Gospel Story Finder

“I don’t know who my secret granddaughter is, but I just love her.” Sister Joseph, her eyes sparkling with light, says fervently.
Each Beehive, Mia Maid, and Laurel in the Parowan Utah Second Ward picks from an envelope a slip of paper. This reveals the name of her own “secret grandmother” from among the ward’s widowed sisters. The young woman then acts anonymously in giving to that grandmother throughout the year.
During the 1989 calendar year these southern Utah girls enthusiastically made a variety of gifts for their secret grandmothers, including decorated cakes, stenciled minirugs, birthday surprises, and handwritten cards.
At Christmas time the Young Women teamed up with the Young Men to fill fruit baskets for older ward members. At certain houses a shout rang out: “My secret Grandmother lives here. Some of you guys come so she won’t figure out it’s me!” One white-haired sister reached out to accept her laden basket saying, “You girls keep me going, doing all these nice things.”
During the holidays several secret grandmothers sought out Young Women leaders, exclaiming, “Please tell my secret granddaughter she has made my Christmas delightful.” Others brought a gift to be taken to their young, unknown friend.
Climaxing a year-long adventure, the Young Women worked together in providing and preparing a colorful salad bar for these special sisters. Leaders supplied warm bread sticks and apple crisp for the January event. With kitchen duties completed, the guests of honor were eagerly waiting for their “granddaughters” to identify themselves. As each young woman came forward, spontaneous embraces linked these friends, old and young.
Following the meal, Sister Bentley, who is 89 years old, spoke on behalf of all the secret grandmothers. Raising her hand to her ear, she commented about her anonymous Beehive:
“I’d hear a knock at the front door and I’d go to answer it. Nobody was there, but down on the step would be another gift.” Pausing, she peered around at her listeners rather mysteriously. “I’d always call out, ‘Thank you,’ but nobody ever answered.”
After the laughter subsided, she expressed gratitude to all the girls. “Your smiles are what we all love to see. Please keep smiling at us. This evening has been just lovely.”
The youth shared a final offering singing one of their Young Women songs. “I have never been more impressed with our Young Women,” stated their leader, “or loved them more than when they stood before these sisters and sang beautifully, ‘I am of worth, of infinite worth.’ I could see that their secret grandmothers had no doubt as to the truth of those words.”

