Gospel Story Finder

Some of her greatest contributions to her community began in 1976, when riots erupted in Soweto. It was a dangerous time to be out and about in the community, but Julia was concerned about the hatred expressed by the youth. “I knew what it was like to feel isolated because of your own confusion. So I started a project in Soweto to bring young people into doing things, trying to find a message in what they did.”

Her project was to involve the youth in organic gardening—a passion she had developed a decade earlier while using natural foods to help her daughter heal from a congenital heart defect. As most families did not have enough ground for even a tiny garden, she arranged to clean up a rodent-infested plot of land. “As others watched us struggle with the overgrowth of stubborn weeds,” Julia recalls, “they too became involved, and we moved from corner to corner of Soweto replacing the useless and the ugly with the beneficial and beautiful.”

Part of the beauty Julia planted was in the hearts of the young. “When I was planting with them, I would say, ‘Now look, boys and girls, as we see this soil down here, it is solid and hard; but if we push down a spade or a fork, we will crack it and come out with lumps. And then if we break those lumps and throw in a seed, the seed will grow.

“This message is my message to young people. They should have it in their hearts. Let us dig the soil of bitterness, throw in a seed, show love, and see what fruits it can give. Love will not come without forgiving others. Where there has been a blood stain, a beautiful flower must grow.” Her efforts helped repair not only the physical damage but also the moral damage caused by the riots.

One year we went through almost two boxes of film before Dad was satisfied. Thirty-four times we had to stand up straight, say “cheese,” or “pizza” and then smile. When we got the photos back, someone looked awful in 26 of them, five were out of focus, and in three others, Dad didn’t quite get into the picture in time and all you could see was his back. We went with one of the out-of-focus shots that year, which sort of symbolizes the whole family photo ritual.

As a young stake president, I met many of the General Authorities when they came to speak at our stake conference. What a wonderful experience! President Hugh B. Brown came to one of our stake conferences just a week before he was called and sustained as a member of the Council of the Twelve. We enjoyed his warm spirit and his good humor. As I helped him put his coat on and walked out to his car with him, I said, “Elder Brown, do you have any personal advice for me?”
His answer was, “Yes. Follow the Brethren.” He did not choose to elaborate or explain, but he left that powerful message: Have the simple faith to follow the Brethren.

David looks down and sees Sister Logan smiling up at him from where she’s sitting with her husband and two children. She wants to take David in as a foster child. “You’re only 14,” she told him the other day when he dropped in after school for some snickerdoodles and a glass of milk. David has stayed with Sister Logan and her family off and on for days at a time, when his mother has had to go to the hospital for treatment for her depression. Even when he’s not crashing on the Logans’ sofa, David likes to drop in every now and again.

But the other day, while he was munching his snickerdoodle and sipping his milk, Sister Logan had stood over him, her face a tight mask of concern. She had jiggled her baby on her hip and she said, “That neighborhood of yours …”

She had let her voice trail off, but David knew what she was thinking. She was scared David would never have a chance.

What Sister Logan doesn’t know is how very much David would like to be her foster son. He can picture himself tromping home from school in the afternoon and pushing open the slick glass doors of her building’s lobby. He’d stop and visit with the doorman for a while, then zip up to the 12th floor, where he’d sit at the spotless Formica table in Brother and Sister Logan’s white kitchen. He’d work on his math problems until it was time to help with dinner.

But this, David knows, is only a dream. It is like the dream he used to have about his father coming back to live with him and his mom. It is like the dream that one morning he will wake up and his mother will have stopped drinking. She will be standing in the kitchen, whipping up a batch of blueberry waffles and telling him it’s time to get ready for school. It is only a dream.

David returns Sister Logan’s smile.

I telephoned a man last week. He is retired. He has served as a mission president, and he and his wife are now serving as missionaries. I asked him if they would be willing to go to preside over a new temple. He broke down with emotion. He was overcome. He could not talk. He and his wife will leave their children and grandchildren for another long period to serve the Lord in another capacity. Will they miss their grandchildren? Of course they will. But they will go, and they will serve faithfully.

