Gospel Story Finder

When my sister’s in a good mood, she calls me James Herriott. That’s because I’m going to be a veterinarian.
My name is really Jeannette, but everybody calls me Jetty. I’ll be twelve on my next birthday—small but strong for my age.
Mom and Sis and I live in a big old house at the edge of Bone Hollow. There are lots of farms around here. Most of the farmers are so busy they don’t like to fuss with an animal that needs a lot of care.
Somebody brought me an orphan lamb when we moved here a few years ago, and I raised it. Now anything is apt to turn up on our doorstep.
Just this spring I was keeping a lonesome cat, Gorgeous George, in the basement while its owners were on vacation. A runt pig named Pigwig was living in a cardboard box in the storeroom. In another box were twin orphan lambs so small that I called them Minutes.
Mom works long hours at the clinic and doesn’t mind my pets as long as I keep everything clean and the animals out from under her feet. Sis is another story.
One evening I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework while some milk for Pigwig’s eight o’clock feeding was warming. Mom and Sis were doing dishes. They were having a discussion about some dumb dinner Sis wanted to have. It was to impress the parents of her boyfriend, Ted, who were coming to visit.
The discussion woke up Pigwig. He started to squeal, and Sis let out a shriek about as loud. “That kid and her weird menagerie. I can’t invite the Austins to this—this zoo!”
About that time Gorgeous George started to yowl, and the uproar woke the Minutes. It took Mom and me a while to get them all quieted down.
The next day Mom had a talk with me. “You know, Jetty, your sister’s right. It’s her home, too, and it’s only fair that she should be able to entertain her friends here without embarrassment.”
“OK, OK,” I muttered. “What do you want me to do?”
“Find another place for your pets that evening.”
“But, Mom,” I persisted. “I can’t put them just anywhere! It’s too cold outside. They could get sick.”
“Jeannette, with your ingenuity I’m sure you can find a comfortable place.” When Mom starts using big words in that tone of voice, I don’t argue.
Finding a place wasn’t easy. I had to promise to give Betsy Lewis, my best friend, my very favorite record before she finally said she’d watch the animals—on the condition that her mother approved. Mrs. Lewis agreed to let Betsy keep Pigwig and the Minutes in a heated room off their garage.
Gorgeous George’s owners were back home by then so it looked like everything would work out. Sis was all excited. You’d have thought the president of the United States was coming to dinner.
I had just come back from taking Pigwig and the Minutes over to Betsy’s house when a car pulled into the driveway.
Mom and Sis weren’t home from work yet, and I was trying to decide whether I should let anyone in when I heard Curt Marsh calling, “Jetty, are you home?” He and his wife, Brenda, are good friends of ours.
When I opened the door, Curt came charging in carrying something in his arms. “Jetty, am I glad you’re here! I’m taking Brenda to the hospital. Moonbeam’s calf has pneumonia so I brought it over. We knew you’d take care of it.”
I just stood there. I mean I couldn’t even stutter!
“What’s the matter, Jet? Is something wrong?” Curt looked so worried and upset, I couldn’t tell him.
“It’s—it’s OK,” I finally stammered. “I’ll get a box.” And I rushed to find one so he wouldn’t see my face.
“Thanks, Jetty. We knew we could count on you,” he called as he hurried back to his car.
I looked at the calf. It was the size of a large dog and pure white with soft silky hair and long dark lashes. Its nose was bright pink. I promptly named it Snow White. It looked completely helpless stretched out on its side, breathing hard.
I didn’t have much time to get it out of sight before the party. I carefully placed the calf in a box. Just then Mom came rushing in, so I quickly shoved it to the back of the big coat closet.
“Hurry now,” she said. “Change your clothes and set the table.”
Everything looked super nice by the time the Austins arrived. Sis looked really neat too. She was so happy she was all sparkly.
I was eating my second piece of chicken when I noticed Sis was awfully quiet. Mrs. Austin was looking our house over like she was at a yard sale and couldn’t find anything worth buying. Mr. Austin was talking about the business he owned and how he thought Ted was wasting his time in such a small town. Ted was just sitting there. He wasn’t even holding Sis’s hand like he usually does, and I felt kind of sorry for her.
About then I thought I heard the sound of feet slipping and sliding. Suddenly through the closet door staggered the wobbly and bawling white calf. I froze for a moment.
Mrs. Austin screamed as her mink stole slid off the calf’s back and onto the floor. I had one glimpse of the stunned look on my mother’s face before I was out of my chair and dragging the calf out of the room.
The dinner party was over. I heard my mother and sister apologizing. Ted left with his parents.
Sis was crying. “Where did that thing come from?” she wailed. “Mom, I thought you told Jetty—no animals!”
“I did, and I have no more idea than you where she got it, but I intend to find out.” My mother’s voice told me I was in real trouble.
I was dragging myself out of the storeroom when the telephone rang. Sis answered it. When she turned from the phone, she had a funny look on her face. “That was Curt Marsh. Brenda had a seven-pound baby girl and they are going to name her Jeannette because Jetty is always so helpful—like tonight with that prize calf of theirs.”
Later I heard Sis say, “The Austins really are pretty stuffy, aren’t they?”
Mom said something I couldn’t hear. Then Sis giggled. “Only Jetty’s pets get to wear mink stoles,” she said. Then they both cracked up laughing!
I mean, who can understand grown-ups?

