Gospel Story Finder

When I started my final semester of college, I thought I’d finally know what I was doing with my life. I was a senior, about to graduate; surely I’d mastered being an adult. But trying to juggle classes and jobs and social life and health quickly turned into a nightmare. Going to school at Brigham Young University–Idaho should’ve made it easier, but being surrounded by so many members of the Church was overwhelming. I felt like I didn’t belong. I never doubted my testimony or the Lord, but I didn’t have a lot of confidence in my own abilities.
I’m a native Floridian who loves to be in the water, so to have a little taste of home, I decided to take a swimming course that semester. It was perfect. I already knew how to swim … or so I thought.
Swimming laps is very different than casually playing in the pool. And I learned that the hard way. During one of my first classes, only five seconds into a lap going back and forth down the swimming pool, I already couldn’t breathe. Pulling myself forward in the water took more energy than I thought it would. I knew how to swim, but I didn’t know the proper strokes or techniques, and all the other swimmers in my class were breezing past me in the water.
As soon as I finished a few laps, my instructor came over to me and said:
“You’re kind of flailing. Try to focus on how your body moves with the water, instead of trying to get to the other side of the pool as fast as possible.”
I left class soaking wet, exhausted, and humiliated.
Later that day, I sat down with my scriptures and pushed swimming from my mind. Thinking about how that class went just made me feel stupid.
But the embarrassment was far from over.
As I prayed and reflected, I kept thinking about my imperfections. I compared myself to who I wanted to be and definitely did not measure up to the expectations I had for myself. Failing at swimming opened my eyes to all the ways I was failing or not progressing in every other aspect of my life. Not only did I fail to measure up as a swimmer, but I also felt like I wasn’t being the best disciple I could be. I was impatient, lazy, and easily annoyed. I’d been working on becoming a better person all my life, but I still could only see all my imperfections.
I began repenting and apologizing, telling Heavenly Father that I knew exactly what I was doing wrong and asking Him to show me what else I needed to change. I told Him I was so sorry, but I was going to work on becoming a better person as much as I could.
Before I even finished my prayer, I felt a clear impression from the Spirit saying that even though I was flailing, Heavenly Father was pleased that I was trying. This impression brought peace and a feeling of joy. I even laughed as I felt just a glimpse of Heavenly Father’s intimate awareness of me and how I was feeling.
I realized in that moment that He knew I was holding myself to an impossible standard. He didn’t expect me to suddenly be perfect, just like how my swimming instructor didn’t expect me to become an Olympic swimmer in a day.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles recently taught: “I believe the Savior Jesus Christ would want you to see, feel, and know that He is your strength. That with His help, there are no limits to what you can accomplish. That your potential is limitless. He would want you to see yourself the way He sees you.”1
That’s one thing the Savior can do for us—He can change how we see ourselves and our imperfect efforts.
President Gordon B. Hinckley once said: “Please don’t nag yourself with thoughts of failure. Do not set goals far beyond your capacity to achieve. Simply do what you can do, in the best way you know, and the Lord will accept of your effort.”2
By the end of that semester, I wasn’t flailing anymore. I could glide through the water without any problems, and it wasn’t because I suddenly became an expert overnight. It’s because I showed up to class every week, knowing that whatever happened, I would just try to do my best.
As I struggled to get through my last semester, the Lord knew that I was trying. And instead of condemning me for my imperfections, He helped me find joy in my efforts—even if they were messy and uncoordinated. He could see that behind all my mistakes was a girl who just wanted, more than anything, to be a good disciple … and a good swimmer.

