Gospel Story Finder

I remember vividly, as a child, watching Aunt Fia make her bed with a lovely new bedspread she’d been given as a gift. She often said how beautiful it was and how it brightened her and Uncle Andrew’s home. How could she know? By then she was totally blind. How could she make her bed so perfectly and keep her house so tidy? I loved to watch her brush and braid her nearly knee-length hair and wind it neatly into a knot on top of her head. What amazed me most of all, however, was her ability to communicate with Andrew, her sweetheart husband, whose hearing was almost gone. He would come in for lunch from his outdoor chores, affectionately greet her, and through gentle touch they would communicate what they needed to know.
It was not until after they had both died that I learned of their love story—how Andrew, my grandmother’s brother, had worked and saved money three different times to bring Fia—Sophia Wahlgren—to America before the gracious lady with the sweet, musical voice could become his wife.
Sophia, was born in 1879 in Malmo, Skona, Sweden, the daughter of Henric Wahlgren and Ulrica Vadst. She had one brother, who died in infancy, and a sister named Mia. Her father, an interior decorator, provided a fine home. The family employed both a maid and a man-servant, and the children were given music lessons and many cultural advantages.
Fia was seven years old when she caught a cold that settled in her eyes. Her mother took her to a doctor, still serving his internship, who was a very close friend of the family. By some tragic mistake, he put carbolic acid in her eyes instead of boric acid, robbing her completely of sight in one eye and severely damaging the other.
The following year, Sophia’s mother died, and, at the age of eight, Sophia went to live with an aunt and an uncle. Her father went to Germany to further his studies and later died there. But he provided an inheritance for Sophia to obtain when she came of age, so that in her blindness she would not be in need.
As a young girl, she went one night with a friend to attend a Latter-day Saint gathering. Fia was extremely impressed and later said that the message of the missionaries sounded strangely familiar, as though she was not hearing it for the first time. She had a strong desire to meet with them again. But feelings against Latter-day Saint missionaries and converts were very great in Sweden at that time, and when her uncle learned where she had been, he was extremely upset. He told her she must never go again. She stayed away for one week but could not forget the messages she had heard. In spite of her uncle’s warnings, she went again to the meetings.
Fia had a lovely singing voice and one night was asked to sing and play her guitar at a Latter-day Saint social. Andrew Christofferson, a missionary from Lehi, Utah, attended and heard her sing. He was deeply touched. When Fia learned he would soon be released from his mission and planned to go to Germany before his return home, she asked if he would visit Mia, her sister, who was in Germany at that time. He was happy to honor her request.
Missionary discussions continued for Fia, and when she turned eighteen, she asked for baptism. It was November, and the ice had to be broken on the Baltic Sea in order for the missionaries to baptize her. The ordinance was performed at night because of continuing opposition to the Church in that area. When her uncle learned of her commitment, he told her that, if she did not give up her religion, she must leave and would be disinherited. Fia’s testimony was strong, and she refused to give up that which she knew to be true. Although handicapped by her poor vision, she left her uncle’s home and went out on her own, getting a job in a match factory packing matches.
Andrew Christofferson, who had returned to Lehi, corresponded with Fia, asking her to come to Utah. She wanted to emigrate, but she didn’t earn enough money to afford the voyage, so Andrew saved until he could send the money for her passage. She traveled to England where she boarded a boat for the United States. As she landed in Boston, an immigration officer noted her poor eyesight and refused her entry; her poor vision would cause her to be a burden on his country. Sadly she returned to England.
When Andrew learned what had happened, he determined to try again. Once again, he worked and saved and sent her the boat fare. He told her to try entry at New York City this time. Again Fia was refused entry because of her poor vision.
As Fia returned once again to England, she was befriended by a group of missionaries on their way to Europe. The missionaries took Fia to the mission home with them in Liverpool, England, where Elder Heber J. Grant of the Council of the Twelve presided with his wife and young daughters. Sister Grant found Fia sobbing in the hall as she waited with the elders, who were to be interviewed by their mission president. Through an interpreter, Sister Grant learned of Fia’s unsuccessful attempts to go to Zion. Also discovering that the young girl had no place to go and no money, Sister Grant felt compassion for Fia and asked if she would like to remain at the mission home to work as a maid. Fia gratefully accepted, though she had never had any experience as a domestic servant.
As they became better acquainted, Sister Grant realized that Fia had received a good education and possessed impressive musical talents. In spite of the fact that she had never done housework before, Fia knew how things should be done. She took pride in her work. Her disposition was so delightful that the whole family soon grew to love her. They marveled at her abilities, her patience, and her sweet spirit. They said she never spoke a cross word but always sang and gave praise to her Heavenly Father for the blessings she had received. Along with housekeeping duties, her first responsibility was the care of the two youngest Grant girls, Emily and Frances. Elder and Sister Grant traveled frequently on the continent, supervising the many areas of the European Mission, and they felt fortunate to know their daughters were under Fia’s care.
Fia believed in cold-water “Swedish” baths. Without a water heater in the bathroom, those who wanted a warm bath had to heat the water downstairs and carry it upstairs to the bathtub a bucket at a time, so Swedish baths were much more convenient. Each morning Fia filled the tub with cold water, tying a bag of rock salt to the faucet and letting the water run over it to simulate sea water. The squirming, protesting little girls were then given their morning “dip in the ocean.” After a quick bath, Fia rubbed them vigorously with a large fluffy towel. They said later that they hated their baths, but they loved Fia so dearly they were willing to endure them to please her.
Meanwhile, in Utah, Andrew Christofferson was unable to forget the lovely girl he’d fallen in love with. He remained single and continued to save money in hopes Fia would one day be able to make a successful journey to Utah.
As the mission term for the Grant family came to a close, President Grant decided to try to get Fia into the United States. He booked passage for her as a nurse for his children and hoped that as he was prepared to support her for the rest of her life, there would be no trouble with the immigration authorities. When their ship landed in New York, the excitement of returning home was nearly forgotten in the concern the Grant family had over whether Fia would be able to remain with them. But things went much easier than they had hoped. The immigration officers asked no questions and made no examinations. Fia was in!
The Grant family arrived in Salt Lake shortly before Christmas 1906. Fia was a most welcome addition. Elder Grant even talked of adopting her legally. Perhaps because of her age this was never done, but she was no longer considered hired help; she was loved and treated as a family member.
When Andrew Christofferson learned that Fia was living in Salt Lake City with the Grants, he wasted no time in calling to court her. Several months later, he asked Elder Grant for permission to marry Fia. Sophia and Andrew were married in the Salt Lake Temple on 14 June 1907 with Elder Grant performing the ceremony.
Andrew took his bride to Lehi to live in a very modest cottage. Circumstances were quite different from those to which she had been accustomed. The adjustments she had to make must have been difficult indeed. But Fia had never regretted giving up a life of ease for the sake of the gospel, nor did she regret giving up life in the comparative luxury of the Grant home for life on a small farm. She was cheerful and pleasant and made the best of her surroundings. She learned many new skills as a farmer’s wife and helped care for her mother-in-law as well.
In time their home was blessed with two sons and two daughters: Grant, Reed, Mia, and Ellen. The first boy was named after Heber J. Grant.
Because the light was very painful to her eyes, Fia seldom went out in public, but people were attracted to her home. She was known far and wide for her warm hospitality. All who came into her home felt her love. They were entertained and fed and, if downcast, were cheered and encouraged.
Aunt Fia’s one sadness was the loss of contact with her family in Sweden. To her knowledge, she was the only family member to have accepted the gospel. She always felt a keen responsibility toward her relatives and ancestors. She did what she could to secure their genealogy and have the temple work done for them.
Her dear Andrew died 17 June 1954. Aunt Fia lived alone in her home until she suffered a stroke a few months before her death. She was taken into the home of her devoted daughter, Mia, and cared for until she died suddenly of a heart attack on 8 May 1961, shortly before her eighty-second birthday.
Aunt Fia left memories that will be cherished by countless friends and relatives, and a legacy that will continue to bless many lives until we again enjoy the privilege of her friendship in the eternities.

