Gospel Story Finder

One woman wanted more than anything else to marry a righteous priesthood holder in the temple and be a mother and a wife. She had dreamed about this all her life, and oh, what a wonderful mother and loving wife she would be. Her home would be filled with loving-kindness. Never a bitter word would be spoken. The food would never burn. And her children, instead of hanging out with their friends, would prefer to spend their evenings and weekends with Mom and Dad.
This was her golden ticket. It was the one thing upon which she felt her whole existence depended. It was the one thing in all the world for which she most desperately yearned.
But it never happened. And, as the years went on, she became more and more withdrawn, bitter, and even angry. She could not understand why God would not grant her this righteous desire.
She worked as an elementary school teacher, and being around children all day long simply reminded her that her golden ticket had never appeared. As the years passed she became more disappointed and withdrawn. People didn’t like being around her and avoided her whenever they could. She even took her frustration out on the children at school. She found herself losing her temper, and she swung between fits of anger and desperate loneliness.
The tragedy of this story is that this dear woman, in all her disappointment about her golden ticket, failed to notice the blessings she did have. She did not have children in her home, but she was surrounded by them in her classroom. She was not blessed with a family, but the Lord had given her an opportunity few people have—the chance to influence for good the lives of hundreds of children and families as a teacher.

“I went into the service with four of my best buddies,” added Chip Herndon, an ex-marine who was wounded several times and spent a total of sixteen months in hospitals. “One stayed in and the other three died while they were in the service. So I felt like burying myself in the Church when I got home. I had a lot of time alone in the service, and I didn’t like being by myself. I was real glad to be active in the Church, even though it is still hard for me to open up at times.”

