumbled Trish as she and Sarah disappeared into the theater.
“OK? It’s wonderful! But are you sure? They looked pretty upset,” Amber said.
Kristin shrugged her shoulders. “I’d rather see Bambi, too, but I was afraid to say so. Trish can be pretty persuasive sometimes. Let’s go exchange my ticket.”
Standing in line again, Kristin asked, “Why didn’t you want to go to the other movie? Were you afraid your parents would find out and ground you or something?”
“I’m sure they’d be hurt to know that I lied to them. But even if I had asked to go to a PG-13 movie, they would’ve said it was my decision. Then they would have had faith in me to make the correct choice.” Amber found it a relief to talk about it now. “I just didn’t want to see a movie with bad language and violence in it.”
“Why not?”
“Because our prophet, the leader of our Church, has counseled us not to go to movies that go against the teachings of Jesus Christ.”
“Boy, you must really believe your prophet and your Church,” said Kristin.
“I do, but I didn’t realize how much until today.”
Kristin shook her head a little. “I wish I could be strong like you. My family doesn’t believe in anything, and sometimes I feel so empty.”
All through the movie, Amber thought about Kristin’s words and the look in her eyes when she had said them. As the movie ended and the lights came up, she said, “Kristin, let’s call my parents to come get us. We can go to my house for some of my mom’s famous chocolate chip cookies. You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted them!”
“Do you think it would be OK with your parents?” asked Kristin.
“I’m sure it would. Mom always says, ‘When you have five kids, what’s one more?’ Besides, I’d really like you to meet my family. I have a feeling that we’re going to be good friends.”

Brother Stewart’s desire to help his priests avoid similar situations was greeted enthusiastically by the quorum. His approach included a quiz on the young men’s existing knowledge of etiquette, with a discussion afterward, and a formal dinner for the priests and Laurels. The class exercise was well received, and the dinner turned out to be one of the best-attended activities of the year. “I thought the dinner would be fun but that I wouldn’t really learn anything new,” admitted Buster Child, first assistant to the president of the priests quorum. “But I was wrong. I really have learned a lot.”
Printed invitations were sent to each of the priests and Laurels in the ward, and the priests were assigned to escort the Laurels. As a result, shortly before 7:30 on a calm, clear, spring night, the Stewart sidewalk began filling up with beautiful young women in long, colorful dresses and handsome priests in coats and ties. Inside, several tables had been covered with fine cloths and set with china, silver, and goblets. Placecards indicated where each guest was to sit, and the tantalizing aroma of baked ham and scalloped potatoes floated into the dining room from the adjoining kitchen.
The young people spent the first part of the evening mingling, talking, and eating hors d’oeuvres of sausage-filled mushrooms and chips with dips. Such whispered comments as “I ate before I came so I wouldn’t stuff myself when I got here” and “Is it all right to pick up a mushroom with my fingers?” could be heard amidst talk of school, ward activities, and the approaching summer vacation.
Soon, however, it was time for dinner to begin. After a short welcome and a blessing on the food, Brother Stewart encouraged his guests to feel comfortable and to ask as many questions as they wanted. And they did. Throughout the evening the room buzzed with questions. “How do I butter my roll?” asked one, and from someone else, “Do I pass the food to my left or to my right?” Brother Stewart also brought up some points for discussion. Some of the answers were obvious: “Should you leave some food on your spoon or fork to be waved about during conversation?” brought spontaneous laughter from the group. But the answer to another question, “Is it considered proper to butter a whole ear of corn at once?” (the answer is no; butter and eat only a few rows at a time) was greeted with disbelief, and the consensus was that perhaps this is one area that should be left up to personal taste.
When the evening was over, however, the group generally agreed that understanding etiquette and practicing good manners are just as important today as ever before. “Once you learn the basics, you can relax and enjoy yourself without wondering if you are going to make a big mistake,” said Mike Bonnelli. And Sharon Matsen added, “It’s being courteous, but it’s more than that, too. It’s a way of showing others you want them to feel comfortable. For example, I really like my date to open the car door for me. Even though it might be considered a little thing, it makes me feel that he thinks I’m someone special.”

