Gospel Story Finder

Brian Taylor, a BYU player who served in the Spain Seville Mission, will never forget or regret his decision to serve a mission. “I had the great opportunity to go out and open up a new mission in the Canary Islands. I felt like the Apostle Paul. We’d walk down the street and people would ask, ‘What are you young men doing in white shirts and ties? Why aren’t you down at the beach in your swimsuits?’ When we explained what we were doing, they’d be impressed, and they’d listen to us, sometimes 150 people at once. We’d show movies like The First Vision and Families Are Forever on the sides of buildings, and the whole village would come out to watch. We would then bear our testimonies, and the people would weep.”
Brian smiled and shook his head as he remembered, “There is just no comparison between that and playing basketball. You win a game for your team, you feel great, but the feeling only lasts a short time. But just as I talk about being on that island and bearing my testimony to that many people, it makes me feel like cheering again. You just feel good about it, and it never leaves you. It’s that eternal kind of feeling.”

Down on the tip of England’s toe, 18-year-old Joanne Crocker of Helston Ward, tells of her teacher, Hugh Dunbar. “The day before one monthly meeting, his car wouldn’t go. He had the engine in pieces until 3:00 A.M. Then he snatched two hours of sleep and finished the job by 11:30 Saturday morning in time to begin picking up his class of seven by 12 noon. Then we drove 70 miles to the Plymouth stake centre. And this was only six months after open heart surgery.”

Jamie knew what was happening in the kitchen that very moment. Her parents were waiting for her brother, Alex, to come home. She also knew what would happen later in the night. Maybe she would be asleep when it happened. Once she had slept through it all, but most of the time she woke up when it started and she lay in her bed and listened to the shouting and denials and slamming of doors. She hated it most when her mother cried. It always tied her stomach into knots and made her want to run away. She wondered what it would be like to never wake up listening to people yell at each other.
She was in her room ready for bed. She thought about praying but decided against it because she had prayed so many times that her brother would quit going out and getting drunk and she couldn’t see that her prayers had changed anything.
She slipped between the covers. The sheets were cold. It was November and getting colder every day. She remembered her mother telling Alex about a man who’d been drinking and passed out on the snow and froze to death. It didn’t faze Alex. Nothing fazed Alex.
Sometimes Jamie wished Alex would just go away so they could be a family again like they used to be, but she never told anyone that because she knew nobody would understand.
Jamie also knew what the morning would bring. When she got up, her father would be gone to work, even though it was Saturday. Her mother would be working in the kitchen, her eyes puffy from a night of tears and a morning of trying to figure out why Alex was out of control.
Alex would sleep until two or three in the afternoon and then watch TV for a few hours, take a shower, make a few phone calls, and be gone before supper. Sometimes he didn’t come home Saturday nights. Jamie thought it was because then he didn’t get hassled about going to church.
Jamie knew how it would be and what everyone would say and how it would go. And on Monday Alex would go to work at the auto parts store like nothing had happened. He worked hard through the week because times were tough and he knew if he messed up, he might lose his job.
Alex wanted to move out of the house and get an apartment. But not just any apartment. It had to be one of the best apartments in town. The only problem was that they required a large deposit and two months’ rent. Alex was trying to save the money, but because he partied so much, he never saved anything. That’s why he was still at home.
I know everything that’s going to happen, she thought. The whole world revolves around Alex, what he does, what he says, where he goes.
When she saw people at church, they’d come up and ask how Alex was doing. Alex isn’t the only person with problems, she thought. I have some too.
People talked about how church was a comfort to them when they were going through hard times, but for some reason, it didn’t work that way for her. All that happened when she went to church was that she kept getting more things piled on her. In the past week she had been asked to serve on a youth conference planning committee and had been told she was in charge of planning a fireside. But in all this nobody asked how she was doing; all anyone asked about was how Alex was doing.
Nobody cares about me, she thought. All they care about is Alex. Maybe I should be like Alex, and then people would notice me too.
She hated what was happening in their family. It was like she was being forced to play a part in a play. Her role was to be the good girl with no problems. She had to be perfect so her parents wouldn’t worry about her, so they could spend all their time and energy on Alex.
She felt like she had no one to go to—certainly not her parents. She felt that if she added one more burden to what they were already carrying they would break. She couldn’t even go to her friends because they all treated her like she was perfect and didn’t have any problems.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing sleep would come to take her away. At 12:30 she heard Alex’s car pull into the driveway, heard him get out of the car and come in the house. “Oh, look at you; just look at you!” her mother cried out.
Jamie couldn’t stand to hear it all over again. She pulled a blanket off the bed, went in the bathroom, shut the door, turned on the shower but didn’t get in, wrapped the blanket around her, and sat down on the floor and cried. She stayed there for a long time. When she turned off the shower, the shouting was over. She returned to her bed and soon fell asleep.
The next morning she slept until her mother came to the door and knocked.
“What is it?” Jamie asked sleepily.
“Sister Bradford just called. She wondered if you’d forgotten you promised to help her make cookies for the fireside tomorrow night.”
“I want to sleep.”
Her mother opened the door. “She said to tell you she really needs your help. Nobody else has shown up.”
The difference between Alex and me, she thought, is Alex does what he wants to do and I do what others want me to do. Nobody calls Alex on a Saturday morning to remind him he promised to help bake cookies.
She wanted to go back to sleep, but she knew it wasn’t fair for Sister Bradford to make all the cookies for the fireside by herself. “All right, I’ll get up.”
More out of habit than anything else, she knelt by her bed to say a prayer before she got dressed. She started with her usual routine prayer but then stopped. “Heavenly Father, please help me. I feel so bad.”
Just after Jamie arrived, Sister Bradford’s husband took all the kids for a Saturday outing at the park. It was the quietest Jamie had ever seen their house.
“How are you doing these days?” Sister Bradford asked as they worked side by side, rolling cookie dough into small balls and plopping them on cookie trays.
“Fine,” Jamie said, knowing that people usually didn’t want to know the truth when they asked a question like that. She turned to look at Sister Bradford, who asked. “Really?”
Jamie looked away. “Yeah, sure, I’m doing okay.”
“I’m not asking just to pass the time of day. I really do want to know.”
Jamie paused. “You know about Alex, right?”
“Yes, I know about Alex. I don’t know about Jamie, though. You want to tell me how she’s doing?”
“Okay, I guess.”
They talked for two hours, until Brother Bradford came back with the kids and it was time for Jamie to go home.
As soon as Jamie walked into her house, she went to her father. “Dad, I need to talk to you and Mom now. Is that all right?”
“I’ll get your mother,” her dad said.
It was the one thing Sister Bradford had the hardest time convincing Jamie to do. She had not wanted to say anything to her parents because she didn’t want to hurt them any more than they already were.
Sister Bradford had talked to her about it. “They’re not porcelain dolls that are going to break with the slightest bump. They can take it, Jamie. They’d rather have you tell them the truth than hide it. You’ve got to talk to them and tell them how you’re feeling.” Jamie had finally reluctantly agreed.
“I want Alex in here too,” she said.
“I’ll go get him,” her father said.
And so there they were, gathered in the front room. Jamie took a deep breath and began, “I think our whole family needs to talk to someone who can help us. It’s not just Alex. I need some help too. Just because I haven’t said anything doesn’t mean I’m not hurting. I think we all need some help.”
“Who would you suggest we talk to?” her mother asked.
“Well, the bishop to begin with.”
They all looked at Alex. “Count me out,” he said.
“We all have to do it, Alex,” Jamie said. “If all it does is get us talking again, it will be worth it.”
“Who put you up to this?” Alex asked.
“My Laurel adviser.”
“What makes her the expert?”
“When she was growing up, there were problems in her family.”
“And going to somebody made everything perfect again?” Alex taunted.
“No, but it made it better than it was.”
“It’s not going to do anything for me,” Alex said.
“You’re not the only one in this family, Alex. We’re all hurting. It’s not just you. On the nights you come in late, you think I can sleep through all the yelling? What do you want me to do? Hide in my room and pretend nothing’s wrong? Well I can’t do that, at least not anymore.”
Her father was the first to speak. “I think Jamie’s right. We need to go in as a family.”
Later that day Sister Bradford called to ask how it had gone with her family.
“We’re all going to see the bishop next week. Thanks a lot for talking to me. It was just what I needed. I just can’t understand why none of the other girls showed up this morning to help out. They all knew about it.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “I have a confession to make. After I found out you were coming, I called the others and asked them not to come.”
“Why?”
“I woke up this morning thinking about you and wondering how you were doing.”
That night when Jamie went to bed, she thanked Heavenly Father for answering the prayer she had offered by giving her a Laurel adviser like Sister Bradford.
Alex was out again. Jamie didn’t know what would happen when he came home—except she knew it wouldn’t be the same as before. At least not for her.

