Gospel Story Finder

The famed scientist, Madame Marie Curie, returned to her home the night of the funeral for her husband, Pierre Curie, who was killed in an accident in the streets of Paris, and made this entry in her diary:
“They filled the grave and put sheaves of flowers on it. Everything is over. Pierre is sleeping his last sleep beneath the earth; it is the end of everything, everything, everything.” (Vincent Sheehan, trans., Madame Curie: A Biography by Eve Curie, Garden City, New York: Garden City Publishing Co., 1943, p. 249.)

When I was a young girl, I desperately wanted my brother, Juan Fernando, to run and play like other children. When I asked my mom why he couldn’t, she said he had suffered a severe brain injury at birth from lack of oxygen and would never be able to do those things.
My brother spent his entire life in bed. Because I was raised in the Church, I understood and accepted his condition and knew the greatness of his spirit. Nevertheless, my young heart longed for him to be like others, even though I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to watch him walk or run or speak.
I was worried about who would take care of him if the rest of the family died before he did. In heartfelt prayers I pleaded with Heavenly Father not to take us before He took Juan Fernando. I knew He would answer me.
My brother was 16 when he died on a cold winter afternoon, leaving a tremendous void in our family. We felt sadness but also hope. A few days after he died, I fell asleep while thinking about him and had a beautiful dream.
I was walking, but my vision was dimmed by clouds. I could see something in the distance, so I continued walking slowly toward it. As I drew closer, I saw that it was a wagon full of beautiful flowers. While staring at them, I noticed a handsome young man, dressed in white, standing by the wagon. I paused a moment, trying to recognize him, and then I realized it was my brother. I was so happy to see him. He spoke to me, and I wanted to hug and kiss him. Then I woke up.
I was so grateful that I heard his voice and saw him looking whole. I can only imagine the moment when we will meet again. I’m sure there will be hugs and kisses and loving words—all thanks to the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Because of the Savior we will all rise from the grave and can be reunited as families, never to be separated again.

Muriel’s life started out normal enough. She was a young child in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. She had a happy family, a safe and comfy home, a warm bed, and plenty to eat.
Then war broke out.
After that, things got bad in a hurry. Her low point came when angry men dragged her loving father—“The strongest Christian I know”—away from the family at gunpoint.
Thankfully, her father was reunited with them later on. But life was no longer safe for Muriel or her family. They fled to a refugee camp in Uganda.
Muriel was five years old when her family fled to a refugee camp in Uganda.
Photograph courtesy of Muriel B.
Refugee camps are temporary settlements for people who are forced to leave their home because of war or other reasons. They’re meant to offer safety, and this one did so, but life for Muriel and her family was still a long way from easy.
“We were grateful to be away from the war,” Muriel says. “And the people who ran the camp did the best they could to help us, but there wasn’t enough.”
Not enough food, not enough shelter, not enough medicine—not enough of anything.
“Insects would bite us at night,” she remembers. “And we would be without food for days at a time. There was also a lot of disease in the camp.”
The refugee settlement camp today.
Photograph from Getty Images
Muriel and her family were not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the time, but they were devoted and practicing Christians. They had rock-solid faith in God and in His Son, Jesus Christ. “My parents kept telling me that I can always pray and fast.”
So that’s what she did. As a child in a refugee camp, at an age when many kids are learning to read and write, Muriel was praying every day for survival. She prayed for food. She prayed for safety. She prayed for the strength and courage to keep going.
And she saw God work miracles in their lives.
“God got us away from the war,” she says, “so I knew I could trust Him. Whenever we needed Him the most, like when we had nothing to eat for so long, He always blessed us. He worked small miracles that built up my faith in Him.”
By helping to raise her younger siblings, Muriel has many skills to call on now as she raises her own child.
After nearly two years in the refugee camp, her life took another turn. Muriel and the rest of her family moved to the United States to start a new chapter in a new land. For all she had seen and lived through, Muriel was still only eight years old.
That’s when her parents decided to find a new church to attend.
“I learned to care for young children when I was still a child myself. I had to! My parents needed my help.”
“My Mom and Dad always wanted to worship God and give thanks to Him,” Muriel says. “One Sunday, not long after we arrived in the United States, they said, ‘Let’s go look for a church.’”
They didn’t have to look far. While walking around town they came across two missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the street.
Before long, Muriel was baptized along with her parents. Muriel’s younger siblings were baptized once they were old enough.
Muriel with her mother and youngest sibling.
A lot of what she learned at church was familiar to Muriel, who’d been taught about God and Jesus Christ her whole life. Other topics were new. “I’d never heard of Joseph Smith or Brigham Young or the Book of Mormon,” she said.
Those weren’t the only new things. There was a whole new culture to learn. Here, Church members made a big difference. They taught the family how to use some of the electronic devices and appliances that were different from back home. They helped with the language. And they helped most of all by simply being friends.
Muriel encourages youth today to do the same thing. “Refugees need friends too. Our family didn’t have any friends when we came to this country, but once we joined the Church, we had so many people visit us! Now we have many friends.”
Over the years, Muriel has been able to help serve those same friends who blessed her life early on.
After she entered Young Women, Muriel served in class presidencies and assisted with all kinds of youth activities. She served and taught and shared her testimony.
Through faith in the gospel, Muriel and her family continue to find hope even during life’s struggles.
But one of the best ways she continues to help her friends is by lending her strength in the gospel and her faith in God.
“Some of my friends are struggling to find hope right now,” she says. “But I always tell them, nothing bad lasts forever. For me, I feel like there’s nothing God can’t get you through.
“Sometimes all I can pray for is courage to hold on longer. To keep pushing on. God has always helped me find that courage. For the most part, the blessing of courage to keep pushing ahead is all you really need.”

