Gospel Story Finder

Eighteen-year-old Brandy Smith of Decatur also loves music. She has been playing piano for eight years and recently won a music scholarship for college. “I love music and I love the words that are written to the Church hymns,” she says. “I love to play the hymns and to have people sing while I play. It increases my testimony.”
That love of the hymns took on an even deeper meaning when, for a three-month period, the Young Women organization in her ward provided weekly visits to Nell Whitt, an older sister who was dying of cancer.
“We would clean her house and spend time talking with her,” Brandy says. “Then we would sing hymns with her. She loved Church songs.” The hymns were sweet to Sister Whitt. They made her feel at home.
Finding peace. Feeling at home. Whether you live in Huntsville, Alabama, or anywhere else in the Church, those are things the gospel can provide.
The LDS youth in the Huntsville stake know their region has been through centuries of history. They also know they can cope with the present and be ready for whatever comes in the future. Not only are these teenagers at home where they live; they’re at home praying to their Heavenly Father, at home giving service, developing talents, and following the Spirit. And they’re confident that, whatever the future might bring, faith in the Lord Jesus Christ will see them through.
“Ask people what they think of when they think of Huntsville, and it would most likely be the space program,” says Chris Carlson, 14, of the Madison Ward. “That’s a big thing here. But I just think of Huntsville as my home. Besides,” he adds, “with the Church and with the gospel, anywhere you go can feel like home.”
And that can make Alabama, or any other place, a home that’s sweet indeed.

When Joseph Smith, Sr., was dying, his children gathered to receive his final blessing. After first blessing his wife, Father Smith began with Hyrum, his eldest, and gave each child what he called a “dying blessing” (see Lucy Mack Smith, History of Joseph Smith, ed. Preston Nibley, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1956, pp. 308–13; Pearson H. Corbett, Hyrum Smith, Patriarch, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1963, pp. 240–41).

Several weeks ago I took the New Era to work. I was going to read it on my break. Several people asked if they could look through it. They said they had never seen a magazine like it. They enjoyed the stories and said it made them feel good all over.
I learned that the New Era is a great missionary tool. It has helped me explain many of my beliefs to my co-workers.
Rochelle JohnsonSan Antonio, Texas

Years ago, I received a phone call from an individual who had been arrested for trespassing. He told me it had been revealed to him that additional scripture was buried under the ground floor of a building he tried to enter. He claimed that once he obtained the additional scripture, he knew he would receive the gift of translation, bring forth new scripture, and shape the doctrine and direction of the Church. I told him that he was mistaken, and he implored me to pray about it. I told him I would not. He became verbally abusive and ended the phone call.

I did not need to pray about this request for one simple but profound reason: only the prophet receives revelation for the Church. It would be “contrary to the economy of God” for others to receive such revelation, which belongs on the prophet’s runway.

Nearly every morning at 6:30 you will find me walking the streets of Spanish Fork with another of my heroes: my dad, Wayne Boothe. As we exercise, Dad speaks of his experience studying the scriptures that morning before our walk. For 34 years Dad taught seminary and institute classes for the Church Educational System. Through those years he chose to study the scriptures most mornings at 4:00. Since his retirement in 1990 his enthusiasm for scriptural feasts has not diminished. He sleeps in now until 5:00 a.m. and then gets up and dives into the scriptures every day. As we walk along he talks excitedly of his newest scripture discoveries. He enjoys the topical guide and will often approach his study by topic. He loves to encourage us to visualize the scriptural accounts in our minds or to place ourselves in the time and place of the scriptures to explore what it might have felt like to be there.

Dad chooses to ponder and pray about those passages he reads. He recently commented, “Son, my scripture study has a fresh new focus. I am reading the scriptures this time through to clearly ascertain whether I am living the gospel as correctly as I should at this stage of my life. I want to be prepared. The scriptures are helping me to prepare.” At 4:00 a.m. many of us could think of other ways to spend our time, but through all of the years of raising a family of seven children, 40 grandchildren, and nine great-grandchildren with my beautiful mother, Dad has chosen to consistently learn from the word of God.

Shana Canada, a Beehive in the Titusville Ward, Cocoa Florida Stake, took action when the ducks near her home were being hit by passing cars. She headed straight for city hall and requested that a “duck crossing” sign be placed near their pond.

The city council members were so impressed with her concern for the ducks’ safety that they placed signs to warn motorists of the web-footed pedestrians.

