Gospel Story Finder

It seemed like any other ordinary Sunday morning. It seemed like most other deacons quorum meetings of previous weeks. But what was to happen during the next 15 minutes was extraordinary to me, a 12-year-old boy who was still reeling under the effects of what had happened the preceding Thursday.
Motivated by an enthusiastic mission leader who had spoken about the Book of Mormon in sacrament meeting, I had felt impressed to present a copy of the Book of Mormon to my best friend and school classmate. The decision had not been an easy one. What if my friend didn’t accept it? What if he did take it but rejected its message? And worst of all, what if he felt that the gift was a sign of religious fanaticism that would threaten our friendship?
Nephi’s fervent testimony regarding obedience had given me courage: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded” (1 Ne. 3:7). I had been taught that every member should be a missionary. So the next day I had presented the book during lunch break, complete with my testimony that the book was true, that it contained the account of Christ’s appearance to an ancient people right here in America, and that it would lead to an even greater understanding of the Bible. My friend had received the book with appreciation and with a promise to read it. It had been a normal exchange between two young friends who shared a mutual trust and understanding.
Two days later the book had been returned. “Have you read it already?” I had asked.
“No, and I am not going to read it.”
“Why not?” had come my anxious reply.
“Because my parents won’t allow it and, after what happened last night, I agree with them.”
“What happened last night?”
“If you will meet me after school,” he had said, “I’ll show you.”
After school he had led me straight to the public library, then to that section of the library marked “Religion,” the same place he had been taken the night before by his parents. Reaching up, he had brought down the largest volume of all—Religions of the World. Turning to the front pages, he had first shown me the list of authors. Each contributor had many letters after his name indicating his qualifications. There must have been at least a dozen prominent educators, theologians, and scholars listed. One couldn’t have helped but be impressed. Surely this was a well-documented and authoritative compilation of the world’s best-known religions, written by those who were qualified.
My friend had then turned to the section entitled “Mormonism.” After reading it for just a few seconds, I had been shocked beyond belief to find such ideas as “The Book of Mormon is a fraud,” “Joe Smith was misguided and given to hallucinations,” and “The entire story about the restoration and the Book of Mormon was made up of falsehoods, deceit, and counterfeit ideas.” I had been totally devastated by what I read.
Had my parents tried to shield me from something through the years? Had my bishop and Sunday School teachers failed to tell me the whole truth? I had stood there feeling that I had lost the very foundation of my life, for I loved the Church. I had felt strongly about the Aaronic Priesthood that had been conferred upon me just a few months before. The Church, which had become the very foundation of my life, now seemed to be crumbling in just a few minutes—after all, it had been the largest book on the shelf and the background of the authors seemed beyond reproach.
I hadn’t told any one about the deep hurt inside—not even my parents. I had to think about it for a few days. But I had let my Heavenly Father know about my concern and frustration, for He was the center of my boyhood faith. I had even thought back upon the Prophet Joseph Smith when his adversaries tried to demean his remarkable experience in the Sacred Grove. He had said: “I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it, neither dared I do it; at least I knew that by so doing I would offend God, and come under condemnation” (JS—H 1:25).
On Sunday, three days following my disturbing hour at the public library, I sat in what seemed like an ordinary deacons quorum meeting. But what happened during the next 15 minutes was extraordinary to me.
Following the opening prayer, we were introduced to Brother Corbridge of the stake high council. Brother Corbridge told us that he and his family had just returned from a wonderful vacation trip that included a visit to the Hill Cumorah and the Sacred Grove near Palmyra, New York. Then he related in great detail his family’s experience while in the Sacred Grove. An unmistakable manifestation of the Spirit had come to them to confirm beyond question the truth of what had happened there on that early spring morning of 1820.
Then, in answer to my urgent but humble prayers, the inspiration of the Holy Ghost began to flood into my mind as Brother Corbridge spoke to us with emotion about his family’s experience. I marveled that a well-dressed, successful businessman would stand unashamed with tears in his eyes and share his innermost feelings to a group of young deacons. I know now that he had been sent by the Lord to say something that was meant especially for me, a 12-year-old Aaronic Priesthood boy who had been praying earnestly and who needed help urgently.
Brother Corbridge’s experience in the Sacred Grove became my experience. The gift of the Holy Ghost manifested itself to such a degree that even to this day, 60 years later, I can bear witness as though I had actually been there and observed firsthand that remarkable experience we call the First Vision and I can testify that the Book of Mormon is indeed the word of God.
Yes, Heavenly Father does hear the prayers of His young people, and He very often sends us our answers through His appointed priesthood leaders and other good people. May we listen well as they speak to us. May our thoughts and actions be such that we might invite the confirming Spirit of the Holy Ghost to enter our hearts and minds. I shall ever be grateful for the sustaining influence that came to me as a young man holding the Aaronic Priesthood.

