Gospel Story Finder

In addition to Diahann, Brother Cox has introduced the Church to several other young people. “I thought Brother Cox was crazy,” Theresa Matthis said. “He invited me to church. Finally I agreed to come. I always came home happy, but I didn’t let Brother Cox know.”
Theresa’s sister Nicole began attending church with her, and both were baptized. Theresa looks a little differently at the problem of keeping friends after making such a life-changing decision as baptism. She said, “I didn’t lose friends; I gained friends.” Then looking at the group gathered in a circle, she said, “I gained all of you.”

Mark Ray of Tempe, Arizona, says many of his friends aren’t LDS, but he doesn’t see that as a problem.
“I think it’s all right to have nonmember friends, but we must not be overly influenced by them. I do lots of things with nonmembers, but I don’t compromise my standards.
“Once I was on a school biology trip to California with some kids I knew. That night, when we got to the hotel room, they broke out some beer. I said, ‘No thanks,’ and just sat around. I felt kind of dumb at first, but they didn’t push it.
“Most of my friends know I’m a Mormon, so that saves me from saying no very often. They already know my standards.”

When I was 16, the stake presidency announced that our stake would visit the temple in Buenos Aires, and I was invited to go. I saved money and worked hard to be worthy to obtain a temple recommend.
After I received the recommend, temptations attacked me from every side, all trying to make me lose that worthiness. But I had a desire to attend the temple. I didn’t want to just hear the experience and testimony of others; I wanted to have my own experience and testimony.
The night to travel came. Even before getting on the bus, I had thoughts about not going, but I didn’t give in. During the 10-hour trip, I sat by a member of the Church who was very friendly to me. He was around 60 years old. He told me about his life and how happy he was to have gone through the trials he had.
I began to tell him about my life and how I felt very alone because many people had distanced themselves from me because I was following God. He told me, “God will give you a great friend, and that friend will always be there for you. Don’t forget it.” When he finished saying these words, I felt calm and peaceful because I felt that what he told me was true.
When I entered the temple, the heaviness I was carrying disappeared. It felt like there was a spiritual embrace telling me, “Welcome, my son. I have been waiting for you.”
I felt that the temple really was the house of God, not just a beautiful structure. After doing some baptisms and confirmations, I went outside. I felt the burdens return, but now I felt like I had the strength to overcome them.
I know that preparing ourselves and leaving everything in the hands of God and giving the best of ourselves to enter the temple is what is expected of us. Then God blesses us abundantly.

Jandi and Alison, who are also Laurels, wanted to make a meaningful contribution to camp too. Jandi’s mom, Glenda, is the camp director, so she had plenty of things they could do to help out, including setting up camp and helping organize and execute a fund-raiser. They also put together binders for each girl containing information about each day’s activities, words to campfire songs, and camp certification information. Even with a relatively small group coming to camp, it was a big job.
“We worked right up to the last minute,” says Jandi. “The day camp started, we were still putting some of them together. We finished just in time!”

Shortly after I was called to serve as a General Authority Seventy, I had the opportunity to visit with President Russell M. Nelson for a few minutes. It was an unplanned encounter in the cafeteria, and he was so kind to invite Elder S. Mark Palmer and me to sit and enjoy lunch with him.
“What do we talk about during lunch with the prophet?” was the thought that came to my mind. So I decided to ask President Nelson if he had any counsel or guidance for me since I was just starting my calling. His answer was very simple and direct; he looked at me and said, “Elder Schmeil, you are called for what you can become.” I walked away from that experience pondering about what the Lord wants me to become. As I thought about this, I realized that He wants me to become a better husband, father, and son and a better servant. I then realized that all of this could be accomplished as I worked to become a better disciple of the Savior Jesus Christ.

Not long ago we went to a wedding and saw the parents of a girl I knew a number of years ago—a girl who had been a great inspiration to me. I asked these parents, “How is Barbara doing?” They said, “She is doing just fine.” Let me share her story with you in her words, which appeared in the Instructor a number of years ago. Barbara was a student at BYU at the time this incident occurred.

It was just a normal, ordinary day. . . . We were driving home from California. It was raining, and the roads were slick. The driver lost control. I remember the sensation of the car turning over and over, shutting my eyes, being tossed about with no control, the banging of my head and arms, the pain and confusion, and then the final, awful silence—it was over. When I opened my eyes it was to a new and frightening world—to the reality of being paralyzed from the waist down.

Once I might have thought of paralysis only as a terrible tragedy, but after it became a part of my life I discovered it could also bring blessings. My paralysis introduced me to a whole new way of living, to many wonderful people, to a new assemblage of problems, adjustments, frustrations, tears, laughter, and joy. [I gained an] appreciation for myself as a person and as a child of God, appreciation for other people, and especially a love and appreciation for my Father in heaven.