Amanda stood at the front window of the lighthouse keeper’s cottage and searched the angry white-capped sea again. There was still no sign of her father’s whaleboat. High waves crashed against the rocks, sending white spray high into the air before the wind snatched it away.
If only the storm hadn’t come up, she thought, Father would have been back with the doctor by now.
Baby Jonathan cried fretfully, and Amanda heard Mother’s soft, soothing voice as she comforted him. Then Mother called her name.
Amanda turned and hurried into the bedroom. “Is Jonathan any better?” she asked hopefully.
“His fever is still high,” Mother answered with a worried frown. She looked worn-out from her all-night vigil. Now it was late afternoon. As she replaced the damp cloth on Jonathan’s forehead, he closed his eyes for a moment. “Please bring me a basin of fresh water, Amanda. The cool cloths seem to help.”
Amanda hurried to the kitchen and drew a pan of water from the pump. A sudden gust of wind drove rain against the windowpanes.
The storm is getting worse, Amanda thought. But father is a strong man; he can row for miles without getting tired. And with the doctor’s help, they will make it safely. They just have to!
Amanda carried the basin of water into the bedroom and set it on the low stool beside Jonathan’s bed. “Father will be here soon,” she said, attempting a cheerful tone.
“If only this storm would pass,” Mother said. She wrung out a cloth in the cold water and wiped Jonathan’s flushed face, then laid the cloth on his forehead. A moment later Jonathan closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep. Amanda tiptoed from the room and closed the door softly.
The cottage seemed extra dark and dismal. Amanda put another log on the fire, to make the room more cheerful. Father and Dr. Benton will be hungry when they get here, she thought. Mother had planned to make stew for supper, so Amanda went into the kitchen and rekindled the fire in the cookstove.
Rain drummed on the roof, and the wind howled around the cottage. Amanda tried not to think about the storm as she prepared the meat and vegetables and put the stew on to simmer. Then she mixed a big batch of corn bread and put it into the oven to bake.
Time passed slowly, but finally the corn bread was out of the oven and cooling, and the stew was thick and rich. The mouth-watering smells made Amanda hungry. It was long past suppertime, and her father still had not come. Amanda lit the lamps and added another log to the fire in the fireplace. She opened the bedroom door quietly and entered with a lighted candle when she heard Jonathan whimpering. “Supper is ready,” she whispered. “Shall I bring you something to eat?”
Mother set the flickering candle on the nightstand and shook her head. “I must have dozed. Is your father back with the doctor yet?” she asked as she bent over the baby.
“No,” Amanda answered. “And it’s almost dark.”
Suddenly Mother put her hand to her face and gasped. “The beacon! Oh, Amanda, how could I have forgotten! The beacon must be lit!”
“Do you want me to stay with Jonathan?” Amanda asked.
Her mother shook her head. “You will have to light the beacon tonight. I can’t leave him.”
Fear tingled down Amanda’s spine at the thought of climbing the circular staircase to the lighthouse tower, more than fifty feet above the ground. When father became lighthouse keeper last spring, she had tried to climb up and watch him light the lamps. But she could never force herself to climb to the top of the tower. “I—I can’t,” Amanda whispered.
“You must!” her mother insisted. “Your father’s life and the lives of many others may depend on that light tonight. Be sure to trim the wicks and polish the reflectors before you fill the reservoirs of the lamps with oil and light them. Go quickly, dear. You must not waste another minute!”
Amanda hurried to the kitchen and got Father’s lantern. Her hand trembled as she lit it. Then she wrapped her shawl tightly around her head and shoulders and stepped out into the storm. The wind tore at her skirt as she started up the long path to the lighthouse. She leaned into the wind and struggled up the hill. When Amanda reached the lighthouse at last, she opened the door and quickly stepped inside. It was a relief to be out of the storm.
Amanda held her lantern high. In the middle of the floor the circular staircase disappeared up into the darkness above. Amanda felt like she was standing at the bottom of a deep well. Her heart beat wildly.
“This time I must climb to the top,” she said as she grasped the handrail and started to climb. Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the iron steps as she went round and round, climbing higher and higher. A wave of dizziness swept over her. Amanda clung tightly to the cold handrail and waited for the feeling to pass. She wanted desperately to run down the steps and back to the warm, cozy cottage.
“You must light the beacon!” she told herself sternly. “Somewhere out there in that awful storm Father may be watching for the light to guide him home.” She tried to force herself to let go of the handrail, but her fingers seemed to be frozen in place.
“Please, Heavenly Father, help me to find the courage to go on,” she prayed. Slowly her fingers loosened their grip. She took a step up, then another.
When she reached the top, Amanda didn’t even take time to breathe a sigh of relief. Quickly she set to work trimming the wicks of the nine lamps and polishing the big shiny reflectors. She found the can of oil for the lamps, then carefully filled and lit each one.
Taking her lantern, Amanda slowly wound her way down the staircase and out into the storm again. When she reached the porch, she stopped and looked back at the long fingers of light reaching out over the raging water. She wondered how far it could be seen in the storm. “The beacon is lit,” she said softly when she reached her mother.
Mother put her arm around Amanda. “You were very brave, dear. I know how much you dread heights. Go and have something to eat now.”
Amanda had finished supper and washed the dishes when she heard footsteps on the back porch. She rushed to open the door. “Father!” she cried. “And Dr. Benton! I’m so glad you’re safe! I was afraid you were lost in the storm.”
“We were until we saw the beacon,” Father said.
The two men took off their oilskins and left them on the porch. They warmed themselves by the fire for just a moment, then hurried in to see Jonathan. Amanda curled up in a chair by the fireplace to wait.
When she opened her eyes again, it was morning and her father was shaking her gently. “I thought you would like to know that you saved three lives last night,” he said. “Jonathan’s fever just broke. Dr. Benton told me he is going to get well.”