“My grandfather on my father’s side is Melvin J. Ballard. He died when I was ten, so I didn’t really appreciate what it meant for him to be an apostle. However, I do remember that he was very interested in me. On my eighth birthday he picked me up at my home and took me to see a movie. As I recall, he slept through most of it, but it was evident that he cared enough about me to spend some time with me. I am grateful that I have such special memories of Grandfather, and I would encourage children to take advantage of any experience with their grandfathers or grandmothers that can become a happy memory for them.”

Sister Cook is very gifted musically, having taught music and filling her home with music. In fact, Elder Cook first became acquainted with Mary at a seventh-grade talent assembly. He remembers, “This little towheaded girl gets up and sings ‘On the Sunny Side of the Street.’ Even in junior high school she had a remarkably mature, deep voice. I was absolutely amazed. And that song could have been the theme for the rest of her life. She has a wonderfully bright, sunny disposition.”
During their schooling, the two had numerous opportunities to work together. In junior high he was elected student-body president, and she was elected student-body vice president. They were in debate together. And as senior-class president in high school, he worked with her as a student-body officer.
“We were friends long before we were anything else,” Elder Cook recalls. “I admired her before I fell in love with her, and marrying her was the best decision I have ever made.”
Elder and Sister Cook were married in the Logan Utah Temple on November 30, 1962.

I was a child in Korea in 1950 when the Korean War broke out. Our family had to leave our home in Seoul and move to the countryside. Things were hard for my parents—can you imagine trying to raise a family during a war? People were not properly fed because of the war conditions, and my mother became very sick from an unknown disease. Sometimes when the pain came, she would just be helpless. In my mind I can still hear her screaming because of the pain, and I still feel how awful it was not knowing how to help her.
One day an herb doctor told me that if I got a certain kind of herb for my mom, it would cure her. Another man told me where I could find this plant. So, because of the love I had for my mom and my sympathy for her pain, I set out early one morning, without telling anybody, in search of this plant. My bicycle was very small and beat-up, with tires that didn’t fit. The road I had to travel was about 20 kilometers long; it included two steep hills, a creek, and a mountain. I had only the name of the plant and the general area in my mind. To me the trip lasted almost forever—up and down, up and down on a dirt road. I found the general area, and when I explained to a man what I was looking for, he told me I needed to go to the home of one of the leaders in the community, who grew the plant in his garden for decoration.
It took me many more hours to get there, but finally I found the place and the plant, and I explained to the owner the purpose of my trip. He said, “Yes, it is true, that plant cures that kind of pain.” Even though I didn’t have any money, he gave the plant to me. I was so happy that I cried! I thanked him and very carefully tied the plant onto my little bicycle. I bowed many times to him for his kindness.
I started back home, down the mountain and across the little creek. About halfway up the first hill, my bike got two flat tires. I wasn’t a Christian then, and I didn’t know about the gospel, but I knew that there was a God who was the creator of all things. I said my own kind of prayer, as I had hundreds of times that day, and I know Heavenly Father heard me. He loves all his children, no matter what religion they are or what they believe. He answers our prayers if we are sincere and honest and say them with a righteous desire.
Heavenly Father answered my prayer that day, and I was able to make it home. When I arrived, exhausted and hungry, it was night; the trip had taken me the whole day. My parents had been terribly worried, even angry, especially because there was a war going on and it was dangerous. I quickly explained what I had done, and I showed them the plant. Then my dad cried, my mom cried, and I cried again. My mom was cured. She lived until 1991, the year I was called as a General Authority.
I don’t believe that it was only the plant that cured my mother. I believe it was mostly a blessing from Heavenly Father. That experience helped teach me the principle of prayer. It is my testimony that if we love God and do according to his teachings, nothing will be impossible if it is according to his will.

