Gospel Story Finder

One afternoon my mission companion and I unexpectedly found ourselves with an extra block of time and were discussing what we should do. We were assigned to a United States Army base in western Germany, and as we drove to the base, I pulled out a list of all the branch members there. On the bottom of the list was a name that I had penciled in just the day before. It was the name of a less-active member who was living on the base alone while he waited for his family to arrive from the United States. The branch president had given his name to us and asked us to find the brother and invite him to the next week’s stake conference. I said a silent prayer that we would be able to find and invite him.
When we entered the base, I received an interesting impression that we should go buy batteries. I shared the impression with my companion, and he drove us to a small electronics store. We quickly found our batteries and were standing in line when I bumped into one of the soldiers standing there. Fortunately for us, all U.S. soldiers have their last names stitched onto the front of their uniforms. My spirits soared as I saw that he had the last name of the man we were looking for. His eyes grew wide in recognition as he exclaimed, “Elders! It’s good to see you. I had been praying that you would find me.”
With the Spirit’s guidance, my companion and I were able to bring that brother to stake conference and help him become firmly rooted in the branch before the rest of his family arrived. I know that if we, like Nephi, let ourselves be “led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which [we] should do” (1 Nephi 4:6), then Heavenly Father will allow us to be tools in His hands to bless others, especially his fallen sparrows.

Peanut Butter and Jelly When two children wish for a peanut butter sandwich, a chef appears and makes a loaf of bread for it that is so big that it has to be sliced with a saw! Then elephants have a wonderful time tromping on the peanuts and squishing grapes in the bathtub for the sandwich filling. The art for this rollicking play rhyme is by Nadine Bernard Westcott, and on the last page are directions for motions to accompany each verse.2–5 years

“Last Saturday,” my husband’s letter began, “you asked, ‘Can you write what you’re feeling?’ So here goes.”
I had sensed something was wrong with my husband’s affection for me, but I was not prepared for the devastating words of his letter, which included an admission of infidelity. As I agonized over the probable repercussions to our 15-year marriage, I felt desperately alone. I decided to seek strength from Heavenly Father in the temple.
In the celestial room, a woman handed me a tissue, saying she had noticed me and wondered if she could help. I thanked her and said no, but inwardly I cried out: Can you give me back my hopes and dreams? Can you give me back eternity?
I continued to weep. A few minutes later, as more people entered the celestial room, a man sat in a chair near me and asked, “May I tell you something?”
I said yes.
He said, “I feel that loved ones on the other side of the veil are with you. Whatever it is you’re going through, you are not alone.” I felt the warmth of the Spirit as the man stood and left.
I had been rejected by my husband, but the Savior had not left me alone. He who “hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows” (Isa. 53:4) strengthened me. I left the temple that day feeling the Savior’s peace.