As soon as sacrament meeting ended, I headed straight for my Sunday School class. I couldn’t wait to see the guys.
Matt, Tom, Brendan, and I had been friends since before I could remember. We liked the same sports teams, music, clothes, and food. That was why our Sunday School class was so fun. We stuck together—we always had.
As we settled into our seats, our teachers, Brother and Sister Weston, came in. Before he sat down, Brother Weston asked, “Did you boys know someone is missing from our class?”
“No way,” I said. “We’re all here!”
“It’s great that you four always come to Sunday School,” Sister Weston said. “But there is one boy on our class roll who hasn’t ever come. His dad told me he’s coming next week. We’d like your help welcoming him.”
“Great! What’s his name?” Matt asked.
“Do any of you know a boy named Ronny Saunders?”
“That kid is bad news,” Tom said. “I’ve seen him around my school. He gets into fights all the time.”
The room was quiet. Ronny didn’t sound like someone who’d fit into our Sunday School class.
“Well, even if that’s true,” Sister Weston said, “he still deserves the blessings from coming to Sunday School. I want all of you to think of something you can do to welcome Ronny next week.”
Nobody said anything.
“Just think about it,” Brother Weston said. “Pray about it too.”
After church my friends and I hung around to talk about welcoming Ronny.
“We can at least be nice to him,” I said. It was hard to imagine someone else in our class. We already got along great. But maybe Ronny liked some of the same things we did.
“I don’t know,” Tom said. “I don’t think Ronny will let us be nice to him. He’ll probably just get mad—like I said, he’s bad news.”
“We should pray about it, like Brother Weston said,” Brendan suggested.
I nodded. “Good idea.”
The next week, I went to Sunday School. I’d prayed about Ronny joining our class. I knew no matter how he acted, I should be kind and welcoming. I waved at my friends, who smiled back nervously.
I’d barely sat down when Brother Weston said, “Boys, meet your new classmate.”
Ronny stood frowning in the doorway. His dark hair fell over his face. His gray pants were closed at the waist with a safety pin. The buttons on his shirt pulled apart, and his black plastic jacket was torn at the shoulder.
I braced myself. “Welcome to Sunday School,” I squeaked, hoping he wasn’t going to beat me up for it.
To my surprise, Ronny’s frown disappeared. He gave a small smile. “Thanks,” he muttered.
Tom shocked everyone by walking up to Ronny and giving him a huge bear hug. Ronny was the most surprised of all, but his smile grew even bigger.
“Hey, Ronny,” Matt said. “Sit next to me.” He offered the empty chair next to him.
Ronny didn’t seem like bad news at all. Brendan gave the opening prayer, and Brother Weston started our lesson. Our classroom felt better than ever. Ronny was going to fit right in.

The president of the Cardston Temple told me this incident. He said, “A group of young people came to go through the temple for the first time to do baptisms for the dead. After they had gone through two or three baptismal sessions and were about ready to go back home, I suggested that they could come down to my office and I would attempt to answer any questions they might have. I talked to them about their own baptisms. I said, ‘After your own baptism, you were told to receive the Holy Ghost, which means that the Holy Ghost will guide and bless you if you are worthy. If anyone should oppose you, or bring harm to you, you can overcome that opposition by the influence of the Holy Ghost.’
“I looked around and saw a pleasant young girl sobbing. She said, ‘When I was baptized, my mother cursed me. Every time I would go out she was vile and called me wicked names. When I told her I was going to the temple, she profaned and said I was no daughter of hers. I have been fasting ever since I left home that here in the temple I would be given a guide and the power to overcome the opposition of my mother. I was going away disappointed. But now, at the last moment, you have given me the key.’ A smile lit up on her face as she said, ‘I am going to bring Mother within the influence of the power of the Holy Ghost which I have a right to enjoy.’”
Then the president said, “Weeks went by, and a letter came from this girl. The letter said, ‘When I returned home and entered the house, mother greeted me similarly to the way she had when I left, by profaning. On other occasions I had fought back, but this time I walked over and put my arm around her shoulder and said, “Mother, I am not going to quarrel with you today. I want you to come over on the couch and sit down beside me. I want to tell you something.” This surprised Mother. As we sat down, we touched cheeks so that in actuality the Spirit would emanate from me to her, and I bore my testimony. I told her what a wonderful experience I had had in the temple. And to my amazement, Mother burst into tears and begged my forgiveness.’
“The girl closed her letter by saying, ‘We are now preparing Mother to be baptized a member of the Church.’”

He was a very traditional Navajo, and he taught us many of the Navajo ways. I learned not to be so inquisitive, because this is considered bad form in the Navajo culture. When I stopped asking questions, and when the mood suited him, he would tell us about his life. He took us out to the river and his other favorite places. He showed us foxholes and where the coyotes had been. He taught us to herd sheep. He showed us how he built the tall, black-robed figures that had ended our first visit. They were not designed to terrify sister missionaries but to frighten away coyotes that might harm his flock.
He loved his sheep and would take them miles each day in search of the best grass. He took the lambs inside with him when the nights were cold. He was a very caring man.