Have you ever taken something for granted, unaware of how it benefited you until it was gone?
I did once—with the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Growing up in Mongolia, my family and I were members of the Church. But over time, my parents’ church attendance became less and less frequent. I slowly started to feel indifferent about the gospel too.
I never took what I learned seriously and eventually stopped going altogether. I didn’t think I would miss the gospel, because it had never really seemed to benefit my life anyway.

When I was a young adult, my older sister bumped into some missionaries. They stopped her to ask if she could translate something for them in Mongolian. They had a quick conversation, and when she returned home, she realized who they were.
She wanted to go to church that week and invited me to join her.
I was totally against the idea at first. I thought I was doing fine in life without the Church! But she convinced me to join her just once.
When I walked into sacrament meeting for the first time in years, I wasn’t very happy to be there. However, as I looked around, I saw some friends I had grown up with. The light they emanated was almost tangible. As I watched them, I recalled small inklings of spiritual experiences I had felt at church growing up.
So many truths I had disregarded came flooding back, and I suddenly felt empty and sad. “I’m not like them,” I thought. “Why did I leave this all behind?”
I realized that I had become a different person in the past few years. There was a sense of darkness in my life I had been ignoring. But as I sat there, I heard a peaceful voice in my mind that seemed to say, “You can shine too. It’s not too late.”
I thought of the parable of the lost sheep. The one sheep who the Savior brought back to the fold (see Luke 15:4–7).
I was that sheep. And the Savior was lovingly coming after me because He loved me as much as His other sheep.
He wanted me back.
This brought me so much gratitude for my Savior. Feeling the Spirit for the first time in years, I made the decision to come back to the Church and, this time, to take it seriously.

I felt that truth and knew that if I put my heart into the gospel, my life was going to change.
As I started living the gospel, I found purpose in my life again. I finally believed that Heavenly Father loves each of His children and that the gospel of Jesus Christ is the key to returning to our heavenly home.
This means everything to me now.