One convert, Special Constable Frankie Png, joined the Church a little over a year ago. He says, “At first, my associates tried to make me feel uncomfortable. But I always try to be patient and encourage them to live better lives. I also encourage my Muslim friends to live their religion more fully. Most respect my beliefs now.” Because of his fine example, his mother and brother were recently baptized.

“The Mapleton Utah North Stake decided to focus entirely on virtue at their stake youth fireside. Young men and women, including their parents, were asked to complete the four new value experiences and the value project of reading the Book of Mormon by this November.

“At the end of the young men’s discussion, each young man was given a gold tie to wear. Each young woman was presented with a beautiful gold necklace made especially for them by the stake Young Women presidency. Hopefully, these gifts will remind each young man and young woman of their renewed commitment to virtue.

“A great moment in the fireside came as the young women returned to the chapel after the separate sessions. The young men and parents had already returned from each of their sessions. The chapel was full of young men in new gold ties literally rising to the challenge by standing as a sign of respect as the young women of the stake walked in.”
—Casey Packard Allen

“OK,” our mom said, “it’s finally time to remodel your bedroom, girls.” My sister Shannara and I were so excited! We had been waiting a long time to fix up our room. Our mom told us we could do anything we wanted. Then my sister, who is almost a Mia Maid, said, “How about if we do a Young Women theme?” As soon as she said it, we knew that was what we wanted.
We painted all of the walls and even the ceiling. We chose a beautiful blue color for the walls. My dad added crown molding and put up new blinds. The best part was the frames we made to hold the Young Women values, each represented in their value color. We hung them on the wall with ribbon and crystal drawer knobs. Finally, we put up a mirror and a big picture of the Sacramento California Temple. Just under the temple picture we put a picture of my sister and me when we were small, wearing my mom’s wedding dress.
We love everything about our room. I like knowing that we could work hard and make something beautiful. But more than that, I love how I feel when I am in there. It is so calm and peaceful, and I like to look around and see everything that is important to me. I’m glad I have a wonderful new room, but I’m even more glad for the values that make both my room and my life beautiful.

