Gospel Story Finder

Later Charles and his fiancée, Sarah Price, said good-bye to their families and went to Liverpool, a seaport from which most of the Latter-day Saint emigrants embarked. They were married on shipboard after they set sail for Nauvoo. Although the trip across the Atlantic Ocean aboard the Equinox was long, the 572 Saints “arrived in full health and vigor, with not one soul lost, full of praise and thanksgiving to the God of Israel for his mercy in blessing them with a safe journey with no serious difficulty” (Journal of Charles Smith).
The company of Saints remained together on the second part of the trip, from New Orleans up the Mississippi River to Nauvoo. As their boat landed at Nauvoo on April 12, 1843, the Prophet Joseph was standing on the riverbank to welcome them! The next day he delivered an address to the new arrivals that was very comforting to them after their long journey.

“My father’s family was driven from Mexico when he was fourteen years old. The men sent their women and children ahead by train, and they came later by horseback. On the way out of Mexico, Dad was nearly shot. He says he will never know why the man pointing the gun at him didn’t pull the trigger.
“When they arrived in Oakley, Idaho, the family had few material possessions; they didn’t have shoes or coats. A family meeting was held to see whether they should pay their tithing. They decided to do so. His family was always faithful to the Lord and my father has always been faithful too.”

When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
Matthew was going through a hard time when the family started reading every morning. He says, “I wasn’t doing well in school. I struggled with my personal scripture study and my relationship with Heavenly Father, and I kept it all to myself. I didn’t talk about it with my parents.”
However, as Matthew spent more time reading the Book of Mormon, the gospel began to take first priority in his life. He also put more effort into school. He worked hard and got his grades up.
“I also realized how much Heavenly Father and my parents love me and how much they help me. And I have a greater testimony of Jesus Christ. He has helped me overcome bad habits and helped me get my life headed in the right direction. I’m so glad we took President Nelson’s challenge as a family. It changed my life.”

Several weeks ago I took the New Era to work. I was going to read it on my break. Several people asked if they could look through it. They said they had never seen a magazine like it. They enjoyed the stories and said it made them feel good all over.
I learned that the New Era is a great missionary tool. It has helped me explain many of my beliefs to my co-workers.
Rochelle JohnsonSan Antonio, Texas

When Elder Jeremy R. Jaggi was a teenager, his seven-year-old sister, Kristen, contracted a bacteria that attacked her brain. Doctors said she wouldn’t survive.
Young Jeremy knelt beside his bed in the family’s home in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA, and pleaded with the Lord to know why she had to die so young. His sister, however, received a priesthood blessing and lived.
This was a catalyst for 17-year-old Jeremy to “get himself right with God,” leading him to seriously read the Book of Mormon for the first time. Later he served as a full-time missionary in the Ohio Cleveland Mission.
Jeremy would return to his knees in heartfelt prayer years later as his wife, Amy, was in pre-term labor with their third child. “At that moment, I felt an overwhelming peace—a peace that can only be described as the loving arms of a Heavenly Father enveloping me with the warmth of the Holy Ghost,” he said.
That peace carried him through the brief time the baby lived and the months of grief that followed with another miscarriage. “We’re all tried in our way,” he said, “but we still ‘count it all joy’ [James 1:2] that the Savior has provided a way for us to have peace and happiness.”