“Do you know what I like best about Christmas?” five-year-old Sara asked, her big brown eyes shining.
Her mother stopped wrapping gifts. “Santa?”
“I like Santa, but the most fun is wrapping presents for you and Daddy and Mike and Tim.”
Mom was pleased with Sara’s answer. Tim and Mike, her older brothers, had long lists of expensive items they wanted. Sara had no list. She was more excited about the gifts she was wrapping.
“Hi, everyone!” Dad called. “I’m home early so we can go get our tree.”
“Hurray!” Sara shouted. “Then we can decorate it.”
But later, when Mom pulled out the boxes of ornaments, both boys groaned.
“Do we have to do that tonight?” Mike asked. “I have math homework.”
“Me too,” Tim moaned.
“How about helping for just a half hour?” Dad suggested.
While her brothers argued about where decorations should go, Sara quickly and quietly placed red bulbs on the tree.
“Sara,” Tim said, “your bulbs are all at the bottom. That doesn’t look right.”
Sara’s eyes lost their sparkle.
“We need lots of bulbs on the bottom,” Dad said. “Sara’s friends aren’t as tall as you boys, and when they visit us, we want them to see lots of bulbs.” He handed Sara another bulb, and a smile lit up her face.
That night at supper, Mom said quietly, “I think we’ve all lost the spirit of Christmas—that is, all of us except Sara.”
“Oh, Mom,” Mike protested, “we all decorated the tree. And we’ve bought most of our presents.”
“I think Mom’s talking about the real meaning of Christmas,” Dad said. “And she’s right. It’s like we’re getting ready for a big party, but we’ve forgotten whom the party is for.”
Tim rolled his eyes. “We all know it’s to celebrate the Savior’s birth,” he murmured.
“But, Tim,” Dad persisted, “how was your birthday party different from the one we’re planning for Jesus Christ?”
“Well, Jesus isn’t here to get His presents.”
“What presents?” Dad asked.
“How would you have felt if all your friends brought presents for each other but no presents for you?” Mom added.
“That wouldn’t have been much of a party,” Tim admitted.
“Well,” Dad asked, “do you have a gift for the Savior on December 25th?”
“You’re trying to tell us that we need to buy gifts for Jesus?” Mike wondered.
“You don’t buy gifts for Jesus,” Tim interrupted. “You give Him gifts in other ways—like doing something good for someone.”
“Now you have the idea,” Dad said. “Do you think there’s still time to do something good for someone else?”
“It’s over a week before Christmas,” Mom put in. “Sister Altos told me about a family across town whose father is out of work and who have huge medical bills to pay. Shall I find out more about them and see if we can help them this year?”
“Won’t they be embarrassed to have us take them presents?” Mike asked. “What if the kids go to our school?”
“We could do this anonymously,” Dad said. “We could sneak our things for them onto their doorstep on Christmas Eve, and they’d never have to know who did it.”
“How can we know what they need or want?” Tim asked.
“I’ll check with Sister Altos,” Mom said. “She might be able to get sizes and ideas without letting the family know.”
Sara had been listening quietly. Now she shouted, “I hope they have a little girl! She can have some of the presents Santa was going to give me this year.”
“Does this mean that we’re giving away the presents we’d be getting?” Mike yelped.
“How about if everyone gets just one gift from Santa,” Dad said, “and the rest of Santa’s gifts go to our ‘Christmas family’?”
“That’s fair,” both boys agreed.
The following night, Mother had a list from Sister Altos of sizes and ages. There were two boys, a younger sister, and a six-month-old baby.
“Remember,” Dad said, “you can still ask for one gift from Santa. Now, let’s make a list of gifts for these children.”
“I’ll start shopping tomorrow for the things we decide on,” Mom said.
“Can I go too?” Sara pleaded. “And can I help you wrap the presents?”
“Of course.” Mom looked at Tim and Mike. “It’d be fun if you’d wrap presents too. I think you’ll find it rather exciting.”
The days rushed by as everyone bought and wrapped gifts for their Christmas family. Finally Christmas Eve arrived, snowing and cold. Sara hopped up and down with excitement. Even the boys were eager to deliver the gifts.
Father drew them all around him. “I think that this is the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” he said, his voice choking with emotion. “I’m so proud of you children for giving your presents away to someone you don’t even know.”
“I just hope Santa remembers my roller blades,” Tim joked.
Everyone laughed. Dad pulled out a red envelope. “Mom, will you write a message to our Christmas family?” he asked. “We could put some money inside to help with the medical bills—what do you think?”
“I’ve saved about six dollars,” Mike volunteered. “They can have that.”
“I have about five,” Tim chimed in. He rushed to get his savings.
Sara hurried to get her piggy bank. “I have all this money!” she squealed, opening it to let a cascade of pennies, dimes, and nickels clatter to the table. “Can we wrap it in a box for the children?”
Soon every cent of her money was in a box with “Kids’ Money” written on a tag next to the bow.
Mom disappeared for a few moments. “I’ve been saving this for new curtains, but we can wait for those.” She slipped two fifty-dollar bills into the red envelope.
Dad took out his wallet. “I stopped by the bank today, thinking that they could use this.” He put a hundred-dollar bill into the envelope.
Mother placed a card with a note inside the envelope last, then sealed it.
Sister Altos had written down the address. The car resounded with Christmas songs until the correct street sign was spotted and everyone searched for the house number of their Christmas family.
“There it is!” Tim whooped. “They’re home!”
Dad drove past the house so that their car would be out of sight. “OK,” he said, “I’ll open the trunk, and we’ll load up with gifts. Be really quiet so that they don’t hear us. When all the presents are on the porch, we’ll all get back in the car except Mike. Mike, you wait until I’ve started the engine, then ring the doorbell and run.”
No one made a sound as they piled the gifts high on the front porch. Mom held up the red envelope. “I sure hope they see this,” she whispered, tucking it into the top present.
Everyone except Mike rushed to the car, Dad started the engine, and Mike rang the doorbell and raced to the car. As he jumped inside, the front door of the house opened and a little girl shouted, “Daddy! Daddy! Santa has come!”
All the way home the family chattered excitedly about how their Christmas family must be opening their gifts and how surprised they must be.
“I just hope they see the red envelope,” Mom worried aloud again.
When the family gathered for prayers that night, it was Sara’s turn. She blessed everyone in the family and their friends, adding, “Please bless our Christmas family that they’ll like our presents for them. Bless them to have a Merry Christmas.”
Early Christmas morning, the family gathered around their tree. “I got my roller blades,” Tim shouted.
Mike held up a snowboard. “Wow! This is the greatest!”
Sara discovered a doll with a white wicker bed. “Look what Santa brought me!”
They gathered into a circle and exchanged the gifts they had for each other. Mom kept wiping her eyes. Never before had she seen her children so happy.
“I hope our Christmas family is having lots of fun,” Sara said as she tucked her doll into the white bed.
Bright and early Sunday morning, the family hurried off to church. They still radiated with the glow of Christmas.
The last speaker, an elderly gentleman from another stake, was introduced.
Tears trickled down Mom’s cheeks. Father clasped her shoulder tightly. Tim, Mike, and Sara scooted closer to them.
“I hope we can find another Christmas family next year,” Mike whispered.
Tim and Sara nodded vigorously.

