Gospel Story Finder

Recently I read Lytton Strachey’s Life of Florence Nightingale. I had read it once before, but my rereading brought a new sense of admiration and respect for this great young woman of England.
She was born to the upper class, to party and to dance, to go to the races and look pretty in society. But she would have none of it. Her great desire was to [relieve] pain and suffering, to hasten healing, to make less dreadful the hospitals of the day. She devoted herself to nursing and became expert according to the training then available.
Britain became embroiled in the Crimean War, and she was appointed head of the hospital in Scutari, where thousands of the victims of the war were brought.
The picture that greeted her here was one of absolute despair. An old warehouse served as a hospital. Wounded men were crowded in great rooms that reeked of foul odors and were filled with the cries of the suffering.
This frail young woman, with those she had recruited, set to work. I quote from Mr. Strachey: “Wherever, in those vast wards suffering was at its worst and the need for help was greatest, there, as if by magic, was Miss Nightingale.”
The beds that held the suffering men stretched over four miles, with barely space between each bed to walk. But somehow, within a period of six months, “the confusion and the pressure in the wards had come to an end; order reigned in them, and cleanliness. … The rate of [death] among the cases treated had fallen from 42 per [hundred] to 22 per thousand (Life of Florence Nightingale [1934], 1186).
She had brought to pass an absolute miracle. Lives by the thousands were saved. Suffering was [reduced]. Cheer and warmth and light came into the lives of men who otherwise would have died in that dark and dreadful place.
Perhaps no other woman in the history of the world has done so much to reduce human misery as this lady with the lamp.

I sat on my bed hugging my knees, staring at the walls, but seeing nothing. Although it was the end of July, I felt cold and numb. I wasn’t worried about what I would be doing tomorrow, or the next day, or next week even. Everything that had seemed a matter of extreme importance didn’t make any difference to me at all now.
“I hope that’s not for me,” I thought as I heard several car doors slam in the driveway. Smiling and trying to carry on small talk was certainly something I didn’t feel up to today. Besides, none of my friends—or anybody my age for that matter—would have even the smallest idea of what I was going through. All their fathers were still alive.
“I’ll be right there,” I answered when Mother called to me. When I entered the living room, I was a little surprised to find my whole Young Women class, not just the presidency or a chosen few, there to visit me. Somehow, it made me feel special, even important, to know that everyone cared enough to come. They were all standing around looking a bit awkward and embarrassed. It was obvious this kind of visit was something none of them had ever done before.
My adviser stepped forward and spoke for the class. “We just wanted to drop by and let you know we’re thinking of you at this difficult time.”
I nodded, forcing a phony smile on my lips. I hadn’t been able to really smile, or cry for that matter, since the funeral. She ended with the usual, “If there’s anything we can do, please let us know.”
Bev, one of my classmates and a pretty good friend, stepped forward to hand me a single red rose. As I reached out to take it, mumbling my gratitude for their kindness, something unexpected happened. Instead of letting go of the rose, Bev held on to it. Drawing me closer, she wrapped her arms around me and began sobbing. Her crying shattered my resistance, and I threw my arms around her and broke down with weeping of my own. All the pain and grief I had tried to store came flooding out. I hadn’t allowed myself to cry so hard, but with Bev’s arms around me, it was suddenly easy to do.
Then another of my classmates stepped forward and took Bev’s place. It was then that I realized they were all huddled together, wiping tears, and saying nothing. I was amazed at how much better such a good cry was making me feel. Without saying anything, they seemed to be providing just what I needed most. When they had each taken a turn at my side, they quietly whispered good-byes and left.
After the door closed behind them, I still stood where they had left me, clutching the rose.
“That was a wonderful thing they did,” my mother said from behind me. It was then I remembered she had been there, a witness to the whole beautiful scene.
“I didn’t know I needed that,” I quietly mumbled.
Each time I looked at the rose in my vase, I remembered the young women from my class and the supporting embraces they gave me. If there was something to be grateful for during this trying time, it was the feeling of knowing I did not have to endure this suffering alone.
Before my own experience with death, I had often wondered what to say and do for someone at such a time. For me the answer was pretty simple: don’t say anything; just be there. The greatest comfort I received was a shoulder to cry on, arms to hold me, tears of sorrow, and a single red rose to cherish.