Oh, what a self-image I used to have! I used to feel self-conscious wearing glasses; and now I had to “wear” a wheelchair. I used to be embarrassed if I did a clumsy, awkward thing . . .; and now clumsy was my middle name. I used to think people stared at me before, but now! . . . I had to learn to laugh so others would feel at ease around me and I wouldn’t feel so self-conscious. It may seem strange, but I appreciate myself more now than before I was paralyzed.

I used to take so many things for granted, things like showering, kneeling for prayers, dressing in a minute, getting places quickly. Now it is a challenge to do these once-simple things. (Just try getting out of a bathtub without using your legs.) I guess it took losing the use of my legs to make me start appreciating the physical body I have. Now I became very grateful for a clear mind with which to think, ears to hear, eyes to see . . ., hands that could do so many things.

Although I can’t dance, hike, play volleyball or basketball anymore, I have found there are still many things I can do from a wheelchair. I can drive a car, swim better than before, play doubles in tennis, bowl, play catch in softball (nobody dares try to slide home), cook, sew . . ., and do many other enjoyable things.

Since that eventful day [of my accident], I’ve realized the world is full of special people. How grateful I have become for a family who loves me—for parents who have stood by without a complaint, without a moment’s hesitation, willing to give unselfishly of their time, money and love.

Going back to the Brigham Young University put me in a position where I had to rely on people to pull me up stairs, open doors, reach books, push me through snow, etc. I became indebted to my understanding, patient, helpful, loving roommates and friends. . . . I was also fortunate to have . . . professors who [helped] me when the physical facilities . . . limited my accomplishments. These instructors encouraged me when I was discouraged, helped me achieve in my studies, and were especially supportive while I worked to earn my degrees and my teaching certificate.

Later I was blessed to meet Mr. Alma Edwards, who gave me the opportunity to [be a physical education instructor] at West Lake Junior High School in Salt Lake City. Here at last I proved to myself and others that I could do a useful, productive job in society.

Because so many have done so much for me, I have learned how important it is to serve anyone in any way I can.

Perhaps the greatest blessing which came from my “tragedy” was the love and appreciation I developed for my Father in heaven. Without the gospel . . . , this life in a wheelchair would be hard to bear. After my accident I had to depend completely on the Lord for the first time in my life. He became a real person with whom I could talk and who would help me to solve the problems and make the adjustments that were to come. Without my understanding of God as my . . . loving, concerned Father, I would be in the same rut I have seen so many others in—that of blaming God for my misfortune.

If I had to choose the one thing that has helped me most in my adjustment it would be what Elder Harold B. Lee said in a blessing he gave me one Sunday in the hospital.

“Barbara, the Lord loves you,” he said. With this knowledge what more did I need (what more does anyone need!) to keep trying, . . . to find reason and purpose in my life, to be happy, joyful and grateful for life, even in a wheelchair!

I am happy to report that Barbara Richards served for many years as a girls’ physical education teacher, instructing and influencing for good hundreds and hundreds of young women. She has continued to set goals for herself. She wanted to get a Ph.D., so set the goal and achieved it. Being in a wheelchair presented weight problems. She needed to lose forty pounds. She set the goal and achieved it.

Barbara is now teaching at the University of Utah. Her story teaches us so many lessons.

A dear friend shared how she gained her precious testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. She grew up believing sin always brought great punishment, borne by us alone. She pleaded to God to understand the possibility of divine forgiveness. She prayed to understand and know how Jesus Christ can forgive those who repent, how mercy can satisfy justice.
One day her prayer was answered in a spiritually transforming experience. A desperate young man came running out of a grocery store carrying two bags of stolen food. He ran into a busy street, chased by the store manager, who caught him and began yelling and fighting. Instead of feeling judgment for the frightened young man as a thief, my friend was unexpectedly filled with great compassion for him. Without fear or concern for her own safety, she walked straight up to the two quarreling men. She found herself saying, “I will pay for the food. Please let him go. Please let me pay for the food.”
Prompted by the Holy Ghost and filled with a love she had never felt before, my friend said, “All I wanted to do was to help and save the young man.” My friend said she began to understand Jesus Christ and His Atonement—how and why with pure and perfect love Jesus Christ would willingly sacrifice to be her Savior and Redeemer, and why she wanted Him to be.

Just four months ago President Hinckley spoke to you in a Churchwide fireside. Have you studied his message and identified things you need to avoid or do differently? I know a 17-year-old who just prior to the prophet’s talk had pierced her ears a second time. She came home from the fireside, took off the second set of earrings, and said to her parents, “If President Hinckley says we should only wear one set of earrings, that’s good enough for me.”