A few years ago I was afforded the privilege to serve as a mission president and became intimately acquainted with almost 500 missionaries. We had one young missionary who was very ill. After weeks of hospitalization, as the surgeon prepared to undertake extremely serious and complicated surgery, he asked that we send for the missionary’s mother and father. He said that there was a great likelihood that Elder Davidson could not survive the surgery. The parents came; and late that evening, his father and I, in the hospital room in Toronto, Canada, placed our hands upon the head of that young missionary and gave him a blessing. What happened following that blessing was a testimony to me.
Elder Davidson was in a six-bed ward in the hospital. The other beds were occupied by five men with a variety of illnesses. The morning of Elder Davidson’s surgery, his bed was empty. The nurse came into the room with the breakfast these husky men normally ate. She brought a tray over to bed number one and said, “Fried eggs this morning, and I have an extra portion for you.” Bed number one was occupied by a man who was lying on his bed with his toe wrapped up in a bandage. He had suffered an accident with his lawn mower. Other than his injured toe, he was well physically. He said to the nurse, “I’ll not be eating this morning.”
“All right, we’ll give your breakfast to your partner in bed number two!” As she went over to him, he said, “No, I think I’ll not eat this morning.”
She said, “That’s two in a row. I don’t understand you men, and there is no one this morning in bed three.” She went on to bed four, bed five, and bed six; and the answer was the same. “No, this morning we’re not hungry.”
The young lady put her hands on her hips and said, “Every other morning you eat us out of house and home, and today not one of you wants to eat. What is the reason?”
And then the man who occupied bed number six came forth with the answer.
He said, “You see, bed number three is empty. Our friend Davidson is in the operating room under the surgeon’s hands. He needs all the help he can get. He is a missionary for his church; and while he has been lying on that bed while we have been patients in this ward, he has talked to us about the principles of his church—principles of prayer, of faith, of fasting wherein we call upon the Lord for blessings.” He said, “We don’t know much about the Mormon church, but we have learned a great deal about Davidson; and we are fasting for him today.”
I might tell you that the operation was a success. In fact, when I attempted to pay the surgeon, he countered, “Why, that would be dishonest for me to accept a fee. I have never before performed surgery when my hands seemed to be guided by a power which was other than my own. No,” he said, “I wouldn’t take a fee for the surgery which Someone on high helped me to perform.”
Elder Davidson framed his life with faith.