Although I was raised in the Church, I became less active when I was 18. Later, when I moved from eastern Germany to Frankfurt, I was invited to live with a member family. I knew this could be an opportunity for me to have a new start and become active in the Church again.

In the 1940s while serving as the executive officer of the National Council of Farmer Cooperatives in Washington, D.C., I saw in a Hilton Hotel a placard depicting Uncle Sam, representing America, on his knees in humility and prayer. Beneath the placard was the inscription, “Not beaten there by the hammer and sickle, but freely, responsibly, confidently. … We need fear nothing or no one save God.”
That picture has stayed in my memory ever since: America on her knees in recognition that all our blessings come from God! America on her knees out of a desire to serve the God of this land by keeping His commandments! America on her knees, not driven there in capitulation to some despotic government, but on her knees freely, willingly, gratefully! This is the sovereign remedy to all of our problems and the preservation of our liberties.

After many members of the early Church gathered to Nauvoo, they set about building a temple. In just six months, from October 1840 to April 1841, the foundation stones were set and the cornerstones were laid. The baptismal font was finished, dedicated, and put to use while the rest of the building continued to be worked on. In those days the font and the oxen were made from wood.
The temple was dedicated just as the Saints were being forced out of the city. The beautiful temple that they had worked so hard to erect was soon desecrated by mobs and set on fire by arsonists, almost totally destroying it. Eighteen months later, a tornado struck the structure and toppled the remaining walls.