When Shana is not out lobbying, she can usually be found working to make the grade at school so she can reach her goal to become a veterinarian.

John and I soon met with the missionaries, and they gave us copies of the Book of Mormon. John readily accepted his copy; I was more hesitant. In basic training our only free time was the four hours we had for sleep, and I did not feel like we could waste a precious minute doing anything other than sleep. But John felt differently.
That night as I climbed into my bunk, I noticed a light coming from the bunk next to me. It was John reading the Book of Mormon instead of sleeping. The night guard for our barracks later approached and asked John what he was doing. John matter-of-factly replied, “I’m reading the Book of Mormon.” The guard responded, “Oh, John, you’re not reading those lies are you?” I grimaced on the top bunk. I knew I should defend John and the Book of Mormon, but I cowardly decided to roll over and act like I was asleep.
John climbed out of his bunk, stood up, and, addressing the guard boldly, stated, “This is another testament of Jesus Christ. You take that back.”
I lay in anguish all that night. I had failed to defend my God and my training partner. I felt like I had denied my Christ and denied my discipleship. I, who was a certified minister, had lain in bed, while John, after having the Book of Mormon for only a few hours, had bravely stood up to defend it. Overcome with shame and embarrassment, I knew that the only thing I could do was to read the Book of Mormon for myself.
As I began to read, it wasn’t long before I gained a testimony that the Book of Mormon is another testament of Jesus Christ. I was so excited and knew I had to share the good word with my adopted family. I wrote home to my pastor and eagerly explained what I’d learned. I was surprised, confused, and mostly sad when he wrote back telling me I could never go home to them again unless I stopped going to the LDS Church and reading the Book of Mormon. I wanted to remain close to my family, but by then I knew the Book of Mormon is true and that I would do everything in my power never to let God down again, even if it meant giving up my family (see Matthew 10:37–39).
So I did what I had to do. I got baptized.

Before they came back again, I took the time to speak with my children who were all as eager as I was to hear more. All except one. He told me “Mummy, never open that Book of Mormon or else you will die”.
I asked him why he thought that. He told me that the leaders of other churches had told him it was an evil book and that the day that someone opens that book, they will die. I reminded him what we had decided before about staying at home and not going to church for a year. I suggested to him that perhaps the missionaries coming to us now is an answer to prayer.
He did not agree and did not want to see the missionaries. I then told him that I had read the Book of Mormon. He was shocked and still didn’t want anything to do with the missionaries or the Church. The other children and I kept praying for him with the love the missionaries showed us by helping us with our domestic work, not minding if we are poor nor rich. One day, his younger brother said to him, “Brother, let’s read this book and die for mummy”.
I told them that they wouldn’t die because I didn’t die. They decided to read it privately. Now, that son is fully prepared for a mission. He loved the missionaries more than I did and would go proselyting with them and served as a district clerk. My family has all been baptized.

Even in our own lives, God will utilize various means to communicate with us at different times. While we were presiding over the mission here in Provo, President Thomas S. Monson announced the age change for sister missionaries from 21 to 19 years. In less than a year, the number of sister missionaries in our mission increased from just 18 to 110. Often transfers would include more than 20 new sisters; sometimes it seemed as if we had more sisters coming in than sisters who could train.

While working through one such transfer, I was struggling to know who should train our new sisters. We decided to go to the temple to see if help would come there. Since this was at the Provo Utah Temple, the chapel was full of missionaries from the MTC. As we waited, a large group of sisters came in and sat immediately in front of us. They looked familiar. I leaned forward and asked them where they would be serving, and they said the Utah Provo Mission. I then told them that I would be serving as their mission president. After the session we visited briefly and took some pictures. After having met them, I was able to easily complete transfers and assign the sisters who would serve as their trainers.

I have to say that I wasn’t the bravest patient, and I still am not. Every day during my recovery I had a phone call from Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. I think people thought he was just my imaginary friend when I first told them, but then he turned up twice with police and security, and then a lot of people wanted to see him! I told him that I had been very grumpy and that I was worried about losing my feet.

One night, when I was at my lowest, a tiny white-blonde-haired five-year-old girl—let’s call her Stella—came up to me as I was standing gloomily outside my room. She grasped my little finger with her tiny hand, turned me round (now that is a sight to see!), and made me walk around the ward with her. She wouldn’t let go until I kissed the top of her head. Her parents and the nursing staff chuckled, but I can tell you that the characteristic hallmarks of God in Christ were there; this was indeed an angelic visitation. I had been told to turn around—teshuvah, metanoia, repent—and had been led by a little child.