Ellie trudged along after her younger sister, her skirts bouncing against her ankles, baby John in her arms. He felt as heavy as a full water bucket, and Ellie was hot. She pushed her bonnet off her head and watched enviously as her sister played with the Petersen girls. Mary was five and too small to carry a baby.
She turned to look at Mama. Something was wrong! Mama sat hunched over on the wagon seat, her hands clenching the reins.
“Mama?” Ellie called, holding the baby close as she ran back. “Mama, are you all right?”
Mama straightened slowly. Her face was pale, and her eyes looked wide. “I’m fine, Ellie. Are you looking after your sister?”
“I am, Mama. She’s right up ahead.” Ellie reached up and touched her mother’s clammy hand. “You’re ill, Mama. Let me drive the wagon.”
“You’re too young. Tending Mary and John is plenty for you. I’ll be fine.” Mama flicked the reins to keep the oxen moving, and Ellie backed away.
Mama won’t let me do anything but tend children, Ellie thought. I’m old enough. Well, … maybe not. The oxen take a strong arm. But Mama isn’t strong right now, either. Ellie hurried back to where her brother and the other boys were herding the extra oxen. “Harry, Mama’s sick. Can you drive the wagon?”
Harry gave his stick to another boy and ran ahead. Ellie ran after him and settled the baby in a corner of the wagon, then made a bed for Mama. “You rest now, Mama. Evening stop will be soon.”
Mama smiled. “I think I will sleep a little, Ellie, but you wake me when we stop. I’ll need to fix supper.”
Ellie kissed her mother’s cheek. It was hot and dry. She worried as she climbed down with the baby. Mama needed rest—lots of it. Ellie would handle the evening chores on her own.
Mary and the Petersen girls skipped alongside the wagon, laughing and chattering. Mama needed quiet, so Ellie sent them to gather buffalo chips for the fire. There was still a basketful in the wagon, but she didn’t want to be caught short.
“Don’t go too far, now—only up to that rise.” Ellie pointed, and the girls scampered off. Baby John had fallen asleep in her arms, so Ellie laid him next to Mama and carefully poured a cup of water.
Her mind worked as she gently sponged Mama’s face. Papa had gone ahead with some other men to hunt and wouldn’t be back for a day or two. Brother Cooper, the company captain, had said that they might reach another creek tonight. If they did, would he call a wash day? Mama needed to rest in one spot. If they stopped for a wash day, maybe it would be enough time for Mama to get well.
Shouts interrupted Ellie’s thoughts. Harry stopped the wagon, then started, then stopped again. Ellie peered ahead—trees! They really had reached a creek! “Time for evening camp,” she said to Mama, but Mama and John slept on.
Ellie waved to the girls. They returned, laden with wide, flat buffalo chips, and dumped them where Ellie pointed.
Ellie lifted the heavy oaken bucket and followed Harry and the oxen down to the creek. Her arms ached by the time she got the water back to the wagon, but Ellie was too busy to think about it. She started the fire, then mixed the biscuits. After giving her mother a few sips of water and sponging her face again, she put a pot of beans on the fire. Then Ellie cut up a piece of dried meat and put it into a kettle with some wild onions and water. The broth would strengthen her mother, and she’d thicken the rest for stew tomorrow.
When the fire had died down and was glowing bright with hot coals, Ellie put the biscuits on to bake. She stirred the beans again as she glanced around at the camp. What else? What else would Mama be doing? She couldn’t sweep out the wagon without disturbing Mama, but she got the bedrolls down and laid them out beside the wagon. Then she went to look for the Petersens.
“Sister Petersen,” Ellie asked politely, “have you heard if we’re going to have a washing day tomorrow? Or should I try to do some tonight?”
Sister Petersen smiled. “Helping out, are we? Well, Brother Cooper says that we’ll stay here the day, so tell your mama not to worry about any washing tonight.”
“Thank you, Sister Petersen. But Mama has a fever, so I’m doing it.”
“A fever? I’ll come over.” Sister Petersen bustled back with Ellie to check on Mama. On the way, she offered, “Do you need any help, girl? I’ll fix—”
“No, thank you, Sister Petersen. Dinner’s fixed and the beds are ready. Harry took care of the oxen, and I’m going to do some mending tonight. We’re doing fine.”
Sister Petersen looked Ellie up and down intently. Then she nodded and climbed up to Mama.
Ellie listened to their murmuring voices as she dished up beans and biscuits for Harry and Mary. Then she ladled some broth into a cup and headed for the wagon, just as Sister Petersen climbed down. She nodded again at Ellie as she left.
Ellie took the broth and a spoon up for Mama. Her skin was still hot, but her eyes weren’t so blank. “Here, Mama.” Ellie spooned the warm liquid into Mama’s mouth. “This will help.”
Mama took a few sips, then smiled wanly. “I’m sorry, Ellie, that I can’t do much.”
“That’s all right, Mama. Everything’s set for tonight.”
Mama nodded. “Sister Petersen told me. You’re a good girl. But tomorrow, I—”
“No, Mama,” Ellie said firmly. “I can take care of things tomorrow. You need to rest while we’re stopped.”
“But that’s so much for you, Ellie,” Mama protested.
Ellie was silent as she fed Mama the rest of the broth. Then she wiped her mother’s face gently and said, “You taught me well, Mama. I can do it, even the washing. I’m old enough.”
Mama closed her eyes and smiled. “You’re a good girl.”
Ellie quietly climbed down from the wagon and looked at the children eating and at the bedrolls. “I’m old enough,” she repeated, then got herself some supper and went to join the others.

In Japan I witnessed a 21-year-old man accept the gospel. After baptism, he was the only member of the Church in his family. He completed the family history work for his deceased grandfather so he could perform ordinance work vicariously for him, literally doing something for his grandfather that his grandfather could no longer do for himself. As this young man came up out of the baptismal font, he had tears in his eyes. He said, “Now I know and feel, I have a witness, that I am not the only member of this Church in my family.” These ordinances strengthened his relationship with his family and brought a new closeness into his life.