Photograph posed by model
When I crossed the finish line of the Mayor’s Marathon in Anchorage, Alaska, I felt extremely grateful to be a finisher because I had been fighting the battle of living with a chronic illness. After receiving my finisher’s medal, I hurried to call my mother. She was thousands of miles away serving a mission with my father in Samoa. With heartfelt emotion and tender tears, my first celebratory words to her were “I’m free! I’m free!”
Four years before then, I had been diagnosed with post-viral fatigue syndrome, often associated with symptoms of chronic fatigue syndrome. After many blood tests, MRIs, and CAT scans, I was referred to an infectious disease specialist. At last, after months of wondering what was wrong with me, the virus was found. The doctor found the cytomegalovirus (CMV) in one of my blood tests. I asked him about a treatment plan and how long my symptoms might last. His answer was not what I wanted to hear. He told me that I would need to rest often and not overdo it. He told me that the symptoms could last for several months or even years.
How could I rest? I was a full-time elementary physical education teacher and Young Women leader. My husband and I had been married for 16 years and had not yet been blessed to have children of our own, so I tried to fill this void by teaching other children and serving the young women. After offering many prayers, I knew it was time for me to resign from my teaching position. I did not have the strength or the energy to teach or do much of anything. I often experienced daily headaches, joint pain, dizziness, anxiety, loss of concentration, unrefreshed sleep, and extreme fatigue.
What was I going to do? I knew I had two choices: give up or hold on. I chose to hold on because I knew that with my faith anchored in Jesus Christ, I could endure the struggle.
The struggle continued for four years. Getting dressed every morning became exhausting. Just doing one load of laundry wore me out. I could not drive myself to appointments due to dizziness and exhaustion. Asking others for help was challenging for me; but if the Spirit prompted me to do so, I would try to obey. I was amazed at the love that was offered to me. I had always been a giver. I had found joy in service. Now I had to allow others to serve me and hold on to hope for healing.
In priesthood blessings that I received, I heard that I needed to be patient for healing to happen. I had read in the scriptures that if I would “bear with patience [my] afflictions,” the Lord would give me success (see Alma 26:27). I read a general conference talk from President Russell M. Nelson about the Lord’s ways and timing. He testified: “I know that an all-wise Heavenly Father’s perspective is much broader than is ours. While we know of our mortal problems and pain, He knows of our immortal progress and potential. If we pray to know His will and submit ourselves to it with patience and courage, heavenly healing can take place in His own way and time.”1 I knew I must hold on.
When I would attempt to walk half a block in my neighborhood, I often experienced shortness of breath, light-headedness, and joint pain. I had been a runner previous to contracting the virus, and now I could only walk slowly. Many times I would fall on my knees to pray that I could get up and feel up. The fatigue got worse every time I tried to get up and do too much. One day I got up and my back went out. I fell to the floor in tears and pain. I cried out to Heavenly Father, “I can’t take it anymore!” He knew I was down and helped me up once again. I would often tell myself, “Just hold on.” There was not much else I could do. By choosing to hold on to hope in Christ and continually calling upon the Lord, I was able to press on.
I decided I needed to focus on what I could do rather than what I couldn’t do during this physical affliction. I began by compiling a gratitude list. At the top of my list, I wrote that I was grateful for being alive and knowing who I am. By knowing that I am a daughter of God and that my Savior loves me, I was able to “press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope” (2 Nephi 31:20).
I became determined to fill myself with a perfect brightness of hope, love, and gratitude by studying the life of Jesus Christ through reading the scriptures, receiving priesthood blessings, and serving others in small and grateful ways.
I was often filled with fear during this affliction. This fear would cause panic attacks and make me feel weary and unsure of my ability to ever recover and be whole. One day I received a card in the mail from my Relief Society president that included a scripture that became my peaceful prescription for overcoming the fear that was holding me back: “Perfect love casteth out all fear” (Moroni 8:16). Our Master Healer, Jesus Christ, would cast out my darkness, doubt, and despair and fill me with His light, love, and lift. My fear faded and my faith ignited.
After four years of chronic fatigue, I ran my first marathon in 2011 and have run 12 more since.
Photograph courtesy of the author
After four years, I knew I had been patient in affliction, and I felt physically able and prepared to move on. I wouldn’t be moving on alone. My husband and my children (the oldest of which was born two years into my illness) were my most enthusiastic cheerleaders.
So I began training for the marathon one step at a time. My husband decided to train with me and promised to run the race with me. During one of my training runs, I came upon a street sign that validated my healing. The street name at the top of a hill was Success. At that moment, I knew the Lord had kept His promise to me. I had been taught what I should do to endure this affliction: “Bear with patience thine afflictions, and I will give unto you success” (Alma 26:27).
The Lord gave me more success than I expected. He renewed my strength and healed my broken heart. I could run again, and after 16 years of not being able to have children, I was blessed to give birth to a son and a daughter (within 21 months of each other). I’m so grateful I held on to God’s guidance I had received in the scriptures.
I pressed forward through the illness with faith in Christ and with my husband and children as my cheerleaders. Now our children are old enough to run with us.
Photograph courtesy of the author
I know the words of Christ tell us all things that we should do (see 2 Nephi 32:3). I know that being patient helps the process of healing to happen. As Paul wrote, “Let us run with patience the race that is set before us” (Hebrews 12:1). Running the race of life requires us to overcome obstacles put on our path. By holding on to hope in Christ, pressing forward with a steadfastness in Christ, and moving on with His perfect love surrounding us, we will, in the Lord’s timing, be made free! (see John 8:36).
The author lives in Alaska.

