Gospel Story Finder

In the same year, Dr. Hansen made his medical discovery, two ecclesiastical leaders from different faiths first made their appearance on the Kalaupapa peninsula. One was a Latter-day Saint named Jonathan Hawaii Napela, the other a Belgian priest, Father Damien J. De Veuster, who was canonized by the Roman Catholic Church in 2009. Napela was born on the island of Maui in 1813, became a district judge in 1848, and converted to Mormonism in 1852. He was a tremendous aid to early LDS missionary work on the Hawaiian Islands as he fed and housed the elders, helped them learn his native language, and aided George Q. Cannon with the translation of the Book of Mormon. Perhaps his greatest contribution was his example as a loving husband. When his beloved wife Kitty contracted the disease, Jonathan chose to remain with her in the settlement and act as her kokua, a Hawaiian word meaning “helper.” Consequently, Jonathan wrote a heart-felt letter in his native language, Hawaiian, to the Board of Health, pleading that he might be allowed to stay with his wife:

"On August 3, 1843 I took my wife as my legally married wife and on that same day I vowed before God to care for my wife in health and sickness, and until death do us part…. I am 60 years old and do not have much longer to live. During the brief time remaining, I want to be with my wife. My wife has also lived a long life, but with this disease, it will quickly shorten her life. Such is the reason for this petition."4

Fortunately, Jonathan’s request was granted, and he spent the remaining years of his life at Kalaupapa with Kitty. While there, Napela more than just his wife. Not long after his arrival, he was called as the leader of the LDS Church on the Kalaupapa peninsula, a calling he held from 1873 until his death in 1879, from the effects of Hansen’s disease.5

One of the greatest joys of my life is becoming acquainted with and inspired by members of the Church all over the world who are living exemplars of faith in Jesus Christ and His gospel. They have strong personal foundations that allow them to withstand seismic events with steady understanding, despite their heartache and pain.
To display this on a more personal level, I recently spoke at the funeral of a beautiful, vibrant young wife and mother (also a family friend of ours). She was a scrappy Division 1 soccer player when she met and married her dental student husband. They were blessed with a beautiful, precocious daughter. She valiantly battled with various forms of cancer for six challenging years. Despite the ever-present emotional and physical distress that she experienced, she trusted in her loving Heavenly Father and was often quoted widely by her social media followers for her famous saying: “God is in the details.”
On one of her social media posts, she wrote that someone had asked her, “How do you still have faith with all the heartache that surrounds you?” She replied firmly with these words: “Because faith is what gets me through these dark times. Having faith doesn’t mean nothing bad is going to happen. Having faith allows me to believe that there will be light again. And that light will be even brighter because I have walked through the dark. As much darkness as I have witnessed over the years, I have witnessed far more light. I have seen miracles. I have felt angels. I have known that my Heavenly Father was carrying me. None of that would have been experienced if life was easy. The future of this life may be unknown, but my faith is not. If I choose to not have faith then I choose to only walk in darkness. Because without faith, darkness is all that is left.”
Her unshakable testimony of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ—in her words and in her actions—was an inspiration for others. Even though her body was weak, she lifted others to be stronger.

Several weeks ago we began planning our daughter’s wedding. With great joy, we dreamed and brainstormed as we considered all the options. And then my husband, Greg, received a phone call he couldn’t ignore. It was the oncologist confirming what we hoped wasn’t true. Greg’s cancer had returned.
Isn’t it amazing how you can go from best day to worst day in a matter of minutes?
This is mortality. A proving ground. A place designed for growth. I have learned that God allows mortality to do its work in us—and that includes both best days and worst days.
I don’t know what your story looks like right now, if today is a best day or a worst day. But here is my advice for you. On that worst day with Greg several weeks ago, I opened my For the Strength of Youth guide, wondering if the eternal truths, invitations, and promised blessings from the guide could really help Greg and me find strength in Christ.
Here is what I read. Maybe these words will help you.
“God’s plan is for you. … He has all power and knows all things. You can trust Him, even when life is hard.”
“God wants to communicate with you.” He knows you. He knows your name. “Pour out your heart to Him. … Be still and listen for His answers.”
“Jesus Christ will help you. … When you are worried, afraid, or [struggle] in any way, He will comfort you.”
“Walk in God’s light. … You make better choices when you can see things clearly.”
“Temple ordinances and covenants give you greater access to God’s blessings,” help you navigate your life with divine guidance, increase your companionship with the Spirit and with angels, and enable you to live up to your privileges and draw upon the power of God.
Finally, “Jesus Christ brings joy. … You might have a bad day, a bad week, or a bad year. [Just remember,] joy is not the absence of sorrow in your life; [it is] the presence of [Jesus] Christ in your life.”
As you spend time in this guide, you will begin to realize that this is not just a guide for standards; this is a guide for strength.