Toby looked down at the ring Jerome had slipped onto his third finger. “It will keep us close while I am on my mission,” Jerome had said, smiling down at his ten-year-old brother.
Toby knew how special this ring was to Jerome. Their great-uncle had made it and given it to him when he was ordained to the priesthood. The band was silver, and Uncle had painstakingly carved “LDS” out of turquoise and soldered it to the band. Toby had never seen the ring off Jerome’s finger. “I won’t take it off my finger until I return it to you in two years,” he had promised the handsome missionary.
“Get up, Wind Wolf,” Grandfather called early the next morning. He used Toby’s Indian name only when he wanted him to hurry. “Today we must plant the corn, and old Grandfather Sun will scorch our backs if we do not begin soon.”
Toby quickly dressed, ate a biscuit, drank a glass of milk, and hurried outside. He loved helping Grandfather plant the corn, and he knew that if he kept busy, he wouldn’t miss Jerome as much.
Grandfather dug holes with the narrow, wooden spade that he had made himself. Toby crawled along the rows, dropping two kernels of corn into each hole from the leather pouch he wore around his neck. The sun caused bright sparkles to dance across the silver band on Jerome’s ring, making Toby squint at times.
When all the corn had been planted, Toby and Grandfather looked around at the large plot, pleased with their work.
Still on his knees, Toby reached up to wipe his forehead. He gasped. “Jerome’s ring! It’s gone!” He jumped up, looking frantically.
Grandfather placed his hand on Toby’s shoulder. “Nothing will be accomplished by acting like a chicken with its head cut off. You walk up and down these rows and look for the ring. I will do the same on the rows over there.”
But they did not find the ring.
“Oh, Grandfather, what can I do? The ring means so much to Jerome.”
“There is One who knows where the ring is,” Grandfather said, kneeling on the ground.
Of course! Heavenly Father knew where the ring was. He would help them find it. Toby knelt beside his wise grandfather.
“Now I am sure that I will find it,” Toby said. He got up and began to slowly walk up and down each row again.
But the ring still couldn’t be found.
“Why doesn’t Heavenly Father show me where the ring is?” Toby asked impatiently. “He knows that Jerome is serving him.”
“We will ask again tonight and look again tomorrow,” Grandfather said.
The next morning Toby was on his hands and knees when the sun cast its first beams across the field. He crawled along each row, looking desperately for the ring. Grandfather found him slumped against the hogan. “Grandfather, I have prayed many times and have gone over every inch of the cornfield. Why doesn’t Heavenly Father show me where it is?”
“Heavenly Father knows where the ring is, Toby. If he wants us to find it, we will—but in his own time.”
“Why wouldn’t he want me to find it right now?”
“Maybe there is something you need to find even more than the ring,” Grandfather answered.
“What would I need to find more than Jerome’s ring?”
“That is something you must find out for yourself.”
Sometimes Grandfather doesn’t make any sense, Toby thought. If my prayer isn’t answered right now, the ring will be lost forever.
But it was not found that day, either.
Each morning Toby got up early and made his way slowly and carefully through the cornfield, hoping to see the turquoise initials popping up through the soil. It did not happen. He was very discouraged, but he continued to ask Heavenly Father to help him find the ring.
“Why don’t you fast about it?” suggested his good friend Vincent.
Toby remembered the lesson his Primary teacher had given on fasting and on how miracles may happen when fasting and prayer are used together. He had thought that that was just for grown-ups. The more he thought about it now, however, the more he liked the idea.
It was hard going to school without breakfast, and even harder when all his friends brought out their lunches, but at the end of the school day, he felt good inside. He did not find the ring as he went through the cornfield that evening, but he did find peace. He felt very close to Heavenly Father.
One early morning a few weeks later, Toby heard his grandfather call, “Wind Wolf, come quickly!”
Toby ran outside wondering what was wrong. “Where are you, Grandfather?”
“Here in the cornfield.”
“What is it? Is something wrong?”
Grandfather pointed at a small, green plant sticking up through the brown soil.
“Jerome’s ring!” Toby fell on his hands and knees to see better. The bright, green cornstalk had grown through the silver band and lifted the ring right out of the ground. “It is as if the cornstalk is handing it to me.” Toby carefully lifted it from the tender seedling.
That evening when Grandfather was hoeing in the cornfield, Toby wanted to be near him. “Grandfather, you are very wise.”
“Many years make much experience; much experience makes much wisdom.” Grandfather smiled at Toby.
“I think I know now what it was that I needed to find more than Jerome’s ring.”
Grandfather sat down and leaned against a fence post. “Tell me,” he said, motioning for Toby to sit beside him.
“Well, if I had found Jerome’s ring right away, I would never have prayed all the times I did. I knew that I really needed Heavenly Father’s help, so I prayed differently than I usually do. I really talked to him. And when I fasted, I felt really good.”
“So what did you find, my grandson?”
“I found Heavenly Father’s love for me, Grandfather.”
Neither Toby nor Grandfather said anything for a time. Then Grandfather said, “Tomorrow you must write to your brother about his first convert.”

Four years ago I made a personal commitment to write to my 94-year-old grandmother every week for the rest of her life. My mother has been caring for her for several years, and because my grandmother’s eyesight is failing, Mother reads my letters to her.
It hasn’t been easy to write every week, but as I have struggled to fulfill my commitment, two specific blessings have come into my life. The first blessing was one I expected—the joy of knowing that both my mother and my grandmother would come to know and love our five children as they read about our daily activities and experiences.
The second blessing came after I had written the letters for one year. Without my knowledge, my mother had kept each letter I sent. After accumulating a year’s worth of letters, she bundled up the stack and mailed the letters back to me.
As I reread my old letters, I discovered I had a detailed family journal in my hands Although I recorded major events in my personal journal, detailed accounts of our family’s day-to-day activities were kept alive in the pages of my letters. This unexpected family journal paints a vivid picture of our family life and will help our posterity know what we were like as a young, growing family.