I learned the importance of the whole armor of God in a powerful way in the fall of 2002. The fall of 2002 was a time of stress and anxiety in my life. Some of that stress came from work, and some came from trying to be more diligent and faithful in living the gospel. In 2000 I had been called to be a member of the stake mission presidency. When stake missions were disbanded in early 2002, I joined the high council and was given responsibility for missionary work in the stake. In fact, it was in the process of working with the missionaries and teaching people about the gospel of Jesus Christ that I had realized I needed to deepen my faith, strengthen my testimony, and be much more spiritually in tune. I had been active in the Church all my life, had served a mission, been married in the temple to the love of my life, reared seven wonderful children, had many strengthening experiences in various callings in the Church, had many sweet spiritual experiences, and had felt close to the Lord. But in the months leading up to the fall of 2002 I began to feel that I needed to do more and to do better.

And so I set out to try to live the gospel more fully, to be closer to the Spirit. Partly, this involved eliminating things from my life, what I read, what I watched, that detracted from the Spirit. Partly, it involved concentrating on things in my life, attending the temple, sharing the gospel, that brought me closer to the Lord. By the fall of 2002 I felt I had made progress, but I also began to feel strong opposition. It seemed as if at the very moment when I began to feel the deeper faith and stronger testimony that I sought, I experienced feelings of darkness and doubt.

One night during this period, I awoke from what must have been a nightmare. I felt very anxious, worried, beset with strange thoughts and feelings of dread and darkness. I felt intensely the need for the Lord's help. I rolled out of bed onto my knees and asked Heavenly Father to help me. I prayed for strength, for guidance, for relief. As I got up, a phrase of scripture came into my mind. It was just a fragment, but it was the key I needed. This is the phrase: "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world."

I knew the fragment was scripture, but I could not recall its location. Since it was the middle of the night, I decided to go back to sleep. The scripture stayed with me. When I got up in the morning, the phrase was still in my mind. I went to my computer and searched on the phrase, and there it was: Ephesians 6:12. As I read, I realized that this verse was embedded in a longer passage. I had not remembered that the discussion of principalities, powers, and rulers of the darkness of this world came in the context of putting on the whole armor of God. But as I read the whole passage, Ephesians 6:10-17, I knew that this was the answer to my prayers. This was the message the Lord had for me. It told me what was happening to me, and it also told me what I needed to do. As so often happens, the message was not only to comfort, to enlighten and inform, but also to assign and command.