One Sunday evening, all of the youth and their parents were invited to a meeting to launch Moroni’s Promise. It was the young, valiant captains of ten who gave the vision, reviewed the promise (see Moro. 10:3–5), spoke of agency and obedience, explained the program, and called for volunteers to join one of their teams.
One young captain of ten, Michelle Gardner, referred to the promise made by President Gordon B. Hinkley to all the members of the Church who read the Book of Mormon. He promised those who read daily that “there will come into your lives and into your homes an added measure of the Spirit of the Lord, a strengthened resolution to walk in obedience to his commandments, and a stronger testimony of the living reality of the Son of God” (Ensign, Nov. 1979, p. 9).
Appealing to the youth for whom she now felt a keen sense of responsibility, she added her own personal testimony. “I know when I read each day, especially when I study and don’t just skim over what I’m reading, I do feel a greater desire to live the commandments and to have the Spirit of the Lord in my life.”
Individualized packets were provided which included the quote from Moroni printed on parchment ready for framing, a system for recording progress, recommended target dates, helpful study methods, a promise of celebration stations, and a letter to be sent to a trusted friend or relative requesting support and continuous encouragement during the coming months as they read the Book of Mormon. An application form was also provided requesting the parent’s signature as well as the signature of a member of the bishopric.
Each participant was invited to add his or her own signature as an indication of willingness to be diligent in endeavoring to reach the goal of having read the entire Book of Mormon within the set time limit. This could be accomplished by reading approximately 16 pages per week. A captain of ten also signed the application indicating a willingness to be in touch each week to determine progress and provide encouragement to each member of his or her team.
Individual progress was not a public matter. However, increased interest was awakened when the aggregate “scores” of the teams were recorded on an attractive chart that was periodically displayed in the chapel foyer with pictures of various activities.
As eager participants finished the last verse of Alma 63, “And thus ended the account of Alma,” they would rush, regardless of the hour, to Sister Bonnie Guthrie, who helped with the records, assisted in making calls for captains as needed, and dispensed T-shirts to each one finishing the book of Alma. The T-shirts with “STOMP” (for “Students Trying Out Moroni’s Promise”) printed in bold letters across the front provided the incentive that urged many through the pages of Alma.
A celebration station was an event scheduled at regular intervals along the way to give strong incentives and provide continuous encouragement to the captains, who in turn, inspired their team members as they made their weekly contacts. The captains were to then give an accounting to the specialist in a brief weekly meeting following sacrament meeting. Many, many extra calls at various times were required to accomplish this necessary follow-up.
As the group completed Alma, a celebration station was scheduled. The snow had been falling all night, and it was unseasonably cold, but nothing would daunt the plans for the scheduled tree planting celebration. A flowering cherry tree had been selected. The hole was dug, and all ward members were invited to gather at the church.
Robert Davis stood before the group holding a scroll containing all the names of those who at that time had finished reading Alma. He rolled the scroll, put it in a plastic-coated container, sealed it, and then respectfully placed it in the hole at the base of the tree and explained, “You’re probably wondering why we are planting a tree. If you will recall in Alma the planting of a seed which became a tree has meaning because of the analogy to a growing testimony.” He then read Alma 32:27–41, “But if ye will nourish the word, yea, nourish the tree as it beginneth to grow, by your faith with great diligence, and with patience, looking forward to the fruit thereof, it shall take root; and behold it shall be a tree springing up unto everlasting life.”
On Mother’s Day following sacrament meeting, the entire ward was invited to gather around the flagpole for yet another celebration station. Richard Newman and Mike Bettilyon, both captains of ten, unfolded the beautifully designed flag with the large dark blue letters “Moroni’s Promise” centered in a white open field.
There were other names on that flag also. Those who had finished the Book of Helaman had added their signatures to the flag as an official Mother’s Day record. Bishop Bradford reminded everyone of the stripling warriors who did not fear death for they had been taught by their mothers that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them (see Alma 56:47). The captains attached the flag and pulled the ropes raising it to the very top of the long silver pole. Hearts were opened and feelings were tender as expressed by a younger member of the group, who whispering to a friend close by, said, “My name is on that flag,” and his friend responded reverently, “So is mine.”
By now the flowering cherry tree planted earlier was bursting into bloom nearby as a reminder of growing testimonies.
What difference has all this effort made? There have been 120 readers, 38 adults and 82 youth, participating in Moroni’s Promise.
Thirteen-year-old Wid Covey, standing before an audience, volunteered his testimony, “I’m thankful for this Moroni’s Promise program because it helps me understand the scriptures. When I sit down with my dad to read the Book of Mormon he helps me understand about it also. I’m thankful for Michelle Gardner. She calls me every week, and it helps me a lot and she encourages me.”
Sister Margaret Kirkham reported, “Our whole family looks forward to Richard Newman, our captain of ten, coming to encourage us. This project has been a great influence to our entire family.”
Bishop Bradford reflected on the past eight months. “It has made a great difference. There are few activities that could have unified our youth as well as this. I can’t say that all our youth now have a strong personal testimony of the Book of Mormon, but it’s a super beginning. With the help of our inspired specialist, a great number of young people will be better missionaries in every aspect of their lives, and all of them are better prepared to withstand the evils of the world.”