Illustrations by Garth Bruner
The cast was blue. Amy had seen a cast on Lee’s arm at school, but she had never seen a cast on an elderly man’s arm. Just before stake conference started, Amy leaned forward and asked the man in the next row what happened to his arm.
The man smiled and turned around. “I have a sore muscle,” he said.
“Ouch,” said Amy. “My name’s Amy. What’s yours?”
“I’m Charlie Young,” he said and used his other hand to shake her hand. “And this is my wife, Nancy.”
Amy sat back in her seat. She knew Mom had brought paper and crayons in her bag, so Amy got them out and colored three pictures for Brother Young to make him feel better.
“Your pictures are beautiful,” Nancy said when Amy gave them to Brother Young.
“I think I feel a little better already!” Brother Young said.
In her prayers that night, Amy prayed that Brother Young’s arm would get better.
Six months later it was time for stake conference again. In the chapel Amy looked all around for Brother and Sister Young.
“There they are!” Mom said, pointing across the room. “Let’s go sit by them.”
“How’s your arm?” Amy asked Brother Young once they sat down.
“All better.” Brother Young held up his arm for her to see. No cast. “I put your pictures on my refrigerator. They helped me feel better. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Amy said.
Mom nodded and leaned forward. “Brother and Sister Young, we’d like it if you could come to Amy’s birthday party in a few weeks.”
“How old are you?” Brother Young asked.
“I’m turning eight. How old are you?” Amy asked.
“I’m 83. Say, if you’re turning eight, does that mean you’re getting baptized soon?”
“Yes!” Amy said. “Can you come to my baptism too? I’d like you to say the closing prayer.”
“I would be honored,” Brother Young said. “And Nancy and I would be happy to come to your party. We’ll have to think of a very special present for such a special friend.”
A few weeks later, Amy’s birthday finally arrived. Charlie and Nancy Young came, and so did lots of Amy’s school friends. When it was time to open presents, Mom had Amy cover her eyes while Dad brought something into the room.
“OK, you can look now,” Dad said.
Amy opened her eyes and saw that her first present was a brown guinea pig. “Wow, my first pet!” Amy said.
Amy’s second present was from Brother and Sister Young. It was a beautiful blanket that was almost as soft as the guinea pig.
“Yellow, purple, and orange. Those are my favorite colors! How did you know?” Amy asked.
“Your mom told me. I crocheted it myself as a surprise for you,” Brother Young said.
“Thank you!” Amy said, hugging Charlie and Nancy. “I have a surprise for you too, Brother Young. I’m going to name my guinea pig Charlie, after you.”
Brother and Sister Young laughed. “I’m sure you’ve found the very best name,” Sister Young said.
“And the very best friends,” Amy agreed.

I met Megan when my family moved into our new house. She lived down the street, and we were both in Sister Crawford’s Primary class. We became friends and played together a lot. I watched Megan closely, trying to remember how she told a joke or how she fixed her hair or how she talked to other kids so easily. I thought Megan was perfect. I was shy. I wanted to be like Megan.
One day I called Megan to see if she wanted to play. She didn’t say anything at first.
“Caitlin is already over here,” she finally said.
Caitlin was in our Primary class too. I waited for Megan to invite me over, but she didn’t. Her end of the line was quiet.
“Oh. OK,” I stammered. Megan hung up without saying anything else.
That Sunday in Primary, Sister Crawford asked us, “What does it mean to be a good friend?”
I smiled at Megan, but she didn’t see me. She turned the other way and whispered to Caitlin. Suddenly Caitlin laughed out loud.
“Please quiet down, girls,” Sister Crawford said. They stopped whispering, but their shoulders trembled with giggles. Sister Crawford turned to me. “Angie, what do you think makes a good friend?”
“Well, someone who is nice and likes to play with you and—”
Megan and Caitlin giggled louder. My face got hot, and I looked at the floor. Were they laughing at me?
Sister Crawford frowned at them, then smiled at me. “That’s right, Angie,” she said. She looked around at the class. “How can you be a good friend?”
Adam raised his hand. “We can help people,” he said.
Sister Crawford nodded. “A good friend wants to help and serve others. Jesus Christ taught that when He lived on the earth. He also taught us that we should be kind to everyone.”
I looked at Megan and smiled at her. She didn’t smile back. I felt an empty spot in my chest. Didn’t Megan like me anymore?
At the end of the lesson, Sister Crawford held up a small basket. “I have something for you,” she said. She reached into the basket and showed us colorful strings that had been tied in small circles. “These are friendship bracelets. You wear it on your wrist, and whenever you look at it you can remember to be a good friend.”
Maybe friendship bracelets would help! Maybe Megan and I could get matching bracelets. As the basket went around the class, I leaned toward Megan. “What color are you going to get?” I asked her.
Megan shrugged. “Maybe a yellow one.”
“Me too,” I said.
Caitlin chose a blue bracelet. Then she passed the basket to Megan. Megan fingered a few bracelets, then pulled out a blue one too. I stared at her. Blue? She quickly handed me the basket. I stared into it, not knowing what to do. There were only yellow bracelets left. I slowly pulled one out.
Megan and Caitlin giggled and held out their arms side by side, admiring their matching blue bracelets. I felt a lump rise in my throat. Tears stung my eyes. I clenched my teeth together to keep from crying. I was not going to cry in front of them.* * * *
I threw myself into Mom’s arms as soon as we got home from church. “What’s wrong, honey?” Mom asked as I started to cry. Through my tears I told her what had happened. She sat next to me on my bed and held me close. “I’m sorry, Angie,” she said.
“Doesn’t Megan want to be my friend anymore?” I asked.
Mom stroked my hair. “Sometimes we don’t know why people do certain things,” she said. “I’m sorry that happened.”
“Sister Crawford said today that we should try to be kind to everyone, like Jesus was. But I don’t want to be kind to Megan.”
“I understand,” Mom said. “But I also agree with Sister Crawford. It might be hard, but we should try to be kind even if someone hurts our feelings. Jesus taught us to forgive others.”
“How can I do that?” I asked. I thought of the way Megan and Caitlin had laughed, and I felt that empty feeling again.
Mom pointed to a figurine of a girl kneeling in prayer that I kept on my nightstand. “Whenever someone hurts my feelings, I ask Heavenly Father to help me forgive that person. I ask Him to soften my heart and the other person’s heart.”
“Does it work?” I asked.
Mom smiled and kissed the top of my head. “I always feel better when I’ve talked to Heavenly Father,” she said.
When I said my prayers that night I thanked Heavenly Father for the friendship I had with Megan. Then I asked Him to help me forgive her. I scrunched up my eyes and thought hard. “Please help Megan and me be friends again,” I said.
I prayed for those things for the next few days. On Saturday I was swinging on our swing set when Megan came up our walk. I stopped swinging. We looked at each other but didn’t say anything. Finally Megan reached out and put something in my hand.
“This is for you,” she said. I opened my hand and saw a blue friendship bracelet.
“Do you want to play?” Megan asked. “Caitlin is coming over to my house. We’re going to pretend we’re princesses, and Noodle is going to be the queen.”
Noodle was Megan’s gray-striped cat. I giggled, picturing Noodle wearing a crown. I felt the empty spot inside shrinking. “Yes, I’d like to come over,” I said. “Thanks.”
I smiled at her, and this time Megan smiled back.