My mind goes back to Germany some 64 years ago when from the land of Zion came two fine young missionaries, Brother Wayne Kartchner and Brother Otto Andre. My wife and I were just newlyweds at that time, and they taught us the gospel. They came very often to our home. We were good prospects to them, and they liked us very well. And they liked my wife’s good cooking too.
So we soon were led to the waters of baptism, and on a cold night in 1923 we were baptized in a big river near the city.
I came to America thereafter, and I can truly say I love this great land of opportunity. Wonderful opportunities lie in store for all of you. Just keep the laws of God. Be on his side, and he will bless you.

The opportunities for showing love for God through the home, neighborhood, mission field, community, and family are never-ending. Some of us are inclined to terminate our love processes in the family when a member disappoints, rebels, or becomes lost. Sometimes when family members least deserve love, they need it most. Love is not appropriately expressed in threats, accusations, expressions of disappointment, or retaliation. Real love takes time, patience, help, and continuing performances. I’m thinking of a prospective elder, for more than thirty-five years completely inactive, now feeding me as my home teacher. “What brought you back, John?” I asked.
“My wife just wouldn’t give up on me and my home teaching companion seated here with me tonight just kept ‘nudging’ me in the right way.” John is happy and anxiously engaged in the work today because two people in particular know what love is all about.

Johnny was unhappy. There was no one to play with him. Todd had gone to visit his grandmother. Scott was on a fishing trip with his father. Mother was in the kitchen making bread. Baby was asleep in his room.
It had rained yesterday, but now the sun had broken through the clouds. Johnny was anxious to go outside.
“May I go out to play?” Johnny asked Mother.
“Yes,” she answered, “but be back in time for lunch.”
Johnny pulled on his shoes and ran outside. He skipped down the sidewalk to a field of tall grass. Everything smelled fresh and new after the rain.
When Johnny reached the edge of the field, he turned a cartwheel and rolled to the bottom of the grassy slope.
Lying in the tall grass, Johnny pretended he was in a jungle.
Then he imagined he was in a forest in the mountains. Finally Johnny made believe he was a small worm squirming through the grass.
But playing all alone wasn’t much fun.
Johnny looked up at the sun. It seemed to be dancing through great white puffs of clouds.
The wind shaped the clouds into an elephant with big floppy ears and a long trunk.
Behind the elephant Johnny saw a roly-poly bear dancing along with the sun, a lollipop, a boat, two fish, a dog, and a car.
The car reminded Johnny that Daddy would soon be home for lunch. Johnny looked up again at the sky. The car in the clouds was gone, but he could see Daddy’s car in the driveway.
Mother was putting the baby in the high chair as Johnny came into the house. The kitchen was full of good warm smells.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Mother smiled. “Were you lonely all by yourself in the field?”
“No,” Johnny answered happily, thinking about all the things in the clouds he had seen floating through the sky. “I found some new friends today!”

“When we got on the plane,” Brother Naga says, “I had 102 New Zealand dollars in my pocket. That was all our money. We didn’t know how we were going to pay our living expenses for the two weeks we would be in New Zealand.”
But Church members met the Nagas at the airport, arranged for lodging in a member’s home, and provided food and transportation.
“After we came back from the temple, the Lord blessed us,” Brother Naga says. “Not only were we able to buy furniture, we were able to extend our house.”