Mother poked her head around my opened bedroom door. “Well, your visitors are here. Are you ready?”
I nodded. “I’ll be right there.”
I quickly returned the journal to its drawer and turned to pick up the book I’d been reading a lot lately off of my bed. My mind raced back a few months to my eventful 16th birthday.
Under the tissue paper in that white box had been yet another book. This one had a midnight blue cover and one of the most peculiar titles I’d ever read. Brett had scrawled a message on the inside cover in his now strangely familiar handwriting:
This book was given to me by two amazing guys one day at the hospital during a particularly bad stay. It brought me a lot of comfort during my darkest hours, and now I’m not so scared to die anymore. If this book brought comfort to me to face death, then surely it should give you strength to face life.
According to what these two guys teach and what is found in this book, I will see you and all my family again someday. So, although our time together on earth was short, we’ll always have forever.
My heart was pounding after reading those words for about the millionth time. It had taken a lot of pleading and persuasion, but I’d finally convinced my parents to let me invite two special “visitors” to our house so that I could learn more about this book. My hands were shaking as I closed the cover, took a deep breath, and walked, clutching the book in my hands, down the hall to the living room.
The two young men in suits and ties stood up when I walked into the room. With huge smiles, they introduced themselves and shook my hand. My heart was still pounding as I nervously smiled back.
We all sat down, and then one of the young men asked if he could offer a prayer. I nodded, and as I did, my eyes found the laughing, smiling face in a picture standing where it always had been, on the top shelf of the bookcase in our living room. Only this time, I could swear the smile was bigger and happier than ever before.

Jedediah M. Grant, who knew the Prophet well, underscored this point when he declared that Joseph Smith preached against the “superabundant stock of sanctimoniousness” that characterized contemporary religion. According to Elder Grant, a certain minister, out of curiosity, came to see the Prophet in Nauvoo, and carried this sanctimonious spirit so far that the Prophet finally suggested to the minister that they engage in a little wrestling. The minister was so shocked that he just stood there rigid and dumbfounded, whereupon the Prophet playfully acted as though to put him on the floor and help him get up, and then called attention to the so-called Christian “follies” of the time, the absurdity of the long, solemn, “donkeylike” tone of speaking and acting, and the dangers of excessive piety and fanaticism.5