When our youngest child, Amanda, was two years old, she was diagnosed with leukemia. Her case was difficult, and her cancer did not go into remission following chemotherapy. She then had to have a bone marrow transplant.
While my husband and two sons were home in Utah, I stayed with Amanda in another state from September until the first part of January. We missed celebrating Christmas together, but with the end of follow-up care, we returned home.
On our first visit to the hospital for a checkup after returning home, doctors again found leukemia cells in Amanda’s blood. The transplant had failed. Hearing the news, I felt as though I were sinking right through the floor. Our family had been through a lot of worry, work, separation, and difficult times. Now we would lose our daughter anyway.
I returned home that afternoon to my two sons. While we waited for my husband to come home from work, we got out our copies of the Book of Mormon and began to read. We were in 2 Nephi 9. As we read, the following words spoke to me:
“I speak unto you these things that ye may rejoice, and lift up your heads forever, because of the blessings which the Lord God shall bestow upon your children.
“For I know that ye have searched much, many of you, to know of things to come; wherefore I know that ye know that our flesh must waste away and die; nevertheless, in our bodies we shall see God. …
“For as death hath passed upon all men, to fulfil the merciful plan of the great Creator, there must needs be a power of resurrection. …
“O how great the goodness of our God, who prepareth a way for our escape from the grasp of this awful monster; yea, that monster, death. …
“And he cometh into the world that he may save all men if they will hearken unto his voice; for behold, he suffereth the pains of all men, yea, the pains of every living creature, both men, women, and children, who belong to the family of Adam.
“And he suffereth this that the resurrection might pass upon all men, that all might stand before him at the great and judgment day” (2 Nephi 9:3–4, 6, 10, 21–22).
As I read these words, the Holy Ghost filled the room. I felt that my Heavenly Father knew the news I had received that day. I felt that the words the prophet Jacob had written more than 2,000 years before were written to me for that day and came directly from the Savior. He knew the pain and sadness I felt after hearing that our daughter would die. And He was there to comfort our family with His promise that He had prepared a way and that one day, through the power of the Resurrection, “in our bodies we shall see God.”
Amanda lived for almost another year, but I have never forgotten that day when the words of the Book of Mormon spoke to me in my need and the Lord gave me hope, comfort, and understanding of His plan.

Corey has an excellent example about trying something new. When his stake announced they were going to have a pioneer trek, he thought he wouldn’t go. He couldn’t imagine walking around in 19th-century-style clothing, pushing a heavy cart with all his gear in it. But as the time for the trek came, Corey found himself wanting to try. He says, “The experience was incredibly beneficial because it gave me an insight into what the pioneers had to go through. My understanding was broadened. It was hard, but it showed me that perseverance is necessary to gain a great testimony. I think you have to experience some pressure and difficulty in order for that testimony to be tested and then become strong.”

Have you ever felt alone? When our daughter Tina was six years old, our family went to live in Brazil. None of our family knew how to speak Portuguese, and it was especially hard for Tina to learn. We decided to put her in preschool with four-year-olds, even though she should have been starting first grade. We hoped that being with younger children would help her feel more comfortable and make it easier to learn Portuguese.
But Tina was as foreign to the other children as they were to her. Each day was a struggle for her, and each day she returned home from school very sad.
One day some children were particularly unkind to her. At recess a few children even threw rocks at her, bullying her and laughing rudely. Tina was scared and hurt. She decided that she wouldn’t go back to class.
Sitting alone while the playground emptied, she remembered what we had taught her about loneliness. She remembered that Heavenly Father is always close to His children and that she could speak to Him at any time. He would understand the language of her heart. In a corner of the playground, she bowed her head and said a prayer. Tina didn’t know exactly what to say, so she asked that her father and mother could be with her to protect her.
A Primary song came into her mind:
I often go walking in meadows of clover,
And I gather armfuls of blossoms of blue.
I gather the blossoms the whole meadow over;
Dear mother, all flowers remind me of you.
(“I Often Go Walking,” Children’s Songbook, 202)
As Tina opened her eyes, she noticed one little flower growing between the cracks of the concrete. She picked it up and put it into her pocket. Her troubles with the other children did not disappear, but she walked back into the school, feeling that her parents were with her.