When our bus rolled in, we didn’t realize Silver Lode was a town with a crisis. But then, our bus had a crisis too. And we didn’t exactly roll into town, either. We sputtered in and coasted to a very dead stop in front of the local Ben Franklin store.
We untangled ourselves from our Walkman headphones, bags of snacks, and the wadded-up jackets we used for pillows. One by one we stumbled on stiff legs off the Clark District school bus and into bright sunshine. “We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” somebody muttered as we looked around.
“Okay, everybody, just listen up for a minute, please.” Mr. Watkins, our band director, stood in the shade of the narrow awning over the store window. He looked even more rumpled than usual, trying to tuck in the tails of his short-sleeved plaid shirt. “The driver’s gone in to phone the district garage. And then we’ll try to find a mechanic here in town. Go ahead and stretch and walk around, but please don’t go far, stay in groups of at least three, and be back here at the bus in 30 minutes.”
The director turned to talk to Vince and Betty Scholes, parents who had volunteered to chaperone our small high school jazz band for this trip to the Northwest Band Festival.
“Gee, a town this big and this exciting, and we only get 30 minutes.” Mike Forsgren’s voice bulldozed into my consciousness as I looked in the variety store window at faded displays of work clothing and school supplies. “I’d like to spend a couple of days, see a few shows, visit museums. Hey, Reed,” Mike raised his voice. “C’mon with Harrison and me and we’ll check this place out.”
Clint Reed is one of the most perfectly named people I know. He’s as thin as one—a reed, that is—and he plays the clarinet. Mike’s favorite line is “Hey Reed, step out from behind that thing so we can see you.” Mike, on the other hand, is beefy, with a reddish face and big hands that make his trumpet look like a toy.
So we flipped a coin to determine the direction and started off down the main drag of Silver Lode. Mike, Clint, and me, Josh Harrison, a very average-looking guitarist.
Like most of the towns we had passed in this part of the state, Silver Lode wasn’t much to look at. It was just off the interstate, small and narrow, squeezed on two sides by rolling, forested mountains. The hills were blighted here and there with rusted machinery and the yellow-brown streaks of mine dumps. The side streets held old homes, widely spaced among big old trees. The old main street, which used to be the highway, had a small city hall with an old war memorial in front, an appliance store, a shabby real estate office, a tavern. And half a block away, on the other side of the highway, the Bluebell Cafe.
Cafe. The word leaped out at three guys who were always hungry. As we approached, we could see a hand-painted sign in the window.
“We serve and cook with only pure, bottled water,” Mike read aloud as we stood in front of the cafe. Then, before we knew it, he was inside at the counter, ordering in his loudest voice, “A glass of your finest, pure, bottled water, please.”
They have good ice cream at the Bluebell, and we were just finishing our cones as we got back to the bus. When we were all gathered, Mr. Watkins told us the part for the bus wasn’t available anywhere nearby. Another bus was on the way, but we would have to spend the night in Silver Lode. The Scholeses were back at the motel we had passed when we left the freeway, arranging for rooms. “I’m sorry we’ll have to miss the first day of the festival,” Mr. Watkins said, “but at least we’re not scheduled to play until the second day.”
It took a while before the Scholeses got back, and lugging our suitcases and instruments to the motel was hot work. The motel sign touted free coffee and free cable TV. We had to share rooms, of course, and Mike and Clint and I opted to stay together. As we stood at the desk to get our keys, there was another hand-lettered sign: “Bottled water is available for drinking. Please ask clerk.”
“What’s with the bottled water in this town?” Mike asked.
“Well,” the clerk said, “about four months ago the state found heavy metals in the water here. The stuff leached into the water supply from all of the mine dumps and tailings.”
“Heavy metal! Whoa, that’s not for us,” Mike said, looking over his shoulder at me. He turned back to the clerk, leaned forward as if in confidence, and said quietly, “We’re into jazz ourselves.”
The clerk looked blank for a moment, gave a half smile, and went on. “Tap water’s fine for bathing and for brushing teeth and things like that. There’s no bacteria problem. But they don’t recommend drinking it until they hook us up to another source.”
We each got one free one-liter bottle and headed toward our room. It was small, but it would do for one night. Clint immediately turned on the TV and began channel surfing, while Mike grabbed the TV listing to see what was on today. “Hey,” he said, “at nine o’clock Carnal Killer is on. I’ve been wanting to see that.”
“What’s it rated?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“It’s rated R, but some guys I know saw it and said it was just for some language and a few scenes. It’s nothing you haven’t seen or heard before.”
“Face it,” Clint added, “it can’t be worse than the stuff we see and hear in the halls at school.”
What could I say? Clint was right. I had seen and heard some pretty raw stuff, and so far I still had a testimony. I was still planning on a mission. And I hadn’t killed anybody yet, or even committed any serious sins. So I didn’t argue. Clint and Mike went back to channel surfing, and I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth because my retainer had left my mouth tasting kind of foul.
The bathroom had glasses “sanitized for your convenience,” and I unwrapped one, got out my brush and paste, and brushed teeth and retainer. I rinsed several times, spit, and out of habit took a drink of water. Here in this mountain town it was cold and refreshing. Not until I went out and saw the bottle of water on the bed did I remember.
I groaned out loud in disgust. “I just realized, I drank the local water.”
“How was it?” Clint asked. “Did it taste more like mercury or lead?”
Mike sipped from an imaginary glass, gargled, and swallowed with a loud gulp. “I also detect iron, copper, and zinc, with overtones of trout. Obviously the finest stream water money can buy.”
Then Clint jumped in again. “With all of that metal in you, you’re probably a better conductor than Mr. Watkins.”
And so we laughed and joked all the way down to our practice session, crammed into the motel’s small lobby. The clerk really seemed to be enjoying it, except for the few times he had to give us the hand-across-the-throat signal to stop so he could answer the phone. Afterward, it was time for dinner, and as long as we stayed in groups and were back by dark, we had our choice of the Denny’s-type chain restaurant next door or the Bluebell, half a mile down the road. We chose the Bluebell because it was different. And thanks to Mike, we were known there.
In a booth with patched red Naugahyde seats and gray Formica tabletop, we studied the menus while our waitress poured water. Mike put his hand over his glass just as she was about to pour his, and he dumped about a cupful on the back of his hand before she could react. “I’m sorry,” Mike said, “but could I have your assurance that this is pure bottled water?”
I thought she would get mad, but Mike turned on his famous 500-watt smile, and she smiled back. “Believe me, this place would get shut down if we served tap water.”
The waitress finished pouring Mike’s water and reached for my glass when an idea hit me. I reached out and covered my glass too, and everybody shot me a quick this-could-get-old-in-a-hurry look. “Wait,” I said, “what if I don’t want bottled water. I tasted the tap water in this town earlier, and I liked it. One glass isn’t going to hurt me, is it?”
It was a slow night at the Bluebell, so I guess she had time to be patient with an obvious idiot. “No, I don’t suppose one glass will hurt you. Heck, you could drink a pitcherful and it wouldn’t kill you. But the metals build up in your body. It can’t get rid of them. I’ve got a five-year-old and a seven-year-old, and they tested high, so they need special treatments because those poisons are even harder on kids. I get tested tomorrow. Who knows what it’s done to me all these years.”
The Bluebell’s specialty is fried chicken, and it really was fine. Clint had the meatloaf to see if it was any better than his mom’s. “Maybe there’s no such thing as good meatloaf,” he said thoughtfully as we walked back to the motel.
In the distance, the motel’s sign was brighter in the dim light of dusk. Free Cable. Free Coffee. “That free coffee sounds kind of good, doesn’t it?” I said. “Maybe I’ll drink some of that free coffee while we watch the free cable.” Mike and Clint didn’t even bother to reply. They knew I didn’t drink coffee, and neither did they. It wasn’t even an issue.
An old pickup went by, spewing blue smoke, and there was the smell of diesel fumes from a tractor trailer rig idling nearby. “I know one thing,” I said as we stood outside the motel for a minute. “I’m going to drink cold tap water tonight. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t drunk it before. Besides, there are lots of pollutants around. I wouldn’t be taking in anything new.”
I stopped talking and looked first at Clint, then at Mike. Finally Mike rolled his eyes. “Okay, Guitar Boy, I get your message.”
Clint looked from Mike to me and back again. “What?”
“The movie, Carnal Killer,” Mike said with exaggerated patience. “We were talking about how it didn’t have anything we hadn’t already been exposed to in the halls at school. Now Guitar Boy here,”—he put a catcher’s mitt-sized fist on my arm and shoved—“is saying just because we’ve been exposed to some pollution, that doesn’t make it smart to take in more.”
“I remember reading for a report in a health class,” I said. “Those heavy metals stay in people’s tissues. And then I thought about the images and jokes and words I wish I didn’t remember, and how they settle in the brain.”
Clint didn’t say anything, just nodded. And we went to report in to Mr. Watkins.
I wish we had cable TV at home. Those old Mary Tyler Moore shows are kind of fun.

