Gospel Story Finder

Merrell: Well, I gained a feeling of self-worth and determination to do my best. For example, while still in elementary school, I worked long hours in the hayfields, cutting and raking, and sometimes I would run into difficulties that would cut into my productivity. But no matter how many or how few rows I had cut, when my father came out to see my work in the evening, he would say, “Boy, Merrell, you got a lot accomplished! Did you get all that done while I was gone?” I was convinced I was the fastest cutter in the valley! I don’t know if I really was or not, but my father always made me feel that way.

Kyle sat on his parents’ bed and watched Dad take his temple bag out of the closet. Mom and Dad went to the temple every month. Kyle couldn’t wait until he turned 12 and could go to the temple with them. Then it could be their special family night!
But for now, Kyle got to spend the night at his grandparents’ house. And that was pretty great too. Grandpa and Grandma always did fun things, like watch movies and play board games. Kyle already had his bag packed.
Kyle watched as Dad reverently folded a white shirt and placed it in his bag. “Remind me what you’re doing at the temple?” he asked Dad.
“Well, you know how Grandma has been doing a lot of family history lately? She found out that temple work hasn’t been done for some of our ancestors. So we’re going to do their temple work tonight.”
Kyle nodded. He’d helped Grandma figure out how to use the family history website. They had typed in lots of names and dates and scanned and uploaded a stack of black-and-white photographs.
“What exactly is temple work?” Kyle asked.
Mom sat down next to Kyle on the edge of the bed.
“Well, you know what ‘covenants’ are.”
Kyle nodded. “Promises with Heavenly Father.”
“Right. You made a covenant when you were baptized. In the temple we make more covenants. But some of our relatives didn’t have a chance to make those covenants before they died. So we go to the temple to make those covenants and give them a chance to accept them.”
“We call it ‘temple work,’ but it really doesn’t feel like work,” Dad said as he zipped up his bag. “It feels like a blessing—a blessing for us and a blessing for them. Lots of Grandma’s relatives still need their temple work to be done.”
“I wish I could help them,” Kyle said.
Dad squeezed Kyle’s shoulder. “You can help them. In fact, you already have! Remember how exciting it was when you helped Grandma put the stories and pictures on the family history website?”
Kyle nodded. That had been fun!
“When you do that, you’re helping us get to know our family members better. And we can see who still needs help getting their temple work done. I hope you keep helping Grandma find more pictures and stories. And I really hope you help us keep it organized online!”
Kyle smiled. He was pretty good at using the computer.
Dad picked up his bag. “Let’s go to the living room and have a prayer before we leave. Then we’ll drop you off at Grandma and Grandpa’s.”
Kyle knelt at the sofa. He listened to Mom thank Heavenly Father for the temple and for family history work. Then she prayed for help to learn more about their ancestors so that they could do their temple work.
Kyle got a warm feeling as Mom prayed. He decided right then that he would make good choices so that he would be worthy to go to the temple with Mom and Dad when he was old enough. And in the meantime, he could help other members of his family have temple time too.

The second of four boys in his family, Elder Wilcox was five years old when his father decided that he wanted to have something useful for his boys to do. “My father moved us out of the city,” Elder Wilcox recollected, “and into a nice home in the country located on almost one hectare near Mt. Olympus in Holladay, Utah. We had an alfalfa field, lawns to mow, and a cow, chickens, and a currant patch to tend. There were plenty of chores to keep us boys busy, and I’m grateful to my parents for providing that good environment for us.
“Some of my choicest memories are of the foothills east of our home that provided a place for us to run and hike during the summer. In the wintertime it was beautiful, and we could ride about 2.5 kilometers down a traffic-free road on our sleighs without stopping. Ski jumping was also popular then. We just packed our skis on our shoulders up to the top of the hill, made a snow jump part way down, and spent the rest of the day seeing who could jump the farthest. Safety bindings were unheard of then, and we fastened our boots to our skis with heavy rubber bands cut from inner tubes, which held the boots tightly to the toe straps.”

