We got some great letters from Meridian readers who shared life lessons with us this week. Read on for some stories that just might change your life.

Marta was nine when I met her. She was born in poverty to an LDS family in Nicaragua, and with a congenital heart defect. As she grew, it became apparent she would not survive until adulthood without surgery, so financial donors were found and arrangements were made to fly her to Utah for surgery at the Primary Children's Hospital. As part of those arrangements, she would live with my family before the surgery and while she recovered afterward.

I was twelve at the time, and I did not like her. We had just moved to Utah after living three years in Costa Rica , and I was trying to adjust to a new culture, new school and new friends. And, like many other twelve-year-olds, I was insecure and self-centered. Marta would get into my things while I was in school and that bothered me. And she would intentionally hurry and sit at my place at the dinner table just because she knew it made me mad. So mostly I ignored her, unless I had to speak to her, and then I was usually unkind.

When Marta entered the hospital, my heart began to soften. I thought how she was far from home in a place where nothing was familiar, and without family or friends for support. I thought how I might feel if I had been her, very much alone, and very much afraid, and I determined that when she returned I would make it up to her. I would be the friend I should have been when she arrived.

But I never got the chance. Marta died on the operating table.

It was nearly twenty years before I told this story to anyone and during that time my guilt hung heavily around my heart. In time, however, I became a little more forgiving of myself. But I did learn a couple life changing lessons from the experience. The first is, Be Nice. No matter what someone else has done, it is always best to just be nice to them. Second, if for some reason we aren't kind, repent quickly. There may come a day when the person is gone, and we will never get the chance to say, “I am sorry.”

Lori Wagner

Those are great lessons, Lori. I think we've all done things like that at one time or another, and those of us with good memories are haunted by them for a long, long time.

I remember when I was in high school, long before I joined the Church, that there was a girl who was a year or two older than I who was really scary. She was the kind of person that a grown man might cross the street to avoid passing.

One day I was driving somewhere and I saw her walking on the street in front of me. I was going to pass her. As I approached her I thought to myself, “If you just stop and offer her a ride and be nice to her, it could make a big difference in her life.” I almost did it, but at the last minute I chickened out and turned up a side street, going out of my way so I wouldn't have to pass her.

I thought I'd be nice to her next time, but that weekend she was walking in the middle of the street after dark, and got run over by a car and killed. I learned then that sometimes we don't have a second chance to do a good deed for others.

I had an experience some years ago that, on the surface, may have seemed trivial, but it indelibly affected my sense of the individual care and attention that our Heavenly Father bestows upon each and every one of his children.

I walk daily at a local beach, which affords me both the opportunity to exercise my dogs and time to ponder upon the things of the Spirit. At the time I had a young exuberant Vizsla male who was crazy about chasing balls. For some reason that day I had neglected to bring a ball with me to the beach, and this young dog was most unhappy about missing the best part of his daily routine. I felt bad, but hoped that he would eventually give up pestering me and find some way to amuse himself.

As I walked along the beach, mindful of both the beauty surrounding me and how fortunate I was to be able to enjoy this particular piece of God's creation, I distinctly heard a voice in my head direct me to, “Walk over there by that log, look down here, and you will find a ball.” I did so and amazingly enough, there was a ball hidden from view.

As I picked the ball up, and proceeded to throw it for my now deliriously happy dog, I was stunned at what had happened. In the grand scheme of things — heck, in the small scheme of things — having a ball to throw for my dog was not important, but the realization that Heavenly Father took such an intimate interest in even the most mundane things of my life, brought an incredible feeling of peace and joy to me. I knew that Heavenly Father knew me, loved me, cared about me and cared about every detail in my life. This knowledge has become part of the fabric of my soul — one that I draw upon daily.

I still get a chuckle thinking about how the Holy Ghost must have felt about this particular assignment. What a simple thing to do, and what a momentous result brought about by a beach, a dog and a ball.

