Gospel Story Finder

She also paints an interesting picture of street meetings held at the time:
“At my first street meeting I wanted to laugh. It seemed so funny for two or three of us to stop right in the middle of a little side street; to sing, pray and speak to the few open-mouthed passers by who stood listening a few minutes then passed on only to be replaced by others. Some listen intently from the beginning to the close of the meeting which lasts about an hour. At both meetings we had a fair audience, respectful and good listeners. The noise of the street is so great at times, the speaker can scarcely be heard.”

Elder Peterson and I took the Star Ferry to Hong Kong Island. From there we boarded a bus that would take us to our area on the back side of the island. Elder Peterson was a new missionary, and I wanted him to see, as soon as possible, how the gospel brings new joy into a person’s life. We chatted for a while; then we each drifted off in thought.
I don’t know what Elder Peterson was thinking about. Maybe the hot, humid August weather. Maybe the strange foods. But I clearly remember my thoughts.
Our pool of investigators was average in size, but we didn’t have anyone who was ready for baptism. As I prayed silently, I had a calm understanding within my heart that the Lord would guide us to people who were prepared for the truth. I hardly expected a miracle, though.
We set out that day tracting through Shek Pai Wan—one of the many government housing complexes that crowd entire families of six or eight people into one-room apartments the size of a small living room. For being in Hong Kong only two days, Elder Peterson did remarkably well speaking Cantonese during his door approaches. But we had little success.
The next few days we worked hard and followed the Spirit. Although we found one or two new investigators, no one seemed to really be catching fire.
Then it happened.
I was looking through the drawers in our bedroom and found an old notebook. I opened it and saw a book of contacts and investigators from years before. The pages were torn and soiled. The writing was faded. But the Spirit whispered that I should read through the scores of names. I sat on my bed and began reading the book. As I slowly skimmed the lists of faceless names, my eyes and fingers stopped at a Mr. Chan.
The notes indicated that he had been taught the first discussion but that he wasn’t interested.
The burning in my heart was distinct and comforting. At once I knew we should visit this man. That afternoon we found the apartment listed in the old notebook. I said a silent prayer as we knocked on the door. The burning of the Spirit deep within us intensified as we waited for Mr. Chan. We waited. No answer. We knocked again. Still no answer.
“I guess no one’s home,” I said to Elder Peterson. “Let’s try later.”
We were a few feet away when the door opened.
“Matyeh a?” The man was asking us what we wanted.
“Hou ma?” We responded with the traditional Chinese “How are you?” greeting.
A minute later, this man was introducing himself as Mr. Chan.
“May we tell you a little about our church?” we asked.
“Please do,” Mr. Chan said.
The Spirit of the Lord was with the three of us as we discussed the Prophet Joseph Smith and the First Vision. We testified of Christ and of His atoning sacrifice. As we testified, the Spirit told us Mr. Chan believed our words.
“How do you feel about what we’ve said?” we asked.
“I know what you tell me is true,” Mr. Chan replied. “Wait here a minute.” He walked to a chair and stood on it while reaching for some books on a shelf. Finally he found the Book of Mormon.
“This is your church, isn’t it?” he asked, handing us the book.
“Yes, it is. Where did you get this?”
“Some missionaries like you came to my home three or four years ago,” he explained. “I bought this book from them, but they never came back.”
Elder Peterson and I looked through the well-worn Book of Mormon.
“Have you read this book?” I asked.
“Yes, many times. It is the word of God. Can you baptize me?”
“Why do you want to be baptized?”
“So I may return to live with God and Jesus Christ,” he said.
The Spirit was strong as we knelt in prayer with Mr. Chan. He had truly been prepared by the hand of God for baptism into His kingdom.
The words of Alma to his son Helaman in Alma 37:9–10 now have more meaning to me: “These records and their words … brought them to the knowledge of the Lord their God, and to rejoice in Jesus Christ their Redeemer. And who knoweth but what they will be the means of bringing many thousands … to the knowledge of their Redeemer?”