President Thomas S. Monson told a story about a man from the eastern United States who was traveling by bus to California. In Salt Lake City a Primary girl got on the bus and sat next to the man. They started talking, and he asked if she was a Mormon. She answered yes. He asked her what Mormons believe. It was a big question for such a young girl. What would you have said? Imagine the look on the man’s face as she recited and explained the Articles of Faith. He couldn’t believe it!

After she got off the bus, the man thought about her courage and knowledge. As soon as he arrived in California, he called the local mission president and asked questions about the Church. The missionaries came to see him, and later the man’s entire family was baptized—all because a Primary girl knew the Articles of Faith and had the courage to share them (see Ensign, April 1994, pages 67–68).

In the summertime, Elder Asay and his brothers spent some time with their father on the mountain range. He was a forest guard with the U.S. Forest Service each summer, and the boys loved to go with him. This was another ideal time for teaching and training. “We spent a lot of time in the canyons and the parks, repairing, painting, clearing trails, and doing other things for the Forest Service. It was great to be together out in nature,” Elder Asay recalled.
One such learning opportunity took place one day in a park where they were all working together, repairing some tables and benches at one of the camp picnic facilities. “My brother, who was about twelve at the time, found a full pack of cigarettes. And Dad must have seen him stealthily put it into his pocket. He called us together and asked him what he had picked up. My brother pulled the cigarettes out of his pocket. Dad said, ‘Open the pack.’
“Dad instructed each one of us to take one, saying, ‘Put it in your mouth and see how it tastes.’ Very quickly he had four spitting boys on his hands. Dad asked if any of us had liked the taste. We all said no. Then he told us to remember this experience, and added, ‘Tobacco doesn’t taste good, it isn’t good for you, and it isn’t in accord with God’s law.’
“We made a pact then and there that we would never touch cigarettes again.”

Having determined to become a bookkeeper, I immediately began to work to reach this goal. I well remember the amusement I furnished my fellow students. One remarked when looking at my books, “What is it; hen tracks?” Another said, “Has lightning struck an ink bottle?”

These remarks and others, while not made to hurt my feelings but in good-natured fun, nevertheless affected me deeply and aroused within me a spirit of determination. I resolved to live to provide an example for penmanship for all who attended the university, and to be the teacher of penmanship and bookkeeping in that institution. Having a purpose and also “the will to labor,” and agreeing with Lord Lytton that, “In the bright lexicon of youth there’s no such word as fail,” I commenced to use my spare time to practice penmanship, continuing year after year until I was referred to as “the greatest scribbler on earth.”

The result was that some years later, I got a job as bookkeeper and policy clerk in an insurance office. Although at fifteen, I wrote very well and it was all that was needed to satisfactorily fill the position which I then held, yet I was not fully satisfied but continued to dream and “scribble,” when not other wise occupied. I worked in the front of A. W. White and Company’s bank, and, when not busy, volunteered to assist with the bank work, and to do anything and everything I could to employ my time, never thinking whether I was to be paid for it or not, but having only a desire to work and learn.

Mr. Morf, the bookkeeper in the bank, wrote well, and took time and effort to assist me in my efforts to become proficient as a penman. I learned to write so well that I often earned more before and after office hours by writing cards, invitations, etc., and making maps, than the amount of my regular salary. Some years later, a diploma at the Territorial Fair was awarded me for the finest penmanship in Utah.

When I engaged in business for myself, there was a vacancy at the university in the position of teacher of penmanship and bookkeeping, and to fulfill the promise to myself, made when a youth of twelve or thirteen, that I would some day teach these subjects I applied for the position. My application was accepted, and my obligation to myself was thus fulfilled.