I also looked in my filing cabinet for my cheque book, because I wanted to attend tithing settlement on Sunday. I needed to write out a cheque for some extra tithing that I owed. I couldn’t remember the last time that I wrote a cheque for anything, so I had no idea where my cheque book was. When I eventually found it, I looked at the cheque stubs and saw that the last cheque that I had written was four years ago. It’s no wonder that the banks want to “phase” cheques out, because very few people use them anymore. The only thing that I used a cheque for in the past was to pay my tithing every month. Now that I pay my tithing using a standing order from my bank, I have no need to use cheques anymore. Once I had found my cheque book, I wrote out a cheque for the outstanding tithing that I owed this year and put it into my handbag.
Isn’t Heavenly Father kind to us? On the day that I wrote out a cheque for extra tithing, I found money and was given furniture equal to the exact amount that I had written out my tithing cheque for. I had read about these types of stories in the Ensign before, but it had never happened to me, until that day.

In school I had an assignment to create a family coat of arms. First I thought about what is important to my family. Then I started with a sheet of blue paper because I remembered the words from “Our Primary Colors” (Children’s Songbook, 258): “Blue is for truth in our thought and our deed.” Next I put on a green shield to remind me to choose the right, just like my CTR ring. I added a red heart on the shield because “red is for courage to do what is right,” and the heart is for the love that keeps our family together. I added a yellow Utah shape because I was born in Utah and because yellow is for “service from morning till night.” I added a picture of the world because my ancestors came from 14 different countries. I added a picture of the Book of Mormon because it is so important to my family. I added a picture of a baptism because we have to be baptized to return to live with Jesus. I added pictures of temples because they make it possible for our family to be together forever. And I added a white cat because I like cats and have two as pets. My teacher gave me a certificate for being the most creative, and she hung my shield on the wall for a long time. It also helped me to share the gospel with my friends.Rachel Mathews, age 8Valparaiso, Indiana

A canoe trip to an island in a nearby national park sounded like the perfect opportunity to get closer to my son. The Aaronic Priesthood leaders and the young men in our ward had been planning the trip for months, and I was able to accompany them.
My son McKay was in great condition, participating in three sports in high school. That’s probably one reason the leaders put us in the same canoe—they knew he could paddle hard if the need arose. I had some experience guiding a canoe, so we seemed like a good team.
I was also eager to have the time on the lake to talk. McKay had been through a lot since the death of his mother, and I hadn’t always been able to respond in the best way to his needs and interests.
We had training, we had life vests, we knew how to swim, and we had experienced leaders guiding us.
What we hadn’t counted on was the wind. We had paddled for several miles, then cut across the middle of the lake and were nearing the shore when an unusually strong headwind kicked up.
The other canoes were able to make it to shore, but McKay and I were in the final boat. The waves were picking up, and we were turning off course as we paddled and paddled, trying to make any progress at all. I was becoming exhausted and alarmed. I dug into the water and pulled with all my might, trying to steer us back on course, but we seemed to stay exactly in the same position.
We were in danger of capsizing when finally I admitted aloud that I didn’t know if I had the strength to continue. Then my son said, “You’re looking at the waves, Dad. You won’t get anywhere doing that. You’ve got to keep your eyes on the shore. See that tree on the hill? That’s our goal. Focus on that, and we’ll make it.”
He was right. Once I focused on the tree, I could stay on course. My arms felt renewed strength. McKay called cadence for the strokes—“Pull. Rest. Pull. Rest.” And steadily, we moved.
We reached the shore, others reached out to help, and we sat and caught our breath. That night in our tent we talked, father and son, about our experience.
Together, we remembered what President Thomas S. Monson has taught about the lighthouse of the Lord: “It beckons through the storms of life. It calls, ‘This way to safety; this way to home.’”1
That afternoon, a tree on the shore had been our lighthouse. When I was close to despair, my son had wisely counseled me not to look at the waves but to keep my eyes on the shore. And we had pulled together, in more ways than one.