After 11 years of school I enrolled in a two-year technical college. I was 16, active in a singing group, and had lots of friends, but somehow I could never fit in. I wouldn’t smoke or drink with my friends, and their language upset me. I didn’t like to hear what they did late at night after their dates. They were my friends, but as I looked at them, I couldn’t help thinking, “What’s wrong? Why is the world this way?”
As if responding, my friends would ask me, “Why don’t you start living? It’s human nature to do what we do.” I told them the person in my dream could not have meant human nature to be that way. Their response was usually the same: “You’re crazy, Anna! You belong to another world!”
Often I prayed to my Heavenly Father, asking him to help me find people who thought as I thought or, as my friends put it, who were of “my world.”
Turning on the television one afternoon as a break from my studies, I saw a group of boys singing. I’m a serious-minded person and have never had a pop music “idol,” but something about these boys made me stay and listen. They were dressed in white, and as they sang, “Is the answer up above?” my heart responded, “Yes!” I learned they were the Osmonds and that they were Mormons. I decided to read some books about the Mormons, but I couldn’t find any.
One afternoon as I was upstairs studying, I heard a knock at the door. My mother answered it, and I could hear her talking to two young men. As I went downstairs, I heard mother try to give them some excuse and turn them away, but I said I wanted to talk with them. She let them in, closed the door, and went back to her work. The missionaries gave me the first discussion that very afternoon, and I began to get the same feeling I had experienced as a little girl as I ran into the arms of my Heavenly Father.
A week later they came to give me the second lesson, but my mother met them and told them they were not to come again. She told me later the missionaries were only after my money. That night I heard my parents arguing about the Church, and I decided I would not see the missionaries again.
Just before I turned 18 I finished school and decided to go visit one of my friends. She had married my uncle, and they had moved from England to Switzerland. The week I arrived in Switzerland, two Mormon missionaries knocked on their door.
I eagerly asked them to teach me and decided to be baptized after only three visits. Two weeks after my 18th birthday I was baptized. I had found my people, my world, and was in the arms of my Heavenly Father again.

For the last few years in my morning prayers, I have asked Heavenly Father to guide me to someone who needs His help through me. I have had some incredible experiences that have been a blessing because of this simple request. Let me share one with you.

I work in downtown Salt Lake City. A number of years ago, I parked my car about 1½ blocks from the office. One day as I was crossing the street, I noticed a grandmother-like woman standing on the opposite corner. She had her bathrobe on. I walked up to her and asked how she was doing. She said she was fine. I asked what she was doing. She said she was out for her morning walk. I thought that was interesting and asked where she had walked from. She mentioned a place five miles away. I heard what she said and then was shocked. It was 7:30 a.m. How did she walk that far? In my mind I wondered what time she started.

And then I looked down at her feet and noticed she was wearing slippers and the thought came to me and I asked her, "Did you walk from the rest home a block away?" She said, "I think so." I offered to walk her home. Slowly, we walked arm in arm down the street. She told me about her children and that she loved music. She talked about how happy she was.

When we entered the rest home, a nurse hollered out, "Mary, did you leave the home again?" She smiled. I told the nurse who was coming towards us we had just walked from the corner. Mary thanked me and invited me to come again and the nurse whisked her off down the hall. What a marvelous experience. Heavenly Father blessed me to be able to help someone in need. I thanked Him for the experience and walked happily to work.

I was still sitting on the porch thinking when Katie and Shauna came running around the house. “Come and play catch with us,” they called.
We threw the ball back and forth to each other, and then Katie threw one that was too high for me. Running backward to catch it, I slipped and fell on my backside in a clump of Mom’s blue irises. Mom came out of the shed just then with a pair of clippers to cut a bouquet. I looked at the smashed flowers and was just starting to speak, when something inside of me seemed to say, “No, Janna Lynn, you’re not going to say Katie made you do it.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said. “I ran backward and fell.”
“Yes, I know. I saw you,” she replied.
“And you’re not mad at me?”
“Of course not.”
The way she laughed, I almost felt good about sitting on her flowers.
“Just look at all those irises that you didn’t sit on,” she said. “A daughter who tells the truth is more important than a whole yard full of flowers!”
Goodness! That must have been the Holy Ghost prompting me to tell the truth, I thought. And He’s helping me to learn what a great feeling you have when you know you’ve done the right thing. I could hardly wait to tell Cindy.