Wearing two pairs of earrings may or may not have eternal consequences for this young woman, but her willingness to obey the prophet will. And if she will obey him now, on something relatively simple, how much easier it will be to follow him when greater issues are at stake.

After Elder Kimball had surgery on his vocal chords, he traveled with fellow Apostle Elder Harold B. Lee.
Elder Lee: I’d like to invite Elder Kimball to bear his testimony.
Elder Kimball: I’m too embarrassed to keep speaking. I rasp and make terrible noises. Maybe in our next meeting I shouldn’t speak.
Elder Lee: Spencer, your testimony needs to be heard. You better get your voice back.
Elder Kimball did all he could to regain his voice. He followed his doctor’s orders, received priesthood blessings, and took voice lessons.
Elder Kimball: Camilla, I realize I cannot quit for anything, though the temptation is terrific when I stumble and stammer and halt.
The true test came when Elder Kimball returned to his home—the Gila Valley in Arizona.
Elder Kimball: Forgive my voice. While in the East, I fell among cutthroats.
Woman: His voice is different, but he still has the same sense of humor!
President Spencer W. Kimball never stopped preaching. In fact, his soft, deep, mellow voice became something people loved about him.

With a day in Rome we wanted to devour all of the great works of art that we could possibly see. We began at Vatican City. So much beauty is in that place, it was impossible to digest it all. As we left the Sistine Chapel, our guide asked us if we had noticed the floor. Only a few had done so. The awesome beauty of Michelangelo’s artwork on the ceiling was so tremendous that many of us never looked down.

Then a once in a lifetime experience. We walked into St. Peter’s Basilica and sang. It is the first time any BYU choir has done so.

Tour groups walking through stopped; even their guides, who are usually caught up in the tape recorder-style recitation of facts and history, stopped and listened. In this cathedral, the very center of the Catholic church, the message of the restored gospel was sung to many people. What an experience to sing in such a building!

Our final concert was held in the beautiful city of Florence at the Duomo, the third largest cathedral in the world. But this cathedral is different. The beauty is on the outside, where the entire surface is tiled with different colored marble. Inside it is very plain, and we were told it was done this way so that people would not be distracted when they were worshipping.

One priest was so moved by the concert we gave there that he asked us to sing for the mass which followed. It was thrilling to sing to our brothers and sisters as they worshipped the Lord in their manner.

We poured all of our love we had learned in Israel into the songs we sang. Singing from behind the congregation, we created a spirit not felt by these people before. The mass ended, and we sang, “Come, Come, Ye Saints!” Never before have I heard it sung with more power and conviction. The spirit created was indescribable.

One small, frail woman worked her way, cane in hand, through the crowd and in broken English synthesized the feelings of our entire tour: “You sing. You love.”

The big glass jar had the words “Fill Your Life with Service” on the side. Each week the young women and their leaders from the Titusville Ward in Florida anonymously wrote down the acts of service they had given during the week. The slips of paper were then rolled, taped, and placed in the jar. The young women used yellow paper, and the leaders used green. Plus, on one Mutual night for each of the six months of the project the young women held a service activity.
The first month focused on service to family, week two on friends, and then the priesthood, neighbors, community, and the world. The slips of paper revealed all kinds of service: “I helped my brother with his homework,” “I baked my friend a cake,” “I volunteered at the animal shelter,” “I sent some mail to missionaries from our ward.”
Jessica Crook, a Beehive, said, “I think the activities helped all of us understand more about helping and serving others.” In the end there were more yellow papers than green, so the young women were rewarded with a dinner prepared and served by their leaders.

A Conversion to the Truth in England

I would like to call your attention to what ­happens to a man in this Church when he is converted to the truth. I hope you are all converts. I was in a meeting not long ago, and I asked how many were converts. Probably 50 percent raised their hands. I said, “I advise the rest of you to get converted.”

You need to be converts. I would like to say this in passing, that in the years that have passed—and they are many—I have continued to be a convert to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and for that I thank God. He has been good to me in that He has headed me off when I would have gone my own way. He has known better than I knew what was good for me, and He has been willing and gracious to make provision for the things that He could see and that I couldn’t that would happen to me unless He took a part, and He took it. For this I am extremely grateful.

I said I have had contact with Him. In 1904 I went to England on a mission. President Heber J. Grant sent me down to Norwich. When I got into Norwich, the president of the district sent me down to Cambridge.