When he was in the navy during World War II, there were those in the great and spacious building21 who made fun of his principles, but two of his shipmates, Dale Maddox and Don Davidson, took note and did not. They asked, “Sabin, why are you so different from everyone else? You have high morals and don’t drink, smoke, or swear, but you seem calm and happy.”
Their positive impression of my father did not match what they had been taught about the Mormons, and my father was able to teach and baptize both shipmates. Dale’s parents were very upset and warned him that if he joined the Church he would lose his sweetheart, Mary Olive, but she met with the missionaries at his request and was also baptized.
Near the end of the war, President Heber J. Grant called for missionaries, including some married men. In 1946, Dale and his wife, Mary Olive, decided Dale should serve even though they were expecting their first child. They eventually had nine children—three boys and six girls. All nine served missions, followed by Dale and Mary Olive, who served three missions of their own. Dozens of grandchildren have also served. Two of their sons, John and Matthew Maddox, are currently members of the Tabernacle Choir, as is Matthew’s son-in-law Ryan. The Maddox family now numbers 144 and are wonderful examples of being “all in.”
In going through my dad’s papers, we came across a letter from Jennifer Richards, one of the five daughters of the other shipmate, Don Davidson. She wrote: “Your righteousness changed our lives. It is hard to comprehend what our lives would be like without the Church. My dad died loving the gospel and trying to live it to the end.”22
It is hard to measure the impact for good each individual can have by standing up inside. My father and his two shipmates refused to listen to those in the great and spacious building who were pointing the finger of scorn.23 They knew that it is far better to follow the Creator than the crowd.