Not everyone can go to BYU, at least not in his freshman year when he lives only 15 miles from another college, Mark thought as he made his way to a desk in the large amphitheater prior to his first class at State College.
He glanced at the 60 other strangers who had also elected to take Sociology 119. Many of them were also freshmen, opening their cellophane-wrapped notebooks for the first time.
He looked to see if he could recognize any members of the Church. As far as he could tell, he was the only Mormon on campus.
Two rows ahead of him was a girl who caught his attention. It was not her long hair flowing softly over her shoulders or her high cheek bones that caught his eye. She was reading a Bible.
The instructor, Dr. Guthrie, entered the classroom. He wore a turtleneck sweater and carried an old pipe that he carefully filled with tobacco as he waited for the bell to ring. He looked to be about 30 years old. Mark’s adviser had told him that Dr. Guthrie was one of the most popular teachers on campus. He had won teaching awards for the past three years.
Dr. Guthrie began his lecture by telling the class that he was a little “hung over” from a party the night before, but that he’d try to muddle through. He opened with a joke.
Mark looked around at the others in the class. For the most part they were happy to find an instructor who was “human.”
Dr. Guthrie talked for a few minutes about the course requirements, then switched to another joke that ended with a string of swear words.
The class roared its approval.
The girl in front of him raised her hand.
“Yes,” Dr. Guthrie said.
She stood up, cradling her Bible in her arms. She stood with dignity and said calmly, “I’m a Christian, Dr. Guthrie, and I believe the Bible is the word of God. The Bible teaches that taking the Lord’s name in vain is a sin.”
Mark stared at this beautiful girl with no make-up who had the courage to face 60 people and declare her standards. At the same time he felt embarrassed for her, knowing the reaction of the rest of the class.
Dr. Guthrie studied her thoughtfully for a moment, trying to decide whether to humiliate her in front of the class or let it go.
“What’s your name?”
“Sara Taylor.”
“Okay, Sara. Thank you. I’ll try and control my language.”
Dr. Guthrie examined his notes for several seconds, and then, looking up with a sly grin, announced, “Sara has just wiped out half my lecture.”
Loud laughter pulsed through the large amphitheater.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ve got four jokes I won’t be able to tell today, but if anybody wants to hear them,” he said, with a mischievous grin, “come down after class and I’ll whisper them to you.”
“Just send her out in the hall when you want to tell a joke,” someone suggested.
“I’m afraid she’d be in the hall all the time,” Dr. Guthrie kidded.
He’s the Pied Piper of State College, Mark thought.
After class, while the rest stayed to hear the jokes, Mark followed Sara out of the amphitheater into the hall.
“Sara?” he called after her.
“Yes?” she turned to face him.
“I agree with what you said about the Bible.”
“Do you? I didn’t hear you say anything in class.” She turned and hurried away.
As Mark drove the 15 miles home that night, he rehearsed in his mind that first class, trying to picture himself standing up as she had done. Deep down, however, he knew he couldn’t have done it.
As he drove, he remembered his disastrous first-grade school year in a small farm community, reliving the panic as he attempted to answer a teacher’s question but stuttered so badly she finally turned to someone else for the answer. On the playground that year, other boys in the class had mimicked him day after day until finally he would not even go out for recess.
They had moved to a larger town after that year, and careful professional therapy had helped him overcome the problem, but the emotional scars were still there. He couldn’t speak to large groups.
The next class started out with Dr. Guthrie being careful to control his speech. He was an excellent teacher, Mark had to admit, and only used the jokes as a diversion to keep everyone awake.
Halfway through the class, sensing students beginning to tire of sociology, he told a joke that would have made any truck driver blush. There was raucous laughter from a group of guys who sat on the last row.
Sara’s hand shot up again.
Dr. Guthrie saw her and, with a grin, announced, “Oh, oh, I’ve been a bad boy. Yes, Sara.”
Again she rose to her feet, and with a calm voice said, “The Bible teaches that adultery is a sin.”
“That may be true, Sara, but I don’t believe the Bible. I’m an agnostic, and any reference you make to the Bible is meaningless to me. I am more interested in what can be verified and proven. Please confine your statements to something having intellectual merit.”
She sat down. I wonder if Dr. Guthrie ever loses, Mark thought.
After class, Mark stopped her in the hall.
“Can I buy you a donut and a glass of milk?”
“Why?”
“I want to talk with you.”
They went to the student union cafeteria and found a table in the corner.
“Sara, I admire you for your courage.”
For the first time, she seemed to relax, realizing that he wasn’t going to argue with her.
“I know I don’t do it very well, but I have to say something. I just can’t let him walk over everything I cherish.”
That she dunked her donut in her milk made her seem a little more human to Mark.
She continued: “Before class today a girl came over and said that she hoped I wasn’t trying for a good grade in the class. I asked her if she had been quiet in class because of wanting a good grade, and she said, ‘Sure, I’ll believe whatever he wants me to believe for an A.’”
“Oh,” Mark said, feeling a little condemned by the story.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked as gently as she could.
He looked at her eyes, trying to decide if he could confide in her. She did not carry with her any arrogance.
“I’m afraid,” he answered honestly.
“Anybody would be nervous; that’s natural.”
“No, it’s more than that. When I was young, I had a speech problem. I overcame that, but the fear of being laughed at is still there.”
“Exodus, chapter 4, verses 10, 11, and 12 [Ex. 4:10–12],” she answered with a grin.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Here, I’ll write it down and you look it up later.” She wrote the reference on a napkin and gave it to him. He put it in his wallet.
“Are you a Christian?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, wondering how much more he should tell her.
“Someday you’re going to have to show it. Jesus will help you.”
He wondered why this girl, who had only a fraction of the scriptural knowledge about the Savior that he had could be so much better at showing her love for Him.
“Will you help me?” he asked her.
“Yes, of course.”
“Dr. Guthrie knows his business, but maybe we could be more effective if we could meet him in his own arena, you know, ‘intellectual merit.’ My Sunday School teacher is a trial lawyer. He knows how to present a case before a jury. I’m sure he’ll help us. Will you come with me to my Sunday School?”
“What church is that?” she asked.
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The one we go to is 15 miles from here. I could pick you up at your dorm.”
Sunday he picked her up at 7:30 in the morning so he could attend priesthood meeting. She attended a Sunday session of Relief Society.
After class he saw her coming out of the classroom. She was upset.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Take me back to the dorms or I’m walking.”
“Why?”
“This is the Mormon church.”
“Yes, that’s another name.”
“And you’re a Mormon?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been deceived,” she said, turning and walking quickly out of the building.
He ran after her. “Where are you going?” he asked.
“Back to the dorm.” She stopped and accused him, “You’re not a Christian.”
“How can you say that? How could a church that is named after the Savior not be Christian?”
“What about the Book of Mormon?” she said. “That’s your Bible, isn’t it?”
She turned and ran from him. He ran after her. After half a block she slowed down to a fast walk. She wouldn’t allow him to walk beside her, and so he maintained a ten-foot distance behind her.
A few blocks from the church, a family driving to church who knew Mark stopped and asked him if he needed any help. He asked them to tell his parents that he’d be late. Before they left, he asked if he could borrow a copy of the Book of Mormon. They willingly agreed.
He had to run to catch up with Sara. By this time they were outside the small town and were walking along a gravel road that eventually led to the highway back to the college.
“Sara, you can’t walk 15 miles.”
“Watch me.”
“Sara, listen to me. I’m going to read you the flyleaf from the Book of Mormon.” She sped up, but Mark stayed close enough so she could hear him: “‘… to the convincing of the Jew and Gentile that Jesus is the Christ, the Eternal God, manifesting himself unto all nations …’”
“Do you have several wives?” she snapped.
“I don’t even have one, and if all women are as unreasonable as you, I may keep it that way.”
She kept on walking.
A few minutes later, he tried again. “Sara, I’m going to read from the Book of Mormon about the Savior. Did you know that he visited people in the New World after his resurrection?”
No answer.
Mark began reading aloud in chapter 11 of 3 Nephi [3 Ne. 11]. As he began, she again sped up, trying to get out of hearing range of his voice.
It was difficult to both read and watch where he was walking. He fell down once but quickly got up and continued.
After a few pages she slowed down.
He read aloud to her to the end of 3 Nephi. It took two hours.
Then, finally, she stopped and turned around. “What you’ve been reading, it’s in the Book of Mormon?”
“Yes.”
She began walking toward him. She passed him, standing there, and kept on going, now heading back to town.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
“Back to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Sara?” he called after her.
“What?” she asked, not breaking stride.
“Can I walk beside you?”
She stopped and turned around. It was the first smile he had seen from her that morning.
By the time they reached town, the other ward was about to begin their sacrament meeting. He ushered her to the second row.
It was fast and testimony meeting, and it was one of those meetings that you hope will never end. At one point he looked over and saw tears streaming down Sara’s face.
After the meeting they drove to the home of Brother Packard, who was a lawyer and Mark’s Sunday School teacher. He agreed to help them debate the concepts presented by Dr. Guthrie. They stayed so long that they were invited for a light supper. While Sara helped Sister Packard in the kitchen, Mark called his parents to explain what had happened. He also called the elders to arrange a time for the missionary discussions for Sara.
During the next week Mark and Sara prepared to debate the opinions of Dr. Guthrie. They spent several hours a day in the library taking notes from reports that would sustain their position in regard to chastity, family life, and use of drugs. They used a shoe box to file their notes. On Thursday they met with Brother Packard who coached them.
Friday night Sara received her first discussion.
On Saturday morning Mark took her rock climbing in the mountains near the college. She had never climbed before, so he chose an easy route.
The air was crisp, and the leaves on the aspen trees along the canyon had begun to turn various shades of gold and yellow. They were both quiet as they made their way up a rock cliff, talking only when necessary, somehow trying to disturb as little as possible the beauty around them.
Finally they reached the top of the rimrock and sat down. He pulled two apples from his small pack. They munched on the apples slowly and watched the morning progress into day.
She looks best out here, he thought to himself. On campus, if she were placed alongside a girl who uses make-up, Sara would look plain, but out here where simplicity is a mark of beauty, she looks good.
“Last night I woke up and started to cry,” she said quietly.
“What for?”
“The problem I face is, what if your teachings are true?”
“They are.”
“Mark, you can’t be right. God would’ve told more people. How many Mormons are there?”
“Four million.”
“And those four million are right, and everybody else is wrong?”
“The priesthood has been restored.”
“I know that’s what you believe.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked her. “What’s really bothering you?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you. My mother. All last night I worried about my mother. She’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” she said, fighting back the tears. While she waited to gain composure, she picked up a small gold leaf from the ground and examined it.
“My mother was a good person. Dad and Mom were always dedicated Christians. I never was. When I was 14, I rebelled against them. I did everything I could to hurt them. When I was 17, I ran away from home. I wound up in California, living with a group of other girls who had also left their homes. We were pretty wild.
“One day I went with some other girls to hear an evangelist speak. We went on a lark, but as he spoke, my heart softened and all the bitterness left me. I made a promise to dedicate my whole life to Jesus. As soon as I could scrape up the money, I took a bus home.
“All the way home on the bus, I thought how happy Mom and Dad would be to see that I’d finally accepted Jesus as my Savior. When I arrived home, I found that my mother had died four weeks earlier. She never saw me as a Christian. We were never united as a family.”
She let the leaf slip from her hand and fall to the ground. “What about my mother? Is she to be condemned for never hearing about Joseph Smith?”
He reached into his pack and pulled out his Bible and also his three-in-one combination.
“Do you have an answer?” she asked, surprised at seeing his broad smile.
“The most beautiful answer in the world,” he said, turning to the Pearl of Great Price.
In the afternoon they found a path in the woods and followed it for miles. They talked about many things, both large and small, but once, during their walk, she turned and asked if they could talk about the Savior, and it was like two people getting together and sharing news about a cherished friend whom neither had seen for some time, each sharing memories of his experience with that friend. Sara told of His mission to bring salvation to the world, and of His love for even those who have sinned. Mark told of His appearances to Joseph Smith and other prophets, and that He was speaking to a prophet in our day.
As he said good-bye to her at the dorm, she said, “Mark, I must tell my father that I’m learning about Mormonism. I owe him that.”
Sunday night she received the second missionary lesson.
Tuesday night he picked her up at the library at closing time, and they drove to a diner on the highway for a snack. She seemed very distant and tense as he drove.
When the waitress came to take their order, Sara said abruptly, “I’ll take a cup of coffee.”
After the waitress left, Mark asked, “Why? Why did you order coffee?”
“Why not? Do you think I’ll be damned if I have one cup? Are you that close-minded?”
“You’ve never ordered coffee before,” he argued.
“There’s no reason I can’t drink coffee. I’m not a Mormon, you know.” Her voice was sharp, her face hard.
“You’re drinking it just to spite me.”
The waitress put down two rolls and her cup of coffee and his glass of milk. Sara eagerly took a sip.
“Would you like some?” she taunted.
“No.”
“Why not? Afraid it will kill you?”
“Why are you acting this way?”
“My father received my letter today. He called me tonight after supper and read me some things about Mormonism from a book he’d found in the library. They are quite different from what you’ve been telling me.”
“And you’re going to believe him?”
“Why shouldn’t I? He’s my father.”
“Will you at least finish reading the Book of Mormon and taking the missionary lessons?”
“No. I’m through.”
“And so you’re just going to believe what is in some anti-Mormon book without completely investigating our teachings?”
“I’m past the rebellious stage. Do you know what I put my father through when I ran away from home? I can’t hurt him anymore. I love my father.” She hastily got up. “Good-bye, Mark.”
She hurried out of the diner. He threw down a dollar bill on the counter and ran after her.
“Where are you going?” he asked, running to catch up with her as she ran along the side of the road.
She stopped to confront him. “Leave me alone!” she yelled. “Go find someone else to convert!”
“Look, you say you love your father. Fine. I’d expect that of you. But do you love your mother?”
“She’s dead.”
“I believe she’s waiting for you to accept the message of the Restoration. At least give me five minutes.”
They turned and walked back toward his car. He drove her to the parking lot near her dorm and parked the car. During that time, he tried to decide what to say, praying in his mind for help.
“Sara, you know a lot about the Bible. I want to talk about something that is in the Bible. When Jesus was on the earth, he was not accepted by most people as the Messiah. One of the reasons was that he was from Galilee, but the scriptures testified that the Messiah would come from Bethlehem. Do you agree with me on that?”
“Yes, but he was born in Bethlehem.”
“I know. Hundreds of people rejected him because others, some of them influential and smart men, ‘proved’ that Jesus was not a true messenger. Any one of those people who rejected him could have asked Jesus about the apparent contradiction, and he would have told them that he had been born in Bethlehem.”
“I wouldn’t want to have made that mistake,” she said.
“Sara, don’t reject our message just because someone says that we’re wrong. Study it out. Finish reading the Book of Mormon. Finish the missionary lessons. Pray and ask God if it’s true. That’s all I’ll ever ask. Will you do that much?”
She studied his face carefully for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders and replied, “Okay, I will do that.”
Just before she left him outside the dorm, she reached out and held his hands. “Mark, I think we had better quit seeing each other. I will do as you’ve asked, but I don’t want to feel any pressure to accept your teachings because of my feelings for you. That wouldn’t be honest.”
And so they quit seeing each other except in their sociology class. Mark asked the missionaries after every discussion about her progress. She was having a difficult time.
Sara continued to voice her opposition to some of Dr. Guthrie’s views, but it was in her own way, and many in the class enjoyed seeing Dr. Guthrie systematically destroy her arguments.
Mark inherited the shoe box with references on recipe cards because Sara did not feel comfortable using them, but he had not yet spoken in class. The fear of being laughed at, as he had been when young, prevented him from speaking out. At night he would resolve that tomorrow would be different. He would practice in front of his mirror what he would say. But when morning came, he faltered.
Sara never did falter.
Another month rolled by. As Mark began his fast on Saturday, he decided to pray for help so that he could overcome his fear of speaking. He spent the afternoon in his bedroom praying for help.
Sunday morning, as he drove to priesthood meeting, he was stopped by the state police.
“Could I see your driver’s license?” the officer asked.
“Here it is,” Mark said, pulling it out from his wallet. “Is something wrong?”
“Your back license plate is about to fall off. You better get it fixed before you lose it.”
“Thanks. I’ll take care of it right away.”
After the policeman had left, Mark put his driver’s license back into his wallet. He noticed a small piece of napkin tucked in with the other cards. He pulled it out. There was writing on it—Exodus, chapter 4, verses 10, 11, and 12 [Ex 4:10–12]. He read the scripture while still parked alongside the road.
He saw Sara at church and went with her to the class taught by the missionaries. Near the end of the class, one of the elders asked what her reactions were after learning about the Church.
“It’s been very interesting,” she said lightly. “I think everyone should learn about other beliefs.”
Mark turned to her, “Is that all you can say?”
“What am I supposed to say? I told you my father doesn’t want me to become a Mormon.”
“Is the message true?” Mark asked. “That’s the first question to answer.”
“I love Jesus,” she answered. “Isn’t that enough?”
“How much do you love him? Enough to be baptized into his church? Enough to follow a prophet who receives revelation from Jesus?”
“Mark, when we’re together, why is it that I always end up crying?”
“Sara,” one of the missionaries gently asked, “will you pray and ask God if the Book of Mormon is true?”
She stared at the wall for several seconds. Finally she answered quietly, “I don’t need to ask. It is true. I’ve known that for days.”
“If you know that, will you be baptized?”
“Don’t you understand? I love my father. All he’s ever wanted from life is that I follow in his faith. He doesn’t want me to be a Mormon. It would hurt him deeply, and I’ve already hurt him so much. How can I ask him to let me be baptized?”
Mark placed his hand on her shoulder. “Once you gave me an answer for one of my problems. You told me, ‘Jesus will help you.’ Sara, he’ll help you too.”
On Monday, Mark arrived late and didn’t get to talk to Sara before class. Dr. Guthrie stated that they would discuss changes in the past ten years regarding dating and marriage. He quoted a number of surveys that showed a marked change in these areas.
“Have these changes been healthy?” he asked. “I think they have. The old religious philosophy of damnation for doing what was labeled sin is almost gone, and good riddance.”
Sara objected. “I believe that kind of physical intimacy is reserved for marriage.”
“And who reserved it only for marriage?” Dr. Guthrie asked, obviously baiting her.
“God,” she answered.
“I see,” he said with a smirk that was shared by many in the class. The group of guys on the back row began to boisterously sing “Onward Christian Soldiers.” Dr. Guthrie smiled and asked them to stop.
“Sara, I’m afraid your opinion is fast leaving the contemporary scene. Does anyone else feel the way Sara does?”
Mark knew that he must finally defend his beliefs.
“I do,” he said boldly, standing up to face Dr. Guthrie.
“Oh?” Dr. Guthrie asked, surprised at finding anyone else who would support Sara’s position. “And are you going to quote the Bible too?”
“Dr. Guthrie, I can understand that two people may have an honest difference of opinion, but you have delighted in making Sara look bad. I felt the implication from you that anyone who believes in Christianity is foolish. And I have sat by and let you do it. I should have stood long ago to defend my beliefs, but I didn’t. This is hard for me to do. Is there anyone else in here who has felt uncomfortable with the way Dr. Guthrie has treated Sara?”
A girl’s hand went up. Then another. Slowly, soberly, others raised their hands until there were 15 hands in the air.
“Thank you,” Mark continued. “You seem to take great sport in poking fun at the Bible. Have you ever read the Bible?”
“No. Not completely. I’ve got more important things to do.”
“Is it fair then to say that you are not an authority on the Bible?”
Dr. Guthrie’s smile had disappeared. “Yes.”
“On what basis do you choose to reject a book you’ve never read?”
“That’s beside the point. This is a sociology class.”
“I’ll get to that in a minute, but will you agree that there may be merit to the teachings of the Bible, but Bible study has been outside your area of expertise, and so we may treat your opinions on that subject differently than we might were you to speak about your area of research? Is that a fair statement?”
“Yes,” Dr. Guthrie said grimly.
“Thank you. I’d like to make one small suggestion about your teaching. I can see why you are rated so highly as a teacher. You deserve the tribute you receive. However, I have noticed that you seldom present more than one side of any issue. That to me is not very scholarly.”
Mark wished he had time to write out what he was saying in order to filter it. He was making mistakes, angering Dr. Guthrie, but he had to muddle through as best he could. He felt the sweat pouring down his shirt, and he knew that he was blushing.
“Last week you chose to speak about the legalization of marijuana. The week before we discussed open-coed dorms. In each of these issues your opinion matched that of the majority of the class. Today we will discuss a subject that, when we are through, will end up with you agreeing with the majority of the class that traditional religious sanctions on dating are old-fashioned. I am curious why you have chosen topics upon which you must know beforehand that there will be agreement between you and the class. Is that the price you pay for popularity as a teacher?”
There was utter silence in the room.
Too strong, Mark thought.
“Are you through?” Dr. Guthrie asked curtly.
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I don’t want to change anything in the class except to add a more balanced approach to the topics we discuss. If you would not be offended, I am prepared to present tomorrow an opposing viewpoint to your position concerning the subject of dating standards.”
After class Sara met him in the hall. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “Can we go for a walk?”
It was snowing lightly that morning. Large flakes settled gently on the lawn and trees and her hair.
“I called my dad this morning, and I told him that I loved him, and that I loved my mother—more now than ever before. I told him that Jesus has restored his gospel to the earth. I told him that this church holds the only opportunity that our family can ever have to be united together in heaven. I asked him to give me permission to be baptized. Mark, he said yes.”
He threw his arms around her, lifted her off her feet, and they spun around and around until they both fell down on the snow, laughing, crying, bubbling.
In a few minutes they continued their walk.
“After I talked to my father, I phoned Sister Packard and asked her to help me fill out a form so that someone can be baptized for my mother in the temple.”
“You’ve had a busy morning,” he said.
“We’ve both had a busy morning,” she said, squeezing his hand as they approached the cafeteria. “But you know what? It’s just the beginning of busy mornings and afternoons for both of us.”
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“This morning, when I phoned the missionaries to tell them I wanted to be baptized, we also talked about something else. Who do we need to contact about setting up an LDS institute program on campus?”