Those in a healing community build a beloved community around them, often without completely comprehending what they are doing. That, in a nutshell, is what I believe we are called to do together after the long history of difficulties and division and schism between Christian communities. Beautiful friendships can flower and bear fruit between Christian communities if we are taken by the finger and turned around, after the pattern of the University of Utah burn unit.

Christopher’s heart was heavy as he walked slowly to the family car after Primary. Why does everyone but me hear the still, small voice? he wondered.
Why can everyone hear the still, small voice but me? Christopher wondered again. He knew that following his baptism almost two years ago, he was given the gift of the Holy Ghost when he was confirmed. So why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me?
“How was Primary?” Mom asked as Christopher and his two younger sisters climbed into the car. Jill and Melinda excitedly started telling about their lessons and the songs they learned in singing time. Christopher just sadly stared at the floor of the car.
“What was your lesson about, Christopher?” Dad asked.
A tear rolled down Christopher’s cheek. “The Holy Ghost,” he replied softly. Sensing that something was wrong, Jill and Melinda quit chattering.
“Maybe we could talk about this a little more when we get in the house,” Mom said as the car turned into the driveway.
Later Mom and Dad invited Christopher to come to their room. “Christopher,” Mom said, “can you tell us what’s bothering you?”
Christopher looked down. He didn’t want his parents to know that the Holy Ghost didn’t talk to him. They probably heard the still, small voice all the time.
“Listen, Son,” Dad said, putting his arm around Christopher, “we can tell that you’re upset, and we’d like to help.”
Christopher felt tears ready to spill from his eyes. “Mom, Dad,” he said in a shaky voice, “why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me? I’ve always tried to do what’s right. I know I make mistakes—like the time I spilled the red punch on the new carpet and said Jill did it so I wouldn’t get into trouble. But I did finally tell the truth. Do you have to be perfect like the bishop or Brother Johnson or Sister Woolett to have the Holy Ghost speak to you?”
Mom and Dad looked a little surprised. “Christopher,” Mom said, “the only perfect person who ever lived on the earth was Jesus Christ. Everyone makes mistakes. Why don’t you think the Holy Ghost speaks to you?”
“I’ve never heard the still, small voice,” Christopher replied.
“Hearing a voice isn’t the only way the Holy Ghost can communicate with you,” Mom said. “Often it’s what you feel, not what you hear. Don’t you remember that good feeling you had after you prayed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive you for blaming your sister for the carpet stain and after telling us the truth? That feeling was from the Holy Ghost.”
“It was?”
“Or how about the time when we were reading from the scriptures,” Dad added, “and you suddenly understood what Jesus Christ was really talking about in the parable about the wheat and the tares. That was the Holy Ghost teaching you.”
“Wow! I never thought about it that way before!”
“And,” said Mom, “remember when you got lost in the shopping mall last summer and you prayed for help? After you prayed, you felt calm and knew you should sit on the nearest bench and let us find you. That calm, reassuring feeling letting you know what to do was also the Holy Ghost.”
Christopher smiled. Now he understood. The Holy Ghost had been talking to him, even if he didn’t hear the still, small voice with his ears! Now he said excitedly, “What about last week when I gave my talk in Primary? I’d studied it really hard, but when I got up, I couldn’t remember it. Then I said a quick, little prayer, and suddenly my talk came back to me. That was the Holy Ghost, too, wasn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Dad said. “Helping you remember things is also a part of the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
“Wow! Now I understand! All those times the Holy Ghost really was talking to me!”

When the Civil War erupted, Louisa felt a need to do her part. In 1862, she moved to Washington, D.C., and served as a nurse in the Union Army. She worked hard and got very little sleep because of her concern for the wounded soldiers. She became a trusted friend of many of the young patients. However, after only a few weeks at the hospital, Louisa became very ill with typhoid fever. Her father arrived in time to take her back home, where fresh air, rest, and her mother’s care helped her to recover. Later Louisa compiled the letters that she had written to her family from Washington about the suffering soldiers into a book called Hospital Sketches.

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.