When I was 10 years old, two American missionaries came to my home and taught us the gospel of Jesus Christ. As good Lutherans, we knew God's creations and our dependence on Him. I now realize that what we had seemed like the wintry days of rare sunlight after I heard the glorious account about Joseph Smith and the First Vision. My brother was 12 years old at the time. We concluded that if a young farm boy in America could kneel and ask God, so could we. We knew that we lacked wisdom, especially about the plan of salvation. We missed our father, who had died saving another man's life, and were awestruck by the concept that we could be with him again. The message Elders Call and Hassell shared with us changed our life from good to great and brought an endless summer day into our home.

I read the Book of Mormon and prayed to know if what the missionaries said was true. It was a simple child's prayer, but it felt like someone turned the lights on in my heart. I knew that I had a Heavenly Father, who heard my prayers and loved me.

A different type of reverence encircled us with the challenge to be baptized. The words: "I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life (John 8:12), had a familiar sound.

So did the words of Nephi:And he saith unto the children of men; Follow thou me. Wherefore, my...brethren, can we follow Jesus save we shall be willing to keep the commandments of the Father? And the Father saith: Repent ye, repent, and be baptized in the name of my Beloved Son. And also the voice of the Son came unto me, saying: He that is baptized in my name, to him will the Father give the Holy Ghost, like unto me: wherefore, follow me and do the things ye have seen me do. (2 Nephi 31:10-12)

My mother, brother and I turned our face and feet to the Light of the World, even Jesus Christ, entered into the waters of baptism, made a covenant with Him, and followed the path the Savior marked for all. If you are wandering in darkness or dim light, and if you lack wisdom, no matter what your age is, I invite you to listen to the missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and to read the Book of Mormon. I know that God will answer your sincere prayers and will bring light and joy to your life.

Last year I met an inspired bishop and his wonderful wife. On a recent Saturday morning, they were driving to their son’s baptism and suffered the tragic and sudden loss of their darling two-year-old daughter, Tess.

The next morning their ward members gathered for sacrament meeting filled with compassion, also suffering over the loss of this perfect little girl. No one expected the bishop’s family to be at church that morning, but a couple of minutes before the meeting started, they quietly entered and took their place.

The bishop went to the stand and walked past his usual seat between his counselors and sat down instead between his priests at the sacrament table.

During that anguished and sleepless night before of searching for understanding and peace, he had received a strong impression of what his family most needed—and what his ward most needed. It was to hear the voice of their bishop, their ward Aaronic Priesthood president, their grieving father, pronounce the promises of the sacramental covenant.

So, in due course, he knelt with those priests and spoke to His Father. With the pathos of that occasion, he pronounced some of the most powerful words that anyone is ever allowed to say out loud in this lifetime.

Words of eternal consequence.

Words of ordinance.

Words of covenant.

Instruction that connects us to the very purposes of this life—and to the most magnificent outcomes of Heavenly Father’s plan for us.

Can you imagine what the congregation heard in that chapel that day—what they felt in the words that we hear every Sunday in our chapels?

“O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this bread to the souls of all those who partake of it, that they may eat in remembrance of the body of thy Son, and witness unto thee, O God, the Eternal Father, that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy Son, and always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given them; that they may always have his Spirit to be with them. Amen” (Doctrine and Covenants 20:77).

And then: “O God, the Eternal Father, we ask thee in the name of thy Son, Jesus Christ, to bless and sanctify this [water] to the souls of all those who drink of it, that they may do it in remembrance of the blood of thy Son, which was shed for them; that they may witness unto thee, O God, the Eternal Father, that they do always remember him, that they may have his Spirit to be with them. Amen” (Doctrine and Covenants 20:79).

This good father and mother testify that that promise has been fulfilled. They do, in fact, to their everlasting comfort, “have his Spirit to be with them.”

