Gospel Story Finder

I trudged back from the bathroom, my stomach rumbling and my head pounding. Falling back into bed, I grimaced. For the second time in two months, I was sick with a stomach virus. I had missed school classes and work. I could hear others having a good time and laughing in the kitchen, but I was curled up in bed, feeling miserable.
I pulled the blankets tighter around me and turned to face the wall. I was frustrated, but I didn’t know where to aim my anger. It wasn’t my fault I got sick. The more I dwelt on the injustice of it all, the more upset I became. My frustration turned into sadness, and I started crying. I just wanted the pain to go away. Hoping for some type of encouragement, I reached for the scriptures and turned to 3 Nephi 17, my reading for the day. I was amazed by the words of comfort found in verse 7:
“Have ye any that are sick among you … or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you; my bowels are filled with mercy.”
I was still crying, but I was no longer upset. Instead of dwelling on the pain, I focused on the invitation of the Savior to come unto Him and be healed. I read the chapter over and over, lingering on the phrase “all the multitude, with one accord, did go forth with their sick and their afflicted, … and he did heal them every one as they were brought forth unto him” (3 Nephi 17:9).
The Savior was opening His arms to me, inviting me to be healed, if not of the virus, then definitely of my frustration at that moment.
Reading that chapter didn’t stop the stomach pains or headache, but that night the words of the Savior healed my heart. I was no longer bitter, because I understood that this stomach virus, like other trials, was simply a fact of life. Heavenly Father knew I was sick, and although He didn’t instantly cure me, He reminded me of the individual love and concern He feels for each of His children. This love is manifest through the gift of His Son, Jesus Christ, who came to show us compassion. As we soften our hearts and come to the Savior with sufficient faith, we can all receive His healing grace.

Our family recently attended church in a nearby community. We enjoyed the meetings, but during the children’s activities in Primary, something happened that was interesting yet disturbing to me.
During singing time, the chorister innocently passed out a piece of candy to each child and instructed them, “This is a singing pill I’m passing out. After you all finish eating, you will be able to sing extra loud and pretty.”
It was very effective: singing time was a great success. But I worry about the subtle, unintentional lesson taught.

Joseph was most sad and lonely when he was separated from his family for any length of time. How distressed he must have been to so frequently have to hide or live in seclusion for fear mobocrats would take his life. On one occasion, his friends were transferring him to another hiding place when Joseph insisted that they drive past his home. Upon seeing that there were no enemies nearby, Joseph rushed into the house, knelt beside the beds of his children, and uttered a brief prayer for them. He kissed each child and his beloved Emma, then rushed out the door on his way to a new hiding place (E. Cecil McGavin, The Family of Joseph Smith, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1963, page 138).

Astrid and Jennifer, sisters, found the Church before the missionaries could find them. Jennifer was interested when she heard about the Church in a religion class at school and did some research. In the local library she found German translations of the Book of Mormon and William E. Berrett’s The Restored Church. She and Astrid read them together. Skeptically, they looked in the Bremen phone book to see if they could find a reference to this “American” church. They were pleasantly surprised to find a meetinghouse in their very own hometown. They wrote to the meetinghouse, asking how to go about joining this restored Church of Jesus Christ. Of course, we were glad to help.

Becky West, 16, Murray 29th Ward, Murray Utah West Stake. Becky got her first job working at a local restaurant part-time busing tables. She wanted to earn money for college and for school clothes. Because she gets tips, Becky brings home cash every time she works. To make saving a little simpler, she decided to put her paychecks directly into savings in the bank. Her tips paid for everything else.

Estimate
Actual
Income
306.80
396.00
Expenses
tithing
30.68
39.60
savings
201.12
233.36
clothes
55.00
58.00
food, makeup, and entertainment
20.00
26.87
total
$306.80
$357.83

Becky did very well with her budget. She even had $36.17 left over that she could add to her savings or spend on other things. Becky learned one trick about not spending too much. “I only take my clothes money with me when I’m going clothes shopping. If I find something another time, then I have to come home, get my money, and go back.”