While I was growing up, my hero was my maternal grandfather, my acheii. He was strong in his faith. I went to a lot of different churches with him, but religion wasn’t for me.
When I met Gina, who became my wife, she was a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She wanted me to learn about the Church so we could marry in the temple. But I didn’t want that. I was not religious.
Eventually we got married civilly. After we had a child, I still wasn’t interested in the Church, but Gina kept attending.
Finally, I decided I would prove that her church was wrong by going to other churches. This went on for several years, but no matter where I went, I wasn’t comfortable.
Then, one Sunday as Gina was getting our daughter ready to go to church, I started getting dressed for church too. She looked at me and asked, “What are you doing?” I responded, “I’m going to go to church with you.” She looked at our daughter and said, “Get ready quick! We don’t want him to change his mind!”
So, off we went. Because I felt the Holy Ghost through the people at church, they were essential to my conversion. After that, the missionaries came to our home. They were awesome, the teachings they shared were beautiful to me, and the Spirit filled my heart (see Moroni 10:4–5).
When I visited my grandfather to tell him what I had found, he was not happy. But I knew I had to follow my heart.
I joined the Church, and soon Gina and I were sealed in the temple. Our daughter was sealed to us, and we now have three more children who were born in the covenant.
It took 10 years for my acheii to finally respect what we believe in the Church. At my son’s high school graduation, he told everybody in Navajo, “I enjoy this family. I support what they believe. Their children really know how to pray.”
I am the only member of the Church in my extended family, but I know they accept that my conversion was genuine, and they see the good the gospel has brought to my wife, our children, and me.

I was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I was twelve years old. It was a blessing having the missionaries in our home to teach us the restored gospel. One of the teachings that I remember so vividly and that significantly impacted my life was the knowledge that family life could continue beyond death. As the missionaries introduced us to the video Families Can Be Forever, my heart was filled with great emotion to discover that God had a plan in which families could be together forever. I thought of my parents and siblings, and I was also able visualize the family that I would form in the future. We would be united for eternity.
Even though I grew up in a home with parents who taught me correct principles and who made a great effort to be the best examples to show me that family was important, I felt that something was not complete. At my young age, I was worried about imagining that one day I could lose my parents and that I would never see them again. The teaching received from the missionaries gave me hope.
A few years later, my father passed away. Although his departure left a great void, the knowledge of the gospel that we had acquired helped us overcome this great loss. I knew that I would see him again and enjoy his love in eternity.
Later, I was blessed to be sealed to my husband in a holy temple and to begin my own family, the eternal family that I had dreamed about in my youth. This year we celebrate our thirty-first wedding anniversary. Our home has been blessed with four beautiful children, and I am deeply grateful for all the good experiences we have had during this time. The knowledge that I can be with my family beyond this life has been one of the fundamental pillars to keep me firm despite the trials and challenges we have experienced.
In these complicated days in which the concept of family is distorted by the world, we can find guidance and direction in “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” given by the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in 1995. It begins: “We, the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, solemnly proclaim that marriage between a man and a woman is ordained of God and that the family is central to the Creator’s plan for the eternal destiny of His children.”1
Understanding the fundamental role that the family has in the great plan of our Heavenly Father helps us to focus on what is of more value, avoiding the negative influences of the world. In the same proclamation, we also find inspired guidance to help us have success as families, “Happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ. Successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities.”2
Regardless of the circumstances and challenges we face, if we daily strive to apply each of these principles in our families, the Lord will help us in our sincere wishes to have an eternal family. I love the lyrics of the hymn that says:
Fam’lies can be together forever
Through Heavenly Father’s plan.
I always want to be with my own family,
And the Lord has shown me how I can.
The Lord has shown me how I can.3
The teaching I received from those two young missionaries many years ago not only gave me comfort and hope that I could be with my family for eternity by being faithful to the sacred covenants and ordinances performed in the holy temple, but it has also helped me to enjoy wonderful experiences and great joy in this life with my husband and my children.