Excitedly Tommy called out to his father, “The creek has overflowed and the back wheels of the wagon are standing in the water!”
Tommy’s father was out of the wagon in an instant. When he saw the situation, he helped Tommy pull the bed out from under the wagon and then hitched up both teams of oxen to pull the wagon out of the water. The ground was so slippery the oxen could not get a foothold.
“We will have to build a corduroy road,” said Tommy’s father.
To do this, Tommy and his father cut down many trees. They trimmed off the limbs and laid the poles side by side, close to and in front of the wagon; then with willows they bound each log tightly to the next one so they would not roll. When this was finished, they packed tough grass and pine needles on top of the poles so the oxen’s hoofs could not slip into the cracks.
Finally they coaxed the frightened oxen up onto the corduroy road and hitched them to the wagon. Father spoke to the oxen in a soothing tone, “Steady now, pull together.”
The oxen did pull together. The heavy wagon wheels rolled out of the mud, onto the tough grass, over the corduroy road, and up onto the road that the Camp of Israel would be traveling that day.
Tommy shouted, “Hooray!” and he could see by the look on his mother’s face that she was proud of her two “men.”

“When I was in my first year of college at Logan, Utah, I bought an old car for a hundred dollars. I was eighteen and thought that I knew all about driving. It was Christmastime, and my parents were living on a ranch in Wyoming. I picked up my two grandmothers and took them to my parents’ home for Christmas. We had a grand time there. When it was time to return to school, the weather had changed and the roads were treacherous. That morning as we were ready to leave, we held a family prayer in the living room. My father prayed that we would have a safe journey. After we had loaded my car with suitcases, blankets, tuna fish sandwiches, and a thermos bottle full of Postum, Dad walked out to the car and said, ‘I want to talk to you.’ We went over and stood by the fence. ‘You have a very valuable cargo,’ he said, nodding at my grandmothers. ‘I want you to promise me that if the roads are bad and it’s snowing when you get down to Lander, you won’t go over South Pass. I want you to take the long way.’

“I promised him that I would. My parents kissed us good-bye, and we were on our way. We had nice weather until we got to Riverton; then it started to snow. By the time we got to Lander, it was snowing pretty hard. I remembered my promise, so when we came to the intersection where you turn to go up the mountain, I made a conscious turn to go the long way. I remember thinking then that it was going to take us five hours longer to get to Utah. I knew the road, and I was absolutely certain that I had made the right turn. As we drove along, we were joking and laughing, although the snow was getting thicker. Then I saw a sign that read, ‘Historic Old South Pass City,’ and I realized that I had somehow become confused in the snowstorm and had taken the wrong road! I thought, Dad will be angry with me! I don’t know how this happened—it wasn’t intentional. I had only two choices: I could keep on going, or I could turn around and go back. By this time, we were at the summit, so I decided that we might as well keep going and that I would apologize to Dad later. As we came down the mountain, the snow stopped and the roads were clear. We drove to Logan and then to Malad without any problems.

“On my way to school the next day I happened to see the front-page headline of a newspaper: WORST BLIZZARD OF THE YEAR STRANDS HUNDREDS IN CENTRAL WYOMING. I bought a paper, and it was full of stories about people who had been stranded, lost, or killed on the road that I had promised to take. I realized that the prayer our family had offered had been answered. I knew that the Lord had gotten us on the right road, and I realized how He had protected us. I was never the same after that.”

Brother Misalucha told about sharing the gospel with a friend, Larry Yumul. “He asked me why I became a Latter-day Saint,” Brother Misalucha said. “I told him that I had been looking for a church with more answers, a church that practiced what it preached, a church that could teach us things we hadn’t known before.”
Two and one-half months later, Brother Yumul joined the Church. He had a neighbor who used to profane, gamble, and dump his trash in front of the Yumul’s house. Brother Yumul’s attitude toward him changed. “He began treating him like a good neighbor and tried to be a good Christian to him,” Brother Misaluchas explained. “The formerly lousy neighbor cleaned up his act and joined the Church! Now he’s shared the gospel with another family and they’ve been baptized, and they’ve helped introduce the missionaries to another family that also joined the Church!”