The following story beautifully illustrates that precept.
Several years ago, two men—a Muslim imam and a Christian pastor from Nigeria—stood on opposite sides of a painful religious divide. Each had suffered deeply. And yet, through the healing power of forgiveness, they chose to walk a path together.
Imam Muhammad Ashafa and Pastor James Wuye became friends and unlikely partners in peace. Together they established a center for interfaith mediation. They now teach others to replace hatred with hope. As two-time nominees for the Nobel Peace Prize, they recently became inaugural recipients of the Commonwealth Peace Prize.
These former enemies now travel side by side rebuilding what was broken, living witnesses that the Savior’s invitation to be peacemakers is not only possible—it is powerful.

“A few years ago, I was in line to make a purchase at my local grocery store. Ahead of me stood a young woman, about 15 years old. She appeared confident and happy. I noticed her T-shirt and couldn’t resist talking to her. I began, ‘You’re from out of state, aren’t you?’
“She was surprised by my question and replied, ‘Yes, I am. I’m from Colorado. How did you know?’
“I explained, ‘Because of your T-shirt.’ I made my accurate supposition after reading the words on her shirt, ‘I’m a Mormon. Are you?’
“I continued, ‘I must tell you that I’m impressed by your confidence to stand out and wear such a bold declaration. I see a difference in you, and I wish every young woman and every member of the Church could have your same conviction and confidence.’ Our purchases completed, we said good-bye and parted.
“Yet for days and weeks after this random everyday moment, I found myself seriously reflecting upon this encounter. … I couldn’t help but wonder what meaningful phrase I would figuratively choose to have printed on my T-shirt reflecting my belief and testimony. … Eventually, I came upon an ideal statement I would proudly wear: ‘I’m a Mormon. I know it. I live it. I love it.’ ”
Sister Ann M. Dibb, second counselor in the Young Women general presidency

And as a young adult, I really wanted to be confident in making big life decisions and deciding what I wanted to accomplish in life.
While I was struggling with this, I felt prompted to attend a conference for young single adults in eastern Europe. I needed some spiritual direction in my life to help me deepen my self-worth and prayed to find answers there.
One night at the conference, goosebumps erupted on my arms when the fireside speaker began to talk about how he was bullied as a child. He spoke about how he had once felt worthless and invisible. I immediately started to cry.
He described just what I had experienced.
The speaker continued and shared the truth he had held on to during his challenges—a truth I had lost sight of:
“I am a child of God.”
When the fireside was over, I still had tears streaming down my face. The speaker noticed and came to put his arm around me. He told me that he usually doesn’t come in person to speak at firesides but felt prompted that there was one person who needed to hear his message directly.
I was that person.
This experience showed me how fully aware Heavenly Father is of His children and that He knows exactly how to reach us so we can feel even just a glimmer of His perfect parental love. He knew I needed to hear this speaker’s message and had directed me to be in the right place at the right time.
I have known the phrase, “I am a child of God” my entire life, but the truth of it only fully resonated with my soul right then. I truly realized what it means to be a child of a perfect God who loves us so much that He was willing to sacrifice His own Son so we can live again and be redeemed from our sins. Who loves me so much that while He can’t always protect me from pain, He is with me through it and can help me rise above it, grow from it, and return to Him.
He loves me now, and He loved me infinitely during my years of bullying when I felt that no one else did. I know now that it was because I knew this truth deep down that I chose to keep going.