Annelise Nielsen is a third-generation member of the Church. Her grandma and grandpa converted, her dad grew up in the Church and married a member, and they had Annelise. They’re all now members of the Frederiksberg Ward, and Annelise, a Beehive, is, along with Pia, one of the few young women in the ward.
And the ward currently meets in a rented building. There is an elevator in the building, but it’s pretty slow so Annelise takes the stairs. Up three flights gets her to the top floor of the building, where she enters the chapel. The building is clean and nice, but Annelise says there is a temporary feeling about where the Frederiksberg Ward meets. She looks out the window of the chapel and points.
“That’s our old chapel right there,” she says. She’s looking at a beautiful brick building one block away, the first the Church built in this country. And it sits empty—for good reason.
“That is where our temple is going to be,” Annelise says.
The Frederiksberg Ward chapel is in the process of being converted into a temple that will serve the members in Denmark and other parts of Scandinavia. So to get a temple 10 minutes from her house opposed to the 12 hours it takes by car to get to the Stockholm Sweden Temple is a real blessing and worth the sacrifice.
But there’s still the issue of the Church building a new chapel. The lease on the temporary chapel will expire soon. So on this Sunday, the members of the Frederiksberg Ward are holding a fast, praying that the Danish government will approve building a chapel on property the Church has purchased.* Annelise joined other ward members in fasting and prayer for this special purpose.
This morning, Annelise admits she’s hungry. “But when I fast I feel close to God and I feel more humble,” she says. “I don’t feel like fasting is that much of a sacrifice, and I believe if everybody in this ward prays for the same thing then our Heavenly Father will help us.”
After sacrament meeting, with her fast almost complete, Annelise doesn’t make a mad dash home to get some food. Instead, she walks out the door holding the arm of Kristel Pedersen, a 96-year-old member of her ward. Sister Pedersen joined the Church in 1958 and taught Annelise’s father in Sunday School. Each month, Annelise gets to know her better by taking time to visit with her.
“Sister Pedersen is nice to talk with. I think she’s a strong woman because she’s the only member of the Church in her family. Her husband never joined, and her children were already grown up when she was baptized,” Annelise says. “She’s 96 years old, and she still comes to church each Sunday.
“I admire people like Sister Pedersen,” Annelise adds, “who are close to Heavenly Father. And when I do things like fasting, it brings me closer to Him too.”

As usual, my brother and I were sent to our room until Granddad had settled in. Stu was ten, and I was six. And it didn’t take my older brother long before he found something to keep himself busy—tormenting me. He decided he was going to scare me. First he tried making faces, but that didn’t work. So he shut me in the closet, and that scared me so much I pushed myself out and ran downstairs crying.

Granddad sat me on his knee and listened to what had happened.

“Hmmm?” he sighed. “Sounds like Stu could learn a thing or two,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes.

Then I watched as he sneaked quietly up the stairs to our bedroom. Granddad waited outside the door until Stu turned out the lights and climbed into bed. With a mighty cry, Granddad jumped in and showed my brother just how it felt to be really scared.

After that, Stu slept with a night-light for a while.

That’s when I started to realize that my granddad was an original.

At a nursing home for the aged, two young men prepared the sacrament. While doing so, an elderly patient in a wheelchair spoke aloud the words, “I’m cold.” Without a moment’s hesitation, one of the young men walked over to her, removed his own jacket, placed it about the patient’s shoulders, gave her a loving pat on the arm, and then returned to the sacrament table. The sacred emblems were then blessed and passed to the assembled patients.
Following the meeting, I said to the young man, “What you did here today I shall long remember.”
He replied, “I was worried that without my jacket I would not be properly dressed to bless the sacrament.”
I responded, “Never was one more properly dressed for such an occasion than were you.”
I know not his name. He remains anonymous.

As an example, when I applied this process to my coaching, I was amazed by the dramatic increase in performance from the athletes I worked with. One was a U.S. Olympic mogul skier who was not ranked very high.
As I worked with her, she worked hard on training her thoughts to be positive and on using positive phrases to purify her thought patterns. As her thoughts improved, so did her performance. Eventually she was selected to join the World Cup touring team.
After the prequalifying races, this athlete was in fourth place. She told me after the event that when she had gotten on the chairlift to go up for her finals run, doubt had gotten into her mind. She began to accept her doubt, thinking, “It’s OK. No one expected me to do this well. My family will still love me.”
But then she caught herself and said: “No! Today is my day! I am making it happen today!”
And guess what? She ended up skiing faster than she had ever skied before and finished tied for first place.

I know a good member of the Church who has a successful marriage and six beautiful children. She is trying to be the best companion she can be to her husband and the best mother she can be to her children. She is an effective Young Women leader in her ward. But sometimes she feels she isn’t good enough. She becomes discouraged and feels an emptiness of soul.
She came to me one day with her husband and described the powerlessness she feels at such times. She had discussed her concern with her priesthood leaders and especially her husband but had yet to find relief. I suggested that after her husband left for work and their children were in school, she find a place in her home and there reverently and humbly visit with Heavenly Father. I suggested that she express her gratitude to God for her blessings and then wait for His holy inspiration. She committed to do this daily.
Sometime later I received a letter from her. She said that as she went to her knees in those quiet moments each day and dropped her burden at Heavenly Father’s feet, He took her concerns away. She felt of her great worth to Him and learned more of “the healer’s art”4 as He healed her soul.