Days start early for sixteen-year-old Jenny Flinn, who lives in the little town of Broadway, near Ilminster in Somerset, England. There’s lots of work to be done, animals to feed, and cows to milk—at least an hour of chores—before she leaves for school.
But there are also rewards. The morning air is brisk, and Jenny breathes deeply and feels renewed. The sun is warm, more tan than yellow as it chases fog away. The fields are damp, but the dew seems to wrap each plant in crystal. The animals, already awake and eager for attention, seem happy just to be alive.
Jenny wouldn’t say it out loud, but living here is like living a prayer of thanksgiving. Yes, there’s work to be done. But work is life, and life is good.
Jenny isn’t the only Flinn up early. By 6:15, her seventeen-year-old brother, Peter, is already off, pumping his bicycle down the lane to do his paper round, which covers most of the homes in Broadway. Peter isn’t particularly keen about getting up at dawn, at least not until he gets going. But by the time he’s halfway into town, he knows the joy of the morning too—the feeling that the day is his to conquer, his own marvelous opportunity to see things through.
Peter’s mind is on work this day, too. As he folds each Daily Telegraph and slips it into a door slot, he’s thinking of all the jobs he’s done, from egg selling to fruit picking, to putting money away for his mission. He’s thinking how that mission is getting closer all the time. Peter might not say it out loud, either, but he’s glad he’s learned to work. It’s a skill that will help him as a missionary. And it feels good to start the day by getting something done.
Jenny and Peter are the oldest of Bruce and Margaret Flinn’s children. The others are Lindsey, 14; Neal, 12; Elizabeth (“Lizzy”), 9; and Rachel, 5. To visit the Flinns on their six-acre smallholding (family farm) is to see not two, but eight, people who know a lot about working. To visit them is also to see much of what can make a family succeed.
“We moved here as much for the children’s sake as because of our own feelings,” explains Brother Flinn, who works full-time as a seminary teacher supervisor in addition to maintaining the smallholding. “Because of my work, I travel a lot. It would probably be easier to live in town.”
“But if we moved,” Sister Flinn says, “our quality of life would drop. We couldn’t keep all the livestock. We wouldn’t learn all the skills about being self-reliant. We might not know as much about how to love work.”
How to love work?
“We believe in the principle of work,” Brother Flinn explains. “We believe it’s a spiritual principle. It’s not just obtaining the end result; it’s the actual doing of the work. It’s good for you.”
And do the children agree?
“When we complain about having to do things,” Lindsey says, “Mum will say, ‘Fine. Shall we move to the town?’ None of us has ever said yes.”
“There are pros and cons to everything,” Peter says. “But I’d say I’m fine here.”
Now all this talk about willingness to work may have you thinking that the Flinns are perfect. The truth is, they’re a typical family with teasing and quarrels and sometimes tears, just like any family. But they’ve learned to work at being a family, too.
“What do we gain from being together?” Jenny asks. “Patience, mainly.”
Does she ever think about being with her family forever?
“When they’re not annoying me,” she teases.
Her ability to laugh is typical of the entire family. They enjoy jousting verbally, but also know they have to do it with love, so that feelings aren’t hurt.
“Everybody’s got their own personality,” Lindsey says. “We’ve learned to adjust for that. Besides, if you say anything negative, Dad makes you say two things positive.”
Other challenges? “One of the biggest ones is juggling time,” Jenny says. “I have to do the animals twice a day, so that’s an hour each morning and evening, and in between I’ve got school. And there’s homework, two hours every night, and seminary is home study, so I have to find time for that, too.”
Church activity can be a struggle because of isolation. “We’re fifty miles from the stake center,” Peter explains. “There’s lots of traveling involved, and not everyone has a car. There’s only two of us in my quorum, and the other one lives forty miles away. We make an effort to see if he wants to come out, but there are various problems, like parents who don’t want to bring him in because it’s out of the way. Distance is the major drawback.”
And in school, being a Latter-day Saint doesn’t keep temptation from being all around. Twelve-year-old Neal says a survey showed there were only two people in his entire class who hadn’t used alcohol.
What’s the counterbalance?
“We have good lessons at church,” Jenny says. “We have good lessons at seminary. And good home evenings at home. We live for Fridays (Mutual night) and Sundays to be with Church kids and strengthen each other.” And of course, there are scriptures and prayer and family support.
“If I have a really major problem, I know I can turn to my family,” Lindsey says. “I suppose I’d call them my best friends. If I didn’t have them to turn to, where would I go?”
That’s an attitude Jenny exemplified when, even though she was taking final exams and needed to study, she walked down to the school to pick up Rachel. “Mum and Dad were late getting home,” Jenny said matter-of-factly. “I knew Rachel would panic if no one showed up.”
That’s part of being a family, part of what the Flinns learn every day.
Step into the Flinns’ family room, and you’ll notice one wall is adorned with corn dollies, the kind actually made from wheat. “You have to braid the stalk while it’s flexible,” Sister Flinn explains. “When it gets old, it’s brittle and won’t bend.
“That’s what we’re doing as a family,” she says. “We live the gospel. We learn about family love. And the children braid them both into their lives.”