One day in 2023, Uyanga Altansukh was at work in the northern Mongolian city of Darkhan when the Mongolian mission president entered her workplace. In her words:
““I saw him and thought he had this bright light in his countenance. He was very kind and fun to those around him, and I felt warmth. Before he left, I asked him some questions. A few days later, he came into my work again and asked if I could attend his church. I thought it might be helpful. I was worried for my children’s future, as society seemed to be full of stress and darkness. I wanted my children to be like this man with a light in their countenance, spreading joy to others around them.
“One day the missionaries taught us the law of tithing. My children said with excitement, ‘We must pay our tithing, Mom.’ I could see my children’s faith at that moment. Before I joined the Church, I watched general conference and listened to President Russell M. Nelson speak. He announced new temples all over the world and said that a new temple would be built in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. I rejoiced and shed tears, even though I did not understand why. With this joy, I could tell that my faith and testimony were growing.”
Uyanga, like millions of others, is part of the great gathering of Israel in preparation for the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. She has begun her journey along the covenant path and has become a disciple of Christ. What does it mean to be a disciple of Christ? I appreciate the Japanese word for disciple—deshi—de meaning younger brother, and shi meaning child.
Jesus Christ declared, “I was in the beginning with the Father, and am the Firstborn.” Because of who He is and what He has done, we worship Him, we revere Him, we give glory to Him, and we follow Him. Christ has redeemed us, and we are forever grateful for His infinite and atoning sacrifice.
We have a Heavenly Father, who loves us as His children. His love for us is perfect. Jesus Christ and His mission illustrate God’s love for us. As John wrote, “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
In our quest to understand what we do not know, we might sometimes rely on our familiar mortal experiences, or things we do know. For example, we can learn somewhat of God the Father through our own parenthood and mortal family relationships. However, we should be careful in applying these comparisons too far in our attempt to understand our Heavenly Father. The attributes of God the Father transcend any less-than-perfect attributes of a fallen man. God the Father is the perfect Father. He is perfectly loving, kind, patient, and understanding and is perfectly glorious. We can trust Him perfectly. The love of Christ reflects the love of God the Father and is a representation of that love.
Jesus Christ is both the example and the means. In Christ, we can understand better the perfect attributes of the Father and His plan. Through Christ, we are given the enabling power to overcome the tendencies of natural men and women so that we might become more like the Father.
Just like our Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ is perfectly merciful and just. These divine attributes of justice and mercy are not in opposition. They are complementary. Both justice and mercy illustrate God’s perfect love for His children. We can trust God the Father and Jesus Christ because They are just and fair with all of us.
God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, are perfectly aligned in purpose and love. Because God and Jesus Christ love us, we are given the opportunity and privilege as true disciples to make covenants with Them. By our doing so, our relationship with Christ is expanded: “And now, because of the covenant which ye have made ye shall be called the children of Christ, his sons, and his daughters; for behold, this day he hath spiritually begotten you; for ye say that your hearts are changed through faith on his name; therefore, ye are born of him and have become his sons and his daughters.”
As disciples, when we make and keep sacred covenants, we are blessed with spiritual power. We are connected to Christ and God the Father in a special relationship and can experience Their love and joy in a measure reserved for those who have made and kept covenants. Our ability to sense a full measure of God’s love, or to continue in His love, is contingent upon our righteous desires and actions.
In John chapter 15, verse 9, we read, “As the Father hath loved me, so have I loved you.” And then we are given an invitation: “Continue ye in my love.”
In the next verse, we are given the way to continue in His love: “If ye keep my commandments, ye shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my Father’s commandments, and abide in his love.”
We then see the purpose of keeping the commandments in verse 11: “These things have I spoken unto you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full.”
Through true covenant discipleship, we can begin to understand better the nature of God and the joy that He wants all of His children to experience. We can also begin to understand some principles that at first might seem confusing. For example, how can God have a fulness of joy when some of His children are suffering so much? The answer lies in God’s perfect perspective and in His perfect plan. He sees us from the beginning to our glorious potential future. He has provided a way, through His Son, Jesus Christ, for all of us, His children, to overcome the pains, suffering, sins, guilt, and loneliness of our mortality. God has provided for us the way and the choice.
Examples of those who have experienced joy through discipleship might help us to better understand this concept. Perhaps you have heard the phrase that we are only as happy as our most unhappy child. I have seen that this does not need to be the case. My 94-year-old mother has over 200 living descendants. At any given point, at least one of the 200 is going to be unhappy. If this statement were true, my mother would be in a perpetual state of unhappiness, which she isn’t. Those who know her know how joyful she is.
I now would like to share another experience. In January of 2019, my wife, Debbie, and I were invited into the office of President Nelson. He had positioned a chair close to us, and we sat almost knee to knee. After extending to us our current calling, President Nelson turned to Debbie and focused on her. He was kind, loving, gentle, and full of joy, like the perfect father or grandfather. He held Debbie’s hand and patted it, reassuring her that it would be OK and that our family would be blessed. It seemed to us at that moment that we were the most important people to him and that he had all the time in the world for us. We left his office that Friday afternoon feeling reassured, loved, and joyful.
On Monday we saw the news. During that same day that President Nelson had spent with us, one of his daughters had passed away from cancer. We were stunned. Our hearts were full as we mourned for him and his family. Our hearts were also full of gratitude for his Christlike attention to us while mourning for his daughter who was suffering.
As we pondered this experience, we asked ourselves, “How could he be so kind, loving, and even joyful at such a difficult time?” The answer is because he knows. He knows that Christ has been victorious. He knows he will be with his daughter again and will spend an eternity with her. Joy and eternal perspective come through being bound to the Savior by making and keeping covenants and through Christlike discipleship.
President Nelson has taught: “Just as the Savior offers peace that ‘passeth all understanding’ [Philippians 4:7], He also offers an intensity, depth, and breadth of joy that defy human logic or mortal comprehension. For example, it doesn’t seem possible to feel joy when your child suffers with an incurable illness or when you lose your job or when your spouse betrays you. Yet that is precisely the joy the Savior offers.”
As we make and keep covenants, we will naturally turn outward and have a desire to help others feel the measure of joy and love we feel in our covenantal relationships. We can be part of the greatest cause on the earth today—the gathering of Israel. We can help to bring God’s children to Christ. As the prophet Jacob taught, “And blessed art thou; for because ye have been diligent in laboring with me in my vineyard, and have kept my commandments, and have brought unto me again the natural fruit, … ye shall have joy with me because of the fruit of my vineyard.”
As we bind ourselves to act as covenant disciples, in whatever our level of capacity, our relationship with the Father and the Son is enriched, our joy enhanced, and our eternal perspective expanded. We then are endowed with power and can feel joy in a measure reserved for God’s true covenant disciples. In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