“Come here, over by the light.” Kitty joined him by the window. “Do you remember this?”
He held out to her a piece of white cloth. When she took it in her hand, she saw it was a dress, a tiny frothy dress, all white, with many tucks and flounces; and across the yoke in front were red and blue marching figures. It was beautiful, and somehow, she knew it had been hers.
“You looked like an angel,” her father said softly. “Your hair was blonde then, and you were all dolled up in this dress and little white shoes and white socks with—I’m almost certain—red and blue stripes matching the whatsit on the dress. It was a Primary thing, Easter, I think, and you stood right in the front row and sang every song without missing a word—three years old and you didn’t miss a word—and me sitting on the back row blubbering when you sang that one about “I Am a Child of God.” l was embarrassed like the dickens until I noticed that both of the men beside me were sniffing and honking too. Oh, your mother was so proud of you, and that dress! I guess she took a whole roll of film of you in that dress. Still has ’em someplace.”
Kitty looked more closely at the dress. Tiny stitches, many of them handmade.
“Mother made this?” Her father nodded. “But she doesn’t sew.”
“She doesn’t now. Obviously, she couldn’t do it all. She loved sewing for you, Kitten. And for herself, and Jenny, and the house. But finally she said it took too much time from other things.” He took the dress from her and began folding it very carefully.

Like many new converts, I struggled to live the Word of Wisdom and the law of tithing. Tithing was for me the most difficult. How could I possibly take something away from the little that was just barely enough? The Lord helped me understand how I could do just that by teaching me a wonderful lesson.
As I began to pay tithing, I realized I would have to put my finances in order. I immediately began to budget my money better. I made a list of all my monthly expenses, starting with tithing. I compared the list to my monthly income. To my astonishment, there was enough to live on and even a small amount for savings. I was also surprised to see how much money I had previously spent on alcohol and coffee. The Lord blessed me financially and spiritually as I worked to live His law.

Six-year-old Catherine sang as she followed Joseph and his plow down the long brown furrows, dropping yellow kernels of corn into the newly turned soil.
Joseph called over his shoulder, “If Alvin doesn’t get back with some money, all that corn will go to the land agents. And from what I hear, they won’t share it with a cutworm or a crow or anything else.”
Catherine had heard her father talk about land agents, but she wasn’t sure just what they were. “What are land agents, Joseph?” she asked.
Her brother pulled the ox to a halt and explained, “They’re men who sell property. If there is a drought or your crops don’t sell and you can’t pay the mortgage money, they come and take the farm back.” Then he paused for a moment, remembering his father’s dawn-to-dark labor when they’d first cleared the land of trees to plant crops.
The whole family had helped tap the thousand sugar maple trees in the spring. Joseph also remembered the split-wood chairs and baskets and the straw brooms his father had made to sell to help pay for the farm. His father had even worked for other farmers to earn money. But still there wasn’t enough.
Catherine brought her brother back from his recollecting. “Are they going to take our farm, Joseph?”
“It looks like it, unless we can raise some more money. We’ve all helped. But it hasn’t been enough.” Joseph sighed as he slapped the reins against the rump of the ox. “I wish I could do something more.”
“You’ve been helping to clear trees and plowing and planting the corn and pumpkins. That’s a big help.
“Sure. But we need money. And we need it right away.”
Catherine let out a deep breath and sat down on the broken black earth. “Will we have to let the land agents take our farm?” she asked.
“ If we can’t pay all the mortgage money, we will. And the law supports them. But it just doesn’t seem right after we’ve spent two years clearing trees from 24 hectares of land and planting crops and building a four-room log house besides. They’d only turn around and sell it again for a lot of money, and we wouldn’t get anything for all the improvements we’ve made.”
Catherine understood now why some folks said the land agents were really land robbers.
Young Joseph looked into the open window of the house. His mother was just lifting the lid on the cooking pot in the fireplace. She left the stew sputtering against the pot lid as she called to her family, “Supper’s ready!”
Later after supper, Joseph’s father, as always, felt for his spectacles. When his hand found the lower right-hand pocket of his vest, that was the signal for a reading from the Bible and for family prayer.
That night the family had an extra long prayer. Father Smith thanked Heavenly Father for his “mercy which endureth forever.” Then he pleaded for help in somehow obtaining the money that was needed. When all members of the family had added their amen, they sang the usual hymn:
The song was interrupted by a loud knock. Mr. Smith opened the door and invited a neighbor from down the road to come in.
“Thank you, Joseph. I came to ask if you’d let me hire one of your boys for a few days. I need to dig a well.”
Alvin was away working and young Joseph knew his father needed Hyrum to help cut trees. “I could do it, sir,” he said eagerly.
His father smiled. “Joseph’s able. He’ll give you a good day’s work for a day’s pay.”
“I know your boys are good workers. They’ve worked alongside their father until they’re better than most men. That’s why I’m here. Young Joseph will be fine.”
Joseph was so happy that he had to take a big breath to keep from shouting out loud: “The Lord is surely opening up the way. We will get the money we need. I’m sure of it.” He was so sure that he wasn’t a bit surprised when Alvin arrived home a few days later with the money he had earned. Just the same, it was a tense moment when the whole family gathered to count their savings. Is it enough? they wondered.
Joseph held his breath as the money was counted. It was enough; they had enough. Tears and laughter mingled as they realized that Alvin’s earnings added to what Joseph and the others had been able to raise would save their farm!