Once again on December 24, my family and I will find ourselves in our little New England home. The snow will cascade outside like sifted powdered sugar. Our woodstove will glow brilliant orange with the light of burning firewood. Mom will stir dark peppermint fudge in the kitchen. Dad will study his tattered copy of the New Testament in the dining room. And my siblings will lock themselves in their bedrooms, wrapping newly purchased gifts for the family. The house will smell like fresh pine and sugar cookies, and Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” will play softly in the living room.
This is the Christmas I cherish today. Unfortunately, however, I did not always appreciate this annual tradition. It was not until the year I turned 16—the year my parents postponed Christmas—that I understood what this holiday was really about.
I remember sitting at the dining room table in the heat of summer, eating a Spanish casserole dinner with my family. My mom cleared her throat during a lull in the conversation and called my name.
“Your grandmother,” she said, “is taking a tour of the Holy Land, and she invited us to come with her. Your father and I have saved up enough money to go.”
“For heaven’s sake, you guys,” I replied hastily. “You don’t need my permission to go on vacation. When is it?”
I remember my parents looking at each other for a second. While my mom bit her lip, my dad coughed and said in a quiet tone, “December.”
After a long pause, my mom said, “It’s a … Christmastime tour. We’ll be gone until December 28. Do you think you kids would … mind … if we postponed our family Christmas until then?”
I tried to maintain my composure, but inside I felt sick. “Well, sure,” I said. “I mean, I’m not going to stop you from going to the Holy Land. We’ll be fine.”
My mom smiled, my dad started eating his mashed potatoes, and our conversation went back to normal. However, as I tried to concentrate on my carrots, thoughts about Christmas kept racing through my mind. What would Christmas be like without my parents? I thought. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop them from leaving, but I began to wish I could.
As the holidays loomed nearer, I found myself dwelling on Christmases past. To my great astonishment, I had much difficulty remembering any of my former gifts. I remembered family home evening Christmas carols. I remembered trying to untangle endless strands of Christmas lights with my mom. I remembered helping my dad tie our Christmas tree to the car roof with one too many Boy Scout knots. As I looked back, the realization that my parents would not be here to repeat these traditions depressed me greatly.
I spent December 23rd in New York City with my three sisters, and when my brother came on the 24th, we tried to hold a few Christmas traditions without my parents. However, it was obvious that something about the whole experience felt wrong. Dad was not there to read the Christmas story or to teach our family home evening lesson. Mom was not there to play the piano or lead our Christmas carols. Our December 25th was quiet without their laughter and love filling the home. I felt as though my whole Christmas vacation had been ruined. Without my parents, Christmas simply did not feel like Christmas.
On December 28th, however, a small miracle occurred. When Mom and Dad walked in the door at 9:00 a.m., their presence instantly lifted our spirits and brought back the much-needed feeling of Christmas to our home. We rushed to greet them at the door.
“We missed you all,” my dad said as he entered the kitchen, hauling luggage. “Everywhere we went, we said to each other, ‘We wish the kids were here to see this.’ Christmas just wasn’t the same without you.”
Hugs and kisses were exchanged. Stories and pictures were shared. The presence of my parents in that home brought our family inexplicable joy. I don’t remember what gifts I received that year. I don’t remember what we ate for breakfast that day or where we shopped at after-Christmas sales. I only remember spending time with my family and hoping that Christmas would never end.

When one young woman read this statement, she decided she didn’t want to walk even close to the line of immodesty. Immediately she removed anything in her wardrobe that wasn’t consistent with being a representative of the Savior. She said, “I would be smart if I didn’t even try on anything in stores that I knew I shouldn’t wear. Why be tempted?” The principle of representation helped her make that firm resolve.