“If I weren’t a Mormon” seemed to be my favourite phrase this month. If I weren’t a Mormon I wouldn’t be getting up at 5:30 in the morning, braving 6° C. and less temperatures just to go to seminary. If I weren’t a Mormon I’d be more accepted at school, and I’d have fun going to “all weekend” parties with friends, and I wouldn’t have to put up with all those jokes aimed at my religious beliefs. If I weren’t a Mormon life would be so much easier.
When I finally reached school that morning I was cranky, depressed, and tired. I wouldn’t be like this if I weren’t a Mormon, I thought. I missed the bus because Dad likes long family prayers. And Mum couldn’t drive me because she had to go to some Relief Society meeting.
I was late for class so I took a shortcut through the back of the library where I saw my ex-boyfriend embracing a “perfect 10” blonde. We had stopped going out because I wasn’t willing to compromise my standards. Seeing those two together was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I ran into a nearby empty room and cried.
When I finally made it to class I slipped into my seat just before I was marked absent. The daily notice sheet was read out loud reminding us of the upcoming long weekend and the camp planned at The Entrance, a coastal holiday town about five hours north of Sydney, Australia. That’s just what I needed. I wondered if Dad and Mum would let me go? No, they wouldn’t because I have to go to church Sunday and I have to go to family home evening Monday.
I was so bored in maths that I calculated how much more pocket money I’d have and all the things I could buy if I didn’t have to pay tithing.
The next morning the alarm went off at 5:30 as usual. Time to go to seminary again. Why should I have to go? Why get up at 5:30 every morning? Then I heard Mum’s cheery voice telling me that if I didn’t get up I’d be late.
The topic that morning was, “What has Joseph Smith done for you?” I could answer that easily. If it weren’t for Joseph Smith I wouldn’t be a Mormon.
“Will you read Doctrine and Covenants, section 122, verses seven and eight, please?” my teacher asked.
Wearily, I took out my scriptures and started reading. At first I was not really listening, but then something made me start to pay attention to the words.
“And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.”
I choked out the last verse, tears brimming. “The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?”
A few days later I was standing on the balcony of the Opera House, watching the boats on the water under the harbour bridge. I couldn’t remember why I had felt so restricted because of my religion. My problems seemed pretty small and insignificant compared to those of Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith. I felt selfish as I asked myself, “Art thou greater than he?”
I was standing on a balcony overlooking the greatest harbour in the world in the greatest country in the world. The lights of Sydney seemed to be towering and challenging the stars above. “I’m so proud of my country,” I said to myself. “It’s so full of unique beauty, people, and culture. I thank God for our beautiful flora, fauna, and freedom. And I’m proud to be a part of the ever-growing and only true church in the world.”
My favourite phrase still is, “If I weren’t a Mormon,” but in a different way. If I weren’t a Mormon I wouldn’t have such a wonderful family, such great friends, and such a clear understanding of the purpose of life.
By the way, I calculated how much tithing I have paid, and when I look at how much God has given me, there’s no comparison.

When I was a young boy, we had a man in our ward whose face had been disfigured by a terrible disease. The man’s appearance frightened me and other children in the ward. Then, one day when I was five or six years old, he stood up in fast and testimony meeting and bore his testimony. I don’t remember what he said, but into my young heart came a powerful feeling of warmth and love.
After that experience, my fear of the man left. I didn’t realize it then, but the Spirit had touched my heart and helped me to see more than the man’s physical appearance. Through those feelings, I learned that he was a beloved child of Heavenly Father and that I didn’t need to be afraid of him.