Other experiences I had as a boy taught me that the Holy Ghost can help us stay close to Heavenly Father. I had a friend named Ralph who was a few months older than I was. We went to school in a one-room redbrick schoolhouse, and Ralph and I would walk there together. One day we talked about his recent baptism and confirmation. He told me how clean he felt when he was baptized. I asked him what it was like to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, and he said, “It’s like a voice that whispers in your ear, teaching you the truth.” I never forgot Ralph’s explanation. I wanted to have what my friend had.

I was in class one day sitting next to my friend. We were getting ready to take an exam, and he told me he was really nervous. I felt that I needed to teach him how to pray. Then we both bowed our heads and silently prayed for help on the test. I’m grateful prayer could help calm my friend’s nerves.
Abigail, Uruguay

In a mountain valley, a small community is the home of a monastery with a declining number of aging monks. A stake Relief Society president, with many other compassionate service responsibilities, regularly checks on the well-being of the monks. She is the first to deliver goodies on days when they are permissible. She cares about their welfare just as she does about the members of her stake.

The prophets’ lives encourage us to draw close to our families at Christmastime. President Joseph F. Smith remembered one Christmas as a young father when he had no money—not even a penny—to buy gifts for his children. Just before Christmas he left his home and walked down the street, looking at all the wonderful things in the shop windows but knowing that he could buy none of them. Near despair he found a private place and “wept like a child” to relieve his aching heart. But, drying his eyes, he went home and played with his children all day, “grateful and happy only for them.”4 Despite his inability to provide a material Christmas for his children, he had nevertheless given them the greatest gifts any father could—his love and his time.

Sharing was not just a one-time thing for the Taylorsville Fourth Ward Young Women (Taylorsville Utah West Stake). They made it happen all year long and culminated their efforts in an Evening for Sharing.

Such events are suggested as part of the Young Women calendar each year. “One of the great rewards of accomplishment comes when a song, a talent, a thought, a few moments of time, an experience, or something created can be shared. Many things are of little worth until they are shared.” (Behold Thy Handmaiden, Guidelines for Adult Leaders, p. 8.) The idea is to provide young women in their own wards and stakes with opportunities to share what they have accomplished throughout the past year.

The young women themselves were the planners and did all the work for their Evening for Sharing. They decided that they would like to share their love for life, family, country, and church and created presentations of music, dance, readings, and displays. During the presentations, each class president gave a special award and thanked her adviser for all she had done for their class. Also, awards and gifts were given to the bishopric, Young Women president, secretary, and the sister who served on the service and activities committee. A gift was also given to the second-year Laurels who were leaving the program.

Pictures had been taken of the combined activities and service projects that had taken place throughout the year. Each class took pictures and kept mementos of their own special events. Such collections were displayed on tables around the cultural hall. The tables showed the end result of some of the goals the girls had set in each of the six areas of focus. They also showed hobbies, talents, and contributions the girls had made in other areas such as school, home, church, and community.

Christie Gailey, the Laurel class president, said, “It was good to see how everyone helped to make it a special night and also how everyone got a chance to do what they wanted to do.”

Jana Packer, a Mia Maid, felt that “it gave us a chance to look at other hobbies and talents, and if we wanted to learn how to do some things, we could ask them to show us.”

Beehive JoLynn Stewart said, “Our class likes to dance and have fun, and we really liked being able to make up our own dance for the program. I didn’t think we were going to make it in time, but we did. It was fun.”

“It made me feel really good inside to be able to give a tribute to my mother on the program,” said Melissa Hemsley.

There are many different ways of sharing. Girls can share silently by quietly and unboisterously serving, befriending, building, and setting a good example; or girls can share outwardly by bearing their testimony and by sharing the gospel wherever they are. They can share by making food or articles and then giving them as gifts to someone who needs them. Or they can share by demonstrating a music, art, or literary talent. There is no end to the ways a girl can share. In Taylorsville, young women shared their time and talents for more than just one evening; that one evening was just simple recognition for hundreds of hours of thoughtful service.