In Caleb’s baby blessing, I assured him he had completed his mortal task by being born and that he would have a brief time to rest as part of our family before returning to his heavenly home.
Yet Caleb and his mother had different plans. They wanted to spend more time together and do a greater work. God had perfectly matched Caleb’s courage with April’s love and daring optimism. April purposefully chose hope and trust in the Lord. With God’s help, she turned what was a sorrowful circumstance into a sacred setting.
April celebrated everything about Caleb. She made him a birthday cake after his first week, cupcakes for his second week, and cookies for his third week. Every day was a once-in-a-lifetime event for our boy sent home from the hospital without hope. Caring for Caleb became a privilege for us.
Though Caleb’s body was misshapen and broken, his spirit was whole, noble, and great (see Abraham 3:22). Even his missing eye became a blessing, making it seem as if he was continually winking. His wink became his distinctive feature. People were drawn to him, especially children. They would often ask, “Where is his eye? What happened to him?” I would jokingly say he was a pirate. But April would explain that in our family, a wink meant “I love you.”
Caleb never spoke the words, but his wink communicated love. His perpetual wink felt like a heavenly message, bringing God’s love and Christ’s light into our lives.
In our family, a wink means “I love you.”

In high school I had many opportunities to drink and smoke and do a lot of other unwholesome things. It just didn’t make sense to me to participate. In fact, it seemed destructive. So I got very good at saying, “No thanks.” Sometimes I would even challenge my friends to give it up. Also, I could see the misery that immorality caused, and I wanted no part of it. I made a personal commitment to save sexual intimacy for marriage. It seemed the only right way. At times I felt pretty alone, but I held on to my personal beliefs.
My family was not religious, so I didn’t belong to a church. It was through evangelists on television that I first learned about prayer. It made sense to pray, so I did and it felt good to be able to talk to my Heavenly Father. I felt I had a friend I could talk to who understood how I felt.

They Care about Serving
After Jeongmin K., age 11, started taking piano lessons, she wanted to learn “I Am a Child of God” along with her regular pieces. She kept adding Primary songs one by one. Then one day in Primary there was no pianist, and Jeongmin was ready to serve. She also played “If I Listen with My Heart” in the Primary sacrament meeting presentation. “When I’m playing in front of people, I imagine I’m at home and my family is there,” she says. Someday Jeongmin wants to be an organist and a piano teacher—as well as a chef, a designer, and a photographer.

I would like to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for a magazine that brought two of the best friends together. Twelve years ago I wrote to Feedback about a certain story in the New Era. Consequently I received a letter from a girl in Salt Lake City, and we have been writing ever since. The best news is that in May of 1992, Lori Wall and I met for the first time. I was a bit anxious about meeting her, but when we met it was as if we had known each other all our lives. We have been through a lot together and have grown spiritually stronger. She has seen me through the birth of my child, and I have seen her through her mission and marriage. Even though we were thousands of miles apart, our love stretched. And I have the New Era to thank for a special friend and an eternal sister.
Petra MillsOrange, New South Wales, Australia