“Since you are about the same age Joseph Smith was when he had the First Vision and you live near the same places he lived as a child, try to put yourselves in his position. How would you feel?”
“I’d feel so young.”
“I would probably start crying.”
“I’d feel like, ‘Why me?’ How would I tell my friends, ‘Heavenly Father talked to me’?”
“I wouldn’t go tell my friends, no way.”
“That’s the hard part. You would know it was right, and you would know what happened to you, but you would want to keep it to yourself because you wouldn’t want to be rejected. That’s the big thing with kids now. You want to fit in. It would be hard.”
“Right now when you tell adults something, they say, ‘Oh, you’re so young.’ I can imagine he had a hard time with everybody, not just his friends.”
“I don’t see how I could tell anyone besides my family. I have close friends now that I explain the Church to, but so many people aren’t in touch with spiritual things at all.”
It was a crisp, rainy day at the Joseph Smith Memorial in Sharon, Vermont, when a group of young people from the Keene Ward, Concord New Hampshire Stake, came on their annual outing. They had made stops along the route at various places that were significant in the childhood of the Prophet Joseph and his family. And now the impact of what had happened to a 14-year-old boy, much like themselves, was the subject of conversation.
Tom Neil was thoughtful for a moment before he said, “I could have gone through part of it, but not everything. I don’t think I could have taken the persecution.”
Robin Hooper, a recent convert to the Church, has a firm testimony. In thinking about the First Vision, she said, “It would be so hard to tell someone you had seen a vision. They wouldn’t believe you and would say you were too young.”
For this group, the early life of the Prophet Joseph comes to life since they live close to many places that were important in Church history. Their hometown of Keene, New Hampshire, was founded by Solomon Mack, Joseph’s grandfather. In fact, the picturesque old stone bridge where the different carpools were to assemble for the trip was built by Solomon Mack and his brothers.
At each stop along the way, one person had been assigned to give a little history of the place. They stopped at a war memorial where the names of Joseph’s uncles who had fought in the Revolutionary War were engraved. Another stop took the group to Dartmouth College and the laboratory of the physician who founded the medical school, Nathan Smith. This doctor, years ahead of his time, tried experimental surgery on the boy Joseph and saved his leg when the accepted medical practice in similar cases was amputation.
Some things had not changed much in the more than 150 years since the Smith family had been here—for instance, the house in Norwich where the family lived when Joseph was eleven, just before the family moved to upstate New York. The white frame house is surrounded by farmland, a stream flows nearby, and the barn still houses livestock. It isn’t hard to picture a young boy, slamming the door behind him, setting out across the fields with a fishing pole or his favorite dog.
Other places have changed a great deal. The house where the family lived when Joseph was so ill with an infected leg and where Doctor Smith performed surgery is gone. In its place are a root beer stand and a prefabricated warehouse. Even so, the group stopped for a moment, trying not to be distracted by the bustle of the drive-in, and attempted to visualize the drama of the events that took place at that spot.
When the group arrived at the Joseph Smith Memorial, they became more subdued. Here is the exact spot where the Prophet Joseph was born. Here is the hearthstone in the same place where, as a newborn, he was bathed and dressed for the first time on that cold December day. Here is the hillside, now known as Patriarch Hill, that he must have climbed as a youngster. But he was not just an ordinary teenager. It was to him that a marvelous vision came and a charge to restore the truth to the earth.
Even though these New Hampshire youth may not believe it of themselves, in some ways they are similar to the young prophet. He stood out in a crowd, and so do they. Often they are the only member of the Church or one of a few members going to their schools. Their beliefs and style of living set them apart from other young people. These young Latter-day Saints have learned early in life to set their own standards, to separate themselves from the inappropriate activities of their peers—the smoking, swearing, and drinking. Their friends and acquaintances at school are surprised that they attend church every Sunday.
Sariah Neil is finding the Church easier to talk about in school, “I used to be afraid to tell people about the Church, but lately I find I can say things, stick up for it. It’s what I am.”
Meg Robbins is strengthened by sharing her testimony, and perhaps her friends will be guided as well. “When you tell your friends about what you believe in, it helps them reevaluate their beliefs. Even just talking about it helps.”
The group climbed a flight of steps to the base of a granite shaft cut from a single, unflawed boulder. This memorial to Joseph Smith stands 38 1/2 feet high, one foot for every year of his life, a memorial to Joseph Smith. The inscriptions at the base reminded them of the life of one man who so profoundly affects their lives today.
The Prophet Joseph said that it was the buffeting of the world that smoothed and polished him in becoming an instrument of the Lord. Perhaps it will be the trials and buffetings faced head on by the young men and women of the Keene Ward that will also smooth and polish them.

At an earlier time and in a different conflict—namely the American Civil War—a historically documented account illustrates courage, coupled with mercy.

From December 11 to 13, 1862, the Union forces attacked Marye’s Heights, a large hill overlooking the town of Fredericksburg, Virginia, where six thousand Rebels awaited them. The Southern troops were in secure defensive positions behind a stone wall which meandered along the foot of the hill. In addition, they stood four deep on a sunken road behind the wall, out of sight of Union forces.

The Union troops—over forty thousand strong—launched a series of suicidal attacks across open ground. They were mowed down by a scythe of shot; none got closer than forty yards from the stone wall.

Soon the ground in front of the Confederate positions was littered with hundreds, then thousands, of fallen Union soldiers in their blue uniforms—over twelve thousand before sunset. Crying for help, the wounded lay in the bitter cold throughout that terrible night.