“I don’t want to go to church today,” said Missy as she stretched a blanket over her head.
“Why not?” her mother asked. “I thought you liked Primary.”
“Sister Hanes won’t be my teacher anymore. I don’t want to go into a new class and have a new teacher!”
“Missy, I know you’ll miss Sister Hanes, but I’m sure you’ll like your new teacher too.”
“I don’t think so,” answered Missy, peeking out.
“Well, at least give her a chance. She might surprise you.”
“We’ll see,” said Missy, dragging herself out of bed.
During Sunday School opening exercises, Missy’s eyes searched the faces of the congregation as she wondered who her new teacher would be. Whoever it was wouldn’t be as great as Sister Hanes, Missy was sure.
As singing period ended and everyone began leaving the chapel for their classes, Missy clutched her mother’s hand. “Will you take me to Primary?”
“Of course, honey,” her mother said. They were the first to arrive except for the teachers and leaders. As Missy looked at the teachers, she saw a man she didn’t know. I wonder what he’s doing in the chair my new teacher will have, she thought. Before Missy could think about it anymore, her mother was introducing herself to this stranger. “Hello. I’m Sister Franks, and this is my daughter, Missy.”
“Hello, Missy,” the man said cheerfully. “I’m Brother Tailor, your new Primary teacher. I’m going to need some help today because I’m new in your ward. Can you help me?”
“What kind of help?” Missy asked, surprised.
“Well, for one thing, could you introduce me to the other children in the class?”
“Sure,” Missy said, forgetting to be shy.
“I’d really appreciate it,” he said.
Missy let go of her mother’s hand and stood next to her new teacher. As her classmates came in, she grinned at them and said, “Megan, Philip, Craig, and Sandy, this is Brother Tailor. He’s our new Primary teacher!”

Several years ago, I taught mathematics at a small high school in rural Wyoming and helped coach several different school-sponsored sports. One day, one of my responsibilities included preparing equipment for drills intended to increase the agility of the athletes on our team. The drills involved athletes running through several rope ladders stretched out flat on a field.
The school had eight such ladders and, to help the next team who would use them, it was important to carefully roll each ladder before storing them all together in a single bag. One day, I found the ladders had not been properly stored. They came out in one big, knotted mess. I was hopeful that I could untangle them, but soon realized that the task would not be quick or easy. It was hot, I was tired, and very soon frustrated that I may not have the equipment ready for the team. I worked for 10 minutes trying to separate the ladders but had no success.
I share this experience because I have faced times when my life resembled something like that tangled mess of rope ladders.
Going back to that hot afternoon in Wyoming, eventually I did get one of the ladders untangled. It gave me hope to keep working. A second ladder soon shook loose, and before long they all unraveled. To me this event was a “tender [mercy] of the Lord,”[20] though not miraculous.
But when God untangles the knotted circumstances of a seemingly broken life, it most certainly is a miracle. And I testify that God is in the business of miracles.

I’m so hungry!
Me too. Let’s stop here.
Hmm. I’ll just have a snack at home.
Want one? Here.
Oh, I didn’t see you pay for it.
Oh … uh … I didn’t. I just took it. Some of the other kids take stuff all the time.
I can’t take this. I wouldn’t feel good about it.
I don’t really feel that good about it either.
I think I know what will make us both feel better.
You were right. I feel a lot better after taking it back.
Me too. It always feels good to do the right thing.

I’d like to begin by sharing the story of a great friend we met here in Hawaii. One day, not long after we arrived, David Nagaishi came to see me at the mission home. He asked for permission to have the missionaries teach him at his restaurant in Waikiki. His wife, Wendy, was serving as the Primary President in our home ward in Kahala, but he had never been interested in the Church – in fact, he was somewhat antagonistic. But somehow, the missionaries had made contact again, and this time, he was prepared to be taught, but he didn’t want Wendy to know! His request was a bit unusual, but we made the necessary arrangements, and the missionaries began teaching him in earnest.

In due time through his study and prayers, David gained a testimony and wanted to be baptized. The day came for his baptism. Everyone in the ward knew about it, everyone except Wendy! David was dressed in white and seated on the stand in the chapel. A very large congregation of ward members was secretly seated in the chapel too, but Wendy, with a little assistance from her counselor, was in a Primary “planning meeting” in another part of the building. Pretending to hear a commotion, her counselor suggested they go to the chapel to make sure everything was okay.

Now, you can imagine the scene! Wendy’s absolute surprise as she walked into a chapel full of ward members, and David sitting on the stand in baptismal clothing! In her shock (and to the delight of everyone else), she let out an audible, “He can’t be baptized. He hasn’t had the lessons and he hates the missionaries!” Well, David was baptized that day and began his faithful journey in the Church. A year or so later, David prepared to attend the temple and asked if I would be his escort. What a sacred privilege it was for me to accompany my friend to the temple! Today, he serves as the executive secretary in his ward, and he and Wendy have been sealed for eternity with their family. About a month ago, they took their son, Michael, to the MTC to begin his own mission to Japan. As you can guess, David no longer “hates” the missionaries!

That was just one of the special conversions we witnessed while serving here in Hawaii.

When I was twenty, I went into the army. In basic training, I was exposed to many things I had been warned against. I was very grateful for the teachings I had received at home and in Primary. They were a lifesaver for me. I saw some of the young men who changed their way of life in the army and chose to not follow God’s teachings. After basic training, one of these young men talked to me privately. He was sobbing because he had picked up a lot of bad habits, and now he had to go home and he didn’t want to face his parents. I was grateful that I had been prepared to face those challenges and had remained faithful to the truths that I had been taught.