My beloved and wonderful brothers and sisters, I seek an interest in your faith and prayers these few minutes that I stand before you. A few years ago, just before our departure for a mission to Belgium, our family went on a vacation. Upon arriving at a motel, our children were out of their clothes and into swimming suits before we could unload the car. As I passed the swimming pool, the sign struck me forcefully: “Do Not Leave Children Unattended.” Though I had read similar signs and ignored them many times before, I felt compelled to stay and watch my young children. (My wife wasn’t very happy; she was unloading the car.) In minutes, one of my daughters was in deep water, and deep trouble, and struggling for help. I dove into the pool, clothes and all, and with all the energy I had, I reached her just in time. I recognized that frantic yet unspoken call for help that day, and I will never forget it.

The story is told of a king who was choosing between two drivers for his coach. He ordered each of them to drive his coach down a steep, winding road cut into a high cliff.
The first driver came down slowly, hugging the wall of the cliff. The second driver demonstrated great talent and ability. He raced down the mountain, with the coach so close at times that half the wheel was off the edge of the cliff.
The king was very thoughtful, then wisely chose the first man to drive his coach. It is best to stay on the safe side of things.

Last winter they built an ice rink in their backyard. First they packed the snow down with a toboggan; then they sprinkled the snow with water to form layers of ice. When the ice was thick enough, they went skating. But soon they learned to use their slippery slide as a luge run. Sliding down it on a rubber mat, they’d fly across the iced backyard into a soft snowbank.

Children can provide wonderful and often humorous insights into life. We have in our family identical ten-year-old twin sons. In some circumstances they are practically impossible to tell apart.

Recently we moved and found ourselves in new surroundings. Several days later I was talking to Aaron, one of the twins, and inquired about the big bump he had on his forehead. He described it this way. “Well, Dad, Lincoln [who is his older brother] was chasing me down the hall. I ran around the corner, and I saw my twin brother, Adam. Now, I knew I could outrun Adam, so I just kept running.” It turns out he ran into a full-length mirror!