I was at the home of a friend. We played video games, and at first everything was OK. Then my friend’s parents started arguing with each other, saying bad words and things that weren’t kind. My friend told me he didn’t like them saying those things. It made him feel sad and scared. He asked his parents to stop arguing and saying bad words, but they didn’t stop. We decided to go downstairs to be away from the arguing. To help my friend feel better, I told him about Jesus Christ, and how we can all get to heaven and be together as happy families. My friend doesn’t go to church, so I wanted to share the gospel with him. My friend said that the things I told him made him feel much better.
When I got home, my parents gave me big hugs. I was so happy to be home that I never wanted to leave again. I told my mom that as soon as I got home I felt safe again. It was like a shield surrounded me and protected me.

I first had contact with the missionaries in 1992. From their first discussion, I felt something special in my heart. As the discussions progressed, I learned of gospel principles that I never knew existed. The first time I attended a Church meeting, I was warmly greeted by the members as though they had always known me.
I was the first member of my family to be baptized. Now my two sisters are also members, and my father is reading the Book of Mormon.
For some months now, I have been receiving the Liahona (Spanish), and I am very pleased with its contents.
For a First Presidency Message President Thomas S. Monson wrote: “The Paths Jesus Walked.” I was touched deeply by his counsel: “In a very real sense, all can walk where Jesus walked when, with His words on our lips, His spirit in our hearts, and His teachings in our lives, we journey through mortality.”
The magazine contains messages that teach so much. The articles about the Saints, and their testimonies, not only help me, but they can also help others who are not yet members of the Church.
Wanda RiveraIsabela Branch, Mayaguez Puerto Rico Stake

While his mother was the dominant influence in Heber’s life, the Lord placed many others in his path to help guide and direct him. One of the first of these associations was with President Brigham Young (1801–77). Young Heber, too poor to own a sled, entertained himself in the winter by catching hold of passing vehicles, sliding on the snow a block or two, and letting go. One day when he was six years old, Heber caught hold of President Young’s sleigh. As Heber later told the story, President Young “was very fond of a fine team, and was given to driving quite rapidly. I therefore found myself skimming along with such speed that I dared not jump off, and after riding some time I became very cold.”
Finally President Young noticed Heber, told his driver to stop, tucked the cold child under buffalo robes, and then asked who he was. When President Young discovered that the boy was Jedediah M. Grant’s son, he expressed his love for Heber’s father and the hope that Heber would be as fine a man. Before President Young dropped Heber off, he invited the boy to visit him in his office. Thus began a friendship that lasted until President Young’s death. Of this friendship, Heber said, “I learned not only to respect and venerate him, but to love him with an affection akin to that which I imagine I would have felt for my own father, had I been permitted to know and return a father’s love.”5

Wintertime brought its own kind of fun. The children had homemade sleds and skates. The pond was only a few minutes away, so every time it froze, they went skating. Wintertime also brought the best treat of all—Christmas. Charles Alexander Semler, a miner and friend of the family, brought each child a present and the family a Christmas tree. But this was no ordinary one. Semler put sweet, juicy oranges on the branches. Christmas was the only time the children had this treat.

Margaret was nervous because she did not know anyone at her new school.
Some girls teased her. One girl even pulled the ribbons in Margaret’s hair. Margaret didn’t think she would be happy at her new school.
After school Margaret called her grandmother and told her about the mean girls.
Margaret, you need to pray and ask Heavenly Father what to do. He will help you.
That night Margaret prayed to Heavenly Father. She told Him about her problem. Then she had an idea.
The next day at school the girls pulled her ribbons.
Can’t we be friends?
And the next day the girls started to tease her.
Can’t we be friends?
One week later Margaret was happy to tell her grandmother what had happened.
Heavenly Father gave me the idea to be nice to the girls. They don’t tease me anymore, and now they are my friends.

Somner Price had always known that he wanted to spend his life in a profession where he could help people. He thought about becoming a doctor but wasn’t sure that the years of schooling required were for him. So when Somner, who is now 18, learned that his high school offered the option of taking vocational education courses in nursing at a local applied technology college, he jumped at the chance.