“You know what I wish, Mother?” Tina asked. “I wish I had a little house of my very own.”
“That’s a nice wish,” said Mother as she put on her oven mitts and set the casserole on the table. “Please tell Marlene and your dad it’s time for supper now, dear.”
Tina went down the hall. I’m going to make me a house of my own tomorrow, she decided.
The next day while helping her dad rake the dead leaves, Tina found the perfect place for a house. It was under the spruce trees that separated the yard from the neighbor’s.
Tina raked out all the dead grass from under the trees and all the spruce needles and bits of paper that had blown and caught there during the winter. She discovered that the branches came almost down to the ground and made a perfect house at the bottom of the tree.
Dad gave her an old rug to lay on the ground, and the space beneath the branches was even big enough for her table and chairs. Eating her lunch under the tree was great fun. But that evening the weatherman on television predicted rain, so Tina and her dad had to put all her things back into the garage.
In the morning it was too stormy to play outside in her house again. Tina decided to make a house under the dining room table out of blankets and chairs and the cushions from the den. She set out her little dishes under one chair. Her baby doll Amanda had a nursery under another chair. And there was even a bedroom for another doll.
But after a couple of days of having the blanket house in the dining room, the rest of the family began to complain.
“What’s the mess in there with all the blankets?” Tina’s big sister Marlene asked.
“It’s Tina’s house, dear,” replied her mother. “She’ll take it down before Sunday when Grandma comes to dinner.”
“Can’t you make her clean it up now? Shawn is coming over to do homework and it looks just awful.”
Then Dad asked, “Where are all the cushions from the den? I wanted to take a nap.”
It was always the same. Tina’s fun never lasted very long. She wanted a house she didn’t have to move because company was coming or because it was going to rain or just because she was in somebody’s way.
“Jim wonders if we would store his ice fishing shanty here for the summer,” Tina’s dad announced one day at lunch. Tina loved her dad’s youngest brother. He had no family of his own, and he often came to visit them. Uncle Jim was a big man with a light brown beard that tickled.
“I guess he misses not having a backyard since he moved into an apartment,” said Mother. “I’m sure we can find a place for his fish shanty.”
On Saturday Tina watched her uncle back his pickup truck into the yard. He slanted some planks from the back of the truck to the ground and Tina’s dad helped him slide the little wooden house down onto the grass in the corner of the yard.
Tina watched from her swing. It was a neat little house, smaller than the toolshed but tall enough in the center for a man to stand up. It was painted yellow and had brown shingles on the roof. There was a stovepipe with a cloth tied around it coming out of one wall.
Uncle Jim stopped to give Tina a hug and a tickle with his beard. “There you are, pumpkin,” he said, “a house for you to play in.”
“For me?” Tina asked.
“It’s all yours until next winter,” he promised.
Tina jumped out of the swing and ran to look inside the little house. It had one window in the back opposite the door, and there was a bench fastened to one wall. Across from the bench was a shelf. But the floor had two large round holes. Why would anyone build a house with holes in the floor? she wondered.
Tina ran into the big house and found Uncle Jim at the kitchen table. He grinned at his niece. “Well, what do you think?”
“It’s a wonderful little house, Uncle Jim! Can I really play in it?”
“Sure you can. Your dad’s going to nail some plywood over the holes in the floor. Wouldn’t want you to catch your foot in one.”
“What are the holes for?”
“I fish through them. The lake is frozen when I put the shanty out each winter. I cut holes in the ice with a long drill called an ice auger and put my lines down through the holes into the water. The shanty protects me from the weather. It gets so warm inside that I have to take my parka off—almost forget how cold it is outside.”
“You’ll be Tina’s friend for life,” said Mother. “She’s been wanting a playhouse.”
“Well, about Christmastime I’ll have to borrow it for two or three months, if that’s OK with you.”
“Oh, yes!” said Tina. “Thank you, Uncle Jim.” She felt a smile spreading over her face and she put both arms around Uncle Jim’s neck and hugged him hard.
“You’re welcome, pumpkin. I needed a place to store it, so we’re helping each other.”
Tina went to the garage to get her table and chairs. She stopped on the way to admire the little house again. It was just what she had dreamed about, and she would never have to put it away—even when it rained.