A forlorn cry of sea gulls accompanied Susie’s thoughts as she lay, fully clothed in jeans and thick red sweater, on Millington Beach. She’d found a sheltered place by a sea break wall and was glad of the chance to be alone with her problem.
A flock of wheeling gulls had blocked the sun. She brushed her hand across her closed eyes, attempting to wipe them away, wishing the same could be done with last night’s memories.
James, with his expensive image, had not been his usual, light-hearted self. Despite trendy gear and his stylishly cut black hair, he really hadn’t acted like a gentleman.
“You and your standards,” he shouted, as they were saying good night in the car. “I’m tired of them. We’ve been going out for five months now, and you might as well know you won’t change me. Either you love me or you don’t. I’ve even asked you to marry me, though I can’t for the life of me see why we shouldn’t live together like the rest of the world. I’ve had enough. I expect an answer by tomorrow.” She barely had time to close the car door before he accelerated away.
Rising to her feet, Susie walked down the shore. She rubbed sea spray from her face, determined not to let tears join the salty taste. “All my Church life it seems I’ve been hearing of this sort of mess,” she thought, sniffing hard at the seaweed smell blowing up from the tide line. “But I never thought it would happen to me.”
“Please, Mum, I’m 18 now, so can’t I make up my own mind?” she begged. “Can I go just this once? The rest of the sixth form will be there. At least I stay away from those places normally.”
Mum looked perplexed. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Susie. I know you have high standards. It’s just that … ”
“I know, I know—the atmosphere’s wrong, and I meet the wrong people,” she replied wearily. “But Mum, they accept that I don’t drink, and there’s not much going on at church in our small ward. I mean, Chris and John are fine, but not to date. So what if I do get asked out tonight? Actually, James Johnson wanted to know if I was going.” She hesitated, looking down. “But what’s the harm in that?”
“Susie, there will be opportunities to meet other Church youth around the country. And there’s an old saying about you marry who you date, so datewho you might marry—remember?”
“Oh, Mum, come off it. As if I’m ready for marriage. I’m ready for a good time, you know, a date here, a date there. Please understand, Mum.”
Mother had given in.
Moving close to the sea edge, Susie idly watched sea gulls dodging the swishing back and forth of the waves. As worm holes appeared, full of bubbles, the birds poked their beaks down, grabbing at the juicy creatures, sucking them forth with triumphant jerks. “I know how you feel,” Susie sympathized with the worms, “being pulled out of safety like that.”
“It’s not that I don’t like your Church friends, Susie,” James said. “They’re just too goody-goody for me. You know, all that mixed fun and games, dancing, road shows—it’s not my scene—just too religious.”
Susie flushed, “But don’t you enjoy … ”
He interrupted “They’re not adult enough for you and me. There’s a big wide world out there, you know. Fun of a different kind, all ready for experimenting.”
Susie turned, bending to remove her trainers. She began trailing along the beach, her feet pushing uncomfortably against rippling ridges left by the waves. “What was it Dad used to say when we were small?” she wondered. “Copy the crabs. Walk sideways and your feet won’t feel the bumps.”
It had been like that at home for a while, walking sideways to avoid bumping her growing feelings for James against Mum and Dad. But eventually they collided.
“Susie, Susie,” James murmured against her hair as they embraced on her doorstep. A kiss was beginning when the door opened.
“Ah, Susie, you’re home. I was getting uneasy, dear,” Dad said, standing there in his pajamas.
“Sorry, Mr. Blake. We meant to be back by 11:30, but the … er … traffic was bad,” lied James. He pushed Susie forward with a laugh. “See you tomorrow, Sue. I’ll pick you up at 7:00. My mate’sgetting a video. We’re invited to his flat.” He jumped down all three steps at once, then stopped. “Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Blake, I’ll have her back by 11:00 this time.” With a boyish grin, he dived into his silver mini, revved the engine, tooted the horn, and was gone.
Susie tried to move with equal swiftness upstairs, but Dad was faster. “Er, one moment, young lady,” he said over his shoulder, locking the front door. “Into the lounge, please. I’d like a few words.”
They sat on the sofa. “It’s not what you think, Dad,” Susie was guarded. “James is a gentleman. He’d never harm me. He’s just a friend. We’re … ”
“Susie, love, I’m sure that’s so, or at least, I’m sure that’s how you wish things to be, but at this time of night you’re letting temptation have full power. Don’t you think you ought to put this ‘friendship’ in the fridge for a while, perhaps see less of each other?” Dad looked troubled.
Susie moved nearer. Her dad had always been special to her. From a tiny age, she’d known how close to the Lord he lived. Scriptures and Dad seemed to go together like sea gulls and webbed feet.
“Listen,” he pulled Susie round to face him. “Will you do me and your Mum a favour? Start coming to church again more often? You’re really missed. Share us a little with James, will you please?”
He gave a yawn and helping her to stand, added, “Oh, and by the way, when you get a minute, look up D&C 132:15–16, will you?”
She smiled. “All right, Dad. I’m sorry to keep you up so late. I’ll begin work on all this tomorrow.”
But tomorrow never seemed to come.
She turned again to the sea, dabbling her feet in the water. As wavelets curled round cold toes, her feet arched against the icy tingle. She squirmed both heels deep into the sand, then, pulling out each foot in turn, felt a sucking squelch which left the ground wobbly, no longer secure. Susie watched, fascinated at the time it took to regain sure footing.
“If I leave James now, I’ll feel like that,” she decided. “I can’t do it. I can’t. We’re too close, too comfortable, with too much shared. And he’s so attractive. Maybe marriage is the answer. Perhaps Dad’s scripture doesn’t mean me. Maybe I’m different.”
Mum had brought up the same subject only last week, while they were preparing the evening meal.
“Susie, before matters get too serious between you and James, there’s one or two ideas I think you should consider.”
Susie felt familiar “here we go” signals creeping around her brain but decided to play interested rather than argue. Mum usually finished quicker that way.
“There’s more to marriage than dates and fun, you know.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“You need to pull together in all things, share goals, see eye-to-eye over child rearing and finance.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Do you know James’s views on children?”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Are they the same as yours?”
At this Susie put down her knife. Resting chin in hands, elbows on the table, and with a frown creasing her forehead, she exclaimed, “Mum, I know they’re not his thing at the moment. He has no time for them. But I’m sure when … I mean if we marry, we’ll think along the same lines. Don’t worry.”
“Susie, love, I’m sorryto be a pain, but these things are important. There’s nothing worse than being unequally yoked. You wanting babies and him not. You wanting to save for the future, him not; you wanting to attend church, him not—it’ll pull at your heartstrings.”
“But doesn’t love overcome all that?” Susie sounded less sure of herself.
Mother sighed. “For a while, maybe.” She stopped working and touched Susie’s arm. “For a while, but I’ve seen marriages break because of the strain. The worst part of all, for a Latter-day Saint married to a nonmember, is the lack of spiritual unity.”
Susie pouted. “Oh, come on, Mum, it’s not that bad. And how about the ones who get converted?”
Mum shook her head. “This may sound silly at your age, but the older you get, the more important the spiritual side of life becomes. To be forever tugging in different directions can be anguish. Not many conversions take place, and children are torn between you.”
She picked up a fresh carrot, briskly slicing again. “Think hard, Susie, think and pray hard about the future. If you can’t communicate about the important things now, you could be in for big trouble later.”
She returned to the still-quivering, waterlogged sand. A tame grey gull, with a black patch over one eye, resembling some cheeky pirate about to plunder, edged forward, expecting food. “But I love him,” she told the gull. “At least I think I do. I get this incredible feeling when he looks at me, when he’s next to me, but you wouldn’t begin to understand, would you?”
Slumping into the same sandy shelter as before, she hunched her knees and clasped them tight with both hands. As her head dropped forward, the words in her head were closer to prayer than they had been for a long time. “Father, help me, please.”
Susie sensed a shadow moving between herself and the sun. Her gasp of alarm soon turned to pleasure as she recognized the voice. It was soft and cajoling.
“Guessed I might find you here,” James said. “Here, your favorite.” He dropped two Mars Bars at her feet.
“Your Mum said you needed a change of scene.” His tone altered. Susie was conscious of a defensive note. “She said you’d gone for a think.” He kicked puffs of sand around the base of the sea break.
“Come on then, out with it. I need to know your answer sooner or later. May as well be sooner.”
Susie bit her lip. She took a deep breath. “I think I love you, James. And I do think it’s right to … to …” She was interrupted by an inquisitive sea gull sidling nearer and nearer the chocolate. It was Pirate.
In one smooth move, James bent, grabbed a pebble, and yelling harshly, aimed it straight at the trusting bird. “Get lost. Go find your own kind of food. There’s better fish in the sea.”
“Oh, James,” Susie begged, as Pirate gave a distressed cry, flapped his wings in panic. “Don’t hurt him. He … he’s sort of a friend,” she finished lamely, digging deep into the sand with her fingers, aware of his look of scornful disbelief.
“Friend! Grow up, Susie. You’ll be telling me next he brings you messages from heaven. Do you think I’m a wally or something? It’s only a stupid bird. Anyway, what were you saying?”
Susie rose to her feet and looked him in the eye. “I think it’s right to stop seeing each other from now on,” she finished in a rush, loudly.
Her voice softened when she saw the hurt amazement on James’s face. She hesitated, “This isn’t going to be easy, James. We’ve become close, comfortable … no, don’t stop me now,” she raised her hand as he moved forward. “Let me finish for once. This afternoon I’ve discovered eternal things are as important as the present, probably more so.”
“Okay, okay, cool it.” James raised his eyes skyward. He turned away, only to swing back abruptly. “Look, I’ll be baptised this weekend, especially for you. How about that?”
Susie wavered. He looked so hopeful, and it was hard to resist the way his mouth curved in that pleading smile. What was it a seminary teacher once said? Something about doing the right things for the wrong reasons can be as bad as not doing them at all for all the good it does you.
She shook her head. “It won’t work like that, James. I can’t explain properly. We’re on different wavelengths spiritually.”
Bending to pick up another stone, James strained as he flung it far out to sea. Marching away, he called over his shoulder, “Don’t bother ringing when you come to your senses. You’ve had your chance. You’ll not make a fool of this man twice.”
The crunching of his feet on the shingle faded, mingled with the noise of ebbing surf. Susie’s heart shared those wrenching tugs as each wave pulled at resolute grit. She shivered. The sun had disappeared behind clouds of rain.
Miserably picking up the chocolate bars, she was about to turn homeward, when a beating sound caught her attention. It was Pirate heading home too. Only this time he didn’t dip and swoop aimlessly. He was firmly on course, flying straight and fast, strong wings taking him in the direction he wanted to go.
Susie straightened, a slow smile touching her lips. “James was right about one thing, anyway,” she called after the bird. “There are better fish in the sea.”
Her step became light and quick. She turned her face to the rain as it poured from the clouds, washing and freshening her skin.