It was three o’clock in the morning. My dad had just nailed the final trim on the three-story dollhouse we had built for my little sisters (the trim was not quite dry and the white paint still bears several thumb prints). Mom and I placed inside all of the furniture we had made and gathered, and then sat back and looked with real pleasure on our creation. It had been a hectic three weeks of building, creating, and upholstering, but this year Christmas somehow seemed more real. The small house was beautiful. The furnishings were charming, and the tiny crocheted rugs just fit the decorating scheme we had chosen.
Since that Christmas several years ago we have made a few improvements in our dollhouse—pasted 1-by-1 1/2-inch cardboard pieces on the roof for shingles, added tiny accessories on the tables and shelves, found a potbellied stove for the upstairs bedroom—and with each passing year, and the arrival of each new niece and nephew, the dollhouse has grown in popularity; it has even become the pattern for several others as far away as Michigan.

But years later, I was deceived again and ended up in another abusive relationship. When I broke away, I found out I was pregnant again. I didn’t want to place the baby. I was older than before, and I felt like I could be a good mom. I met with my bishop and a social worker. I started following the same process that I had before in praying about adoption, but nothing ever seemed to click. It always felt difficult.
I still went to church. Sometimes ward members would say they were surprised to see me there pregnant, which hurt a little. But I still went every week. I wanted people to see that what I had done reflected a choice I had made but that it didn’t define who I was. I worked with my bishop to move forward.
As my due date grew closer, I started to panic. With my first baby, I’d had a plan, but this one was so different. I didn’t feel like I was receiving a strong answer regarding any option for my baby. I let the couple whom I had placed my first baby with know that I was pregnant but unsure of whether I would place, and that if I did place, I would want them to raise this baby as well.
After I had the baby, I still felt unsure. Then my doctor came in to check on us and said, “I don’t know if you’ll be able to have children again, so love this little one.” While that may not be the answer for everyone, I felt the Spirit confirm that this was the right choice for me. After panicking for nine months, I felt peace. I let the couple know that I had decided to parent my daughter.
I wanted to be the best mom I could be, and I knew that the only way to do that was staying close to family and the Lord’s Church. I knew that what I had learned in the gospel of Jesus Christ would help her like it had helped me.

President Thomas S. Monson shared the experience of Jay Hess, an airman who was shot down over North Vietnam in the 1960s: “For two years his family had no idea whether he was dead or alive. His captors in Hanoi eventually allowed him to write home but limited his message to less than 25 words.” President Monson asks: “What would you and I say to our families if we were in the same situation—not having seen them for over two years and not knowing if we would ever see them again? Wanting to provide something his family could recognize as having come from him and also wanting to give them valuable counsel, Brother Hess wrote [the following words]: ‘These things are important: temple marriage, mission, college. Press on, set goals, write history, take pictures twice a year.’”7

I wanted to write to testify how true a paragraph is in “Hold On” (Oct. 1992). It says “Pornography is especially dangerous and addictive.” The article goes on to say pornography breaks down your self-discipline and causes you to become desensitized. This is so true. I was seven when I started reading pornographic magazines. Over time, it just became all consuming. I started stealing, using drugs and alcohol, and I committed rape. I’m getting treatment for my problems, and I am working on repenting for what I’ve done. But it’s a long way back. For me, pornography has been more addictive than any drug. I encourage everyone to not learn the way I did.
Name Withheld