It was a beautiful morning in late summer. The prairie seemed draped in gold as far as Red Moon could see. The vivid yellow blanket was made of goldenrod blooms and bright yellow daisies still glistening with dew. The flowers bowed and rippled in constant motion from the soft wind that stirred them. Along the edge of the forest, the leaves of the sumac and sassafras trees were already tinged with a melon red that signaled the end of summer. Migrating birds were beginning to come together in flocks, in preparation for the long journey to the south.
Ordinarily, the surrounding beauty would have elated the Indian girl. But not today. She stayed well behind her grandfather, trying not to intrude upon his privacy. Hers was an unpleasant assignment. She loved White Eagle deeply and understood his anger and humiliation. Butwhy do I have to be the target for his resentment? she pondered.
White Eagle had been very ill for three moons. His strong heart had grown weary. Sorrowfully, for he was the oldest and most respected member of the tribe, his people had begun to prepare for his death. Then the old man had rallied and left his tepee to sit in the warm sun. The women whispered that the old brave’s spirit had only returned for a short while, to bid farewell to the forest and streams he loved so well.
Red Moon felt that this was true. Why else had her grandfather waited until all the braves and young men were away to decide to go fishing? He was too weak to walk to the river alone, but he seemed determined. He had brushed aside his wife’s pleas and stalked away.
The girl and her worried grandmother watched the old brave leave. “You must follow!” Sequa said. “He may collapse on the way or faint and fall into the water. If so, run back quickly for help. But don’t let him see you follow,” she warned. “His feebleness shames him.”
The Indian girl had drifted along like a shadow. She had walked carefully and stayed well behind her grandfather, but the old hunter was still too crafty to be fooled. Red Moon stopped and stood trembling when White Eagle suddenly stepped out where the trail curved and confronted her. Clouds of anger were on his face, and the piercing black eyes reflected outrage.
“Why do you stalk me with footsteps that would roll a sleeping bear out of his cave?” White Eagle snapped. “Does your grandmother think I’m a frail and feeble child that must be tethered to a keeper? And a girl at that, when I have eight strong, young grandsons! I want to be alone. Return to the village at once and stay there!” he commanded. Red Moon shivered with dread.
“I cannot,” her stricken granddaughter whispered, her head bowed and not looking at him.
White Eagle was a proud man. He felt overwhelmed with frustration and resentment. An old warrior should be allowed to die in the forest alone if he wished. How dare his relatives interfere!
The old man’s eyes softened as he stared down at Red Moon’s bowed head. He could see the misery of the granddaughter he loved, and he understood her dilemma. She had always been an obedient, respectful child, but how could she obey both her grandparents this time?
“Well, then. Since your grandmother has foolishly set you upon me like a dog after a crippled fox, you may follow. But stay away from me!” White Eagle barked. He wheeled and started off down a slope toward the river.
The old man’s full stride alarmed Red Moon. His heart was too weak for such exertion, and his anger didn’t help. Fear swept over her when she saw White Eagle sag against a tree and put one hand to his chest. His bronzed face appeared washed over with gray paint. Even from a distance Red Moon could see that he was panting for breath! How can I slow him down without further injuring his pride? she wondered.
Then, noticing a log lying across the path, she deliberately tripped over it and cried out as she fell sprawling.
White Eagle hesitated, then turned back when he saw her cradling an “injured” leg. He sat down and removed her worn beaded moccasin. Tears trickled down her woebegone face, but there was no mark on the small foot or leg. A fleeting smile crossed the old man’s wrinkled face.
“We’ll rest here until it feels better,” he said softly, pulling her close. Red Moon leaned against his shoulder, holding her breath to keep from sobbing out her sorrow. Resting, White Eagle’s rapid, shallow breathing slowed.
Later when they reached the river, White Eagle selected a mossy bank, spread his blanket to sit on, and leaned back against a tree. It was an ancient oak, old when he was a boy. With trembling hands, he laid out fishhooks of bone and some lengths of hide for lines.
Then he sat quietly contemplating the beauty of one of his favorite haunts. He looked happy and content as he began to speak, his sham of going fishing now forgotten.
“Death is a dreaded enemy to youth, as it should be,” he said softly. “But it is a friend to the old ones. I have lived and hunted for over seventy-five years. My sons are grown and have become braves, and I have seen many grandchildren. I am happy. And I am not afraid, for it is only natural that I should now return and become a part of all the beauty of the earth. Now I ask you once again to leave me here alone. There should be young woodchucks under a rock ledge at the bottom of Turkey Hill. Will you go there and watch them play until the sun touches the treetops?”
Neither I nor Grandmother can keep death from coming, Red Moon thought. White Eagle deserves to greet it alone and with dignity. A brave’s final wish should be granted. She rose slowly and smiled, trying to see her grandfather’s serene face through blurred eyes. His spirit would be gone when she returned, she knew. Then she would cover him with her blanket and return to tell her grandmother.

Thomas stood on the banks of the Mississippi River, his bare hands pushed deep inside the pockets of his overcoat. His breath came out in cloudy puffs, and his teeth chattered steadily.

Thomas watched as a chunk of ice bigger than a wagon wheel slowly drifted by. The ferry had been moored for days, and the muddy banks of the river were frozen and hard. The Saints who had hoped to leave Nauvoo ahead of the Canadian storm had been delayed; there was no hope of crossing the icy river before spring.

Thomas had never seen a storm like the one that hit Nauvoo that February 1846. The weather had been mild and warm the first half of the month, and President Brigham Young had exhorted the members of the Church to leave Nauvoo for the camp at Sugar Creek. Many families had followed his admonition. The ferry carried heavy loads of people, animals, and wagons across the river continually until the temperatures dropped. Almost overnight, the storm blew in with a terrible fury. Bitter cold winds pounded Thomas’s wood-frame house from the north, doors and shutters clattering loudly. Great mounds of snow piled up on the streets of Nauvoo. The stinging, harsh blizzard had gone on for days. This morning was the first time Thomas was able to see the ice-choked river.

“Thomas!” called his younger brother, Joseph. “Mama needs those eggs from Sister Patterson right away!”

Thomas looked back across the river one more time. “All right, Joseph. I’m coming.” He pulled his woolen scarf closer around his neck and met his brother halfway up the hill.

Joseph was a year younger than Thomas, but he was already nearly as tall. Named for the Prophet Joseph Smith, he had been born three days before the Prophet’s thirty-first birthday. Joseph’s cheeks and nose were red from the cold, and he was blowing on his hands to keep them warm.

“You run home, Joseph,” Thomas said. “Tell Mama I’m on my way with the eggs for her custard.”

Joseph nodded and loped off. Thomas could see their house up the road and knew that Joseph would soon be sitting in front of the warm hearth.

Mama rarely made her delicious egg custard anymore, especially since they had sold their best laying hens to the Pattersons. Papa said that the hens would never survive the journey west and that the family needed the money to buy more basic supplies. But this morning Mama had declared that they would have custard for dessert and had sent Thomas for the fresh eggs. He knew that his father and mother had been fasting and praying about the weather and that this special dessert was his mother’s way of expressing gratitude for the slivers of sunshine that had broken through the gray clouds today.

As the family gathered around the table to pray over their simple meal, Thomas could see that his father was discouraged. “There was trouble in town again today,” his father said. “Let us pray that the Lord will provide a way for us to leave Nauvoo before anyone is seriously harmed. We are packed and ready to go. There must be a way!”

Thomas bowed his head along with his parents and brothers and sisters, but in his heart he felt a twinge of fear. He did not want to leave Nauvoo.

Although most of their furniture and farming equipment had been sold to purchase a wagon and food supplies, their home was still cozy and warm, and there was always enough to eat. He had been just a little boy when his family was driven from their home in Missouri by an angry mob and forced to settle in the marshy wetlands of Commerce, Illinois. It had been cold then, too, and he remembered how he had cried for a cup of milk. But over the years, he had seen Commerce become the beautiful city of Nauvoo, a place where the Prophet Joseph Smith would stop and play stickball with Thomas and his friends, then invite them to his home for a glass of cool lemonade. Though it had been a year and a half since the Prophet’s death, he ducked his head to hide his tears.

“Thomas?” his Mama asked softly. “Are you well?”

His older sister, Mary Jane, quietly said, “He doesn’t want to go west, Mama.”

Papa put down his fork and folded his arms across his chest. “Is this true, Son?”

Thomas gulped. “Yes, Papa,” he whispered.

He heard his mother sigh, and he felt ashamed. It had already been decided that Mama would leave her piano and her cherished spinning wheel behind. But she reached across the table and put her hand on top of his. “We all wish we could stay in Nauvoo. Here we have a lovely home, a prosperous farm, good friends and family, even a beautiful new temple. But the Lord has promised us peace, and we will never find that here.”

Thomas nodded and tried to hold back the tears that still pushed against his eyelids. His father saw him struggling and slowly slid back his chair. “Mama, save us some of your custard. Thomas and I are going to check on the horses.”