One of the true and exciting stories in the history of the United States Army is that of Deborah Sampson who volunteered for service in the Continental army of 1782. She was wounded three times and was a veteran of several military campaigns. Deborah was such a good soldier that she was transferred to Philadelphia to serve as an orderly for General Patterson.
Ironically, the move from a combat area to one that was relatively secure proved to be her undoing. For it was in the City of Brotherly Love that a doctor discovered Deborah’s secret that she had been masquerading as a man and serving in the army as Pvt. Robert Shurtleff.
Deborah was born in Plympton, Massachusetts, on December 17, 1760. After the death of her father and illness of her mother when she was only eight, she spent the early part of her life as a general handywoman and as an indentured servant (a person who agrees to work for his keep for a certain length of time). But Deborah was not content to always be a servant even though she was strong and tall—about five feet eight inches high. She taught herself to read and by the time she was twenty she was able to find work as a teacher. Using twelve dollars she had saved from her new profession, she bought enough cloth to make herself a suit of men’s clothes. As each article was completed, she hid it in some hay.
When all was ready, she wrapped a bandage tightly around her chest, assumed her new identity, hiked seventy-five miles to Worcester, Massachusetts, and became Pvt. Robert Shurtleff, the newest member of Captain George Webb’s Fourth Massachusetts Regiment.
None of her comrades suspected that a woman had joined their ranks, and the lack of beard and mustache was attributed to the recruit’s youth. So she joined her comrades in arms without experiencing any insurmountable obstacles.
Deborah’s first wound was a sabre slash across the left side of her head. Practically self-healing, it did not require the services of a doctor. Her second wound, however, was caused by a musket ball that pierced her thigh. Frightened at the thought of detection, Deborah crawled away from a field dressing station and treated the wound herself. That musket ball remained embedded in her thigh for the rest of her life.
Finally, it was a doctor in Philadelphia who made, what must have been for him, a truly remarkable discovery. Deborah had been stricken by “malignant fever” and, close to death, she was taken to a hospital. Unable to move, she could only lie in pain and misery as Doctor Binney decided to check her heartbeat. We can only imagine the doctor’s surprise when he encountered the tight bandage Deborah always kept wrapped around her upper torso. But the doctor kept the secret to himself and transferred Deborah to his own home to recuperate.
Although Deborah had never been one to turn a man’s head, she did apparently present a magnetic appearance as a disabled soldier. One writer even claims that Doctor Binney’s young niece fell in love with the dashing young soldier who bore a scar across her face as testimony to her heroism.
Later, when Doctor Binney finally revealed Deborah’s secret to General Patterson, General Washington himself authorized Private Shurtleff’s discharge from the service, and Deborah returned to Massachusetts in November 1783.
She was married in 1784, and in time she became the mother of four children. Deborah died on April 29, 1827, at the age of 67.
In memory of this daring woman patriot, a street in Sharon, Massachusetts, was named after her. And on April 10, 1944, a Liberty Ship bearing her name was christened.

Many years ago I told a story in conference that I think I will repeat. It is a story about a baseball player. I realize that some of you in various parts of the world do not know much about baseball. You do not even care about it. But this story brings with it a tremendous lesson.
The event occurred in 1912. The World Series was being played, and this was the final game to determine the winner of the series. The score was 2-1 in favor of the New York Giants, who were in the field. The Boston Red Sox were at bat. The man at bat knocked a high, arching fly. Two New York players ran for it. Fred Snodgrass in center field signaled to his associate that he would take it. He came squarely under the ball, which fell into his glove. But he did not hold it there. The ball went right through his grasp and fell to the ground. A howl went up in the stands. The fans could not believe that Snodgrass had dropped the ball. He had caught hundreds of fly balls before. But now, at this most crucial moment, he had failed to hold the ball, and the Red Sox went on to win the world championship.
Snodgrass came back the following season and played brilliant ball for nine more years. He lived to be 86 years of age, dying in 1974. But after that one slip, for 62 years, whenever he was introduced to anybody, the expected response was, “Oh, yes, you’re the one who dropped the ball.”

An example of brotherhood in action occurred a few weeks ago in the San Fernando Valley in California. The major jolt of the earthquake was at six o’clock in the morning; but home teachers, Relief Society leaders, and priesthood quorums almost immediately began to do their part in helping hundreds who were evacuated from their homes. Many of these families found refuge in the homes of Church members.
Within thirty minutes a pair of home teachers stopped by their bishop’s home to check for special instructions before making a quick survey of their assigned families. Other home teachers called priesthood leaders, who in turn reported to bishops, and bishops reported to stake presidents. Within six hours after the first jolt, some wards could account for most of their members.
Stake presidents attempted to pinpoint the hardest hit areas and offer assistance where it was most needed. A priests quorum in Granada Hills moved a family with seven children to another home. A first counselor in the bishopric woke up as his chimney toppled onto his roof, breaking through some of the rafters and knocking a hole in his ceiling; but he said, “I wasn’t as concerned about that as I was my neighbor’s home, which immediately caught fire. No one had any water, so we got up on our roofs to beat out sparks.”
A bishop who was on his way to work when the quake struck was concerned about being unable to contact his home or ward members for several hours. But in his absence the priesthood members had gone into action, and by early afternoon every family in the ward had been contacted. His wife reported that as soon as the telephone was restored to order, she had constant calls from families offering to take evacuated people into their homes. “People have been great,” she reported. “It renews your faith the way they pitch in when the chips are down.”