He said, “I want you to go with Elder Downs. [He was a man forty-five years old, and I was twenty-one years old.] Elder Downs will leave the morning after you get there for France because his mission is completed. There is not another Latter-day Saint within 120 miles of Cambridge, so you will be alone.” He said, “You might be interested to know, Brother Brown, that the last Mormon elder that was in Cambridge was driven out by a mob at the point of a gun and was told that the next Mormon elder that stepped inside the city limits would be shot on sight. I thought you would be glad to know that.”

I wasn’t glad to know it, but I thought it was well that I did know it.

We went to Cambridge. There were great signs all over the city—they had heard we were coming. They had signs indicating their antipathy. That was their method of welcoming us. One big sign at the railway station was of a large man with a long beard and a woman lying at his feet with her head on a block. Underneath it said, “Will you go into polygamy or won’t you?” That was the reception we received.

Elder Downs left the next morning after telling me how to prepare my tracts, and I went out on Friday morning and tracted all morning without any response except a slammed door in my face. I tracted all afternoon with the same response, and I came home pretty well discouraged. But I decided to tract Saturday morning, although it wasn’t required. I went out and tracted all morning with the same results. I came home dejected and downhearted, and I thought I ought to go home. I thought the Lord had made a mistake in sending me to Cambridge.

I was sitting by that little alleged fire they have in England with a big granddaddy clock at the side of the so-called fire. I was feeling sorry for myself, and I heard a knock at the front door. The lady of the house answered the door.

I heard a voice say, “Is there an Elder Brown who lives here?”

I thought, “Oh, oh, here it is!”

She said, “Why, yes, he’s in the front room. Come in, please.”

A man came in and said, “Are you Elder Brown?”

I was not surprised that he was surprised. I said, “Yes, sir.”

He said, “Did you leave this tract at my door?”

Well, my name and address were on it. Though I was attempting at that time to get ready to practice law, I didn’t know how to answer him. I said, “Yes, sir, I did.”

He said, “Last Sunday there were seventeen of us heads of families who left the Church of England. We went to my home, where I have a rather large room. Each of us has a large family, and we filled the large room with men, women, and children. We decided that we would pray all through the week that the Lord would send us a new pastor. When I came home tonight, I was discouraged; I thought our prayer had not been answered. But when I found this tract under my door, I knew the Lord had answered our prayer. Will you come tomorrow night and be our new pastor?”

Now, I hadn’t been in the mission field three days. I didn’t know anything about missionary work, and he wanted me to be their pastor. But I was reckless enough to say, “Yes, I’ll come.” And I repented from then till the time of the meeting.

He left—and took my appetite with him! I called in the lady of the house and told her I didn’t want any tea. I went up to my room and prepared for bed. I knelt at my bed. My young brothers and sisters, for the first time in my life I talked with God. I told Him of my predicament. I pleaded for His help. I asked Him to guide me. I pleaded that He would take it off my hands. I got up and went to bed and couldn’t sleep, so I got out and prayed again. I kept that up all night—but I really talked with God.

The next morning I told the landlady I didn’t want any breakfast, and I went up on the campus in Cambridge and walked all morning. I came in at noon and told her I didn’t want any lunch. Then I walked all afternoon. I had a short-circuited mind—all that I could think of was that I had to go down there that night and be a pastor.

I came back to my room at six o’clock, and I sat there meditating, worrying, and wondering. (Let me tell you that since that time I have had the experience of sitting beside a man who was condemned to die the next morning. As I sat and watched his emotions, I was reminded of how I felt that night. I think I felt just as bad as he did. The execution time was drawing near.) Finally it came to the point where the clock said 6:45. I got up and put on my long Prince Albert coat and my stiff hat, which I had acquired in Norwich; took my walking cane, which we always ­carried in those days, and my kid gloves; put a Bible under my arm; and dragged myself down to that ­building—literally. I just made one track all the way.

Just as I got to the gate, the man came out—the man I had seen the night before. He bowed very politely and said, “Come in, Reverend, sir.”

I had never been called that before. I went in, and I saw that the room was filled with people, and they all stood up to honor their new pastor. That scared me to death.

Then I had come to the point where I began to think about what I had to do, and I realized I had to say something about singing. I suggested that we sing “O My Father.” I was met with a blank stare. We sang it—it was a terrible cowboy solo. Then I thought, “If I could get these people to turn around and kneel by their chairs, they wouldn’t be looking at me while I prayed.”

I asked them if they would, and they responded readily. They all knelt down, and I knelt down. And for the second time in my life, I talked with God. All fear left me. I didn’t worry anymore. I was turning it over to Him.

I said to Him, among other things, “Father in Heaven, these folks have left the Church of England. They have come here tonight to hear the truth. You know that I am not prepared to give them what they want, but Thou art, O God, the one who can. And if I can be an instrument through whom You speak, very well, but please take over.”