Mike Downey of the Arlington Texas First Ward, Fort Worth Texas Stake, smiled as he listened to his newfound 93-year-old friend talk about turn-of-the-century dating customs. Down the hall, Diane Honeycutt of the Second Ward, and Kelly Molen, a First Warder, listened with interest to anecdotes and memories shared with them by 71-year-old Grace Minor. Twenty-five other young men and women in the stake were elsewhere in the building taking notes and recording reminiscences of members of the local nursing home in Arlington. It was all part of a unique and very successful service project originated by stake clerk (and genealogy enthusiast) David Hedgpeth.
A few days later, each of the 16 nursing home residents was presented with family group sheets, pedigree charts, a cassette recording of his personal history, and a copy of the Book of Mormon. Inside each book was a photograph taken during the interview and the handwritten testimonies of the interviewers. In addition, 42 new genealogy sheets were sent to the Genealogy Department in Salt Lake City and the genealogical section of the Fort Worth Public Library.
The experience was a rewarding one for everyone involved. Said Second Ward member DeAnn Boyer, “It was exciting to see the joy in the older people’s faces when they saw that there were young people who cared about them.” Another added: “The experience made me feel good all over. I learned a lot about real values in life.”
About a month was spent in preparing the questions and interviews. Topics of discussion included such questions as “What have you learned from life that you feel would help others?” and “What special memories do you have of your grandparents and parents?”
“I want to do an interview with my own grandfather,” decided one of the young men after the completion of the project. “I’ll bet he has many exciting stories he could tell about our own family.”

On the morning of the last day of school before the Christmas holidays, I had the strangest thought pop into my head. I was tying bows around bunches of gourmet candy canes to give to my friends when my mind said, “You should give one of these to Megan*.”
What a crazy idea! Megan, a very popular girl in my English class, was terribly mean. In addition to the rude things she said to me, she and her friends were always giggling and pointing in my direction. She made me feel horrible. Why should I give Christmas candy to someone like that?
Today was always the best day of the whole year at Valley Middle School. Like the last day of school in June, schoolwork would be pushed aside in favor of movies and games. But what made it even better than that was the candy we exchanged with our friends. As we went from class to class, our stacks of goodies grew and we found out who liked us enough to put us on their gift list. You could tell who the really popular kids were by their enormous piles of candy. Someone like Megan would have to bring an extra bag to carry everything. She certainly didn’t need anything from me.
I was confident I would have a respectable pile of sweets myself. I was nowhere near being part of the popular crowd, but it was a big school, and I had a large group of friends. However, because I was one of the few Latter-day Saints in the school, I really stood out. Anyone who stands out too much in middle school becomes a target for teasing, so, unfortunately, I had as many tormentors as I had friends.
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.

I lay there, feeling disgusted with my family’s lack of consideration for my feelings. I had told them that I didn’t want those young men coming into our home and talking about God. I was bitter about religion and had pushed God out of my life. I blamed him for striking me with multiple sclerosis at age thirty-three and then taking my father a few years later, when I needed him most.
When two young men offered to talk to my family about their religion, I wanted nothing to do with them. But I was unable to walk out of the room, so I pretended to be asleep as they taught my family about Christ and a book called the Book of Mormon. When they finished, one young man said a prayer, and then my mother gave them permission to return in a few days. As soon as they left, I told her that I wanted no part of religion, and if my family wanted to hear such nonsense, then I wanted to remain in my bedroom while the young men were there.
The missionaries returned three days later. Despite my request, my family left me propped up in a chair in the living room. Once again I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep. The young men came in, asked if they could begin with a word of prayer, then started to teach. Although I tried, it was very hard to shut their words out of my bitter world. They talked about where we came from, why we are on earth, what happens when we die, and where we will go after this life. They also mentioned three kingdoms—not the heaven and hell I’d heard about all my life.
The entire discussion fascinated me. And at the same time, it made sense—I knew it was true. Even in my bitter and unforgiving state, I could tell right from wrong, truth from fiction.
I opened my eyes and began to ask questions. Each time the missionaries answered, their faces seemed to glow as they taught me what they knew concerning life and death. I began asking them every question I ever had about religion.
Before they left, they placed a Book of Mormon on my lap. I wanted so much to read it, but because the multiple sclerosis had stolen most of my vision, I had to wait impatiently for my niece to find time to read it to me.
When the missionaries returned a few days later, I was excited about what I had read, but I had a very important question. The missionaries were Caucasian. I wondered if all members of the Church were white and how they felt about black people joining. The missionaries explained that it was Christ’s church and all were welcome. When they said that three black families were active in the ward, I couldn’t wait to be baptized.
A year after my baptism, after much prayer and a lot of effort on the part of faithful ward members, I was able to go to the Atlanta Temple to receive my endowment. Doctors advised me not to make the five-hour trip, but I knew I had to try.
Eleven years ago, when the doctors diagnosed me with multiple sclerosis, they gave me two years to live. Today, I am still alive, although I am totally paralyzed from the neck down. But now that I have the gospel, I am no longer bitter about my illness or my father’s death. I look forward to God’s promise of eternal life if I faithfully endure to the end.