For his entire senior year, Somner spent his mornings in regular classes at his high school and his afternoons at an applied technology college. Some days on the road to becoming a certified nursing assistant (CNA) were more fun than others, and it certainly wasn’t all easy. Somner did his clinical practice work in a nursing home for elderly people. His duties included feeding, bathing, and taking the blood pressure of the patients. And while it was sometimes difficult, he found it very rewarding. “I decided to be a nurse because I wanted to help people,” he says. “And I felt like I was doing that.”

In addition to the blessings of serving others, Somner sees very practical benefits to his decision—when he graduated from high school, he left with a diploma and the certificate of a nursing assistant. “I feel like my vocational training has put me a step ahead. Now when I come home from my mission, I’ll be able to start into the next levels of nursing with some experience.”

Somner’s advice for choosing an educational route? “Make it something you know you’ll enjoy and something that fits your personality. I talked to my parents and other people I trusted, and they all had good advice. Just do what you love. Do what you’re good at.”

My friend kept asking me about the Church. I phoned her and told her more. Then I taught her how to pray. She said she’s been doing it. I’m trying to invite her to church, but she is busy.
Then one day, I decided that she learned so much that I would give her a CTR necklace and a copy of the Book of Mormon.
She has been reading the Book of Mormon, and I hope she joins the Church.
Kennedy McLeod, age 10Phoenix, Arizona

A hot, dry wind blew through Maggie’s open window, bringing in dust and the smell of sagebrush. Summer weekends were lonely—Maggie’s father was seeing to business outside Rush Valley, and her older brothers were away rounding up the cattle and hauling ore for the mines nearby. Only Mother and Aunt Laura were there to keep her company in the big adobe house. And since it was the Sabbath, Maggie couldn’t play outside with her colt or her new kittens or run around the yard looking for tiny wildflowers.
Even worse, Mother was sick. She had hardly eaten for days, and worry hung over the house. Maggie wanted more than anything to see Mother well and happy. “Maybe I’ll go see if she’s well enough to eat today,” Maggie thought. She tiptoed across the hall to Mother’s room and peeked inside.
“Mother, you’re awake!” Maggie said, relieved, as she approached Mother’s big bed. “What would you like to eat?”
“Well, dear,” Mother answered, “I don’t have much choice. I’ll have to settle for what we have on hand.”
The nearest store was 10 miles away. With the boys away and Mother sick, no one had gone for groceries in weeks, and there was nothing in the cellar but canned tomatoes. Maggie hesitated to remind her mother of this—she knew Mother found the idea of eating more tomatoes even less appetizing than she did herself.
“Don’t worry, Maggie. I know there’s nothing but tomatoes.” Mother smiled. “If I could have what I really want most, it would be some good, cold peaches fresh from the cellar. But I guess I’ll just imagine the tomatoes are peaches instead!” She laughed, which made Maggie feel better.
Maggie started heading for the cellar, but stopped to kneel and say a quick prayer before going downstairs.
“Heavenly Father,” she said. “I can’t stand to see Mother so sick and sad. I want to bring her peaches for dinner. Please help me find some. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
When Maggie stood up, her heart felt lighter. She knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer. She walked into the cool, dark cellar and lit a candle so she could see. Two identical cases of tomatoes were stacked one on top of the other. The top case was open. Maggie walked around the cellar with her candle, peering in the corners, but there were no peaches to be seen. Other than the tomatoes, the cellar was completely empty.
Maggie lifted up the heavy box of tomatoes and set it on the floor. She took a hammer from the table beside her and pried one board loose from the second case of tomatoes. Out came one can, which Maggie set down on the table. Then she lifted another can out from the bottom layer. That was the one! The picture label was of bright red tomatoes, but Maggie knew there was something else inside.
She ran as fast as she could back up to her mother’s room. “Mother!” she cried, “I’ve got your peaches!”
“Looks very much like tomatoes to me, Maggie,” Aunt Laura said.
“I don’t care what the label says,” Maggie insisted. “These are peaches.”
“Bless your heart,” Mother said kindly. “We’ll imagine they are peaches and eat them anyway.”
Maggie rushed to get the can opener from the kitchen, and ran back to the bedroom at top speed. As her mother jabbed the opener into the can, golden peach juice oozed out. Maggie dipped her finger in and tasted the sweet juice.
“Oh, Mother, the Lord heard my prayer!” Maggie exclaimed. “They are peaches!”
A few minutes later, Mother sat holding a big dish of beautiful orange peaches on a tray. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, my Maggie,” she whispered, “how did you do it?” Maggie told her about her prayer and how she knew exactly where to look.
“Well,” Aunt Laura said, “They just made a mistake when they labeled the cans. Isn’t that a strange coincidence?”
Mother looked at Aunt Laura. “All my life I’ve never found peaches in tomato cans, and yet there they were for Maggie when she prayed. I know the Lord answered her prayers and guided her hand to that one can, so don’t try to tell me it was just a coincidence.”
She kissed Maggie on the cheek. “Go along now, dear. I think I’ll get some good rest today.”
Maggie walked back to her room and knelt beside the bed to thank Heavenly Father for His guidance. She knew that answers to prayer were real, and she would never forget it.