Some time ago I visited a friend who belongs to another church. I have talked to him about our Church on many occasions, but he isn’t interested. So it surprised me when he told me he was reading a manual titled Teaching, No Greater Call: A Resource Guide for Gospel Teaching. He was fascinated with the content. I asked him how he had obtained it, since as a member and leader in the Church I didn’t have it yet. He replied that he had gotten it from his nephew who, in turn, had received it from someone else.
I am very grateful to my Heavenly Father for the standard works and for all the Church publications. They are helping not just Latter-day Saints but the whole world.Felipe Urbina,Rubén Darío Branch, Managua Nicaragua Rubén Darío District

Sister Yngrid Cepeda, temple and family history consultant for the San Gerónimo Stake shared the following from the stake indexing day: “Today I had a beautiful experience with my dear friend Sister Marte from the Enriquillo Ward. She didn’t know anything about her father’s relatives, and she only had the names of her grandparents. She had not had the work done for her grandfather, and we decided to print the card. As we entered the website, we saw a suggested record that was a death certificate of an aunt about whom I knew nothing. We continued researching and found a baptism certificate for her grandparents, where we found her parents (her great-grandparents). Next, we found five more children of this couple. All of this in less than 20 minutes. Thanks to someone’s indexing these records, Sister Marte has more than eight family name cards including those of her grandfather and of her great-grandparents. The spirit of Elijah manifested itself in such a clear and precise way. Tell me if this is a coincidence or is it the work of the spirit of Elijah that helps the living and the dead to meet again?”

The storehouse, which filled the same function as early tithing offices, operated under the same principles as modern Latter-day Saint storehouses. “Everyone was supposed to work. That was the aim of the Church, to help people help themselves,” Elder Rudd explained.
Elder Rudd said as commodity prices were very low in the 1930s, many farmers were unable to hire any help and most were harvesting what they could and letting the rest spoil. Storehouse officials—including President Lee’s counselor Paul C. Child and storehouse manager, Bishop Jesse M. Drury—assigned Fred J. Heath and other unemployed men to contact the farmers, and many men were sent onto farms along the Wasatch Front and as far away as Idaho to harvest crops that were then shared with the volunteers.
Trucks arrived at the storehouse filled with fruit and other produce. Much of the fruit was canned, Elder Rudd recalled.
He said at one point so many onions (which were donated in abundance) and canned goods were stored in the upper level of the storehouse that the ceiling started to buckle. Props were placed to keep the ceiling from collapsing. Onions were traded for other necessities. The storehouse provided help. No one was ever turned away, he said.

Several years ago, we had a harsh winter in Utah, and the snow was deep in my neighborhood. Deer wandered into my yard all winter scavenging for food. They ate the bark off of trees and mangled bushes. Once spring came, my yard was a mess.

For weeks, I pulled out damaged perennials and planted shrubs and flowers. Finally, one evening, I finished. Early the next morning, I glanced out a window and noticed dirt on the sidewalk. I had swept everything the night before, so I stepped outside for a closer look and was dumbfounded with what I saw: dozens of plants were gone. Not half-eaten, but gone.

What do you do about stolen plants? Because it looked like vandalism, I called the police to see if any other yards in the area had been damaged. They sent a policeman who began walking around the neighborhood. Within minutes he was back, motioning for me to follow him. He led me to the backyard of my neighbors, who had just moved in, and there were my brand new plants lining their patio. “I assume these are yours,” he said. When I nodded yes, he knocked on the front door.

What a way to meet the neighbors, I thought, as horrified parents quickly put two and two together. Moments later, they came marching out with the cutest little girl you’ve ever seen. Oh no, I thought, I’ve called the police on a six-year-old.

The little girl and some friends had been drawn to my yard by the flowers, and she thought they’d look nice in her yard. When they tugged on the newly planted flowers, they had come up easily. In short order, the little girl and her gang of flower-snatchers had worked their mischief.

We quickly made amends, but as I planted a new batch of flowers, I couldn’t get an obvious lesson out of my mind: the flowers came up easily because they hadn’t had time to root. So, the question: How deep are your spiritual roots? Are you rooted in the Lord and His gospel, or are you enchanted with the world? If you aren’t rooted in the gospel, the adversary will attempt to uproot you with his equivalent of a six-year-old–meaning, it won’t take much.