I really like participating in the Children and Youth program because I get to set my own goals to accomplish.
For one of my goals, I chose to find family names and perform baptisms for the dead for them. It took a lot of work to learn how to do family history, but I felt so happy every time I found a new name to take to the temple.
Once I got the hang of it, I just kept going and going because it was so fun. Soon I had too many names to do by myself. So a whole bunch of my cousins and I all went to the temple with the names I found, and together we did baptisms and confirmations for 172 people.
My parents are working on finishing the rest of the temple ordinances for those people, which is cool because I feel like my whole family is on a team! Our goal is to help as many of our ancestors as we can.
Doing family history has helped me become closer to both my living family and my ancestors. I’m happy that I completed my goal, and now I hope to make an even more challenging goal so I can keep accomplishing more.
Eldon M., 13, Ohio, USA

Case 7. Two missionaries struggled through barbed wire fences, sprinklers, mudholes, and ferocious dogs, but in the end they found a golden family—of members.
After the opening prayer, the projectionist hit the switch, and the evening was awash in cheers, laughter, and even a few friendly groans. Poor Cindy Ella, outcast because of her curly hair, did get to the governor’s ball (thanks to her fairy godperson) and fell in love with the governor’s curly headed son. A new banana eating record was set. The three junk food junkies did lose weight. The missionaries did keep tracting. Fun triumphed again. All seven wards had come up with their own idea of what the silver screen is all about, and all were pretty proud of what they had done.

Then a year or two ago, almost thirty years after Peter’s death, I dreamed that I was on a business trip, driving my car on a highway that ran alongside the ocean. I think I was supposed to be in northern California.
In my dream I was admiring the beautiful coastal scenery and listening to the car radio.
Suddenly, in my dream, coming toward me on the other side of the road was Peter. He was a full-grown adult, but I recognized him immediately.
Quickly I stopped the car, got out, and ran to him. We hugged and danced like two happy little boys. Then we stood arm-in-arm, face-to-face, with the mighty ocean as a backdrop and talked eagerly for about fifteen minutes.
Never mentioning death, or saying “it’s good to see you after all of these years,” or anything like that, Peter finally said to me, “Well, I’ve got to be going.”
Knowing and feeling that to be true, I said to him, “Where are you going?”
“To take care of some business,” he said simply. I knew better than to ask any more. He was about his Father’s business. My heart told me so. I know that to be true of Andrew also.
I still remember how wonderful it felt in that dream to see Peter again, to hug him and talk with him after all those years since he died. The Spirit bore witness to me that Peter and I will meet again someday and that meeting will be as sweet and natural as it was in that wonderful dream.

After recovering from three major surgeries which have prevented me from speaking in the past two general conferences, what a joy it is to be able to stand in this beautiful Conference Center today to teach and bear testimony to those who desire to hear the word of the Lord.
In the past two years, I have waited upon the Lord for mortal lessons to be taught me through periods of physical pain, mental anguish, and pondering. I learned that constant, intense pain is a great consecrating purifier that humbles us and draws us closer to God’s Spirit. If we listen and obey, we will be guided by His Spirit and do His will in our daily endeavors.
There were times when I have asked a few direct questions in my prayers, such as, “What lessons dost Thou want me to learn from these experiences?”
As I studied the scriptures during this critical period of my life, the veil was thin and answers were given to me as they were recorded in lives of others who had gone through even more severe trials.
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;
“And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high” (D&C 121:7–8).
Dark moments of depression were quickly dispelled by the light of the gospel as the Spirit brought peace and comfort with assurances that all would be well.
On a few occasions I told the Lord that I had surely learned the lessons to be taught and that it wouldn’t be necessary for me to endure any more suffering. Such entreaties seemed to be of no avail, for it was made clear to me that this purifying process of testing was to be endured in the Lord’s time and in the Lord’s own way. It is one thing to teach, “Thy will be done” (Matt. 26:42). It is another to live it. I also learned that I would not be left alone to meet these trials and tribulations but that guardian angels would attend me. There were some that were near angels in the form of doctors, nurses, and most of all my sweet companion, Mary. And on occasion, when the Lord so desired, I was to be comforted with visitations of heavenly hosts that brought comfort and eternal reassurances in my time of need.
The experiences of the last two years have made me stronger in spirit and have given me courage to testify more boldly to the world the deep feelings of my heart. I stand before you today with a resolve to teach the gospel principles like the prophets of old—without the fear of man, speaking clearly with plain talk, and teaching simple gospel truths.