Thomas put on his overcoat and scarf and followed his father out to the barn. The sky was clear, and the air was as sharp as a knife in his lungs. Inside the barn, his father lit a lantern and stamped his feet. “Mighty cold out tonight,” he said. “We must pray for our brothers and sisters who are spending this night in a tent or a wagon box.”

Thomas plopped down on a bale of hay. “Papa, if we had crossed the river with the others last week, we would be out there in a tent tonight!”

His father sat beside him, reaching out to stroke the mane of his favorite horse. “I know, Son. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

“Then why can’t we wait until spring … or even summer? Why must we leave now?”

“You do not realize the danger that surrounds us. I was a close friend of the Prophet Joseph, and his enemies are my enemies.” Thomas felt his father tremble beside him. He looked up and saw the scar on his father’s cheek that had come from the leather thong of a bullwhip. He still remembered how his mother had cried over the wound, praying that God would forgive her for thinking terrible thoughts about the man who had whipped her husband. “And I think this is a test of our faith, Son. Will we follow the prophet—or not?”

Thomas blinked his eyes hard. Suddenly he remembered a very special occasion in his life.

Thomas felt his father’s arm around him. “Are you thinking about Brother Joseph, Thomas?”

“Yes,” was all he managed to whisper.

His father hugged him tighter. “When you are a grown man, your children and grandchildren will ask if you remember when you were baptized. Your heart will burst with pride when you tell them that you were baptized by the Prophet Joseph Smith. And then you will tell them how you followed another prophet of God through snow and cold and all sorts of trials so that they could live in a land of peace and enjoy all the blessings of the gospel without being afraid. For many generations, your family will honor you and be grateful for your sacrifices. Your life will be blessed, Thomas, in more ways than you will ever know.”

After Thomas finished his evening prayer, he crawled under the warm quilt. He could hear his mother and father talking downstairs. He was still afraid of what might happen on their journey west, but he felt a calm reassurance in his heart that all would be well.

The next morning, the family was awakened early by a whoop of joy. “It’s a miracle!” their neighbor, Brother Williams, shouted from the front gate. “The Mississippi River is frozen solid! Load up your wagons—we’re crossing over! The Lord has answered our prayers!”

Yes, He has, Thomas thought as he hurriedly dressed in the cold morning air.

When my parents realized my desire to be baptized, they surprised me by agreeing to have the missionaries come for a visit. When they arrived at our home, my parents had a good feeling. After talking for a while, the missionaries invited us to sing a hymn, “Love at Home” (Hymns, no. 294). As we sang together, my mother had tears in her eyes. Everyone was touched.
This experience softened my parents’ hearts, and a year and eight months after I first met the missionaries, I was baptized. I later served a mission in Utah and have had many wonderful opportunities in the Church.

The alarm jangled while I groped through the darkness to shut it off. Even at that early hour, I jumped out of bed with anticipation. I was eager to join my friends on a hike up Timpanogos, a large, snowcapped mountain which overlooks Provo in Utah Valley.
The hike followed steep switchback trails, then a climb up a sloped snowfield near a sheer drop-off and a slide down a glacier. The reward was a well-earned picnic by the crystal waters of the tiny lake fed by the glacier’s runoff.
My mother got up early with me and graciously fixed breakfast, packed my lunch, and fussed around making sure I was properly prepared.
Eager to be off, I was a little impatient when she asked me to come back to the bedroom with her. I think I even rolled my eyes a little when she knelt by the bed and invited me to join her. At 14, that sort of thing can seem sort of sappy. But I truly did love my mother with that prickly heart of mine and was secretly pleased by her concern.
She gave a simple but beautiful prayer asking the Lord for my safety and protection that day. It touched that sometimes rebellious heart of mine. Embarrassed to show my feelings, I ducked my head and wiped at my eyes.
I hiked that day with a glow in my soul. I had been reminded what a special mother I had.
On our way back down the mountain, someone in our group decided it would be much faster to take shortcuts between the switchbacks, even though we had been warned not to do so at the beginning of the day. We all followed like sheep.
Midway between the trails, someone above me started a small rock slide. Pebbles and stones and a few larger rocks showered down around us. Then, as if in slow motion, I saw one fist-sized rock knock sharply against the shoulder of the boy just above me. The rock bounced around me, then catapulted to strike the girl in front of me right in the back of her head. A gash was opened and began bleeding profusely as head wounds do.
Slipping and sliding down to the next trail, my friend was helped by a fellow hiker who donated his handkerchief and first-aid skills. Careful now to abide by the hiking rules, we eventually made it down the mountain and home.
I’ve never forgotten that day my mother knelt with me, and I believe I was spared injury because of her prayer. Deep down I knew she loved me, but since becoming a teenager, I’d lost communication with her. I’d become independent, “prickly sensitive,” and sometimes difficult to get along with. I was finding it harder to feel my mother’s love. But on that clear morning a strong bond was forged between us by prayer. It made all the difference then and later to know my mother was praying for me.

At the April 2022 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson taught us, “Some trials are deeply private burdens no one else can see. Others are played out on the world stage.”1
This reminds me of the experience that I had with a good member named Sister Edna who was in my Gazcue ward. She was a person who was always smiling and full of enthusiasm for life.
One day she had an accident while riding her bike and, to her surprise, she unexpectedly slipped off the bike bringing her body silently to the ground. The fall was a strong blow to her body and they rushed her to the hospital. There, they discovered that the fall had caused extreme damage to her liver and other vital organs, and it was necessary for her to go into surgery. All the families and the members in the ward were worried about our dear Sister Edna.
It was just Sister Edna and her husband in their home at this time because her daughter was serving a mission in another country and her son had just joined the U.S. Navy.
As the days passed, the general infection from the accident caused the deterioration of her health and she went from one hospital to another for various surgeries. The sisters of the Relief Society would go to the hospital every day to bring her comfort and assist in her care. When the doctors had to forbid visits because of her delicate condition, the Relief Society sisters waited at the door, praying and waiting for encouraging news. Every day we prayed and fasted to invoke the powers of heaven.
One of the sisters shared her personal experience of this event. There was an evening when she had gone to bed very concerned about Sister Edna’s critical condition. She prayed fervently while imagining the tremendous physical pain Sister Edna was surely feeling. As she thought about this, she also felt Sister Edna’s indescribable pain in her own body as though she was the one who was hurt and beaten internally. This sister had so much love and empathy for Edna that she experienced for a moment the pain that Edna felt.
Later, thanks to prayers and medical interventions, Sister Edna made a miraculous recovery.

When I was a teen, it was sometimes hard to live the gospel. The area I lived in didn’t have many Church members, and my friends who were not members of the Church sometimes made it harder for me to stay on the right track.
“You should wear this; it would bring out the color in your eyes,” one of my friends said to me before a dance. She held up a dress she was going to let me borrow, but it didn’t have sleeves. I decided to wear the dress with a jacket.
When I got to the dance, nobody else was wearing a dress with sleeves, and I felt like I stood out. When I started getting too warm, my friends told me I should just take off the jacket and that I would look better anyway.
Just as I was about to justify taking off the jacket, I remembered my patriarchal blessing. My blessing told me I would have many temptations and if I fell, many individuals would follow me. That was when I realized I needed to stay on the right track—not only for myself but for others who looked up to me. I decided to keep the jacket on.
Sometimes I was made fun of for not doing the things everybody else was doing, but I stayed strong and was blessed because of it. I later learned that many people had looked up to me. Some of my friends even told me they respected me for following my standards. They apologized for giving me such a hard time for not doing the things everybody else was doing in high school.
Because I followed the standards of the Church and tried to be an example, I was able to have missionary experiences and teach the gospel to others. I would not have been able to influence others if I hadn’t stayed on the right track.

I remember when I was washing the car as a 17-year-old young man, my father came out to the driveway and, with justification, began to criticize me for something I had done wrong. I became upset and turned to dad and said something like, “Hey, let up, dad. This is the first time I have ever been a teenager.”
My father, in a beautifully sensitive way, said, “Hugh, this is the first time I have ever been a parent.”
My father, perhaps unknowingly, had taught me a great lesson. As a teenager, I had responsibilities to my parents and was to be patient with them as I expected them to be patient and understanding with me.

Samuel especially found it difficult to understand the condition and all that it entailed. Looking back, he says, “I wished that there had been a book I could have read that let me know everything was going to be okay! As a type-1 diabetic, my life was very different and explaining that to my friends was like talking to an alien. They just didn’t understand.”
Instead of feeling sorry for himself, Sam felt inspired to help others in a similar situation. He explains, “It was hard after I was diagnosed, but I felt that I wanted to help others to have hope as they experienced the same feelings that I had at that time. It was then that I first thought of writing a children’s book about an alien called Zegg. I wanted to give hope to children who were newly diagnosed. One of my favourite authors is Dr. Seuss, so I tried to write it in his style.”
Samuel then had to work hard to make his book a reality, which happened early in 2021. He has already gifted 50 copies of the book to the hospital that helped him and plans to donate books to other health trusts for children who are beginning their own type-1 journey.
Sam, who is now 13, will always require insulin, and still experiences highs and lows, but his life is full of adventure, joy, and hope.
He has been raising funds in lots of imaginative ways to get copies of his book printed. Anyone can help by donating money for copies of the book (see https://samuel-grant.co.uk). He eventually hopes to gift the book to NHS trusts across the whole of the UK, so they can distribute copies to as many diagnosed Type-1 children as possible. Samuel adds, “Every year, an average of 5,000 children’s lives are changed forever by a Type-1 diagnosis. I hope that this book will help teach and educate people about the disease—being aware of it and understanding it, may help families live and cope with it better. This is one way I have been able to kind of minister to other people during hard and dark times.”

Eliza R. Snow, second General President of the Relief Society, offered a riveting answer. Because of Missouri’s infamous extermination order, issued at the onset of the grueling winter of 1838,7 she and other Saints were forced to flee the state that very winter. One evening, Eliza’s family spent the night in a small log cabin used by refugee Saints. Much of the chinking between the logs had been extracted and burned for firewood by those who preceded them, so there were holes between the logs large enough for a cat to crawl through. It was bitter cold, and their food was frozen solid.

That night some 80 people huddled inside that small cabin, only 20 feet square (6.1 meters square). Most sat or stood all night trying to keep warm. Outside, a group of men spent the night gathered around a roaring fire, with some singing hymns and others roasting frozen potatoes. Eliza recorded: “Not a complaint was heard—all were cheerful, and judging from appearances, strangers would have taken us to be pleasure excursionists rather than a band of gubernatorial exiles.”