Frank Siedel (Si) Peterson of Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, is a typical young Latter-day Saint.
He studies; goes to institute of religion classes; attends his church meetings; does his home teaching; and goes to ball games, concerts, and movies. He is six-foot three-inches tall, brown-haired, blue-eyed, slender, and modest. He is even the coach of the ward softball team. How much more typical can you get?
But although Si may be typical, no one would ever accuse him of being average. He is an acknowledged superstar in the difficult field of lifting spirits and touching hearts. His talent is relating to people, and he does not hide his talent.
“Si definitely has an exceptional effect on people,” says Russ Brailey. “He’s also a most reliable home teaching companion. Mind you, I had to get accustomed to having his mother go with us.”
“Right. I know what Russ means,” states Glen Hudson, captain of the men’s softball team. “When Si first became our coach, it seemed strange to always have his mother there.”
Si is not tied to his mother, but somebody, usually his mother, Anita Begieneman, always accompanies him because he has been almost totally paralyzed since March 1,1975, when he fell from a gymnastics high bar. He can only see, hear, think, mouth words, and smile.
Prior to his accident, Si had been a fairly typical Latter-day Saint teenager. Almost 17, the oldest of six children, he loved all sports; didn’t mind school too much; played the piano; and teased his brothers, his sisters, and his mother. His one big goal was to go on a mission as soon as he turned 19.
In one instant Si went from full healthy activity to total paralysis. He lost all movement. He could not breathe, speak, or eat. He was on a life-supporting respirator 24 hours a day.
Usually when people are suddenly handicapped they experience denial, anger, resentment, and even bitterness before they finally accept their condition. Si’s medical team was amazed because he did not experience anger, depression, or a sense of hopelessness and panic.
He did get pneumonia, however, and his mother called Si’s former bishop and good friend, Robert S. Patterson, to give Si a blessing. Brother Patterson said, “Your accident has a definite and important purpose. You are to become an instrument in Heavenly Father’s hand to help bring many people who do not presently believe in God to a knowledge of him. This is to be your mission. You agreed to it before you came to the earth, and if you fulfill it well, you will thank your Heavenly Father for it every day throughout eternity.”
Si’s mother also received a witness of the Lord’s love. Si remembers, “Mom asked me what I would do if I could never again walk, talk, play the piano, or participate in sports. It was something that I had thought about a lot. I said, ‘It’s okay, Mom, I did those things the best I could when I could do them, and now I’ll learn to do something else.’
“She told me that the day after my accident she had gone down to my room, sat on the bed, and cried, ‘Heavenly Father, why? Why did this happen to my son?’ In answer, thoughts flooded into her mind. She realized that it was the Holy Ghost, so she grabbed a pencil and paper off my desk and recorded what came to her: ‘This life is a training ground for godhood. How we meet the trials that come and how we let them affect our lives are very important. We must see them as instruments of growth. All things can be for our good if we but let them. This life is the time to prepare to live again with our Heavenly Father, to grow in spirit and character and strength to meet the challenges and tremendous responsibilities of the celestial kingdom. This time of Si’s life will be exciting and challenging as new experiences come to him. None of the talents he has developed will be lost. They are just temporarily set aside while he develops others.’”
As the months passed, Si learned that he did not have to live a passive life simply because he could not move. There was still much he could give. He even learned that one way of giving was to accept help from others with love and gratitude. And he has received from many, many people.
To mention a few: His mother visits his hospital room each day and spends many hours with him. Other family members also show their love and support. Doctors and nurses at the hospital provide constant care. The Primary children of his stake raised $2,000 to buy a hydraulic lift to raise his wheelchair into his van. The Edmonton Singles Ward produced a musical comedy, and his four talented stepsisters presented a musical program to raise funds for a personal computer.
Brother Bob Layton, a news reporter for a local radio station, produced a two-part documentary on Si. It is the station’s policy to never play a documentary more than once, but the listener response to the Si Peterson story was so overwhelming, that they had to repeat it many times. Eventually the soundtrack from the documentary was combined with a series of photographic slides to form a sight and sound presentation. Brother Layton has, on request, taken this presentation to firesides, schools, and community organizations many times. The letters of response, many from school children, are evidence that Si has truly been an instrument of bringing people to God. One girl wrote, “Your faith and your acceptance of your accident help me to believe too.”
Some gifts Si has received were not altogether welcome at first. One day in 1977 a young man named Duane Simpson walked into Si’s hospital room, turned off the television set, and demanded, “What are you doing with your life, Si? Why are you wasting your time watching television? There’s nothing wrong with your brain—Why aren’t you using it?”
Si was amazed. His mother was very angry. But Duane continued, “Si, I’m here to help you any way I can.” He explained that he had been assigned to Si as a tutor.
Beginning then, Si’s life changed dramatically. “I guess I needed Duane to help me change my attitude. I wasn’t doing anything because I never really thought there was anything I could do.”
Since then Si has worked toward completing his high school education. He now aims to enroll in a university and obtain a degree in social work.
How does someone in his condition study? He listens to cassette tapes and his tutor. The tutor then reads him the questions. Si gives the answers “orally”. But because Si cannot make any sounds, his tutor has to read his lips, write down the answers, and send them to the correspondence school to be graded. It is a slow, tedious way to study, but Si jokes, “I’m getting better marks than I ever did before.”