Jenny had been having a wonderful time, but now her cousins were going to play hide-and-seek, and they said that she couldn’t play with them.
“You’re too little,” Jason said. “You might get lost.”
“Yeah,” Lee agreed before he threw a ball into the air and Jason caught it. “My dad said that this mountain country is so big that a kid could get lost and might never be found.”
That did sound scary. “But somebody would find me,” Jenny insisted.
“Might not up here,” Lee said. “Nobody lives in this forest except animals.”
Jenny said stoutly, “I’m five years old, and that’s old enough not to get lost.”
But her cousins ran off without her.
Jenny walked to the picnic table and watched her mother and her aunts unpack food while the men started a fire. She heard Jason call, “I’ll be it! Don’t anybody get far from camp.”
Jason began to count. Jenny saw Ryan and Becca and the other cousins running to hide. She thought, I’ll hide too. They won’t know, so I’ll be the last one caught. Then they’ll let me play.
Jenny ran up a slope where tiny wild-flowers blossomed. Wood chips and brown pine needles muffled her footsteps. She saw a big tree to hide behind, but Stacy was already there.
Jenny ran on until she tripped over a rock and went rolling. She was afraid that she had made too much noise, so she listened, but nobody called her. She got up and looked around. I know, she thought. There are bushes in that little gully. I’ll hide over there.
When she reached the gully, Jenny saw the biggest tree that she had ever seen up ahead, so she climbed another slope and ran behind the tree. She leaned against it to catch her breath. Has Jason already called, “Ready or not, you shall be caught!” she wondered.
She waited for what seemed like a long time, but she never heard Jason. Jenny didn’t hear her other cousins, either. Everyone else has been found, she decided. Now I’ll run in and surprise them.
Laughing, Jenny ran toward where she thought the camp was. But she couldn’t see the big tree where Stacy had hidden. She couldn’t see anyone else, either.
Jenny stopped running. Her heart was pounding, partly because she had run so fast and partly because she was becoming frightened. She began to run in another direction. But soon she stopped again. Nothing looked familiar, yet everything looked the same. All the trees, all the bushes, all the green slopes looked just like all the other trees and bushes and slopes.
Jenny took a deep breath. I’m lost, she thought. I’m really lost. She started to cry, then stopped. Maybe her cousins were playing a trick on her because she had joined the game without their permission. They were probably hiding right now, watching her. They must be waiting for her to cry. Then they would all jump out and run in a circle around her.
But soon Jenny knew that her cousins weren’t hiding. She knew that she could not find the camp. She didn’t know which way to go. There were so many trees in the forest, and the forest was so very quiet!
Jenny started to cry again. She ran very fast. Twice she stumbled and fell. When she tripped again, Jenny didn’t get up. She turned over to lie on her back. She looked up.
Tops of towering spruce trees were far, far above her. The sky was a deep blue. Fluffy white clouds looked so close that Jenny thought that maybe they would drift right down to touch her. Then something soft did touch Jenny’s hand.
Slowly she turned her head. A wee brown chipmunk watched her, its black eyes like bright, tiny beads. As Jenny watched, the chipmunk skittered right up her arm. She hardly felt its little feet.
Jenny stayed very still. She thought, I’m not alone. There are friends in the forest. And my very special Friend is here.
How could she have forgotten that Heavenly Father would watch over her? She folded her arms, and the wee chipmunk ran away so fast that she saw only its bushy tail.
Jenny closed her eyes. She asked her Heavenly Father to please keep her safe until her daddy could find her.
Jenny started to stand up; then she stopped and listened. A voice seemed to come from somewhere, maybe from inside her head. She shut her eyes. What was she supposed to remember? Then it came to her. Daddy had given a lesson in family home evening about what children should do when they are lost.
“If you ever get lost,” he had told Jenny and her brothers, “don’t get so frightened that you just run and run. You would probably just get more lost than ever. Instead, stand very still. Look all around you. Find a tree that you think looks like the friendliest tree in the forest. Go to that tree and hug it. Stay right there. Hug your friendly tree and wait.”
Now Jenny looked around. Finally she saw a tree that looked about as big around as her father, but much taller. She ran to it. Her arms would not reach all the way around, but she put her cheek against the tree’s rough bark and hugged it as tightly as she could. “Heavenly Father,” she whispered, “help Daddy find me by my tree before it gets dark.”
Then Jenny began to call. “Daddy, I’m here!” She waited. Then she called again.
The sun went down, and Jenny began to shiver with cold. She was afraid of the dark too. She wanted to cry, but she hugged her tree instead. The tree stood straight and still as if to keep her safe. Jenny called again. “Daddy! I’m over here!” She waited a few moments and called again. And again.
Suddenly Jenny stood straighter. Had she heard something? Was that her father’s voice calling from far away?
“Jenny? Can you hear me? Jenny, where are you?”
“Over here, Daddy!” Jenny called as loudly as she could. “Over here, by my tree!”
A few moments later her father came running. He picked Jenny up and held her very tightly. Jenny cried, then laughed. Then Jenny hugged her father even more tightly than she had hugged her tree.

Diligence was demonstrated by all members of the choir, but extraordinarily so by one precious mother whom I shall never forget. Just five days after the choir had left America, I was asked to inform her that her beautiful 37-year-old daughter had died after a long illness. The leaders of this sorrowing mother offered means for her to return home from Europe. She declined the offer. She and her family had already anticipated this possibility. Their decision had been made. It was not to be interpreted as a pattern for anyone else to follow, but for her alone. Her children and grandchildren had pleaded that she remain on assignment. So she continued in all diligence, never missing a single concert! She nobly fulfilled this scriptural counsel: “Therefore be diligent … in whatsoever difficult circumstances [you] may be” (D&C 6:18).