I know from my own life that Eliza’s experience can be our own long after we leave childhood. In the early years of my career, I worked hard to secure a tenured professorship at Stanford University. I thought I had made a good life for myself and for my family. We lived close to my wife’s parents in very comfortable surroundings. By the world’s standards, I had achieved success. But I was given by the Church the chance to leave California and go to Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. My lifetime professional objectives might have been a pavilion dividing me from a loving Father who knew better than I did what my future could hold. But I was blessed to know that whatever success I had in my career and family life to that point was a gift from God. And so, like a child, I knelt in prayer to ask what I should do. I was able to hear a quiet voice in my mind that said, “It’s my school.” There was no pavilion shielding me from God. In faith and humility, I submitted my will to His and felt His care and closeness.

Here is an inspiring story that demonstrates how one family made peacemaking a family affair, putting these principles into practice.
Children in this family were struggling in their relationship with an adult whose demeanor was often grumpy, condescending, and curt. The children, hurt and frustrated, began to wonder if the only way forward was to mirror that same mean-spirited behavior.
One evening the family spoke openly together about the tension and the toll it was taking. And then an idea emerged—not just a solution but an experiment.
Instead of responding with silence or retaliation, the children would do something unexpected: they would respond with kindness. Not just polite restraint but a deliberate, heartfelt outpouring of kind words and thoughtful deeds, no matter how they were treated in return. All agreed to try it for a set time, after which they’d regroup and reflect.
Though some were hesitant at first, they committed to the plan with genuine hearts.
What happened next was nothing short of remarkable.
The cold exchanges began to thaw. Smiles replaced scowls. The adult, once distant and harsh, began to change. The children, empowered by their choice to lead with love, found joy in the transformation. The change was so profound that the planned follow-up meeting was never needed. Kindness had done its quiet work.
In time, true bonds of friendship were formed, lifting everyone. To be peacemakers, we forgive others and deliberately build others up instead of tearing them down.

I fell prey to that devilish stratagem early in my professional career, as a management consultant. The prestigious Boston firm for which I worked paid well and entrusted me with leadership opportunities beyond my expectations. I became confident to the point of arrogance. Though I served faithfully in the Church, pride in my professional accomplishments led to a significant deficit of humility.

Providentially, I learned the hard way what Solomon taught: “Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.” [iv] When the professional promotions slowed in Massachusetts, I decided to move home to Utah and open a Salt Lake City office of the consulting firm. I quickly discovered that I had overestimated my abilities and underestimated the challenge of selling high-priced consulting services to Utah’s independent and thrifty entrepreneurs. Before long, I had given up on a Salt Lake City office of the consulting firm. I was grateful just to be getting project assignments in distant cities.

In the meantime, my father had been called as an Apostle. Rather than becoming a high-profile person myself, I felt lost in his shadow. Gradually, disappointment and declining confidence began to show up in my hair. Before long I had lost all of it, from head to toe, leading friends to ask worriedly about my physical health. Having planned to become a “big wheel” in Utah, I instead found myself wanting to disappear.

At the time, I felt like a victim of cruel circumstances. Yet, in my pride, I had actually set myself up for an inevitable emotional fall. I had succumbed to worldly temptation without realizing it. In hindsight, I recognize that my striving for professional success was largely selfish. I had rationalized my self-serving behavior as motivated by desires to benefit my family and the Church. I thought that I could simultaneously bless other people while also fulfilling my personal ambitions.

Not realizing these spiritual faults at the time, I began to feel angry toward heaven, which seemed to be the source of my disappointment and despair. In self-pity, and ignoring my unrighteous motives, I wondered why the law of the harvest wasn’t working for me. It seemed that I was being treated unfairly.

Fortunately, Sister Eyring and other loved ones stood by me. Through wise words and kind deeds, they helped me see the need to repent of my pride and seek the healing balm of the Atonement and the ministry of the Holy Ghost. I increased my study of the scriptures. And, at Sister Eyring’s inspired suggestion, I began to keep a personal journal. In time, I began to qualify for Heaven’s blessings, which took a different but far better form than I had imagined.

My wonderful father was an All-America basketball player for UCLA under legendary Coach John Wooden. They remained close throughout my father’s life, and occasionally Coach and Mrs. Wooden would come to our home for dinner. He was always happy to talk to me about basketball or anything else on my mind. Once I asked him what advice he had for me as I entered my senior year of high school. Always the teacher, he said, "Your father told me that you have joined the Church of Jesus Christ, so I know that you have faith in the Lord. With that faith be sure to have poise in every situation. Be a good man in a storm."

Over the years, that conversation stuck with me. That counsel to be calm, cool, and collected in all situations, particularly in times of adversity and pressure, resonated with me. I could see how Coach Wooden’s teams played with poise and the great success that they experienced winning 10 national championships.

William and Joissine Williamson took a Mr. Busley into their home as a boarder. While living with them he talked a lot about his past and meeting the Mormons. He said Brigham Young was a good and wise leader. Mr. Williamson listened and did some thinking and finally way off in Texas in the early 1900s, he decided that if he ever got the chance he would join that church.

At noontime on January 9, 1900, two Mormon missionaries wearily made their way up the long lane that led to the Williamsons’ front door. William, looking out the window, exclaimed, “Them’s my men!”