The next day, a Sunday, dawned cold and foggy. As the morning fog lifted, the agonized cries of the wounded could still be heard. Finally, a young Confederate soldier, a nineteen-year-old sergeant, had had all he could take. The young man’s name was Richard Rowland Kirkland. To his commanding officer, Kirkland exclaimed, “All night and all day I have heard those poor people crying for water, and I can stand it no longer. I … ask permission to go and give them water.” His request was initially denied on the grounds that it was too dangerous. Finally, however, permission was granted, and soon thousands of amazed men on both sides saw the young soldier, with several canteens draped around his neck, climb over the wall and walk to the nearest wounded Union soldier. He raised the stricken man’s head, gently gave him a drink, and covered him with his own overcoat. Then he moved to the next of the wounded—and the next and the next. As Kirkland’s purpose became clear, fresh cries of “Water, water, for God’s sake, water!” arose all over the field.

The Union soldiers were at first too surprised to shoot. Soon they began to cheer the young Southerner as they saw what he was doing. For more than an hour and a half, Sergeant Kirkland continued his work of mercy.

Tragically, Richard Kirkland was himself killed a few months later at the battle of Chicamauga. His last words to his companions were, “Save yourselves, and tell my pa I died right.”

Kirkland’s Christlike compassion made his name synonymous with mercy for a post–Civil War generation, both North and South. He became known by soldiers on both sides of the conflict as “the angel of Marye’s Heights.” His loving errand of mercy is commemorated by a bronze monument which stands today in front of the stone wall at Fredericksburg. It depicts Sergeant Kirkland lifting the head of a wounded Union soldier to give him a drink of refreshing water. A tablet to Kirkland’s honor hangs in the Episcopal church in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. With simple eloquence, it captures the essence of the young soldier’s mission of mercy. It reads: “A hero of benevolence, at the risk of his own life, he gave his enemy drink at Fredericksburg.”

The words of William Shakespeare describe Kirkland’s deed:
The quality of mercy is not strain’d;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes: …
It is an attribute to God himself.

The process of bringing to light the Book of Mormon cannot be compared to any literary work by any author in human history. We could say that it is a book that was shepherded by the very finger of our God. During His visit to the ancient Americas, the Lord asked Nephi to bring the records that they were keeping and place them before Him. Jesus then looked at them and commanded that certain events and passages be added.5 “And [the Savior] saith: These scriptures, which ye had not with you, the Father commanded that I should give unto you; for it was wisdom in him that they should be given unto future generations.”6 I feel everlasting gratitude to belong to those future generations. I am a member of the Church thanks to the Book of Mormon. I will never forget my feelings when, as a young boy in Uruguay, I read this sacred book for the very first time. I did not have to read much in 1 Nephi to experience such a joy that it cannot be expressed with words. It was as if the book was permeated with the Spirit of the Lord and made me feel closer to God.
These promises bring us joy now and in our future. Once I received a testimony of the Book of Mormon, the natural feeling that followed was a desire to apply the teachings of the book by making covenants. I made covenants by being baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. These covenants, made through priesthood ordinances, along with knowledge gained from the Book of Mormon changed my life.

After my baptism in 2007, I was so happy. We started saving money to go to the temple in Hawaii, where my wife, our three children, and I were sealed in December 2008.

Brother McConkie tells the story of Reed Smoot, who was the first Latter-day Saint to represent Utah in the United States Senate. During his service he became highly respected by his colleagues and was one of the men selected to help decide who would be nominated as a candidate for president of the United States.
“His party had won the presidency the last several elections, and most observers thought the trend would continue. It was almost conceded that this convention would name the next president of the United States. … During this convention the leaders assembled there said to Senator Smoot, ‘Senator, you may have the nomination if you want it. There is one stipulation: You will have to soft-peddle the fact that you are a Mormon.’ Senator Smoot is reported to have replied, ‘I would rather be a deacon in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints than be president of the United States.’” (P. 33.)