Now speaking of the Prophet Joseph Smith, I want to give you a little testimony. A few years ago when Brother John A. Widtsoe was alive, he gave a series of lectures on the Doctrine and Covenants in the Barrett Hall, and Sister Richards and I attended those lectures. He had Sister Inez Witbeck there—she could read beautifully—and he would say, “Sister Witbeck, read section so-and-so,” and then request certain verses from another section. Then he would stand up and say: “Now you college students, you college professors, could you write anything like that?” Then he would add: “I wish I could.” And he had been president of two universities and written textbooks that had been used all over the land. This church has produced many great leaders in finance, industry, and education, but none of them have attempted to contribute what the Prophet Joseph gave although he had scarcely seen the inside of a schoolroom.

There weren’t many Latter-day Saints in the small town of Princeton, New Jersey, where I spent my childhood. Mine was the only Latter-day Saint family in the town when I was growing up. As a result, my friends didn’t know much about the Church. Most of my classmates were Christians, however, and each morning our teacher would have us take turns reading out loud from the Bible—something that isn’t done in public schools today.
When my turn came, I always chose to read the thirteenth chapter of 1 Corinthians, which is about charity, the pure love of Christ. I had had a special experience as a little boy that impressed me that the scripture was true and was for me. Every time I read it, I had a strong feeling about my future, including my future family. It was a feeling of kindness and love for them. That seemed like a strange thing for a little boy to feel, so I didn’t tell anyone about it. I didn’t tell my brothers; they probably would have laughed at me. And I didn’t tell my parents, either.
When I was eleven, I received a special blessing from my uncle, a patriarch, whom I had never met. In the blessing, I was promised the very things I’d hoped for but had kept hidden in my heart—that I would have the home and family I had always dreamed about. The promises in that blessing have since been fulfilled. I have an absolute testimony of priesthood blessings, and I know that those who are worthy to give blessings are inspired by God.
As I was growing up, there were no Church chapels in the entire state of New Jersey, and so for a time our little branch met in a hotel in a nearby town. My earliest memory of having a testimony of the gospel was when I was five or six years old and we were having a meeting in the ballroom of the hotel. An important visitor was there. I don’t remember now who he was, but he was very thin and tall, and I believe he had white hair.
I had grown restless near the end of the meeting as he was speaking, and my mother had been trying to keep me quiet, but she finally let me sit backward in my chair so that my legs were dangling from it. Although I wasn’t facing the speaker, I was listening to him. Suddenly I felt a burning in my heart, just like the burning described in Doctrine and Covenants 9:8: “And if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right.” [D&C 9:8] I remember turning around and seeing this tall man with the light streaming in from the large windows behind him, and I knew that he was a servant of God and that what he was saying was true. The feeling I had then was as clear and sure as anything could be.
During World War II, the Latter-day Saints in Princeton met for church in our house. I learned then that the Church is not a building; the Church isn’t even a lot of people. I felt close to Heavenly Father and knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is His church; it didn’t matter that our little branch met in our dining room. It was fun because when you came downstairs on Sunday, you were in church. The branch members were my father, the branch president; my mother, who played the piano; my two brothers and me, the only youth in the branch; a few graduate students or servicemen; and a few older women who were converts to the Church and whose husbands were not members. Rarely would there be more than ten or fifteen people attending. The sacrament was prepared on the dining room table, which also served as the pulpit. During fast and testimony meeting, I always wondered why the older women cried. I later realized that they cried because they were so happy and grateful to be with the Latter-day Saints in that little branch.
It’s nice to have lots of Latter-day Saints in our meetinghouses. It’s wonderful to have the full programs of the Church. But even where there are only a very few members of the Church, the Lord is there, and He can bless people in wonderful ways. I know that God reaches out to all His children. In the scriptures it says, “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, … there will I be in the midst of them” (D&C 6:32).
Some of you children may live in places where there aren’t many other members of the Church. And some of you may feel lonely even where there are many members, perhaps because you feel that no one understands you or that you aren’t a part of things. But as long as you are faithful and reach out to the true Church of Jesus Christ, and as long as there is even one holder of the priesthood and one or two faithful people to help you, you can have tremendous spiritual experiences and learn and grow in the gospel.