One bright Saturday morning, youth from the Cardiff Wales Stake, with lunches stuffed in backpacks and plenty of enthusiasm for the outing, set off for a special activity to commemorate the restoration of the Aaronic Priesthood and to uncover the roots of the gospel in the British Isles.
Those roots run deep—back 160 years—to the time when Wilford Woodruff (1807–98) and Brigham Young (1801–77) walked the roads their bus is now traveling. Both Elder Young and Elder Woodruff, who were members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles at that time, became Presidents of the Church.
Since many teenagers are in one vehicle, the noise level is high as the bus crosses the border from Wales into England. Everyone is talking and having a great time. The youth love being together any chance they get. They love being around friends who share their beliefs.
Charlotte Forward, age 15, of the Cwmbran Ward enjoys being with her friends Kathryn Elliott of the Blackwood Ward and Rachel Griffiths of the Newport-Gwent Ward. They usually get to see each other only at stake activities, and spending all day together is a huge treat. Charlotte says, “Wales is a beautiful place to live. Everyone is so great to be with. We all get along in the stake. I’m something like the seventh generation in the Church. Some of my ancestors emigrated to Utah, but some stayed. Now I seem to have relatives everywhere here.”
The bus pulls into the village of Ledbury. It’s a fairly ordinary country town these days except for the charming old covered outdoor market on the main street. Andrew Dearden, the stake Young Men president, tells the youth that the first missionaries in this area preached in the market square. A few of the young men, who will be serving missions themselves in a few years, get out of the bus and walk under the old roof of the market. Would they have the nerve to stand in that spot and talk about the gospel to the townspeople? How would they react if the crowd did not listen?
Some of the people 160 years ago who heard Wilford Woodruff give a single sermon asked to be baptized. The youth are astounded that the missionaries had such success spreading the gospel. Clive Wilkinson, age 18, who is looking forward to his mission, is awed to think that back then hundreds of people in this area listened to the missionaries and believed.
“It’s amazing that people would be converted by listening to just one talk,” says Clive. “I’m a stake missionary, and when we go out with the missionaries now, it’s nothing like that. We’re lucky to get in the door. It’s amazing that the missionaries back then could come over here with this new religion that no one had heard about and people would have enough faith to believe them and be converted straightaway like that.”
The next two stops are different from each other, but both are mentioned often in Church history. The first stop is the Malvern Hills. This spot is where Wilford Woodruff dedicated the area for the teaching of the gospel. After eating lunch, the youth hike up a trail, leaving the roads and houses behind, to the grassy slopes at the summit. From there they look one direction and can see the county of Herefordshire, England, spread out at their feet. Then they turn toward their homes and can see into Wales.
The second stop is the John Benbow farm. Although the farm itself is privately owned now, the small pond where hundreds of converts were baptized has been purchased and is maintained by the Church. The youth relax on the freshly cut grass and try to imagine the impressive scene when Wilford Woodruff was a missionary here.
Although there isn’t a lot to see except the pond at the Benbow farm, the youth are quiet. The peaceful spirit of the place seems to penetrate every heart. “It feels really special,” says Suzy Taylor of the Blackwood Ward, “to think about those people who have been here before us. It is nice to see where our leaders were talking about.”
The final stop is at the remains of the Gadfield Elm chapel. At the time of their visit, just the rock walls are standing. The roof is gone, and nettles have grown up inside. The chapel was the first building owned by the Church outside the United States. It is easy to imagine what it must have been like 160 years ago, as people walked down the winding country road to the chapel. It is a little more difficult to imagine the power and spirit that must have been there when Wilford Woodruff preached. In one evening people learned the truth, and it changed the course of their lives.
The seeds that were planted then still bloom in the youth who come back to visit the places where such miracles took place. “It’s quite amazing, really,” says Joseph Parry of the Caerphilly Branch. “These places are around us. I’ve always thought of Church history as being in America. It was actually in Britain, too.”

At Lier the girls put on an evening program about every two weeks. “It is sort of like a home evening program,” says Bonnie. “We were all kind of like a big family at school. The different groups would take turns giving the program—one time it would be the girls doing the cooking, and the next time those doing the washing. The time my group gave it, they told me to come up with an original idea. I called the mission president and he sent up a projector and the film Man’s Search for Happiness in Norwegian.
When asked if she would share some recipes and cleaning tips with New Era readers, Bonnie gladly complied.
1. “There were very few carpets or rugs at Lier, and most of the floors were made out of beautiful hardwood. Because they looked so perfect all the time, visitors thought we spent hours on them. I guess we did, but we never spent too long at one time. They were washed each day with a rag attached to the end of a long-handled, rubber squeegee and hot soapy water. We rarely had to get down on our hands and knees with a brush and a bucket because the floors never had a chance to accumulate any real dirt. Periodically (about once per week) the floors were waxed with paste wax and then rubbed with dry, clean rags until they shone.”
2. “When making bread and kneading it, you usually leave flour and dough all over the drainboard or table. If you want to clean this off easily without having your washcloth get all doughy and sticky, just sprinkle some ordinary table salt on the surface before wiping it off. The dough will rub off easily and your washcloth will quickly rinse out.”
3. “The difference between how absolutely clean everything was at Lier and how semi-straightened things are in most American homes is not the result of using any special product or particular brand of soap. The difference is made by the amount of elbow grease you cheerfully apply to each task. Extra pains taken give instant results.”
4. “We used a weak vinegar and water solution when cleaning windows, and it worked just as well as any expensive window spray I’ve ever tried.”
5. “Organization is very important in running a home. At school certain things had to be done at certain times. Big cleaning projects were alternated with minor ones during the week to give some variety. But what I really liked was never having to do a major spring cleaning. Since we’d do several major projects per week, we thoroughly cleaned the school a couple of times a year. The only time we had to do the whole thing at once was when the term ended and we had to leave the school to the next group of girls.
“Working hard to make a home clean and pleasant and to prepare regular, wholesome meals for the people you care most about brings a great deal of enjoyment and fulfillment. When I arrived at my home in Midway, I greeted my mother with ‘Hello, I’m your new housemaid. I hope we work well together.’ Even so, working at home has seemed like a vacation after the tight schedule at Lier.”
6. “We were taught that to keep your home at its best certain things needed to be done daily. They were washing the clothes, cleaning the bathrooms, dusting and polishing the furniture, washing the floors, cooking meals, and caring for the animals. There were other things we had to do, of course, but not every day.”
7. “When we did the laundry we would soak it overnight and remove all spots before putting it in the washing machine.”
8. “We worked hard at keeping the kitchen looking neat even when we were cooking. We would take out a tray or a plate, and the utensils, knives, etc., that we used while cooking would be placed on the tray when not in use. Afterwards the tray needed to be washed, but the drainboards were much easier to wipe off.”
9. “Lier was originally a cooking school, and how to prepare, serve, and store food is still one of the most important things learned there. We learned to cook for small groups and large groups. When visitors came, we really put on a show. I remember once having to help prepare a banquet for more than two hundred. Cleaning up afterwards was the worst part. We were washing dishes until after midnight.
“I brought home with me many delicious recipes. Norwegian food is beautifully prepared and very healthful. It is quite plain in nature when compared to the elaborate French or the spicy Chinese cuisine. Norwegians eat quite a bit of fish, potatoes, and bread. They seldom eat meat or chicken since they are very expensive. Here is one of the best fish recipes I learned to prepare at school. Although it is difficult to find the same variety of fish as in Norway, we can substitute.”
Fiskegryte (one-pot fish dinner)
3 leeks
3 carrots
1 small celery root
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 pounds fish filet (red snapper or other white fish)
4 tablespoons butter
3 tablespoons tomato puree
Chopped fresh parsley
Chop up the leeks, carrots, and celery root and place with salt in a pan. Add enough water to cover the vegetables and cook until partially done. Roll the fish in flour with salt and pepper added and place on top of the partially cooked vegetables. Put the butter and tomato puree on top of the fish, cover the pan tightly, and let cook until the fish is done. Chop fresh parsley to garnish the finished dish.
“Here are two more recipes I really like. One is for a sort of rice porridge, and the other is a dessert made from leftover rice.”
Risengrynsgrøt (rice porridge)
3 cups water
2 cups long-grain white rice
2 quarts cooked milk
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
Sugar
Cinnamon
Pats of butter or margarine
Bring the water to a boil. Add rice, cover, and let cook for about 20 minutes. Add cooked milk and salt and let cook until rice is done and the mixture has thickened like porridge. Stir often. Serve hot with sugar, cinnamon, and margarine on top.
Riskrem (rice and cream dessert)
2 quarts leftover rice
6 tablespoons sugar
10 drops vanilla or other preferred flavoring
Slivered almonds
1 pint whipping cream
Heat the rice and sweeten to taste. Cook it until all the liquid is absorbed. Add the flavoring and the slivered almonds. Cool. Whip the cream and fold into rice. Serve at room temperature with fruit sauce.
Rød saus (red fruit sauce)
1 quart fruit juice concentrate (strawberry, raspberry, or boysenberry)
Sugar
3 tablespoons cornstarch
Put the juice, sweetened to taste, in a sauce pan. Add the cornstarch and cook until the juice thickens. Add a little water if necessary to make the sauce consistency right. Serve in a small pitcher beside the riskrem so each guest can pour the desired amount on his serving of dessert.
Reminiscing about Lier and her experiences there almost makes Bonnie homesick for the scrub brushes and her many friends. “I learned some really great things at Lier—I certainly learned endurance—but the most wonderful thing about it was the people. They really care about you. At Easter I was allowed to fly home to the United States to visit my family. All of the girls and the teachers were up at 6:00 to see me off. And they had made me piles of delicious sandwiches because they were afraid I’d get hungry on the long trip home.”
Attending the Husmorskole was a great opportunity for Bonnie Shand, and she feels more girls ought to be taught to take pride in their housewifely skills. She was asked to speak on the graduation program at the end of her six-month course and was given a beautiful Norwegian doll by her classmates “so you’ll never forget us.” It’s not likely that she ever will.