When we arose, most of them were weeping, as was I. Wisely I dispensed with the second hymn, and I started to talk. I talked for forty-five minutes. I don’t know what I said. I didn’t talk—God spoke through me, as subsequent events proved. And He spoke so powerfully to that group that at the close of that meeting they came and put their arms around me and held my hands.

They said, “This is what we have been waiting for. Thank God you came.”

I told you that I dragged myself down to that meeting. On my way back home that night, I only touched the ground once; I was so elated that God had taken off my hands an insuperable task for man.

Within three months every man, woman, and child in that audience was baptized a member of the Church. I didn’t baptize them because I was transferred. But they all joined the Church, and most of them came to Utah and Idaho. I have seen some of them in recent years. They are elderly people now, but they say they never have attended such a meeting, a meeting where God spoke to them.

One day I was teaching my daughter Maria how to listen to answers to her prayers. “Honey, listen in your prayer to your conscience. Then respond to what you feel or sense.” She questioned how to do this. I suggested that whenever she asks for a certain blessing, she ask herself if she has done everything possible to earn and deserve that blessing. (And when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated. D&C 130:21) Then the Lord will speak to her heart through her conscience.
Maria did this and she said that nothing new was given, for “I already know what I should do.” I asked her where she got that knowledge. She answered, “In my Sunday School class.” I pointed out that Sunday School was part of the Lord’s kingdom and that the true principles she had learned there were lodged in her heart and mind.
The Holy Ghost brings those principles to remembrance when we need them to meet the demands of each situation. “For behold, again I say unto you that if ye will enter in by the way, and receive the Holy Ghost, it will show unto you all things what ye should do.” (2 Ne. 32:5)

While I was serving in the U.S. Air Force during World War II, my missionary experience in Brazil was instrumental in my not entering into direct combat. After completing my advanced navigational training, all of our flight group entered directly into combat except one other lieutenant and myself, who were assigned to be instructors at the school. Later a group of Brazilian cadets were assigned to our base, and because of my knowledge of Portuguese gained during my mission, I was assigned to their class. A few months later, I received my orders to report for overseas combat training. When the Brazilian cadets’ commanding officer learned of this, he went to my commanding officer, explained that I was the only instructor that could speak Portuguese and told him how much they needed me to stay. My orders were cancelled.
Finally orders went out from the commanding general that all base personnel that had not had overseas combat experience were to be assigned to go. I was sent to Chatham Field, Georgia, where I was assigned as the navigator on a B–29, the newest and largest bomber in the Air Force at that time. We entered our training with a departure date for Saipan in the South Pacific set for September 15. What happened? The end of the war came late in August, and I missed getting into combat by two weeks. A series of coincidences? I think not. Once again prayers were answered.

An example of this would be Dick Hammer, who came to Utah with the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Depression. He met and married a Latter-day Saint young woman. He opened Dick’s Café in St. George, Utah, which became a popular meeting spot.

Assigned as home teacher to the Hammer family was Willard Milne, a friend of mine. Since I knew Dick Hammer as well, having printed the menus for his café, I would ask my friend Brother Milne when I visited St. George, “How is our friend Dick Hammer coming?”

The reply would generally be, “He’s coming, but slowly.”

When Willard Milne and his companion visited the Hammer home each month, they always managed to present a gospel message and to share their testimonies with Dick and the family.

The years passed by, and then one day Willard phoned me with good news. “Brother Monson,” he began, “Dick Hammer is converted and is going to be baptized. He is in his 90th year, and we have been friends all our adult lives. His decision warms my heart. I’ve been his home teacher for many years.” There was a catch in Willard’s voice as he conveyed his welcome message.

Brother Hammer was indeed baptized and a year later entered that beautiful St. George Temple and there received his endowment and sealing blessings.

I asked Willard, “Did you ever become discouraged as his home teacher for such a long time?”

He replied, “No, it was worth every effort. As I witness the joy which has come to the members of the Hammer family, my heart fills with gratitude for the blessings the gospel has brought into their lives and for the privilege I have had to help in some way. I am a happy man.”

When it comes to life-shaping events, Aarika can point to one that happened nine years ago. It was the day her mother was killed by a drunk driver. “I remember her very well, and I had a really close relationship with her even at a young age,” she says of her mom. “My dad always tells me how my mom would want me to be a strong member of the Church.” This is an interesting statement since Aarika’s dad, Jamie, when he first said that, wasn’t a member himself.
“I want to be good because my mom was a convert to the Church, and my dad finally joined, too, after my mom died. People helped bring my mom into the Church, and I saw how people helped my dad. I think that’s another reason why I try to tell people about the gospel.”
“After my mom died,” she continues, “the gospel was there at the perfect moment in my life. I have realized that I can still feel close to my mom and that she is here. I know I will see her again someday.”
A month before her visit to the Los Angeles Temple grounds, Aarika and her brother were sealed to their parents.
“I have seen how the Church changed my life and has made negative things into positive things. I have such a testimony of Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father, and I feel like I have a really close relationship with them,” she says. “I’ve had moments in my life where I’ve felt the Holy Ghost to where I’m just in tears. I love my friends so much that I want them to feel that, to feel that comfort, and to feel the love that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ have for them.”