Matías and Elías were so impressed with the things they were learning that they wanted to share their newfound understanding. They began talking with some neighborhood friends, the Anríquez brothers. Juan Carlos was age 12, Esteban, age 11. Juan Carlos seemed particularly interested, and he soon began to listen to the missionary discussions and attend Church meetings. Several months later he was baptized, and shortly afterward he was ordained a deacon.

Two of my own great-grandparents fit the mold of many. Gibson and Cecelia Sharp Condie lived in Clackmannan, Scotland. Their families were engaged in coal mining—at peace with the world, surrounded by relatives and friends, and housed in fairly comfortable quarters in a land they loved. They listened to the message of the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and were converted to the depths of their very souls. They heard the call to journey to Zion and knew they must answer that call.

They sold their possessions and prepared for a hazardous voyage across the mighty Atlantic Ocean. With five children, they boarded a sailing vessel, all their worldly possessions in a tiny trunk. They traveled 3,000 miles across the waters, eight long, weary weeks on a treacherous sea—night and day nothing but water—eight weeks of watching and waiting, with poor food, poor water, and no help beyond the length and breadth of that small sailing vessel.

In the midst of this soul-trying situation, their son, Nathaniel, sickened and died. My great-grandparents loved that son just as much as your parents love you; and when his eyes were closed in death, their hearts were torn asunder. To add to their grief, the law of the sea must be obeyed. Wrapped in a canvas weighed down with iron, his body was consigned to a watery grave. As they sailed away, only those parents knew the crushing blow dealt to wounded hearts. Gibson Condie and his good wife were comforted by the words “Not my will, but Thy will, O Father.”

At the age of 19, I was conscripted into the military for a period of two years. I was sent away to the Army Gymnasium in Heidelberg (formerly Transvaal) for the first year of national service and to Natal Command (formerly Natal) for the second year. During this time, I had very little exposure to the Church. As a result, I became less active. Towards the end of my military service, faithful home teachers—Brother Basil Smith and his companion—came into the army barracks one afternoon to minister to me. Once again, my spirit resonated with what they said and I was so surprised that they would make this effort to visit me, I responded positively to their invitation to come back to Church.

Shortly afterward, a wise bishop, Sheridan Jakins, called me to serve a mission, which I accepted. This call and opportunity to serve as a full-time missionary had a profound effect on my life for the good.