Elder Melvin J. Ballard recounted a manifestation in this regard where he was embraced by the Savior and felt his love grow:

He put His arms around me and kissed me, as He took me into His bosom, and He blessed me until my whole being was thrilled . . . with deep joy swelling through my whole being, I felt that I was in heaven indeed. The feeling that came to my heart then was: Oh if I could live worthy . . . so that in the end when I have finished I could go into His presence and receive the feeling that I then had in His presence, I would give everything that I am and ever hope to be.[41]

After my mission I struggled to find work. Eventually I received an interview. I knew the position would be a great opportunity, but I worried that I was not as skilled as some of the other applicants. My turn for the interview came, and I sat nervously in front of the manager. As I glanced at his table, I saw a paper with the questions he was asking applicants. My heart pounded. The questions appeared to use difficult terminology I didn’t know. If those questions were the basis of passing the interview, I would lose the job even before the interview started.
The manager grabbed the paper to ask me some “starting” questions. Suddenly he said, “Maybe I should first look at your CV [résumé].” He found my résumé and started asking about my previous work experience. When he read “full-time missionary,” he asked if I could tell him what I taught on my mission. I hadn’t expected that question at all.
I talked with him about prophets, the plan of salvation, and eternal families. His face brightened and he said, “One of these days I want you to come and meet my family.” Our discussion lasted almost an hour.
He apologized that my interview was taking so long and again grabbed the paper with the interview questions. My nervous feelings returned. He paused and then asked, “Do you have a place to stay here in Manila?” He didn’t wait for my response and said, “Well, you need to look for one. You’ll start tomorrow.”
It’s still a miracle to me that during an important job interview the focus wasn’t on my qualifications but instead on my missionary service. I’ll never forget how my serving a full-time mission helped me in my interview.

About two years ago I was living in Mexico City. My family and I were enjoying it there, but we saw a lot of people living in poverty. A wonderful opportunity to provide charity came when we had a little money we felt could be used to help someone else.
That Christmas our stake organized a “Family Help Tree.” We chose a name from the tree and started planning. We couldn’t wait to help this family on Christmas.
One month later, Christmas arrived and our family was ready to deliver the presents. We drove to the address and walked down a dark alley. There were gray, eroded cement walls, a plastic roof, and a wooden door that was too small for the doorway. When we knocked on the door we saw dirt floors and only one couch. There was a fridge that was not plugged in and a little bit of food on the shelves. We then found out that the mom, dad, 9-month-old baby, 4-year-old girl, and 6-year-old boy all slept either on the floor or on the couch and had only two light blankets.
We explained why we were there and then proceeded to give them the presents. The look of joy and happiness on their faces was truly priceless. We gave them a couple of alphabet toys, some food, and last but not least, some warm blankets. They were so grateful. Everyone cried tears of joy. I felt the love of the Savior for this family.
After that humbling experience, I asked my parents if we could use any money that was going toward my gifts for others who are less fortunate, and then my two little brothers asked if they could too. That moment made it a Christmas to remember. It was truly a humbling event and increased my testimony of service and the love of the Savior. When we are in the service of others, we are in the service of God, just as it states in Mosiah 2:17.

“When I was seven, I was like any other seven-year-old,” says Brennah Kahaunani Payne. “I went to school, went to church on Sunday, and lost teeth.” But then Brennah was in a terrible car accident. She had to stay in the hospital for six months and have nine surgeries.
Many people helped Brennah in the hospital—doctors, nurses, and even a schoolteacher. Brennah thinks her hospital stay was like a “little mission.” She gave pass-along cards to several people to tell them about the Church. And she tried to comfort other children whenever she could.
But Brennah never got to meet some of the people who are most special to her. They are the people who donated blood that helped save her life. After her accident, Brennah lost a lot of blood. The doctors gave her blood that other people had donated.
Brennah wanted to thank those special people and encourage others to donate blood too. So she went to places where people were donating to say thank you. She passed out candy bars with little cards that said, “It’s SWEET to donate blood!” In California, where she lives, she told her story to community groups, at churches, and on the radio and TV. Brennah has made many friends by just being her cheerful, loving, enthusiastic self.
At age 10, Brennah is back to singing, dancing, and swimming. She feels her experience taught her several things. “It softened my heart and helped me see all the blessings I have,” she says. As the youngest of five children in her family, she now knows that “being small doesn’t mean you can’t do great or big things.” She has also learned how much Heavenly Father loves her as He helped her through her trials. And she has a message for all children: “You should always know how much Heavenly Father loves you.”