“One. Two. Three. Pull!” The pullers jerk the handles surrounding the walrus skin blanket outward, sending 17-year-old Karmy McKay soaring high into the air. The spotter yells to the pullers and tugs the blanket to guide them to where Karmy will come down. She wobbles a bit, but manages to land on both feet. She grins, gamely ready to try the blanket toss again. Tourists applaud their approval.
Entertaining tourists is just one facet of Karmy’s day. Like many Latter-day Saint teens, her schedule is busy. She has a summer job, attends church meetings, helps around the house, works out, spends time with her friends, and plans her future. But Karmy does all this in a small, predominantly Inupiat Eskimo village north of the Arctic Circle.
Karmy and her brother, Kris, 16, are the only Mormon teens for hundreds of miles. There are 15 members in the Kotzebue Branch, and seven are members of the McKay family.
Rising early, Karmy pedals down the main dirt road to work at the village’s hotel, waving to everyone she meets. “That’s one of the things I like about living here,” says Karmy, who wears a kuspuk, a colorful print cotton parka, over her clothes. “You know everybody.”
Most summer days in Kotzebue are overcast and gray. The village is almost an island on a narrow neck of land surrounded by water, and is only 200 miles away from Russia. There is no movie house or swimming pool for Karmy and her family to go to. The teen center—with a TV and video games, several small playgrounds, and a ball field—does provide additional options for summer activities.
Mainly, though, kids provide their own entertainment. When they have free time, Karmy, Kris, and the other McKay children (Mindy, 11, Levi, 9, and Logan, 8), like to ride their bikes over the dirt roads. There are no mountains or trees here, just rolling tundra, covered with tiny low-lying plants. There are wildflowers of every hue. A constant breeze helps dissipate the clouds of mosquitoes and no-see-ums, a gnat with a particularly nasty bite.
Karmy, of Canadian-Yugoslavian descent, likes the small community. “Everyone here is friendly,” she says. “I’ve had opportunities I couldn’t have had anywhere else. Here, you can be involved in everything.”
That is, everything that’s “virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy.” Valedictorian of her graduating class, she was also the president of student government and was involved with Future Homemakers of America, the National Honor Society, and Alaska State Battle of the Books. She played basketball and volleyball, ran cross-country, took Russian classes, completed home-study seminary, and earned her Young Women Recognition.
“In some ways I’ve missed out,” Karmy says about the lack of LDS youth. “I would have liked to have gone to Church activities with a lot of kids. I went to a youth conference in Utah once and that was neat. Here, standards are low. Kids drink, smoke, and tell dirty jokes. I have different values.”
Occasionally a “debate” will come up about the Church. Some people have bad feelings about Mormons. “I try to stay calm and politely correct them,” she says. Her own friends have, in Karmy’s words, “grown to respect my values. I think respect builds up over time.”
Along the shore, boats of various color gently sway with the dark water. The raucous calls of ravens disturb the stillness.
Less than a block away from the beach is the Kotzebue chapel, where Karmy and her family have spent many hours. Constructed in 1981, it replaced the old chapel, a building the McKays eventually bought and remodeled into their home.
It is in these two places where Karmy has developed a close, personal relationship with her Heavenly Father. The smallness of the branch has provided her ample opportunity to give talks and prayers. Through personal prayer, and church and seminary attendance, the gospel has become essential to her.
“Three. Two. One. Blastoff!” Kimber Gabryszak was thrust back into her seat as the space shuttle simulator took off. As mission specialist on this flight, she later “repaired” the Hubble telescope.
The space camp in Huntsville, Alabama, sponsored by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, is for students in the seventh through ninth grades. The camp is a long way from Kimber’s home on the banks of the Yentna River in Alaska. Kimber, 14, lives in a two-story wooden lodge, the Yentna River Station, built by her father and mother. The lodge is only 70 air miles from Anchorage, but there are no roads to be found here—only trees, water, moose, and bear. Visitors come by boat, plane, or snow machine—depending on the season and the height of the river. That’s why the Gabryszaks don’t leave their bush paradise very often. Kimber, who has lived here since she was 15 months old, manages to get to Willow, the closest “town,” about every two months. She visits with friends and goes to the movies.
So why and how did Kimber get in a space simulator? Kimber wants to be an astronaut. The oldest of six children, she is mostly self-taught through the state’s home-study curriculum. When the chance to go to space camp came, she worked hard, saving money and soliciting sponsors. “I needed to see if I really want to be an astronaut,” she says. “I love science. I want to work on a space station.” One of her prized possessions is the light blue space uniform she brought back from camp.
In Alaska, Kimber’s typical day starts at 7:30 A.M., with the family’s animals. “If they don’t eat, we don’t eat,” she says. So the 17 chickens, ten chicks, two cats, four dogs, goldfish, guinea pig, and goat are tended to. After breakfast, there is firewood to split, snow to shovel, the lodge to clean, and younger children to look after. When Kimber begins home-study seminary, her day will begin 90 minutes earlier.
At night, the Gabryszaks have prayer and scripture reading. They just finished the Book of Mormon and have started it again. On Sundays, the family gathers for a meeting where they sing hymns, accompanied by Kimber on the recorder. She’ll read and study her own lesson, and then help her two younger sisters and brother with Primary lessons.
One of the highlights of her summer is going to girls’ camp with members of the Wasilla Stake. “Sometimes it’s hard not to be part of a class,” she adds. “I went to seminary in town one morning. It was neat. Everyone was friends and they were doing neat things with the scriptures. Here, there’s no one my age to do that with.”
For now, Kimber is content to write to friends she’s met along the way. She has pen pals as far away as the British Isles, and writes regularly to a Jewish boy she met at space camp. He’s interested in the Young Men and Young Women programs, and often asks questions about the Church in his letters. Kimber also sent a Book of Mormon to another friend in Wyoming.
Life is good for Kimber. She is surrounded by a family she loves and by the great Alaskan outdoors. Although college, a mission, and temple marriage—and her dream of becoming an astronaut—may eventually pull her away, at the Yentna River Station, Kimber has already learned the most important thing of all: “I love Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. They take care of me.”
Alaska has spectacular sunsets, trees and brush in a rich variety of greens, flowers of every hue, and, in winter, snow that turns into a fairyland. It also has Karmy and Kimber, two young women who have proven that wherever you are, you’re never alone.