When I was preparing for a mission, there was a quota in the United States on religious deferrals granted to the Church, affecting how many could serve because of the Vietnam conflict. Only two young men per ward were allowed to serve missions, and there were 17 eligible priests in our ward. The quota was filled by chronological age, and I was number 14 of 17. I learned about pondering and praying when I wondered how I was going to fit into this quota. I thought I would go on a mission within the next couple of years, or wait until either the Vietnam conflict was over, or go when I was 25 years old and no longer subject to the draft or the quota system.
I received some wise advice from my bishop, who advised me to “pursue a mission now.” The only way I could do that was to enlist in the military and receive a change of status, but I pondered and prayed about it because I knew that conflict was imminent, and I wasn’t sure that would really be the best direction. I had to ask myself some hard questions. I had been accepted into a master’s program in architecture at the University of Utah for a five-year course that I did not want to interrupt. But it didn’t feel right to postpone my mission, so I had gone to the bishop and asked for his suggestion. He said, “Prepare and go now.”
Deciding to serve a mission was an expansion of faith driven by two possible options: “Do I do it now?” or “Do I do it later?” I had worked through the decision to go on a mission now, and a good bishop advised me to persevere toward a solution that would allow it to happen.
That solution came when I enlisted in the Air Force Reserves. After serving for one year, I was able to reclassify my status and thereby avoid being part of the mission quota. This change allowed me to go on a mission when I was almost 20. My mission was a wonderful experience that would not have happened had I not pondered, prayed, performed by seeking good guidance, and persevered.
Most of the group who went into the Air Force Reserves that year were a little older than I was, and I learned a lot from them. I remained worthy, and it was a wonderful thing to know that those who were with me recognized and appreciated my standards. Associating with those good people helped me to be a better missionary.

Persia talked about a happy day of her own—the day when President Kimball visited Manila for an area conference. “I saw him face to face! It was a wonderful experience! There were tears in my eyes when I saw him. I didn’t know what to think; I just felt. I knew he was a prophet.”

I have a friend who is living a very poor lifestyle. He always appears to be happy on the surface, and yet I know of the internal pain and suffering his choices have caused him. People may experience temporary relief from this pain through substance abuse, immorality, etc., but that is all it is—temporary. Living unrighteously is never fun.Jenna M., 18, Utah

“You are each to write a poem,” the teacher said. The girls in the third-grade class smiled at each other and quickly started writing. But the boys looked uncomfortable and wondered what they could write, especially Roberto.
The teacher told them that the one who wrote the best poem about mother would have a gold star pasted by his or her name on the blackboard. Roberto half closed his eyes, trying to imagine what it would be like to see his name with a big, shining golden star beside it. But his dream lasted only a moment for he was sure that no poem he wrote would ever be judged as the best one.
Roberto looked at the blank sheet his teacher had given him. He bounced his pencil on its eraser end and then started to make some marks on the paper. I could easily draw a star, he decided, lots of them; but that wouldn’t mean very much, not nearly as much as if a big, gold one were placed beside my name on the blackboard!
Debbie waved her hand. “I’m through,” she announced when the teacher called on her. “May I read my poem now?”
“All the poems will be read at three o’clock this afternoon and you may read yours first,” the teacher promised.
Promptly at three, the teacher called on Debbie who stood up proudly and read:
Mothers buy dresses and shoes and things.
They give us parties and rings.
We wish them a Happy Mother’s Day.
We hope mothers are here to stay.
Bobby was next:
Mothers make clown suits and lemonades
And fix sore toes with keen band-aids;
But there’s one thing she can’t do, and I wish she could—
That’s learn to like bugs, like mothers should.
Eagerly the children read the poems they had written for their mothers, all except Roberto. “I can’t make a poem,” he explained. “The words don’t rhyme.” The children exchanged amused smiles. “But I’ve written what I feel,” he continued, and then Roberto read:
Mothers … mothers make …
Well, mothers make you hurt inside …
When you haven’t got one.
He looked around at the boys and girls, expecting them to laugh because he couldn’t write a poem. They looked back at him. There was no laughter in their eyes.
And everyone in the third grade was glad when their teacher put a big, gold star on the blackboard next to the name of Roberto José Martinez.