Now, you may be thinking: It’s not that easy for me. I have so many people to watch over. And I have so little time. But where the Lord calls He prepares a way, His way. There are shepherds who believe that. I’ll tell you about one.
Two years ago, a man was called as the president of his elders quorum. He had been a member of the Church for less than 10 years. He had just become worthy to be sealed to his wife and family in the temple. His wife was an invalid. He had three daughters. The oldest was 13, and she cooked the meals and, with the others, cared for the house. His scant earnings from manual labor supported not only those five people but a grandfather who lived with them in their small house.
When he was called to be president of his elders quorum, it had 13 members. That tiny quorum was responsible for another 101 men who either had no priesthood at all or who were deacons, teachers, or priests. He was responsible to watch over the souls of 114 families, with little hope that he could devote more than his Sundays and perhaps one night a week to his service, with all he did to serve his own family.
The difficulty of what he faced drove him to his knees in prayer. Then he stood up and went to work. In his efforts to meet and know his sheep, his prayers were answered in a way he had not expected. He came to see beyond individuals. He came to know that the Lord’s purpose was for him to build families. And even with his limited experience, he knew that the way to build families would be to help them qualify to make and keep temple covenants.
He began to do what a good shepherd always does, but he did it differently when he saw the temple as their destination. First, he prayed to know who were to be his counselors to go with him. And then he prayed to know which families needed him and had been prepared.
He called on as many as he could. Some were cold and did not accept his friendship. But with those who did, he followed a pattern. As soon as he saw interest and trust, he invited them to meet the bishop. He had asked the bishop beforehand: “Please tell them what it takes to be worthy to go to the temple to claim its blessings for them and their families. And then please testify to them, as I have, that it will be worth it.”
A few then accepted the quorum president’s invitation to a temple preparation class taught by stake leaders. Not all completed the course and not all qualified for the temple. But each family and each father was prayed for. Most were invited at least once to a feast of the good word of God. With every invitation came the president’s testimony of the blessings of being a family sealed forever and the sadness of being separated. Every invitation was issued with the love of the Savior.
During the president’s service, he has seen 12 of the men he taught ordained elders. He has seen four of his elders ordained high priests. Those numbers don’t come close to measuring the miracle. The families of those men will be blessed over generations. Fathers and mothers are now sealed to each other and to their children. They are praying over their children, receiving the help of heaven, and teaching the gospel with the love and inspiration the Lord gives to faithful parents.
That president and his counselors have become true shepherds. They have watched over the flock with the Master and have come to love Him.