Randy Herrman terrified me.
It wasn’t that he was bigger than I was. He was kind of puny for his age. And he certainly wasn’t smarter, or funnier, or more creative. Nope. What intimidated me about Randy Herrman was his attitude. He wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything.
Like a villain in a melodrama, Randy appeared at school while we were all registering for the seventh grade. There were about a hundred of us in line outside the principal’s office when Randy walked up wearing a black motorcycle T-shirt. He stopped for some reason beside Travis Duncan. Then, with a little sneer, Randy reached into Travis’s open backpack—that was still on Travis’s back—fished around and pulled out a Ding Dong. Without a pause Randy bit the chocolate cake clean in half, wrapper and all.
Travis stood there for a second, in complete shock, then started yelling—a high-pitched wailing that was way too-over-the-top for a bitten Ding Dong. Finally, Mr. Squires came out of his office to see what all the commotion was about. Then the principal grabbed Randy by the shirt collar and led him down the row of kids to the detention room. As he passed, Randy looked at me with his gray eyes and smiled. It was an unspeakably cold smile that sent a shiver up my spine.
I couldn’t sleep for a week.
I steered well clear of Randy that year and probably would have avoided him for the rest of my school life had I not been transferred in eight grade to a new English class midway through the school year. When I got to Mrs. Snyder’s class, I was assigned a seat almost in the back, next to a diorama of The Red Badge of Courage, and right in front of Randy Herrman.
I shuddered and took my seat.
The trouble started a couple of days later—just after Mrs. Snyder passed out a homework quiz.
“Hey, what’s the answer to number one?” Randy whispered to the back of my head.
I spun around. He had his face scrunched up and his eyes narrowed, like he was trying to look like Popeye, or worse, a psycho. I turned back to the front of the class and saw Mrs. Snyder take a quick glance around the room and then return to the pile of papers on her desk.
I didn’t know what to do. Any idiot knew that cheating was wrong. But Randy had bitten a Ding Dong in half, with the wrapper still on. I didn’t want to find out what he could do to me.
“A pronoun,” I whispered back without searching my conscience any further.
“How do you spell that?” he asked.
“P-R-O-N …”
And that’s how it went for the next few months. I’d provide answers to quizzes and tests with the unspoken understanding that Randy would not bite me in half. I’d never been so happy as when the bell sounded to end that school year.
Randy was in my math class in ninth grade, but on the first day I waited for him to pick a desk and then I sat on the opposite side of the room. Darren McCoy, a tall red-headed kid, sat in front of him, and I watched to see what would develop.
After Mr. Washington passed out the first exam, and we all bowed our heads to our papers, I saw Randy mouth the familiar words to the back of Darren’s head.
“Hey, what’s the answer to number one?”
I knew Darren heard Randy, because his pencil stopped moving, but he didn’t turn or acknowledge the voice behind him.
Randy leaned closer and whispered again. This time Darren turned quickly and gave him a haughty look; then he put his pencil back on his exam and defiantly began to add numbers.
Randy tried one more time, this time he flicked one of Darren’s ears with his finger. Darren made an annoyed, contemptuous grunt and shuffled his desk forward. About that time Mr. Washington stood up and began walking around the room. Randy reluctantly gave up and hunched over his own paper.
Darren came to class the next day with a big black eye, but when the midterm exam came up, Darren stonewalled Randy again. I’m sure ninth grade was the longest nine months of Darren McCoy’s life, but he didn’t break. He said nothing to Randy, who was forced to make it through the class on his own merits.
I don’t know how Randy made it into the 10th grade, but there he was the next year when we registered.
Sam Boushelle had moved to town that summer. I’d met him at church the Sunday before classes started, and we’d talked about the ward and girls and sports. But I completely forgot to warn him about Randy Herrman. Sure enough, when I got to English class on Monday morning, there was Sam, and right behind him was Randy, looking smug with a fresh year and a fresh victim in front of him.
I flopped into the desk in front of Sam and tried to explain the predicament he was in. Sam looked at me with a suspicious frown, and then turned around to face Randy. Sam nodded slightly and looked back at me.
“Seems like a nice enough guy,” Sam said.
“Just wait.”
And sure enough, I heard Randy’s whisper during the first pop quiz about a week later.
For a minute, Sam ignored the voice behind him. Then he tore a sheet of paper out of his notebook and began writing furiously. Randy waited for a second and then tried the ear-flipping thing, but Sam just shook his head and laughed and kept scribbling. Finally Sam stopped writing, folded the paper up and handed it back to Randy. Then he went back to his work.
Randy read the note and his faced turned the color of a thundercloud. He crumpled the note up, thought about throwing it, but then stuffed it into his shirt pocket. It was obvious that Randy was mad, but he didn’t pester Sam anymore.
After class I pulled my backpack on and stood up.
“You coming?” I asked my friend.
“No, you go on. I need to talk to Randy.”
I looked back at the little, dark figure of Randy Herrman, leaning back in his desk and resting his head on the back of his chair. He had his eyes closed, like he was having a nice dream and didn’t want to wake up. He was probably wondering where he could dispose of Sam’s body.
“Your funeral,” I said softly.
I didn’t see Sam again until lunch. We met near the pop machines and then went through the cafeteria line, piling our plates high with rubbery spaghetti and red sauce. We paid and found seats as close to the cool kids as we dared.
“So, you’re still alive,” I asked finally. I was dying to know what had happened.
“Yep,” said Sam. He started twirling his fork in the spaghetti.
“Well?”
Sam smiled and moved his fork to a new spot on the plate. “I think he just needs a little help.”
“I’d say.”
“No, I mean he needs a little help with schoolwork.”
I was skeptical. “So what did your note say?”
“Nothing much. I just told him I couldn’t help him during a test. But I did offer to work with him after school.”
I laughed. “He’ll work you over after school.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. I told him that if we studied together a couple of times a week, he could most likely get good grades on his own.”
“I bet he jumped at that,” I said, with a good dose of sarcasm.
Sam pinched his chin. “Ah, he complained for a while. But eventually he agreed to give it a try. He says nobody’s ever offered to help him before.”
I swallowed with guilt.
“You’re putting me on,” I said. I was incredulous.
“No, he’s actually interested,” added Sam. “We’re meeting tonight at my place to study.”
Sam twirled his fork until he had a mass of pasta the size of a pool ball. Then he forced it in his mouth. “He wants to,” he said, between chews, “get into the Air Force,” another chew, “after school.”
“Huh?”
“And he can’t get in without good grades.”
I was floored. All the time I’d been afraid and avoiding Randy Herrman, he’d been searching for help. I’d helped him cheat. Darren had ignored him. But Sam had taken a chance and found a way to serve his brother.
“I feel like a … I feel like a,” I couldn’t find the word.
“Why? You didn’t know what Randy needed?” said Sam.
“No, and I didn’t bother to find out.”
Sam smiled and shrugged. “It’s no big deal. Come over tonight and we’ll both get to know Randy.”
After lunch, I walked back to class with a weird mix of feelings running through me. For the first time in years I wasn’t afraid of running into Randy. That was a relief, I reasoned. But I couldn’t believe how blind I’d been. It’d taken Sam only seconds to do what I should have done years ago.
I closed my locker and told myself I wasn’t going to let that happen again.
I walked to biology. Under the glowing fluorescent lamps and amid the moving mass of 10th-grade students, I told myself I was ready to begin again.
I can do well here, I thought.
I just need to find a way.