When William and Joissine were baptized, their posterity, all nine children, were heirs to their conversion. They formed a small but united group amid great prejudice.

Their descendants make up the majority of the LDS students at Vidor High School.

Later, while working back in London, Patrick met some members of the Church.
“They were great examples of our faith,” he recalls. “One of them was from California, and I went and stayed with that family while I worked there.”
That experience gave Patrick a wonderful foundation of understanding the Church. He was touched by the joy the family found in service, but he had many questions about Church doctrine and beliefs. Back in England two years later, however, he met some “impressive missionaries” on the streets of London. After discussing the gospel with them for several months and being told he was not progressing toward baptism, they asked him if he would like a blessing.
“I agreed to have a blessing from a senior missionary I knew,” he recalls. “How I felt during that blessing was a key moment in my conversion. It was an absolutely undeniable sense of light and joy and peace that no words can describe. The words of the blessing proved inspired and definitely prescient.”
That experience, coupled with “a number of other things in my progress toward baptism,” led Patrick to a testimony of the Savior and His restored Church. A couple of months later, on Christmas Eve 1987, he was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
For those seeking a testimony, Elder Kearon says: “Choose faith, and respond to the invitation in Alma 32. Follow your spiritual feelings. They will guide you, and you will know.”

Just before dawn, Jared felt Aunt Phebe’s boot in the small of his back, not too hard, but businesslike. He pulled his head out of the bedroll and squinted into the pale gray light. The circle of covered wagons stood ghostly and still, but he could hear pans clanging gently, wood thudding into piles for breakfast fires, women preparing for another day of travel.
Jared pulled himself into a sitting position, keen anticipation surging through him. A kind of magic had come into each day since Catherine and her family had joined the wagon train at Council Bluffs. He watched her every day as she walked beside her family’s wagon, often with her younger brother holding one hand. He guessed her to be near his own age. Jared had not yet had the courage to speak to her, and she seemed quite unaware of him.
Aunt Phebe had gone about the business of breakfast, and Jared quickly pulled on his boots and his hat and started out onto the prairie to gather firewood. He breathed the cool, clear air deeply, relishing this pleasant time before the prairie sun began to beat down on their heads. A cottontail darted into the sagebrush, and Jared knew he should have brought his gun. Rations were good now, but things might be different by the end of the journey. He felt his responsibility to provide food, but he hated shooting small animals. He guessed that was why he was always leaving his gun behind.
Coming back into the camp, Jared peered around his load of wood to see if Catherine was out of her wagon, but he couldn’t see her.
“Jared, please quit gawking around and bring that wood,” Aunt Phebe called to him. Jared dumped the wood on the ground by the wagon and smiled at his aunt, his mother’s sister. She returned his smile, shaking her head gently at him, and then stooped to feed the fire that was already blazing brightly from last night’s coals. Jared studied her, thinking how different she was from his mother. His mother had been tall, too, but slender, her long arms and hands graceful and quick. Jared’s stomach still tightened with grief when he thought about her—how pale and still she had lain; how suddenly and silently she had gone. Before leaving Winter Quarters his dad married Aunt Phebe. She was strong and cheerful and a wonderful cook. Jared watched her work, her generous frame bent over the fire. He loved her, and at the same time he wished it were his own mother working there. Suddenly Aunt Phebe looked up.
“Jared, don’t you have anything to do?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jared smiled at her again and turned toward the wagon. His father was checking harnesses, hitching up the oxen for their day’s work. As he moved around the animals, he patted them and talked softly to them.
Jared folded his bedroll neatly and tucked it into its place in the wagon. He looked at the black trunk that stood against one side. Jared hesitated, wondering if he had time to look at the doll without being disturbed. Then he quickly undid the latches and opened the trunk. Carefully he folded back the linens that covered it and looked at the beautiful porcelain figurine.
In spite of its age and the delicate spiderweb cracks that covered it, the colors remained pure and vibrant. Its dress was painted an exquisite clear blue; auburn hair surrounded the gentle face. Jared liked the arms, slightly outstretched as though to receive a running child. His mother had told him about the doll many times—how her grandmother had given it to her when she was a little girl; how it had always sat on her mantle. When she lay sick, she had given it to him.
“Take it to your new home, Jared, and when you are married, put it on your mantle. Perhaps your wife will treasure it.”
Jared knew his mother had grieved at not having a daughter, and now she would not see her daughter-in-law either. Jared’s eyes misted as he gently folded the linens over the doll. No daughter could treasure it more than he did, and he didn’t care who might think it silly or unmanly. Still, he didn’t want anyone to see him with it. Quickly he closed the trunk and hurried to help his father with the rest of the morning chores.
Later, as Jared walked beside the wagon, he could see Catherine up ahead, striding easily along with her little brother on one side and her older brother on the other. Jared liked the way she walked, strong and easy, a relaxed kind of eagerness in her gait. Her dark hair lifted gently on her back beneath her bonnet. From time to time she leaned down and picked up a pebble, putting it quickly into her pocket. Jared wondered what she was saving them for. He would have liked to quicken his pace until he walked beside her, but he couldn’t. She was always so closely surrounded by her family. Her four brothers packed wood and water and did everything else that needed doing. It would be ludicrous for Jared to offer to help. How could she be so close and yet so inaccessible? He wondered if they would arrive in the valley without his ever having spoken to her. The day was becoming hot. Sweat began to trickle down his spine. He envied Aunt Phebe sitting on the wagon driving the team. His father walked beside the oxen. He had often said that it would be time for strong men to ride when they were sick or injured. Until then, they walked. His father loved his oxen and spared them whenever he could.
That evening Jared helped his father set up camp. Tomorrow was the Sabbath, and they would stay here and rest. They had traveled late in order to reach the stream, but it was almost dry. Dark water lay in pools among the rocks. But large cottonwoods grew along the bank, and the spot was pleasant. Their barrels contained enough for a few more days travel, so the need for water was not desperate.