Mama wiped down the countertops in the kitchen while Nicole and her cousin Cassidi sat on the floor in the living room, playing quietly. Nicole and Cassidi were both five years old, but Nicole was small for her age.
Nicole and Cassidi agreed on a book from the bookcase, and Nicole began to read aloud. Cassidi sat across from Nicole with her legs crossed and listened closely to the story. The book had pictures, and each time Nicole finished reading a page, she faced the book toward Cassidi so that her cousin could see the picture, too. The girls were having a great time until halfway through the story. Then a look of sadness came over Cassidi’s face, and she began to cry.
“What’s wrong?” Nicole asked.
“Nothing,” Cassidi said quietly, wiping the tears from her cheeks.
“If you’re sad, it makes me sad, too, Cassidi. Please tell me what’s wrong.”
Still sniffling, Cassidi nodded. “Nicole, you are so smart. You can read, and I can’t.”
Nicole lowered her head and closed the book. She felt very sad because Cassidi was unhappy. Mama wanted to rush in and comfort Cassidi; instead, she watched quietly from the kitchen.
Nicole’s eyes grew big, and a smile appeared on her face. “Cassidi, you are the best two-wheel-bicycle rider I’ve ever seen!” she said boldly. “I can’t ride a two-wheel bike at all,” she added, looking into Cassidi’s tear-filled eyes.
A big smile grew on Cassidi’s lips as she wiped the remaining tears from her face. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Nicole. They hugged each other tightly.
“I feel better now,” Cassidi said. “Thank you, Nicole.”
Nicole answered with a smile, and the girls continued to play.
Mama’s eyes filled with tears. She realized that the girls understood better than most grown-ups what it means to love one another as Jesus Christ would.

Brethren, as we learn our duty and magnify the callings which have come to us, the Lord will guide our efforts and touch the hearts of those whom we serve.

Many years ago, I would visit an older widow named Mattie, whom I had known for many years and whose bishop I had been. My heart grieved at her utter loneliness. A precious son of hers lived many miles away, and for years he had not visited his mother. Mattie spent long hours in a lonely vigil at her front window. Behind a frayed and frequently opened curtain, the disappointed mother would say to herself, “Dick will come; Dick will come.”

But Dick didn’t come. The years passed by one after another. Then, like a ray of sunshine, Church activity came into the life of Dick, one of my former Aaronic Priesthood boys, who now lived in Houston, Texas, far away from his mother. He journeyed to Salt Lake to visit with me. He telephoned upon his arrival and, with excitement, reported the change in his life. He asked if I had time to see him if he were to come directly to my office. My response was one of gladness. However, I said, “Dick, first visit your mother, and then come to see me.” He gladly complied with my request.

Before he could get to my office, there came a phone call from Mattie, his mother. From a joyful heart came words punctuated by tears: “Bishop, I knew Dick would come. I told you he would. I saw him coming through the window.”

Not many years later at Mattie’s funeral, Dick and I spoke tenderly of that experience. We had witnessed a glimpse of God’s healing power through the window of a mother’s faith in her son.

Soon after the earthquake, a new threat worked its way toward Mexico. Hurricane Dean was expected to hit Cancun, so local Church leaders began stocking food, water, and equipment in a facility near the expected hurricane target. When the storm shifted directions, threatening the Yucatán Peninsula, Church leaders moved supplies to another facility in Chetumal. As the hurricane began a path back across the country, a third supply facility was stocked.