I now look back with immense gratitude and love to:
Sister Lucy Carr—for taking that step of sharing the gospel in a normal and natural way with my sister Carol, which led to my baptism and conversion.
Brother Basil Smith and his companion—for ministering as faithful home teachers and inviting me to come back to church.
Bishop Sheridan Jakins—for extending a call and helping me prepare for full-time missionary service.
These acts of love and service by fellow members of my country—sharing their love for the gospel of Jesus Christ—has affected me and my family immeasurably. We have come to love this gospel with all our hearts, and to appreciate its goodness, light and truth. I think of the blessing it has been to have the programs of the Church to help my wife, Mandy, and me to raise a righteous family unto the Lord. In this troubled world with the dangers that our children face, we need all the help we can get.
Through the teachings of the gospel, I have come to know who I am as an eternal son of our Heavenly Father. This has given me confidence and purpose in life. I recognize the feeling described by Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf, when he said, “We are surrounded by such an astonishing wealth of light and truth that I wonder if we truly appreciate what we have.”1
These faithful members, through their small acts of love and service have brought me true happiness. “Our Heavenly Father places loving individuals on important crossroads to help us so that we are not left alone to grope in the dark. These men and women help by example and with patience and love.”2 This has been my experience.
I must admit that this joy and happiness did not come directly after joining the Church. In fact, I felt a lack of it at first, but when I look back on my life, I realise, as a new convert, my faith and testimony were weak. I had one foot in the world and the other foot in the gospel. Only when I had planted both feet firmly on the covenant path, did I start to experience the joy of the gospel. For me, this happened when I started to prepare for missionary service.
It is up to us to respond positively to these acts of love and service and allow them to bless our lives. More importantly, we need to participate in these acts of love and service, or good works as mentioned by King Benjamin: “Therefore, I would that ye should be steadfast and immovable, always abounding in good works, that Christ, the Lord God Omnipotent, may seal you his, that you may be brought to heaven, that ye may have everlasting salvation and eternal life, through the wisdom, and power, and justice, and mercy of him who created all things, in heaven and in earth, who is God above all.”3

Patrick Smith, another young man in the Hingham stake, reports that once a month in his branch’s Aaronic Priesthood meetings, the young men report on any missionary experience they have had and then set up times to work with the full-time missionaries.
“Not long ago I went with the missionaries to teach a family who had already been taught the Joseph Smith story,” Patrick says. “The elders asked me to teach about Christ coming to the earth and establishing His Church. Preach My Gospel clearly illustrated everything and listed scriptures to back everything up. It was all outlined there.
“I knew about these things and had a testimony of them, but Preach My Gospel and going on exchanges with the missionaries has helped me teach these principles better,” Patrick says. “The doctrines outlined in the book have reinforced what I’ve learned at home and in Primary for as long as I can remember. And the things taught in Preach My Gospel invite the Spirit, which is the most important thing we can have when we’re talking about the Church.”

On that first Sunday of the member-missionary class, our teacher asked us to commit to the Lord to give away one copy of the Book of Mormon during the next week and each following week. Even though I was still fearful at the time, I did accept the challenge. By the middle of the week it was clear to me whom I should share a copy with.
We had hired an older man to do some work for us. From his very first day, I felt he was an honest man of good character. On the morning of his last day with us, I prayed to Heavenly Father and received a confirmation that this individual should receive a copy of the Book of Mormon. I also prayed for guidance from the Holy Ghost on how to approach the man—and for the confidence I needed to talk to him about the book. I prepared a Book of Mormon with my testimony and anxiously awaited our visit.
That evening, when he finished working, I invited the man to sit down, offered him a glass of water, and asked, “Has anyone ever told you why Mormons are called ‘Mormons’?” (This was an approach we had learned in the member-missionary class.)
When he said no, I asked, “Would you be offended if I offered to tell you?”
“No, go right ahead,” he answered.
After a friendly fifteen-minute talk about the Book of Mormon, I offered him my prepared copy and asked if he would read it. I promised him that if he read it prayerfully he would know, as I did, that it is true. He said he would do it. We then parted, still friends. He wasn’t offended, and I didn’t feel that I had been aggressive.

The Robinsons, a Mormon family, had just moved into a small non-Mormon community. Rumors were flying as the eyebrows went up and the tongues wagged. Even the young people were speculating, and one stated, “They don’t smoke or drink; in fact, they don’t do anything normal people do!”

By the time the curtains closed at the end of the original musical production “An Example of Love,” written and produced by the Bountiful Utah Stake Young Men and Young Women, most of the attitudes in the fictional community were changed and two people were baptized. The audience thundered its approval.