Eliza’s report of that exhausting, bone-chilling evening was strikingly optimistic. She declared: “That was a very merry night. None but saints can be happy under every circumstance.”8

Many years ago I took our only son on his first camping-fishing trip. He was just a boy. The canyon was steep, and the descent was difficult. But the fishing was good. Every time I hooked a fish, I would give the pole to the eager boy, and with shouts of joy he would reel in a beautiful trout. In the shadows and coolness of the late afternoon, we began our climb back up to the rim high above us. He scrambled rapidly up the mountain ahead of me with a challenging, “Come on, Dad. I’ll bet I can beat you to the top.” The challenge was heard but wisely ignored. His small frame seemed literally to fly over, under, and around every obstacle, and when every step that I took seemed ridiculously like my last, he had reached the top and stood cheering me on. After supper we knelt in prayer. His small voice rose sweetly heavenward in benediction to our day. Then we climbed into our large double sleeping bag, and after a bit of pushing and pulling I felt his little body snuggle and settle tightly against mine for warmth and security against the night. As I looked at my son beside me, suddenly I felt a surge of love pass through my body with such force that it pushed tears to my eyes. And, at that precise moment, he put his little arms around me and said, “Dad?”
“Yes, son.”
“Are you awake?”
“Yes, my son, I am awake.”
“Dad, I love you a million, trillion times!”
And immediately he was asleep. But I was awake far into the night, expressing my great thanks for such wonderful blessings clothed with a little boy’s body.
Now my son is a man with a son of his own. Once in a while the three of us go fishing. I look at my little redheaded grandson beside his father, and I see in my mind’s eye the image of that wonderful moment long ago. The question so innocently asked, “Dad, are you awake?” still rings in my heart.