Her example can bless each of you, just as it did her family and me.

Recently a young father bore his testimony regarding his contribution to the temple fund. His challenge by his bishop was to accept a suggested assessment for the contribution to the temple fund. This amount totaled nearly all he had saved through the years to build his own home. After discussing this with his wife and his children, they decided to give to the Lord all they had in their savings account for the building of the temple in Tokyo, and they gave up their dream of a new home.
One day, not too long after making this contribution to the bishop, the man’s superiors called him into the office and unexpectedly gave him a promotion in the company, with a large increase in his salary, and also with the promotion came an allowance for a new home.

Our Sunday School lesson on keeping the Sabbath day holy had gone well—until somebody mentioned television.
As people chimed in with their opinions regarding whether watching television on Sunday was appropriate, some class members became prescriptive. Before long, other class members became offended. The Spirit, which at first had accompanied our discussion, was replaced by a palpable tension.
Observing the growing discord, Kenneth Payne, a member of our stake presidency, asked to speak. He stood and began telling us about his son Brian, who had served in the Japan Tokyo North Mission. When President Payne and his family greeted Brian at the airport upon his return from his mission in March 2003, he complained of a stiff, sore jaw. Within weeks, Brian was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
A month later he began a regimen of chemotherapy and then radiation. President Payne said doctors had planned a bone-marrow transplant for September 22, but just after the first of that month, “Brian began having difficulty.”
He was hospitalized the second week of September. By then, because of the cancer’s aggressive nature, doctors determined that it was too late for a transplant. The family brought Brian home from the hospital on September 21. He passed away the next morning.
“September 22 is a special day for my family and me,” said President Payne. “On that day we slow down and think about Brian, his contributions to our family, and how he gave the last two years of his life to the Lord and to the Japanese people, whom he loved. We miss him, and on that day we reflect upon his life and honor his memory.”
For all of us, President Payne said, Sunday is a day to slow down and remember.
“We take time out to attend our Church meetings, partake of the sacrament, sorrow for our sins, and ponder the Savior’s suffering on our behalf,” he said. “We serve, we love, and we try not to be distracted by activities that would prevent us from worshipping Him.”
President Payne said that if Sunday activities are in keeping with that spirit, then we can feel right as we engage in them. But if they distract us from remembering the Savior and ministering on the Sabbath as He would minister, then perhaps we should reconsider our choice.
He then sat down and said no more. He didn’t need to. The Spirit had returned to the classroom, and we were all listening.

In Sandy, Utah, one sister learned that her visiting teaching companion, who had not attended church for several years, wanted to gain a testimony of her own but felt frustrated in her attempts to read the Book of Mormon. The ward Relief Society president knew of several other sisters who had similar feelings. So, under the direction of the bishop, the Relief Society organized a weekly Book of Mormon class for any interested sisters in the ward. A sister was called to teach the class and lead the discussions. “Changes have taken place in the lives of each woman in the class,” she says. “A woman who had doubts about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon has gained a strong testimony and has received temple blessings. An older woman who had difficulty grasping basic gospel principles now has a new set of scriptures, which she confidently studies.”

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Boy, math is hard!
Math’s easy. Science is hard.
Science is pretty easy for me.
Hey, I could help you study math and you could help me study science.
You’re a genius! Let’s start tonight!
Great! Then you can look at my paper during math tests and I’ll look at yours on science tests!
No, Taylor. That’s not going to happen. It’s cheating.
No, it’s not. It’s friends helping each other.
Actually, it’s friends hurting each other. Helping me learn math makes me a better person. Helping me pretend I’ve learned math when I really haven’t is helping me be dishonest.
OK, then. Before tests we work together. During tests we’re on our own.
Deal! That’s the best way we can help each other.