As a young regional representative, I was assigned to assist Elder Marion G. Romney in reorganizing a stake. During the long, quiet ride to the conference, our conversation turned to the spiritual dimensions of our assignment. Elder Romney taught me about how the Lord blesses us with revelation. “Robert,” he said, “I have learned that when we are on the Lord’s errand, we have His blessings to accomplish whatever we are asked to do.” Elder Romney further explained that we would arrive in the distant city, kneel in prayer, interview priesthood holders, kneel in prayer again, and the Holy Ghost would reveal to us the person whom the Lord had chosen to be the new stake president. He promised me it would be one of the great spiritual experiences of my life, and it was.

I remember a story about Joseph Smith, who found himself in a more severe situation. It was 1838 when he was visiting his mother, Lucy Mack Smith, in Far West. A group of armed militiamen came to him, enraged, believing Joseph to have committed a crime they felt was worthy of death.

When they came upon him, Joseph reached out and shook each one of their hands, giving them a friendly smile. Then he sat down and explained to them the beliefs of the Church and the members’ mistreatment. The militiamen were so shocked by his unusual behavior that not one of them wanted to harm Joseph.1

They had come to falsely accuse and then kill Joseph, but he treated them as friends rather than foes.

Col. Halvorsen said that children sometimes wrote to him with special requests. “I received one letter with a beautiful map in it. The little girl said hers was the white house with the chickens in the backyard and that she would be waiting there at 2:00 P.M. I never found her house so I mailed her a package.”
Twenty years later when Col. Halvorsen returned to Tempelhof as commander of the base, the same girl, now grown up with a family of her own, wrote to him again. She invited him to dinner in the same home he had failed to find during the airlift. The two families still keep in touch with each other.

If you think about it, it’s a bit strange for someone to put goodies in your old sock. But like many Christmas traditions, the tradition of Christmas stockings comes from an old legend. A long time ago (so the story goes), a poor man had three daughters and couldn’t afford to give them a dowry (money or goods given to the groom’s family by the bride’s family). In those days, it was very hard for a woman to get married without a dowry. A Christian bishop named Nicholas heard about the problem and wanted to help, but the man refused to accept money. One night, Nicholas threw three balls made of pure gold in through the open window of the man’s house. Each one landed in a stocking hung by the fire to dry. The next morning, each daughter found a gold ball in her stocking. With this bounty, they were all able to get married. Stockings can remind us of the importance of service. The greatest example of service is Jesus Christ. He always “went about doing good” (Acts 10:38). Take some time to think about the Savior’s selfless acts of service. How can you give Christlike service and show kindness to others?

And as I thought about that, I remembered something that had happened when I was much younger. My little boy Lexon, fifteen years ago, was slithering around the floor in his diaper while I was lying on the couch. He came paddling across the floor (I was serving on President Lewis’s high council at the time, as a matter of fact) and crawled up to me. His hot little breath raked the side of my face, and then he stood up to put his cheek against mine. I pretended to be asleep, but he lifted one eyelid. He looked inside, and then he let it fall back. Just learning to talk, he cupped his little mouth against my ear and gently whispered, “Hello, in there.” I thought, isn’t it interesting that he would say, “Hello, in there”? He knew that I wasn’t really outside. I wasn’t in my hands or in my feet or even in my eyeballs. He knew that there was some inner dimension, a part of me that he was trying to reach—the same part I was trying to discover in the mirrors. You see, we all want to learn who we are and what we’re about.

The best solution to shortness: Don’t fret about being short. I quit worrying about my lack of height before I was ever graduated from high school. In my Latin class, three of the four boys registered were named Paul. One was so tall he had a perpetual cloud at his hairline, one was just a shade shorter than that, and then there was me. One day our wise old teacher sized us up as we left the room after class.
“When I see two of you three Pauls, it’s hard to believe,” she said, “that paulus means ‘little’ in Latin.” Then she dropped one of those little bombs that made her a memorable teacher. “As a matter of fact,” she went on, “a name doesn’t mean much in any language until or unless you make something of it.” She looked right at me as she spoke, and for a few minutes I thought I might bump my head on the ceiling.