I was called to serve a mission in the Democratic Republic of Congo, but for political reasons my visa was suspended, and I would have to start in Abidjan. But it did not affect me too much because I had entrusted myself to the Lord and the place of my mission did not matter. So, I zealously embarked on the work with Elder Kalema Peron my trainer in the Koumassi area where I had one of the most rewarding experiences of my mission.
One day we went to visit the ward mission leader in Adjahui a sub-district of the commune of Koumassi. It is a peninsula whose access is difficult and is done only by pinasse, a rudimentary and inconvenient means of transport that uses the lagoon way. The neighborhood does not have a good reputation due to the precarious living conditions of its inhabitants.
But my companion and I loved to go because these people are humble, had the desire to learn, the need to be encouraged and strengthened by the envoys of Jesus Christ that we were.
We were chatting with the ward mission leader and his family next to his house in a common courtyard made up of houses built with precarious materials where his friend and neighbor Francis (an assumed name) would occasionally talk with us. He was a kind man but faced great challenges. Having lost his job, he lived alone in his house and was very withdrawn. When he saw us, he would come to greet us respectfully and then go home. Francis also faced a tobacco addiction related to the hardships he was going through and had no hope.
The ward mission leader told us that Francis had already received a Book of Mormon and that he had read it entirely in his solitude in just four days. This is rare in Africa where reading is a difficult art. As a result of frequent visits, I noticed his growing interest in the word of God.
Francis claimed to have felt something special after reading the Book of Mormon. We explained to him that it was the Holy Ghost teaching him. Personally, I had a strong prompting that told me that Francis was going to convert to the restored gospel.
Francis agreed to attend church and take the missionary lessons. He still struggled with the Word of Wisdom. At this time, he shared with us that it would be difficult for him to give up his addiction to cigarettes of which he had been a prisoner for about 20 years.
We spent time with Francis praying and encouraging him. With the help of God, he made the commitment to be baptized. He had overcome his addiction and you could see the joy on his face. We too were happy for him.
Sometime after his baptism, he relapsed and I admit that it was his attitude that touched me the most. Indeed, very late at night he sent us the following SMS message: “Elder, I fell”.
Immediately my companion and I knelt and prayed for him.
The next day we went to his house and reassured him that this was part of the conversion process and that he could repent and begin again. We shared the little tips and tricks that might help with his addiction.
Listening to us speak and teach of repentance we saw tears and a glimmer of hope in Francis’ eyes. He gradually stopped smoking and overcame his addiction forever.
I finally got my papers to continue my mission in the DRC when circumstances improved.
I later learned that Francis joined the Church and was called as a stake clerk. He had married and was sealed in the Accra Ghana Temple long before me.