At that moment, I knew that this was the voice of the Lord saying to me: "Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. Wherefore take unto you the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand therefore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness; And your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace; Above all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God."

Age 18
First counselor in Young Men presidency, seminary teacher
We all face unanticipated problems in life. After my family returned from being sealed in the Hong Kong China Temple and just before one of my sisters was to leave on a full-time mission, my older brother and sister lost their jobs and my father’s salary was cut in half. It was a difficult time for the 11 of us in our small home, but we held to the promises made in the temple.
In that time the Holy Ghost reminded me of a scripture: “But before ye seek for riches, seek ye for the kingdom of God” (Jacob 2:18). It brought me hope. I trusted that God would bless me and my family.
My brother and sister have now found jobs that allow our family to eat, and I’ve had several promising interviews. It’s a miracle that has increased our faith in Christ. I know the Lord loves us and knows us. He knows our needs. If we’ll keep His commandments, we’ll prosper in the land (see Mosiah 2:22).

As I ponder this admonition of the Lord, I am reminded of a special friend. As I have worked with her, I have been inspired by her devotion to her family and church. A large family and an invalid husband didn’t keep her from accepting a leadership responsibility in Relief Society. I asked her how she managed so well. She answered, “My Relief Society sisters help me. Their love lifts my spirit when I feel down; the lessons give me strength and direction. My problems don’t seem so big when they are shared.”

She set a pattern for her day, starting with an early morning prayer while the rest of her family slept. She organized in her mind the duties to be performed that day and asked her Heavenly Father for his help in accomplishing them. Each day ended with a grateful report as she expressed her appreciation and love to her Father in Heaven for his help and the help of kind friends. She felt she could not have accomplished the day’s tasks alone.

What an example this mother has been to her family! She has taught them the power of prayer, the value of being organized, and the joy that comes from serving others and the Lord.

Jeremy’s family forwarded his regular e-mails, in which he told of the people he was helping. On one occasion, he sent me a tape. I sat on the floor with my college roommate and listened. He talked about his faith and bore testimony of his beliefs. Inwardly, I had been searching for such conviction. My roommate was in tears at the sound of something so powerful. She asked me if I had read the Book of Mormon, and her question ate at my conscience. Could I actually know a church without having studied its scripture? I decided to read the Book of Mormon.
Two weeks later missionaries began to teach me. I prayed that God would help me make the right decision so that my conscience would be at ease. By the end of the lessons, my eyes had been opened to something I knew to be right.
My mother asked me to meet with a leader in our church. I knew him to be a very bright scholar and was somewhat intimidated. But the man I thought would confound me and have all the answers had none. All he could tell me was that many believed these matters, so who was I to question? He told me how disappointed my parents would be, and my heart ached. I had never outright disobeyed my parents. But how could I continue to be a part of something I knew was wrong? I had to stand up.
In the font, I knew the rest of my life would be different. It would be a lot harder, but I realized that part of growing up is making choices that are right. As I leaned back into the water, I felt peace! I could hardly believe the joy. I had decided what I believed and took courage in my own conviction.
My parents took back my credit card, my cell phone, and my car. They ignored me for a few months and would not let me speak to my brothers. My sister also found it difficult to accept me for a while. I moved to Utah for college, where I met a wonderful man and fell in love. My parents would not meet my husband when we were married, but now those tensions are slowly resolving, and I am in hopeful pursuit of my eternal family.
Growing up, trusting my decisions, and receiving consequences was not easy. But such joy has entered my life because I made the right decision. That moment of peace at my baptism has guided my life. Every big decision I make must have that peace, or I cannot live with it. I believe that if we choose what is right, we can get through anything.

How would you like to live in a schoolhouse? Minna and her family live in the countryside of southern Sweden. Their home used to be a schoolhouse many years ago. She says the best part is that the house has a room big enough for lots of people. In December, Minna’s family invites neighbors, friends, and family over for a special “sing-in.” About 80 people come to sing Christmas carols together! Then they enjoy treats before everyone goes back out into the cold Scandinavian winter weather.