Searching for a great idea for a youth conference? The Aurora Colorado Stake has a suggestion.
Work.
Now just a minute. Before you stop reading, maybe we ought to define that a little bit.
Hard work.
Like shoveling gravel, digging dirt, weeding, painting, washing cars. You know, just the sort of thing you live for on a hot summer day.
Fun.
All right, all right. There’s an explanation. See, the kids from Aurora wanted to do something different for their youth conference, something grand. So they spent three days cleaning up a city.
It’s true.
“We asked the stake youth committee what they wanted to do,” explained Richard C. Humpherys, second counselor in the stake presidency. “They said, ’something to help someone else,’ and something to build our testimonies.’ Since they asked for it, we took them up on it.”
Inspired by a story in the New Era special issue on service (see March 1988, p. 46), the youth committee looked around for a community they could help. They settled on Granby for three reasons: it was nearby; a slumping economy had hit the area hard; and the mayor, town council, and chamber of commerce seemed genuinely interested in providing projects for the youth to work on.
There was an added benefit, too. The small LDS branch in Granby, with a total of five active families, had a youth program that would love some company. In fact, while the youth from Aurora were there, they could help paint the Granby chapel.
Great entertainment, right?
Buses left Aurora at 7:00 on a Thursday morning. By 10:30 A.M., 84 young people divided into eight teams were scurrying all over Granby. Since they were all wearing identical T-shirts, they were fairly conspicuous. And a local radio station advertising the LDS youth’s free car wash also let people know who they were and what they were doing.
“We went into a store to buy some pop,” said Andy Clapton, 18, who had been shoveling gravel all morning at the train depot. “The clerk said, ‘Are you the Mormon kids? You’re doing a great job.’”
“Lots of people have asked what we’re doing,” said Sandra Hilborne, 15, as she leveled out tree bark in a planter box on Main Street. “We tell them we’re helping others and having fun at the same time.”
And that, really, is what began to happen.
“I wasn’t very excited at first,” said Liza Zmolek, 14. “But then I saw people watching us. I felt like somebody was counting on me, so I started working hard, and it felt good.”
Angelica Velez, 15, wiped her forehead, then smiled. “When we first got to the cemetery,” she said, “you couldn’t even see the tombstones. Then we brought in lawnmowers and weed whackers and raked it up and carried out a lot of wood. Now it looks nice.”
Ginny Stafford, 14, spent the morning on her knees, pulling weeds till her fingers were stained green. She said out loud what a lot of people were feeling: “It’s dirty work, but when you’re done, you feel happy, not dirty.”
Besides sprucing up Main Street, washing cars, tidying the cemetery, spreading gravel at the train depot, and chopping weeds at a main intersection on the highway into town, the youth painted the city’s historic log church, landscaped its grounds, and polished the benches and the organ inside.
“I thought that was neat,” said Daphne Motto, 17. “It didn’t matter that it’s not an LDS church. It’s like we were saying, we’re all brothers and sisters and we need to help each other.”
And of course, that’s very much what the youth were saying over at the LDS chapel.
“It was kind of scary when two full buses drove up,” said Corey Trial, 13, one of four active LDS teens from Granby.
“I’ve lived here all my life,” said Mark Bickmore, 14, “I’d never seen that many kids before with the same religion as me.”
Soon Ray Beaty, 16, of Granby, was working side by side with Aurora youth he’d met only that morning. “We get lonely up here, and sometimes we think we’re all alone. But working together like this, I think we’ve formed some friendships that will last.”
And Vickie Adams, 13, the only Granby girl active in Young Women, said, “I’m not used to this many people. It helps me feel like there are other Mormons around.”