Recently my husband and I returned to our home on a hill overlooking the Salt Lake valley to find that all of the electrical power was off in our neighborhood. As we approached our darkened house, a young neighbor boy observed us returning home in the darkness and ran over to offer his lantern. “We have another one at our house,” he said. “You can keep this one as long as you need it.”
I was impressed by the concern of that little boy. He had a light he was willing to share. He really cared about us. He was prepared to help us in our time of need.
I thought a great deal about that little boy in the days which followed. He was so helpful, so happy, and so willing to share his light.
To me, his actions represent the fundamental message of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the motto of Relief Society as well: “Charity never faileth.” First, because my young friend was prepared. He and his family had a light on hand to help them pierce the darkness when their primary source of light was temporarily withdrawn.
We each should take seriously the counsel to prepare. Recall the parable of the ten virgins, in which they “took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom.
“And five of them were wise, and five were foolish.
“They that were foolish took their lamps, and took no oil with them:
“But the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps.” When the bridegroom came, they were ready. They “went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut.” (Matt. 25:1–10.)
We should have the wisdom to personally prepare by understanding truth and living it with integrity so that we might be worthy disciples of Christ. Then, with him as the center of our lives, we can develop those Christlike qualities which will make us worthy of exaltation. We will gain added strength and a greater capacity for love. We will improve the skills of giving our love in such a way that we are prepared in the time of need.
My young friend also cared enough to observe a need. He ran to us in the darkness. He held out his light to illuminate our darkened way.
Jesus directs us to do that in poignant parables, saying:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.” (Matt. 25:35–36.)
He clearly explains that we must care enough to offer ourselves to meet the physical and spiritual needs of those around us. Doing this is charity. It is a beginning of the pure love of Christ.

Long years ago I was touched by a story which illustrated love of neighbor between a small boy named Paul and a telephone operator he had never met. These were the days many will remember with nostalgia but which a new generation will never experience.
Paul related the story: “When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember that the shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but I used to listen with fascination when Mother would talk to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person. Her name was ‘Information, Please,’ and there was nothing she did not know. ‘Information, Please’ could supply anybody’s number and the correct time.
“I learned that if I stood on a stool, I could reach the telephone. I called ‘Information, Please’ for all sorts of things. I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my arithmetic, too.
“Then there was the time that Petey, our pet canary, died. I called ‘Information, Please’ and told her the sad story. She listened and then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. ‘Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up, on the bottom of the cage?’ I asked.
“She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, ‘Paul, always remember that there are other worlds in which to sing.’ Somehow I felt better.
“All this took place in a small town near Seattle. Then we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. ‘Information, Please’ belonged to that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying to call her. The memories of those childhood conversations never really left me; often in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.
“Later, when I went west to college, my plane made a stop in Seattle,” Paul continued. “I called ‘Information, Please,’ and when, miraculously, I heard that familiar voice, I said to her, ‘I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?’
“‘I wonder,’ she said, ‘if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls.’ I told her how often I had thought of her over the years, and I asked if I could call her again when I came back west.
“‘Please do,’ she said. ‘Just ask for Sally.’
“Only three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, ‘Information,’ and I asked for Sally. ‘Are you a friend?’ the woman asked.
“‘Yes, a very old friend,’ I replied.
“‘Then I’m sorry to have to tell you. Sally has only been working part-time the last few years because she was ill. She died five weeks ago.’ But before I could hang up, she said, ‘Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?’
“‘Yes,’ I responded.
“‘Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down. Here it is—I’ll read it. Tell him I still say there are other worlds in which to sing. He’ll know what I mean.
“I thanked her and hung up,” said Paul. “I did know what Sally meant.”
Sally, the telephone operator, and Paul, the boy—the man—were in reality good Samaritans to each other.