For Vishakha it all started in India. That was where Vishakha Ram was invited to go to something called “institute” with a friend. She hesitated because she didn’t really think religion was her thing, but she finally agreed. On her first visit, she found a small class studying about preparing for an eternal marriage. Vishakha was amazed. “They were actually talking about these things. I grew up as a Hindu, and we don’t have the concept of eternal marriage. But in this class it was interesting to me because everything was so pure and clear. It was just like looking at pearls. It was really beautiful.”
Vishakha didn’t have the opportunity to join the Church in India because she went to Berlin, Germany, on a student exchange program. But she remembered the Church and the institute class she had found so interesting. When she arrived in Berlin, she called the missionaries, and they also took her to institute. She arrived just in time to see a great change take place at the Berlin institute. The Church had finished building a new institute addition adjoining the stake center. This shared building provides room for sports such as volleyball and basketball, a kitchen, a lounge, a library, and plenty of classrooms. The center would now support a new emphasis called institute outreach.
Just a year and a half since her baptism, Vishakha, 26, from the Lankwitz Ward, was called as student council president at the institute. Now there are activities or classes nearly every night of the week at the Berlin outreach center. She is attending the Church history class with 25 other students. For their institute, Vishakha says, “the class is mighty big.” She is excited to get some more activities going, more chances to go out to museums and concerts, more fun activities like playing games, maybe an evening to watch movies, and more testimony meetings. “So far,” says Vishakha, “there hasn’t been a dance course. We want to do that.”

Any temple dedication is special, but the dedication of the Nauvoo Illinois Temple carries with it a special meaning that touched the hearts of Church members all over the world.
The original temple was dedicated in 1846, and thousands of Saints were able to make sacred covenants there before they were driven from Nauvoo. That temple experience gave them the necessary spiritual strength for the journey west. Shortly afterward, the temple was almost completely destroyed by fire. And what was left was demolished by a tornado in 1850. In April 1999, President Gordon B. Hinckley announced its reconstruction, and, this year, the Nauvoo Temple became the Church’s 113th completed temple. It stands as a monument to the sacrifice and dedication of the early Saints.

A few years later, and in a different city, two missionaries were visiting in the next apartment. I was glad they hadn’t stopped to see me. I was just congratulating myself on my good fortune when there was a knock on the door. There they stood, and before they had a chance to say much of anything, I told them I wasn’t interested and shut the door.

Janelle Miller of Huntington, Indiana, has many responsibilities and has managed to succeed in many ways.
Janelle is an excellent student and is ranked close to the top in her class at school. she is active in her school’s performing choir group both singing and playing the piano. She also teaches piano lessons to her younger brothers and sisters.
In addition, Janelle serves as class president in her early-morning seminary class. Plus she plays on her ward’s softball team and coaches her younger sister’s team.
But what makes Janelle particularly outstanding is the way she cares for her younger brothers and sister when her mother is ill. Her mother has a degenerative disease that often requires hospitalization. During those times Janelle takes over completely caring for the family’s daily needs.

Perhaps such a somber thought inspired the poet Will Allen Dromgoole’s classic poem entitled “The Bridge Builder.”
An old man, going a lone highway,
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast and deep and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned when safe on the other side
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
“You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again must pass this way;
You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide—
Why build you the bridge at the eventide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head:
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.”

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Three • two • one
Blastoff!
Yaahoooooo—
Chaaaarge!
Let’s do it again—
And then again—
Climbing up isn’t as—much fun—as sliding—down.
Nowhere—near as—much fun!
But the slide is worth the climb.
It’s better because of the climb—just like life!

The first lesson was learned when we were newly married and had very little money. I was in the air force, and we had missed Christmas together. I was on assignment overseas. When I got home, I saw a beautiful dress in a store window and suggested to my wife that if she liked it, we would buy it. Mary went into the dressing room of the store. After a moment the salesclerk came out, brushed by me, and returned the dress to its place in the store window. As we left the store, I asked, “What happened?” She replied, “It was a beautiful dress, but we can’t afford it!” Those words went straight to my heart. I have learned that the three most loving words are “I love you,” and the four most caring words for those we love are “We can’t afford it.”

Sergio was a young man who wanted to go on a mission. He was studying at a university 300 kilometers from home. He would come home regularly and talk with his bishop and stake president. He did not feel worthy to go on a mission. He said his mind was not clean: he saw and heard too many things at the university that made him think of evil. Sergio was challenged to read the Book of Mormon every morning before going to school. He did this, and in a few months he was able to control his thoughts and he and his leaders felt good about his going on a mission. He went and served very well.