I couldn’t help looking back. My feet were moving one way and my heart the other. Through my tears I could see Mama still standing on the porch. She was getting smaller with each step I took.
So many times I had asked her, “Must I be the one to go, Mama? I am only eleven years old. Are you sure I can do it all by myself?” And each time she reassured me. Yes, I was the one to go. And yes, this was Heavenly Father’s way for me to reach Zion. With Mama praying for me, I knew I shouldn’t doubt.
Mama wanted awfully bad to go west with the Saints. She had no money for such a great undertaking, but she was a woman of faith and knew that her prayers would be answered.
Then Mama found a way for me to go. An elderly blind lady needed a companion to help her walk across the many, many miles of hazardous terrain to the mountains of Utah. So that is how I came to leave my mother and my family and cross the plains without them.
When I left, tears were streaming down my face. With all the courage I could muster, I clasped hands with the blind lady and walked away.
My blurry eyes became her eyes. I guided her with my sight; she guided me with the wisdom of her years. Together we walked every step of the way through the dust and the dirt of the crude trails. After many long, tiring days, and weeks, and months, we made it!

In February 2016, the full-time missionaries began visiting us. At first Pat thought they were coming over to help on the farm. When we accepted an invitation for them to teach us, he thought the lessons were just for the children.
As the missionaries were preparing to teach us their first lesson, Pat went out to work on the tractor. After about 20 minutes, I could see that they—two sisters and two elders—were deflated. At that moment, I felt that I should get Pat and ask him to come listen for a couple of minutes.
Later the missionaries told me that they had been praying that that’s what I would do. They knew that Pat needed to hear what they were teaching.
After the missionaries had taught us for several weeks, Jesse, Bo, and Frank wanted to be baptized. Pat thought that was great, but he felt that he was “beyond salvation.” That was before he met Von and Glenda Memory and heard Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles speak during general conference.
When we saw Brother Memory at church, I recognized him from when I was a child. He was now serving as the ward mission leader. Pat introduced himself, telling Brother Memory that he really wanted the Church for our children.
“That sounds good,” Brother Memory said with a twinkle in his eye. “We’ll do it for the children.”
A few weeks later, after a lesson from the missionaries on the plan of salvation, Brother Memory said, “Boys, we’re going to talk about your baptism.” Then he added, “And then we’re going to talk about your dad’s baptism.”
Pat said OK, but his doubts about his readiness and worthiness persisted until general conference that April.
“You may be afraid, angry, grieving, or tortured by doubt,” Elder Uchtdorf said in his talk. “But just as the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep, if you will only lift up your heart to the Savior of the world, He will find you.”1
Pat said: “Before then, it hadn’t occurred to me that I really could be a part of this, that I was worthy of salvation. But after listening to Elder Uchtdorf, it hit me that it wasn’t too late for me. I actually have a shot to get to heaven. I had never felt anything like that. From then on I knew. This is the Savior’s Church. We found it. I got baptized and received the priesthood. A week later I baptized my boys. When our girls were old enough, I baptized them.”
A year later, we were sealed in the Birmingham Alabama Temple.