The Granby youth and the youth from Aurora did everything at the conference together, not only the service projects, but the other activities as well. They played volleyball together. They played football together. They even played soccer with an oversized ball.
Other activities included a luau with a floor show, a swimming party, and a dance. But the main activity was conversation, a sharing of ideals and fellowship.
“I found out the Church is a lot smaller here,” said Fred Tanquary, 17. “I mean, there are only four kids in the branch. But I think we all had the gospel in common, and they just became a part of us.”
Over the three-day period, the youth from Granby and the youth from Aurora grew comfortable discussing common goals—missionary work, reading and sharing the Book of Mormon, morality and standards, maintaining faith when the world’s full of doubt. That closeness was also reinforced at nightly devotionals, where leaders stressed themes such as “Little Decisions Made Now Have Big Consequences Later,” “Gospel Tips on How to Be Happy,” and “Your Most Important Possession is Your Testimony.”
But of course, as it always is, the final meeting of the conference was the highlight. In a sunlit room at the YMCA of the Rockies, the LDS youth met Granby’s mayor, Jerry Roberts. They presented him with framed historical photos of Granby, and with a Book of Mormon, which they hope he will read. They listened while he expressed the community’s gratitude.
Then the youth and their leaders spent an hour or two talking to each other, speaking from the heart.
One young man who has been struggling to keep the commandments told the rest of the group they had helped him.
“I’ve known for a long time that I need to change some things,” he said. “And being here has helped me see how happy you can be just doing what’s right. I’m making a change. I’m starting over.”
Darla Evans, 17, said she thought it was great to do something at a youth conference besides entertain yourself. “Even the pioneer trek we went on last year—it was challenging, but it was still just for us. This has all been for other people.”
Another young man, a priest, said that he’d only been active in the Church for a year. “This is the only youth conference I’ve ever been to,” he said. “But I’ve really felt the Spirit here.”
Others, like Holly Mattison, 16, talked about living the gospel in a high school where, as a Latter-day Saint, she’s outnumbered. “It’s not always easy,” she said. “There are lots of challenges.” But she said a talk at one of the devotionals reminded her that the Savior loves her, that he knows her by name and will help her to be strong.
Of course, as they talked, the youth also offered an evaluation. “If my mom had asked me to do the same thing in my backyard, I know I wouldn’t have enjoyed it,” said Adriana Velez, 17. “In fact, before we left, I told one of my friends what we were doing, and she said, ‘My parents would never make me do that!’”
Then the president of the Granby Branch, Gary M. Cooper, spoke.
“The branch was formed 15 years ago,” he said, “and I can honestly say that this is the neatest thing that’s ever happened to us. We appreciate that you took the time to come up here and bring us into the limelight in our community. It’s something we’ve wanted to do for a long time. You did a lot of work and you cleaned up the community, and that’s important. But what I really hope is that because of your example, someone will accept the gospel. That would be the greatest service of all.”
The Aurora Colorado Stake hasn’t been around that long. It was formed when another stake divided, several months before the Aurora youth went to Granby. Before the stake was divided, the planned youth conference was a river trip. When plans for three days of hard labor in Granby were announced, some of the youth thought they were losing out.
But talk to the youth now, and they’ll rattle on and on about their “service conference.”
You know—the time when they went to Granby, where they learned that work can be a lot of fun.