The show was developed around President McKay’s statement “Every member a missionary” and was based on the scripture “But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light” (1 Pet. 2:9). The story depicted a Mormon family who moved into an area where little was known of the life-style of Church members. The reaction of the neighbors was amusing as they learned about food storage containers that doubled as furniture, about a son away on a mission (they suspected he was a spy), and about eight children in the family.

Someone gave me a copy of my high school yearbook the other day. I spent an hour thumbing through it, looking at the pictures of my friends of 73 years ago, my high school class of 1928. Most of those in that yearbook have now lived their lives and gone beyond. Some seem to have lived almost without purpose, while others lived with great achievements.
I looked at the faces of the boys who were my friends and associates. Once they were youthful and bright and energetic. Now those who are left are wrinkled and slow in their walk. Their lives still have meaning, but they are not as vital as they once were. I looked in that old yearbook at the faces of the girls I knew. Many of them have passed on, and the remainder live in the shadows of life. But they are still beautiful and fascinating.
My thoughts go back to those young men and women of my youth, back to where you are today. By and large, we were a happy lot. We enjoyed life. I think we were ambitious. The dark and terrible Depression which swept over the earth would not come for another year. Nineteen-twenty-eight was a season of high hopes and splendid dreams.
In our quieter moments we were all dreamers. The boys dreamed of mountains yet to climb and careers yet to be lived. The girls dreamed of becoming the kind of woman that most of them saw in their mothers.
When I spoke to the youth of the Church, I suggested six B’s that you ought to pursue. Be Grateful. Be Smart. Be Clean. Be True. Be Humble. Be Prayerful.
I have not the slightest doubt that these patterns of behavior will yield success and happiness and peace. I believe you will be successful in your endeavors. As you grow old, I am satisfied that you will look back with appreciation for the manner in which you chose to live.
In the yearbook of which I have spoken is the picture of a young woman. She was bright and effervescent and beautiful. She was a charmer. Life for her could be summed up in one short word—fun. She dated the boys and danced away the days and nights, studying a little but not too much, just enough to get grades that would take her through graduation. She married a boy of her own kind. Alcohol took possession of her life. She was a slave to it. Her body succumbed to its treacherous grip. Sadly, her life faded without achievement.
There is a picture of another girl in that yearbook. She was not particularly beautiful. But she had a wholesome look about her, a sparkle in her eyes, and a smile on her face. She knew why she was in school. She was there to learn. She dreamed of the kind of woman she wanted to be and patterned her life accordingly. She also knew how to have fun but knew when to stop and put her mind on other things.
There was a boy in school at the time. He had come from a small rural town. He had very little money. There was nothing especially handsome or dashing about him. He was a good student. He had set a goal for himself. It was lofty and, at times, appeared almost impossible of attainment.
These two fell in love. People said, “What does he see in her?” Or, “What does she see in him?” They each saw something wonderful which no one else saw.
Upon graduating from the university, they married. Money was hard to come by. He went on to graduate school. She continued to work for a time, and then their children came. She gave her attention to them.
A few years ago, I was riding a plane home from the East. It was late at night. I walked down the aisle in the semidarkness. I saw a woman asleep with her head on the shoulder of her husband. She awakened as I approached. I immediately recognized the girl I had known in high school so long before. I recognized the boy I had also known. They were now approaching old age. As we talked, she explained that their children were grown, that they were grandparents. She proudly told me that they were returning from the East, where he had gone to deliver a paper. There at a great convention he had been honored by his peers from across the nation.
I learned that they had been active in the Church, serving in whatever capacity they were asked to serve. By every measure, they were successful. They had accomplished the goals which they had set for themselves. They had been honored and respected and had made a tremendous contribution to the society of which they were a part. She had become the woman of whom she had dreamed.
As I returned to my seat on the plane, I thought of those two girls of whom I have spoken. The life of the one had been lived aimlessly, without stability, without contribution to society, without ambition. It had ended in misery and pain and early death.
The life of the other had been difficult. It had meant working and struggling. It had meant simple food and plain clothing and a very modest apartment in the years of her husband’s initial effort to get started in his profession. But out of that seemingly sterile soil there had grown two plants, side by side, that blossomed and bloomed in a beautiful and wonderful way. Those beautiful blossoms spoke of service to fellowmen, of unselfishness one to another, of love and respect and faith in one’s companion, of happiness as they met the needs of others in the various activities which they pursued.