Technology has played a significant role in emergency preparedness, Rick Foster, director of administrative services for the Welfare Services Department at Church headquarters, explained. Now more than ever before, disasters can be predicted—sometimes even the precise location of the disaster.

“Having this information allows Church leaders and employees and volunteers living in threatened areas to begin the process of purchasing supplies and relocating people to shelters,” said Brother Foster.

Mikel signed his name at the bottom of a clipboard titled “Junior Runners.” A man handed him a bright red number, and Mikel ran back to where his mom, dad, sister, and baby brother sat in the bleachers.
“Ready?” Dad asked.
Mikel pinned the number on his shirt. “I think so.” He had signed up to run in his town’s mile-long race. His family had trained together for weeks, but he still couldn’t believe how far a mile really was!
“I’m ready too!” his sister, Isabella, said. She had a bright yellow number on her shirt. Since she was only in kindergarten, she would run in the half-mile race.
“Junior runners to the track!” the announcer called over the speakers. Mikel felt his stomach do a flip-flop. Dad patted him on the shoulder and smiled.
Mikel smiled back, then turned and headed toward the track. It was time to run.
When the buzzer sounded, Mikel ran just like he had practiced. The mile was long, but Mikel knew he could do it. Even when his shoe fell off during the second lap, he put it back on and finished the race as fast as he could.
As Mikel crossed the finish line, Dad gave him a big hug. “Great job! I bet you’re ready to rest!”
Mikel only nodded, too busy gulping down air to answer. He had a cramp in his side, and he was hot and sweaty.
“Pee-wee runners to the track!” the announcer called.
Isabella bounced up and down in excitement. “My turn!” She jogged to her place at the starting line and waved at Mikel. “I’m going to run just like you!”
Mikel gave a tired wave back. He walked back to the bleachers with Dad.
The race started, and Isabella began her first lap around the track. Mikel settled down on the bleachers. It was nice to sit. His legs felt like rubbery spaghetti noodles.
Isabella was on the opposite end of the track now. They couldn’t see her very well in the crowd of other runners.
As she finished the first loop, Mikel squinted to see her. “Is she okay?”
Isabella was stumbling slowly down the track. It looked like something was wrong.
Dad stood up from his seat. “What happened?” He called to Isabella as she got closer.
The rest of the runners were far ahead. Isabella stopped running. “I fell down on the other side of the track, and I got scared!” she said as she started to sob.
Dad ran out on the track. “Come on, Isabella! We can do it!” Taking her hand, he started running down the track with her.
As Mikel watched them, he felt his noodley legs get stronger. Hopping off his seat, he ran onto the track and took Isabella by the other hand. “Yeah! We can do it together!”
Isabella looked up at Mikel. She wiped the tears away from her cheeks and smiled. Dad let go of Isabella’s hand, and Mikel continued running down the track with her. They were already catching up with the other runners.
Mikel’s legs were burning, and he was out of breath. But he was running—running more than he had ever run before!
Mikel looked over at Isabella as he continued to run. She was grinning from ear to ear.
He smiled and tightened his grip on his sister’s hand. The race was getting easier with every step.

Joan smiled and flashed her crossed fingers at Bob and Drew as she entered class. The three had completed a special class on how to take tests just in time for midterm exams. It came as no surprise when Mr. Smith, their history teacher, announced the midterm. Joan turned to section one of her notes from the test class: “What You Should Know about a Test.” Her hand flew into the air.
“Mr. Smith, what kind of test will it be?” she asked. “I mean, like true-false or multiple choice.”
“Multiple choice,” he replied.
“How many questions will there be?” Joan pressed.
“Fifty even,” responded the teacher.
Joan followed her outline. “What will the test cover—what chapters in the book? And will it cover our class notes, too?”
“The test will cover chapters one through five in the text and a handful of questions on your notes,” he replied.
“Can you be more specific about the class-note questions?” Joan persisted.
“There will be about ten questions from your notes, and they will cover the same period as your chapter on the revolutionary war through the civil war. Any more questions?” Mr. Smith asked with a smile.
“Yes,” Joan broke in. “Will we have the whole class period for the test?”
“No, we’ll take a little break for roll call,” Mr. Smith quipped.
Everyone laughed, but Joan continued, “You didn’t tell us when the test will be.”
“Right,” answered Mr. Smith. “You haven’t given me a chance! The test will be on Monday, one week from today.”
Bob groaned out loud. That was the same day as his English midterm. Drew Stevens tapped Joan on the shoulder. “Way to go,” he whispered. “Mr. Smith has never been pinned down like that before!”