One such was Edward Ojuka of Uganda. He met the missionaries in Perth, Australia, when he went there to attend college. After studying the gospel for four months, Edward was baptized. But when he talked to his wife, Grace, she was not interested; she was happy in the church they had been in. “I didn’t press the issue,” Edward says, “because I knew without a doubt that one day she would understand it.”

When Edward finished his master’s degree in 1987, he returned to Uganda. Then he decided to pursue a doctorate at Brigham Young University. Through a “chain of miracles” he received the necessary scholarships, and in 1988 he, his wife, and their three children moved to Provo, Utah. Three months later Grace was baptized, and a year after that their family was sealed in the temple.

“The Church’s power is based on the truth that it carries,” Edward says. “My desire in life is to serve. If I can use my learning and my education both secularly and in the Church to help, that would be my heart’s desire.”

Old Bob came into our lives in an interesting way. He was a widower in his eighties when the house in which he was living was scheduled to be demolished. I heard him tell my grandfather his plight as the three of us sat on the old front-porch swing. With a plaintive voice, he said to Grandfather, “Mr. Condie, I don’t know what to do. I have no family. I have no place to go. I have no money.”

I wondered how Grandfather would answer. Slowly he reached into his pocket and took from it that old leather purse from which, in response to my hounding, he had produced many a penny or nickel for a special treat. This time he removed a key and handed it to Old Bob. Tenderly he said, “Bob, here is the key to that house I own next door. Take it. Move in your things. Stay as long as you like. There will be no rent to pay, and nobody will ever put you out again.”

Tears welled up in the eyes of Old Bob, coursed down his cheeks, then disappeared in his long, white beard. Grandfather’s eyes were also moist. I spoke no word, but that day my grandfather stood ten feet tall. I was proud to bear his given name. Though I was but a boy, that lesson has influenced my life.