For a few, the tests are over. For some of the members of that ward, the tests ended early. I was reminded of one young man the other day. For me his face will always be young and bright with hope. He left our ward for a mission in Japan. Decades later I mentioned his name in a talk I gave to a group of Latter-day Saints in Tokyo. After the meeting a number of members came to me, their faces shining with the brightness that I remember in his face when he returned from his mission. They told that he was “their” missionary. If I understood their English, they said that he was the greatest missionary they had ever known.

I was released as the bishop when our family was asked to move to another state. I kept track of that missionary enough to know that he had graduated from college, applied to medical school, and been accepted. I did not know his plans for the summer before he began medical school, but I am sure that he looked forward with great anticipation to the years ahead.

A phone rang where we then lived, and I learned that he had been killed. He and friends had gone to climb a peak in the Wind River Range in the western United States. I was invited to speak at his funeral. I asked some of the young men who had been climbing with him, friends from our old ward family, to meet me at the chapel where the service would begin in a few minutes. We went to a room to be alone. After we had renewed our acquaintance, I asked if they would tell me something about our friend’s life. I think they knew why.

I wished to speak in the funeral about him and his life. They knew how much I had admired him. They also knew that I had not seen him nor spoken with him for a few years. They knew that I wanted to praise him but that the praise had to be true.

They told me this story: They had camped the night in preparation for the ascent to the peak. As they climbed, high on the face of the mountain, a storm came upon them. They could not see their way because of the clouds and the storm. Our friend had volunteered to go alone to find the path. He didn’t come back. They found later that he had fallen to his death, trying to save his friends.

Then, without my prompting with a question, they told me of more than his courage. They told me of where he had been on the trail of faith. They said that the night before the climb, while others had talked quietly and prepared for sleep, he had been studying his scriptures and his missionary lessons, in Japanese.

I suppose that in the time after his mission he had the trials and the temptations that are common to returning missionaries. The fact that he had applied to medical school makes it clear to me that he thought the tests of life stretched far ahead of him. Yet when life ended, he was ready. I think of him often. A stake president, who was his friend in youth, met me the other day in Virginia. I heard the same sound of love and awe in his voice that I heard from the members in Tokyo and from the fellow mountain climbers.

When such a life touches ours, we are never the same again. We want somehow to be as constant in our faith as he was. We want to know the way to endure whatever surprises life may give us, always ready with the power to pass the tests that come, always faithful, whatever the tests—to the end, whenever that may come.