Carly W. from Rexburg, Idaho, USA, is a busy helper. At home Carly helps out by taking care of her family’s cats, dogs, and chickens. Because Carly is one of the best students in her class at school, she helps other children with math and reading. In Primary, Carly’s singing helps other children to feel the Spirit.
Because Carly has done such a good job helping others, some of her friends decided to help her too.
Carly was born with a disease called spina bifida. This disease makes it hard for Carly to use all of her muscles. Doing things like walking on uneven ground and climbing up stairs can be hard for her. At school, Carly wasn’t able to play on the playground because the playground equipment was hard for her to use. There were other children who also couldn’t play on the playground equipment.
“Sometimes I felt bad and frustrated at recess because I couldn’t play on the playground,” Carly says.
One of Carly’s friends, Halli Jo, and Halli Jo’s mom decided to earn money to build a playground that Carly and all the other students at the school could use.
Halli Jo, her mom, and a lot of other people worked to earn money for the new playground. It took a lot of work, but they were able to earn enough money to build a new playground that all the students could play on.
“It was a lot of hard work,” Halli Jo says. “But it never made me sad to do the work—it just made me love Carly more.”
Carly is happy to be able to play on the playground with her friends. She says, “I like walking up the ramps and going down the slides. Me and my friends have fun together.”

Mark Barnett, 16, of Erdington, England, helped raise money for charity by taking part in a 25-mile walk around Birmingham. “The most exciting thing was seeing places I’ve never noticed before,” says Mark. “Walking gives you time to look properly.”
Mark recently won a medal in a church-sponsored regional swimming gala, and he enjoys seminary.

Alice plopped a scoop of noodles into her brother’s bowl. She loved her little brothers and sisters—all five of them! It felt good to help them. But it was hard being the oldest sometimes. Ever since the new baby came home, she had to help a lot more. So much was going on in her house!
“What did you learn about in church today?” Dad asked.
“Jesus!” Alice’s little sister Sarah said. She smeared applesauce across her plate.
Alice smiled. Sarah was pretty cute. And pretty messy too.
“I learned about President Kimball …” Alice started to say. But then Mom called from the other room. She needed Dad’s help with the baby.
“Sorry,” Dad said. “I’ll be right back.”
While Dad was helping Mom, Alice helped everyone else. Eric knocked over his glass of milk. Alice cleaned it up. Sarah started to cry. Alice gave her a hug. Clara wanted more noodles. Alice gave her some.
Even when Dad came back, the kitchen was still noisy and messy. Alice wished it was easier to feel peaceful.
Finally, lunch was over. Alice helped her siblings take their dishes to the sink. Alice was old enough to not break things. So she was in charge of washing the dishes. She filled the sink with soapy water.
I wish I never had to do chores, Alice thought. Then she remembered what she had learned in Primary about President Spencer W. Kimball. When he was young, he had to do chores too. He used to sing hymns when he milked the cow!
Alice imagined President Kimball singing a duet with a cow. She giggled.
Then she had an idea. She could be like the prophet! She got the hymnbook and opened it to the first hymn.
She had to keep it open somehow. Alice put the book on the windowsill. She tucked one edge of the book behind a potted plant. Then she tucked the other edge behind a heavy cup. Now she could see it while she worked.
While Alice scrubbed bowls, cups, and spoons, she sang the hymn. The warm, soapy bubbles felt good on her hands. And the song made her heart happy.
The next day, Alice sang again. And the day after that. She tried to remember the words of each hymn. Then she moved on to the next one. Alice learned new hymns too! She had taken piano lessons for a few years. When she didn’t know a hymn, she learned the notes on the piano.
Soon Alice didn’t mind washing dishes so much. Sometimes she even kind of liked it! It was nice to sing and think about Jesus. Learning each new hymn was like making a new friend. No matter how loud life got around her, the hymns helped her feel peace.

The first commandment instructs us to love the Lord with all our heart, might, mind, and strength, “And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.” (Matt. 22:37, 39.) We love our neighbors. We think they love us. I submit as evidence homemade lemon cream pies and salads that were brought to our home yesterday.
As food moves from their home to ours and from our home to theirs, my eternal companion is responding to her desire to be in the service of her fellow beings. This outward action is but an indication of what flows deeply inside her. She stands on higher ground and constantly extends her hand to lift me and her children by her exemplary action. Our five daughters, four of whom are married, and their loved ones have been most responsive to her. As she beneficially influences these eternal spirits, she is showing her love for the Lord. In my lifetime of Church service, she has always smiled approbation and encouragement. No man could have a more congenial, supportive companion.