After supper and the evening chores, the men built a large fire in the center of the circle, and everyone gathered around for singing and dancing. Jared sat between his father and Aunt Phebe. He was keenly aware of Catherine only a few feet away, surrounded as always by her brothers. After the group had sung several hymns, Brother Aimes struck a lively tune on his fiddle, and several couples got up to dance. One of Catherine’s brothers took her hand and pulled her into the circle of dancers. Jared watched her continuously, his heart constricting until he felt he could hardly breathe. Her long dark hair whirled about her face. Her arms were bare in the warm summer evening. They reminded him of the doll, graceful and somehow delicate, although they were brown and quite used to work. She and her brother passed quite close to Jared. As they turned, Catherine looked directly into Jared’s eyes and smiled slightly. He felt his face redden, and his heart hammered in his chest.
“You could just go ask her. Her brother would give her up.” Aunt Phebe’s voice startled him.
“I couldn’t do that,” he mumbled, his face hot.
Aunt Phebe patted his knee.
“Well, do what you feel good about doing, but I suggest you do something before the journey’s over. Once we reach the valley, she’ll have dozens of suitors.”
Jared wondered if Aunt Phebe had meant to encourage him. What he felt was a bleak depression. He forced himself not to look at Catherine. Jared felt uncomfortable about dancing. He and his parents had been Baptists before they’d joined the Church, and dancing had been frowned on by his former congregation. He didn’t know any dance steps, although it looked simple enough. Maybe when she sat down he’d go over, but the thought of approaching her in front of all those people sent chills down his spine. His father and Aunt Phebe stood up and danced. Catherine had sat down, but Jared remained glued to the keg he sat on, feeling entirely miserable. When the wagon master stood up and called on Brother Adams to pray, Jared felt a mixture of relief that it was over and agony that he had missed his opportunity.
He lay awake a long while in his hard bed on the ground, mostly hating himself for his awkwardness. But tomorrow was another day, and the Sabbath too. There should be opportunities. Before he went to sleep, Jared determined that tomorrow should not pass without his approaching her in some way.
After the morning service and the noon meal, the Saints dispersed for naps and scripture reading. Some of the women gathered under the cottonwood trees to relax and visit.
Jared wandered aimlessly around the wagons, alert for any sign of Catherine, hoping desperately that she would not join the women under the trees. He tried to station himself between her wagon and the women without appearing to have a purpose there.
Suddenly some movement off in the sagebrush caught his eye. Someone was moving around in the brush. As he watched, Catherine came into view, bending over, studying something on the ground. Jared couldn’t believe his luck. He walked slowly toward her, trying to appear nonchalant, hoping no one would see him. Catherine did not see him until he was close enough to touch her.
“Hello,” he said.
She stood up quickly, her face flushed, tendrils of hair clinging damply to her forehead.
“Hello,” she said, smoothing her dress and straightening her bonnet.
Seeing her so flustered gave Jared some courage.
“May I ask what you’re doing?” he said, smiling at her.
“Well, actually, I was looking for rocks.”
“Rocks? What for?” Jared wanted to look into her brown eyes, remembering her look at the dance, but instead he looked just beyond her.
“I like rocks. I collect them.” She cupped the large pocket of her dress in her hand and jiggled it. It bulged with small rocks.
“Could I help you look?” Jared said, finally looking directly into her eyes and experiencing a slight shiver through his body.
“Why yes, I’d like that.” They walked in silence for a time, both watching the ground. Suddenly Jared laughed.
“I really don’t know what I’m looking for at all,” he said. Catherine laughed too and stopped walking.
“I really don’t know what to tell you. I just look for rocks that are unusual in their shape or color or texture.” She took a handful of rocks from her pocket. To Jared they looked fairly ordinary.
“Look at this one,” she said, holding it up to the light. Jared could see that it was rather translucent, a soft purple in color.
“It’s beautiful,” he said. He took it from her hand and studied it.
“I have a book that tells the names of many different kinds of rocks. When we get to the valley, I hope to learn more.” She stopped talking abruptly and looked at him. “Do you think that’s strange?”
“Why no,” he said, looking at her for the second time.
“Does it seem unfeminine to you for me to be interested in geology?” She looked at him so directly that he didn’t know what to say for a moment. Then a feeling of great warmth came over him. Something relaxed and opened within him. He wanted very much to show her the doll.
“No, it doesn’t,” he said. “Would you come back to my wagon and let me show you something?”
“Yes.”
He held the stone in his palm. “May I keep this?” he asked, opening his hand.
“Yes,” she said again, and Jared dropped it into his pocket.
They picked their way carefully over the roots and mounds in their path, and at one point Jared took her hand. When they reached the camp, they dropped each other’s hand, but Jared didn’t mind if the sisters under the cottonwoods observed them coming into camp together, which they did.
When they reached the wagon, Jared crawled inside, then took Catherine’s hand and helped her in. He opened the latches on the trunk, folded back the linens, and lifted the porcelain figurine in his two hands. He held it in the light from the back of the wagon and said nothing for a moment. Catherine took it carefully from his hands and looked at it closely.
“My mother gave this to me before she died. Her grandmother gave it to her when she was a little girl. My mother said I should put it on my mantle.” Jared was silent a moment. “Do you think it’s unmanly for me to treasure a doll?”
Catherine smiled, a warm, radiant smile.
“Jared,” she said, “in the first place, this is not just a doll. It’s a work of art and an heirloom. It’s exquisite. And if it were just a doll, I still wouldn’t think it unmanly.”
“Would this doll look right next to a rock collection on the mantle?” Jared was amazed at his own boldness. He lowered his eyes, and both were silent a moment.
“No,” she said decisively. “But something like my grandmother’s rosebud vase could stand with it.” Then she added more shyly, “Someone will have to build some sturdy shelves for my rocks one day.”
Jared took the doll from her hands and laid it in the trunk, too overcome by his emotions to speak.
“I wanted to ask you to dance last night,” he said finally.
“I was hoping you would.”
“Next Saturday night I will.” He took her hand and helped her down from the wagon. He continued holding her hand as they walked across the prairie grass to where her family rested in the shade.