Ben woke up at five that morning, anxious about his first day of work. After shaving and taking a shower in the bathroom adjoining the guest bedroom, he got dressed in the gray work slacks and shirt he had bought, purposely made dirty, and washed the day before. No use looking like a new worker, he had reasoned. Besides, his future father-in-law had suggested that he try to dress as much like the others as possible. They’re all good boys, he had explained to Ben, but sometimes they can make it rough on people who are different from themselves. Try to fit in, to be as much like them as possible, and you won’t have any trouble.
He sat in the bedroom and watched the clock move slowly to six. Then, deciding he probably wouldn’t wake up the others if he were quiet, he padded silently down the hall through the large dining room with the massive oak dining table into the large kitchen and then out on the patio. Sitting down at a table overlooking the swimming pool, he watched the Southern morning spread across the lush green mountains—a contrast to the elephant-hide browns of his Wyoming hills.
Kim’s father was the next one up. He came out on the patio to sit with Ben. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine.”
“Good,” he said, brushing a large hand over his bald scalp. “No one else is up. I guess breakfast is up to me.”
“No, don’t bother. I can wait. It’s still early.”
“I’d better warn you,” he said with a smile, “Kim likes to sleep in, so if you’re marrying her with the idea of having her fix you breakfast, you’d better think it over.”
Ben grinned, “I hadn’t even thought about it.”
“I suppose not. You’re both too much in love to be very practical. If you’d been practical, you both wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone who lives 1,500 miles from your homes. I can’t understand it,” he teased. “I sent Kim to Ricks College, after she joined your church, to get an education. Instead she got you.”
“I reckon she got a good deal,” Ben grinned, purposely adding his cowboy drawl. “They say a good man is hard to find.”
“Yes, that’s what they say,” he said, suddenly serious, “and I think Kim has found a good one. Let me get you some orange juice and me some coffee … that is, unless you can convert me in the next five minutes.”
In a few minutes he was back with a tray. He set it down and returned with two slices of toast and a file of paper work he constantly carried around with him.
“Are you worried about today?” he asked Ben.
“I guess a little.”
“I’m in an awkward position too, you know,” he said with a grin. “It’s true you’re going to marry my only child, and that I got you a job at the plant, and that I hope someday you’ll take it over and run it so I can retire—but I wouldn’t want anyone accusing me of being partial to you.”
“I’m not afraid of hard work,” Ben said seriously.
“I’m sure you’ll do well,” he said, pushing the file folder away from him. “In a way I was serious about not playing favorites. I’ve told one of my supervisors to put you wherever he needs you. I don’t plan to interfere. You’ll be on your own. Is that acceptable with you?”
“It’s the way I’d prefer it,” Ben said firmly.
A few minutes later, Kim came out, still wearing a robe over her night gown.
“Kimberly,” her father gently scolded, “you shouldn’t be out here with just a robe on.”
“Why not? It’s very modest.”
“Seeing a woman before she’s done herself up can be a rude shock. Maybe Ben will change his mind about marrying you.”
“Daddy,” she drawled with a purposely thick Southern accent, “you’re such a tease.”
“I think she looks good—even in the morning,” Ben defended.
“See there, smarty?” Kim lightly countered. “He thinks I’m a natural beauty, a regular Southern rose.”
“Okay, Rose,” her father concluded, lovingly touching her arm, “how about cooking us some breakfast?”
“Slave driver,” she protested with a smile and a hug.
While Kim cooked bacon and eggs, her father huddled over his stack of reports.
“Paper work!” he growled, shaking his head in disgust. “It’s all I ever do. You know, when I was your age and just starting out, it was fun. I had my own small welding shop, and I did all my own work. If it hadn’t been for the development of nuclear power, I suppose I’d still be in that little shop. When we first got into fabricating fuel rods for nuclear reactors, I never dreamed there’d be so much red tape. It’s been 15 years since I’ve welded. All I do now is push papers.”
After breakfast, Ben left for work. Kim’s father said he would work at his office at home. “Besides,” he said half seriously, “they seem to get more done when I’m not around.”
Ben went to the main office and filled out the forms for his employment. He was issued a film badge which would monitor the dose of radioactivity he would be exposed to.
A supervisor gave him a tour of the plant. It seemed like something from science fiction. Operators stood behind lead-lined partitions and manipulated remote-controlled mechanical arms and fingers, loading small pellets of plutonium into the eight-foot-long rods and then welding the ends shut. The rods were then ready to be shipped.
After the tour, they went to a cafeteria for a break.
“What do you want me to do?” Ben asked, sipping his root beer.
“We’ll put you on checking the X rays of the welds,” the supervisor said, taking a long sip from his cup. “You know, this company’s been good to us. This was a poor area before, but now there’s jobs. Our kids get good medical care. We can send ’em away to college if they want. Most of us own shares in it. We sort of think of it as our company.”
They walked back to the plant, to where the X rays of the welds were inspected. The supervisor showed Ben an X ray and pointed out a white patch which indicated a welding flaw. “The contract says that all welding flaws will be repaired but, to tell you the truth, when we signed the contract, we didn’t really know what we were getting into. We’ve found out that even when a flaw shows up on the X ray, it doesn’t make the weld any less watertight. So when it’s a small flaw, we just let ’em go through.”
“Oh,” Ben said.
“Fact is we can’t make a profit unless we reject fewer than 5 percent of the welds.”
“But what about the X rays?” Ben asked. “There’s still the record of the flaw on the X ray.”
“You’re pretty smart, aren’t you,” the supervisor said, walking to a desk. “I’m going to show you one of the most important tools in this place. It’s made us a profit.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a black felt-tip pen.
Ben looked at the pen for several seconds and then it dawned on him what the supervisor was showing him. “You mark the X ray so the flaw isn’t visible?”
“You catch on fast. That’s what we do. C’mon here. I’ll show you how it’s done.” With one small mark, the flaw on the X ray disappeared. “Now all you have to do is sign it.” Ben signed his name.
Before he left, the supervisor introduced him to Jesse Colson, a hard-boned, tough-talking man who also checked X rays. Then the supervisor left.
“Just do what I do, and you won’t have no trouble,” Jesse glumly suggested.
One day during his second week of work, he had just put one of the X rays on the reject pile when Jesse stopped him.
“What are you doing?”
“Rejecting it. Look at it for yourself.”
“I don’t need to look at it. Let it go through.”
Ben looked up at Jesse’s hard face. “We can reject up to 5 percent.”
“Why bother to put the welders to all that extra work, when we can fix it right here.” Jesse took out his pen and made a small mark, covering up the flaw. He dropped it in the pass box. “If you’re about to reject more than two a week, you talk to me about it first,” he demanded.
On Sunday, Ben attended the Gospel Doctrine class with Kim. Several questions were asked, and since nobody else seemed to volunteer, Ben answered. Finally, near the end of the class, the teacher broke into a broad grin and quipped, “I see we have somebody here who has all the answers. What am I doing here teaching the class? This Yankee friend of Kim’s ought to be.”
On the way home Kim leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed happily.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“You. You’re handsome and smart and good. Do you know what one of the elderly ladies told me today after Sunday School? She said that you looked to her like the next bishop.”
“She shouldn’t have said that,” Ben said firmly. Still, he was flattered. She could be right, he thought to himself.
Monday after work, he stopped by the library and checked out a book dealing with nuclear reactors. After retiring to his room for the night, he stayed up past midnight studying the design of a nuclear power reactor. He wanted to know what happened to the fuel rods after they left the plant, and, even if he wouldn’t admit it, he wanted to know what would happen in a reactor if a fuel rod leaked through one of the welding flaws that he had passed.
Wednesday he was asked to give a talk in sacrament meeting. He spent several hours during the week in preparation. Once he caught himself thinking, how would a future bishop give this talk?
After he had given the talk on Sunday, several people came up and complimented him. One of them was the elder’s quorum president, who also asked him if he would accept an assignment to be a home teacher. Ben accepted the assignment.
What had started as a little annoyance grew as the days passed. Every time he signed his name to pass a weld which should have been rejected, his guilt grew.
He talked with Kim’s father one night about it. “Did you know that some of the welds that have flaws are being passed?”
“Are they?” Kim’s father said with little interest.
“Don’t you think that’s important?”
“Not really. The work we turn out is the best in the industry.”
“But I have to sign my name even when I know there’s a flaw.”
“Don’t worry,” his future father-in-law advised, “it’s only red tape. In business, you have to take shortcuts.”
Ben had assigned to him a teacher as a companion for home teaching, but by the time Ben thought about it, his companion was on vacation, and it was the last of the month. That Saturday afternoon, he took Kim with him. They visited three of the four families assigned to him and idly chatted about weather and gardens.
“You’ll have to show me where this other family lives,” Ben said, showing Kim the name and address of the last family.
“Oh, why did they have to give you him?” she asked. “He never comes out to church.”
“Do you know where he lives?” Ben asked, looking at the name, Zeke Stone.
“Oh, Ben, do we have to go there? It’s up some country road. Who knows how to get there, and he won’t even care if we go or not.” She leaned close to him. “C’mon, let’s go swimming.”
“Okay,” he said.
Two days later, he got a phone call from the elder’s quorum president about his home teaching. “How’d you do?”
“Got ’em all,” Ben said, resolving that next month he really would visit Zeke Stone, the man who lived in the hills.
That week they sent out their wedding announcement. It showed a picture of the Washington Temple.
The next Sunday, after sacrament meeting, the elder’s quorum president asked if he could talk with Ben for a while. Kim agreed to wait for him, whispering into his ear, “I just know it’s about the vacancy in the elder’s quorum presidency.”
The quorum president and Ben found an empty room and sat down opposite each other on folding chairs. The president was a big man, a farmer, one who had a hard time conducting quorum business, always a little self-conscious about his lack of schooling. He began with prayer.
“You know, I was out shopping for groceries yesterday and I saw Brother Stone.” Speaking softly, almost apologetically, he continued, “Well, I asked him how he liked his new home teachers and he said he’d never seen you.” The president cleared his throat and fumbled with his clipboard. “Now I’m not very good at records, but I’ve written down here that you visited him. I must have made a mistake, don’t you think?”
Suddenly he looked into Ben’s eyes, and Ben knew that he knew that there had been no mistake. Ben felt the sweat pouring down his arms. He covered his mouth with one hand and looked down at the floor. He felt tears streaking down his face, and it seemed that there was a fist inside his throat. He swallowed hard and whispered, “Could I get a drink of water?”
“Sure, son,” the president answered gently.
Ben rushed to the fountain and let the cool water rush over his face and mouth. Pulling out a handkerchief, he wet it and wiped his brow.
He turned around. The quorum president stood to his left a few feet away, and Kim stood on his right. They both seemed to want to come closer to help him, but neither knew what to say.
“I’ve lied to the Lord,” he agonized. “We never visited Zeke Stone. We went swimming instead.”
The president cleared his throat and said quietly, “We all make mistakes. It takes a big man to admit he’s done wrong.”
Ben turned to Kim. “Appearances … I’m tired of putting up appearances. Covering flaws, pretending they’re not real. Pretending to be something I’m not. I need to worry about my own repenting.”
Suddenly Kim ran into his arms and held him close to her.
The quorum president touched his shoulder. “It was partly my fault. I should’ve showed you how to get there. It’s not easy to find.”
“Can we go up there now?” Ben asked.
“Sure we can. Let’s go now.”
They drove Kim home and then headed out of town. They followed the highway for a few miles, then turned onto a county road, and then followed a rutted dirt road. At one point the road veered sharply upward, crossed railroad tracks, and then sunk rapidly downward.
“I’d hate to hit that going fast,” Ben observed.
Then they turned off the dirt road onto a path. The thick growth of bushes and trees closed in around them as they continued, and the branches slapped at the sides of the car as they passed.
Suddenly they were out of the green tunnel and into a clearing near the top of the hill.
Zeke Stone was working his garden. He was an old man, wearing faded bib coveralls and a tattered hat to shade his face. A battered pickup truck stood beside a small weather-beaten house. There was no screen door on the house, and chickens roamed in and out the door. A large dog came running and barking toward them. The quorum president honked his horn and got out to greet Brother Stone. The dog’s paws landed on his chest as he gave his greetings.
“Look at that!” Brother Stone shouted with delight. “I got visitors from the Church.” He called his dog away from them.
They all stood by the garden and talked. Ben listened with admiration to their talk, loose, full of laughter and good feelings.
Brother Stone loaded them down with freshly picked corn and tomatoes. Then he invited them over to the shady part of his house, where he had set up two car seats outside. Going inside, he brought out a banjo, a jar of homemade grape juice, and three cups. While they sat and drank, he tuned up his banjo and played.
The quorum president tapped his feet, chuckling at the endless variations of “Cripple Creek,” while Ben merely sat and smiled.
“You unhappy?” Brother Stone asked Ben.
“No sir.”
“Then loosen up. You look like a Yankee.”
Monday morning at work, Ben rejected welds which were outside the tolerances set in the contract. By ten o’clock, there were ten rejected X rays on his desk.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jesse snarled when he discovered the rejected welds. “You can’t reject all these.”
“Look at the X rays.”
Suddenly Ben was being pulled to his feet by his shoulders, and then found himself staring into Jesse’s clenched fist.
“Jesse, let go of me,” Ben said quietly.
He dropped his hold. “Change the X rays.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Then get out of here! I’m warning you! All I got to do is make one phone call for my friends and you won’t make it out of here in one piece.”
“I won’t be part of a lie,” Ben said firmly.
“Then quit, walk out while you still can.”
Ben stood, squared away to fight if he had to, his mind racing at what choice to make. Finally he said, “Okay, Jesse. I don’t belong here anyway.”
As he turned to walk away, Jesse called after him, “If you ever tell anyone about the way we work here, you’ll regret it.”
That evening Kim and Ben went to the meetinghouse to be interviewed for temple recommends. The wedding was less than a week away. Ben was elated to answer one of the bishop’s questions, “Are you honest in your dealings with your fellowmen?”
Over the next few days, he tried looking for other work, but there wasn’t anything else—or else people in the town, hearing about what they considered his betrayal of the company, wouldn’t talk to him about a job.
And at night, Ben and Kim’s father seemed to be constantly dueling, either about the company or else about Kim’s affection. Ben was careful to limit these discussions to times when Kim was not in the room, for he hadn’t told her yet about the circumstances which led to his quitting.
“Doesn’t it bother you that you’re sending defective fuel rods out of your plant?” Ben asked one evening in the office at home.
“What makes you a sudden expert on nuclear power?” his future father-in-law countered.
“Okay,” Ben admitted, “I’m not an engineer. But why bother to do the X rays at all then?”
“Because it’s in the contract.”
“And why is it in the contract?” Ben pressed.
“Red tape. It’s just another form to fill out.”
Finally, having looked for work and failed, Ben asked Kim the inevitable question one morning three days before the wedding. “What would you think about us going back West after we’re married?”
“You’ll find work. I know you will. You haven’t asked Daddy to help you.”
“I don’t want his help,” Ben answered sharply.
“Why didn’t you stay at the job you had?” Kim asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We’ve got to talk about it. If I’m going to be your wife, I’ve got to know what’s wrong. You and Daddy hardly talk to each other anymore. What’s wrong?”
“Okay, Kim, I’ll tell you. They’re covering up their mistakes. Some of the fuel rods are being passed with defects in them. It violates their contract.”
“That can’t be true. Daddy would never let that happen.”
“He knows, Kim. I told him. He says it isn’t important.”
“Then it isn’t important,” Kim defended.
“It’s dishonest.”
“Ben, I won’t have you talking like that about my father.”
“Kim, what do you want for a husband? A cardboard cutout that you can prop up smiling for all social occasions? I can’t be like that. You’ve either got to decide between your father or me, but you can’t have both of us.”
She stormed away from him. He went to his room and started packing slowly, hoping that there was a way to get around the problem, hoping she would come in and apologize, hoping that her father would apologize, trying to remember what the bishop had said about marriage in the interview.
A few minutes later, Kim did knock on his door. He opened it quickly.
“There’s a phone call for you,” she said.
He went to the hall phone to answer it. Kim followed him.
“My name is Porter. I’m from the U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission. I wonder if I could talk to you for a few minutes … unofficially. I’m staying at the motel just outside town …”
He put the phone down. Kim stood across the hall from him.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Somebody from the U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission. Kim, they must know about the welds. Tell your father.”
He ran into his room and got his suitcase and ran out to his car.
“Where are you going?” Kim cried.
“Do you think I’ll have much chance of staying alive in this town? Everybody’s going to think I told the authorities. I’m leaving town as soon as I can.”
He drove around to the back of the motel and walked inside, finally finding the room number given by the man on the phone.
“Thank you for coming,” the man said. “It’s about your job as an inspector of the X rays. Was there anything strange about the inspection procedures?”
“Are you going to close the plant?” Ben asked.
“Oh no, nothing like that. There have been a few complaints, and we just wanted to check around.”
“There were some irregularities,” Ben said as he began to explain his experience.
When he was finished, the man thanked him and stood up to show him to the door.
“What will you do now?” Ben asked.
“There’s a plane being sent from Washington with several men like myself. We’ll conduct a thorough review of the plant’s operation. You’ve been most helpful. I’ll keep our little talk unofficial, but it will be useful in our review.”
Ben ran into the motel office to use a pay phone. He called Kim. “Did you tell your father?”
“Yes, but he’s not doing anything. He’s just sitting there, like he’s in shock.” With urgency in her voice, Kim said, “He wants to see you.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.”
As Ben drove through the sleepy town, he had the feeling that it was a time bomb, set to blow up in his face.
Kim met him at the door and told him that her father was in his office. Ben found him, idly gazing out the window.
“There’s a group of government inspectors coming here. Isn’t there anything you want to do … to prepare for them?”
He turned to face Ben. “Do you still love my daughter?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then why don’t you marry her?”
“I can’t stay in this town.”
“Then take her out West. I guess there’s worse things than Wyoming, aren’t there?” he said with a smile.
“She won’t go with me,” Ben said glumly. “She loves you too much to leave.”
“Let me look into that,” Kim’s father said confidently. “Tell me, what do you think I ought to do about my company?”
“I think you ought to cooperate with the inspection, find out what’s wrong, and then run it the way it should be run.”
He studied Ben intently, then banged his fist on his desk, smiled and said, “I’m going to do that.”
They were interrupted by a phone call from a secretary at the plant. It was a short call and when it was over, Kim’s father said simply, “They’ve arrived.”
“I’m worried about some of the guys at the plant. I bet I’m not very popular with them now.”
“Tell me their names and I’ll call and explain things to them.”
Ben gave him Jesse’s name, and he called the plant and asked to speak with Jesse Colson. After several minutes delay, Kim’s father asked, “What do you mean he left? Where did he go? Well, did anybody leave with him? Listen, I want the name of every man that left. You get hold of those men and tell them I want to speak with them!”
He hung up, turned to Ben and said, “They left work.”
“I’m leaving town now.”
“No, let me speak to them.”
“Tell Kim I’ll call her when I get to Wyoming,” Ben said as he ran out of the office to his car.
He turned onto the highway. A few miles out of town, as he rounded a curve, he saw a car parked ahead of him at the side of the road. Suspecting trouble, he turned into a country road. He saw the car start up, pull a U-turn, and head after him.
They both raced down the road, dust billowing up after them, so that it became difficult for Ben to see how far the car was from him, but, on a curve, he turned back and saw that the car was gaining on him.
Then he realized that he’d been on the road before and that if he made the proper sequence of turns from county road to county road that it would lead to Brother Zeke Stone.
A few minutes later with a plan in mind, Ben raced up the steep slope of the railroad crossing and bumped across the tracks. Once over the tracks, he slammed on his brakes. As the car came to a stop, he jumped out, ran for the thick foliage, and waited for the other car.
As he had expected, the car had raced up the steep slope. It wasn’t until the driver was starting down the other side that he saw Ben’s car parked in the middle of the road. Ben could see that the driver was Jesse. He slammed on his brakes and veered to the left, just managing to miss Ben’s car.
Jesse bounded out of his car, swearing about nearly getting killed. He ran to the car to see if Ben was inside and then yelled to two others, “Burn it!” Then Jesse went to his car and pulled out a rifle, looked around, and picked up a CB mike.
Ben turned around and fought his way through the foliage, heading parallel to the road so that he would cross the lane which led to Brother Stone’s place. After about half an hour, he had made it there.
Brother Stone was outside in his garden. Ben ran up to him out of breath and scratched from his trek through the woods.
“What’s wrong?” Brother Stone asked.
Ben explained, and then asked, “Can you take me to another town so I can catch a bus back home?”
“Sure I can,” Brother Stone said slowly. First he went to his well and filled his radiator with water. “Water leaks a mite,” filled his left rear tire with air, “Tires leak a bit too,” and started the pickup running. Then he walked slowly to his house. Ben followed after him, trying to get him to move faster, expecting any minute to see Jesse burst through the clearing with his rifle blazing.
Brother Stone stood in the doorway and scratched his head. “Now let me see. If we drive down there, we’re going to pass by ’em, and they’re going to look inside, and they’re going to see you, and then they’re going to stop us. How are they going to tell it’s you? Because you look like a Yankee. But we’re going to fool ‘em, aren’t we?”
Ben ended up with a faded pair of coveralls, a pair of crusty old boots, and a checkered long sleeve shirt.
Brother Stone examined the effect critically. “One more thing,” he said with a wry smile. He went to a shelf and pulled down a large brown jug.
They started down the lane. From the lane they turned onto the road, heading opposite the direction of the railroad tracks. Even so, as they turned one corner, there were three cars and a pickup parked off the side. Four men stood idly by, waiting to walk into the woods. One of the men had a dog.
Brother Stone continued going at the same slow pace. Calmly he directed Ben, “Now, pick up the jug, and tip it up like you’re going to take a drink, and so it covers your face. It’s only water, you know. I threw the other stuff away when I got baptized.”
When they were past, Brother Stone chuckled softly, “They didn’t pay us any attention at all. Son, you’re officially a hillbilly.”
When they arrived at the town 40 miles away and Brother Stone stopped in front of the bus depot, Ben was at a loss to express his thanks adequately. Finally he thrust out his hand and said, “I’ll never forget this.”
“Just a sweet ride in the country. There’s nothing to thank me for.”
Ben asked him if he’d phone Kim and tell her he was safe. Then he was gone. Several seconds later, Ben realized he was still holding the jug.
He walked inside and went to the ticket counter. Setting the jug on the counter, he asked the attendant, “When’s the next bus north?”
The man looked at him critically and demanded, “You got any money?”
Ben looked down at his clothes, then to the jug, then to the man, and burst out laughing.
Regaining his composure finally, he fished into the front pocket, pulled out his wallet, and showed the man some money.
Ben bought a ticket, sat down, and waited. He gazed blankly at the floor, going over in his mind the events of the past few weeks, wondering if he’d ever see Kim again.
A man sat down beside him and whispered, “Mind if I have a drink from your jug?”
Ben nodded absently.
The man took a drink and spat it out. “What’s that?”
“Water,” Ben answered.
The bus was on time. Ben found the first empty row and sat down. He wanted to be alone.
A minute later, as the bus headed down the narrow two-lane road, someone was standing next to him. “Excuse me, I believe you’re sitting in my place.”
He looked up and saw Kim standing there. In shock, he stood up so she could sit beside him.
“What’s in the jug?” she asked suspiciously.
“Water. Kim, why are you on this bus?”
“Because Brother Stone phoned and told us where you were, and because this bus goes through our town one hour before it gets here, and because Daddy is happier now than I’ve seen him for a long time because he’s got a job of rebuilding to do, and because he told me that if I let you go I was a fool—‘That boy is honest and I’d trust him with anything’—and because my mother is riding in the bus four rows back …”
“Your mother is riding on a bus?” Ben asked incredulously.
Kim nodded her head. “And because I love you, and I’ll stick with you even if you want to raise rutabagas in Iceland. Basically I’d say that’s why I’m on this bus.”
He carefully set his jug on the floor, leaned over and kissed her.
A few seats back he could vaguely hear the sound of a woman clearing her throat nervously several times.