“I guess I thought that the Good Fairy would wash the milk pail,” Paul grumbled sleepily to himself the next morning when he found the unwashed bucket where he had left it in the sink. He scrubbed the bucket and strainer until they were as clean and shiny as Grandma had left them, then headed out to milk the cow. He breathed deeply the fragrant early morning air as he walked and thought how very different Sunday was here than at home. A cow that had to be milked and livestock requiring feed and water every day made some changes in even the most carefully planned “day of rest.”
Paul milked with hands still sore from the night before, but at least Clarabelle cooperated a little better. She stepped around some, but she didn’t step on him or kick the bucket. “Someone should invent a cow that you don’t have to milk on weekends,” Paul told her as he turned her loose into the horse pasture.
“Since the calves are a pretty good size now,” Grandpa had explained, “they get the morning milk, and we get the night milk.” So Paul fed the cats meowing around his feet, then divided the remaining milk between the two red calves. With an eye on his watch, he hayed them and grained the pigs and made sure that all the animals still had water.
The horses came when he whistled. Ginger was limping, and one knee was swollen, but she really didn’t look too bad, considering how she had looked just a few hours before.
He detoured to open the chicken coop door on the way to the house. This time he washed the milk pail right away and set it in the dish drainer.
Since he had neglected his bath the night before, he took one now, then dressed in his good clothes. He had time for a leisurely breakfast and was on his second bowl of cold cereal when Grandma called.
After she told him that Grandpa had reacted badly to the anesthetic the doctors used when they set his leg, Paul decided not to tell her about the horse just yet. She asked him to bring her a change of clothes and her scriptures after church and told him where to look. He couldn’t find the blouse that she had described, so he picked one that he liked and put all the items into a paper sack.
He was sitting on the front porch in the sunshine, the sack beside him and his scriptures in his hand, when Brother Ross arrived. This, he thought, is hardly how I expected my first Sunday in Wyoming to be.
There were a few faces that he recognized from visits other summers, but mostly he was surrounded by strangers as he entered the chapel. He was welcomed warmly, however, and it felt good to be where he knew he should be.
He watched with interest as the deacons passed the sacrament. This was the first time all year that it wasn’t his responsibility, and, fleetingly, he felt a little left out. A number of people stopped him in the hall between meetings and afterward to ask about his grandfather.
He and Brother Ross stopped at the hospital after church, and Paul gave the sack to Grandma. She looked inside briefly, nodded, and thanked him. Paul thought that she looked as tired as he felt—if that were possible.
Grandpa, pale and groggy, lay with his stiff, cast-covered leg propped up on a pillow. He squeezed Paul’s hand, smiled at him, but had little to say.
As they walked down the hall later, Grandma explained, “The doctor says that when he gets over the problem from the anesthetic, he should recover quickly. We think he’ll be home in a few days.” She hesitated, then said almost pleadingly, “If you’re going to be all right, I’ll stay here until his mind is clear enough for him to fight his own battles.”
“Everything’s under control,” Paul assured her. “He needs you worse than I do—at least until the roast runs out,” he added with a grin.
Grandma chuckled and gave him a hug.
“My family’s gone and I’m a lousy cook, or I’d invite you to dinner,” Brother Ross explained as he took Paul home.
“That’s OK. Why don’t you come have a roast beef sandwich with me? There’s a big roast in the refrigerator, and I was too tired last night to make much of a dent in it.”
After Brother Ross left, Paul carefully put away his good clothes and flopped across his bed. Despite the bright sunlight in the room, he slept until nearly chore time.