In a very memorable sacrament meeting, I felt the truly universal nature of the gospel. The sacrament was administered in French and German. Talks were given in Italian, English, and Portuguese. A verse of “I Am a Child of God,” was sung in ten languages—Japanese, Korean, German, Spanish, Italian, French, Tongan, Samoan, Dutch, and English. The whole congregation was touched through the spiritual language of the soul.
Unusual as it seemed to me at the time, this kind of sacrament meeting would become more familiar to me for I had recently been called to serve as branch president at the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Provo, Utah. I realized that this would be a unique experience.
The missionaries in my branch came from many nations. On one occasion, we had missionaries from eighteen different countries brought together by the common cause of testimony and love for the Savior.
The excitement of seeing missionaries from many countries, interviewing them, and trying to help them, lasted throughout the time I served at the MTC. Most of all, I enjoyed getting to know the missionaries. Learning from their experiences and watching them grow in the gospel was a blessing that overwhelms my feelings and occasionally still brings me to tears when I think or speak about them.
As I interviewed missionaries and heard them speak, I learned something about their spiritual maturity, their degree of preparation, and their dedication to service. I found great variety among them. Some missionaries were well prepared, while others were not. Some were spiritually mature, and others were not spiritually minded at all. Some were very dedicated in their service, and others were not so dedicated. As I listened to them, I heard them use the words sacrifice and privilege.
I noticed that every missionary used at least one of these words and sometimes both to describe his or her feelings about serving a mission. Some said they were happy to sacrifice two years of their lives, possessions, and girlfriends in order to serve the Lord. Others said they felt it to be a privilege to serve him. I heard these two words so often that I began to watch how the missionaries matched their words to their actions.
An elder from Germany told me how he had “always known” that he did “not know the truth.” He described how he sometimes “prayed to God” to find it. After leaving the military service, he was employed in Switzerland. One day, living alone and feeling lonely, he prayed again, “Please God, send me the truth.” A few days later when he was walking down the street, a stranger approached him and said, “Young man, I am supposed to talk with you, but I don’t know why.” In this missionary’s words, “I looked into his face and knew he had the Spirit of God. His face was beautiful.” The stranger was a Church member who had been walking down the same busy street and felt inspired to speak to a young man he didn’t know. This new elder spoke of his mission as a privilege.
A sister from Spain had already completed one full-time mission and immediately went to work as a nurse in order to earn money for another. At first the local Church leaders would not let her go, but she persisted in her attempts until they finally consented. She was called to serve in Chile.
An elder from Mexico happily showed me a picture of his family. “Look,” he said, “my father saved for two months to buy me these shoes. My branch contributed money so I could have this suit.” They both described their missions as a privilege. One elder arrived from Samoa. When he introduced himself for the first time he walked to the front of the congregation holding up a copy of the Book of Mormon. He said, “I am here because this book is true.” He was one of fifteen children. He had been told by his father before leaving home that other men, Church leaders, would be his father for the next few years. He was to obey them. He thought his mission was a great privilege.
Another missionary told of hearing about the gospel in France. The missionaries were not fluent in his language, but he knew that what they were telling him was important, so he studied English in order to better understand them. After hearing the discussions, he had difficulty breaking some of his bad habits. The missionaries told him to ask the Lord for help. One night he was having extreme difficulty and, remembering their advice, went to his bedroom to pray for help. An hour or two later he heard a knock at his door. The missionaries were standing there, drenched from having walked five kilometers in a heavy rainstorm. “Why are you here?” he asked them. “We were asleep,” they said, “and woke up feeling you needed us.” He paused at this point in his talk and looked out over the audience as if looking for someone. Then he said, in a voice trembling with love and gratitude, “I want you to meet my missionaries.” They both lived near the MTC, and he had invited them to hear him speak at our meeting. He spoke of his mission as a privilege.
An elder told of traveling from Vietnam and arriving at a refugee camp near Seattle, Washington. While trying to learn English so he could live in the United States, someone gave him a small card with a picture and an address on it. He kept it for some reason. Later, when he was asked where he wanted to live he showed this card to the customs official. “I can’t send you there,” he was told “but I can send you to a place nearby.” He was sent to live with a Latter-day Saint family in Salt Lake City where he learned about the Church. As he finished telling me this story, he showed the card he had been given in the refugee camp. It was a picture of the MTC. “I am here, President,” he said. Like the others, he thought it was a privilege to go on a mission.
The privilege of serving the Lord on a mission is felt and demonstrated in many ways. One missionary had struggled with family problems since he was a boy. While still young, he was expelled from his home and went to live with another family who introduced him to the Church. The gospel gave him direction in life where his natural parents had not. A few years later, after becoming one of the best players on a college football team, he decided to serve a mission. Before leaving on his mission, he gave copies of the Book of Mormon to his friends at school. This included his team coaches, fellow players, and teachers. He distributed more than 200 copies before entering the Missionary Training Center.
The missionaries who looked upon a mission only as a sacrifice were often honestly dedicated to the Lord’s service. However, I found they had not experienced personal revelation and inspiration. They were usually less informed about the Savior. But as they studied their scriptures and came to know Him better, their hearts seemed to soften and enlarge. They began to more deeply feel His love and know of the importance of missionary work as a continuation of this love extended to others. Many of those who began by telling of their sacrifices left the Missionary Training Center talking about privilege.
During my last sacrament meeting at the MTC, an elder stood who was older than most missionaries. He apologized for his poorly-spoken English, but hoped that he would be understood. His voice was deep and strong. He told of growing up in Cracow, Poland. He felt uncomfortable attending his family’s church and said that he “instinctively” knew some of its practices were not correct. He stopped going to his church and instead began to study the Bible. As he grew he became increasingly unhappy with the government, and at age eighteen he asked for political asylum in Austria. It was granted, and he left his home to start a new life. He spent nine very difficult months in the refugee camp near Vienna before seeking permission to migrate to the United States. Once he arrived he was contacted by missionaries from many churches. “They were nice,” he said, “but I could tell they did not have the answers I was looking for.” One day he saw a television program on the Mormons. He felt good about what he saw, and he decided to learn more of the Church. He met the missionaries, heard and accepted the gospel, and at age twenty-five was serving a mission. “It is a privilege to be here,” he said softly in his deep Polish accent. “I have been looking for a long time.”
It is a wonderful privilege for anyone to serve the Savior. It is a privilege to have any part in the great missionary work of the Church. I have thought about young men who have an easy life, or who do not know of the Lord, or who are afraid, or who are uncaring. I wish they would come to understand that it is a privilege to study the words of eternal life, to learn about their Redeemer, and seek opportunities to serve him by serving their fellowmen.