In 1979, Art Hansen was wrestling with the decision to give up his personal pursuits in competitive skiing to go on a full-time mission. Back then he went to a sacrament meeting that helped him make up his mind.
Art listened to a talk given by a friend who had accepted a mission call. “I thought, hey, I’m going to go too,” he remembers. Guided by his initial excitement, he penned a letter to another friend, Elder Matthew Balkman, who at the time was serving in the Philippines. He told his missionary friend about his decision to serve. Only one problem—Elder Balkman never received that letter or the two that followed. “We didn’t communicate regularly back then,” Art says. “I didn’t know he never received my letters.”
Almost 30 years later, Elder Balkman’s son Blake was called to serve in the same location in the Philippines where his father had served. When Elder Balkman junior arrived at the mission home, he was presented with three faded letters from “Elder Hansen” addressed to an Elder Balkman. He noticed the postmarks were dated 30 years ago and sent the letters home to his father, assuming they had something to do with him. Elder Balkman senior then forwarded them on to his old friend Art Hansen, not knowing that this time the letter would arrive just at the right moment—for someone else.

Although it was the middle of Guatemala’s rainy season, the sun was out in full force at noon when they arrived in Cahabón, about halfway home.
“We’ll stop for soft drinks here,” President Andersen said as he pulled over next to the town square. “This town is tradition-oriented and wouldn’t let the protestant missionaries construct a chapel. I want you to meet the lady who owns the cafe; she has a special spirit. She will join the Church someday.”
The elders wanted to look around awhile before going into the cafe. The rest went inside and talked with the owner while they enjoyed their soft drinks. Several minutes passed, but the missionaries did not come in. “I wonder where they are,” President Andersen said.
They finished their drinks, paid the owner, and walked outside. There the mystery of the missing missionaries was solved.
Seated on a step, Elder Bringhurst was addressing about 50 Indians in their tongue, telling them about their ancestors. He held a copy of the Book of Mormon as he spoke.
In the following 20 minutes the missionaries explained the origin of the book, and bore their testimonies. The Indians seemed impressed, and several invited the missionaries to return another time to tell them more. Elder Bringhurst assured them that someone would return with the book and tell them many important things about themselves and about God.
Later, as they drove homeward, President Andersen said, “The Indians want to know about the book of their ancestors. We have something no one else can give them, the gospel. We have the religion of their forefathers and we tell them so.”

As further evidence to help you understand the challenge my parents faced in raising our family, let me tell you about our family scripture reading. Each morning, my mother read the Book of Mormon to us during breakfast. During this time, my older brother, Dave, and I would sit quietly but irreverently. To be completely honest, we weren’t listening. We were reading the print on the cereal boxes.

Finally, one morning, I decided to square up with my mother. I exclaimed, “Mom, why are you doing this to us? Why are you reading the Book of Mormon every morning?” I then made a statement that I am embarrassed to admit to. In fact, I can’t believe I actually said it. I told her, “Mom, I am not listening!”

Her loving response was a defining moment in my life. She said, “Son, I was at a meeting where President Marion G. Romney taught about the blessings of scripture reading. During this meeting, I received a promise that if I would read the Book of Mormon to my children every day, I would not lose them.” She then looked me straight in the eyes and, with absolute determination, said, “And I will not lose you!”

Her words pierced my heart. Notwithstanding my imperfections, I was worth saving! She taught me the eternal truth that I am a son of a loving Heavenly Father. I learned that no matter what the circumstance, I was worth it. This was a perfect moment for an imperfect little boy.