As a junior in high school, I thought that my dark blonde, shoulder-length hair meant everything. My morning included nearly 30 minutes of trying various hairstyles until the right one looked nearly perfect. I did this every morning—until one day when my routine changed forever.
The day began like any day. I woke up, washed my face, and put my contacts in. Then I sleepily glanced in the mirror and caught sight of something terrible—a small bald spot on the top of my head. I looked closer and ran my fingers across it to make sure my morning eyes were not fooling me. They weren’t.
I began to panic, and in tears I searched for my mom. Together we discussed the possibility my hair got caught on something while I was sleeping. Or maybe I was not eating enough vegetables. But with no definite answers I finally parted my hair to somewhat hide the bald spot and rushed off to school.
From that day on, I continued to lose patches of hair. These spots varied from the size of a coin to the size of a fist. I went to numerous doctors who examined every part of my head. I also spent a lot of time on my knees in prayer, seeking comfort and strength to handle what the doctors would tell me.
In September 2000 I found out I had an autoimmune disease known as alopecia areata. I can still hear my doctor’s voice when he explained this meant “total hair loss with no known cure.” Immediately my mind filled with thoughts of doubt, thoughts like “What’s next?” and “Why me?”
After seeing a specialist the next month, I shaved my almost-bald head. Without my hair, I felt like a completely different person. My sense of self plummeted, and it was almost impossible to drag myself to school. “What would everyone think? What would everyone say?” I wondered.
Scarves became my everyday hairstyle. Instead of spending a half hour every morning on my hair, I spent five minutes carefully tying a scarf around my bald head. The scarves were colorful and comfortable, but they weren’t my hair. At one point I tried wearing a wig the same color as my hair. This only brought constant worry of it falling off in front of everyone at school. I went back to scarves.
School was a challenge. I knew my Heavenly Father loved me and I could count on Him to be there when everyone else was turning away. But that was hard to remember when my peers gave me quick, odd glances. It was also hard when rumors began to spread, and I knew I was the topic of conversation. I didn’t understand why, of all times in my life, I had to deal with this during high school—a time when I wanted so much to be accepted and liked by those around me.
I made it through my senior year only because of certain things I made myself remember as I walked the halls of my high school. Each morning I prayed and thanked the Lord for the blessing of being alive and for the beauty around me. I prayed for strength to endure the day ahead and to remember I was loved by many. I also thanked my Heavenly Father for the things I was learning from this experience. It seems simple, but it made a difference. Whenever someone gave me a funny look or made a cruel joke, I simply remembered my motto, “It’s just hair. It really doesn’t matter.”
I knew I had no control over what was going to happen with my hair, but I also knew I had complete control over how I was going to face it. I could make it a blessing and an opportunity, or I could look at it as a punishment and simply give up.
It has been almost three years since the morning I found the small bald patch on my head. In that time I have had to shave my head five times because I still have small patches of hair. Each time I have shaved it with a little more enthusiasm and appreciation for life.
I know I couldn’t have done it alone. The Lord has become the one I trust. He does not judge me or laugh at me; I know He loves me just as much without hair as He did when I had hair. I have also relied on the love and support of my family.
I know we are all children of God with divine potential. We are all here to learn and grow in different ways with different challenges. We have a Heavenly Father who loves us for who we are and for what we can become. He is there in our darkest hours. I am thankful for the atoning sacrifice of the Savior Jesus Christ and for the comfort the Atonement brings. I know He lives and has suffered and endured even more physical and spiritual pain than I have felt and will feel in the future.