“I just don’t understand how you can believe in what you’ve never seen. I don’t know how to have that kind of faith.”
I was struck by my brother’s statement. We have a great relationship, and he was confiding in me about some challenges he was facing. He hadn’t been active in the Church for years, so I shared my desires for him to believe in something—anything, really—regarding a loving Heavenly Father and a higher purpose for mortality.
But his words caused me to reflect: Why do I believe in Christ and everything about the gospel when so much is intangible?
Going back to the conversation with my brother, I didn’t know if anything I could say would convince him of the truths I hold dear to my heart. But suddenly, I was reminded of the story of the Apostle Thomas. So I shared it with him.
Thomas was faithful to the Savior during His ministry but would not believe his Master had risen again until he saw Him face to face. When he felt the prints of the nails in His hands, he finally believed, and the Savior told him, “Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed” (John 20:29; emphasis added).
And then I bore my testimony: “I’ve overcome too many challenges in my life to not believe in a Heavenly Father who loves me and a Savior who has helped me find joy and peace through it all. I may not see Them personally, but I see Them through so many instances of goodness in the world. Life is hard, but faith in Them reminds me of who I am and what my purpose is, and I remember the blessings They have promised me. Every time I choose to have faith, I feel in my heart that They are with me, and that the gospel is true.”
We ended our conversation on a good note. I don’t know if he will choose to come back to the gospel any time soon, but I invited him to simply begin with a desire to believe.

When I read in the Book of Mormon about how Nephi always supported his visionary father, I concluded that most youth in the Church were probably like Nephi. But when my family decided that we needed to move to the desert, I felt more like Laman and Lemuel. I didn’t want to leave my home.
Like Nephi and his brothers, I was “born of goodly parents” (1 Nephi 1:1). Both joined the Church when they were teenagers, and my mother waited for my father while he served a mission. They were active, hardworking members of the Church.
When I was in high school, the economy slowed down in our region of Concepción, Chile. Jobs dried up, and my father began having trouble finding work. Finally, he began looking for a job out of town.
His job search took him north to the city of Calama, in Chile’s mining region. He is a construction engineer, and he found a good job there. But he was alone and far away. We saw him only when he could afford the 32-hour bus ride home.
After a few years of seeing my father only two or three times a year, my mother felt that it was time to make a change. My parents concluded that the rest of our family needed to move north.
My younger brother had no problem moving. And my older sister, who was in college, set a good example for me.
“I’ll sacrifice my studies,” she said. “We need to be with our father.”
Everyone supported the decision to move except for me. I wanted to be with my father too, but I resisted making changes and personal sacrifices. I had my friends, I knew my surroundings, I enjoyed my lifestyle, and I wanted to go to college in Concepción. I did everything I could do to convince my mother that we shouldn’t go.
Finally, she said, “Son, your father is alone. He wants us with him. I wish you understood, but you’re too focused on yourself.” Then she reassured me, “We will have opportunities there.”
In my heart, I knew she was right—even though my head wasn’t convinced. I didn’t have a strong testimony at the time, but I decided to pray about whether I should go with my family. A clear answer came to me: “You need to leave this place.” I was sad, but I told my parents I would go.
Concepción is a green place with lots of trees. It receives 50 inches (127 cm) of rain per year. Antofagasta, the city near Calama we were moving to, receives only 0.1 inch (0.25 cm) per year.
The most shocking thing for me about the move was the actual trip. As we made our way north by bus, watching the transition from green to brown was agonizing. I wondered, “Where are the trees? Where are the cows in the countryside?” All I saw was dirt, rocks, and hills.
Obviously, northern Chile is a desert, so what else could I expect? I was reminded of how Laman and Lemuel felt when Lehi’s family left the land of their inheritance and headed into the wilderness.
I had a lot of fears when we arrived in Antofagasta. What would happen if I didn’t make any friends? What would happen if I couldn’t get used to the area? What would happen if my hopes for the future didn’t come true?
In the end, I shouldn’t have worried. My mother was right about the opportunities awaiting us—especially the spiritual opportunities.
Before our move, the gospel wasn’t a priority for me. The Lord was in the background. But in Antofagasta, people came into my life who helped me see the beauty of the gospel. I received help from special priesthood leaders. I made friends who remain a treasure to me. My spiritual life changed completely.
I’m grateful I listened to my mother. I’m grateful the Lord answered my prayer. I’m grateful I had the courage to move north with my family.
Here in the desert is where I made the changes that helped me become who I am today. Here is where I committed to embrace the gospel, serve a mission, marry in the temple, and dedicate my life to the Lord. Here is where I determined that I no longer wanted to be like Laman and Lemuel.
For my family and me, the wilderness turned out to be our promised land.
The author lives in Antofagasta, Chile.