While Si has learned to receive graciously, he has also learned to give unselfishly. He has counseled with many depressed and troubled people who are struggling to face their own handicaps and difficulties, and all have gone away lifted in spirit.
His deep empathy for the feelings and problems of others has also helped him reach out and bring people into the Church or back into activity.
One of them, a nurse in the hospital where Si lives remembers, “I first heard about the Church during my 3 A.M. discussions with Si. He gave definition to many basic feelings I’d had all my life. Then he asked me if I’d be willing to listen to the missionaries, and I did. I was baptized in August 1983.”
David McTavish is another of the many whose lives Si has touched. “Coming back from inactivity, at first I felt uncomfortable with Si. But the example of his acceptance of the Church and his faith, plus my many discussions with him, have helped me to handle the obstacles between me and the Church. He has also given me a freedom not to be afraid of the kind of person I am.”
Mrs. G. Von Busse, a tall, blonde grandmother, is Si’s physiotherapist and good friend. “I have watched Si grow from a teenager to the very fine young man he is today. With Si I have a friend. Nobody really knows me at the hospital but Si. We talk about everything—my youth, music, finances, politics, my family—everything. And when I go to Germany to visit my family there, they ask, ‘How is Si?’ And when I come back, Si has my favorite record playing. He is a very good person, highly intelligent and healthy—only that he is paralyzed, that’s all.”
If you were to stop by Si’s room unannounced, you would probably find him working on his computer or with his earphones on, listening to one of his many cassette tapes: the standard works (he’s listened to them all at least four times), conference talks, recorded books, school lessons, or music ranging from the Tabernacle Choir to classics to popular.
Si’s independence was greatly increased by the electronic control unit which the Alberta Rehabilitation Council installed for him in 1978. By touching the control lever with his lower lip, he can turn on or off everything that is connected to the system. He can even call a nurse with it. Now he has a modified personal computer that can be merged with the unit and allows him, for the first time in ten years, to write his own messages. “This opens up lots of things that have been closed to me,” he says. “I can use it to work on my education. Then I’ll write a book about my life. Also, after more training, maybe I’ll compose some music.”
Undoubtably much of Si’s strength comes from the gospel. He has been an elder since November, 1977. And on June 22, 1982, he traveled more than 300 miles to the Alberta Temple to receive his endowments. Temple President Vi A. Wood, who years before had given Si his patriarchal blessing, helped him through the endowment session.
Si calmly accepts his paralysis, but it is not easy to live as he does. Aside from the obvious discomforts and limitations, he also endures the side effects of it all. For example, because he is constantly on the respirator, his blood gasses get out of balance, causing him severe hallucinations. He has had many, many near-fatal moments when his respirator has failed. He has suffered cardiac arrest, pneumonia again and again, kidney stones, stomach ulcers, and strokes. But his faith in his Heavenly Father is unshaken.
So is his sense of humor. There is usually a smile on Si’s face, and he loves a good practical joke. When his mother went to the hospital once for her daily visit, she was in for a shock. Two hospital orderlies with very serious faces were sitting near Si’s room, and his door was closed. She opened the door and went in.
Si’s room was darkened, and he was covered with a white sheet. Anita’s heart faltered. She walked over and pulled back the sheet. Si was laughing! Then the orderlies came in, and they were laughing too.
Si is an inspiration to his whole family. His youngest sister, Barbie, reflects, “I was only five years old when the accident happened, so to me having Si like this is just a part of our way of life. It’s not a burden for us. I guess it would be if Si made a big fuss about it, but he doesn’t, so neither do I. Sometimes I wish I could make him better, but then I think no, because he’s blessed so many people’s lives. I do hope that sometime he’ll be well again. He’s really a great guy.”
Si’s father, Dr. Frank Peterson, concludes, “It’s unfortunate that he’s immobilized, but everything else about this has been positive. I’m proud of him.”
Si has a firm testimony, and he bears it frequently. His mother reads his lips and then gives voice to his feelings to the accompaniment of the rhythmic hum of his respirator.
“One of the main purposes of this earth life is to be tried, to prove ourselves worthy to return to our Heavenly Father, and so trials that come to us are an important part of our lives. Every one of us will be tried in one way or another. The important thing is how we accept our trials and grow from them. They can be stumbling blocks or stepping stones.
“I am grateful for my membership in the true and living Church, and I am grateful for the priesthood that I hold. I am grateful for my family who loves and supports me, and for the many others who help me so much. I know that my Heavenly Father lives and that he hears and answers my prayers. I am grateful for my Savior, Jesus Christ, and for his sacrifice for me. I know that my accident had a special purpose in my Heavenly Father’s plan for me.
“I feel fortunate that the trial I have been given is so obvious that I receive a lot of encouragement and help from many people. Your trials may be just as difficult as mine, but perhaps not as obvious, and so I pray that you will be able to accept them and have the strength to endure and grow from them.”
This thought is typical of Si Peterson. Trapped inside the prison of his own motionless body, with every possible excuse to turn his thoughts bitterly inward, his mind reaches out to others in prayer and service. Even lying flat on his back, he is a giant. Si Peterson—a typical young Latter-day Saint and a unique human being.