Some say that attending church meetings is not helping them. Some say, “I didn’t learn anything today” or “No one was friendly to me” or “I was offended.” Personal disappointments should never keep us from the doctrine of Christ, who taught us to serve, not to be served. With this in mind, another member described the focus of his Church attendance:
“Years ago, I changed my attitude about going to church. No longer do I go to church for my sake, but to think of others. I make a point of saying hello to people who sit alone, to welcome visitors, … to volunteer for an assignment. …
“In short, I go to church each week with the intent of being active, not passive, and making a positive difference in people’s lives.”

In the summer of 1980, I was nearing the end of my service in the Massachusetts Boston Mission. One evening we had an appointment to teach a promising young college student about the plan of salvation.
Several times during the course of the lesson, I was almost overwhelmed as the Holy Ghost repeatedly witnessed to me that the principles we were teaching were true. I remember praying almost out loud: “I already know this. I have taught this lesson numerous times these past two years. I am grateful to feel thy Spirit, but please witness to our investigator as well!”
A short time after this evening, I met with my mission president, and he informed me that my mother had been killed in a tragic automobile accident. Naturally, this sudden loss came as a tremendous shock to my family and our entire community. But once the emotions of the moment passed and I had occasion to reflect, I recalled with perfect clarity the powerful witness of the Spirit I’d received during that plan of salvation lesson. I knew that this was the work of a loving Heavenly Father preparing me for the loss that was to come.
A day never passes that I do not miss the teaching and companionship of my mother. But a day also never passes that I am not reminded of how a loving Heavenly Father carefully prepared me for that loss.