Elder Pratt’s two former companions traveled on to Tahiti, where their teaching met with far less success. After a few months, Elder Rogers traveled west to a small group of islands and Elder Grouard sailed to the island of Anaa in the Tuamotus. Elder Rogers again met with little success and much opposition. When rumors finally reached him of the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith, he began to fear for the safety of his family in Nauvoo, and he returned to America. He died during the exodus from Nauvoo.

“It took six months for the judge to make the adoption final, and we went to the temple as soon as we could,” Mom said.
In the second picture Malia was wearing a delicate pink dress, sitting on her parents’ laps and laughing. Mom and Dad were smiling down at her and the temple shone in the background.
“After the sealing ceremony, the temple sealer told us that if we chose to keep the commandments, we would be a family forever,” Mom said.
Malia wanted to live righteously so she could be with her family forever.

So far, the life of Fetauai Unasa Tautiaga Tuifalefa Tiatia has been a model of accomplishment.
He began his teaching career over 27 years ago, after gaining a diploma from Samoa Teachers Training College, and went on to earn a bachelor’s degree in education. In the early 2000s, Fetauai received postgraduate degrees from the renown Malua Theological College, where he also qualified as an ordained minister in one of Samoa’s most prominent Christian denominations.
Along the way, he met and married the beautiful Lili Laufiso, and they had children—three girls and a boy. When it was time to choose a high school for them, given Fetauai’s own background in education, the couple considered their options carefully.
“We chose to take our girls to Vaiola College,” Fetauai says, referring to a high school in Savaii, Samoa, that is run and owned by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was an interesting decision for a practicing minister of a different faith, but he was impressed by Vaiola’s high moral standards and church-based values.
Little did Fetauai know at the time, this decision would spark a fire that would change his life.
His daughters soon began investigating their high school’s church. They took seminary classes, and in their family’s evening devotionals, they would share what they learned about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
Fetauai and his wife grew fond of the missionaries who would visit their girls at home. Sisters Niutua and Laulu taught them Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation, and in April 2010, Fetauai’s daughters were baptised. Fetauai recalls that in their tear-filled farewell prayers, these sweet sister missionaries voiced their deepest desires that the rest of his family would also join the Church.
He also remembers an interesting family home evening lesson with a missionary couple from Utah. Elder and Sister Krogh brought over a tin of homemade cookies, which was wrapped up in a long piece of metal wiring. After the lesson, each person took a turn unwinding the metal wire off the tin until, finally, they were able to open it and enjoy the cookies inside. Elder Krogh then testified: it is only when we open (unwind) our hearts to the gospel that we can enjoy the sweetness of its blessings.
Little by little, these faith-building experiences worked a mighty miracle in Fetauai’s own heart, and soon, he could no longer withstand his yearning to join the Church. “[It was] like the feeling you have while in a long journey without water and . . . food in a desert,” he says.
Fetauai immediately called the local bishop to organise his own baptism, and less than a week later, this well-known educator and minister was now a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Fetauai was baptised in 2013, then sealed to his family for time and all eternity the year after. By 2016, he was a bishop, and in 2017 he was called to serve as president for the Savaii Samoa Pu’apu’a Stake.
On reflection, President Tiatia has one explanation for his eventful pathway to the true gospel of Christ. “Through all the challenges we faced and the decisions we made, we . . . review the beginning and finally say: ‘God is always at the helm of every soul.’”

I noticed, however, that in the following years there was a little soft spot in my character. For example, after having served as a missionary and for four years in the U.S. Armed Forces, I was studying at a university, and there, sometimes, sitting in the back of the room during an examination, I discovered that I had a physical disability. A certain muscle in my neck had a tendency to twist my head in the direction of my neighbor’s paper. I was unaware how this weakness had developed, but it began to trouble me. I knew, of course, what was right, and I didn’t cheat, but how was I to control the involuntary muscle spasm?
One day I performed mental surgery on my neck. It was in the form of a lecture to myself, as follows: “Grant, before you came to school this morning you knew about this examination and you have studied the material carefully. Don’t you remember how, because it was so important, you knelt down and asked Heavenly Father to quicken your mind and increase your powers of memory and recall? Now, Grant, you know the rules of the gospel. You understand that if you take help from your neighbor, you are not going to get any from the Lord. Just make up your mind. Whose help would you rather have?”
You can see how, after that little pep talk, my neck muscle was completely cured.

Tithing has always blessed me and my family in our lives. During the time that I was in school, my wife and I were very busy and really very poor. There were times when we wondered if we would have enough money. But we had made the commitment that we’d always pay our tithing first, and we always had enough. We’ve done that all of our lives. There have been challenges, but somehow there’s a way when you pay your tithing that you can do the kinds of things you need to.