For example, 20 years ago I had just finished my mission in England. I had worked in the U.S. prior to going on a mission, and I felt impressed by the Spirit to return to the U.S. to continue working. An application for a green card had been submitted by my company in the United States 18 months earlier, and I began to wonder if it was ever going to come through. I prayed for help, tried hard to be obedient, and waited. One morning as I lay in bed at my parent’s home in England, I heard the postman push the mail through the letter box in the front door of the house. The Spirit immediately confirmed to me that the letter stating the date of my interview at the U.S. embassy had arrived, and I felt that all was going to be well.

On the day of my interview, I traveled to London and sat in the embassy and waited for my interview. Suddenly I noticed an older man come out from a back room and go over to one of the interviewers. With a start I recognized him as an individual I had encountered several years before at the embassy when I was renewing a temporary work visa enabling me to work in the U.S. The temporary visa I had applied for at that time was totally legal, but this fellow seemed to be perturbed and told me that after looking at my passport he thought I looked like a visitor to my own country and that he never expected to see me again at the embassy. As it turned out, the visa I obtained from him was the wrong one, and I had to return to the embassy to get the correct one. Fortunately I didn’t see him on that visit.

Now, several years later, here he was talking to an interviewer, and both of them kept glancing over at me with penetrating stares. I continued to read my book and pretended that I didn’t notice their stares. However, inside me, my stomach was going into spasms, doing all sorts of gastrointestinal gymnastics, and I started to feel nauseated and light-headed as a feeling of panic swept over me.

I began to think I was doomed in my current endeavor to obtain a green card. I said a silent prayer, reminding Heavenly Father that I was only trying to follow spiritual promptings in going back to the U.S. and that I desperately needed His help. The older man returned to his office, and a short while later the interviewer called me over. Everything went smoothly as he told me not to worry about previous comments that had been made about my visas. My panic subsided, and as I walked out of the building, a feeling of elation came over me. I silently expressed my gratitude to my Heavenly Father, and immediately the thought came to my mind “You felt confirmation earlier from Me about the visa. Why did you doubt that I would come through for you?” I felt chagrined at my lack of faith in that difficult moment.

Many of us have problems that can get in our way: poor eyesight, bad hearing, or perhaps crooked feet. Jaganath Martin, age 8, sees his problems as hurdles to fly over. Jag was born missing portions of his arms and legs.
“Mom, why do monkeys jump in trees?” Jag asked one morning.
“I guess because they are just built that way,” his mom replied.
“So when I get big, I can jump in trees too!” he exclaimed. He thought he would grow arms and legs as he grew older.
Jag cried when Mom told him his body wasn’t built that way. “He only gets upset about his disability if it stops him from doing something, like riding bikes,” his mom says. Most of the time, Jag learns how to do what he wants to do.

Moving forward takes practice, advises Lazare of Georgia, a convert in the country bordering Russia and Europe. Learning to trust LDS friends was his first step, after which he agreed to accept a priesthood blessing. “Then I could move forward with the missionary discussions,” he explains. As Lazare’s faith in Jesus Christ increased, “I took the big step of baptism even though I wasn’t 100 percent certain. But the Lord gave me courage with each phase, and I am so grateful now that I did it.”

A few years ago I was at beautiful Jackson Lake in the Grand Teton National Park of Wyoming. Not far from the shore of that exquisite body of deep blue water at the foot of the Teton peaks, I bumped unexpectedly into a very close friend from my hometown. He was sitting in the shade of some tall pine trees, painting a scene of the beautiful Teton Mountains. I had known him intimately for many years but had no idea that he knew the first thing about a brush and landscape.

“For heaven’s sake, Jack, what are you doing up here in the mountains with a paint brush in your hand? How long have you been doing this?” I asked.

“I’ve been puttering around for just a few months, and it’s the most fun I’ve ever had. I’m almost done with this one. What do you think of it?” He showed me his painting. I was absolutely amazed that he could paint.

“But how did you learn to do this? A guy can’t just pick up a brush and start painting.”

“I guess my boy is the one who started me,” he said. “He took an art class in high school and went crazy over it. He showed me a few of the fundamentals. It’s much easier than you would think. And it’s fun!”