The second point about the net that holds true for our sisterhood is that it didn’t happen accidentally or spontaneously. It took work. My father made this net with his own hands. He bought the hard-twist, double-ply twine at our local general store. Then he spent many hours in the evenings after work and on weekends patiently working. He started with this square right here where it would become the middle of the net. Then he worked outward in a circle, patiently knotting these other squares of a size that he could just get his thumb through. At every corner, he made a square knot so that each square of the mesh was solid and strong. If one strand caught on a rock or ripped through because it was weak, the squares next to it would not unravel. They would hold strong and firm.

And every time my father used this net, he took care of it. When he got home, he would rinse it thoroughly in fresh water so that the salt water would not weaken and eat through the fibers. Then he would hang it on the fence, shaking out the folds carefully so that it would dry quickly and evenly. When it was dry, before he folded it up and put it away, he went over the net minutely, inspecting the mesh. If a knot seemed to be loosening or if a string was frayed, he repaired it immediately, before it became serious. A net like this would last for many years. It would stay strong because he always took care of it.

I’m grateful for the example of a father who, as a busy executive of a great supermarket chain, still found the time to demonstrate by his concern that groceries were less important than his boy.

Like many young men, I once had a paper route; and I had to get up early in the morning to deliver them. One morning I woke up and looked outdoors to see one of those torrential Arkansas downpours. I thought we were in for another flood! As I prepared to go out in that rain, my father came into the room dressed in his business suit. “Get in the car, Paul,” he said. “I’ll drive you around your route this morning.” This meant that he would have to go without his own breakfast.

On that morning, in addition to the heavy rain, the papers came late. By the time we had them delivered, it was considerably past the hour that my father had to be to work. And on this particular morning he had scheduled a very important board meeting.

He arrived at the meeting late, walked into the board room, and announced, “I’m sorry I’m late, gentlemen, but I had to deliver my papers this morning.”

Do you think that there was ever any doubt in my mind as to my father’s greatest concern? Interestingly, I don’t recall too many lessons my parents verbally taught, but their example is still a part of me till this day.

I once visited a mission in southern Europe. I arrived on the day a new missionary was preparing to return home at his own insistence. He had his ticket to leave the next day.

We sat together in the mission president’s home. The missionary told me about his challenging childhood, of learning disorders, of moving from one family to another. He spoke sincerely of his inability to learn a new language and adapt to a new culture. Then he added, “Brother Andersen, I don’t even know if God loves me.” As he said those words, I felt a sure and forceful feeling come into my spirit: “He does know I love him. He knows it.”

I let him continue for a few more minutes, and then I said, “Elder, I’m sympathetic to much of what you’ve said, but I must correct you on one thing: you do know God loves you. You know He does.”

As I said those words to him, the same Spirit that had spoken to me spoke to him. He bowed his head and began to cry. He apologized. “Brother Andersen,” he said, “I do know God loves me; I do know it.” He didn’t know everything, but he knew enough. He knew God loved him. That priceless piece of spiritual knowledge was sufficient for his doubt to be replaced with faith. He found the strength to stay on his mission.

On an afternoon a few months ago, Susan and I inventoried our food storage and emergency supplies. At the time, COVID-19 was spreading rapidly, and a series of earthquakes had jolted our home in Utah. We have worked since the earliest days of our marriage to follow prophetic counsel about preparing for unforeseen challenges, so “examining” our state of readiness in the midst of the virus and earthquakes seemed like a good and timely thing to do. We wanted to find out our grades on these unannounced tests.
We learned a great deal. In many areas, our preparatory work was just right. In some other areas, however, improvement was necessary because we had not recognized and addressed particular needs in timely ways.
We also laughed a lot. We discovered, for example, items in a remote closet that had been in our food storage for decades. Frankly, we were afraid to open and inspect some of the containers for fear of unleashing another global pandemic! But you should be happy to know that we properly disposed of the hazardous materials and that health risk to the world was eliminated.

It’s too bad when true friendships are ruined. Consider this example: Two close friends had a lot of interests in common. Unfortunately one of their common interests was a boy. One friend got angry because the boy paid more attention to the other one. After that fight, they never had anything more to do with each other. Each one refused to make the first move to apologize, so they avoided each other all through their high school years.

Five years later, they met at a party. They started talking and discovered they still had many things in common. They became close friends again, and a few months later, one asked the other to be her maid of honor at her upcoming wedding. They were grateful to have rediscovered their friendship, but they were both unhappy that they wasted five years when they could have been enjoying each other’s company. Maybe you can help your friends discover that they really would still like to be friends (see James 3:16–18).