When we watch television, we probably don’t think about what a “fool” idea TV was once thought to be. We just take it for granted that it pulls pictures out of the air and then converts them into images that we can see on our TV sets. Little thought is given to how marvelous this means of communication is.
But the way it was invented is marvelous indeed.
Not widely known is the fact that television was actually invented by a fifteen-year-old boy, and if it were not for the urging of his high school teacher, the boy might never have gotten the patent for it.
It all began in the early 1920s in Rigby, Idaho, when a teacher, Justin Tolman, recognized a student’s genius. He saw a very rare potential in young Philo Farnsworth and did all he could as a teacher to encourage and develop the youth’s scientific talent.
Although Phil, as he was called by his family and friends, was busy with school and other activities—he played the violin in the school orchestra and taught himself how to play the piano—his inventive mind traveled far beyond the limits of the classroom and his community.
Most people who listened to Phil’s ideas weren’t able to understand the boy’s advanced concepts. And they didn’t put much faith in his theory that pictures could be sent through the air and instantly received and seen on screens hundreds, even thousands of miles away.
Phil’s teacher, Justin Tolman, was truly amazed at the youngster’s grasp of electronics and his ability to solve problems with innovative solutions. He watched for hours after school as Phil expertly drew diagrams on the blackboard, illustrating his television theory. Tolman was sure that, given the equipment to conduct experiments, the boy could produce this wonderful invention. But where could such elaborate equipment be found? Certainly not in the high school lab!
It wasn’t until several years later, when Phil was married and attending college, that he was able to get the financial backing he needed to perfect his television. Then, when he applied for a patent on his invention in 1927, he discovered that a man named Vladimir Zworykin, who worked for RCA, was applying for a similar patent. Which of these inventors should the patent be awarded to was a real problem for the United States Patent Office. From the documents his backers provided, it appeared that Vladimir had had the idea first.
But if Phil’s high school teacher, Justin Tolman, could be found, it was possible that the teacher could vouch for Phil’s claim of having had the concept for television first. Tolman was found, and the patent office asked him to appear before them. Assured that Tolman had no chance to talk to Phil beforehand, the patent authorities questioned Tolman at great length, and his memory proved to be excellent. He described in detail all the diagrams that Phil had drawn on the school blackboard as a student so many years before.
Impressed with Tolman’s clear description of Phil’s television, the patent office awarded the patent to the young inventor.
Philo Farnsworth, who died in 1971, had lived a very productive life and had been awarded a great number of patents in the field of electronics.