After school I’d go to my dad’s bakery, stand on a can next to him, and learn about running a bakery. When I’d leave to go play with my friends, one of my Primary teachers would step out from where she worked as a dishwasher, take hold of my hand, and say, “Are you being a good boy?” It didn’t matter what I had on my mind, whether it was good or not. I would say, “Yes.” If I had been planning mischief, my plans would change. I knew that she loved me.

In Wisconsin it gets so cold that you can drive to an island. And that’s exactly what some young people from the Duluth District of the Minneapolis Minnesota Mission did. The “Isle of Happy Days,” Birchwood, Wisconsin, was the site of a Super Saturday for 150 home-study seminary students, leaders, and nonmember friends.
The 21-acre island boasts a 17-bedroom home that was built in the early 1900s, complete with a wood-burning stove and a one-lane bowling alley. In the recreation hall of the home, old and new friends joined in for pool, Ping-Pong, a ski movie, and lots of conversation. Dinner consisted of tacos and watching the flickering shadows from the huge fireplace jump on carved overhead beams.
The next day brought with it a scripture chase and gospel discussion. There were also more activities, long talks, and good food. For the young people from Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Canada, it was better than they’d hoped for and something for them to live up to next year.

It is sometimes really tough to know how to deal with people who pick on you. I had long ago decided that the best way was just to ignore them. But sometimes this just didn’t seem to work. Earlier that school year, two girls in my science class had hurt me so much with their cruel words that I finally burst and fired similar cruel words right back at them. This landed me in detention, and I spent a miserable afternoon picking up trash. Worse than the actual punishment was how horrible I felt inside. I knew my actions weren’t Christlike, and that hurt me more than anyone’s awful words ever could. After that, I stuck like glue to my old policy of keeping silent and expressionless, hoping people would get bored with me. But Megan still hadn’t given up trying to have fun at my expense, and I had been wondering recently if there were something more I could do besides just turning the other cheek.

Looking down at the candy canes in my backpack, I realized that the Spirit had just given me a solution to my dilemma. I thought of Matthew 5:44, in the Sermon on the Mount, where Christ says, “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you.”

“Well,” I thought, “it’s worth a try.” Even though the thought of doing such an unusual thing scared me, I told myself it couldn’t make the situation any worse.

I almost chickened out. It was the very end of the class period before I had the guts to approach Megan. When I called her name, she turned and looked very surprised that I was speaking to her.

“Here, this is for you.” I held out the candy.

She looked at me very suspiciously. I could tell she was trying to figure out what the trick was. I knew she thought I was trying to do something mean because she knew she’d never done anything nice to me. So I smiled and said, “Merry Christmas,” hoping she would trust me just a little bit.

She took the candy. When I turned to walk away, and it was clear that there were no strings attached, she said, “Thank you.”

I wish I could say Megan and I became friends after that. We didn’t. But she left me alone the rest of the school year, and her eyes lost that hard, malicious glint when she looked at me.

I like to hope I gave her more than just candy that Christmas. I hope that’s what happened, but maybe it didn’t. Maybe she never thought about it again. But I was changed for life after that simple exchange. I was filled with the joy of having done what Jesus would have done. The gift I gave her paled in comparison to the gift I received—a taste of charity, the pure love of Christ, a feeling sweeter than all the Christmas candy in the school.

Nathan Skene of Salt Lake City didn’t always know how happy service could make him. The summer after graduation from high school, Nathan really didn’t want to go to youth conference. He would be the oldest there. All his friends were gone, and it didn’t look like it was going to be that much fun. But he went anyway.
The theme for the youth conference was MASH—Modern Army Serving Heaven. His “platoon” was chosen to spend time with a group of mentally handicapped students. The students chose a partner; then each pair took a walk together.
“Terry chose me,” Nathan explains. “Being close to him and seeing what kind of spirit he had opened my eyes to how much I love people and how much I enjoy serving others.”
Nathan’s bad attitude dissolved. And now he sees things a little differently. “My most important goal is to gain a Christlike love for everyone,” he says.

There is another aspect to Kent’s studies beyond the intellectual and aesthetic. Living with these magnificent birds has strengthened his testimony of his Creator. One winter day he took an atheist friend to a canyon where he knew there would be eagles. As they stood in the snow watching some 50 bald eagles soar above them, Kent looked at his open-mouthed friend and said quietly, “That didn’t just happen by accident.”
“Boy, I know it!” his friend said, his voice small with awe.
If anybody wants to know why eagles are worth saving, maybe that’s why.