“I can’t play with you tomorrow,” David told his best friend Kevin.
“Why not?” Kevin asked.
“Tomorrow Daddy will be home from the store and Brian and Carol will be home from school and we’re all going to clean up the yard,” David explained.
“All day?” Kevin asked.
“I guess so. There’s a lot of work to do. We’re going to rake leaves, pull weeds, trim shrubs, and paint things. We’re going to have fun!” said David excitedly.
“Fun!” Kevin said, wrinkling up his nose. “It sounds like work to me!”
“It’s not work!” David disagreed.
“It is so!” Kevin declared. “Raking and cleaning and painting are all work! That’s what my daddy says! You just ask your dad. Work isn’t fun! It’s hard!”
That night when Daddy came into David’s room to say good night, David asked, “Daddy, are painting and cleaning and raking work?”
“They certainly are!” Daddy answered. “And there’s a lot of work to do tomorrow.”
“Is it hard work?” David asked.
“Yes,” Daddy said. “So you get a good night’s sleep and you’ll be ready to help us in the morning.”
“All right,” David said slowly.
Before he went to sleep he thought about what Kevin and Daddy had told him. By the next morning he had decided he was not going to work. He wasn’t going to spend a whole day not having any fun.
At breakfast everyone was dressed in working clothes. David took a long time eating his cereal and drinking his juice.
“Come on, David!” Carol said.
“What a slowpoke!” said Brian.
“I don’t feel very well,” David said. The more he thought about not feeling well, the more he imagined his head hurt. “I have a headache,” he told them.
Mother felt his head. “You don’t seem to be hot,” she said, “but perhaps you should lie down on the couch until you feel better.”
David lay on the couch in the living room while everyone else went outdoors. He closed his eyes, but he was not sleepy. Soon Carol and Brian and Mother and Daddy were making too much noise outside for him to rest. They were calling to each other and making jokes and laughing and talking as they worked.
After a while he heard someone else laughing and talking. Quickly he got up and looked out the window.
It was Kevin! He was helping Brian carry a basket of leaves.
David forgot his headache and rushed out to the backyard.
“Kevin!” he cried. “What are you doing?”
“I’m having fun!” Kevin called.
“But this is work, and you said work isn’t fun!”
Kevin stopped. He thought for a moment. Then he smiled and said, “Working together is fun!”
David smiled, too. “That’s right,” he agreed. “Working together is fun!” And he picked up a rake and began to rake a big pile of leaves.