Growing up in my family, we lived as devout members of another Christian faith. I was baptized a member of that church shortly after my birth. Our family went to church each week. For many years my brothers and I assisted the pastors who conducted our Sunday services. I was taught the importance of family prayer as our family prayed together each day. I thought that someday I would enter the full-time ministry in my church. There was no question in our minds that we could define ourselves as devout Christians.
When I was a university student, however, I became acquainted with the members and teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a Christian faith centered on the Savior. I began to learn about the doctrine of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ in these latter days. I learned truths that I had not known before that changed my life and how I viewed the gospel. After much studying, prayer, and faith, I chose to embrace beautiful restored truths found only in this Church.

A couple of years ago a humor columnist for a local newspaper wrote on a serious and thought-provoking subject. I quote from this article: “Being a go-to-church Mormon in Utah means living so close to fellow ward members that not much happens that the entire congregation doesn’t know about in five minutes tops.”
He continues: “This kind of cheek-to-jowl living can be intrusive. … It also happens to be one of our greatest strengths.”
The author goes on to say: “At work on Tuesday, I caught the noon news broadcast on television. A van had been obliterated in a traffic crash. A young mother and two small children were being rushed to emergency rooms by helicopter and ambulance. … Hours later I learned that the van belonged to the young couple living across the street from me in Herriman, Eric and Jeana Quigley.
“Not only do I see the Quigleys in church, … we ate dinner with them at a neighborhood party the night before the crash. Our grandkids played with daughters Bianca and Miranda. …
“Fourteen-month-old Miranda suffered serious head injuries and died three days later at Primary Children’s Hospital.
“Here’s where all that nosiness … pays off. Although the accident occurred several miles from home, the dust literally had not settled before someone from the ward stopped and was pulling through the wreckage. The rest of the ward knew about it before the cops and paramedics showed up.
“Ward members went to all three hospitals, contacted Eric at work, and organized into labor squads. People who didn’t get in on the immediate-need level were frantic for some way to help.
“In 48 hours, the Quigley yard was mowed, home cleaned, laundry done, refrigerator stocked, relatives fed and a trust fund set up at a local bank. We would have given their dog a bath if they had one.”
The author concludes with this insightful comment: “There is a positive side to the congregational microscope my ward lives under. … What happens to a few happens to all” (Robert Kirby, “Well-Being of Others Is Our Business,” Salt Lake Tribune, July 30, 2005, p. C1).

I wish I could get in touch with the person whose letter was published in the September 1986 feedback section under the title “I wish I had a friend.” I had a very similar experience in my lifetime. When I was nine years old we moved from a ward where I had wonderful friends to a ward 30 miles away from my old one. I never fit in with the large crowd of kids my age in my new ward. I struggled along for nine years, never really quitting, but sometimes attending Mutual and Sunday School only half of the time.

But I consider myself a survivor. When I moved away to attend college I made a new beginning, and I did my best to be the “Marcy” in my student ward. I sought out those who sat alone or seemed shy, and I tried to be a friend to them. By doing this, I built up my own confidence and again found myself confident around anyone in our ward.

My story has a happy ending. I have since married in the temple and have had three children. If I could make contact with the writer of “I wish I had a friend,” maybe we could compare experiences and learn from each other and perhaps bring about a happy ending for this story, too.

Such worship opportunities are fundamental to the strengthening of our faith and can provide a conduit whereby the spirit of testimony and revelation can flow into our souls. This reality was dramatically demonstrated to me one Sabbath day as I sat during the prelude music for sacrament meeting. My wife and I had been seeking spiritual instruction on a particular question in our lives. Thankfully, the answer came through the particular prelude hymn selected. In response to the sweet melody, the Spirit clearly indicated the appropriate course for us. Unfortunately, before the hymn had ended, someone sitting near me leaned over and started talking to me, and the Spirit immediately left. A treasure of sweet revelation was cut short by a lack of reverence.

From this experience I gained a special appreciation for the sanctity of a quiet prelude moment. President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, highlighted this truth when he stated, “Irreverence suits the purposes of the adversary by obstructing the delicate channels of revelation in both mind and spirit.”4