Carol Best
Saanichton, British Columbia
Canada

What a neat story, Carol! And you're certainly right that the lesson you learned was much bigger than the event itself. Knowing that God is in the minutia of our lives is something that most people in the world can't even comprehend. I'm glad we have the gift of being given that assurance whenever we look for it — and sometimes when we aren't even looking.

Our next story shows how lessons can be learned in tragedy, but only if we choose to be taught:

I know there are many, many people that could tell the same story, learned in the same manner.  It is, however, the lesson that changed my life.

The coroner could never give us a reason why.  After all the examinations and tests, he found nothing.  There was no evidence of drugs, alcohol, injury, nothing. We were told, "Some people just die."

What were we to do?  There was no one to blame, no cause to fight for. We as a family and I as an individual, could choose to be mad at God or prove our faith by our actions and go on.

As the result I am a better person today than I believe I would have ever become without the trial of my faith.  I know today that there is no replacement for the joy of human life and love.  No amount of things or stuff will ever begin to compare with the value of a single day with my son.  People and relationships that build us up and lift us to greater levels of faith and action are the greatest gifts God has given us.  The lives we live are the greatest gifts we can give to God and his children, our companions here on earth.

Thanks for the courage of writing a letter that must have opened painful memories, Renee. You helped a lot of people today.

As I read the uplifting stories in today's column I wondered if I was the only person that learned a hard life lesson after doing something stupid.  I loved the letters and really cried reading the LDS in Iraq letter.  We have a son in Iraq and pray every day for his safety and the Lord's protection on him and on all those serving.

The lesson I learned was also several years ago.  I was a young mother with a husband in grad school.  We were far from home, and of the class of 100 we were only one couple of two that were LDS.  The other young LDS man/husband/father was at the top of the class.  He and his wife were a gorgeous couple who seemed to have everything.  We were friends outside of class and friends in the gospel.

At one gathering of wives of the students (mostly male), a very negative conversation started about this perfect couple and more pointedly about the wife, who was thin, talented, beautiful and confident.  The comments were NASTY!  I was among the group, and while I added nothing to the gossip, I didn't stand up for my LDS sister, either.

I felt bad that I'd said nothing but I think I was trying to “fit in” because my husband was not the favorite nor the most well liked.

On Sunday, my LDS friend came up to me at church.  She told me that she had heard about the horrible things said about her.  She told me that she was used to it (this was not said in a cocky, "I'm so great" way, but humbly).  Then she taught me the lesson that I have not forgotten in these 20+ years.  She said, "I understand why they were all talking about me, but what I don't understand is why you didn't stand up for me."

I wanted to shrink.   She and I were both members of the same Relief Society where “Charity Never Faileth,” and yet, charity failed in me that day.

Since that time I have tried to be the best friend I can be at all times.  I won't stand for any gossip even if I don't know the person being gossiped about.  I just won't participate or listen.  I have adopted the scripture from Romans 1:16 in the New Testament as my favorite scripture (only because one has to have a favorite).  “I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ.”  The gospel of Christ teaches us to stand up for and with our brothers and sisters, among many other things.

I am happy to report that I am still friends with the lovely woman of the story and yes, she is still thin, gorgeous, talented, and confident! 

Always learning the hard way and nearly 50 years old!

Terry Hummel
Cornville, Arizona

Terry, I think the strongest lessons we learn are often those where we acted shamefully and then realized the error of our ways. Thanks for revealing such a painful story from your past. How nice it was to learn that the woman who was maligned was such a good person that she forgave you for your mistake!

Our last letter today is also from a reader who learned from her own error. Here is her story:

Thirty years ago my sisters and I were caregivers for our mother for just three months while she was dying from cancer. A sister-in-law who had moved to town previously and was an RN taught me, a teenager, how to give a sponge bath and change bandages, anything else that was needed. However, I was not the kind of caregiver I wish I had been. I was okay with making food for my mother, even though she couldn't eat it, but I was filled with self-pity when it came time to bathe or help dress her. At one point I let her see my tears roll down my face as I bathed her. She touched my arm and said, "One day you'll be grateful you did this."