Whenever my car is sputtering and needs the careful diagnosis of a good mechanic, I take it to a particular friend of mine. This fellow’s brothers all prepared for life by studying law, medicine, or engineering. But my friend just seemed to love to tinker with cars. He has his own automotive repair shop (rather small), and it is a joy to take a car to him for repairs. He is the picture of contentment because he is doing what he really enjoys doing. He bubbles with enthusiasm as he repairs an ailing part. He perpetually flashes a warm and genuine smile, and it is a complete joy to see how much he enjoys mending an automotive ailment. He’s a very good mechanic, and each time I visit him I get the strong impression that he is much happier in life than his brothers who are in supposedly more lofty professions.

Another friend of mine is a prominent corporation lawyer. For years he’s had trouble sleeping at night. An ardent fisherman, he decided one restless night that he would try making the flies that fishermen use. The next day he bought some inexpensive equipment. He went completely overboard on flytying. He enjoyed it even more than fishing. In the space of a few years he must have tied half a million of those things, and he was proud of every single one of them. He became an expert.

A few summers ago our family visited Catalina Island just off the coast near Los Angeles. While there we visited the excellent aviary, which has the most interesting collection of birds I have ever seen. But even though the birds were fascinating, the most important part of the visit for me was the acquaintance I made with a man whom I shall never forget. He told me something that still lingers vividly in my memory, even though this must have been ten years ago.

He worked at the aviary. I first noticed him as he was feeding the birds in the cages. He seemed to know each bird individually, calling them by name and chatting with them as though they were children gathered around him. It was easily apparent that he loved every bird in the place, and the birds seemed to feel the same way about him. After he had finished his feeding chores, I felt compelled to talk to him for a moment.

“It was interesting to watch you feed the birds,” I said. “It’s easy to see that you enjoy your work here.”

“Yes sir, I enjoy it here more than I can tell you. In fact, I can’t think of a single person I would trade places with—none of the movie stars, none of the bankers or lawyers, none of the merchants, none of the presidents, premiers, or kings. I like it right here, and I like what I’m doing.” We chatted a few minutes longer. Then he said, “You know, mister, there is one important thing I’ve discovered in life—at least as far as I personally am concerned. It’s this: If you like what you do, and if you’re doing something that is really worthwhile, and if you do the best job you can do, then, brother, you’ve got it made!”

I have a friend who makes a living selling women’s shoes. But this fellow is much more than a shoe salesman. You should see his garden. What a gift! His yard is the envy of everyone within miles of his place. Talk about a green thumb! His petunias and marigolds and other plants just seem to realize that they are destined to be the best in the land, and I don’t think a clump of crab grass would dare invade his yard. But the nicest thing about this is to see the complete enjoyment he gets out of his great talent of gardening.

I have a friend named Doug whom I must tell you about. He went through school with an unexciting C+ average, and his current earning power is about in the same class—comfortable but not lavish. He has his share of aches and pains, and life has dealt him a full crop of the tougher problems that seem to accompany just about every family. Yet Doug is a man with a gift that is worth more than money can buy. He is a tremendously happy man, and there is no doubt that his happiness comes primarily from his one polished and perfected talent. Perhaps it might be called a knack rather than a gift or a talent. At any rate, it works.

Doug has the knack of absorbing real enjoyment out of the simple and ordinary happenings of each day. I suppose it could be called the knack of enjoyment—and he utilizes it in a fantastic fashion. A normal dinner at night with his wife and kids is a memorable thing for this fellow because he knows how to reap an unusual amount of enjoyment from the carefully set table, the taste of the food, and the conversation of each person, no matter how trivial. It’s as though he had been looking forward to this particular occasion for weeks. A day on the job to Doug seems a challenge, with new decisions and opportunities, while others doing the same thing may feel they’re in a repetitive rut. He can go to church and find a half-dozen worthwhile pearls in a sermon and make plans for adopting them in his own habits, while others sitting in the same service may grumble to themselves about how boring and empty the spoken word has been. When Doug’s golf game is sour, with a score that soars to 105, and his pant cuffs are filled with sand from the traps and prickly weeds from the rough, this guy can actually smile and talk about how great it was out there in the beautiful out-of-doors.

You see, Doug discovered many years ago that most people expected and anticipated a great wad of happiness to come to them when certain events or accomplishments just over the horizon of the future would materialize. Such events could be graduation, or marriage, or the birth of children, or the betterment of a job, or the acquiring of a home or a car. Anyway, Doug has always felt that life is now, and it should be enjoyed now. He taught himself how to enjoy the simple and ordinary things of each day that so often are taken very much for granted.

I once asked Doug to tell me the secret of this unusual gift that he possesses. He told me there were three things that he accentuates every day of his life. First, he tries to slow down in his path through life. He stops to listen to the laughter of children playing in the neighborhood. He takes time to notice flowers, gardens, and homes as he walks along a street. He enjoys each day and wants it to last. Secondly, he reminds himself many times each day that he is going to find happiness on that day! He always seems to be alert in the search. And third, he emphasizes how necessary it is to develop the ability to genuinely appreciate the many things in life for which we should be grateful. Appreciation!

Doug taught me that anybody can acquire his gift if they will strive diligently for it. It doesn’t take great intellectual ability, great physical strength, great heritage, great wealth, or great accomplishment. It’s open to anyone who is looking for a talent. Try it. It works.