Subject: Lisa (Elizabeth)
Age: 16 years
Event: A ride home with Larry Hill, local football hero
“Did you see Friday night’s game?” Larry asked as he helped her into the car.
“Oh, sure. You were wonderful!”
“Thanks.’”
“I bet you have to practice hard to get so strong and fast. Just watching you run around the other team is so exciting.”
“Things have always come easy for me. ‘Natural talent’ is the way the paper describes it.”
“But you must train hard.” “No,” he answered, “training is for people who don’t have natural talent.”
“Are you going to play in the pros?” she asked.
“Oh, sure,” he answered confidently. “I’m going to be a legend in my own time. Someday you’ll see me on TV and you’ll tell people that you knew the great Larry Hill and that he gave you a ride home from a school pep assembly practice.”
“Okay,” she smiled, “I’ll do my part if you do yours.”
“It might be a nicer memory if you’d sit a little closer,” he suggested. Turning on his four-track stereo to mood music, he casually put his arm over her shoulder. “You know, Lisa, I was watching you tonight. I think I could really fall for you.”
She sat forward, leaving his arm dangling in the air. “Larry, do you know where I live? It’s on Fairmont.”
“Sure, I know.”
“Then where are you driving?” “I thought we could go up on the hill overlooking town and look at the moon … and talk.”
“You can see the moon really well from my house,” she suggested.
He looked at her suddenly with a puzzled expression. “You’re joking? You don’t want to go up there with me?”
“I’ve got to go home. My parents will be worrying.”
He angrily flipped off the music, made a U-turn in the middle of the block, and sped back toward her house. “I’ll tell you one thing, “he finally said, “there are not many girls in our school who’d turn down attention from me.”
“Really? Maybe I’ll be a legend in my own time, too.”
“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”
“Larry, you’ve got the whole world telling you how great you are. Isn’t that enough?”
“Why won’t you go up there with me and talk?”
“I’ll talk with you in our kitchen over popcorn. Why do you want to go there?”
“I might want to kiss you.”
“And parking up there has worked with other girls?”
“Look, who else ever pays any attention to you? I’m doing you a favor.”
“You sound so sorry for me,” she said. “Is a kiss from you such a prize?”
“Other girls think so,” he answered crisply.
“Suppose I just let them have my share.”__________
“But my cousin says that you are a good athlete,” Elizabeth said to Dan.
“I play racquetball. I’ve been state champion three times. Since I wasn’t cut out to be a football player, I substituted racquetball.”
As he opened the car door for her outside the restaurant, she gave him a broad smile.
__________
“Elizabeth, you have the most beautiful smile.”

To the young men of the priesthood, if you haven’t served a mission, this is not the time for a lot of involvement in love or romance. It is a time for saving money. Do you know how much a mission costs today? It averages about $150 a month. For a two-year mission, that is $3,600.
One young man was startled when his father sat down with him to figure how he could earn that money. Noting that the most productive earning time would be from ages 16–19, they figured that he would have to save at least $1,000 each year for that three-year period. This also meant that the young man had to earn another $600 before age 16 (he was then 12) to save sufficiently for his mission. Hopefully, many start earlier than that.
You’ve heard some of our young men say, “But I can’t find a job. No one will hire me.” May I suggest to you the example of one enterprising 13-year-old who has already produced some handbills that he is passing out in his neighborhood. The handbill reads: “When you’re on vacation and need someone to care for your yard, or if you want any odd jobs done, call Bill, because when you call me, I’ll be there.” He then signed his name and included his phone number. He already has his summer filled with work.