For me, parenthood has been a refiner’s fire. My weaknesses seem to come out as I become stressed, sleep deprived, worried, or upset. Of course, parenthood’s blessings make up for those moments, but I have found that I have a temper. It’s humiliating to admit, but I used to yell or throw things to get my children’s attention.
I would resolve time and again not to lose my temper, but I would still lose it in times of stress. Heavenly Father knew I needed something dramatic to help me.
One evening after a long day of bottling peaches, I put on the last batch and decided to take a short nap. I was sure I would wake up in time to take the bottles from the steamer.
I didn’t.
My husband, Quinn, and I were startled awake by the sound of exploding jars. I ran to the kitchen and saw shattered glass and gluey peaches over every surface of the room. Apparently, the steamer water had evaporated, heat and pressure had built up, the top of the steamer had blown off, and six of seven peach jars had exploded.
“I think I’ll clean this up in the morning,” I said.
Bad idea.
By morning the hot peach muck had solidified into hardened, glass-filled mounds all over the kitchen and dining room. The plastered peach-glass tidbits had even found their way behind countertop appliances and into every nook and cranny, including behind the fridge.
Cleanup took several hours. I had to soak the glass-filled mounds with wet paper towels and then try to wipe them up without cutting myself.
As I cleaned, a familiar voice whispered to me: “Mary, when your temper explodes, as did these jars, you cannot easily fix things. You cannot see where and how your anger hurts your children and others. Like this mess, that hurt hardens quickly and is painful.”
Suddenly, the cleanup took on new meaning. The lesson was a powerful one. Like my anger, there was no quick cleanup. Weeks later I was still finding little clumps of peach rock embedded with glass.
I pray that someday my patience will become as great a strength as it was a weakness. Meanwhile, I am grateful that the Lord’s Atonement is helping me better control my temper so that I can spare my loved ones any more messes caused by exploding anger.

“We had a great desire and sense of urgency to go to the temple and there to have our family sealed for all time and eternity. As soon as we were able to go to the Salt Lake Temple following our first year in the Church, we eagerly went. The support of so many people who accompanied us was tremendous. The sealing for all time and eternity was one of the most glorious occasions of our lives.
“The reason for the urgency of going to the temple and being sealed as a family was realized when just two weeks later a tragic automobile accident claimed the life of our eleven-year-old daughter Kristin. As we stagger under the heavy loss and grieve her mortal absence in our lives, and as we examine and study the process of the accident, we know in our hearts that it was the will of Heavenly Father to call her spirit unto Himself. We are strengthened and comforted in the knowledge that her joy is full. We have gratitude in our hearts that the timing of our Heavenly Father was so kind and merciful.
“At a time such as this we can only ask questions and stand amazed as we ponder the answers: What if we had not joined the true church of Jesus Christ and given this gift to Kristin? What if we had delayed the conversion to a more convenient time? What if we had not gone to the temple with a sense of urgency when we did? What if we had not given Kristin the great joy of Primary, Sunday School, sacrament meetings and family home evenings?
“During the week before the accident Kristin had asked her mother if it would be possible for her to go back into the temple. She had loved it so.
“On a lonely Kansas cemetery there stands a gray monument. On it are the four names of our family. At the bottom are engraved these words: ‘This family is sealed for all time and eternity.’ Behind the tears of temporary loss our eyes show the clear and joyous knowledge that our decision was truly the correct decision.”

Then there is the remembered Christmas tale of O. Henry about a young husband and wife who lived in abject poverty yet who wanted to give one another a special gift. But they had nothing to give. Then the husband had a ray of inspiration: “I shall provide my dear wife a beautiful ornamental comb to adorn her magnificent long black hair.” The wife also received an idea: “I shall obtain a lovely chain for my husband’s prized watch which he values so highly.”

Christmas day came; the treasured gifts were exchanged. Then the surprise ending, so typical of O. Henry’s short stories: The wife had shorn her long hair and sold it to obtain funds to purchase the watch chain, only to discover that her husband had sold his watch, that he might purchase the comb to adorn her beautiful long hair, which now she did not have.

When I was a child, I lived in Zwickau, Germany. My grandmother had a friend with white, flowing hair. Her name was Sister Ewig, and she invited my grandmother to church. When our family went there, we saw many children. All of us were very impressed by the families, the children, and the music, especially the singing. I felt at home right away. My whole family—except me, because I was only six years old—were baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. When I was eight, I was baptized in a public swimming pool by my father.

Because the following day was the Friday before Easter, a great many people came to the temple from all parts of Chile. Those of our group who were lodged far away did not arrive early enough to get in. We were extremely disappointed, but we made the best of the situation. That evening, we held a beautiful family home evening together, bearing our testimonies and singing hymns. And we made arrangements to attend the first session the next morning.
The Saturday morning session was indeed one of great rejoicing and spirituality as our whole group met in the house of the Lord. We felt that He was happy and pleased with our service as we performed the sacred ordinances again, this time for the dead.