I don’t know your name, how old you are, or anything else about you. All I know is that you are Joann’s visiting teacher, and I appreciate your conscientious service with all my heart.
I know that visiting a less-active sister like Joann (name has been changed), my daughter-in-law, is not easy, especially when she probably isn’t very welcoming. I doubt she even wanted you to come at first. But Joann has told me you have been a real friend to her, stopping by to see how she’s doing and accepting her as she is.
In the 19 years since Joann married my son, this is the first time she has ever mentioned having a visiting teacher. Recently she told me how regularly you visit and how thoughtful and kind you always are. She said you have helped her several times when she was sick and have even offered to take my granddaughter to Young Women.
For the past 10 years, she, my son, and their family have lived hundreds of miles from us. I have prayed that others would love and care for them as I do, and I have pleaded tearfully with Heavenly Father that others would reach out to them as I would if they lived close by. From what Joann says, you are the answer to my prayers.
Even if Joann and my son don’t obey the Word of Wisdom and don’t attend church, they are still good people and they love their children. Somehow your eyes were not clouded by Joann’s cigarette smoke. You did not define her by whether she attended church. You got to know her and learned that she is a loving mother who wants her daughter to attend church and gain a testimony. And when Joann had surgery, you brought in dinner instead of wondering if she had brought some of her health problems upon herself.
How grateful I am that you are an example for my granddaughter. She can look up to you as someone who cares about everyone and goes out of her way to show loving concern. She told me that one day when you didn’t have a car, you walked more than a mile to her house with your small children to bring cookies.
“I was thinking of you and your mom and wanted to do something nice for you—just because,” you told her.
I wish I could tell you how much I appreciate your dedication to your calling as a visiting teacher. You epitomize those women who, since the days of Nauvoo, have served each other through loving and inspired visiting teaching. You have demonstrated that service and love through the way you have affectionately visited my less-active daughter-in-law.
Thank you.

Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles told about a single mother who got chicken pox—and then her children got sick too. The normally spotless house became cluttered and messy. Dishes and laundry piled up.

In a moment when she felt completely overwhelmed, Relief Society sisters knocked on her door. They didn’t say, “Let us know if we can help.” When they saw the situation, they sprang into action.

“They cleared up the chaos, brought light and clarity into the home, and called a friend to bring over some much-needed groceries. When they at last finished their work and said their good-byes, they left that young mother in tears—tears of gratitude and love.”7

Both the givers and the receiver felt the warmth of joy.

“When I was young, I felt a lot like you do right now. I wanted to do something really important in my life.
“My pa, your great-grandfather, died when I was about your age. This old Bible was his. It wasn’t until after he was gone that I opened it and for the first time noticed certain scriptures he’d underlined. One in particular made me do some hard thinking. I thought you might like to read it.”
He handed the old Bible to me. It was opened to the second chapter of Luke. I recognized it immediately as the Christmas story. In the light from the fire I could see that the pages were yellowed and wrinkled from years of use. My eyes went to the underlined verses, and I read: “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. …”
As I read on, the familiar words began to take on new meaning. At last I closed the book and carefully handed it back to my grandpa.
He fingered it lovingly. “My pa was a sheepman, and his pa before him,” he said. “I’m proud to have followed in their footsteps.”
Grandpa rose then and left me. I sat alone for a long time, gazing up at the sky. Those were the same stars that had shone that night so long ago, along with that one very special star.
The rest of that summer passed swiftly, and before I knew it, I was back in school. My friends teased me a lot about being a sheepherder, but I didn’t let it bother me. I knew something they’d probably never know.
Not long before Christmas Grandpa had another heart attack, and a few days later he died. I was devastated. Never again would I be able to go with him to the summer sheep camp.
Christmas morning at our house was quieter than usual because we were all thinking about Grandpa. I, for one, knew I’d never forget him. As we gathered around the tree, Dad handed me a package. I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but I wasn’t in the mood for presents. I think he could tell, because he urged me to open it.
I couldn’t believe my eyes! It was the old Bible. Inside was a brief note from Grandpa. “I thought you might like this,” was all it said. So simple, and so like him.
As I stared at it, I had the feeling that Grandpa was there, watching me, waiting for my reaction. I smiled and pressed the Bible close to me. There were other presents waiting under the tree for me, but I knew none of them would top Grandpa’s Bible.

Prayer was a very important part of my life. As a child, I was taught to pray. I remember one time when I was riding out to the ranch with my father. As he drove, he started humming or singing, “‘Ere you left your room this morning, Did you think to pray?’”* Then he glanced at me and asked, “Son, did you pray this morning?”
“No.”
“Don’t you pray in the mornings?”
“I pray at night,” I replied.
At that moment, he took the time to explain to me the importance of praying in the morning and at night. From that time on, it became part of my life to pray both morning and night. In 2 Nephi 26:15 [2 Ne. 26:15], we are told that “the prayers of the faithful shall be heard.” We often experienced that scripture. I learned in my youth that as we were faithful and did our part, the Lord blessed us.

One day, a few months after my baptism, I heard some members criticizing each other in church. I was very disappointed. I went home and told my father that maybe I should not go to church anymore. It was difficult to see members criticize others like that. After listening, my father taught me that the gospel had been restored and it is perfect but members are not yet, neither himself nor me. He firmly said, “Do not lose your faith because of the people around you, but build a strong relationship with Jesus Christ. Don’t look around, look up!”
Look up to Jesus Christ—the wise advice of my father—strengthens my faith whenever I face challenges in life. He taught me how to apply the teachings of Christ, as in these words: “Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not.”4