by J. I. H. Porras
Service and love cannot be separated when you talk about the young women of the Badalona Ward in Badalona, Spain, a suburb of Barcelona. These young women serve one another, their families and friends, and people they don’t know with equal enthusiasm.
The Young Women take it upon themselves to see that each girl is contacted about every activity, a difficult challenge since most do not have telephones and live more than 30 miles from the chapel. When someone is absent, the others make sure that nothing is wrong.
Laura Ferreras, 17, learned of this love when she came to church one Sunday with her recently baptized mother. “The things that impressed me most were the love and caring among the members,” Laura said, “especially with the girls my age. I felt great joy in finding a place so full of unselfish love.” Laura was baptized a short time later.
Their service was not restricted to Church members. The girls agreed to help at a home for handicapped orphans (both children and adults). Sara Lopez Garrido, 15, said, “I was scared at first because I didn’t know how I would react, but once inside I realized how much love these people need. I am a better person for just giving my time to show I care. I’ll never be afraid to go back and get involved in their lives.”
The girls also regularly visit 102-year-old Ascunsion Baneras de Centeno, the “grandmother” of the ward. Their visits have expanded to include all the residents of the rest home.
The gospel has blessed the lives of these young women, and they are blessing the lives of others through love and service.

Jeff looked up at his mother’s sad face. “Don’t you remember what you told me when I said I hated Jared because he teased me? You told me that learning to get along was just like taking piano lessons. It takes practice, and sometimes you stumble.
“And when I was learning to ride my bike, Daddy held on to me as long as he could, then ran beside me to try to keep me from falling. Sometimes I fell anyway. You said learning to be like Jesus Christ was something like that, only His hand is always there for us when we reach for it.
“Mama, I think from now on when you look at this picture of the pinch, it should remind you of Jesus Christ instead of making you feel sad.”
Mother gave Jeff a big hug and kiss. “Thank you, Jeff. From now on, when I look at this picture, it will make me happy. I will think of the love and forgiveness of Jesus Christ.”

Then came my third encounter with death.
A few years later, my family and I drove across the country to visit my grandparents. My grandpa had been battling cancer for several years, and the chemotherapy treatments were taking a significant toll on him. It was painful to watch him struggle.
At the end of our trip, we woke up early to start on the long drive home. We all hugged our grandpa goodbye, and the realization began to hit us that this would likely be our last goodbye. He asked if he could pray for us, which we gratefully accepted. Then we left.
A few weeks later, he passed away.
At his viewing, my grandmother reminded all of her children and grandchildren of how much our grandfather had loved us and how grateful she was for the plan of salvation. As I looked down at my grandfather’s body, his spirit now gone, I didn’t want this to be last time I saw him.
Suddenly, I felt that this wasn’t the end. My grandfather was dead, but he wasn’t gone. I felt the Spirit testify to me that Heavenly Father’s plan for us is real.
I felt in my heart the words of Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles regarding the plan of salvation: “The Father’s design, His plan, His purpose, His intent, His wish, and His hope are all to heal you, all to give you peace, all to bring you, and those you love, home.”