Ten-year-old Olivia* rolled over on her side and tried to go back to sleep, even though she knew it would be impossible. After all, it was Christmas—Christmas 1843. “Well, just barely,” Olivia thought as she counted the 12 chimes that echoed softly from her mother’s clock.
Last Christmas, she had lived far away in Leek, England. Then Grandpa had listened to the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “These men speak the truth,” he had said. Three months later, Olivia and her entire family were baptized, along with Grandpa Richard and Grandma Lettice Rushton.
The decision to leave England to join the Saints in America had been a very hard one. Would Grandpa be able to sell his silk business? What kind of work would Papa find? Would baby James get sick and die, like Mama’s other baby? And what about Grandma Lettice? Because she was blind, it would be especially difficult for her to leave her home for an unfamiliar land. After a lot of prayer and asking the Lord, Papa knew they needed to follow the counsel of the Prophet Joseph Smith and join the Saints in Zion.
And now it was Christmas—and Christmas in Nauvoo was very different from Christmas back home. For one thing, Grandpa Rushton had died, and Olivia missed him terribly. For another thing, people here in Nauvoo didn’t burn yule logs, sing carols, and exchange presents, as people in England did. In fact, many people in Nauvoo didn’t celebrate the day at all. Mama said that it was because of the religious customs many of them had before they joined the Church. But that didn’t seem like a very good reason to Olivia. “If only we could celebrate Christmas as we did in England!” she thought with a sigh.
Just then, she heard muffled voices by the front door. Olivia slid out of bed and tiptoed across the cold floor. “Mama?”
Her mother and father were bundled up in warm coats and hats!
“Where are you going, Mama?”
“What are you doing up, Olivia?” Mama whispered. “You should be in bed.”
“I couldn’t sleep—and then I heard you.”
“Well, go back to bed,” Mama said. “Grandma Lettice asked us to go singing with her.”
“Singing—now? May I come too?”
“It’s cold outside,” Papa said.
“I don’t mind,” Olivia replied. “Please?”
Mama and Papa exchanged glances. “Well, all right,” Papa said. “But you’ll have to dress quickly. We don’t want to be late.”
Olivia changed into her warmest clothes, then followed her parents into the chilly darkness. The cold stung her face, and her breath turned into puffy clouds. “Where are we going?” she asked. “Are we going to sing a song I know?”
“You’ll see,” Mama said.
Just as she was wondering how much farther she would have to walk, Olivia saw her aunts and uncles, Grandma Lettice, and several neighbors gathered together outside the Mansion House at the corner of Main Street and Water Street.
The Prophet’s house! Olivia caught her breath. “Are we going to sing to the Prophet?” she wondered.
“All right, everyone,” Grandma Lettice whispered. “Just as we rehearsed it.”
For a split second, Olivia wondered if it had been a mistake to come—she hadn’t rehearsed anything. But after hearing only two notes, Olivia realized that she did know the song. It was one of the songs in Sister Emma Smith’s hymnal. She took a deep breath and sang with the rest of the carolers:
“Mortals, awake! with angels join,
And chant the solemn lay;
Love, joy, and gratitude combine
To hail th’ auspicious day.”
(A Collection of Sacred Hymns for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints [1835], number 77)
Soon lights flickered to life, and windows of the Mansion House opened. The Prophet Joseph Smith, his family, and the boarders who were living at the Smith home all looked out.
“Who’s singing?” someone asked.
“How lovely,” whispered another.
“Are there angels outside?”
Although Olivia wasn’t an angel, she certainly felt like one as a wave of warmth spread from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “How happy the Prophet looks,” she thought.
When they finished singing, the Prophet thanked them for their beautiful serenade and blessed them in the name of the Lord.
“Merry Christmas,” Olivia called as she and the other singers left. All at once she didn’t want to be back in England anymore. She knew she belonged here with her family, the restored Church, and the Lord’s prophet. In fact, she couldn’t think of a better place to have Christmas.

Illustration by Allen Garns
My family and I were excited to be traveling by car from Romania to Kyiv, Ukraine, for the dedication of the temple in August 2010. Knowing that this would be the temple for the Saints in the Romania/Moldova Mission, we traveled for about 14 hours just to be there. When we arrived, we met another group who had also traveled from Romania. We were all happy to be in Kyiv for this sacred event.
On the day of the dedication, our group from Romania was assigned to watch the dedication via broadcast in a room on the ground floor of the temple. Some began to express their disappointment. They had hoped to participate in the dedication with the prophet in the celestial room. Some even said that they could have just stayed at home and watched the broadcast from their chapel in Romania.
I began to pray in my heart, “Heavenly Father, how can we help these members from Romania have an unforgettable experience in Thy house?”
I still hadn’t received an answer when the dedicatory session began. Soon we learned that the prophet, President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018), was going to come down and put the cornerstone into place. Perhaps this could be our answer! I prayed for a way for the prophet to come and greet the Romanian Saints.
“I don’t ask for this for myself,” I prayed, “but for my brothers and sisters.”
After the cornerstone ceremony, President Monson walked by our room on his way back to the celestial room. Suddenly, I felt in my heart that I should stand and invite him to come in our room.
I stood and said, “Our prophet! Come and see us. We are from Romania.”
He didn’t seem to hear me. Then, a moment later, he came back. “Romania!” he said and entered the room.
He greeted all of us and said he loved us very much. My heart was full as I watched the joyful faces of our dear members. “Thank you, dear Father,” I prayed, “for this miracle in Thy house.”
When the prophet left the room, no one was sad anymore. I felt that we were in the most blessed room in the temple. It was an experience I will never forget.