An experience, repeated many times during my time as mission president and again as branch president at the Missionary Training Center, confirmed for me the truth of Joseph Smith’s statement that “the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book on earth, and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.”1 From time to time, one of my missionaries would sit with me, and our interview would go something like this:
“President, I seem to have lost my enthusiasm for missionary work lately. I haven’t felt very spiritual either.”
“Can you be more specific in what you have been feeling?” I would ask.
“Oh, I just haven’t been feeling positive, excited, or enthused about doing the work.”
“Have you felt this way long?”
“For about the last three weeks.”
“Has something happened personally that we need to talk about?”
“No, President. I am keeping all the mission rules. I get up on time. I read scriptures daily. I am currently reading the Old Testament. I say my prayers. My companion and I get along well. I really can’t find anything that is out of order.”
“Are you reading the Book of Mormon as part of your scripture studies?”
“No.”
“I would like you to try something for several weeks and then give me a call. In addition to your regular study in the missionary gospel study program, try reading and studying at least one chapter from the Book of Mormon a day.”
Two weeks later the missionary would call and report that things were fine and his spiritual intensity had returned.

“When we were married, your dad and I didn’t wait to start our family, like many couples do. When you were born, he was still in college, studying to be a teacher. People told us then that we should wait to have children.”
“Wait for what?” Deborah asked.
“Until your dad was out of school and had a good job. Or until we had a house and money in the bank. People have a lot of reasons for waiting to have children.
“President Ezra Taft Benson was the prophet then. He counseled families to not wait to have children, so we didn’t.” Her mother squeezed Deborah’s hand. “You were our first. And you were very, very precious to us. It didn’t matter that we didn’t have a lot of money or that we had to make do with what we had. You were more than worth it, and you still are. So are your brothers and your sister and whoever is coming this time. Your dad and I love each of you with all our hearts.”
“I’m glad you listened to the prophet.”
“So am I, sweetheart.”

One-hundred-and-fifty youth from the New Orleans and Baton Rouge stakes in Louisiana volunteered for three days at a youth program for a national spina bifida conference in New Orleans. While their parents were in classes, the children and teens with spina bifida were entertained by the Louisiana youth. They played games, read, did puppet shows, danced, and just chatted. Spending one-on-one time with the children and teenagers was challenging for the LDS youth at first, but by the end of their youth conference the youth realized that although they were setting a good example by serving, those they served were the real shining examples.

“All the Latter-day Saints in New Jersey at that time comprised only one district,” Bishop Eyring related. “And New Jersey had a very large number of people. There were very few branches, and the Church had not yet built a single building there.

“Before World War II our branch met in a hotel. My memories of Sunday School classes are of rented hotel rooms, where we sat on the bed. During the war, from the time I was eight until I was twelve or thirteen, church was held in our home because gas was rationed. Mother was the pianist and the chorister. Father was the branch president. The dining room table was both the speakers’ rostrum and the sacrament table. Usually about ten to twelve people would attend. To me, the Church couldn’t have been more lovely. The relationships I felt at church in my home are what I want to have again with Heavenly Father.”

by Frances Asselin
Allison Brandow unpacked her suitcase and glanced quickly around the room, waiting anxiously for her weekend roommate to appear. When they met a few moments later, it was instant friendship! The girls were among 300 youth and counselors awaiting the beginning of the Toronto, Ontario, regional LDS youth conference. Held at Guelph University in Guelph, Ontario, the theme this year was “Friends Are Forever.”
The weekend began with a Friday night sock hop and dance contest, followed by a talent display. Saturday morning workshops included self-defense, modern dance, and missionary cooking (among others), and were followed by a volleyball tournament, swimming, and other sporting activities. That evening Elder Robert L. Simpson of the First Quorum of the Seventy spoke about missionary work, emphasizing that any friend can truly become a friend forever in the gospel.
Sunday meetings included inspirational messages from Elder Simpson and the Washington Temple president and matron, President and Sister Aimes. Sunday workshops on such topics as honoring the priesthood, temple marriage, and goal setting continued throughout the afternoon and were followed by a testimony meeting.
The next morning a late breakfast gave plenty of time for taking photographs, exchanging addresses, and tearful farewells. Traveling homeward, each person was warmed by the knowledge that memories, like friendship, are truly forever.