“Let’s enter,” Kristy urged her twin brother Derek. So after school they did.
As an incentive to keep the youth out of trouble and off the streets on traditionally mischief-filled Halloween night, community merchants had donated a good used car as a prize for the one teenager contacted and found home before midnight.
Not much was mentioned of the contest or the twins silent dreams until supper time October 31st, when Kristy expressed her distinct confidence and anticipation. A strong hunch that she would be the winner left her expectant all evening while at the door she met one “trick-or-treater” after another. Derek attended volleyball practice, returning home exhausted. By 10:30 he was fast asleep.
Soon treats were depleted, porch lights extinguished, and younger brothers and sisters retired with mild stomach aches from overindulgence. Even Kristy relented and went to bed. Only Mother was still reading when at 11:45 the shrill ring of the telephone sent her flying in response. “This is radio station KPCS wishing to speak with … Derek,” she was told. As if by prearrangement the entire household flared alive. Father switched on the radio to listen in on the conversation. Several youngsters squealed into Derek’s bedroom, dragging their groggy brother to the downstairs extension phone. Suddenly realizing the implication of this late disturbance, he became fully alert. Incredulous as it seemed, his brain registered the fact that he had won the coveted automobile. Hundreds of teenagers must have put in their names. Yet he would be the one to drive home the prize the very next afternoon. Nothing this exciting had ever happened to him before.
Understandably, the family had trouble settling down. Finally, having drifted off to dreamland, Derek visualized himself on gleaming hubcapped “wheels,” gliding noiselessly through throngs of cheering friends. Later he found himself whizzing breathlessly past open spaces in a fire-red machine, and before waking to reality, he was the one roaring down main street in a fabulous convertible, accompanied by several of the most gorgeous girls he had ever seen—the envy of all his peers.
Indeed, the next day Derek was the center of attraction when word of his good fortune spread at seminary and at school. “What kind of a car is it?” he was asked repeatedly. No one knew. Some speculated on a late model; others, less optimistic, suspected an old “clunker.” But when at last classes had finished Derek was to find out.
The vehicle his eyes beheld proved to be beyond his expectations, much nicer than those owned by anyone in his circle of friends. That purring beauty was his, all his. Was he ever going to have a ball!
Delighted and proud he was greeted by his equally pleased family, all assembled on the front lawn. Neighbors soon joined them. Each was given a ride. Definitely this was Derek’s finest hour. Soon the dealer’s license plate had to be returned. Well, tomorrow insurance matters could be worked out.
The subject did come up and was thoroughly considered and discussed with earnest efforts made to help Derek’s car get on the road. Yet it simply could not be done. The painful truth was that funds had been extremely limited with one brother in the mission field, another due to leave and depending on family assistance. Even Derek, a senior in high school, had been forced to drop out of basketball because he was unable to afford the tournament travel expenses. Scraping up nearly $400 for licensing and insurance was impossible under the circumstances.
So there stood the apple of Derek’s eye, evoking a pronounced pounding of his heart every time he glanced at it and extracting each spare minute of his time with polishing and sprucing it up to top performance. Particular care was lavished on achieving the finest reproduction from its stereo system. How he yearned to drive it!
Still, hope prevailed. Perhaps an after-school and Saturday job was the solution. Unfortunately, scores of jobless hopefuls saturated the market. Weeks of filling out applications, interviews, and callbacks produced no results.
One blustery December day Derek noticed a vaguely familiar figure stomping through the deep snow. Seconds later he recognized it as belonging to Sister Taylor. Her family had been experiencing incredible hardships. First, their business had gone bankrupt. Then they had lost their home, recently also their car.
Ever so subtly and ever so quietly a thought began creeping into Derek’s subconscious mind. On reaching awareness, he tried desperately to push it out. However, once conceived, it would not be suppressed. No matter how hard he fought the impulse, gradually a plan took shape, one which caused him to alternate between gladness and sadness. And so, at first reluctantly, but soon with stern determination, the young man made a difficult and noble decision.
Christmas Sunday at priesthood meeting someone mentioned, “Did I see Brother Taylor driving your car today, Derek?” “I sold it to him,” was the reply.
This prompted several priests into simultaneously responding, “But they have no money.”
“They had enough,” answered Derek with a wistful grin. Audible only to himself he added, “They had one dollar.”

The Best Christmas Present of All Mr. Merriweather took Buster in when he had been abandoned. They loved each other. When Mr. Merriweather had to go to the hospital, his grandchildren took the little dog to their house. But he didn’t understand and ran away home. The children found him and took him to their home again. Can you guess what his Christmas present—the best of all—was?Linda Jennings4–7 years