Last summer we began our two-week vacation on a Monday morning. Ace insisted on coming home both of the following Saturdays in order to clean the building before Sunday. I was feeling rebellious at having to come back before our vacation was over. As I cleaned, I said to myself, “This is absolutely stupid. Nobody cares whether this place is clean or not. If they did care they wouldn’t throw trash around. Nobody will even notice that the work was done.”
All at once I felt as if someone was there with me. It seemed as though someone spoke to me and said, “I care. It is my house and I care! Suppose we had visitors tomorrow and the house was dirty? What would investigators think? I would be embarrassed.” I was really shaken. It was such a strong impression. Never again have I begrudged the time I have spent cleaning His house.

Hilary couldn’t wait. She slid off her bed and landed on Elise’s mattress—hard.
“Get up, Leesie,” she told her little sister, taking an extra bounce. “It’s a special day.”
Elise scrunched her nose, groaned, and rolled over. She didn’t even open her eyes.
Hilary skipped across the room to Baby John’s crib. “Hey, John B., guess what?” She poked her hand through the bars and stroked his little arm. “It’s general conference today.”
John stuck his tongue out and gurgled at her.
He’s too little to listen to conference, Hilary thought. Mom didn’t even buy him a new coloring book.
Hilary could hear the shower going. Probably Daddy. She horse-galloped down the hall and peeked into Mommy and Daddy’s room. Mommy was lying on her side with the covers pulled up to her chin. Hilary tiptoed up to her. “Mommy, it’s conference day,” she whispered into Mommy’s ear.
Mommy opened her eyes and smiled. “You’re right, darling.”
“That means Leesie and I get to use our new coloring books, right?”
“Mmm-hmm.” Mommy yawned.
“And our new markers?”
“Yes, dear.”
“And the new puzzle with the bunny on it?”
“That’s right.” Mommy rolled down the covers and sat up in bed. “Is Baby John awake yet?”
“Yep. But Leesie doesn’t want to get up.”
“Tell her I’m running your bathwater as soon as Daddy’s out of the shower. We need to hurry.”
“I’ll put the candy you got for us in your bag with the markers,” Hilary volunteered. She was planning to be very good during conference so she could get the most candy. I’m being really good so far, she told herself.
The family drove to the meetinghouse for the broadcast because it wasn’t on their local TV channels. Hilary and Elise spread their coloring books and markers on a table at the front of the Relief Society room. Mommy and Daddy liked to watch conference there so that the girls could color quietly and Baby John could sleep on his blanket. Hilary listened to the choir sing as she looked through all the pictures in her new book. She had a lot of coloring to do!
Then a man in a suit and tie appeared on the screen.
“That’s the prophet,” Mommy whispered. “He tells us what Heavenly Father and Jesus want us to do.”
Hilary sighed and flipped through the coloring book one more time. “Leesie, let’s do our puzzle now,” she said.
Elise looked up at her and shook her blond pigtails. “Not yet. We have to listen to the prophet.”
Hilary saw that Elise’s coloring book was closed. She was looking at the television screen and trying to understand what the man with the tie was saying.
Hilary tapped the toes of her shiny church shoes on the carpet and frowned. She wondered why they even got the new puzzle if they weren’t going to use it. Then she remembered the candy in Mommy’s bag. Quickly she folded her arms and stopped tapping her toes. She glanced to see if Mom was watching, then gazed up at the television.
The prophet was saying to be a little more kind to others. Mommy tells us that, too. Hilary also remembered Sister Johnson’s last lesson in Primary: “Jesus said, ‘Love everyone.’”
Hilary looked around at her family. Daddy was bent over his notepad, writing down with a blue pen what the prophet was saying. Elise still hadn’t opened her coloring book. Mom was holding Baby John, patting his back, and watching the screen. Mom caught Hilary’s eye and smiled.
Hilary felt happy and warm. I like listening to the prophet, she decided, looking up at the man with the tie. Her new puzzle and coloring book could wait.