Soon after, Bengt Erlandsson, interior designer for the Palmyra New York Temple, asked Tom for a sketch of the First Vision. Again, Tom turned to the Lord.
“I was overwhelmed about doing this window for the Lord’s temple right there on the land where the First Vision actually happened,” says Tom. “I went to the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple for inspiration, and while praying, my mind was flooded with a vision of all 108 windows. I wanted to portray that wonderful light the Prophet Joseph felt in the Sacred Grove.”
Tom sketched the artwork and remembers going to the Church Office Building thinking, What am I doing? I’m just a young man with all these ideas for windows they didn’t even ask for. I must be crazy. But he felt the Spirit prompting him.
Miraculously, Tom’s sketches were approved. With tears in their eyes, Tom and his wife, Gayle, knelt and thanked the Lord for allowing them such a privilege.
With less than four months to complete the 17,000-piece project, Tom worked feverishly, involving youth from his area. “I hired 16- to 19-year-olds who had an open mind and would ask for God’s help,” he says.
On April 6, 2000, Tom and Gayle entered the celestial room for the Palmyra temple dedication. “Everyone was telling me how beautiful the windows were, but the Spirit whispering, ‘I am pleased with the work,’ was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life,” he says.

“‘He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.’”* Dad finished reading the scripture and set the Bible on his lap. “What do you think this verse means?” he asked.
Peter, the oldest child in the family, raised his hand. “Does it mean giving service to others?”
Mom nodded. “That’s one way we can give ourselves to the Lord. For our new year’s resolution, we’ve decided to focus on giving service to others and to our family.”
“We have decided to spend one family home evening each month serving someone else,” Dad said.
“We are also going to stop buying gifts for the whole year,” Mom continued.
Robbin and Peter sat up straight.
“No gifts!” Peter cried.
“No presents?” Robbin asked.
Julia was quiet, too little to understand.
Mom shook her head.
“Wait a minute!” Robbin exclaimed. “No presents? None at all?”
“I didn’t say no presents,” Mom said. “We’re not buying any presents. This year, we’re going to make presents for each other.”
Peter and Robbin looked at each other doubtfully. It didn’t sound like much fun.
Valentine’s Day came quickly, and for family home evening they baked and decorated cookies, something they hadn’t done in a long time. They took some to an elderly neighbor and left the plate on the porch anonymously. As the family shared their homemade valentines, it seemed like this was the best Valentine’s Day they’d ever had.
For Easter, Peter made a treasure hunt for Robbin using an old Easter basket and plastic eggs stored from last year. Inside the basket was his favorite puzzle, which he knew Robbin enjoyed.
Robbin drew pictures for Mother’s Day, and Peter washed the car inside and out for Father’s Day.
Mom started a Sunday tradition of baking gingerbread, always two batches. The family ate one and delivered the other to someone in the ward.
As Christmas drew near, the family worked secretly as they made presents for each other. On Christmas morning, the children awoke to find a large pile of presents in front of the tree, along with their own handmade gifts.
“There aren’t any names on these ones,” Robbin said, patting a large box.
“Who are they for?” Peter asked.
Julia scrambled around the packages, pulling at the bows and paper.
Mom smiled. “Let’s open them and find out.”
Peter tore open a heavy package. “Bars of soap? How many bars of soap do I need?”
Robbin unwrapped another box. “Toothpaste?” She giggled. “Mom, there must be 20 boxes of toothpaste in here. Oh, and toothbrushes.”
Julia opened two packages with lots of combs. Peter opened a slim box of zipping plastic bags. He started to laugh. “Mom, why do I need plastic bags for Christmas?”
“Towels!” Robbin exclaimed, lifting a bundle of colorful towels out of a box.
Peter smiled at Mom and Dad. “All right. What’s going on?”
“With all of these things we can make hygiene kits,” Dad said. “The Church sends them to people who are in an emergency situation and have nothing.”
“Like an earthquake?” Robbin guessed.
Mom nodded. “Exactly. Let’s make these hygiene kits, and hopefully we’ll feel more grateful for our wonderful blessings this Christmas season.”
They quickly formed an assembly line. Each person was assigned an item to place in the bags—two bars of soap, four toothbrushes, one toothpaste tube, two combs, and two towels.
“You know,” Robbin said as she carefully placed two more combs into a bag, “this is fun. It makes me feel good to think we’re helping someone else.”
Everyone agreed, and they felt the joy that comes from serving others.