Let me give an example. My first attempt at becoming like Heavenly Father was to try to control my moods. I had noticed that occasionally I came home from work tired and unhappy. When I brought those feelings into the home, I was not being a good husband and father. I decided that I would be growing more like the Lord if I could come home daily to my wife and children cheerful and pleasant. I freely chose—and wanted—to try to do that. I acted on that choice and discovered, through experimentation, that I could change my mood. One little device I used to help me was to pick a building five minutes away from my home. On my way home from work, that building was a signal for me to turn my thoughts to my family and how anxious I was to see them. I consciously remembered fun times playing with my children or being with my wife. Or I would review in my mind the rewarding things about being a husband and a father. These things were effective for me. I can now come home cheerful most of the time. And I have felt the approval of the Lord for my effort, a tremendous motivation in itself for making and acting on other decisions to be more like God.

Pat: In that same spirit may I just insert a very personal piece of counsel on a matter that has been a great blessing to us and I believe can be a great blessing to you. While working on his Ph.D. at Yale University, my husband got to know well one of the senior reference librarians who had given him valuable help researching for his dissertation.
On a whim one day, he said, “Ilene, I need to know how many books we have in either the Sterling Memorial or Beinike Rare Book Libraries that claim to have been delivered by an angel.”
The librarian gave him a peculiar look (but my husband has always received peculiar looks) and said, “I don’t know of any books that have been delivered by angels. Swords maybe. Or chariots. But I don’t know of any books.”
“Well, just run a check for me would you? It may take a little doing, but I really would like to know. It would help me with some religious writing I am doing.” (Now, please understand that Yale has the fourth-largest library in the nation, with nearly 9,000,000 volumes in its collection.)
Ilene dutifully did some checking. For several days she had nothing to report, but then one day was all smiles as my husband strolled by to his carrel.
“Mr. Holland, yoo hoo,” she said, very unlibrarianlike. “I have a book for you. I found one book which, it is claimed, was delivered by an angel. But it’s one from your people,” she said. (She always spoke of Latter-day Saints as my husband’s people, which probably meant she had him confused with Wilford Woodruff.)
“But it’s one from your people,” she said, and she held up a paperback copy of the Book of Mormon. “I’m told you can get them for a dollar.”
“My word,” she continued. “An angel’s book for a dollar. You would think angels would charge more, but then again, where would they spend it?”
Well, that’s a funny—and true—story, but I wonder if we have considered the majesty of our message to the world. Prophets are not just everyday people, and angels do not visit us often, but of all the books that will be at your disposal this year at the university, only one has been delivered by an angel.

When Ulisses Soares was a young man, one of his friends invited him to a costume party. It sounded like a lot of fun.
“But as soon as I arrived, I saw people doing bad things that were against what I had been taught,” Elder Soares recalls. “I asked myself, ‘How could I have put myself in this situation?’ I knew better.”
Elder Soares had received a ride to the party from some friends and had no way of getting home until after the party ended. He quickly said a prayer.
“I said, Lord, help me. I made a mistake,” he remembers. “As soon as I had finished, He guided me. I found a way out of the home and stayed outside during the whole party.”
The next day at church, he says, “I was able to worthily partake of the sacrament even though all kinds of bad things were happening around me the night before.”
That experience was one of several in his youth that taught Elder Soares the importance of holding tight to the iron rod.

Once, on my mission, my companion and I made a beautiful coconut cake. We wanted to show our love and gratitude for our ward members, so when we saw a cake mix at the grocery store, we knew exactly what to do.
We spent hours delivering slices of cake, saving the last ones for two recently returned missionaries. We stopped at our apartment to grab the last container of cake, then hurried to our friends’ house through the pouring rain.
Their porch was dark, so I couldn’t see their expressions very well, but I could imagine their grateful smiles as they sampled our beautiful cake. I did not imagine that one of them would stop chewing mid-bite and say confusedly, “Sister … this is rice.”
Realization dawned on me. I’d grabbed the wrong container—and brought them our leftovers from lunch!
I was humiliated. How could our act of service have gone so wrong?
Even though my cake delivery didn’t turn out right, my friends appreciated the gesture (and had a good sense of humor). “It’s not about the cake,” one of them said. “The real gift was the effort you made to serve us.” It didn’t matter to them what I’d done, just that I’d done something. Because of that, our friendship was strengthened.
Sister Maxfield and her companion, Sister Sousa

I admonish all families: search out your heritage. It is important to know, as far as possible, those who came before us. We discover something about ourselves when we learn about our ancestors.
I recall as a boy hearing of the experiences of my Miller ancestors. In the spring of 1848, my great-great-grandparents Charles Stewart Miller and Mary McGowan Miller, joined the Church in their native Scotland; left their home in Rutherglen, Scotland; and journeyed across the Atlantic Ocean. They reached the port of New Orleans and traveled up the Mississippi River to St. Louis, Missouri, with a group of Saints, arriving there in 1849. One of their 11 children, Margaret, would become my great-grandmother.
When the family arrived in St. Louis, planning to earn enough money to make their way to the Salt Lake Valley, a plague of cholera struck the area. The Miller family was hard-hit: in the space of two weeks, mother, father, and two of their sons died. My great-grandmother Margaret Miller was 13 years old at the time.
Because of all the deaths in the area, there were no caskets available—at any price. The older surviving boys dismantled the family’s oxen pens in order to make crude caskets for the family members who had passed away.
The nine remaining orphaned Miller children and the husband of one of the older daughters left St. Louis in the spring of 1850 with four oxen and one wagon, arriving finally in the Salt Lake Valley that same year.
I owe such a debt of gratitude to these and other noble forebears who loved the gospel and who loved the Lord so deeply that they were willing to sacrifice all they had, including their own lives, for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. How grateful I am for the temple ordinances which bind us together for all eternity.