Years ago I read the story of a young woman who went into a rural area as a school teacher. Among those in her class was a girl who had failed before and who was failing again. The student could not read. She came from a family without the money to take her to a larger city for a medical examination to determine whether she had a problem that could be remedied. Sensing that the learning difficulty might be caused by the girl’s poor eyesight, the young teacher arranged to take the student, at the teacher’s own expense, to have her eyes tested. A problem was discovered that could be corrected with glasses. Soon an entire new world opened to the student. For the first time in her life, she saw clearly the words before her. The salary of that country school teacher was small, but out of the little she had, she made an investment that completely changed the life of a failing student, and in doing so she found a new dimension in her own life.

The heat rose in dizzy waves before us as we sped along the freeway. “It must be very hot outside,” I thought as the air conditioner hissed away in our station wagon. I had heard how difficult it was for the first settlers to even enter the St. George Valley in southern Utah, let alone survive there. This was almost impossible to comprehend as we drove easily along through rocky volcanic barriers on a ribbon of asphalt.
We rapidly ascended into the Virgin River Valley, and the little community of St. George stood out against the scorching sandstone cliffs.
A barrage of bright signs beckoned us with “Enter,” “Vacancy,” “Color TV,” “Sauna,” “Pool.” When I rolled down the window, a blast of hot air reminded me that I would soon be refreshed by a swim in the blue waters of a motel pool.
The heat from the hot pavement penetrated the soles of my gym shoes as we walked the few blocks from our motel to the old St. George Tabernacle.
Hewn from native red-orange sandstone, the thick rock walls showed countless small markings from the pioneer stonecutters’ hand-held instruments. Directly under the stately spire was a tablet with the inscription “Commenced 1863—Completed 1871.”
While my little sisters played under a shade tree on the Tabernacle grounds, I walked around the building for closer inspection. The doors were locked, but by shading my eyes, I could just make out through the old window panes the beautiful circular wooden staircases.
My mother pointed out some of the old buildings surrounding the tabernacle and told us that these were at one time part of the old Dixie Academy—later Dixie Junior College. The new Dixie College campus is now located clear across town.
As I peered into one of the old vacant classrooms where biology had once been taught, I could hear my young sister Terressa protesting crossly, “I’m tired and bored, and I don’t want to see any more old buildings.”
A morning of tennis and sight-seeing left me weary. I lay by the pool, and the perspiration trickled freely. It was then I realized I was more than just a sun-warmed visitor. I felt at home here, as if somehow I belonged. My passing feet had disturbed shadows in the sand—reminders of a life-style long since gone. And yet it was as if I had discovered a golden chain in those sands—a chain of people linked together by time and love—my family.