Right after I was married, I was called as home teacher to four families. The father of one was active but not spiritually converted. The young husband in another wasn’t a member of the Church and wouldn’t attend with his new bride, who was a member. The third couple was inactive—even though the husband was formerly in a stake presidency and the wife had been a stake Primary president. The fourth family, the Smiths, was happily very active in the Church: the father was on the stake high council, and the mother was the ward Relief Society president.
As my home teaching companion and I considered our assignment, our immediate reaction was to concentrate on the three families that needed obvious encouragement and fellowshipping. The Smiths, we reasoned, would get along fine with just a short social visit from us once a month.
But after our initial visit with each family, and after praying about how to be effective home teachers, we began to realize that every family needs—and deserves—a great home teacher, and that the Smiths needed just as much attention, prayerful consideration, and love as any of the other families.
During the first year, we tried to develop a good rapport with the Smiths. Devoting part of every month’s visit directly to the three children, we became fully aware of their progress in Primary, Scouting, Aaronic Priesthood, and school. When the boy received his (highest award a boy can earn in scouting in the U.S.), I was asked to be the speaker at the meeting where he received his award.
Sometimes we went out for ice cream with them. At ward parties, we socialized with every member of the family.
The friendship worked both ways. For example, when our first baby was born no one was more excited than the Smiths. In fact, Sister Smith gave a party for my wife.
One day Brother Smith called to tell me that he was going to be operated on shortly: the doctor had just found a tumor. I helped administer to him.
The surgery was successful—the cancer was removed. We felt that our role was to encourage the family during their father’s recuperation.
About a year later, another tumor appeared. Again the Smiths needed spiritual strength and support, and again the cancer was removed.
However, several months later they found another tumor. We appreciated many times the comforting power of the Spirit as blessings were pronounced in Brother Smith’s behalf. As home teachers, we discussed with the family the importance of combining faith with submissiveness to the Lord’s will.
When this last tumor appeared, it was so extensive that the doctors couldn’t operate. We were all disheartened—yet we still hoped that Brother Smith would live.
I frequently stopped to spend some time with him on my way home from work. Many times he was in so much pain—his pain relievers were ineffective by then—that he would ask me for a blessing. Those experiences became a highlight of my life. Each day I tried to live so that I could receive inspiration that would encourage my ailing friend.
One Saturday morning, as my wife and I were leaving home to do some shopping, I said to her, “I have a feeling that we should go see how Brother Smith endured the night.” We had seen him the night before, and everything seemed fine.
“All right,” she said. “If you feel we should go over, let’s do it.”
We found him in bed—doing about the same as the night before; there had been no major decline in his strength during the past week. I couldn’t help wondering why I had felt impressed to visit them that morning. So I decided that maybe we should share some faith-promoting experiences with them. The children sat around the bed and listened, and the Spirit of the Lord was there in rich abundance. Suddenly, as we talked, Brother Smith died in the arms of his wife.
My wife took the children into another bedroom and spent the next little while talking to them and answering their questions. She indicated to them that their father would be a source of strength to them all their lives and that someday, because of the Savior’s atonement and resurrection, they could have a beautiful reunion with him.
I helped by calling the doctor, the bishop, and the mortician. Later during the day we ran errands for Sister Smith.
The funeral was the following Monday. When the bishop was making the arrangements, Sister Smith indicated that her husband had planned the funeral in great detail, and that I, his home teacher, was to give the spiritual message.
I was overwhelmed. Brother Smith was close to many stake and general leaders in the Church, but instead, he had asked for me to speak at his funeral. And the printed program was to indicate that I was his home teacher.
Afterward, we did what we could to help the family adjust. We arranged for an accountant in our ward to help set up a budget for them and to get the family finances back in order. We asked another ward member, a carpenter/handyman, to help us inspect the house to determine what needed to be done to maintain the value of the home. The priesthood quorums in the ward then came in and did the needed work to get the home back to its normal condition.
We also helped Sister Smith evaluate various job opportunities. And we tried to be even closer to the children.
Did we neglect our other home teaching families during all this time? No, we saw some small, quiet successes there, too.
The family whose father wasn’t spiritually converted remained active in the Church. The family’s bond of love and closeness enabled them to understand and accept each other’s points of view without alienating one another.
We arranged for the young nonmember husband of the second family to speak at youth firesides and Mutual classes on his life as a policeman, and he was excited about helping young people feel good about policemen. Once he took his motorcycle to Mutual and explained to the boys how it functioned. When this couple moved from the ward a year later, he left with a better feeling towards his wife’s church than he had at the time of their marriage.
The third couple, we learned, had become inactive because they had not felt a part of the ward. We convinced them that we were their friends and were interested in them. Then we helped the wife see that the Church needed her special talents of teaching children. She began attending Sunday School and later accepted a calling as a Sunday School teacher. When my wife was asked to bake cookies for the ward Christmas party, we asked this couple if they would make the cookies, and then we invited them to come to the party as our guests. When they moved to a new ward later, they didn’t become inactive again but remained active.
We didn’t do anything spectacular—nothing more than anyone else could have done. But as I recall these early home teaching experiences, I feel again the great testimony I gained of the importance of home teaching, of the great love a home teacher can feel towards other people, and of the resulting joy that can come from serving others. And I’m especially glad I learned early that every person—even if he’s active—deserves a good home teacher.

At 29, Ransom Stevens was president of the Samoa Mission when stricken with typhoid fever, which was complicated by a heart problem. He died on April 23, 1894.

His widow, Sister Annie D. Stevens, started for home by steamer on May 23. She reached Ogden on Sunday, June 10, where she was met by President Joseph F. Smith and Elder Franklin D. Richards. On June 11, she had an interview with the First Presidency in Salt Lake City and then went on to her home in Fairview, Sanpete County, arriving at 6:00 P.M.

The history states, “The greetings by her friends were necessarily brief for Sister Stevens was ill and had to retire to bed early, and at 11 P.M., five hours after her arrival home, she gave birth to a nice boy.” She had gone through the whole ordeal in the advanced stages of pregnancy.

Mary Ann Stearns, step-daughter of Elder Parley P. Pratt, in her unpublished autobiography, relates an experience that her family had with the Prophet Joseph that also illustrates his great capacity for kindness. Returning from his mission to England with his family and a group of immigrants by way of St. Louis, Missouri the group was detained four weeks because of cold weather and the great chunks of ice that floated on the a!most frozen Mississippi River. When they finally did arrive in Nauvoo the anxiety of the Britons to see the Prophet Joseph was only exceeded by the anxiety of the Saints in Nauvoo concerning the safety of the immigrants. Thus Joseph and Hyrum and a large company of people were at the landing to greet the newcomers. Elder Pratt introduced the company to the two illustrious leaders and when all except the Pratts had disembarked and had gone to their homes, the Prophet came into the cabin of the boat where the Pratts were.
“After a cordial greeting, he took a seat and taking the little boys, Parley and Nathan, upon his knees, seemed much affected, Brother Pratt remarking, ‘We took away three children and have brought back five.’ Then Brother Joseph said, “Well, well, Brother Parley, you have returned bringing your sheaves with you,” the tears streaming down his face. Brother Pratt, seeing the general emotion this caused, said, ‘If you feel so bad about our coming home, I guess we will have to go back again,’ tears of joy filling his own eyes.”
Elder Pratt’s remark seemed to break the spell, smiles returned and joy continued to fill all their hearts. Then Joseph, arising, said, “Come, Brother Parley, bring your folks right up to my house; it is only a little way, and you can be more comfortable after your long journey.” Sister Pratt, very ill, was placed in a large comfortable chair and carried by Brother Hodge and others of Joseph’s bodyguards to the Prophet’s home where a really special evening was enjoyed by the entire family.