A few years ago, a Presbyterian minister moved into my community wanting to serve all her neighbors, not just her church congregation. As she reached out in our predominantly LDS neighborhood with friendliness, offers to help, and invitations to neighborhood parties, ward members began participating in her congregation’s service projects; together, she and neighbors of various faiths held a fundraiser that significantly helped an LDS family with dire medical expenses.
Apostle Orson F. Whitney (1855–1931) stated, “God is using more than one people for the accomplishment of his great and marvelous work. … It is too vast, too arduous, for any one people.”3 Great things can be accomplished when good people band together. Our neighborhood minister’s efforts led to the formation of a community interfaith committee that, along with our stake Relief Society, put on a women’s conference supplying hygiene kits and books to refugee agencies. These interfaith connections then enabled stake members to help a congregation feed a large refugee gathering and to step in when another church needed additional volunteers at a homeless shelter.

For the next nine years Marilu remained devoted to the book and studied it thoroughly. Then one day when she was seventeen, she saw two men in white shirts riding her bus. When she saw they were carrying books, she wondered if they knew anything about her book. But before she had worked up enough courage to ask, they got off the bus.
A month later, when she saw a similar pair of young men, she seized the opportunity. “Do you preach the gospel?” she asked them. The said they did.
“Do you know about a lot of different religions?” she asked. “I’m trying to locate one that isn’t very common.” And she told them about her Book of Mormon.
They elders eyed each other and then grinned. “We’re missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we’d love to teach you and your family.”
“No,” she insisted. “I just want to know if you can tell me which church uses the Book of Mormon.”
Was she joking? The elders wondered. “Do you know what we are called?” one of them asked. “Mormons!”
When they showed her their own copies of the Book of Mormon, she believed them—and she insisted on hearing more that very day.
During their first visit that evening, Marilu interrupted the discussion many times—not with questions, but with Book of Mormon verses she already knew by heart, verses that strengthened the concepts they were teaching. The elders were amazed at her knowledge of her well-worn Book of Mormon—at how easily she could find the very verses she was looking for.
This happened again and again during the next evening’s discussion. When they asked Marilu if she wanted to be baptized, she responded, “Yes, tomorrow!” With her parents’ permission, she was baptized the next day, 22 August 1984. And then she began her quest to serve a mission.

And what a valuable thing a covenant in our lives can be, if we will let it guide us. Another problem: an overweight girl from Ogden went to see her bishop. In the purity and goodness of charity, trying to help the girl, he counseled her that it might be a good idea to lose a few pounds. Pitifully heartbroken, she went home and told her father. It had cankered her soul. The father, of course, negative toward the Church all of his life, waiting for something like this, sprung like a cat on the bishop’s back, and they came down to see me and wanted their memberships transferred out of the bishop’s ward. I asked them why, because I didn’t know all this background, and they said, “Well, our bishop suggested to our daughter that she might lose a few pounds and make herself a little more attractive.” Now I want you to know that I defended that great bishop. I said to this family, “You are wrong. That sweet bishop, out of purity and love for your daughter, felt and did that which he was impressed to do. I am sure it was a message from God to your daughter, and she let it canker her soul. The strange thing is that she was probably up in her bedroom the night before praying, ‘Heavenly Father, I am lonely. I need someone. Please help me. Help me to find someone so I won’t be so lonely.’” And yet oftentimes we are offended because a sweet bishop gives us some instruction which is hard for us to live.