Eight-year-old Martin Wang raced upstairs to the third floor of his apartment building. He pressed the doorbell and waited impatiently.
“Ni hao (How are you)?” his mother greeted him cheerfully when she opened the door.
Martin didn’t answer. His mother continued talking in Mandarin, asking him what he had done in school that day and if he wanted sweet rice in bamboo leaves for a snack.
“No,” answered Martin in English, “I want a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, like all the other kids have.”
“Haole (All right),” said his mother, still talking in Mandarin. “But sweet rice tastes much better.”
“I don’t care,” said Martin. “I want what all the other kids have.”
That evening at supper, as Martin’s father and mother talked about getting ready for the Chinese New Year, which would begin in a few days, Martin burst out angrily, “Speak English!”
“Martin,” said his father. “Why are you so upset?”
“I want you to speak English like everyone else,” said Martin. “And I don’t want to go to the New Year’s festival anymore. I’m tired of being different.” Martin threw down his napkin and ran to his room, crying.
Martin’s mother followed him. “Did something happen in school today?” she asked, sitting next to Martin on his bed.
“Some of the kids said I have funny eyes,” Martin sobbed.
“They’re not funny,” said his mother. “They’re just different from your classmates’. Chinese people have almond-shaped eyes. Yours are especially handsome because you have an extra fold on each eyelid.”
“I don’t care,” said Martin. “I want to be just like everyone else.”
“No one is just like everyone else,” his mother told him. “Right now it seems hard, but someday you’ll be glad for your Chinese heritage.”
The next day at school Martin’s teacher asked him if his mother could come in and tell the class about the Chinese New Year. Martin blushed with embarrassment. He was afraid that the other kids would tease him even more. But Martin did ask his mother, and she said that she would be happy to talk to his class.
A few days later, when Martin woke up, he groaned, remembering that his mother was to accompany him to school. At breakfast he said, “I have a stomachache.”
“I’m sorry, Martin,” said his mother. “I’ll tell you what; if you still don’t feel well after I’ve told your class about the Chinese New Year, you can come home with me.”
Martin tried to think of another excuse to stay home, but his mother whisked him out the door and into the car before he could think of one.
In his classroom Martin sat with his head down, staring at the floor. He thought that the other children would make fun of his mother’s broken English. Instead, the children watched with great interest as she held up a bright red sheet of paper with gold characters painted on it and explained that the characters meant “Happy New Year.”
Then she showed the children how Chinese written characters are sometimes like pictures. She wrote: (mù), which means “tree.” Then she wrote (lin), which means “forest.” Then she held up some small red envelopes covered with gold characters.
“What do you think these are for?” she asked.
One of the children raised his hand and guessed that they were for sending letters.
“No,” said Martin’s mother with a smile, “but that’s a good guess. These are special envelopes that we put money into and give to the children as New Year’s presents—right Martin?”
Martin nodded his head reluctantly.
Out of a large plastic bag, his mother pulled a scary-looking dragon head with a long colorful sheet attached to it. The children all oohed and aahed.
Martin looked around in surprise. Everyone seemed excited and genuinely interested. And no one, he realized, had snickered at anything that his mom had said.
“This is a Chinese dragon,” said his mother. “We use it for the dragon dance during the New Year’s celebration. The person chosen for the dragon’s head has to practice for many months. If you would like me to, I will show you a little of the dance. Who would like to be part of the dragon today?”
All the children—even Billy, who had teased Martin about his eyes—eagerly waved their hands and begged to be part of the dragon.
After all the children had a chance to try the dragon dance, Martin’s mother said that she had one more thing to show them. “You must be very careful with these,” she continued. “Adults are the ones that usually light them for our celebrations.” From a sack she pulled a long string with small rolls of red paper attached to it.
“Firecrackers!” yelled one of the boys.
Everyone in the class pushed to the front of the room to have a closer look.
“Boy, you guys are lucky!” Billy told Martin. “You get to set off firecrackers for New Year’s.”
Martin looked at him and smiled. Maybe being Chinese wasn’t so bad after all.
When everyone had sat down, Martin’s mother asked him in Mandarin if his stomach still hurt. Without thinking, he answered her in Mandarin.
“You mean that you can speak Chinese, too?” asked Billy.
Martin nodded.
“Wow!” Billy exclaimed. “Maybe you can teach me some?”
Later, as they lined up together for recess, Martin smiled. “Pengyou,“ he said to Billy as they ran across the blacktop. “That means ‘friend.’”