If you’ve ever felt lonely because Latter-day Saint youth are in the minority at your school, imagine how Santosh Ramish, age 14, of Hyderabad, India, must feel. After all, he’s one of a handful of Saints in a country whose population is 750 million.
Almost one out of every seven people in the world lives in India, the world’s second most populous country after China. Eighty-three percent are Hindu, 11 percent are Muslim, and the remaining 6 percent are divided between Christians, Sikhs, Buddhists and Jains, in that order.
But does Santosh feel alone or discriminated against?
Not at all. “There is freedom of religion,” he says. “Although my school friends do tease me for not drinking coffee. It is a land of many languages, cultures, and traditions.”
That probably sums up Santosh’s homeland. India features 14 major native languages and more than 1,000 minor ones. He speaks two of his country’s 14 major languages, and is fluent in English as well.
When it comes to culture, many teenagers around the world would find the world of Santosh very foreign. People do not date in India. Youth socialize only with members of the same sex. Parties and dances for youth are unheard of, and husbands or wives are usually selected by agreements between parents.
But what if you fall in love with someone else?
“In India, you can’t leave parents or disobey them,” says Santosh. Even after marriage, a young couple often lives with the parents of the groom. These days, however, more and more couples are getting out on their own.
There are some things that form a common bond between Santosh and other teenagers all over the world. One of those things is the gospel. Santosh was introduced to the gospel through his uncle, Dr. Edwin Dharma Raju, who joined the Church in Samoa when he was on assignment from the government of India.
When Dr. Raju returned to India, he wanted his family to hear the gospel message, and he wrote to Church headquarters for missionaries to be sent to his family. Instead, Dr. Raju and his wife were sent on a short-term mission to teach the family themselves.
Santosh was eight years old when he and several family members accepted the gospel. The water storage tank on the roof of his uncle Henry’s building was scrubbed and painted to serve as a baptismal font. The men and boys who attended the baptism were dressed in traditional white, loose-fitting Indian jackets and trousers. The women were dressed in white saris, the standard dress of Indian women, consisting of a long piece of cloth draped over the shoulder and wrapped around the body. The newly baptized family was to form the beginnings of the branch in Hyderabad.
Santosh is now a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood in that branch. He and his brother Sanjay, 12, and sister Sunitha, 16, are the only youth there, but they take a very active part. Santosh arrives at the mission home, where church services are held, a half hour early each Sunday to prepare the sacrament. He is always ready to give a talk or teach a lesson to any age group. Sunitha is the branch chorister and teaches a Primary class, and Sanjay takes on various assignments and is often the first one to bear his testimony on fast Sunday.
Santosh is also preparing for a mission. “I have thought a lot about a mission,” he says. “I used to dream of going to a very remote island or a place where I could convert and baptize everyone. Now that they are calling Indian youth to serve in India, I would like to serve a mission here.”
His dreams also include medical school, which is extremely difficult to get into in his country. Of the 50,000 students who take examinations each year to apply, only 2,000 will be accepted. Only those with the highest grades can enter medical school.
Santosh, like many Indian children, has been going to school since he was three. He will graduate at 17. In the meantime, he carries a heavy academic load.
His day starts before 6 A.M., when he hurries off for an hour session with a tutor. Since his classes at the private Christian school contain anywhere from 40 to 70 students, the time he spends with his tutor and four or five other students is essential.
He then comes home, prepares for school, reads the newspaper to keep up with current affairs, and then takes the bus to school. Once there, he attends eight classes, among them mathematics, physics, biology, and three different language classes.
Santosh is in the 10th class, where it is crucial to be one of the best students. He has even had to give up most of the sports he likes so well, like cricket and badminton, in order to excel. He has to take major tests every month and exams every three months to determine his position in college.
After school, Santosh does homework and a little recreational reading until it’s time for the evening meal at 8:00 P.M. At 9:00 he meets with his tutor for another hour and a half.
Although school takes up a major portion of his day, he still finds time for the Church and for scripture study. “I have a very strong testimony,” he says. “I thank my Heavenly Father for it. I know that the Book of Mormon, the Holy Bible, the Doctrine and Covenants, and Pearl of Great Price are companion scriptures and the word of God.”
That knowledge, plus the support of his family, are enough to sustain him in his minority religious status. “I hope I will have the strength to resist temptations,” he says. “I love this church, and don’t ever want to go away from it.”

I hope I don't embarrass myself too much by telling you how I tried to apply this counsel. My approach was to organize what I called my "date a million program." I would try to meet and get to know as many young women as I could. I asked people to line me up with their friends and relatives somewhat like the member referral approach I took as a missionary in Peru and Ecuador. I then created a progressing friends list containing at least six promising "friends" whom I would see more frequently but whom I couldn't see twice in a row so that I didn't prematurely focus on one person and become too romantically involved before I had formed a good friendship. I had around two to four dates a week during this time but most of the dates were to things I already was doing: going to a devotional and then stopping by the Cougareat for a treat, going to a church fireside, attending a lecture or film on campus, etc. I met some wonderful young women and tried to be their friend rather than to court them. I also developed a good list of six progressing friends that I began to spend more time with.

However, my program almost kept me from following my feelings about Margaret Allred. She was so easy to talk to and such a good friend that I found myself wanting to spend more time with her. But I would then lecture myself that I was supposed to let friendship develop and consider many possibilities rather than narrow my search prematurely. Fortunately, as I got up to recapture my testimony one morning and prayed about my progressing friends list, the Lord helped me to see that Margaret was a wonderful person with whom I could build an eternal relationship. He helped me overlook some of the little flaws I saw when I was comparing my progressing friends. I think I was doing what I see some young men and women I know doing now. They approach selecting a companion as though they were a consumer looking for the best product. The Lord helped me see that Margaret would also have to overlook or work with my flaws, perhaps chief among them that I was a perfectionistic romantic. His love for her and for me and his reassurance that this relationship was worth pursuing was a revelation to me at the time.

By the way, at this same time Margaret was following a process very similar to grandfather's counsel. She had been going on dates with a number of different young men but she was clear sooner than I was about feeling that our relationship could be eternal. However, then as now it was harder for young women to initiate dating. Somehow she found out my schedule and I began to be surprised that we just happened to "bump into each other" at many class breaks. She learned that I was majoring in Spanish and decided to take beginning Spanish. She also joined a student government committee that I was also working on. No wonder I came to feel Margaret was such a good friend with whom I could talk so easily!