Sister Whang’s work in the camps led her to change her career from nursing to teaching. But after six years, in November 1958, she decided that if she wanted to fulfill her goal to help the poor, she needed more education. Her minister encouraged her to apply for an exchange program at the University of California at Berkeley. She was accepted. Taking the money she had saved from teaching and the promise of a paid sabbatical from her school, she enrolled.
Soon after she arrived in the U.S., Whang Keun-Ok met two Korean students from Brigham Young University who were working at Berkeley for the summer. They encouraged her to go to Provo, Utah. When she visited the BYU campus in the fall of 1959, she fell in love with the mountains and was impressed by the Latter-day Saints’ faith. She spent the next three years there, studying social work. Shortly after she returned to Korea in June 1962, she located the missionaries and was baptized.

When it was time for me to go on a mission, I was very excited to serve the Lord. Just before I was to leave, however, I found out that I had bone cancer. The chance of living long enough to serve a mission wasn’t very high. I had faith that the Lord would provide a way if He wanted me to go. My father gave me a blessing in which I was told that I would serve my mission in Mexico, serve in the Church all my life, and have a family. My right arm had to be amputated above the elbow, but my life was spared, and the promises I was given have all been fulfilled.

Hannah reached under the desk for her friend Ellie’s note, carefully watching to make sure the teacher wouldn’t see her. She felt a little guilty passing notes during class, but Mr. Jones had been lecturing for a while now, and she was bored.
Hannah opened the note and read it. She and Ellie had been writing back and forth about Maura, a girl in their class who they thought was stuck-up. “Maura thinks she’s so great,” Ellie had written. “I wish she would …”
Suddenly, Mr. Jones stopped talking. “A note?” he asked. He walked to Hannah’s desk and took the note out of her hands. Then to Hannah’s horror, Mr. Jones read the note to the class. He left out Maura’s name, but he read all of the mean things Ellie and Hannah had written about her.
Hannah looked helplessly at Ellie. Finally, the bell rang and Mr. Jones gave the note back to Hannah, asking to see her at lunchtime. Hannah felt terrible.
A tap on her shoulder startled her, and she turned around. It was Maura.
“That note was about me, wasn’t it?” Maura said, her eyes filling with tears. Then, without waiting for an answer, she walked down the hall.
Hannah felt sick to her stomach. She could tell that Ellie felt bad too. She went to the cafeteria and slowly ate her lunch, feeling worse all the time. She couldn’t get Maura’s sad face out of her mind.
Hannah trudged back to her classroom and sat down at her desk.
“Hannah, I shouldn’t have read that note out loud, and I’m sorry,” Mr. Jones said. “I know you think Maura is stuck-up, but I think if you got to know her, you would find out that she is a nice person. Maybe you could even become friends.”
Hannah doubted that they would become friends after what had just happened.
The next day, Hannah apologized to Maura, and the sick feeling in her stomach went away. She tried not to gossip about classmates anymore with Ellie or any of her friends. Hannah only wished that the sad look in Maura’s eyes would go away and that Maura could forgive her.
As the school year ended, Hannah and Ellie got their yearbooks and had their friends write in them. When Hannah got to Maura, she handed her the yearbook timidly, afraid that Maura would refuse it. But Maura took the book without saying anything.
When Hannah got home from school, she opened her yearbook and turned to Maura’s note.
Hannah,
I’m sorry we didn’t get along very well this year. I hope we can become better friends next year.
Love,
Maura
Hannah smiled as she read it. She was glad Maura had forgiven her, and she knew she could be a better friend.