My first experience as an institute teacher was a disaster. I had taken an entire week to prepare my lesson. But before class began, I forgot many of the things I wanted to say, and my one-hour lesson lasted only 30 minutes.
When the branch president called me to be an institute teacher in the Fatima Branch, Joinville Brazil Stake, I felt uncertain about my abilities. But I did not want to refuse the call to serve. So I prepared myself by studying the scriptures and praying to Heavenly Father for help with my new challenge. But after that first class I wondered if I was cut out to be an institute teacher.
However, despite the discouragement I felt, a voice within me insisted, “Don’t give up.” So I again immersed myself in the scriptures, fasted, and prayed for help to overcome my inadequacies.
When the hour of the second class arrived, my anxiety about teaching had not abated. I wondered why I didn’t feel the comforting influence of the Holy Ghost. I welcomed everyone, and the class sang an opening hymn. During the hymn, a battle raged within me. Would I be able to perform my duties as a teacher? Would the Lord magnify my abilities? Would the students be edified by the Spirit? At the peak of my insecurity, I cried out in my heart: O God, where art Thou? I need Thy help.
A class member offered the prayer, and I arose to begin the class. As I spoke, I felt the Spirit and immediately experienced a transformation within myself—I no longer felt nervous, my voice became calm, and the words flowed from my mouth. I was able to remember everything I had prepared.
When class ended, I felt happy with how the lesson had gone and grateful to Heavenly Father for His help. I could not stop thanking Him.
I have learned that by the Spirit all members of a class can be edified. When we accept callings and persevere in spite of difficulties, we are not alone in our efforts.

The glacier glows from deep within, pulling scarce light from a gray day and turning it an eerie blue. Mostly, the glacier is dirty white. But from parts of the vertical face comes faint, cold blue fire. “Ice blue” is a real color.
At the glacier’s foot a shallow lake of ice melt is dotted with an occasional miniature iceberg. A stream of glacial water tumbles into the lake with a distant, dull rumble. It’s the only sound you hear until—
Splash! “Whoop!” Someone has just jumped into the lake. Or fallen. Or been pulled. Youth of the Juneau Alaska District are holding their annual games on the sandy shore. Relays rage back and forth across a shallow inlet. Put on hip boots, wade-run through thigh-high ice water, take off the boots and hand them to a teammate for the return trip. Splash! Someone else has tried to run too fast. Again, a sharp intake of breath and “whoop!”
Soon, a stout rope is drawn across the same inlet and the teams take sides, muscles straining, heels dug into the sand. Rhythmic chants of “pull … pull … pull” echo across the lake. Inch by inch the losing team is drawn toward the incredibly cold water.
Incredibly, too, some of the youth who didn’t get wet in the relay or tug-of-war give berserk yells and wade into the bone-chilling water for the sheer daring of it. Afterward, when everyone has dried off and is back at the chapel warming up, the kids explain. It’s not insanity, just enthusiasm.
Juneau is Alaska’s capital, beautiful and interesting but a challenging place to live. There are no highways to other major cities. To get to the rest of Alaska—and the rest of the world—you either fly or you load the family car on a ferry boat. Both are expensive, so you try to find most of your fun close to home—like the Mendenhall Glacier just a few minutes from town.
Close to home there’s plenty of cold and snow in winter, lots of clouds and rain the rest of the time—more than 100 inches of precipitation a year. So, the young women just plan their camps by the calendar, not by the weather forecasts. If you let the probability of rain stop you, next thing you know, you could start worrying about the possibility of bears. Instead, you take along rain gear and a few armed priesthood brethren. And you go enjoy camp.
School football and soccer games are rarely canceled for rain. Baseball is often played under conditions that would be a “rain-out” in the lower 48 states. In a climate like this, trees grow tall, roofs grow moss, and these LDS kids have grown an attitude that seems to say, “No matter where you live—live. Jump into life with both feet.”
No, the rope’s not for the weatherman. We’re still on the subject of jumping. Carly Perkins and Shannon Orme are members of the Juneau Jumpers, one of the largest rope jumping teams in the world. “It’s about the only thing we can do that’s indoors and doesn’t cost much,” explains Carly. “And since it’s always raining, it’s something to pass the time.”
But what a way to pass the time! According to Shannon, 10 minutes of rope jumping equals about 20 minutes of jogging. “If we didn’t keep the Word of Wisdom, we really wouldn’t we able to do this,” she adds. Qualifying for the “double unders”—two passes of the rope on each jump—requires doing 200 in a row without a mistake. Then there are the “quadruple unders” … !
Add complicated routines with multiple ropes and jumpers, and you can see that competition rope jumping is as different from the schoolyard variety of rope jumping as the Monte Carlo Grand Prix is from driving school. So who teaches all of this? Sure, there are adult coaches, but it’s the team members themselves who train new candidates for the team and literally teach each other the ropes. You work with another team member to qualify for new routines. “Even freestyle, we have to do it with someone else so they learn it too,” Shannon says. “You learn to get along with pretty much everybody,” adds Carly. There’s no “king-of-the-hill” mentality on this team. You only progress and go on the road trips by being willing to help others reach your own level of accomplishment.
That’s a lot like the attitude you find among the LDS youth of Juneau, Alaska. For example, at the lake and at the chapel afterward was a fellow student who was being friendshipped by some of the LDS kids. Having seen them in action, she announced that she was ready to talk to the missionaries. You know that when she does talk to the missionaries, she’s going to have a big team backing her up and teaching her the ropes. Around here, they don’t just jump into life with both feet. They like to take a friend along.
Sometimes the world can seem like a pretty cold place. But LDS kids in Juneau have learned that if you jump in with both feet—and help someone else do the same—life can be great no matter where you live.

Nearly every week I attend a stake conference somewhere in the world, so I am not able to attend the Gospel Doctrine class in my ward where the Book of Mormon is being taught this year. It really pained me to miss this privilege of catching the spirit of this very sacred other testament that Jesus is the Christ. So my wife and I set a goal to study the Book of Mormon at home. We determined to finish the 1984 course of study for the Gospel Doctrine class before this April general conference. We began in January; and on Monday, March 12, we finished the last of the forty-six lessons of the Book of Mormon course. It really felt good to accomplish this goal.