Michele grew up physically in a comfortable upper middle-class environment in upstate New York. It was not until after having left that world, when she found herself “on the streets” in New York City, that she really began to mature spiritually. Like many of this generation she came to earth with a spirit capable of giving and loving equal to the challenge of today’s world. But it is one thing to love and another to learn how to effectively give. In seeking to fulfill herself, Michele sought many avenues for giving. Before coming to know the gospel, she saw how many ways people suffer in this life. For a time she lived in an apartment leased by the county to two heroin addicts and their three children. The parents were always on the streets in pursuit of drugs or the money to purchase drugs. What care the children got, Michele gave. Simultaneously she worked at fund raising for and as a volunteer in a hospital for children with cerebral palsy and also spent up to six hours a night on the telephones at a crisis center. Michele spent more hours working for others than one body can really stand—she kept going by taking speed. It is amazing that she kept going as long as she did.
When Michele found the Church, she had been involved in so many of the snares Satan has set for this generation that she knew she had to break cleanly with the past. She moved to another town and set about rebuilding her life according to the gospel plan. When I first met her, she was still struggling to overcome many of the temptations from her past and through repentance be reborn in Christ. As she trusted me, we talked out many of her problems and often cried together, sharing the sorrow and joy that can only come through regaining the Lord’s Spirit. Some problems I could only ask her to work out with her bishop, and after great struggles, she did. Other problems she brought to me because she felt I could understand, having known the world she knew. Late one night she revealed what seemed her greatest problem. She felt a continuing desperate urge to return to using speed. It was not the craving of an addict that drove her, however. As she learned more of the gospel of Christ and our responsibility to serve our fellowmen, she again became involved in many avenues of service to others. But this time it was not so easy. She tired quickly and could not do as much as she had previously. She felt her capacity to serve was lessened. Wouldn’t it be justified, she asked, to use speed to enable her to do more? If the drug took some toll on her body, was that so wrong, considering why she was doing it?
I knew that when she spoke of doing things for others, it was no simple rationalization. Michele really wanted to help others. It took more than a few moments of silent prayer before I was able to answer. Finally, I said, “All right, you want to give, but what do you want to give? What, for instance, did you give those three children? Can you tell me?” Though she knew I had heard the story, she repeated how she had washed clothes, fixed meals, dried tears, and tucked the children in at night. To that I responded, “Yes, but what did you give them?” This puzzled her. She started to repeat herself and then, realizing that I was asking something else, remained silent. Finally I talked for a moment about the unbelievable advances made by technology—we are on the verge of making machines that can do almost anything—and asked her what she had done for those children an existing machine or some machine that might be invented soon couldn’t have done. What, I asked, had she really given; what could she really give to anyone? She started to answer that she had given them love, but I stopped her. “Michele, tell me about speed. What does it mean when you crash?” The change took her back. Slowly she answered, reciting how methamphetamines can keep you up for only so long and then you come down physically, whether you want to or not. We talked about why it’s nice to be able to fall asleep as soon as you crash, and how if you don’t, problems start. She remembered how emotions, real and deep emotions, would well up from where the drug had suppressed them, suppressed them for as long as she had been high, and the wave of depression that followed those emotions. We talked about how being “wired” was a way to operate physically while ignoring the real-life, day-to-day sufferings that go on around you. One could do countless tasks without really feeling anything. And then I asked her again, “Michele, what did you really give those children? Even when you cuddled the little boy and bandaged up his knee, did you really feel his hurt and cry with him, feel and share his pain as we have cried together? What did you really give them?” She fell silent. “Michele,” I finally asked, “what can any human being give that is worth giving?” Gradually we began to talk again. We made a distinction between presents, things people buy, and gifts. I reminded her of how Christ contrasted the gift of the widow’s mite, a gift based on sacrifice, with the offerings made from the rich man’s surplus. We saw how every real gift involves a sacrifice on the part of the giver, a willingness to suffer for the good of others if need be. And as we talked, Michele gradually began to understand that she had been tempted to return to speed because the kinds of social commitments she knew she should make weren’t so much physically tiring as they were emotionally draining. She admitted that in trying to do the things she had once done so easily she found herself suffering with the people she wanted to help, and she recognized that it was bearing other people’s burdens, crying with them and praying for them, that left her tired, not the physical effort. It became apparent that she could not do as much physically as she once had, but by resisting the temptation to take speed, she was placing herself in a position where she could give much more. Only by keeping spiritually in tune and open to sharing could she truly give a gift worth giving, a gift no machine could duplicate. For real gifts involve the love and sacrifice of the giver; they can never simply be bought or sold. When Christ set us the example of the Good Samaritan as an ideal, the epitome of the Christian life, it seems obvious that he had in mind more than giving ambulance service to the wounded Jew. We must ask ourselves whether the Samaritan simply bore the Jew’s physical burdens, taking him to the inn and paying his lodging and care, or if he sought to comfort the Jew, offering him love and concern and fasting and praying for him. Did the Good Samaritan seek to bear the Jew’s emotional burdens; did he seek to love him? The answer seems obvious. And so we both learned a lesson about Christ-like service.