Do you like to work? When I was a boy growing up in Sandy, Utah, my three brothers and I learned to work hard. My family had a big garden, and my father always planted much more than our family could ever eat. He gave corn, tomatoes, and other vegetables to our neighbors. When they offered to come pick the vegetables, my father said, “Oh, no. My boys will pick them and have them ready for you.” My brothers and I learned to get up at 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning to weed the garden and pick the vegetables while it was still cool. I still get up very early in the morning.
We also worked on the neighboring farm, doing a little of everything. We herded cows, thinned and topped beets, and picked cherries. I even remember vaccinating chickens! Many years later, when I was having a medical examination, the doctor said that I was in very good health except that I had a virus in my lungs that was not a human virus. It was a virus that chickens have. I’ve been teased that maybe this is why I like to get up so early—like chickens do!
Dad got us a job mowing the lawn of our meetinghouse. We used an old push lawn mower. At that time, the Church was just beginning to buy power lawn mowers. But my father, who had a calling in the stake, said, “We don’t need a power mower. My boys will take care of it.” Some parts of the lawn were very thick and hard to mow, so we attached a rope to the front of the mower. One brother pulled on the rope while the other pushed the mower. People laughed as they went by and saw us doing this, but it worked!
Before I went on my mission, my Grandfather Bateman gave me a blessing. In that blessing, he said, “Now, boy, you go out and work hard, and the Lord will bless you.” I am glad that I had learned as a boy to work hard.
As boys growing up, we had lots of fun along with the work. Near our house, there was a hill of beautiful white sand that we called Sand Hill. We loved to roll down that hill. We also liked to explore the riverbank and hunt for flint arrowheads in some old caves where Native Americans used to live. I had a very nice collection of arrowheads.
We loved to visit Grandma and Grandpa Bateman in West Jordan, Utah, too. In wintertime, we went sledding on their big hill. One time we went sledding on my uncle’s prize sled. As we went down the hill toward the irrigation canal, we bounced off the sled, and it landed in the canal. Grandpa had to divert the irrigation water out of the canal so we could find the sled. When we got back to the house, we were cold and wet. We warmed up by the stove while Grandma laid our clothes out to dry.

As I once again set foot upon the field and walked once more a jungle path, in my mind I heard again the stutter of the machine gun, the whistle of shrapnel, and the clatter of small arms. I saw again the bronzed, youthful faces of friends who “gave the last full measure of devotion” (Abraham Lincoln, Gettysburg Address). And I thought of one in particular and one day—a single day, April 3, 1966, Palm Sunday, the Easter season—42 years ago almost to this very day.
Our infantry battalion had been in Vietnam for several months. I was a lieutenant, the leader of a rifle platoon. We were involved almost constantly in combat operations. That day dawned with our battalion deep in hostile territory. Very early we sent out a reconnaissance patrol of about 10 men. One of them was Sergeant Arthur Morris. Several of the men were wounded in a firefight, including Sergeant Morris, who received a slight flesh wound. Eventually the men of the patrol limped back to our lines.
We radioed for a medical evacuation helicopter. Loading the wounded men on the chopper, I urged Sergeant Morris also to get aboard. He demurred. Again I urged him. Again he demurred. Once again I admonished him. Once again he refused. Finally I said, “Sergeant Morris, get on that chopper.”
He looked at me, his eyes earnest, pleading. “Please, sir,” he said, and then these words that will forever haunt me: “They can’t kill a tough old bird like me.”
The entire scene is etched in my mind like a battle tableau: the jungle clearing; the impatient, throbbing rotor blade of the helicopter; the pilot looking at me expectantly; and my friend begging to stay with his men. I relented. I waved away the chopper with its lifeline to Tomorrow. Before the sun had set that very day, my dear friend Sergeant Arthur Cyrus Morris lay dead upon the ground, felled by hostile fire. And echoing in my mind over and over again, I hear his exclamation, “They can’t kill, they can’t kill, they can’t kill …”

In 1937 my wife and I were touring in Europe. In France I sat at a banquet table of the Rotary International Convention in a fashionable hotel. The large, spacious banquet room held hundreds of people. The many waiters moved about the tables, and at every place besides plenteous silver utensils, line napkins, and fancy serving dishes were seven wine glasses. No one was watching me. The temptation nudged me: Shall I drink it or at least sip it? No one who cares will know. Here was quite a temptation. Shall I or shall I not?

Then the thought came: But I made a firm resolution when a boy that I would never touch the forbidden things. I had already lived a third of a century firm and resolute. I would not break my record now.

Remember, O youth of a noble birthright, that “wickedness never was happiness.” (Alma 41:10.) The unrighteous may pretend to be happy and may seek to entice others into such a way of life because misery loves company, as you know, but you will never see a happy sinner. Even the discontent of good people is traceable to such shortcomings as they have.

A casual observer may feel that an unrighteous person is successful and has everything he needs, and for a fleeting moment it may even seem so. But gross sin produces a deep emptiness. Thus the wicked seem to do more of the same in order to reassure themselves and to try to fill the void. When you see a life filled with desperation, there is transgression in it. We may pity such people, but it is wrong and naive to envy them!