In 1972 I was a young coed at BYU; far from home, and very lonely. My grandparents’ home was only four hours away by bus, and I longed to be with someone I knew, someplace like home. There was only one problem- it cost ten dollars for the ticket. I had ten dollars, but it was my tithing money. Since I joined the Church two years before, I had conscientiously paid my tithing. Maybe, I could wait a couple of weeks to pay my tithing and visit my Grandparents now. After all, I reasoned, it was good to nurture family relationships, and I was even going to get some family history information from my grandmother. Perhaps, this visit could even count as missionary work since my grandparents weren’t members of the Church. My justified dreams faded away in the bright knowledge that there was no excuse for not paying my tithing. This money was the Lord’s, not mine.
Though not joyful, I determinedly paid my tithing and resigned myself to staying in Provo. I knew I had made the right choice and I felt at peace.
A couple of days later, I was crossing campus. It was a beautiful, warm fall day. As I was walking in front of the library, I saw a young man in the distance who I recognized. He was a member of my ward and I had heard that he was the son of one of my grandparents’ neighbors, but he never had even noticed that I existed. Now, he kept coming toward me and looking straight at me. A few feet from me, he stopped; smiled, and informed me that he was giving a few girls a ride when he was going home that weekend. He asked if I wanted to come and told me I didn’t have to pay anything for the gas since he was going anyway. “Yes!” was my surprised and thrilled answer.
Though this young man never again spoke to me and no one has ever offered me a another free ride, I’ll always be grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who comforted a homesick young woman, but most of all, for His giving me the opportunity to gain a testimony of tithing. I now knew that I would be watched over if I paid my tithing first and faithfully.