Terry and Bruce came into my office shortly after Terry and their son, Seth, had a fight on the phone. Seth had been away at school for three years. He’d had a serious illness and had not yet been released from the doctor’s care. Because of his illness, he hadn’t served a mission. Terry and Bruce didn’t know where his testimony was or even if he attended church. They were worried that Jolyn, Seth’s new girlfriend, was not the kind of influence they wished for in Seth’s life. Both parents were distraught about the path he was following.
As we talked about what they could do, we discussed the parable of the lost sheep. The shepherd probably listened for the bleating of the lamb before he found it, loved it, and brought it back to the fold (see Luke 15:6). Terry and Bruce recognized that they couldn’t change Seth, but they decided to try listening to him, loving him, and inviting him home. They couldn’t choose his wife or his life path for him, but they could remind him of their family’s love for him and for the gospel.
Terry called Seth and apologized for the argument. She just listened as he told her he was embarrassed because he hadn’t served a mission. He wondered how he could date a girl from church. They invited Seth and Jolyn home during a school break.
Seth and Jolyn came. Seth’s sisters enveloped the couple. Both parents loved having Seth back home and told him so. Terry and Bruce connected more often with Seth. Terry texted several times a week. The family had a video conference each Sunday. Seth’s dad spent time golfing and fishing with him. It happened slowly, but Seth reassimilated into the family. Eventually, Seth decided Jolyn’s chosen path wasn’t right for him. He later married a wonderful woman whom he baptized.
Terry and Bruce found their lost lamb by listening, loving, and inviting him back into the fold.

From her home near the mouth of Emigration Canyon in Salt Lake City, Sareah Gardner can hear the lions roar. It’s nothing new for her to be lying in bed at night and hear the elephants trumpeting. And if it’s really still, she’ll listen for the seals barking. The noise from a wide variety of animals is one of the advantages of living near a zoo.
Another advantage is that Sareah is close enough to Hogle Zoo that she can walk to work, something she has done each summer since 1987, when she became one of the zoo’s junior zookeepers. In this program, young people with an interest in animals can help take care of the animals by feeding them, cleaning their cages, and taking them for walks. It gives them hands-on experience with a variety of animals, and, in Sareah’s case, helps them decide if working with animals is something they want to do for a career.
“It’s a great chance to be involved with the animals, and to learn about them,” says Sareah, who thought she wanted to be a veterinarian when she began in the program. Now, graduated from high school, she says she’d rather do something involving wildlife biology.
But back when she first became a junior zookeeper, Sareah wasn’t sure if the job was for her. “When I first started, I thought, What have I gotten myself into? I didn’t expect it to be what it was.” It turned out that Sareah was asked to clean the cages her first day on the job. It wasn’t very fun, and it certainly wasn’t very glamorous. “The job has become more enjoyable, and I don’t mind what I’m doing when I’m doing the worst job,” says a more experienced Sareah, reflecting on her first days at the zoo.
Sareah’s interest in animals stems from family camping trips where she would go with her older brother and look for animal tracks, hoping to see different forms of wildlife. “It was a really neat thing to be the one who spotted the animal first, not just to see it,” she says. “Those trips have given me an appreciation for wilderness, and helped interest me in animals.”
When Sareah’s not camping, she can step into her yard and usually find animals roaming there, as well. In the nine years her family has lived in the house near the zoo, they’ve had skunks, porcupines, deer, raccoons, and quail stopping for a visit. The most recent inhabitant was a pheasant, and they’ve even had a rattlesnake stalking the premises. It’s no wonder Sareah considers her yard a refuge park.
With college in Sareah’s future, her days as a junior zookeeper are numbered. Learning about different animals has been one of the enjoyable parts of her job. In college, she expects the learning to only intensify.
As far as a career goes, she’s leaving her options open. Sareah does know that because of her love for animals, a job with animals is definitely in her future.

When I started high school, my friends and I all had the same attitude about drinking and wild parties—we stayed away. But some of them were slowly enticed to experiment and would tease the rest of us for being so obedient. When we got to be juniors and seniors, several others had fallen into the same trap—they allowed “Monty” to get too close, thinking that he was their friend, when he really wanted only to destroy them.

I thought of times in my life when I allowed Satan to get closer to me than he should have. If I had jumped and run each time I saw the “very appearance of evil,” I could have saved myself a lot of grief. I thought of occasions when I, like the rat, rationalized my way through compromising situations, knowing initially the danger involved, but then slowly telling myself that I could handle it.

I can understand now why Satan is so often referred to as a serpent in the scriptures. Even though I still stumble sometimes, I am more alert to Satan’s method of attraction. I can see it coming and run before it’s too late.